Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1925-07-01

the boy putting his head
through the open door.
Hello, boy"
John Farnsworth hastily edged him
| self out of his chair between the oil
! stove on its battered tin tray to the
left of the typewriter, and the piled
up books and manuscripts to the right.
There was only room for one table,
but he was careful never to cook
anything that spattered.
1t had been different with John
Farnsworth. He had plunged in him
self when he took possession of the
room fifteen years ago, a cub on the
Comet. writing his first assignment
with the world illumined By the ris.ns
| sun of success. He could not have told
why that sun had painted the Sky with
promise never to be fulfilled; why
| he was still in the little room where
| he had only meant to stay until he
| found just what his work would be
and where it would take him. Least of
al, could he have told why he was still
| a hack writer, dried-up huSk of a
man grinding out miserable CONNER
| cial platitudes on a typewriter, blink
! ity-blink. blinkity-blink.
He had ceased to question or de
maEd of life. Every evening when he
did not 20 to the Eureka restaurant to
dine he came back to his room with
numerous bags and bottle of milk,
and persuaded himself that he cooked
a coy, appetizng meal. His room
was a dreary place; but still he chung
to it, came back to 1t with a pathetic
pseudo feeling of home, and inserting
himself between the precarious piles
on the table blnked out the requisite
number of words to spell "rent-food-
Clothes" He could almost have done
it with his eyes closed, especially the
weekly article about the ladies' ready
to-syear garment trade-until that
night when the boy first came to the
door in shirt and dress trousers, newly
shaved, eager, excited.
81 say, Mr.. Binky-blink, help me out,
viii you? Eve left my back collar
stud in the shirt that's gone to the
laundry and I'm due at a party. I'm
assigned to write up the MerringtOn
wedding, and there's no telling what
may come Oft if please them. Don't
mind my calling you Mr.. Blinky-blink,
do you? You're always bIinkity-blink-
ing when | 90 past-Oh | say-d0n't
take your collar off can use a safety
pin-you might want to go out your
self"
81 rever go out" said Farnsworth
struggling with his collar.
Rats, said the boy, but if you
aren't going tonight I'll be everlastingly
obliged, and I'll put the stud in bit
of paper under the door. Thanks
again.
He ran out whistling, and in a few
minutes he ran downstairs and
slammed the door. and John Farms
worth went back to his writing, feel
ing old and lonely.
1t is not possible to resume routine
that has once been broken. Every
night after that the boy put his head
through the door that was always left
open, and told the story of his day,
and the older mans starved heart
warmed to him and took him in, yet.
something within him whispered, "why
waste time on that boy when you can
send your own voice into the world
and become famous?"
Through the long hours while his
fingers mechanically blinked out the
UNIV orthy articles, his brain harked
back to his own youth and gradually,
battling all the way with a dulled and
listless conscience, it showed him a
short and easy way to success. He
took the boys stories and rewrote
thea into brilliant things of wit, hui
NOR. pathos. He had only to take one
of them to the Comet and land at
once far above the lads Flooding feet
one night he got as far as the door
of the Comet with an especially good
one, but he came back, and that night
when he heard the CHEEKY hail, his soul
cried "Thank Cod" And when one
night the boy came in pale and very
SOBER he had got his big chance at
last. He told Farnsworth all about
it, in all innocence giving him the
means of his own undoing.
Behind the two closed doors the ma
chimes blinked that night until each
writer felt that he had accomplished
masterpiece; but while the boy ros"
from his work, yawned stretched and
tumbled smiling into bed, the older
man still sat rigid, staring at the writ
| ten sheets with unseeing eyes while his
soul fought it's lonely battle.
In the gray dawn he rose slowly with
| the stiff motions of an old man. His
| face was drawn and haggard, but his
eyes shone with the light of victory
as he tore the typewriter sheets, and
| tore them again and again into frag-
ments.
That night the boy began to shout
ooh, MI Blinky-bink" before he was
| half way upstairs and he plunged into
| the room radiant with happiness.
1--WE got it! The old man himself