Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-03-31

east side lodging house where the land
lady, rudy German woman, beamed on
the handsome young gentleman who paid
woman S rent in ad Trance and carried a
suitcase bright with foreign labels.
To Philip each new experience was a
delight. lie was pleased with every thing
about him. He liked the view from his
HlnGoW-rOw uroQ row of tall chimneyS
black against the stars. lie liked the
road of the city as it hoated up to him
tie mingled noises of car and truck and
dray. On the way to dinner he passed q
street piano. The lit of its music seemed
merry and triumphant, and some children
dancing in the stree. scrambled with Joy
Gus clamor for the pennies he tossed them.
Next morning he began his search for
work. From the first re encountered diff
culties. lie resented being looked over
and questioned, and his answers were given
with such a naughty air that none If the
mercantile firms to which he applied seemed
anxious for his services. He scanned the
newspapers and found them sngularly free
from advertisements of people wanting
tutors for their small sons; neither was
there noticeable demand for private sec
retaries. Secure in the possession of his
diploma he invaded a teachers agency.
They were bland but polite. Had he ever
taught before? No, he had not.
Experience. Experience! That was the
cry everywhere. He had read of young
society men who had become Coachmen
at a moments notice as the result of a
jest or wager; but his own efforts in
this direction were met with a request for
references. And enthusiastic owners of
automobiles did not seem eager to trust
themselves or their machines TO the care
of a young man cGnfesSedly not a pro-
fessional. At other places people looked
suspiciously at the white hands till Phillip
flushed with anger
What do you think | am, an escaped
crimiRal?" he cried, Indignantly And for
the next week it was the same every place
he went. Where had he worked before?
There was no demand for the unslSilled. At
the end of two weeks lie had found nothing
to do. The zest was gone from the adven-
ture. The roar of the city was unpleasantly
like the roar of a monster that was hunting
him down; the street pianos music became
the Song of the Unsuccessful
At times the grim hum0r of the thing
struck home TO him. He knew he had only
to go back to the people Of his own world
and assistance would be instant. But pride
would not allow him to Cdptulate or ask
for fayors. He would win out on his own
merits or not at all. He could not go to his
father and say. Help! I have failed!"
He seduously avoided the streets where
he would be likely to meet chance acquaint-
ances. though inwardly he longed for the
sight of a familiar face. He found that
what he told Inez was only too true-a man
could easily lose his identity and lie ut
terly isolated from all that he had ever
known. BY day he hunted work; by night
he roamed the East Side streets past count
less tawdry shops, dim bakeries and farng
concert halls till sheer exhaustion drove
him back to his lodgings to seep ne sleep
of WEAKNESS. oftener still 10 lie awake
till the gray ght and rattle of incoming
wagons proclaimed that it was time for
another days search to begin. AS the days
dragged on he learned the meaning of a
hard times winter; he read, ii in many of
the wan, harassed faces of the passars by.
He grew to wonder if they. too, were heart
sick and discouraged, and felt himself one
with them In that greatest of all bonds
the fellowship of failure.
A clustering Saturday night found him at
low ebb, his money almost gone, his faith
I'm himself gone also. He had no place in
the great working world which swept on
from day to day. needless Of hetfer he
lived or died. And, perhaps. since ne was
of no use to any one, not even to himself,
it were better that he We're dead. At this
he pulled up sharply. 1t simply the
blues, he told himself, and he would feel
better when he had had something to eat.
Family cheered by this reelection, he en-
tered a dim Bavarian cafe ANA orde, ed
some soup and bread and chease It was
only 5 o'clock, and there were no other
diners present. The proprietor of the Il s.
taurant waited on Phillip himself. lie was
fat and swarthy and so oily that as he set
the dishes down a plate slipped from his
greasy fingers. With a miraculous GcfIHess