The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1908-07-09
UNCLE JOHN INTRUDEs.

detached villas, each fronted by a di-
minutive privet-edged enclosure dotted
with shrubs, lay quiet and deserted
when the queer-looking old gentleman
in the shabby inverness and the soft hat
turned into it. The glad promise of
spring was in the air. Somewhere at
little distance skylark was singing
merrily. AS he crossed over to the
sunny side his every action was OBJ
served. His keen eyes had noted that
the plane-tree avenue was waking into
life.
Pulling at his old brier he walked
slowly along the whole length of the
road, and then, turning, came as slow
ly back Behind curtained windows
long time, at intervals gazing into space
and up at the house which had remained
with closed door and lowered blinds ever
since the visit of the dread Reaper ten
DAYS before Following his every action
they observed him knock his pipe on his
boot, and, after placing it in his pocket,
push open the swinging gate and walk
quietly up the path. For days the house
had given no sign of habitation; the
ringing of many callers had failed to
effect response, and, as his fingers came
from the furnished bell, they craned for
ward interestedly.
The door remained closed. For full
minute he waited before he rang again.
Still there came no response. The lit
tie gentleman was nonplussed. Like
the neighbors he had the suspicion that
despite its unoccupied, desolate air the
house held the man he had journeyed
to see, and he shook his gray head with
misgiving.
"The boy won't see you, john" he
said to himself, in his jerky way. won't
see anybody. Heartsick, despairing; still
fighting out his terrible battle. Hope
less business, solitary brooding. = 4
Mustn't turn back, John. i = Got to
try and help him against the odds.' He
took off his hat and raised his hand
again to the bell, to arrest it suddenly
and turn for the side entrance. After
that the curious neighbors lost sight of
him for some time. He reached the
garden door, to find that locked too.
STOPPING, he discovered that the key re-
manned in the lock, and, with a little
manipulation, succeeded in pushing it
out. By the aid of an opportune twig
he contrived to draw it beneath the
door, and, presently, he stood within
the garden.
Mustn't stand on ceremony, John, y
he muttered. ''The boy wants you"
He advanced to the back door and
knocked. There was no answer. Wait
ing but short time he turned the ham
die. The door swung open and, very
quietly, he stole within.
The kitchen was in disorder. On the
table showed the remnants of a meal.
The range was choked with ashes; dust
lay thicllly everywhere Tiptoeing along
the passage he tried the door of the
drawing room. 1t was locked. He
peered into the dining room. 1t was
empty. A glass vase lay broken on the
floor with the scattered flowers, just as
they had fallen, dead and withered. The
drawn blinds gave the room an air OF
gloom. Hat in hand he assembled the
carpeted stairs, and, as he reached the
landing, he crushed it in his grip and
tie room facing him came the sound OF
stertorous breathing. Slowly, noiseless-
ly he approached and gazed within.
The room had been converted into a
mans den. Against one wall stood a
rolltop desk and typewriter on it's
stand. Cases lined with books lined the
others. A table stood in the middle of
the room, and, by the side of it, an easy
chair. Sitting in the chair, with his
head and arms sprawled on the table,
was the man he had come to visit.
Through a mist Uncle John regarded
him pityingly, and his hand went out
| to him.
'sNed boy" he said feelingly, "I am a
| lonely old fellow. Into my life has come
no loving woman. Butt can under
stand l have seen men and women,
whose young lives were full of promise,
i cut off, even as was Mary's, and the
same questioning, the same sense of in
| Justice has held HE, too. To what
avail? Death, even as life, must ever
remain an inscrutable mystery which
no man shall understand. We can but
submit. Thousands have questioned as
you do, without answer, and only Times
hand has had power to lift the weight
of grief. Weakness is but a protract-
ing of the mind anguish. The man who
takes up his work bravely, believe me,
is he who soonest will find the peace
that comes with resignation. Tell me,
boy, what of the little one?''
| 'The child was taken by her mother
when Mary was STRICKEN" returned the
man YEARLY. 81 have not seen her
since. I have seen no one"
"They want you at the office, Ned, .
said John, appealingly. "Your work is
waiting, and there is no one can do it.
May I not tell the guv-nor you will be
there tomorrow. Work is far better
physic for mind diseased than that
you have fled to, and with it comes no
regret"
The man sat silent and unheeding
The appeal had failed to touch him. In
his eyes was still the dull, hopeless look
of despair John shook his head, and
realizing that further speech would be
profitless, rose and quietly left the
| room.
In the kitchen he slipped on his shah
! by Inverness and passed out of the back
door. No thought of giving up the fight
had for an instant entered his mind
Far from it, 1t was not Uncle Johns
way to accept defeat at the first re-
verse As quiet student of human
nature he, if anyone knew how best the
emotions could be stirred. The weaving
and unraveling of plot and counterpart
constituted his business, and his abrupt
departure but signified that some idea
had terminated in his brain by which
his object might be achieved.
| The woman next door was surprised