The Aberdeen weekly. [volume] (Aberdeen, Miss.) 1878-1933, 1919-12-26

your own way, but you re only boy
after all. and the stuff of the old stock
| is in you. It'll come out and do some
| thing. I'll never forgive myself about
| that deed; it would have given you
something substantial to start with.
Still. you have little tiny bit, and
you'll have a little tiny salary, too !:
and of course your Aunt Fanny's here.
and she's got something YOU can fail
back on IL you get too pinched. until
can begin to send you a dribble now
and then"
hundred dollars which had come TO
him from the sale CT his mothers fur
niture; and the little tiny salary"
was eight dollars week which old
Frank Bronson was to pay him for
services as a clerk and student-at
law. George had accepted haughtily.
and thereby removed a burden from
his uncle's mind
ANDERSON himself. however. had not
even Tiny bit;" though he got his
consular appointment, and to take him
to his post he found it necessary to
borrow two hundred of his nephew's
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
wanted TO. but 1 felt that-ah-under
the CircumStanceS@
Never" George exclaimed, growing
red. II can't imagine one of the fam
lily" He paused, not finding it
necessary to explain that 1.-The fam
lily" shouldn't turn man from the
door and then accept favors from him.
II wish you'd take more"
Anderson declined. zone thing I'll
say for you, young George; you have
MT stingy 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 to the station. and
their farewell was heightened by the
trains being several minutes late.
Il may not see you again. George"
Anderson said, and his voice was 4
little husky as he set kind hand on
the young mans shoulder Its 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 mantelpiece. Well,
it's an odd way for us to be saying
good bye; one wouldn't have thought
it, even few years ago, but here we
are, two gentlemen of elegant appear
ance In 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
WHEREOF what the devil we did with
'em But 1 believe I'll say now-while
there isn't much time left for either
of US to get embarrassed about it
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 |
must say you took TO it, But you've
received a pretty heavy jolt, and
had enough of your disposition myself,
at your age, to understand u little Of
what cOcksure youth has to go through
inside when it finds that it can make
terrible mistakes. Well. with my train
coming into the shed, you'll forgive
me for saying that there have been
times when l thought you ought to be
hanged-but I've always been fond
of you. and now like youl And just
for last word; there may be some
body else in this town who's always
felt about you like that-fond of you.
| 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
me-so, good bye ard God bless you,
GeOrgieI"
He passed through the gates, waved
his hat cheerily from the other side
of the iron screen. and was lost from
sight in the hurryiEg crowd. And as
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 20 be the strange |
city, and. as matter of fact the city |
was strange to him. He had seen lit |
tie of ii during his years in college. |
and then had followed the long at-
sence and his tragic return. Since that |
he 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, vast |
energy heaved under the universe, |
coating of dinginess- George walked |
through the begrimed crowds of hus-
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 |
types he knew abroad. He saw Ger
man eyes with American wrinkles ut |
their corners; he saw Irish eyes and |