The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1908-11-26

ing before him, his lips twitching
every now and then as if his mental
anguish were almost too much for
him. His work had, of course, stopped.
We hired skilled typist and took her
round with the hope that We might
lure him to dictate to her; but the
mans mind was for the present over
turned and incapable of composition.
1t was evident that something would
have to be done to rouse him from
the dreadful lethargy which was pos
sessing him.
1t was Littleford who hit upon that
something. One afternoon, at tea
time. we heard footsteps in the hall:
they were slow and accompanied by
the quick patpat of stick the door
opened and Littleford appeared lead
ing the blind man.
We sprang to our feet with shout;
but Littleford signed to us to moder-
ate our delight, and we came forward
quietly, shook Blossop by the hand,
led him to his old chair and stood
round him till Litteford motioned us
back to our seats. Blossop returned
our greetings and answered our in
quiries with amused cheerfulness; we
went on talking for his benefit as if
nothing were the matter; but though
he turned his face toward us with
wistful smile, he gradually became 81
lent, moody and embarrassed, Our
talk pesered out; We glanced at each
other in dismay for We felt that Bios
sop would not come again, that the
strain would be too great for him.
What was to be done?
1t was the ChaffinCh the shy, silent
Chaffinch to whom speech was la
Dor and a pain. who sprang into the
breach Pale and shrinking, he came
from his corner, took a chair in the
middle of the circle and began, at first
in uuavering accents, to speak of Blew
Smith, and, to our amazement, the
Chaffinch praised his last novel.
Now, Blew Smith and all his works
are to Blossop as red rag is to
bull. Many AMI many time had Bios
sop denounced the popular, very popu'
lar. author whose fiction sold by the
hundred thousand and whose name
was worshiped in all the regions of
Suburbia. We stared at the Chatfinch
fearfully and then turned our eyes still
more fearfully on Blossop. What was
the Chaffinch at? We soon discovered.
At the beginning of the eulogy Blossop
had listened indifferently enough but
presently he began to fidget in his
chair. then he leant forward frown
gathering on his brow, his lips begin
ming to move in the way with which
We were all so familiar.
1T is an interesting book bleated
Chatfnch, "a conscientious work, full
of the noblest thoughts and the most
poetic imagery. There IS not dull
or unworthy line in it. The charac'
terization, too, is admirable. 1t IS
perfect work" he stole a glance at
Blossop who was writing in his chair;
and | am not surprised that it is al.
ready in its fifth ed
Up spring Blossop. Scarcely feeling
his way by the mantelshelt he stood
on the hearth rug with his back to
the fire in the old attitude; and he
poured forth the Walls of his wrath
on the Chaffinch's devoted head.
To our inexpressibe JOY and delight
he rent and tore Blew Smiths literary
reputation into shreds and tatters and
strewed the floor with them. All
through the torrent which poured over
him, boiled and surged round him. the
Chatfinch sat with placid and shy
smile of satisfaction. We kept our
selves in hand as long as it was pos
sible to do so, then, when restraint
became absolutely dangerous, we gave
way with a roar and yell of delight
We had reused Blossop; the dear old
man was himself again! We were go
ing to be bullied as of old 1t was all
right, And thanks to the Chatlnch!
Blossop stopped in his harangue and
looked round half confused; but he
was smiling and still bubbling over;
and we sprang at him and patted him
on the back. crying:
That's your style, Blossop' Let
MN nave II! re al liiiDt'li'' 10 Ih'
Chaffinch. We've all been growing i'm.
beetle for the want of you, Don't you
dare to keep away from the club or
IT will fall to pieces. No, no; don't
sit down. Stand where you are and
keep on iawing at us like your dear
old self. Here's your pipe one
charged it and thrust it into his hand.
Give us a light, Chaffinch.
The Chaffinch came forward timidly
with a match. Blossop's big hands fell
upon the Chafiinch's small shoulders
and shook him lovingly.
You miserable little fraud he said
In a broken voice. You praise Blew
'stringing" me! God bless