Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-12-31
Continued from page z

Continued from page
printed. He went out of the room without
answering and left the discarded paper in a
crumPled mass on the floor. Leighton re-
covered it, smoothed it out carefully, put it
in his coat pocket, seated himself at one of
the small tables, and with his jaw tightly set
pulled sheet of club paper from pigeon
hole, and wrote:
DEAR BOB.-You haven't been much good of
late; you are absolutely no good to anybody,
least of all to yourself. just now. Something
has been eating into your usual good nature
until it is like a slice of Swiss cheese-full of
holes haven't any use for that kind of men;
not even for you, with your ability. You're
fired!
If you want reinstatement. bring me the
truth of the story l asked for. about the old
man. The mystery of his life and death won't
be solved tomorrow. or next day. or the day
after. 1t may not be solved at all. You try
tiff you want to get back. l smell a mighty
good story there. Have you been hitting it up
Bob? 1 think not; but you are rotten with dis
content. Something is eating your heart out.
and it is spelling rafting good fellow-and a
better newspaper man. Maybe some of that
old chaps medicine will do you good. It's up
to you. old man. Bring the secret of the
Magic Word the Magic Word itself. and get
back your job. LEIGHTON.
pORTER played billiards till after mid
L night. When he left the club at one
o'clock in the morning the clerk gave him
Leighton's note. He read it and crushed it
III his hand as he had done with the news
paper, and tossed it into waste basket. He
passed outside and stood at the curb, unde-
cided which way to turn. 1t had been his
day off, and he hated those days, productive
only of greater discomfort, of added mental
10 n,
satisfied with his domestic environment: his
wife nagged him. 1t did not occur to him
that her nagging was reflection of his own
attitude.
Anyhow, he didn't care to 60 home just
yet, to carry the news that Leighton had fired
him. He smiled grimly at the thought of it.
He could get another job on the morrow, for
the asking. Any of the many newspapers in
town would be glad to take him on. He had
thought seriously of chucking "The Clarion"
anyway. He was tired of it. Every body
had nagged at him lately; and now-Leigh-
ton! And concerning that old fool that Car
rington had prattled about!
Not for one moment did he seriously con-
slider Leighton's proposition. The magic
word indeed. There was only one magic
thing that could bring about the absence of
mental and spiritual ills, of unattainable
desire and all forms of dissatisfaction
bank account, fat, generous, and indestruct-
ible. Yet Darlington had that. Darlington
had everything. And Darlington had con-
fessed to form of invalidism, poverty, and
unhappiness!
Porter started down the avenue. He had
noted the name of the park where children
played. and the number of the house where
the old man had lived and died, before he
crushed the paper in his hand and threw it
aside He did not seek the park or the
house, nor had he a conscious thought of
doing so; but he went there. He stopped
opposite the house, with his back against the
iron fence of the park, and looked at the
lighted windows of the third floor. They
were French windows, and two of them
stood open to admit the cool night air. The
figure of a man came to one of them, bent