The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1919-12-12

ton the matters about settled. So
much for me! But you-Of course
you've had poor training for making
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 a little tiny bit, and
you'll have little tiny salary, too
and of course your Aunt Fanny's here,
and she's got something you can fall
back on if you get too pinched, until
can begin to send you dribble now
and then"
Georges little tiny bit" was six
hundred dollars which had come to
him from the sale of his mothers fur
niture; and the "little tiny salary
was eight dollars week which old
Frank Bronson was to pay him fol-
services as clerk and student-at-
law. George had accepted haughtily,
and thereby removed 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 1t necessary to
borrow two hundred of his nephew's
six hundred dollars. ut 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
wanted to, but felt that-ah-under
the circumstances-''
"Never" George exclaimed, growing
red. Il can't imagine one of the fam.
lily" He paused, not finding ii
necessary to explain that ''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
| itr'
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, Georgia.
Anderson said, and his voice was .
| little husky as he set kind hand on
the young mans shoulder. Its quite
probable that from this time on well
only know each other by letter-unti
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 nantelpiece. 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 CAM
ever tell what will happen at all, car
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 I 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 a little boy aud
| let you grow up en- prince-and
must say you took to it! But you've
received pretty heavy jolt, and
had enough of your disposition, myself,
at your age, to understand little OF
what cocksure youth has to go through
inside when it finds that 1t can make
terrible mistakes. Well, with my train
coming into the shed, you'll forgive
me for saying that there have beel
times when 1 thought you ought to be
hanged-but I've always been font
| of you, and now 1 like you! And jus!
for a last word; there may be some
body else in this town who's always
felt about you like that-fond of you
1 mean, no matter how much it seem.
ed you ought to be hanged. You might
try Hello, must run. I'll send
back the money as fast as they pay
me-so, 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 as
he disappeared, an unexpected poiga
ant loneliness fell upon his nephew SC
heavily and so suddenly that he had
no energy to recoil from the shock. L,
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 alb
sence and his tragic return. Since that
he had been scarcely outdoors at alp
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, 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 kind he did not
remember ever to have seen; they
were partly like the old type that
| his boyhood knew, and partly like