Year: 1875




lie came up town last night to
drink the old year out and the new
year in. There are men who can re-
member when he had cottage of his
own: when he was well-dressed and
had frank, honest face; when his
children went to Sunday school and
his wife was well clothed and carried
a happy face. Old Jim found him.
self going down the hill, and almost
in year he had changed from hard
working, respectable man to rag
ged, lazy sort, and no effort on the
part of those who loved him could
stop his descent. His home went,
his furniture went, good clothes and
happy faces disappeared, and wretch
edness and poverty moved into the
old tenement house on Beaubien street
with him.


Do you remember when his child
was run over and killed? Old jim
was dead drunk while the body lay
in the house. Were you ever at the
Central Court when he was sent up
for drunkenness or for beating his
wife? Have you never seen him
sleeping his drunken sleep in the
alley? Haven't you heard the police
speak of "Old Jim Drayton:" \
red, wicked face, having not one soft
line in tired eyes looking stupidity
and vacantly at you-a battered hat
ragged clothes-you surely must
have met him at some time.


Old Jim meant to have Il big drunk.
That was good way to wind the old
year up. He had been drunk Thanks
giving - he had staggered home
drunk Christmas night, and when the
boys were heard wishing that Santa
Claus had not passed them by the
father became angered and beat them.
The bar-keeper knew him as he en-
tered the saloon and called for drinks.
He had called there dozens of times
before, and his face was as familiar
as the sight of the big decanter from
which he poured his drink.


"Wait Il minute" said the bar
keeper, who was wiping off the bar:
and old Jim sat down at one of the
tables.


Two young men came i'll and sat
down near him. Jim was in the
shadow, and they did not know who
it was. AS they drank their beer
they spoke of the dying year, and of
their resolves to break off some of
their bad habits, and finally one of
them SAID:


"Some one was saying that old jim
Drayton had cut his throat!


''It's good news, if true" replied
the other. "No one will miss the old
sort-not even his family. His wife
and children are in rags, his home
hasn't a comfort, and if he'd only die
folks would feel like helping them.
He's the lowest drunkard in Detroit!'


eyes; I've often wondered why he
didn't jump INTO the river" rejolned
the other. 'If l ever get as low and
ragged and mean as old Jim Drayton
Ill shoot myself"


Old Jim heard every work. If he
had had a glass of whisky down he'd
have leaped up and cursed them, but
he was sober-as sober rs he had
ever been for ten years, and he made
no move. Was he low and mean?
Did everybody feel that way toward
him? Did everybody notice his poor
old house, his ragged children, his
red face and watery eyes? Did men
speak to each other of his degreda-
ton, his neglect of his tamily-would
his death be good news to the public?


''Do you want whisky or gin?'
asked the bartender, but old jim did
not hear him. He had leaned back
against the wall, pulled his hat over
his eyes and was thinking. Drink
had robbed him of his honest look,
his frank tone and his strength and
skill, but it had not robbed him OF
his memory. He could go back over
the decade and remember his pleas
ant home, his happy family, and his
own honest, Independent feeling
Shame came with memory. He had
not got so low but words could strike
him.


Two or three other men came in,
and while they were drinking one of
them asked:


"Isn't that old Jim Drayton in the
corner?"


eyes, that's the old sol" answered
another.


"Wonder if he isn't going to swear
off-ha! ha! hap laughed the third.


The words stung old Jim again.