Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 154, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 June 1916 — Perseverance [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Perseverance

By GERALD HOME

(Copyright, 1916. by W. G. Chapman.) r* Alfred Lyons was a very ordinary young man. He frankly admitted this to his sweetheart, Lily, when expressing wonder that she should ever have agreed to marry him. "You are wonderful,” answered Lily, “and I know you are going to become a successful man.” “You’re right there,” answered Alfred. “But how did you know?” “Because you have perseverance,” answered Lily, receiving the kiss that hovered upon his lips. Alfred was amazed at her perspicacity. That was his one quality. Hq was as adhesive as a bulldog smothered in court plaster. He had the grip of a letter clip crossed with a sticktight. And ytt it may be said, paradoxically, that he 6tuck at nothing. He had already outlined his -life. “I am going to become Mr. Plethora's private secretary at $5,000 a year,” he said. “After I have learned the Wall street game from him I. shall go into business on my own acount and make my millions. Then I shall oust Plethora from Wall street and rule in his stead. Then we ll retire to that little farm you spoke of and own an automobile.” "And travel in Europe,” suggested Lily, looking up at him in awe and wonder. “Precisely,” answered Alfred. “Now I’m off to interview Plethora.” One of Mr. Plethora’s peculiarities was that he insisted on seeing every-

body who applied to him for a job in person. Therefore Alfred had no difficulty in interviewing the great man. Nobody knew just what Mr. Plethora wanted in applicants, but when Alfred got into his presence, 27th on the regular Saturday list of applications, he was turned down cold. “There’s nothing here for you,’’ said Mr. Plethora. “No, there never will be anything, but you can leave your name and address if it will make you feel better.’’ “Think it over again,’’ said Alfred. “I want a job as your secretary. And I mean to get it.” “Next, please,” said Mr. Plethora’s secretary, grinning. And Alfred was ushered out. t In spite of Alfred’s nerve, Mr. Plethora had entirely forgotten him by the next morning. That was because, as has been explained, Alfred was a very ordinary young man. There was nothing distinguished about him. He was the sort of young man whom one sees the minute one looks out of the window. Take a glance at the next young man who passes your door. That’s Alfred. Go to a baseball game and look at the first young man you see upon the bleachers. That's Alfred. Go on an excursion and look at the young man at your side, eating a ham sandwich. ~ That’s Alfred too.

Consequently, when Mr. Plethora received a brief note the next morning asking for a job, and signed A. L., he simply tossed it into his waste basket without comment. The secretary did not even see it. The kecond morning the receipt of a similar note aroused a faint reminiscence in Mr. Plethora’s mind. He tossed it into the waste basket. The third morning a frown crossed Mr. Plethora’s brow as he opened the missive. He handed it to his secretary- “ Some fool wants a job and forgot to put his name and address,” he said, forgetting that Alfred had left his at his own invitation. On the fourth morning Mr. Plethora began to get worried. “Didn’t I get a letter like this yesterday, Mr. Day?" he asked. “Yes, I remember it quite well," said the secretary. “Well, I wish he’d stop writing to me,” said Mr. Plethora. “It’s getting on my nerves." On the fifth morning Mr. Plethora jumped when he saw the now familiar writing. He flung the letter over to his secretary with a curse. “Have the police trace this young man and stop him," he said angrily.

On the sixth morning the communication changed its nature. Mr. A. L. now hgd \ the honor to request the felicity of a position as Mr. Plethora’s private secretary. On the seventh he was quite menacing. Unless the position were forthcoming A. L. would bo obliged to remind Mr. Plethora of hlB application. During the next two weeks Mr. Plethora flung away the letters unopened. Yet he knew that his mind was subconsciously searching out the strong, upright characters upon the envelope. He was annoyed that the writer could not be traced. He went to Europe shortly after and forgot about him. On the top of Mont Cents a bundle of personal mail was handed to him by a perspiring postman. Nine-tenths of the letters were from A. L. A. L. cajoled for a job, he threatened for a job, he pleaded for a Job, he was facetious about a job. Mr. Plethora cabled his secretary.

“Run down and arrest anonymous writer before I return, or I discharge you,” he said. When he got home a bundle of letters from A. L. was waiting on his library table. A. L. w r as becoming mildly reproachful. When was he going to get that job? He reproachfully told Mr. Plethora that time was pressing, and in a year or two he would have to use harsher means. Mr. Plethora discharged Mr. Day and got along without a secretary while considering applications. Among the applicants was a certain Mr. Alfred Lyons. Mr. Plethora had not the slightest recollection of him. “Are you able to stop nuisances from writing to me?” he inquired. “Yes, sir,” said Alfred respectfully. “I shall have to ask for a two weeks’ delay in assuming my responsibilities, though, because I am to be married tomorrow.” — r~

“What do you mean by ’assuming your responsibilities’?” roared Mr. Plethora. “You aren’t hired yet. And you aren’t going to be. However, you can leave your name and address, If that will make you feel any easier.” Alfred Lyons dived into his pocket and handed Mr. Plethora a slip of paper marked Alfred Lyons. “I have no card just now, sir. My plate is being re-engraved with my new address,” he explained. “The salary will be $5,000.”' Something about the bold, upright writing attracted Mr. Plethora’s attention. Then, all at once, he knew. “So It’s you, is it, you scoundrel!” he said bitterly. “Why shouldn’t I hand you over to the police for annoying me as you have done?” Alfred Lyons hung up his hat. “I may as well help you out for the day, sir,” he said. “My salary need not begin till I come back.’.’ “And I’ve got It, Lily,” he announced to his bride-to-be that evening. “Five thousand. I’ll stick five years. In ten years I’ll have him downed. In fifteen year 3 the farm for us. That’s the life. Where’s our marriage license?”

Jumped When He Saw the Now Familiar Writing.