The evening Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1918-1920, 1919-04-05


An abominably-written book you
say. The hero killed in the middle
and the heroine left to wander her
dreary way on to the last chapter
alone. And even toward the end,
when the man who might have mar
ricd her and completed the convcn-
tional romance comes back, there too
comes another piece of poor plot con-
struction-there is no proposal worth
the name, no reunion and diving hap
PLY ever after, no ending to the tan
gled ends of the skein of the char
acters' lives as VIC expect them to end
in books.
Well, perhaps so! Perhaps indeed
we have had enough of the sad things
of life. Let us regale ourselves in
the last few chapters remaining to US
with some situations that are tuned
In a different key. For with the
passing of Herb Truman around the
bend in the road by the sumachs,
something else happens. A leaf was
turned just there in Mary's life.
The summer and autumn passed.
Then came an awful Vermont winter
when Sam made his maiden sister
go and live with Aunt. Mary Purse
to see that the old house on Cobb
Hill saw no further tragedy. Spring
nc in Il
ternate slush and mud and pneumo-
MIA weather Then one day before the
mud was entirely dried or the first
green shoots began poking through the
fragrant sod, Sam at the exchange
table was trying to think up a subject
for an editorial, paving idly amid the
mass of newspapers, free magazines,
political clap-trap and press material
which would later find its way into
our wastebasket. His hand struck a
long heavy periodical done in brown
paper. When he drew it forth he saw
it was addressed in mans hand
writing and that it bore a two-cent
stamp.
Suddenly the editors feet came
down with startled clump. He sat
bolt upright, holding the open maya
zine in his hands. Then he crossed
the floor. uttered an exclamation as
he did so and laid the paper down on
my desk.
"Bill!' he cried, lying it out flat,
"look at the front cover and tell me
whose picture that isl" Y
Know him? OF course | knew him.
Small need to read the name beneath
the picture.
"Why, it's aMry's boy" l said and
the bookkeeper overheard and came
arunning.
1t was the current issue of New
York trade paper published for news
paper men that Sam had opened.
There-occupying the whole of the
front page-was a fine half-tonc of
Aunt Mary's oldest boy-a strong
faced, clean-cut, fine-looking man.
He had just been promoted to a posi-
ton as leading editorial-writer on one
of the greatest newspapers in Amer
lea.
Turn to page seven, Mr.. Hodp
begged the bookkeeper "See what
its got to say inside. about him."
We turned to the Indicated page.
There as we expected we found Tom
Purses biography-Tom Purse who
once washed the forms and swept out
our little country office. Sure
enough too, our little country paper
was given full credit as being his
kindergarten of journalism.
But that was not all.
The United States at the time, was
apparently becoming embroiled in
diplomatic difficulty with Mexico.
Force might have to be employed;
it might mean war. The article went
on to add that there was to be a great
union meeting of three of the biggest
New York churches in the immense
Manhattan Tabernacle that following
Sabbath evening and because of his
tremendous editorial position, an in
vitation had been extended to this
big newspaperman to preach the SER