Grand Forks herald. [volume] (Grand Forks, N.D.) 1916-1955, 1918-10-02

that endless conversation of theirs in
which they never said half enough, !
and parted with new thoughts burning
for utterance from their lips. When
she came for the fourth time she
made a reference to, the sort Of work
he did.
But don't you ever expect to get +.
beyond junk, Mr.. La Farge?" I!
II don't really know" said he. you :
see, while I am beginning to agree
with you about this life-work idea, it
seems to me that junk is. after all,
what most Of them are in the last
analysis" |
What a pessimist!!" she protested.
I'm sure it only seems that way, and
come to the scrap-heap in the end, it
has first served some sort of purpose !
served life, in some way. And then,
what happens to the junk? Evidently
it is used for something. What?"
IT don't know" said Adam slowly.
II don't know what it's used for. my
self. That completes the allegory,
doesn't it?"
Yes" she admitted. But I refuse
to be pessimistic about it. And I am
sure you are too intelligent a person
to Il on at such all occupation for
ever. Handling the INT of things-is
no work for a young person. Ugh!
| Y wv A1A0S4A Inv WOl Ill III d CCk1lOs
terry"
There Is something inl<that," he
had to admit. "Still, ever in a ceme-
terry, they make things. grow-howers
and stuff, YOU know. And I've got a
few started here, as you see"
Il know. | always notice them"
she replied with her rare smile. But
wish it was all growing things!"
He thought Of this, long after h
had gone, and again when, that after
noon, he was setting out q few sprout-
ed bulbs he had bought from a florist
down the street. Suppose the whole
place were in bloom! What a sight it
which grew nothing but steel and
stone, RELOCATING trees out of existence
in it's disorderly scramble for order!
Suppose the w~reckage, his stock-in-
trade, were all gone, and, in its stead,
ranks of flowers, stiff soldierly ranks;
fes, like ballet-dancers;. and sweet
scented borders? 1t was a pleasing
picture, and he sketched a plan of it
upon the ground. walking about, spade
in hand, n tracing rough patterns
between the chips of civilization scat
tered over the soil.
One could put .hollyhocks against
the north WALL" he thought, But no.
They should be set anywhere, for the,
first year Of growth, and when they
come to the age Of poisoning I could
transplant them. Pansies do we'll in
pots. 1t is too late for them for this
year If I plant seed. But they might
bloom late, in pots, and I could take
them indoors when it grew COLDER"
And so, for q fatuous hour, till a
knock and a. .shrill whistle at the gate
aroused him. Wondering what the
whistle could mean, he opened. to find
the postman, that untndividual cog in
the little-appreciated machinery of
the city. Like all other postment, he
was just a grey automaton, which
~pirouetted abodt blowing a whistle
and thrusting letters at you-as much
taken for granted as a lamp-post, and
as little noticed, for all his enormous
significance. AS though tp further OBJ
scure his individuality, this postman
wore a medium-sized, brownish mus
tache. The ruse was successful, for it
swamped him utterly. More than ever,
he was The Postman, that generic
term for the flock. which, lack OF time
for any affairs but our own compels
us to regard as q unit. True to his
a pale pink envelope with a blue bor-
der, and asked the only type of Ques-
ton his. kind is permitted.
Anybody by this name here?" ask
ed the postman.
Adam took the gaudy missive, and
examined it carefully. 1t was evident
that the postman was determined to
remain true to type, even in his CON
~versation,. such as 1t was; for. despite
his question, the envelope bore no
name whatever. It vas addressed sim
ply to 'Phe gentleman at the junk
yard, West One Hundred and such a
street, between Broadway and the riv-
Of the post-pffice could have un-,
tangled such d direction. and sent the
letter straight. The detective bureau
would probably have been driven des-
perate by it; but, The Postman, that
omnipotent unit, had brought it safe
~. And in spite Of its peculiar form
of address, Adam knew 1t was intend
ed for him; the writing upan it was
the same which had been upon the
bit of paper Jerry had used for his
first communication. So Adam thank
ed the postman, took a second letter,
addressed to La Fargo, and, closing
the gate, retired to the porch step to
velope. The post-mark was that Of a
small city up the Hudson, and bore
the date of the preceding day. Adam
opened 1t and read
Dear Friend: I take my pen, or
rather. that is to say, tho post-office
pen, IN my hand to let you know that
all is fine with me. The pianner-organ.
Is In good tune. having been out in the
rain which we had last night not hurt
ling q owing to the A-No. 1 first class
quality OF varnish. I v felt 50
good tn years since the time me and
my wife was peddling tinware down
south which I am used to out Of doors
rheumatism which is more my are
than weather. ! will likely 20 down
South for a vile, trying to forget nv
troubles. Hoping you will do the same.