The Washington herald., 1916-07-16
TWELFTH STORY.
FIRST DAY.

the less So because the only weapons in
volved were brains and money, instead
of cold steel and hot lead. For the most
murderous wars of the present day are
fought not in trenches but at Office desks.
John Clark had begun life as a mill
hand. By sheer cleverness, by tireless
industry, by an almost uncanny power
over his fellowmen, he had fought his
way upward until he was president of
the great mills which he had entered.
quarter century earlier, as a day la
borer.
But he was a manufacturer, not
1nancier. His directors presently formed
a clique TO oust him from power and to
put one OF their own henchmen in his
place.
The clique's chance came when they
lured Clark into a may financial deal
whose nature they misrepresented to him.
AS a result, when the president one day
entered the board room for a confer
ence, he found the directors already
awaiting him. One OF them opened the at
tack by saying curtly:
You have failed to redeem the stock
you pledged for the c. G. & X. loans.
We have taken it up. The control Of the
mills has therefore passed to US. We
deeply regret, Of course"
Il will take your regrets for granted.
gentlemen" interrupted Clark, and 1
will not waste your time by telling you
have tricked me out Of power. You have
the whiphand II you expect me to
cringe under the whip or to whine for
mercy, you don't know John Clark. You
want my resignation as president, of
course. 1t will be in your secretarys
hands within half an hour. Good day
Turning on his heel he strode out Of
the room and back to his own private
office. He had promised to hand in his
resignation within thirty minutes. In
long lifetime of business probity. that
was the one and only promise John Clark
ever broke.
For, as he reached his desk, a sudden
sharp pain in the left side sent him stag
gering into the nearest chair. There he
groped fumbling at his collar and mum
bled a few gaspingiy incoherent words.
Before his secretary and stenograp pher
could hurry across the room to the
stricken man. he slid Imply from the
chair to the floor. and lay there. very
still. in a curiously huddled and inert
mass
The blow that had wrecked his future
had also taken his life. The shock had
been too much for an already feeble
heart action.
Thus did John Clark fight a lifelong
battle. Thus did he lose battle and life
in one stroke. And 1t behooved his only
son to take UP the fight as best he could.
to support his sister and his widowed
mother.
Tom Clark had been reared as a rich
mans son. He was just ending his sem
ior year at Yale when word came OF his
fathers death and OF the total wreck OF
the family fortunes.
He hurried home and, after he had in
stalled his mother and sister in a side
street cottage that seemed pitiably tiny
and sQualid, after their big house on
Maple street, he began at once to seek
some method Of supporting them and
himself.
But there he met the first setback Of
his easy-going young life. Hitherto, the
ways had all been creased for him.
Now he found them sand-papered.
Tom was a crack football man, he was
a more than fair tennis player, he had
been a moderately good student, he also
knew how to order dinner and he could
tell vintage wine from Californian. He
wore his clothes well, and was clean
Of limb and Of life.
All these foregoing traits are excellent
for q rich mans son. But there is no
special market for them in the business
world. Two years in a commercial
school, outvalues them all, and II ranks
higher for immediate wage-earning than
does four-year course at a univers-
ity.
Tom speedily discovered that his
services were in no demand at all
among the merchants and fnanciers
or his little hometown. The best he
could hope for. from any OF them, was
an office-ooy start, at about five dol
lars week. And one cannot support
a mother and sister on such a sum.
Home he came, DISCOURAGED and
srirnly resolute, after a week of fruit
less search for work. To his mother
he poured out the story Of his trou-
oles and Of plan that had been bred
Of his failures.
I've received a race-horse training,
" he began, "and I've got to do plow-
horse work on it. must forget all
the gracefully useless acconpIisb-
ments I've learned at college and
buckle down to something that will
keep US IN bread and board The fact
that horse can do his mile in 2.oa
is not Of any great interest to a farm
er who wants field plowed or a load
of hay drawn. I must forget how to
race and learn how to plow."
But. Tom, dear" said his mother.
your father wanted you to have ali
the luxuries and good times that he
himself missed in his boyhood. That
is why he never taught you to work
or to"
Dad meant it all for the best" an
svered Tom, but. in spite of that, he
was wrong. Here in America where
fortunes are lost in a day, every boy
ought to be taught how to earn a liv-
ing, by the time he is eighteen, wheth-
er he viii ever need to earn it or not.
What would we think of people whose
lives were forever menaced by foods
and yet who neglected to teach their
children how to swim?'
But, dear
What is done is done" continued Tom
I m not blaming dad. He did it for love
OF me, l know. But 1 can't get lob
on the strength of what I've spent ali
these years in studying. So I'm going 10
try the one kind OF thing where my
muscle and my grit will bring me
dividends
Il don't understand"
Ny father went in at twenty as day
laborer at the mills over yonder. When
he was fifty he practically owned the
mills His example Is good enough for