Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1912-11-20

III man could only go back ten
years and take a new start. Asst"
balling his fist at the reflection in the
mirror. "Snivel and whine over the
bed of your own making. You had
your opportunity, but you listened to
the popping of champagne-corks the
mutter of cards, the inane drivel of
chorus-ladies. You had decent col
lege record, too. Bah! What guile
less fool you were! You ran on, didn't
you, till you found your neck in the
loop at the end of the rope? And
perhaps that soft-footed, estimable
brother of yours didn't yank it taut as
a hangman's? You heard the codicil;
into one ear and out the other. Even
then you had your chance; patience
for two short years, and million. No,
thousand times no. You knew what
you were about, empty-headed fool!
And today, two pennies for a dead
mans eyes,
He dropped his fist dejectedly.
Where had the first step begun? And
where would be the last? In some
drab corner, possibly; drink, NOR
phine, or starvation; he'd never have
the courage to finish it with a bullet.
He was terribly bitter. Everything
worth while seemed to have slipped
through his fingers, his pleasure-lov-
ing fingers.
"Come, come, Horace; buck up.
Still the ruby kindles in the vine. No
turning back now. Well go on till we
come bang! against the wall. There
| may be some good bouts between here
and there. wonder what Gioconda
would say if she knew why l was so
eager for this gamer"
He went down to dinner, and they
gave him table in an obscure corner,
as a subtle reminder that his style was
passe. He didn't care; he was hungry
and thirsty. He could see nearly every
one, even if only a few could see him.
This was somewhat to his vantage. He
endeavored to pick out Percival Alger-
non; but there were too many high
collars, too many monocles. So he
contented himself with a mild philo-
! sOphical observance of the scene. The
| mUrmur Of voices, rising as the wall
of the violins sank, sinking as the
wall rose; the tinkle of glass and
china, the silver and linen, the pretty
women in their rustling gowns, the
delicate perfumes, the flash of an
arm, the CLINT of a polished shoulder;
this was the essence of life he coveted.
He smiled at the thought and the sure
| knowledge that he was not the only
wolf in the fold. Ay, and who among
these dainty Red Riding Hoods might
be fooled by a vulpine grandmother?
Truth, when a fellow WinnoWed it all
down to a handful, there were only
fools and rogues. If one was fool,
the rogue got you, and he in turn de-
voured himself
He held his glass toward the table
lamp, moved it slowly to and fro I'M
! der his nose, epicureanly; then he
slipped the wine. Something like! 1t
ran across his tongue and down his
throat in tingling fire, nectarious; and
he went half way to Olympus, to the
feet Of the gods. For weeks he had
! lived in the vilest haunts, in desperate
straits, his life in his open hands; and
now once mora he had craWled from
| the depths to the outer crust of the
world. 1t did net matter that he was
destined to so down into the depths
| again; so long as the spark burned
! he was going to crawl back each time.
| Damnable luck! He could have lived
! like a prince. Twenty-four hundred,
! and all in two nights, steady stream
! OF gold into the pockets of men whom
j he could have cheated with consum-
mate ease, and didn't. A fine wolf,
/ whose predatory instincts were still
riveted to that obsolete thing called
! conscience!
conscience? Rot! Let US for
once be frank and write it down as
caution, as fear Of publicity, anything
but the white guardian-angel of the
Immortality Of the SOUL Heap up the
gold, Apollyon; heap it up, higher and
higher, till not a squeak of that still
small voice that once awoke the chan
IN the Old Testament can ever again
be heard. Now, no more retrospection,
Horace; no more analysis; the vital
question SINNERS down to this: If
Percival Algernon balks, how far will
four sovereigns go?"