The Connecticut labor press., 1919-12-06


 IEtona the matters aBent$ settled. St ch-~for- me l~But~~yeu-of course
 you've had poor training for making
 your own, way, but you're only a boy
 afher all, and the stuff of the old stock
 is. in you. It'll come ont and do some Ething! I'll never foi give 4myseff aboaj
 that deed; 1t would have given yot 2something substantiale to start with
 Still, you. have q little tiny bit, and I Sdnfll have a little 3tiny ssalary, toos and of course your Aunt Fanny's here
 and she's, got something you can fall
 back on if you get too pfnehed, until
 can begin to send you a dribble now
 and then"
 Georges little tiny bit' was six
 hundred dollars which had come >to him from the sale of his mothers fur
 nAture;r and the little tiny salary
 was eight dollars a week which old Frank Bronson was to pay him for
 services as a clerk and student-at-
 law. George had accepted haughtily,
 end thereby removed "a burden from
 his uncle's mind. .'' Anderson himself, however. had not even tiny bit; 7" though he got his 1 consular appointment, and to take him l to his post he found it necessary to borrow two hundred of his nephew's six hundred dollars. "It makes me sick, George" he said. 'But I'd bet
 ter get there and get that salary start
 ed. Of course Eugene would do any
 thing in the world, and the fact is he %a<l A1 %~Tx T. kTon the circumstances"
 "Never!" George exclaimed, growing
 red. ,"I can't imagine one of the fam fly" He paused. not finding it necessary to explain that "the fam ily'' shouldn't turn man from the door and then accept ,favors from hin. T wish you'd take more."
 Anderson declined. "One thing I'll say for you, young George: you have n't stfngy bone, in your body. That's the Anderson stock in you-and like it !'
 He added something to this praise of his nephew on the day he left for Washington. He was not to return, but to set forth from the capital on the long journey to his post. George went with him Etoa the station, and their farewell was heightened by the trains being several minutes late.
 'I may not see you again, Georgie," Anderson said, and his voice was little husky as he set a kind hand on the young mans shoulder. "It's quite probable that from this time on we'll only know each other by. letter-until you're notified as my next of kin that there's an old valise to be forwarded to you, and perhaps some dusty curios from the consulate lnantelpiece. We'll, it's an odd way for us to be saying good bye; one wouldn't have thought 1t, even a few years ago, but here we are, two gentlemen of elegant appear ance in a state of bustitude. We can't ever tell what will happen at all, can we? Life and money both behave like loose quicksilver in a nest of cracks. And when they're gone we can't tell Where-or what the devil we did with lem But believe I'll say now-while there isn't much time left for either of us to get embarrassed about it-I believe I'll say that I've always been fond of you. We all spoiled you ter ribly when you were little boy aud let you grow up en prince-and l must say you took to 1t But you've received pretty heavy jolt, and 1 had enough of your disposition, myself, at your age, to understand a little of what cocksure youth has to go through inside when 1t finds that 1t can make terrible mistakes. We'll, with my train coming into the shed, you'll forgive me for saying that there have been times when I thought you ought to be hangedAbut I've always been fond of you, and now I like you And just i for ra last word; there may be some body else in this town who's always i felt about you like that-fond of you, | I mean, no matter how much 1t seem ed you ought to be hanged. You might ! try Hello, I must run. I'll send | back the money as fast as they pay good bye and God bless you, Georgie !"
 He passed through the gates. waved ! his hat cheerily from the other side of the iron screen, and was lost from sight in the hurrying crowd. And us he disappeared, an unexpected poign- ant loneliness fell upon his nephew so heavily and so suddenly that he had no energy to recoil from the shock. IL seemed to him that the last fragment of his familiar world had disappeared, leaving him all alone forever.
 He walked homeward slowly through what appeared to be the strange city, and, as matter of fact, the city was strange to him. He had seen lit tie of it during his years in college, and then had followed the long ah- sence and his tragic return. Since that 1e had been scarcely outdoors at all" as Fanny complained, warning him that his health would suffer- and he had been downtown only in a closed carriage. He had not realized the great change.
 . The streets were thunderous, a vast energy heaved under the universal coating of dinginess. George walked through the begrimed crowds of hur- rying strangers and saw no face that he remembered. Great numbers of faces were even of a kind he did not remember ever to have seen; they were partly like the old type that his boyhood knew, and partly like
 Lo oh Com l