The Waterbury Democrat., 1933-11-22

He had pretty much given him self Up as a bad job, out of which
 nothing much could ever be made. All too well he realized that when
 man gives himself up as a bad job, there isn't much use in his l trying to convince employers and others that he could be desirable l person to have around.
 As he walked along the park paths, he wondered and wondered again what was the matter with
 him, why it was he couldn't suc- ceed when others less favored in
 most respects than himself, man. aged to do so.
 He had no brothers or sisetrs. ! No sweetheart. His father was very young. His mother lived in a country town where he had left her so as not to be a drag upon
 her, since he could be of no great | assistance to her. His father had | left his mother small income | which was adequate for her needs. So he had told her he was going to the city to make good and to send for her later; but he knew | in his heart, that it was better for | her where she was His failure | would have worried her had she | known the details. The city would have appealed her with it's crowds and it's hustle.
 Twice A Week He Wrote Her Letters
 Twice a week he wrote her long,
 interesting letters. Most of the | letters consisted in plain fiction. Sho oaarnnd tn 1Ot nf finn nllt of these letters. More pleasure, doubtless, than she would have gotten out of having him at home with her. In them he never even hinted that, though he was col lege man, he was up against it, without funds, without prospects;
 without, even any definite hopes or ambitions. Just one of the thou sands of drifters to be found in
 every city.
 Quite frankly he admitted to himself, as he walked along that on the last jobs he had not worked hard; had not put his heart into his work; and he also had to admit that there was no great steam be- hind his job hunting. At least he was not at all inclined toward hy- pocrisy or self pity. He lived upon what was left over from the last job until he found another one; until hunger forced him to action.
 He had never been in love; never seen the One Girl of whom novel; ists spoke; and he felt, intuitively, that, even if he did, he would avoid her. He was not, he felt, worthy of a woman's love.
 Ahead of him on the path was a young woman hurrying along, carrying a baby. She was a nice looking young person; the sort of features sometimes called "patri- cian." One knew, instantly that she was a young woman of culture and refinement and probably of good family. The path curved at this point.
 When she looked furtively around to see if she were observed, she did not sec Clinton because he was temporarily cut off from her view by a large bush. To be sure that she did not see him upon a second glance, Clinton stepped be- hind the bush, with that human instinct which prompts one to ob- serve another who obviously does not wish to be observed.
 He Could See Her Clearly
 He could see her very clearly through the bush. He wondered at himself for having so quickly adopted the role of spying, which was foreign to his nature. He realized that he had acted instinct lively, and that the decent thing to do was to step out from behind the bust, reveal himself. and go on his way.
 But before he could act upon this, he saw her go hurriedly to park bench, put the baby down upon it. and pin note to it's cloth