The citizen. [volume] (Berea, Ky.) 1899-1958, 1909-08-12
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er'S breath away; so TAR aneld was IL
and so unlike his experience of the
man; 1t was: Winter, son like that
would be a good deal of a comfort,
wouldn't he?"
Poor little chap" said Winter.
"He hasn't any father 10 be prorS of
him-father and mother both dead"
Keatcham eyed Winter thorghtfully
a moment, then he said; You've
been married and lost children, your
aunt says. That must be hard. But
did you ever read that poem OF James
Whitcomb Riley's 70 his friend whose
child was dead? It's true what he says
they were better of than he who
had no child TO die"
Rupert was looking away from the
speaker with the instructive embar-
rassmeut of a man who surprises the
deeper feelings of another. He could
see out OF the window the lovely April
garden and Janet Smith amid the al
mond blossoms. Only her shining
black head and her white shoulders
and bodice rose above the pink clus-
tiers. She looked up and nodded, see
ing him; her face was little pale,
but she was smiling.
81 don't know" he said, ITS hard
enough either way for a man."
Il never lost any children"-Keatch-
ans tone was dry, still. but 1t had not
quite the former desiccated quality
but / was married, for a little while.
II it's as bad to lose your children as
it is to lose the hope OF having them,
it-must be hard You lost your wife,
too?"
yes" said Rupert Winter.
At this moment he became con-
scious that Keatcham was avoiding his
gaze in the very manner of his avoid
ing of Keatcham's a moment ago; and
it gave him a bewildering sensation.
81 wanted to marry my wife for
seven years before we were married,
Keatcham continued in that carefully
monotonous voice. she was the
daughter of the superintendent Of the
mine where | was working. / was
only IS when first saw her. | was
25 when we were married. She used
to give me lessons; she was educated
and accomplished. She did more than
is easy telling, for me. OF course, her
parents were opposed at first because
they looked higher for her, but she
brought them round by her patience
and her sweetness and her faith In
me- Six months after we were mar
ried she had an accident which left
her a helpless invalid in a wheeled
~ he ctrf
| fering-you've known what 1t is to
see anybody, whom you care for. in
horrible pain and trying not to show 1t
when you come near?"
81 tave," said Winter; merry hell,
isn't it?"
81 have seen that expression" said
Keatcham; 81 never recognized its
peculiar appropriateness before. Yes,
IL is that. Yet, Winter, those two
years she lived afterwards were the
happiest OF my whole life. She said,
the last night she was with me, that
they had been the happiest of hers"
Il dent wonder you didn't marry
again. said Winter.
"Yor would not wonder II you had
Known f1tltH. QUO always UhuCi-
stood. OF course, now. at 81, could
buy . pretty, innocent, young girl who
woum do as her parepts babe het. and
cry her eyes out before the wedding.
or a handsome and brilliant society
woman with plenty of matrimonial ex-
perjence-but l don't want them.
should have to explain myself to
them; don't know how to explain
myself; you see | can't half do IT,"
81 reckon | understand little"
Il guess you do. You are different,
too. Well, let's get down to business,
think you some way of getting the
women out of the house; and get your
sleuths after Atkins. It's we get aim,
or he gets us!'"
The amateur secretary assented and
prepared to go, for the valet was at
the door. ready to relieve him; but
opposite Keatcham, he paused a Sec
ond, made a pretense Of hunting for
his hat, picked II up in his left hand
and held out the right hand. saying:
well, take care OF yourself"
Keatcham nodded; he shook the
hand with a good firm pressure.
Much obliged, Winter" said he.
We'll" meditated the soldier as he
went his way, Il never did think to
take that financial bucaneer by lhe
hand; butt wasn't the bucaneer,
| a. mos tho raaI III uvir Kaatcharn"