Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1915-03-05
ESTABLISHED 1855.
CHAPTER TX.

was sitting alone before the logs. She
laid down the slate and spelling DOOR,
over which her forehead had been
strenuously puckered and gazed some
what mournfully into the blaze. SaIly
had a secret. 1t was secret wnlch
she based on a faint hope. If Samson
should come back to Misery he would
come back full Of new notions. NO
man had ever yet returned from that
outside world usaltered. No man ever
would. A terrible premonition SAID
he would not come at all, but, II ne
did-if he did-she must know how 10
read and write. Maybe, when she mad
learned a little more, she might even
go to school for a term or two.
The cramped and distorted chirog-
raphy on the slate was discouragins.
1t was all proving very hard work.
The girl gazed for time at something
she saw In the embers, and then
faint smile came to her lips. BY next
Christmas she would surprise Samson
with a letter. 1t should be well writ
ten, and every "hain't" should be an
isn't"
The normal human mind is reser-
voir which fills at rate Of speed reg
ulated by the number and caliber OF
its feed pipes. Samson's mind had
long been almost empty, and now from
so many sources the waters Of new
things were rushing in upon 1t that
under their pressure it must fill fast,
or give away.
He was saved from hopeless COM
plications Of thought by a sanity
which was willing to assimilate with
out too much effort to analyze. The
boy from Misery was presently less
bizarre to the eye than many Of the
unkempt bohemians he met in the life
of the studios, men who quarreled
garrulously over the end and aim OF
Art, which they spelled with capital
A-and, for the most part, knew moth
ing Of. He retained, except within
small circle of intimates, silence
that passed for taciturnity. and a
solemnity Of visage that was often
construed into surly egotism.
He still wore his hair long, and
though his conversation gradually
sloughed off much Of its idiom and
vulgarism, enough Of the mountaineer
stood out to lend to his personality a
SAVIOR of the crudely picturesque.
Meanwhile he drew and read and
studied and walked, and every days
advancement was a forced march.
Lescott, tremendously interested in his
experiment, began to fear that the
boys too great comberness Of dispo-
sition would defeat the very earnest
ness from which 1t sprang. So one
morning the landscape-maker called
on a friend whom he rightly believed
to be the wisest man, and the great
est humorist in New York.
II want your help" said Lescott.
Il want you to meet a friend Of mine
and take him under your wing in
fashion. He needs you"
The stout mans face clouded. A
few years ago he had been peddling
his manuscripts with the heart-sick-
ness of the unsuccessful middle age.
Today men coupled his name with
those of Kipling and De Maupassant-
One of his antipathies was meeting
people who sought to lionize him.
Lescott read the expression, and, be-
l.; ~ n 70 rf
into his recital.
At the end he summarized:
THE artist Is much like the setter
pup. If it's in him, it's as instructive
cient he must go a-field with steady
veteran Of his own breed"
II know" The great man, who was
also the simple man, smiled reminis-
Gently "They tried to teach me to
herd sheep when my nose was itching
for bird country. Bring on your man;
want to know him."
Samson was told nothing of the be-
nevolent conspiracy, but one evening
shortly later he found himself sitting
stout man. almost as silent as himself.
The stout man responded with some
thing like churlish taciturnity to the
half dozen men and women who came
over with batteries. But later, when
the trio was left alone, his face bright
ened, and he turned to boy from Mis-
cry.
Does Billy Conrad still keep store
at Stagbone?"
Samson started and his gaze fell in
amazement. At the mention of the
name he saw a crossroads store with
rough mules hitched to fence pailings.
1t was a picture of home, and here was
man who had been there! With
sciously back into the vernacular Of
the hills.
"Hev we been thar, stranger"
The writer nodded. and slipped his
whisky.
Not for some years, though" he
confessed. as he drifted into reminis-
cence. which to Samson was like wa
ter to a parched throat.
When they left the cafe the boy
felt as though he were taking leave
of an old and tried friend. By homely
methods, this unerring diagnostician
of the human soul had been reading
him, liking him, and making him feel
a heart warming sympathy.
1t was not until much later that
Samson realized how these two really
great men had adopted him as their
little brother" that he might have
their shoulder-touch to march by. And
it was without his realization, too,
that they laid upon him the imprint
of their own characters and philoso-
ply.
II have come, not to quarrel with
you, but to try to dissuade you" The
Hon. Mr. Wickliffe bit savagely at his
cigar and gave a despairing spread to