Atlanta tri-weekly journal. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1920-19??, 1922-12-26

home from the hospital TOUR days
when it occurred to him to celebrate
his birthday. The house was I'M
bearably dull and dreary and he
Ionged to have it frightened again
by the presence of the children. Tom
and Jack, law partners now, with
their wives and kiddies; Eleanor and
her husband and their twins, and
last, but very prominent in his af-
fections, Bella, the youngest, with
the man of her choice and her
babies. And then his great news! He
was eager as boy to impart it.
How surprised they would be, and
how proud and delighted!
Before an hour had passed Cad
walader's invitations were in the
mail box, and he was back again,
bit tired, but exceedingly happy.
He drew his chair to the fire and
held his hands to the warmth, plans
for the day fairly tumbling over one
another in his brain. Finally it was
all settled. He would have the house
gone over by Sarah Frisby, and look
ing it's best, and on his table would
be the very finest meal that could
be cooked. Then, at the end, he
would make a little speech, and that
speech would contain his news. He
pictured the scene to himself and
laughed as he had not laughed since.
Bella, the last to go, had married
The house had been so still, with no
one coming or going that perhaps
there was excuse for his blues and
the general run-downness which had
ended finally with long stay in the
hospital.
But he was done with the blues
now. The treadmill which he had
loathed was already a thing of the
past. The red flag had waved at the
door of his ramshackle building his
very first day at home, and his
small stock of hardware had gone
under the hammer without his know
ing or caring how much it brought.
There was money now for whatever
he chose-not great wealth, but all
he needed or wanted, and more. His
wants were SO ridiculously few and
small. A life time of economy had
left it's imprint. But the children.
What a pleasure it would be to give
to them!
And that reminded him. Christ
mas was only two days off. He
would send each of them a check
a handsome one. But, no. His birth
day was the day after, and the
checks should be part of his
speech. That night his sleep was the
sweetest of many years. His dreams
were all of the festivities, and no.
where was there a hitch. The real
day, when it came, promised to be
as perfect. The weather was ideal,
and the hired woman, Sarah Frisby,
had secured and polished and cooked
to even his satisfaction. The flow.
ers he himself had arranged. At
each plate was tiny buttonhole
bouquet, with a pin to fasten on. His
own was already in place. When
the train whistled he was almost
sorry he had not made the effort to
go to the station to meet them, so
great was his pride, and when they
came in sight his heart throbbed
and a lump came into his throat.
Fine lockers, his children
1t was at the table that the feel
ing of something being wrong came
to him. There was a stiffness-a too
great attention to the little ones; a
failure all round to meet his eyes.
The laughter was forced and loud,
too, and the jokes strained. He was
on the point of rising when Tom sud-
denly stood up, handsome, polished,
the greatest pride of his heart.
He spoke for them all, ne said,
and though the speech was ingenious
and clever, Cadwalader, his whole
being straining to discover one straw
of hope, knew when it was finished
that there was none. They had been