The Dickinson press., 1910-01-22

worse. Now, you get down there and
see If you can't tighten up that clothes
line"
Old Tim let himself down the stairs
into the basement and went out into
the back court and began tightening
the line.
Little Dottie, Mrs. Simonds' daugh.
ter, slipped up on tptoe, her tongue
out, in her efforts to be noiseless. Old
Tim turned that he might not see her.
"Boo" cried Dottie, throwing out
her hands.
Old Tim jumped. "Why-oh; how
you frightened me! My, but ought
to put some chewing gum In your
hair!' Old Tim fumbled in his pocket
In make believe.
D0ttie covered her flaxen curls with
her chubby fingers and retreated.
"Don't you dare! Ill put salt in your
coffee If you do"
They played for half an hour, and
then Old Tim in the gathering dusk
pulled himself up to his little room
and dropped on to his bed. Finally he
reached out his hand and felt of his
tobacco porch. "Of course there isn't
any. 1t won't grow in there Of ITSELF
As the bell downstairs changed he
softly opened his door and guiltily lis
tened. AS he had suspected, it was
the grocer from around the corner.
''You promised to come around to.
day and settle up, Mrs. Simonds,' said
the grocerman sharply. "=
Old Tim closed his door. "And me
costing her money every day." he COM
planned, "every day, and doing nothing
but chores. Yes, and l am liable to
get sick at any time, any day, and eat.
ing every day."
His eyes roved the room and fas-
tened on all the ragged nail holes and
grease spots. USED not to be that
way when I first came-carriages and
dinners at the hotels. But that doesn't
do any good now"
Suddenly, with quick determination,
he arose and placed the ink bottle on
the table before him and dipped the
rusted pen. Slowly and with lowered
head he wrote the note:
Mrs. Simonds-1t costs lot to keep me,
and 1t won't cost much to bury me. It
Isn't the pollywumps, but fate. Give Dot
tie the Indian purse. If you ever hear
from my brother-I think he is out west
give him the ring. You can get it of my
finger. You need not write anything on
the headstone.
Folding the note, he weighted it with
the ink bottle. Then from the bottom
OF his scaled bureau he drew out the
rubber hose and attached it to the gas
jet. Locking the door, he turned to
the window and was drawing it down
when he looked across the court to the
window Of his unknown friend. There
In glare Of light sat the white haired
friend waiting
Old Tim had almost forgotten him
his friend with whom he had never
spoken, but who had so many times
smiled across at him and nodded his
head in appreciation.
Old Tim gathered up his violin, as
he had done every evening, and clamp.
ed it under his chin. AS the soft,
plaintive tones of "Annie Laurie
welled out the old white haired man
arose and turned down his light to a
glow. He always turned his gas to q
glimmer when Old Tim played "Annie
Laurie" 1t was his dream hour, when
he lived again the victories Of youth.
AS Old Tim played the old white
haired man dropped his head against
tho ruindarry aocinn ~
in reverie. When Old Tim finished
the man across the air shaft slowly
nodded.
Hell miss me, anyway, even If the
world doesn't" said Old Tim musing-
ly. "1t's the last, time; it's the last
time. hope they will tell him SO that
he can come. I believe I'll play once
more"
Again the plaintive strains burst out,
and when Old Tim had finished the
old man Of the gray locks looked
across and nodded again. He would
never grow tired.
Old Tim nodded back, gulped and
turned away. He took up his pen and
added postscript:
Will you please give the old white haired
man my violin-if you don't have to sell
It.?
Then he fitted the rubber mask to
his face and fumbled for the gas jet.
A stone clicked against his window.
He paused, and then another pebble
raped the pane. Jerking OF the mask
he threw up the window. He knew
that it was Dottie's signal.
Something for you, Timmie," called
out Understanding nice-I know
it is-a letter in typewritingv'
Old Tim hurried down the stairs,
and in the kitchen, with Dottie at his
side, he tore open the envelope.
tits from McCord & Prewett," he
cried joyfully. 'My old job back as
night watchman-tomorrow. Isn't that
nice?"
Old Tim hurried up to his room,
stumbling and grabbing at the rail,
and turned on his gas to a full daring
blaze. It was the first time In many
months that the fame had been so
wide and joyful.