New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1916-01-22
WORD FROM FRONT
CRUMPLES FATHER
"A Message. Sir Says Waiter.
and Breath of Death
ChiIlS Restaurant.
BY GORDON BRUCE.

London. Jan. I2-It was very quiet
in the little restaurant off Piccadilly
Circus. The early diners had gone.
Supper time was two hours of. Only
four-all strangers to one another
were I'm the place.
A very pretty woman. Of perhaps
twentv-six. sat nibbling bit Of cheese
and slipping coffee. Her table was
next nine. = few yards away rudy
faced young Englishman ate his chop
with great relish and coplous appn-
cations Of meat sauce. he WASH
wearing an armlet.
Just beyond him a well built man
who looked 20 be past forty. toyed WIN
half finished whiskey and soda. lie
only picked at his meal, and spent most
Of the time gazing abstractedly INTO
the fickering fire in the CRATE close by.
The shifting light showed a fine, strong
face; nose rather thin; solemn, brown
ewes. and his hair, OF the same color,
was thick and wavy. He appeared as
one whose poise could not be shaken.
Into the silence of the place came
small waiter, stepping nolselessly. Oh d
salver he carried an envelope. Here 5
a message for you. Mr.. ne sa'1
20 the man have Just described
The knew you would be here.
The man started a little and stared
q. the envelope before picking 10 up.
Tben he hastily ripped IL open. HIS
ewes rested on the paper WITHIN ana
~ face went dull. Slowly his left
hand. in which he held the sheet,
dronped 10 the table. His right hand
was clasped about the glass containing
his drink.
He continued gazing at the message
as il lay before him. It seemed as II
the words were too preposterous for
credence. Nervously he looked away
and then back again TO the slip.
Suddenly he crushed his glass to
hits The LIQUOR ran over the table,
filtering through tiny pile of frsg-
rnents Of glass, and at the same time
a bright red stream gushed upon the
white cloth.
For a moment he stared stupidity at
the wreckage Of the tumbler al the req
stain: al the telegram. Ihen ne stoou
UP and looked wildly about. HIS race
worked frightfully and in his eyes was
q terrible appeal which nope naS
never see again. He drew his hand
across his forehead, not needing the
blood which flowed from his hand;
neu ne Udut pAA4otiN
himself together.
There he stood, alone, struggling
with himself for what seemed an hour
The rest Of US sat, breathless, walt
ing Not a word had been said. But
il WAS no use.
Staggering like a drunken man. he
made his way toward the door. But
tho Young woman caught his elbow:
"Wbat is it?" she begged. Cant !
bandage your hand?"
Mechanically he sank into char.
. "He's dead" The two words came IN
q broken voice. Another attempt 70
compose himself. This time IT came
nearer TO success. my boy" he ex-
plained. "My son; no-he wasn't my
son. He was my chum."
And he repeated the words over ana
over again, "My chum-my chum.
Again the wildness came upon him.
He tore away the hand about which
the girl was wrapping bit OF napkin.
Look at IT," he almost screamed;
Iook at il. Il says he's dead. And
he was my chum. my lad; my only
IKE ruddy-faced young man. tiptoed
ON, turning away his head as ne
na.sed the stricken father. The latter
~ him 20. and in a fash he became
steadv In an even voice he said, Good
God This won't do. must buck up
He smiled as he extended the
gashed fingers TO the girl. she Weh'
en deftiy Tying the ends of the cloth
and murmurng words Of comfort the
Thank you" he said as he turned
to go, the message crumPied IN MS ms
whole hand. at got me bit hard for
minute. I'm sorry gave way.
But." and he drew himself up stliiiyii
81 am forty-six tonight. Tomorrow
shall be thirty-six thirty-siN do you
hear" And he went out into the