The Monmouth inquirer., 1925-08-13
Il.-ToId by the Boy.


ll.-ToId by the Boy.
/ had come to New York like sc
many others to storm it's literary tow
ers with my short stories. | used tt
eat at the cafe but l didn't notice any
one there until one day the little
cashier stopped me. tits my birth
day." she said hurriedly. "All my reg.
ular customers are my guests today
You will be, won't your"
Well, that was about the first kindly
word I'd had since / came to New
York from the old home town. ]
guess / was weak for want of food
too. l sat down suddenly. Twice
lifted my head but / couldn't trust my
self to speak, and she suddenly hur-
ried away. She came back with a
plate of soup, splashing tears into 1t
all the way,
"Tll have to get you some more
s-s-soup," she stammered.
/ ate all she brought and it made a
man of me. It sent me to her desk
with my shoulders squared. Are you
engaged to be married?" l said.
She glanced at an oIdfsh fellow who
sat nearby. "N-no," she said.
well, you're going to marry me. /
haven't a cent in the world, but I'm
going to take success by the throat
and win out"
I was back next day and every day
and before long l had told her about
my literary ambitions and we became
good friends. All the time. though,
was worried about the old fellow
she called Gray Hairs, and one after
noon I heard her practically admit she
loved him.
Only that day a firm had offered
me a drawing account for the first re-
fusal of all my output. I had gone to
the cafe to ask the great question, but
came out with the question: unasked
and my heart like lead. It's only three
days ago but it seems like three years.
I go to the cafe still, but the food
chokes me. l go back to my and
sit staring al the typewriter. l don't
seem to be able to write any more.
iII.-Told by the Little comrade.
The first time he came to the cafe
he seemed to have an invisible or
chestra playing: "See, the Conquer
ing Hero Comes" He was nearly
starving but he didn't seem to care
about that.
One day he left some sheets Of typed
manuscript. 1t was part of q short
story, very good In some ways, but it
wasn't alive. A literary friend once
told me that before a man can write
well he must break his heart a few
times, and / thought I'd like to break
1t once.
That was only an idle thought, for
at that time / was very worried about
poor Gray Hairs. / had loved him for
years before ever | met Jack and no
one could GUST him permanently from
my heart. Yet / knew the day would
come when / should have to choose
between them.
We'll" said Gray Hairs when we
were out together n evening, "What
r you going to do about my young
rlval2
"You mustn't think Of me at ALL" he
said wistfully. ITS only your happi-
ness that counts"
And the very next evening I met
Jack on my way home. He hadn't
been to the cafe for several days and
] was afraid he was i'll. We stood and
stared at each other.
WELL" he said, Il suppos there's
no chance for me?"
! think I said: I'm what way?' How
could | know what he meant? He he.
gan to whisper the most wonderful
nonsense and I'm afraid / wasn't much
better than he was.
But what about that old man % he
said suddenly. 1.-THE one you call
Gray Hairs?''
Il can't give him up" I cried pas
sionately. He loves me SO much"
"Ohl' he said ~helplessIy.
you'll have to give him q room
with us, Jack. You viii, won't youq
Say Q will-dearest-he's been the
wonderfulest dad -
And that was as far as | got. During
the next half hour l hadn't enough
breath to say "Pf."
Here endeth the first lesson y !
gasped. Nov you'l be able to write
some real stories.