Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 82, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 April 1910 — A MAN WORTH HELPING. [ARTICLE]

A MAN WORTH HELPING.

The true story of Mike Halloran, optimist, is worth reading and considering. He had lost his sight in a factory where parls green got Into his eyes. That was fourteen years ago, says a writer In the World’s Work, and ever since he had supported himself by carting ashes. He was not a contractor, but a day laborer, and no one helped him in his sightless task except a small lad, who led the horse. A reporter who had learned these surprising facts questioned Mike further. “They calls me ‘Happy Mike Halloran’. owin’-to me mindin’ me own affairs an’ keepin’ a cheery look to the world,” he went on, with a bit of a sigh; "but I feels It pretty sober inside o’ me whin I be lookin’ the gayest.” “How much work can you do In a day, Halloran, as compared with a man who can see?"

“As much as any o’ them an’ more’n manny, sor. I can handle six to tin loads a day, accordin’ to the len’th o’ the trip. I’ll be afther havin’ ’em shorter when the new docks be finished. I’m tryin’ me best to git a free permit on account o’ not havin’ me soight. I know there’s some o’ the other men gits ’em, an’ that gives ’em a chance to bid under us as has to pay; an’ whin 1 git that, Til be able to meet the best o’ thim, providin’ I can git me a horse agin.” “But I thought you said you had a horse.” “I did till two months back, sor, whin he took~sick_s’__the glanders and died on me. Thin I splnt ivery- last clnt o’ me money on a baste that was ricommlnded to me as bein’ sound, savin’ he was a bit spavined, an’ begorra, sor, in less than a week he wlnt bad, an’ the Cruelty Society took him away and shot him, sor. The agent says to me, ‘lt’s only the luck o’ your bein’ blind,’ says he, ’that I don’t arrlst yez and’ have yez fined,’ says he. Take the boy, Mag. He’s fell 1 asleep.” This to his wife, a sweetfaced little woman, who had been crooning a lullaby to a bundle of lesser babyhood as the two men talked.

Halloran rose from his chair by the stove, which was cold and comfortless, and stretching himself to his height of six fee£ two, displayed a figure that would have done credit to a disciple of Vulcan. He was without coat or vest, and was in his stocking feet. - - “How have you managed since the horse was taken? Can you get out of it whole when you have to hire?” asked the reporter^ "It's barely whole I git out of 1L I have to pay $2 a day for the baste an’ feed him at noon, an’ whin the end o’ the week comes there’s scarce a dollar left for the rest o’ us. But I used to have to hire one, two or three times a week, or me ashes would pile up on me, an’ the superintindints would let out me job on me, Wld a horse o’ me own, I can git along, as I have tin or twllve dollars a week fur meself.” Such a man was not long without a horse to cart his ashes. The reporter used his head as well as his heart, and Halloran soon was possessed of the nag, the coveted permit, and the right again to work for his living: ■