The watchman and southron. [volume] (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, 1912-03-02
CHAPTER XIX.

Daylight awoke with the familiar
parched mouth and lips and throat,
took long drink OF water from the
pitcher beside his bed. and gathered
up the train Of thought where he had
left II the night before. He reviewed
the easement Of the financial strain.
Things we're mending at last. While
the going was still rough, the greatest
dangers were already past
His mind moved on to the incident
at the corner of the bar of the Par
thenon. when the young athlete had
turned his hand down. He was no
longer stunned by the event, but he
was shocked and grieved, as only
strong man can be. at this passing of
his strength. He had always looked
upon this strength Of his as perman-
ent. and here. for years. 1t had been
steadily oozing from him. As he had
diagnosed II. he had come In from un-
der the stars TO roost In the coops OF
cities. He had almost forgotten how
to walk. He had lifted up his feet
and been ridden around In automo-
biles, cabs and carriages. and electric
cars. He had not exercised, and he
had dry.rotted his muscles with alco-
hol. And was II worth It? What did
al his money mean after all? Dede
was right. It could buy him no more
than one bed at a time. and at the
same time 1t had made him the abject-
est OF slaves. II tied him fast. Which
was better? he asked himself. All
this was Dede's own thought. 1t was
what she had meant when she prayed
he would 60 broke. He held up his
offending right arm. It wasn't the
same old arm. OF course she could
not love that arm and that body as
she had loved the strcng. clean arm
and body Of years before. He didn't
like that arm and body himself. A
young whippersns had been able
TO take liberties with 1t. It had gone
back on him. He sat up suddenly.
No, he had gone back en- It! He had
gone back on himself He had gone
back on Dede. She was right, q thou
sand times right. and she had sense
enough to know II, sense enough to
refuse to marry money-slave with
whisky-rotted carcass.
lie got out or bed and looked at
himself In the long mirror on the
wardrobe door. He wasn't pretty. The
old-time lean cheeks were gone. These
were heavy. seeming to hang down by
their own weight, He looked for the
lines Of cruelty Dede had spoken of.
and he found them, and he found the
harshness In the eyes as we'll. the
eyes that were p,uddy now after all
the cocktails of the night before, and
OF the months and years before. He
looked at the clearly defined pouches
that showed under his eyes, and they
checked him. He rolled up the sleeve
OF his pajamas. No wonder the ham
mer'thrower had put his hand down
Those weren't muscles. A rising tide
OF fat had submerged them. He
stripped of the pajama coat. Again
he was shocked. this time by the bulk
OF his body. II wasn't pretty. The
lean stomach had become a paunch
The rigid muscles of chest and shout
ders and abdomen had broken down
into rolls OF flesh And this was age
Then there drifted across the field Of
vision OF his minds eye the old man
he had encountered at Glen Ellen.
coming up the hillside through the
fires OF sunset. white-headed and
white bearded. elghty.four, In his hand
the pail Of foaming milk and in his
face all the warm glow and content
OF the passing summer day, That had
been age. eyes stree. eighty.four, and