Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1918-03-13
Someone and Somebody
-By Porter Emerson
y

there is anything else. sir. Our
hero says he can't think of any
thing. And Wilkins, sir, goes out
backward.
By and by our hero gets a pencil
and piece of paper. He figures out
that his income of two million dol
lars a year means a million every
six months, or a half million every
three months, or two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars every month
and a half, or one hundred and
twenty-five thousand, dollars every
three weeks, or about forty-one
thousand dollars a week, which is
about six thousand dollars a day,
or about two hundred and fifty dol
lars an hour, or forty dollars a
minute, or sixty-siX and twO-thirds
cents a second.
That day finds our hero very
busy. He buys himself new suit
of clothes, and new hat, and a new
overcOat, and some new cuff but
tons, and some new underclothes,
and a dozen pairs of socks, and
four collar buttons. That night he
has a dinner of nice steak, and
French fried potatoes and apple
pie and icecream. And after din
ner he goes to the theatre.
So he starts out to be spend
thrift.
Our little row of dots leaves US
free for moment to return to our
heroine whom already we have left
too long.
We left her by the window, bruis-
ed of heart, scorched of soul, think
ing of the men that so ruthlessly
have robbed and slain her father,
robbed him in fact if not in means
even as Captain Kidd robbed; slain
him as Captain Kidd slew. Is the
wooden plank on which men walk
unto their death in the sea that is
of fater more merciful than the
financial plank on which men walk
to their death in the sea that is of
ruin
Bruised of heart, she is; scorch-
ed of soul. Wide-eyed, she sits,
looking out into the night.
Not even the moon can she call
friend. Geld and cruel it stands,
marshaling about it the stars. the
myriad lance-points of the Mighty
Army Of the Night =. Her eyes
close. Her lips part YEARLY.
Her back against the unyielding
granite wall of the World, she
bares her soft breast If only
those hard, those flashing points
would run her through
Why? Dear Cod Why?
Our heroine is hungry, too. Not
for her the nice steak with the
French fried potatoes, the apple
pie and the icecream. Our
heroine is poor now-very poor
She has no money. She has
no friends. No one, of all the
world, cares if she lives or If she
dies. . . In truth she cares but
little herself. Though she
would a little rather die.
And now it is that even we may
not help her no, not even a
little.
Not even can we give her one lit
tie tear to cool the white-hot suf-
fering of her deep soft eyes.
Truths calls. SO must we leave
her, broken of heart, scorched of
soul. breast barred against the
myriad cruel lance-points Of the
Mightq Army OF the Night. wishing
TO God only that those flashing
points might run her soft flesh
through. -.
We are now back with our hero.
1t is a week later than when we
left him. He possesses now three
new morning suits, q dress suit.
a dinner coat, new watch and /
chain. pearl stickpin. four pairs
of shoes. and is thinking of buying
a pair of gloves and a stick.
Also he had had demonstrated TO !
him seventeen kinds OF automo-
biles. And Is seriously consider /
ing purchase.
AS yet he has had no more cock