The Parker post., 1913-01-25
BATTLE OF PEACHES
Note in Jar of Preserves Brings
Lover of Old Back to
Sweetheart.
BY n. M. EGBERT.

copyright, 1912, by w. G. Chapman)
People said that old Rogers was a
miser, but that statement was incOr-
rect. Rogers had been a miser. He
had scraped and boarded during thirty
years of labor, SO that now, though
he was barely fifty years of age, he
looked older. But Rogers had retired
three months before, thanks to some
wisely made investments, and now.
with fifteen thousand dollars at his
disposal, he was still living on in his
little two-room fiat on the East Side
Of New York, and trying to stretch
his cramped imagination and plan his
life anew
Bitterly he regretted that he was
an old bachelor without friend or
wife, sweetheart or child. His few
acQuaintances were men whom he had
known casually in business, and the
district tradesmen and sundry old
fellows whom he met twice a week
at his chess club over the delicates-
sen store on Thirteenth street. But
Rogers had lived his life exactly as
he had planned it, and that is an in
credible misfortune which deserves
the utmost sympathy.
When Rogers was twenty, young
man newly arrived in the city from
the little up-country village, where he
had been born, he had made his reso-
luton.
Il shall save every penny l can
put by" he said to himself. II shall
save for seven years. And then l
shall go home and marry some sweet
girl"
But the seven years crept by and
found Rogers with the fixed habit of
his own creation, which he could not
shake off. And long before the seven
years were ended Rogers had made a
second resolution.
Il shall work seven years longer"
he said. Then l shall go home to
Egan. l shall be thirty-four then.
That will not be too old to marry
Until l am rich l will not tie any
woman down to the hardships of mar
ried life on a tiny salary"
The second seven years heightened
into fifteen, twenty, then thirty. And
long before they were ended Rogers
had forgotten his dream.
But of late, with his fifteen thou
sand dollars safely stored away in the
bank, the dreams had revived. And
then something happened-a little, in
significant thing-which brought color
and new interest into his life.
Rogers had gone to the delicatessen
store of his acquaintance, Holzapfel,
to buy something for supper He
cooked his own supper upon a tiny
stove in his apartment.
81 think" he said, after he had
made his purchases, that I'll take
some preserved fruit"
why, Rogers, you're becoming a
spendthrift, a regular spendthrift, -
said Holzapfel jestingly.
Rogers patronized the old German
from long habit Holzapfel had fal
len as sadly behind the times as he
His trade had dwindled and dwindled
his stock was incredibly old. Holzap-
fel nodded for hours in his store while
not a single customer entered the
dtngy little place.
We'll, I've got some preserved
peaches" said the old fellow. But
they wasn't put up yesterday, Rogers.
can't say how fresh they was I'll
let you have them for dime. They're
homegrown, and they're worth twen-
ty-five-if they was fresh"
Rogers took the peaches and walked
out of the store The utensil was one
of those glass jars with ring round
the stopper, such as are used by
countrywomen in preserving They
are not seen so much in large cities
in these days of canning factories.
The peaches were bad But that
fact had nothing to do with the case.
For inside the jar was a little folded
square of oiled paper. And in this,
perfectly good, was folded piece of
paper, on which was written:
Lucy Morrell, Egan, NJ Y''
That compensated old Rogers for
the loss Of the peaches. 1t was one
of those little harmless pranks played
by country girls who put their names
into bottles of fruit preserved by them
and destined to go long distances and
fall into strangers hands. Often they
had led to correspondence and some
times to romance.
Old Rogers racked his brains. He
could not remember anyone in Egan
named Morrell. But then he had not
known everyone even in Egan.
But that evening the loneliness of
his fiat, the squalor of his surround
ings, to which he had been oblivious
before oppressed nis spirit; and the
very word Egan, written out on the
paper, made him homesick for the lit
tie town In the end he sat down and
wrote:
Lucy Morrell: I found your note