Iowa County democrat. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1877-1938, 1909-05-20
CHAPTER <.


don, the greatest and finest and
richest city of the world; it is not
exactly squalid; but it is emphatic
ally and decidedly depressing.
It is here that the honest, hard
working artisan seeks his we'll
earned repose-it is here that the
small tradesman makes an equally
bard-earned livelihood, and it is here
Mr.. Sinclair, or, as he was styled on
the posters, Mr.. st. Clair, had 10
cal habitation and name.
Amusement was provided in Wads-
worth by the Oriental Music Hall.
It is not an imposing edifice by
any means, though it is attached to a
saloon and adds considerably to the
revenue Of that establishment, it is
quite respectable.
1t was the evening of the day Mr..
Sinclair had paid his visit to Darra-
court, and he had finished imploring
the Wandsworthians in the Oriental
10 Come Into the Garden, Maud"
and assuring them that he was The
Pilgrim of Love"
He was in anything but an ami
able and peaceful mood as he climbed
the narrow staircase of No. Il Eden
Row to the almost as narrow room
in which he lived.
Mr.. Sinclair lived in what is termed
the first floor back" 1t was a
small room, meagerly furnished, the
most conspicuous article being, next
to the bed, a large Autograph por-
trait Of "Senor st. Clair, the world
famed tenor" the next an enlarged
photograph of a girl with yellow hair,
great gray eyes, and thin lips-the
portrait of Miss Marie Werner.
I've never felt so fearful as to-
night" he muttered.
It's seeing her, l suppose, and the
thought that she's left that school,
and gone to live among the swells.
Oh, if I'd only married her! l was
fool to leave her free. A fool! and
now l shan't sleep all night. and
and there's nothing to drink" he add
ed, thirstily.
At that moment there came three
or four peculiarly dismal groans, as
it seemed from behind the box, h''
in reality from the next room.
Mr.. Sinclair glanced at the wall
with a sCowl.
And now he's going it, to make
things worse. And he'll keep it up all
night, l suppose"
Another groan seemed to indicate
that the superstition was no I'M
founded, and Mr.. Sinclair, muttering
Wen, l suppose l may as we'll go
and talk to him as sit and listen to
him grOaning,' put out his candle, for
econOmy's sake, and cropping his way
to door Oh the landing, knocked
not over gently.
A voice, which seemed to come
from distance, answered, Come
in" and Mr., Sinclair entered.
1t was room corresponding to his
own and if anything more meagerIy
furnished. There was one thing,
however, remarkable about it, and
that was the number of engravings
and plates of old country houses
which were stuck and pinned upon
the walls, and a musty old secretaire
which was Crammed-the drawers
were too full to shut-outside and in
with dusty, time stained papers.
In a corner Of the room, near the
secretaire, sat an old man, a very
old man. ga 81
- Been at work again, Mr.. Pollard?"
MIR. Sinclair asked. rr~
Work? Yes-oh, yes" said the old
man, in hollow voice, with a glance
at a heap of papers lying at his feet.
Always at work. always. No end to
my work. I'm like the sexton; days
in, days out, wet or fine, graves must
be dug"
Ali" said Mr.. Sinclair; but you
dig graves that's dug already, eh?'
and he laughed.
Dig graves that are dug already
he repeated. Yes. Nobody knows
what secrets are hidden. what stories
are buried, what treasures are con-
cealed, what sins and shame are put
away and covered up, as the hiders
think, from all mortal eyes. But l
know"
Yes, young man." resumed Mr..
Pollard, fixing him with a CLASSY. col
orless eye. ITO me the noblest or
them all is speckled and fawed by
some shame which they think secret,
but which I know"
All" said Mr.. Sinclair again;
mot very pleasant for the Ugh and
lofty ones, Mr.. Pollard. And all
these papers there, Iittering up that
old bookcase of yours, contain those
secrets, / suppose"
Yes, all these-all there" he muir
INJURED. Lords and ladies, dukes
and earls; even the mere barons.
their secrets lie there, covered with
the dust, as they think them covered
from memory and knowledge. But
look, yourg man'-he stretched down
and drew his hand over the top Of a
roll Of parchment-"even as I wipe
the dust from that roll, I could, with
word, wipe off the dust of ages and
reveal the truth. But, no-they will
die with me. They will die, and be
buried with me-"
Very proper, too" said Mr. Sin
clair. And very much more COM
Portable for the Ugh and lofty gentry
that they tell about. Bless me. /
ought to tell you that I've been down
in the country today
Country" repeated the old man.
"Ay, the green country. It's years