The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-06-16

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Copyright 1sos by Albert Payson Terhune

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 CT shall make my way" averred the lad stoutly, "and even if I don't suc- ceed at the law, I always have my literary work to fall pacA OH. Your what?"
 My literary work. I was Yale cor respondent for the Star all the tune was at college. And more Of my by papers and magazines And seek ing nightly to subdue the thrill or sublime pride in his voice and to speak in a matter-of-fact tone, as he played his trump card Last mon1n nihs Y nao !.
 "Where?" asked Caleb, genuinely curious.
 sIn Scribner,s" repeated Hawarden modestly.
 "It's. why Scribner's Magazine, explained the boy, in dire misery. got eighty dollars for it. he added with a pitiful clutch of his vanishing self-respect.
 Calebfs eye frightened. gIe looked at Hawarden with a new interest. Eighty dollars?' he repeated. How long'd it take you write it out ?'' About three days, I think" answer ed the boy, puzzled at the question. ssd'm, Not so bad. Hundred an sixty dollars a week with Sunday or; Why don't you stick to that instead of messin' around with the law?' "It was the tenth story I'd sent them" confessed Hawarden hero1calIy And it was the first one they took That's the trouble with literature. It."
 Caleb, you've no real money. No sure prospects. An' you want to marry Dey Shevlin. You want her to share
 your nothin'-a-year. Or" he grated | iralr 70 on her cash?'
 "I think nothing of the sort?' far | ed Hawarden. scarlet with anger. TT
 not stand that sort of talk even rom her guardian. I wouldn't touch a penny of any woman's money if were starving! T."
 That sounds kind of like a book, too," commented Caleb. But you mean ! like you. So, instead of throwin' you | downstairs. I'm goin' to waste a whole minute talkin' to you. You're a nice kid You come here briStlln with book learnin' an idees of honor an you make your little speech to the stony hearted guardian an stand ready to say God bless you, sir, for them kind words!' or You've busted
 two young hearts!' No, you needn't
 squirrn. It's so. But you can rub
 both remarks off the slate. Neither | of 'em'n be needed. You've the good
 sense to fall in love with the dandf-
 est girl that ever happened But | what have you got to offer her? Be-
 sides your valuable self, I mean You're asking for the greatest thing | in all this world. Do you give any
 thing in exchange? Not you. You | want her,-her with her pretty ways, | an clever brain an gorgeous little
 face. An you can't even support her. | You can't even say I've got ten dol
 lars a week of my own- d'n give 1t | all toy'her.' You've no money-no
 prospects. Am you want her to ex- change herself for that. Her that
 could marry a millionaire if she want | ed to-
 "Pm-rm wiling that the engage Ement should be a long one," hesitated | the boy batting futilely against the vulgar truth of Caleb's words. wouldn't ask her to marry me till l
 was able to support her.-to support her wen,''
 An in the meantime" urged Con- over, with merciless logic. Tn the | meantime, she's to have the pleasure | of sittin' by, eatin' her heart out,
 waitin'-waitin'- older ev'ry year,-losin' good chances,-bein' side | tracked at parties an so on, because she's engaged an no longer in the marriage market.-waitin' year after year-maybe till all her prettiness an | her youths gone-just on the chance
 that you'll some day be able to sup port a wife? You don't mean to be crooked. You're only just foolish. But look the thing in the eyes an' tell me: Is it square? Is it an honest
 bargain you offer? Aren't you cheatin' | the one girl in the world you ought
 to do most for?"
 pleaded the boy, 'Pd surely make my way quickly. In a year at the most! I'd work-Id work so hard for her!"
 Caleb leaned to one side and threw
 open the window by his desk With the warm soft air of Spring rushed in the steam of sibilance and clangor of the railway yards.
 Look down there!'' ordered Con- oyer. pointing out. "More'n a hun 0red men in that yard, ain't there?
 Dirty-faced men with stopped should CTS an soiled clothes. Not one Of
 to Romeo. What are they doin' |? Work1n'i Every mothers son of 'em
 workin' harder than you or any or your family ever worked or ever could an stoopid an their shoulders bent
 over? By workin' An who are they
 worl1in' for? For themselves? Not
 them. Each one of ems work1n
 for some woman. An most of lem for a bunch of measly kids as we'll Work
 in all day an ev'ry day, till they drop dead or wear out an go to the poorhouSe. An the women they work for are workin' too Workin' at wash board or scrub-brush to el<e out the men-folks' an brats' 1ivin' Work!
 work, Work! All their lives. But I
 don't see any of 'em gatherin' in front Of the footlights am singin'
 chorus about how happy they are, or how their hard work has made their
 wives rich an lazy. Are you any
 better'n they are? Can you work any harder for Desiree than they are work in for the slatternly, slab-sided, down
 at-heel women at home? Don't you sippose every one of those men once
 planned to make his wife lady an
 to 'cons'crate his toiP to her? Think it over, son; an get a better argu- ment than the silly fact that you're
 willin' to do your dooty by work1n' for Desiree Hell's full of workers
 Tt aH seems so horrible-so gross so materialr' muttered the boy. 'tBut but you're right, sir. I can see it now. Still"