The Waterbury Democrat., 1934-07-16

For a few moments he could imagine that he was The Boss owning all this. and giving orders, surrounded by 'yes-men." That was the sort of thing he had dreamed of achieving, when he came to New York from his lit-l tie Vermont village. But here he was, at fifty-three, still just 8 book keeper to Joyce, Stark and Evans, realtors. Still just one of the mill lions weo are thankful to have a steady, humdrum job pays barely enough to live on in one room and no more.
 Fifty-three Haven't the French saying that Every man dies at thirty?"
 One room And he had so wanted that little house of his own!
 He had never seen a house like | it in real life. But he had seen | it in dream, when he was only boy of fifteen. Usually, he didn't l remember dreams after he woke,
 but that one had stayed with him all these years. A small, low 1 house, of rosy, spongy-looking old | brick. A green roof and a little l green white gate. A crazy pave ment leading to the door and most important of all-tulips on ! either side. Rows and rows of stiff, clean, gay, little cups,-yel- 1 low, red and purple. He loved tu- l lips. They weren't the kind of flower you wore in buttonehole or | gave to smart women. They were
 used for planting around the |
 suburb or small town. Home in
 the Spring-that was what tulips meant.
 In the dream, he had walked up
 the crazy pavement, into the house
 and there was a comfortable, mid l dle-aged woman, with brown hair parted in the middle, wearing a
 dress of pale lilac gingham, and
 a big, white apron. She had given
 him an apple pie, piping hot, with | the flakiest, lightest golden-brown 1 crust and apples, all soft and sug-
 ary and spicy inside. And there
 was thick, cold, ivory-white cream to pour over it. A fifteen-year-oId boys idea of Heaven! How ab- surd to remember it at fifty | three!
 Once or twice he had tried to
 tell other people about his dream, but they had never understood. | Tulips and apple pie were such | common, everyday things to most | people.
 HE TOOK THE
 SUBWAY AS USUAL
 This evening, when his work was done, he took the Lexington Ave- | nue subway as usual and got out | at 18th Street. He walked East, until he came to brownstone house. Inside the vestibule, there was letter in his sox. He was rather excited when he saw it, | he so rarely got personal letters
 now. Hurrying up four flights of stairs to the room he occupied in the back of the house, he sat down | in his one easy chair, settled his glasses on his nose and began to
 read.
 l T don't suppose you remember | Josie Trimble {. ."
 Remember her? Of course he
 did! They had been at school to-
 gether in Vermont. She was the daughter of widow,-the village
 dressmaker, that his own mother
 didn't quite approve because there | was something forward" about
 any woman earning her own liv-
 ing, even in such a feminine way
 as dressmaking, Josie had been thin and freckled and straight
 haired,--a rather pathetic little Il girl that none of the other boys
 ever noticed except himself. They
 had played together right up to
 the time that he was seventeen
 and came to New York.
 e.. =. Six years ago mother
 died and came here," wrote
 Josie. i've just learned from
 Maria King that you are still in
 New York and living alone. I do
 so want to see you, Bill. If you
 could come to supper next Sunday
 evening, real-old- fashioned Ver-
 mont supper. .." l Bill" Of course. They used to
 call him Bill. He had been "Wil-
 kens" and "Mr Wilkens" so long