Staunton spectator and vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1896-1916, 1911-04-28

Some tell how as lad John Stokes
had a frank smile and pleasing
way. In those days fortune promis-
ed to shed much brightness over his
path, but suddenly without warning
her light flickered like lamp in the
night and went out.
OF course he failed in his business.
That was the proper move for fate
to make next, and because his part
ner, who had lost all in speculation
shot himself upon the morning OF
discovery-it did not put Stokes on
his feet again.
So as the years passed John Stokes
laid aside his youthful ambition like
an out-grown coat and opened a
small periodical shop in a suburban
town.
Times, one cent. No, sir, we
don't keep that brand of cigar. Your
papers will be here this afternoon.
Mr.. Bill"
Sometimes you would wonder iii
you could have heard the sharp. me-
tallic click of Stokes tones) whether
they we're uttered by the God-given
voice of man. The information was
ever the same and the words came
with the even precision OF clock
work.
Every night at six Stokes emptied
the contents of the cash drawer into
q tin box which he hid underneath a
pile of newspapers, then extinguish-
ing the light he locked his shop door
and turned homeward.
Home to him consisted of back
room two flights up in Mrs. Grub
bins lodging house, which said room
boosted a stove, bed, two chairs and
and old-fashioned table as ugly as
sin itself.
Stokes would then with stold sill
ence fry his scraps of bacon, MUNICH
q bakers roll and after doing up"
the solitary dish. sit by the window
and commune with his pipe until bed
time. Over his fiint-like features
there would pass NO shadow Of ex-
preston, but when the seance was
q long one, as on hot summer even
ings, he would occasionally for var
isty remove his pipe to utter an I'M
emotional "hump!"
Mrs. Grubbins accused her back
room ledger of being queer" and
confded to the charming Widow
Pinkcheeks (who with her little flock,
occupied the two front chambers)
that there was something missing in
his make-up-just what, she couldn't
say.
John Stokes trusted no man
from his word to his penny.
One day when Stokes was well
along in years, for the first time in
his remembrance. he lay In bed from
dawn until dusk, saw the sun when
1t first peeped into the little room and
watched its setting rays crimson the
dingy back windows of a neighbor-
ing house.
Mrs. Grubbins was too busy to
make a personal call upon the invalid,
but twice sent her daughter with a
bowl of ill-smelling Cruel.
Toward night as Stokes lay look
ing out toward the darkening sky, he
seemed to be thinking intently and
did not hear the door open. Sud-
denly a child stood before him. It
was the Widow Pinkcheeks' youngest
daughter and she carried in her dim
pied hands third bowl of Cruel.
Very carefully she deposited the
precious burden beside the bed, then
paused and clasped her hands be-
hind her.
"Well," he said, and one could al
most fancy the word clicked like
something metallic. "Well?"
Hazel Pinkcheeks stepped nearer,
unabashed by her reception.
II had a birthday today. rs free
years old"
"Hump!" was Mr.. Stokes COM
ment.
eyes," continued Miss Pinkcheeks.
unclasping her hands and twisting
curl around one plump finger. "An'
/ has free dollies an pin wiz bite
stones"
Mr.. Stokes returned her gaze W.T.
cold Indifference.
isn't you lonesome?" was Hazel 8
next remark. Receiving no answer,
she continued, "Muzzer says you's
awful old-mos' old huff to die"
The hand on the blanket twitched.
Eyes, Muzzer says you's old, an you's
poor, too, isn't you? When l die"
babbled on the little voice, ''I's do
ing to tate Sally Ann-that's my new
dolly-'long too"
Suddenly Miss Pinkcheeks seemed
to be inspired for she clapped her
hands and tripped toward the door
calling in shrill treble:
IFS cumming wife back, old man,
wife back
Presently there sounded the patter
of little feet and the brown-eyed
baby entered. Straight up to the bed
she went with determined step.
pun Ol0 A1dA, UOI yOu
sumpf1ng to teep you lump ny"
Into Stokes arms tumbled something
soft and black.
cts my Dinah! be dood to her
won't you, man? The little hand
sought Stokes fingers, pressing some
thing into them systematically as
though the sacrifice was an effort.
AN here's a penny. l saved it all
myself"
The soft footballs died in the dis
lance. but no sound broke the sill
Touch of White In
Collar of Jacket
Many tailor jackets have a little
finish of white inside the collar for
the double purpose of breaking the