Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1907-01-03
CHAPTER 1.
How Thomas Dexter Made His None

xeExXesexIS age was fifty seven; hers
NY. seven and half. His
* n 8 name WAS Thomas Dexter;
" hers Little Make-Believe.
&XNaexXx He was Il crooked, ugly.
pock-marked little man; she crooked,
ugly. pock-marked little girl. He was
q general dealer; so was she.
His shop was situated in the heart Of
Glare Market, which some people with
fastidious notions call Lincolns Inn
Fields.
The persons thus fastidiously in
clined and who thus, metaphorically,
turn up their noses at Glare Market,
are dwellers therein, and being gen.
teelly inclined to wish to disguise the
fact, resembling in this respect other
persons higher in the social scale who
reside in Bayswater and call it Hyde
Park, to the confusion of the simple
minded cabmen Gf any such exist and
Mnsuspicious friends from the country.
Thomas Dexter gave himself no such
airs. Glare Market was good enough
tor him, and his ambition, in residen-
fial way, did not extend beyond 1t.
Thirty three years had passed over
his head since, with his own hands. he
painted on his shop windows the
words, Dexter, General Dealer" there
not being room for Thomas"
Time and dust had eaten into this
iign and quite obliterated it. as in due
course they would eat into Thomas
Dexter and quite obliterate him.
When the painted letters of the le-
s.end on his shop windows were fresh
and bright Thomas Dexter, also fresh
ind bright, commenced business with
exactly f14 in gold, which he found, OH
the evening of his fathers funeral, tied
ZIP in an old nightcap, in hard lump
close to the tassel.
He had come home sad of face and
ut heart from the churchyard in which
Ills old friend and relative lay buried.
He was not given % sentiment but
lie and his father had been comrades
Tor many a long year, and it was nat
,,ral that he should feel melancholy in
Ills loneliness.
There was anothel reason for sad.
heartedness; he had spent his last shil.
ling on his fathers funeral.
''TOm," his father had said to him in
Ills dying moments. there's something
Weighing on my mind
"Out with it. father said Thomas
Dexter, ''if it'll ease yer"
II was born in this here neighbor.
hood" continued the old man, land so
was you, my boy. Lord, don't l re-
member the night you come into the
world! And now I'm a-gong out of it.
1t was Saturday night and was two
mile away with my barrer in Totem
ham Court road. where l had pitch
The old woman was with me, looking
arter the tin, and she sed to me about
10 o'clock: Father sed she, L feel a
bit queerish; think I'd best 60 home
All right, old girl sed l, 'trot off; III
manage without YER Don't worry
about me- she sed, smiling at me as
she walked away; it's only spasm.'
That was you, Tom-you was the
spasm. 1t was past IL afore l got
home, and no sooner put my head in
at the door than knew was a father
in real earnest, for you salooted me
with a squall which you kept up, on
and off, for a matter of three months,
should say. You and the old woman
was laying on this very bed, in this
very room. It's rum to think on, amt
it? 1t was sharp work, but your
mother was sharp at anythink she set
her mind on. She'd hardly time to
throw herself on the bed afore you
was born. The room was dark, too
almost as dark as it is now"
"Why, father" said Thomas Dexter,
"its broad daylight and the suns
a-shining right into the winder!"
you'll allow me to know" mur-
INJURED the old man, with fretful sigh.
81 can see when It's dark and when it's
light. l amt dead yet, my boy. Tom,
I've a sort of notion that I'm wander
ing. Where was I, my boy?"
"In this room, where mother was
aOnfined."
"No-afore that! Where was I afore
1 come home that night?'
"In Tottenham Court road, with the
barrer."
mo, no, no! Afore that! Give cove
a leg up. What was saying fust Of
all|
THAT you was born in this here
ueighborhood."
"That's it-that's what's weighing on
my mind! 1 was born in Glare Mar
het, and there amt man, woman or
child hereabouts as don't know me, and
IS won't know presently that I'm
dead 'un. Tom, shouldn't like to be
taken out of the workshop in shabby
sort of way. Don't shove me under
fhe turf as il I was a pauper. Do 1t
Il style. old pal, and bury me with
feathersn'
The thing was done. The old man
was buried with feathers, and Thomas
Dexter experienced solemn satisfac-
tito as he gazed at the sable plumes,
em,lems Of triumphant woe. which
nodded at him in approval of his duti.
full regard to his fathers last wish.
In the evening he looked over the old
mans clothes to decide which to keep
for personal wear and which to dis
pose of for new start in life. Under
The mattress was his fathers nlghtcap,
which, as he moved the bed, fell with
thud upon the door. Picking it up