The Lakeland evening telegram., 1914-05-23
moisture that might have been

tear.
That night an idea seized him. He
was of no use in the world; no one
depended on him, no one needed him.
He had lived % years past his al
lotted time; perhaps the good Lord
had forgotten him. There could be
no harm in taking a life that was
nothing but a burden. And so, the
next day, he began his pitifully few
preparations. He sorted out his let
tiers, and, finding none that he cared
to have profaned by alien eyes, he
burned them all He went over his
wardrobe and decided that Mike, the
gardener, should have his winter coat.
When 1t came to his most cherished
possession-the sword-doubts as
sailed him; so few were worthy Of the
honor. Finally. however. he decided to
give 1t to Ellen's husband. After all,
they had been kind to him; 1t was
not their fault that they lived in a fu.
ture In which he could have no share,
and that he lived in a past which
they had never known. So he wrote
little card. ITO my granddaughter
Ellens husband" and tied It to the
scabbard.
His preparations were made now
The sleeping-mixture stood on his
bedroom table-an overdose; and
when Ellen came back from the the
ater that night he would be asleep.
as he should have been long ago.
He put on a clean neckerchief, and.
sitting down in his big chair with the
sword on his knees, listened for the
slamming of the hall door below. The
little wooden clock on the mantel.
with the queer pink roses on the face.
marked eight, five minutes past, ten
minutes past; and still the family had
not gone out. The old man sat and
thought-thought Of the day he was
married; Of long ago Christmases and
rows of little stockings; of children
that had never lived to grow up; and
then, with the sword before him, of
Buena Vista and Monterey.
After time he began to feel hun
cry. He remembered that there had
been cream cakes for dinner, and that
he had refused them. They we're
very nice, those little cream cakes
but then, after all, what did 1t mat
ter? If they would only 60 out
Grandfather Huxley sat looking at
the picture hanging under the unfad-
ed spot on the wall paper which
marked the swords resting place. AZ
ter little the picture faded and
grew misty in outline. The old mans
head dropped on his chest, and he
was asleep. The fire burned to a
dull red, bursting now and again into
a smoking Jet of flame. shining on the
sword across the old mans knees, on
the bottle beside the bed, and the mar
row, dropping chin Of the sleeper.
AiO "ehClCu Will q Stui hO
crust over the smoldering Goals had
fallen in and the room was bright.
From somewhere below was audible
faint, creaking cry, a wall that beat
against the ear insistingly, that
paused for a second, to go on with
fresh vigor.
Grandfather Huxley looked at the
clock. 1t was 10:30, SO Ellen was not
at home. He listened for Nora's step.
Hearing no one, he got up heavily
and went to the head Of the stairs.
The cries kept on, longer now. with
fewer intervals for breath, and with
an occasional hoarse note of infantile
rage.
The old man lost his look of indeci-
sion; he turned back into the room
and fumbled for his slippers. Then,
with an agility that no one in the
house suspected, he went downstairs
to the nursery.
The wicker structure Of the baby's
bed was vibrant with its occupant
rage. From among the dotted Swiss
rulings and blue ribbons Grandfather
Huxley extracted his great-grandchild
and gathered him into his empty old
arms. The baby quieted at once; his
wrinkled old face relaxed, and he set
tied comfortably, seeming to recog-
nize the practised touch Of hands that
had handled, on occasion. three gener-
ations OF babies.
1t was an hour later when Ellen
came home. She tiptoed upstairs
ahead of her husband; then she
paused and, with her finger on her
lips, cautioned him to silence. The
oldest and the youngest member OF
the family sat before the fire In
dreamy, open-eyed content. When. she