The Dolores star., 1924-08-01
Harrison
and Friend
Barlow
By MORRIS SCHULTZ

lgst western NeWspAPe' SA'N"'
r HARDLY knew the printer who
i lived In the next room at Mrs
Schweepe's boarding house. That Is
to say | knew him Intimately, when
he had been imbibing, but he was apt
to forget me the next day. He kept
very much to himself, except when he
had been celebrating, and then he
was apt to expand much. But, as the
Iandlady said. 1t didn't happen often,
and Harrison was regular in his rent
Harrison-a man Of tifty-hve, per
haps. lean, and gaunt, and gray. Spoke
with an English accent. too. He had
been gentleman. was one yet in a
way. His father, still alive, was
big man in England-a general or
something like that. with string of
letters after his name. He told me
that-four times. He was drunk each
time, so he forgot afterward.
Something that he had done In youth
had exiled him from the life that
should have been his. What 1t was,
Harrison didn't tell me, even when he
was drunk. Something unforgivable,
Imagine, according TO his code.
And for a quarter of a century he
had been battered and buffeted by the
waves of American life, never accli-
mating himself, losing his British quail
tiles without acquiring ours. 1t was
tragedy.
Hes known better days" said Mrs.
Schweepe of him. 81 guess It's the
memory of them makes him drink"
Harrison never spoke directly OF his
past, but indirectly-when he was
drunk and came overflowing into my
room at night-he told me about the
Towers, his ancestral home-I never
could pronounce the name. He
told me of Lord this and Lady that
who appeared and reappeared in the
twisted thread of his story. And one
day-I hoped-I should be able to
piece It together.
Then came one memorable night.
Hes had letter." Mrs. Schweepe
said to me, land he's drinking himself
bowling drunk over 1t. Keep him quiet
If you can tonight Tomorrow I'm go
Ing to tell him I'll have to raise
his rent"
Yes, Harrison certainly was drunk
that night. He came into my room,
staggering But he wasn't noisy drunk.
There was a quiet satisfaction In him.
Barlow" he said, "you been goo
friend to me. I'm going back to Eng
land. Know my name? Sir Henry
Harrison" He laughed. "Old mans
dead. I'm going back to"-something
Towers"
Have HI Of time now. old Bar
low. All that's coming to me. Five
thousand year. Take you with me,
ole Barlow, because you've been goo
friend of mine. And listenw
He told me of a girl who had prom
ised to wait for him. He was sure
she was waiting still-she had sworn
she would-though he had never writ
ten or heard from her in all these
years. An old woman-but he thought
Of her as girl.
You come along. be bailiff Of my es-
state, Barlow, ole man." he hiccoughed,
as he passed out.
He sang little that night, but was
more quiet than Of wont. went to
business next day and forgot him.
The landlady opened the door to me
In the evening. Hes very ILL.," she
said. "The doctor says he drank
enough bootleg whisky to poison a
regiment. He's asking for you"
went up to Harrison's room. He
lay on the bed. A strangely aristo-
cratic look had come upon his white
face. He lay there with CLASSY eyes.
He was too far gone to recognize me.
Mrs. Schweepe came to the door.
'The doctor thinks he'll die" she whis-
pered.
Harrison did die-at five o'clock the
next morning. Died without recogniz-
ing me-so lost that job as bailiff at
Something Towers. Died murmuring
one name over and over: Edith"
And then, I'm coming, Edith. I'm
coming home, I guess" And then,
Forgot. Mustn't say guess in the
Old Country"
l saw him, when l had closed his
eyes, lying on the bed with that
strangely aristocratic look on his face
| hunted for the letter afterward. but
there was no sign Of 1t. There were
few charred and unintelligible frag-
ments In the wastebasket.
Harrison's body was never claimed.
He was buried at my expense, to save
him from the potter's field. and Mrs.
Schweepe added her mite I've often
wondered about Harrlson-and the girl
In England.