Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1922-01-30
On This Page Wednesday

drawers and boxes that held John
Smiths possessions and laid tho KEYS
on tho dressing table.
Somewhere in the house a cloch
struck 4. He crossed the room noise
lessly, opened the door and looked out
on TO the landing, All was dark and
SIN, put faint apprehension prevented
him from going out that way and risIs.
ing meeting any one, and he went hack
again into the room, closing the door
window. -"
The scent OF the climbing yellow rose
fading now beneath the chill breath OF
autumn, came to him family on the
misty morning air, and he leaned down
and, with unsteady hands, broke off
one of the dying blooms and nut Il awoy
in his coat; then he pushed the window
more widely open and swung himself
out on the sill.
For q moment he 'hesitated, his heart
torn with unbearable pain and longing;
! then slowly he let himself down tiIl 6e
hung only by his hands. A moment:
then he let go, and dropped noiselessly
to the sloping lawn below.
lie stood for q moment. hat IN hand
house. 0A '"e
1t was growing light very rapidly
and the trees and shrubs all around
were creeping out Of the darkness ike
queer, shapeless figures; ON eerie world
e seemed. and one which he had never
Det9re chanced upon in his wanderings.
lie had almost reached the garden
gate when out Of the shadows some.
thing stirred, and mans hoarse cough
broke the silence.
The Fortune Hunter stool still. his
| hplrtDnafR nnirkapira
knew who waited there for him. md
with morbid dread Of being moved
from his determination, he turned hur-
rledly back, skirtcd the boundary of the
garden till he reached low part OF
the wall some twenty feet from the spot
where Fernie kept his patient vigil
then he, climbed 1t and dropped into the
load below.
He walked swiftly away toward the
village then, without backward
glance, his head downbent, his shoul.
aers drooping, still carrying his shabby
nat, and presently the morning mist
ana the mist from the river together
obscuring veil.
In his numbed heart was n vague
feeling of gratitude to Fernio that he
mad waited so long and patiently
} through the chilly autumn night to say
good- by. or, perhaps, to try to per-
suade him not to go. II was some :
thing to know that perhaps the Old man
telt shadow Of regret, even Of affcc-
ton.
J AT the end of the village n sign post
: STOOD at cross roads, and the Fortune
: Hunter glanced up at the directions
, mechanically.
ITO London" Garry Cannon was
there, and would be glad to sec him.
he knew. but he was in nc mood for
, Cannon's blunt sympathy, and IL was
deliberately that he turned and struck
) across the fields through which he had
come to Somerton that first day.
The entrance to the woods where
he had found the body of John Smith
was strewn with dead and dying leaves.
The footpath was a most covered with
them. The tall bracken was brown and
withered and help.essly bending earth
ward.
1t was autumn in the world, autumn
in the Fortune Hunters heart, as he
went on, without glancing to the right
or left. and out into the field on the
other side, shut of by the fve-barred
gate.
1t was here that he had sat little
'ess than seven weeks ago, on his eight
anu
his few remaining shillings. He had
been happy, in careless way. and since
then he had known q far greater hap
nlness. mtng'ed with all the sorrow of
the world. And now. that too. was
ended and 1t seemed to the Fortune
Hunter almost as If life itself must end
here where 1t had begun
lie put his arms on the top OF tho
gate, and looked across the barren field
to the wood beyond and the thin spire
Of Somerton Church, which was all he
could see OF the village. The river and
Cherry Lodge were shut out by the
trees. but he saw them all as faithfully
as II they were there before his ewes
as he would see them to his dying day.
And he thought of Anne, and the way
she had chung to him only last night on
the dark landing.
IF you had left me. should have
! followed you to the end of the world
Promise Inc you will stay-promise
! mel"
| How many times IN the future would
not her words come back to torture him
with doubt. Had it been the right
/ thing to go? Ought he to have stayed?
But it was too late now; by his own
| action he had written the end OF the
story.
Finished! The word seemed blozoncd
pcroSs the gray sky and the brown,
: barren field.
The first ray OF morning sunshine
pierced the clouds aud touched the For
| tune Hunters ha"Card face with kindly
raillery. The beginning Of new day,
which for him was the end OF every
thing.
There was probably no more mlser-
able man in Somerton that night than
old Ferne, rs he walked slowly away
| from Cherry Lodge through the dark
ness, his pipe hanging cold ana de-
| iectcd from between his lipG, his hands
thrust deep into the pockets Of his
corduroy brecchcs.
| lie fclt--for the first time IN his life.
rerh hqps-that he had been worsted and
badly worgted for the first time in his
life, too, he had awakened to the real
ization that he was getting an old man
and that there was not soul in the
world who would care If he died TO-
morrow.
The fact that he had ever had a son
he had almost forgotten until the For
tune Hunter had brought the truth home
to him; but now as he walked back to
Long End Cottage he was realizing mat
old age might not, after all, be such
n bad thing, with u fine grown lad like
that at his elboW--a lad to be proud OF,
q lad to whom he could leave his care
fully boarded wealth.
The world looked upon the Fortune
Hunter as a wastrel, he knew, but old
Fernie felt a thrill Of pride in his sons
daring. ,,,