South Bend news-times. (South Bend, Ind.) 1913-1938, 1921-02-20

ed by a sadness almost incredibly
the product Of q single lifetime.
And then high up IN the hrrna-
mental darkness we heard the clam
ant cries Of some great. passing
birds. Ny Wandering jew lifted his
hand. with side-tilted head.
The Seven Whistlers." he said. as
one introduces well-known friends.
wild geese" said 7. but 7 confess
that their number is beyond me"
They follow ma everywhere. he
said. Twas so commanded. What
We hear is the souls OF the seven
Jews that helped with the Cruel
fxion. Sometimes they're plovers
and sometimes geese. but ven find
them always flyin' where I go.
I stood. uncertain how 20 take my
leave. looked down the street.
shunrled my feet. looked back again
and felt my hair rise. The old
man had disappeared.
And then my capnlaries relaxed.
for I dimly saw him footing II away
through the darkness But he walk
ed so swiftly and silently and con
tra=y TO the gait promised by his
age that my compOsure was not all
restored. though I knew not why.
That night was foolish enough 20
take down some dust-covered vol
umes from my modest shelves.
searched "Hermippus Redivvus" and
''Salathiel' and the "Pepys Collec-
ton In vain. And then in a book
called The Citizen o. the World.
and in one two centuries old. 1 came
upon what I desired. Micob Alder
had indeed come 10 Paris in the
year 1643, and related 20 the Turk
ish Spy an extraordinary story. He
claimed 10 be the Wandering Jew
and that
But here I fell asleep, for my ed
itorial duties had not been light that
day.
Judge Hoover was the Bugle's
candidate for congress. Having TO
confer with him, I sought his home
early the next morning; and we
walked together down town through
a little street with which 1 was I'M
familiar.
Did you ever hear OF ALchob
Ader?" asked him, smiling.
why. yes" said the judge. And
that reminds me Of my shoes he has
for mending. Here is his shop now"
Judge Hoover stepped into
dingy. small shop. I looked up at
the sign, and saw Mike O'Bader,
Boot and Shoe Maker" on it. Some
Wild geese passed above, honking
clearly. 1 scratched my ear and
frowned, and then trailed into the
shop.
There sat MY Wandering Jew on
his shoemakers bench, trimming a
half-sole. He was drabbled with
dew, grass-stained, unkempt. and
miserable; and on his face was still
the unexplained wretChedness, the
problematic sorrow, the esoteric woe,
that had been written there by moth
ing less. 1t. seemed, than the stylus
OF centuries.
Judge Hoover inquired kindly
concerning his shoes. The old shoe
maker looked up, and spoke sanely
enough. He had been i'll, he said,
for a few days. The next day the
shoes would be ready. He looked at
me, and / could see that I had no
place in his memory. SO out we
went, and on our way.
"Old Mike" remarked the candi-
date. has been one one of his
sprees. He gets crazy drunk regu-
larly once a month. But he's q good
shoemaker"
What is his history?" I inquired.
Whisky" epitomized Judge Hoo
yer. That explains him"
was silent but I did not accept
the explanation. And so, when 1 had
the chance. 1 asked old man Sellers,
who browsed daily on my exchanges.
Mike O'Bader," said he. was
maxim shoes in MonotopOlis when I
come here goin' on 10 year ago.
guess whisky's his trouble. once a
month he gets off the track, and