The Washington times., 1933-07-25

against his will.
Suicide.
A Black River
He got up from his rolltop
desk, surveyed the empty desks
all around, and walked over to
the window. Below, far below,
lay one of the streets of New
York. 1t looked like a black
river, at the bottom of the
Grand Canyon.
John Duff didn't shudder as
he looked. He strained his
myopic eyes to see the swarms
Of people crawling along both
sides of the street. Those
people, he thought, are alive.
They are crawling, working,
Shaving, sweating, living, laugh
Ing and loving-for what?
There was no answer. When
you come right down to it,
he figured, there really isn't
an answer to anything. You go
through life having a little fun
and a whole lot of heartacheS,
and then-pouf!-you stop
breathing and your enemies tell
the world what a swell guy
you really were.
For a moment, John Duff
felt impelled to raise the win
dow and jump. But he didn't.
The window was only % floors
above the street. The roof
was 40. No use taking any
chances, you know. Might as
well do it right.
John Duff went back to his
desk. From the center drawer,
he removed a small mirror. He
looked in it, and gazed at his
face for the last time.
The face he saw was old,
and lined. The eyes were still
young, and very blue. The hair
still retained its natural brown,
but there wasn't much left of
1t. AS he looked, he smiled
again, for he recalled how
much he had feared badness.
So much so, that he had al
lowed a few strands of hair
to grow exceptionally long, so
that he could comb them over
the bald parts.
Like a Star
All that seemed silly now.
Trivial. He hurled the mirror
onto the floor. It cracked from
the center outward, like a star.
John Duff looked at it for a
moment. That's how I'll crack,
he thought. Only I won't look
half as pretty.
He grabbed a pen. Might as
well write last note. Every
suicide does that. Why should
I upset such grand precedent,
he thought. It's tradition! I
can see the cops pouring into
this office after it's over, up
setting all my correspondence
looking for motive. And after
it's all over, they'll say: why,
the whole thing was a flop. He
left no note!'
Tired with thinking, John
Duff looked for a sheet of
paper. AS usual, he couldn't
find any in his desk drawers.
He picked up a letter from the
top of the desk. He looked at
the signature. Leonard Lyons.
Who was Leonard Lyons? He
couldn't recall.
It made no difference. He
turned the letter over to the
blank side, and began to write.
"All my life" he wrote, II was
q tightWad. I saved and saved
and saved. That's all I lived
for. Money. When I made
enough to retire on, wanted
more. And when that came
along, I still wasn't satisfied.
"Six months ago, the bubble
exploded Not quickly, like most
bubbles. Slowly. Securities,
my main investment, declined
until they were worth next to
nothing. Real estate, which I
tried to dispose of to save my
security holdings, proved a
white elephant. Yesterday, the
bank in which I deposited my
cash, failed. Thus the motive.
"Now, I, John Duff, am about
to leave this office, go to the
roof and jump off. And, with
out any intended lack of rever-
ence, hope to God that break
evoly bone in my body!"
Note Is Signed
John Duff signed his name
with flourish. Then, with an
ordinary paper clip, he stuck
the note onto the desk lamp so
that no one would have trouble
finding it.
Then he stood up, took a last
-