The Idaho recorder., 1922-02-17
A Posthunous
Laudation
BY CLAIRE SMITH
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| Copyright. 1921. Western Newspaper Union.
Charles Coggswell. president OF half
dozen corporations and man to be
reckoned with I'm Wall street, came
out Of his club at half past two.
"Iieigho!" he sighed. when man
gets to be forty-five his troubles null
tiply." And he fell to thinking how
hardly fate used him.
As he stepped into the street news
boy ran into him, yelling at the top of
his voice. He picked himself UP and
thrust paper under Mr.. Coggswell's s
nose.
Suicide Of a millionaire % he yelled
and there. sure enough, was the
announcement, In big, black lettering.
Mr. Coggswell bought a copy, and the
next minute was staggering back
against the wall of the club. The
suicide was that of himself.
When he had recovered a little he
read as follows:
"Mr. Charles Coggswell, president of
the United Realty and Union corpora
tlon, and n well-known figure on the
street, shot himself in the temple
at half-past one O'Clock this afternoon,
In lodging house on the Bowery. Al
though he had dressed himself In shab-
by clothes and destroyed all evidences
OF his identity, Mr.. Coggswell's fea-
lures were too well known for his
69nfH N panntr
Coggswell knew the mana double
of his, strikingy alike even to the gait
and gesture.
Suppose / were dead" he thought.
would the world be better off or
worse!'
II he were dead, wiped out, no longer
factor In the affairs of men, what
would II mean to the world that he
had known? What did his life mean?
His death meant release and money
to his wife; to his musician son it
meant the Inheritance of which he
was to have been deprived. His part
ner, Prentice, and he had always been
at loggerheads, and nine times out of
ten Prentice had been right in his
views. Coggswelf tried to think of one
person whom his life benefited, but
could not do so. -
Then why should he not hS dead ?
He could lay hands upon ten thousand
dollars. -
1t was growing dark, when starting
up from reverie, he discovered that
he was standing In front of his house
on Madison avenue. He crept up to
his den at the top of the house. AS
he reached the last story he saw a
figure coming toward him, followed
by another, aud shrank back into a
closet just as they came round the bend
In the passage. They were two serv-
Ing maids, and, as they paused, he
heard one Of them say:
"Why are you taking on so. Mary7
He wasn't no good, for all I've heard
tell Of him. Didn't he drive that good
wife of his out of his house and spoil
her life for her?"
II can't help It," shifted the other,
"He mayn't have been good man, but
he saved my brothers life"
When they had disappeared he went
down the steps with firmer tread
Nevertheless, outside the drawing room
door he paused and llsteaed. Prentice
his partner, was speaking. II
II tell you, Mrs. Coggswcll," lie was
saying, "Charles was good .maps and
l know that warm heart beat uh9eI
the affectation of selfishness. IAcould
tell you stories
"Oh, l know he wass" us rwife
sobbed. ut Is Iwho have been ut fault
oh, Charles, If you could only know
II you could only come back TO met
Another voice took up the parable
Coggswell started and clenched hi:
fists In bitter remorse. The voice was
that of his son. .,s.s...
II know father meant TO do well by
me-" he said. You know. mother, ht
believed that man should shift foi
himself, To develop Independence oi
character That's why he left me e
worry along as best l could. Goo
bless him He was one of the fines
men that ever lived"
The voices died away, and il seemed
to Coggswell as though he had already
come to the new birth that he desired
Why should he so away and sink hi.
identity when his life lay here2 No
the real life was in his accustomed
plG e, with life's struggle still before
him, enmities to overcome faults to h,
atoned for. all the battle to be Tough
out over again In the accustomed bat
tleheld He hesitated a moment; thes
softly opened the door.