The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1908-02-06
COURAGE.

goes without breakfast, lunch and din
ner, and exists as it can on bread and
tobacco. [ lived in one of those four
penny lodging houses Westminster way.
Three, five, seven beds in a room; if you
pay regularly, you keep your own bed;
if not, they nut someone else there who
will certainly leave you memento OF
himself. It's not the foreigners quar-
ter: they are nearly all English, and
drunkards Three quarters of them do
not eat-can't; they have no capacity
for solid food. They drink and drink.
They're not worth wasting your money
on-cab runners, newspaper boys, sellers
of laces, and what you call sandwich
men; three fourths of them brutalized
beyond the power of recovery. What
can you expect? They just live to scrape
enough together to keep their souls in
their bodies; they have no time or
strength to think of anything but that.
They come back at night and fall asleep
and how dead that sleep is! No, they
never eat-just bit of bread; the rest is
drink!
There used to come to that house a
little Frenchman, with a yellow, crows
footed face; not old either, about 80.
But his life had been hard-no one comes
to these houses if life is soft; especially
no Frenchman; a Frenchman hates to
leave his country. He came to shave us
charged a penny; most of us forgot to
pay him, so that in all he shaved about
three for renny. He went to others of
these houses-this gave him his income
he kept the little shop next door, too,
but he never sold anything. How he
worked He also went to one of your
public institutions; this was not so prof
table, for there he was paid a penny for
ten shaves. He used to keep me till the
last, and shave me slowly.
"This rests me-" he would say. 1t was
amusement for me, too, for had got into
the habit of going for days without open
ing my lips.
eyes" the little man would say,
"when 1 came here first, thought l
should soon go back, but now I'm not
so sure. I'm losing my illusions. Money
has wings, but it's not to me it flies.
Believe me, my friend, | am shaving my
soul into these specimens. And how un-
happy they are, poor creatures; how
they must suffer! Drink! you say. Yes,
that saves them--they get little hap
piness from that. Unfortunately, l
haven't the constitution for there"
And he would show me where he had no
constitution. 'You, too, comrade, you
don't seem to be in luck; but then, you
are young.
When [ went away, which was as soon
as | had nothing left to pawn, he gave
me money-theres no question of lend
ing in those houses; if man parts with
money, he gives It; and lucky if he's not
robbed into the bargain. There are fell
lows there who watch for a new pair of
shoes, or good overcoat, profit by their
wakefulness as soon as the other is
asleep, and promptly disappear. There is
no morality in the face of destitution-
it needs man of iron, and these are
men of straw.
Well, 1 got a job as fireman ON
steamer, made a tour tramping, and six
months later | was back again. The
first morning | saw the Frenchman. 1t
was shaving day; he was more like an
ant than ever, working away with all
his legs and arms; little yellower, and
perhaps more wrinkled.
"Ah!" he called out to me in French,
there you are-back again. I knew
you'd come. Wait till I've finished with
this specimen-Ive a lot to talk about"
We went into the kitchen, big and
stone-foored room, with tables for eat
ing-and sat down by the fire. 1t was
January, but, summer or winter, there
was always fire burning in that kitch-
en-.
49," he said, "you have come back?
No luck? En-! Patience! A few more
days won't kill you at your age. What
fogs, though! YoYu see, I'm still here,
but my comrade, Pigon, is dead. You
remember him-the big man with black
hair who had the shop down the street.
Amiable fellow, good friend to me; and
married. Fine woman his wife-a little
ripe, seeing she has had children, but of
good family. He died suddenly, of heart
disease. Wait bit; I'll tell you about
"It was not long after you went away,
one fine day in October, when I had Just
finished with these specimens here, and
was taking my coffee in the shop, and
thinking of that poor Pigon-dead then
Just three days-when, pom! comes a
knock, and there is Nine. Pigon Very
calm-a woman of good family, we'll
brought up. well madeline woman. But
the cheeks pale, and the eyes so red, poor
soul.
"'Well, madame I asked her, what
can I do for your
''It seems this poor Pigon died bank
rupt; there was not a cent in the shop.
He was two days in his grave, and the
bailiffs in already.
"'Ah, monsieur!' she says to me, what
am [ to dor
"'Wait bit, madame!' I got my hat
and went back to the shop with her.
''What a scene! Two bailiffs, who
would he 70. been the better for shave,
sitting in cne shop before the basins; and
everywhere, ma fol, everywhere, chill
dren! TIKI Tx! A little girl of 10, very
like her mother; two little boys with lit
tie trousers, and one with nothing but
chemise; and others-two, quite small,
all rolling on the floor; and what horri-
BILE noise all crying, all but the little
girl, fit to break themselves in two. The
bailiffs seemed perplexed. 1t was enough