Evening star., 1927-11-09
BY MERRITT BOND.

A SHTON, r. l.. November o.
~ There is a proud little half
"A secret which very happily con
4 a Germs Bruce Caldwell, that six
foot bolt Of Jagged lightning
who formerly flashed in Yale's back
field.
IL you had asked in New Haven who
Bruce Caldwell is, off the field, you
would have received the casual reply
''Oho. some rich guys son" Although
there was a rumor, incredible on that
coenskin campus, that his parents
parked in a mill somewhere.
But stumble off the Providence train
some evening on to the murky plat
form of Ashton's dim old depot" and
ask where the Caldwells live. Perhaps,
provide-ltially. you'll be greeted by the
Rev. William Pressey. The other eve
ming he was waiting for his wife, but
she. had missed the train.
"Oh, Bruce Caldwell's father and
mother" he inquired. Jim Caldwell:
They ought to be home from the mill
by now. They're weavers, you know.
And that. If you haven't guessed, is
the proud little half-secret, I; secret
not by intention. because it is nothing
to hide. For Jim and Harriet Cald-
well it is not the least remarkable that
they should toll long hours in a cotton
mill while their son goes through Yale.
Certainly nothing to boast about. Most
certainly nothing to conceal.
Bruces intimates at college knew
II. for he is proud of his parents.
But the boy doesn't talk much.
You just have to drag things out
Of him." his mother explains. And
there is pride in the deprecating way
she says it.
1t was Mr.. Pressey, friend to all in
his long rectorship of st. Johns Epis-
copal Church in the village Of Ashton
and the surrounding town Of Cumber.
wells little twin company house" in
the dark shadow Of the mills.
Town Proud of Family.
"Bruce is one of my boys" Mr..
Pressey confided. II baptized him and
I confirmed him. And we are all
proud of the lad. But even prouder Of
Jim and Harriet"
Jim Caldwell, a gray, alert man in
his sixties, opened the door to the rec
tors knock. He hadn't been long
home from his loom. He still had on
his blue denim trousers, with a black
sweater jacket.
"a friend of mine" was Mr.. Pres.
seys generous Introduction, has come
to ask some questions about that IA
nous son of yours"
There was stir in the pleasantly
plain room into which the door open
ed, a room with the table brightly laid
for supper at one end. and a radiantly
polished stove at the other, ON it q
teapot whose nickel cleaned.
Mrs. Caldwell came forward, small,
n a lr-tNa a Vt@Ad III. ,s~nA
frock. Her eyes were warm and
merry. And there was the Caldwells'
daughter Eva. who hopes to 60 to
Brown next Fall.
Talk centercd at once on Bruce, his
captaincy OF the Cumberland High
School eleven, his fame at Yale, his
dillgence as a student and fidelity as a
son, his ambitions and the ambitions
Of his father and mother for him.
But it seemed that there must be
. much finer and rarer story. The
hard sacrifice of hours and days and
months and years spent by mother
standing at loom that her one SON
might go threngh = rich mans col.
Mrs. Caldwell laughed about that.
1t was nothing and there was no sac.
rince. She worked hard. yes. That
Voc " no SApCCtcu. Livery morning
at 7:15 she and her husband are at
their looms In the cotton mill. And
there they stand, all day long, until
In the afternoon.
But an Hour for Lunch.
"Of course" Mrs. Caldwell said I'VE
have an hour for lunch"
And no work Saturday afternoons.
her husband added.
Mind you," he went on, "that how
Bruce is paying his way. He works
in the, mill at vacation time. He's
not arE: idle lad. And down at the col.
lege heSgets his meals for waiting on
the table at the Y Club"
But what about his tuition, his
room, his books. his clothes-does
Bruce pay for them all? The father
hesitated.
Wen. wouldn't say Just that"
came his answer slowly. Not for
everything. Mother and help q Lit.
tie, once In while"
And then, strictly truthful:
II guess there's hardly a letter we
send Bruce that doesn't have IS or $40
in it,
~ L. af -.