The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-01-11

of it until 1t had lready formed a salacious tale for many others, and when it reached me at last it was of sufficient magnitude. The ancient and seemingly stale campaign cry, Where 1 was Harry went the light went out t?'' was renewed, and partisan, Oppos1- l tion newspaper soon told story, that
 friend of mine, not forewarned, had | suddenly addressed me by name not my own. The tale was heavily en- broidered with insinuation and innuen- do and I judged that the man who wrote it had information.
 l My mind turned to Harrison and my | feeling toward him then was very bit ] ter. had beaten him in the political contest, it was true, but both had lost { the woman we loved, and he should be 1 fair enough to abide by the result. never doubted. that he was instigating l the attack.
 "You must reply to this," said Judge l Wharton to me, when he read the at tack.
 'I think it best not to notice it," I said.
 He shook his head little, but did not urge me.
 But the cloud grew. That fatal meet | ing in the mountains. when an old friend seeing me for the first time in N years, suddenly called me by another I name was the peg on which everything | was hung Even the name Charlie Johnson got into print and people i wondered why anybody should call me l Charlie Johnson. l trembled at the l thought of the place where the name
 of Charlie Johnson was enrolled, but | thousands of convictS had passed through the penitentiary since I was
 registered there, and after all, it was | a common name.
 | I said nothing while the cloud con-
 tinued to grow. Jimmy Warf1eld ran down to Frankfort to see me, pretend l ing at first that it was a social visit, although I knew well the real cause. l It was a hot midsummer day and he | fingered in the shade of the Capitol with me for some time, before he ap- preached the subject that was in his mind. When he did come to the point | it was without his usual grace and | question with a desire to get it over in any fashion as soon as possible. Harry" he said, you've got to stop 1 this fuss. Tell 'em where you were during that missing chapter in the his- | tory of your life. You've confessed | loafer, then, and 1t hasn't hurt you, but give 'em details now and shut their dirty mouths"
 He never doubted me. What would | he say if I told him the truth? Would this man. my best friend, turn his back
 upon me if should do so? I scarcely l dared ask myself the question. Jimmy" said, slowly. "I have a reason for waiting, and, believe me, it l is 8 good one. I am not insensible to | tIe clamor and the damage it does, but can't you trust me little longer?" 1 He wrung my hand in a sudden ac- cess of emotion.
 Yes. Harry, I'll wait! We'll all
 waiti" he exclaimed. "But it cuts me to the bone to hear you black-guarded so much.'
 He returned on the afternoon train to Louisville, and I was left in lonely Frankfort to face my crisis, and to
 sustain, too. a new dread lest Alicia hearing it all should. in some manner, try to exculpate me by proclaiming for 1 herself guilt that was not her own. But later reflection convinced me that she would not do so; she would keep
 silent, believing that by such a course
 she could serve me best; she had no
 story to tell that wonld sound real to
 the public.
 1 Now a genuine campaign against me
 began and was waged through the hot
 summer months, when it might well | seem that all men would spare them
 selves unusual exertion. The oppOsf- tion party developed great. activity
 and it appeared at this time that I was l the real spring from which it's active l life flowed; that, is. was the provok- ing cause of it's present vigorous exist ence. Its newspapers and orators de- | manded that the Governor of Kentucky | should be a man whose life was like an open book-this was a favorite expres- sion-with nothing to explain and nothing for which to make apologies. | The administration press and speakers l kept up a lukewarm defense-they
 could hardly make it very jealous, be-
 cause they, too, were in the dark-and l saw that my good name was suffer
 ing. The attack upon me was especial
 ly active in the city of Louisville, where
 so heard. Cobbett, the rich and un- | worthy manufacturer, whose political
 ambitions I had helped to defeat, made
 a continual crusade against me. He urged besides my personal unworthi-
 ness the fact, so he claimed, that ]
 was too young to have been elected
 Governor of the State-Cobbett himself
 was past fifty, and hence free from the objection. But I refused to notice
 him in any form or fashion, having too
 much contempt for the man and his i methods.
 About this time the militia company it was from Lexington-which had been left on guard at Elverson return
 ed, its work done, and several of the |
 They talked a great deal about the
 Reverend Elias Peabody and the won
 derful help he had been to them and
 the extraordinary influence, both men,
 tai and emotional, that he had secured 1 over the mountaineerS.
 ''FIe seemed to have formed a strong
 attachment for you," said one of the
 officers. Lieutenant Cuthbert, land he
 asked me to say to you that he was
 sure you would always do right"
 There was nothing unusual to Cuth-
 bert in the sound of the message. but there was to me. Elias had a parti-
 cular thing in mind and he and I alone
 knew what he meant. I was sure of
 1t, all the more so. because I saw that
 what he predicted was rapidly coming to pass; my burden in good truth was growing heavier, perhaps much faster than he had ever expected. My life
 had become miserable and my faculties
 which should now be exerted for the State seemed to be paralyzed. could
 not come to the study of a difficult
 question with as clear a mind as be- fore, and the power of initiative was gone for the time.
 (To be Continued.)
 uETDETU W10Dnc