Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-09-01

"IGHTEEN years. Well, he was driv-
ing q good car, an expensive road
ster, he was well clad a rather solid,
fine-looking man, not too heavy.
When he had left the Middle West
ern town to 60 live in New York City he was
90 and now, on his way back there he was
20. He drove toward the town from the East,
stopping for lunch at another town 10 miles
away.
When he went away from Caxton, after his
mother died, he used to write letters to friends
at home, but after several months the replies
began to come with less and less frequency.
On the day when he sat eating his lunch at
o small hotel in the town 10 miles east Of
Caxton he suddenly thought Of the reason, and
was ashamed. Am I going back there on
this visit for the same reason wrote the let
ters?" he asked himself For moment he
thought he might not 60 on. There was still
time turn back
Outside, In the principel business street Of
the town, people were walking about. The
sun shone warmly. Although had lived for
so many years in New York, he had always
kept, buried away in him somewhere, banker
Ing for his own country. All the day before
he had been driving through the Eastern Ohio
country, crossing many small streams, running
down through small valleys, seeing the white
farmhouses set back from the road, and the
big red barns.
Now, however, he began thinking of some
thing else. Shame crept over him. when I
first left Caxton, I wrote letters back to my
boyhood friends there, but wrote always Of
myself. When I had written letter telling
what was doing in the city, what friends
was making, what my prospects were, ] put,
at the very end of the letter perhaps, little
inquiry. 7 hope you are well. How are things
going with you?' Something Of that sort"
The returning native-his name was John
Holden-had grown very uneasy. After 10
years it seemed to him he could see, lying be-
fore him, one Of the letters written 10
years before, when he had first come into the
strange Eastern city His mothers brother.
o successful architect In the city, had given
him such and such an opportunity: he had
been at the theater to see Mansfield as Brutus.
he had taken the night boat upriver to Albany
with his aunt; there were two very handsome
girls on the boat.
Everything then must have been in the same
tone. His uncle had given him q rare oppor-
tunity, and he had taken advantage Of it. In
time he had also become a successful archi-
tect. In New York City there were certain
great buildings two or three skyscrapers, sew
eral huge industrial plants, any number Of
handsome and expensive residences, that were
the products Of his BRAIN
When it came down to the scratch, John
Holden had to admit that his uncle had not
been excessively fond Of him. It had just hap
pened that his aunt and uncle had no chill
dren OF their own. He did his work in the
Office well and carefully had developed Ger
tain rather striking knack for design The
aunt had liked him better. She had always
tried to think Of him as her own son, had
treated him as son. Sometimes she called
him son. Once or twice, after his uncle died,
ne had notion. His aunt was good woman,
but sometimes he thought she would rather
have enjoyed having him, John Holden, 60 In
q Dit more for wickedness, 60 little on the
loose, now and then. He never did anything
she had to forgive him for. Perhaps she hun
gered for the opportunity to forgive Odd
thoughts, Ell? Well, what was fellow to do?
One had but the one life to live One had
TO think Of ones self.
Botheration! John Holden had rather count
ed on the trip back to Caxton, had really
counted on 1t more than he realized. It was
bright Summer day. He had been driving
for days over the mountains Of PENNSYLVANIA.
through New York State through Eastern Ohio
Gertrude. his wife. had died during the Sum-
ner before and his one son, lad Of IL, had
gone away for the Summer to q boys camp in
Vermont.
THE idea had just come to him. "IM drive
the car along slowly through the country,
drinking It In. need o rest time to think.
What really need Is to renew old acquaint-