Cheyenne record., 1915-02-04
CHAPTER !.
The Tea Table.

S7AF ! En- 10
The Tea Table.
Angelines slender, wiry form and
mall. glossy gray head bent over the
Quat brown teapot as she shook out
he last bit of leaf from the canister.
The canister was no longer hers. mel
ther the teapot, nor even the battered
old pewter spoon with which she
tapped the bottom Of the tin to dis
lodge the last flicker Of tea-leaf dust.
The three had been sold at auction
that day in response to the auction
GERS inquiry, What am l bid for the
LOTT"
Nothing in the familiar old kitchen
was hers, Angeline reflected. except
Abraham. her aged husband. who was
taking his last gentle ride in the old
rocking chair-the old armchair with
painted roses blooming as brilliantly
across its back as they had bloomed
when the chair was first purchased
forty years ago. Those roses had
come to be source Of perpetual won
der to the old wife. an ever-present ex-
ample.
Neither time nor stress could wilt
them a single leaf. When Abe took
the first mortgage on the house In
order to invest in an indefinitely locat-
ed Mexican gold mine. the melodeon
dropped one OF Its keys. but the roses
nodded OH with the same old sunny
hope; when Abe had to take the Sec
ond mortgage and Tenafly Gold be.
came a forbidden topic Of conversa-
ton. the minute hand fell off the par
Of the old chair blossomed on none
the less serenely.
The soil grew more and more bar
rem as the years went by; but still the
roses had kept fresh and young. so
why. argued Angy. should not she? II
old age and the pinch Of poverty had
failed to conquer their valiant spirit.
why should she listen to the croak.
ing tale? II they bloomed on with the
same crimson flaunt OF color. though
the rockers beneath them had grown
warped and the body OF the chair
creaked and groaned every time one
ventured to sit in 1t. why should she
not ignore the stiffness which the
years seemed to bring to her joints.
the complaints which her body threat
ened every now and again to utter.
and fare on herself. hardy perennial
bravely facing life's winter-time?
Even this dreaded day had not TAX
en- one fraction of a shade from the
glory OF the roses. as Angeline could
see In the bud at one side OF Abra-
hams head and the ll-blown flower
below his right ear; SO why should
she droop because the sale Of her
household goods had been somewhat
disappointing? Somewhat? When
the childless old couple, still sailing
under the banner of a charity-forbid-
ding pride. became practically reduced
to their last copper. Just as Abe's
Joints were "loosenin' up" after a five
years siege Of rheumatiSn, and de.
cided to sell all their worldly posses
sions. apart from their patched aud
threadbare wardrobes and a few mea.
ger keepsakes. they had depended
upon raising at least two hundred dol
lars. one-half Of which was to secure
Abe berth in the Old Mems home at
Indian Village. and the other half to
many HhSSiihe SoiHloi tdOle lOE lie. IL
a little lonely. in the Old Ladies' home
in their own native hamlet OF Shore
vile. Both institutions had been gen.
erously endowed by the same estate.
and were separated by a distance of
but five miles.
Might as waal be five hunderd, with
my rheumatic an yer weak heart"
Abraham had growled when Angy first
proposed the plan as the only digni-
fed solution to their problem of living
But" the little wife had rejoined,
"itll be a mite O. comfort a-knowin' a
body's so near. even eff yer cant git
tew EN-"
Now, another solution must be found
TO the problem; for the auction was
over, and instead of two hundred dol.
lars they had succeeded in raising but
one hundred dollars and two cents.
That air tew cents was fer the
hour-sifter," inwardly mourned Angy,
an it's wuth double an trbble, fer
it's been good friend ter me fer nigh
on ter eight year"
"Tew cents on the second hunderd,"
said Abe for the tenth time. I've
counted 1t over an over. One hun.
derd dollars an, tew pesky pennies
An I never hear a man tell SO many
lies In my life as that air auctioneer.