Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1915-05-20

In all his leisure. Ronald was going
away for the weekend to see some
ship owner In Glasgow about his
gear. IL he paid the water rate he
wouldn't have enough for his jour
ney, and for the twelfth time he told
himself that 1t was his great chance.
Maggie pleaded mutely with him,
and pleaded in vain.
"The shop is shut tomorrow" he
said, we've got day off. I'm going
to Glasgow by the midnight train"
A woman fought the rebellion in
her heart. What was a mans ambi-
tion to her-of what the use the for
tune that might come to them some
day when her child lay dying? Lad
die was worse. The doctor who had
been hastily summoned had declared
1t to be pneumonia, and had said he
had been called in too late.
The boy painted on his pillows.
eased only when his mother carried
him, wrapped in blankets, up and
down the room. He was dear bur-
den; but he was two years old,
and Margaret Leslie was worn with
watching and with the incessant toll
os her own household work.
Help me not to hate him." she
murmured; help me not to blame
him for this!"
Ronald's visit to Glasgow had been
as usual, futile effort. The ship
owner had accorded him five min
utes' interview, and had told aim
that his idea was no good He had
come raging against the stupidity of
men with money. The grumble was
an old one. For once Margaret had
met 1t with Indifference. almost with
disdain.
This idea of his that he was gen.
ius with an invention that would rev.
olutionize the world of ships driven
by steam was the curse of their lives.
He came in frorl his work now
and stood at the door of the room,
still in his brown overalls, wearing
his filters cap on his head.
"Better?" he asked. There was
anxiety in his voice.
Worse" she answered. I'VE
can't keep him. My boy must go!"
Her eyes were fearless; there
would be plenty of time to cry later
on. Leslie came over to her and
touched her hand. She flung It off.
Rising, she faced him. holding the
child against her heart.
you don't care," she said What
are we to you, him and me, in COM
parison with that thing downstairs?
It's a devil, that thing; it's turning a
good man into brute. oh, don't
want to say 1t, but it's true! You
have forgotten to love me-your
wife; you have let your child die!"
Laddie stirred in her arms; she
carried him to the bed and laid him
| there, watching the gray shadows
, creep over his face. Sobs rent her.
The child, beloved by them both, had
been sacrificed TO an idea Leslie
stared at her like man in a dream,
and then, as If he had no right there,
he turned and left them, creeping as
noiselessly as he could down the
stairs.
The street in which the Leslies
| lived was badly lighted. No one saw
| Ronald come out of his house stag
| gering under the burden in his arms.
1t was heavy, the thing he carried,
weighted with the load OF a mans
lost years, an idol to which love and
duty had been sacrificed-the false
| god of mans imagined genius
swept from the pedestal at last. Ron
aid Leslie walked slowly to the piece
of waste ground near the brickfields,
where the sound of his hammer
would not be heard.
He looked at 1t lying at his feet.
Where was the fortune 1t should
have brought? Where. even, was
the weekly wage that he had earned
for years now? Buried there-that
useless, silent toy, the model of the
engine that should have revolution
lied the world, representing ten of
the best years Of a mans life.
Lie there" he said "unburied
and forgotten! Let me not think of
the lies you have whispered to me, Of
the false promises that have beck
oned me along a road l had no right
to tread. Only the fool never repents
of his folly!"
He stood a moment in the dark
hess. and light came to him It was
a new, and different Ronald Leslie
who entered the house on his return.
He climbed the stairs again; the
light was still burning in the little
front room, woman still knelt be-
side the bed. 1t was all SO still and
quiet that he hesitated, stricken with
new fear. Had the Angel of Death
touched the door-post even while he
had been away? Entering, he lifted
his wife from the ground. His voice
was tender when he spoke.
Margaret" he said, Meg! My
wife!"
1t was the little tender name OF
their courting days, Maggie's arms
stole round his neck; he felt the
tears on her cheeks as she pressed
her face to his.