The Wagner leader. (Wagner, Charles Mix County, S.D.) 1912-1912, 1912-02-16
LITTLE STORIES OF LIFE
THE LAST MANS CLUB-BY ROBERT M. CLUTCH.
COPYRIGHT BY SHORT STORY PUB. CO.

as he called his old comrades by name.
More than once he made reference to
some joke that had been buried and
forgotten in the dim past.
The glass was emptfed and filled
again and again. The names were
called out. incidents were delved into
from the forgotten past as the old man
conversed with the imaginary pictures
OF the men whose memory he was keep
ing alive.
He stopped and strained his eyes
"Why-why, there's Joe. Poor old Joe.
See, Joe, I'm toastin' your mem'ry.
Your mem'ry, Joe. I'm the
AND there's Dicki Dick who was
killed at Gettysburg. Killed with his
hands on the colors. But I'd know you
didn't have your uniform on. Here's
to you, Dick; here's to
He stopped and began to sing a song
in a low, cracked voice. 1t was q
strange old song. one musty with the
flavor of olden days, with queer rhym-
ings and funny sayings. The old mans
voice rose higher, his eyes sparkled
brighter, his cheeks grew more flushed.
Suddenly his voice became husky, rose
to a screech. broke to a whisper and
stopped.
The bottle was more han half
emptied now. but still the old man
kept at his solemn task. Now they
WSIc WcH tOdStcu. ~Cl6lt I'LL
had he raised the glass in the air, SO
times had he slipped of the old wine to
their memory, SO times had he called
their names one by one. Thirty EIGHT
CLEANS of joy, SO pangs OF sorrow and
1t was all over. The Last Mans club
was no more.
A sense of sadness crept over him.
He sat down in his chair wearily, and
uttered q long drawn sigh as his head
dropped slowly on his bosom. Then
the room grew dim and he closed his
eyes.
A wild chorus, a confusion of famil-
lar sounds, and a few bars OF an old
blinked in the light, and looked around
him. The song fell upon his ears like
the melody Of an old poem. 1t awak-
ened a whole flood of emotion in the
Did mans soul that held him spell
bound. He listened again. The sound
came swelling from all sides, flooding
his mind with "reminiscences which al
most made him weep. 1t was their
drinking song, sung with a full chorus
before death had begun to step in
nearly so years ago.
He looked down the table and gave
a sudden start. He looked again. Was
he dreaming? He rubbed his eyes to
make sure.
Before him, seated around the board.
were the SO men whose memory he
had just toasted.
They were all sfnging-singing the
same old ong in the way he could new
err forget. 1t was like the voice of yes
terday reaching forth into the present
He cleared his throat. too a long
breath, and Joined wildly in with the
chorus. He SANG the sons through and
stopped exhausted. He fought for his
breath, gulped down a draught Of wine
and rested. Then he glanced down the
line of men seated around the board.
looked at his own place. and stared.
1t was vacant! His chair was empty.
1t was the only unoccupied one around
the board. He could not understand.
He looked again. They were toasting
him-the last a
Weakly, he staggered over to The
table. With palsied hand he filled his
glass as they did theirs, held it high
il the air. and drank. The sides of the
room slowly heaved before his eyes;
the table became an indistinct streak
OF white; the SO guests blurred into two
gray lines; then everything turned
black. His glass fell from his hand
and crashed against the chair. He
reeled and swayed for q moment, ex-
tended boil hands pleadingly towards
the table, smiled. then fell heavily to
the floor.
They found him there the next morn
ing. The roll Of the Last Mans club
was complete. He a gone to join
them.