Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1920-10-07
TINES REPUBLICAN, MARsHALLToWN IOWA OCTOBER ! 1920


stood inside the closet door by which
he had entered, two windows faced
him. looking out on the back yard.
he knew, tho they were closely cur.
tanned. At his right was a freplac,
with composition mantel, at his
left was the door leading to the stat,
hall. The bed was below the hal
4 door: it is always there. And adj
joining the room on that side would
be the bath room. Jack had lived in
many such houses.
/ The air in the room was heavy
but less foul than might have been
expected. Jack found ben.nd the
curtains that yentifators had been
inseniously contriyed, which could
be opened and shut without ones
| showing oneself at the window. For
that matter the glass of the windows
was well-nigh opaque with the ac-
euinulation of years of dust. The
bed was tumbled but clean. Jack
/ suspected that the old man had
| changed linen with the bed in the
hotel. There was a similar oil lamp
| apd on heater in here
| ioSc outSiue were plant While
these got the oil he carried in,'
thought Jack.
i The room was hideorIsly cherries.
Rubbish was piled everywhere. There
was an old lat-topped desk with its
| back to the windows. and a sort of
path had been cleared from the desk
| to the closet door with a branch TO
the bed midway. Elsewhere the lit
ter had swamped everything. It was
never seen go many old newspapers
in his life. One corner OF the room
was filled by small mountain of
scrap books. containing faded clip
/ pings. When Jack came to examine
! them he found that, all the items re-
lated to Silas Clyde. and most OF
them were abusive.
| Yet from the walls of this unlove-
ly room looked down few rarely
| beautiful old pictures. and, as Jack
| was to learn later, they were of al
most priceless value. Evidently at
some period of his career the old
miser had had generous STRINGS.
| One of these pictures caused Jack a
great start. 1t occupied the space
next to the closet door, hence he did
| not see 1t until he had come into the
| room and had turned around.
| 1t was his mother. An enlargement
| be talented hand of the wistful
girlhoodi picture Delamare had given
| him that morning. She looked down
| on the fusty disarray with plying
eyes: she was startiingly young and
alive in that dark place. The tears
welled UP in Jacks eyes again.
Think of her presiding over den
like this! TIL give her SUMMER
prospect. But he must have loved
her well! I'll credit him with that"
A tour of the rest of the hbuke
from cellar to garrett revealed only
emptiness. darkness and smell of
must.
Returning to Silas Gyde's room,
Jack went to his desk This spot
alone of all the room was in good
order. On it lay book open and
face down at the page where the
dead man had left off reading. 1t
was the Ordeal of Richard Feveril,
and it was open at the page describ-
Ing the first meeting of Richard and
| Lucy. Jack read a few lines and
wondered that Silas Clyde could have
cared for that sort of thing. 1t didn't
/ seem to go with the rest OF him.
Jack slipped the book in his pocket,
against an opportunity to make its
! better acquaintance.
There was also a fat red leather
NOTE book, a sort of journal, in which
/ Silas Clyde had entered the details
/ of his financial transactions. Jack
i saved that for his lawyer. Finally
there was a manuscript which Death
had interrupted in the middle Of a
sheet. Turning back to the first page
Jack was not little astonished to
find that 1t was a sort of letter ad-
| dressed to himself. From the dates
upon it, 1t had been started five
years before and added to from time
| to time.
+ Jack sat down to read 1t. The lit
| tie dog, making it clear that he had
adopted IA new master, lay at his
feet.
| 'Fo John Farrow Norman:
Dear Jack:
Everybody knows old Silas clyde
--or thinks he does. Miser, usllrer,
skinflint champion tightwad-I quote
| from the collection of clippings i
have made. What everybody says
must be true, / suppose, but it is
not the whole truth. There is an
other Silas Gyde-or there was once,
and it is he who writes to you.
/ Little did YOU guess that I have
been keeping track of you SINCE you
were quite small BOY. I have al
ways from that time intended to
make you my heir. suppose you
wonder why never made myself
known to you. There We're several
reasons. For one thing ], have noticed
that the relations between rich
man and his heir are seldom happy.
[ didn't care to read in your eyes
! that you wished the old fool would
hurry up and die and be done with
| 1t.
| Another thing, and this is the real
reason: as the years pass it becomes
more and more difficult for me to
make overtures to anybody. 1T
sounds silly for an old fellow of near
sixty to confess that he is shy, but
such is the fact. And shyness in
| the old is torturing thing. They
| call me queer, cranky, crazy, and the
truth is simply that I am shy l
never could run with the herd.
1T is true what they say, that ]
have not friend in the world, and
! now l would not know how to set
about making one. Especially a
young one. | am afraid Of you, my
boy; afraid of your terrible, pitiless
youthfulness. And SO I just ina CINE
you are my friend. I have long talks
| wit !, Won aud Sriua ,-n,, r,,optit;a, nf