Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1921-09-09
The Rose and the
Story Book
BY FREDERICK CLARKE

A lonely, homeless man paused in
front of a new bank building and
watched the crowds enter and depart
with a token of dull interest in his
weary eyes. Old men and women,
young ladies and little children, all
chattering n happy, passed by the
desks and counters loaded with a
small fortune in carnations, and roses.
Opening day''-"new bank"-"giv-
ing souvenirs" fell upon the ears of
the ~friendless man. AS his turn came
to face a counter he was handed out
a beautiful rose.
"Married?" was all the floral distrib-
utor had asked. The man had nodded
sadly. ANY children?" he was asked
as he passed a second counter. The
man gave a start as if waking up,
and a pretty picture book was handed
him. Carrying both In a half dazeG
on a doorstep, and, his eyes fixed on
the two souvenirs, he seemed to lapse
into a profound day dream.
Twenty-four months previously he
had been John Dunbar, inventor, la
this same town, a delicate, sensitive
man, impracticable as to business, de-
voting his life to the completion of an
invention that had been it's n dream.
Working on the perfection Of his
model and then waiting for capital,
knowing only how to think and not 70
work, his resources had dwindled
away and his father-in-law, Judge
Graham, stern and merciless, had
come to him one day.
"Give up your idle dreaming and
go to work like a man." he had said.
eff you don't, there will be a home for
my daughter and her child, little Ruth,
with me, but you must shift for your
SELF"
There were no reproaches from
gentle, loving Ethel, his wife, but the
inventor sought work. Unskilled,
wage n position offered were to him
degrading. He wrote a brief note to
his wife.
: Go home to your father" it ran. II
have given up my dream, 1 must give
up you and the child. Your father
can have the patent. l cannot face
humiliation and defeat among my
equals. l am a coward"
John Dunbar had heard of a won
derful silver mine in Mexico. He
went there, worked like a peon n at
the end of a year hired an overseer
to send his earnings to his wife. Later
he found that they had never reached
her. He worked a second year.. The
mine was flooded. With a bare $500
he escaped with his life. He started
for home. On the way he was robbed
of his little earnings, and now he had
landed in his native town-a pauper.
"All that / have in the world" he
said bitterly, regarding the W bank
souvenirs-'two years exile, and
these ! Why nOt?"
A sudden resolution had seized him.
Unrecognized and as a stranger he
threaded old familiar thoroughfares,
finally reaching the last home he had
known.
An inquiry conveyed to him that
strangers occupied the house. The
Dunbars? The husband had gone
away, the wife and child had moved
to her fathers home. The Judge had
died a year since. Mrs. Dunbar was
living at such and such a place.
It was almost dusk when the refu-
gee reached a neat cottage set in the
midst of a rare garden.
The table was set for three. He
wondered at that. Softly, on tiptoe,
he advanced into the apartment. Be
side the plate at the head of the table
John Dunbar placed the rose. AT the
tiny tray near to a child's familiar
high chair he laid the little picture
book and withdrew. Then mother and
child entered the room.
"Oh, mamma, look look" cried the
little one eagerly, taking up the book.
Ethel Dunbar was dressed in mourn
ing.
"Who brought them, mamma, and
why?' asked little Ruth. "Oh, how
pretty"
1T must have been some neighbor,
dearie," said her mother in a dreamy
tone, esome neighbor who knew"
"Who knew what, mamma?' pressed
the curious little one.
SIT is just two years tonight since
your dear father was lost to US" said
the mother, and her voice died away
in a low sob.
won't he ever come back again,
mammaY' asked Ruth.
"We will hope and pray for 1T, my
| child" answered Ethel. always his
| place shall be ready for him."
Ethel had broken down utterly. In
her pretty way the child was trying
to comfort her. John Dunbar stole
into the room and seated himself at
the table.
"Ethel-my childw he said, like n
in a daze. IT am here. I have come
back emp~ty-handed. Only the 0
the poor little picture book
Loving arms were about him, tiny
hands holding his brOnZed own and