Jasper County Democrat, Volume 4, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 August 1901 — STUB AND THE DIAMOND LOCKET [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

STUB AND THE DIAMOND LOCKET

r>f)OW, you’ll notls,” said Stub, ]m| “dat fellers In books an’ storles allers has er chanst ter do aainpen great, dat makes ’em great, an’ gits der names in der poipers. But do Me git dat chanst? Not on yer life!" Stub sliced a splinter of wood off the edge of the empty crate he was sitting on, and began to whittle it with a very rusty knife. The boys were sitting In the alley, waiting for their “extry.” The day was hot and stifling, there was no air stirring, and “der gang” were feeling very tired. Papers did not sell fast on hot days nor stormy days, and it was hard work to earn enough even to afford the extra penny for a swim In the dingy bathhouse down near the rolling mill. “It makes yer sick tryiu’ ter act on der square an’ be honest, sometimes,” said Jimmy Hobbs, wiping his dirty face with a still dirtier and very ragged shirt sleeve.

Stub picked up his knife again and went back to Ills whittling, with a sober face. The world seemed all wrong, somehow. Other boys had good clothes and good homes and plenty to eat and long vacations at lakes and in the mountains in the summer. He had never had good clot lies in his life. He never remembered having all he wanted to eat except at the Christmas and Thanksgiving “feeds” given to the newsboys yearly. All he knew of the lakes was what lie could see from the crowded docks, and he knew nothing of the mountains except from picture papers. It did not seem right. Yet he had always tried to “keep square." He would not pick pockets. He had a very dim and hazy recollection of a sweet mot her-face that he hugged close to his heart under the

ragged little shirt, and somehow that mother face seemed to come to him more clearly when anything tempted him that was not just “square.” “Extry!” yelled Jimmy suddenly. And Stub started up with the rest of the boys as the gong sounded down the alley. The next moment he was in line, struggling and yelling with the rest, while the men shoved bundles of papers out to them and they paid for their little brass checks at the window. Then be was on the street with the cry that the men had given out: “Extry! All about de big railway ax’deut! Extry!” Along the running board of an electric car he darted to the smokers’ seats. They were always the most hopeful. An elderly gentleman boarded the car at the same time and motioned Stub. He stood on the running board as Stub gave him the paper and took the coin. Then the boy dropped to the ground. As he did so something rolled at his feet—something bright and glittering. Stub sk >ped and picked it up, and It proved to be a plain gold locket, with one spot of vivid light in the center. And Stub gasped as lie realized that he held tn his hand what was, to him, a small fortune. For the spot of vivid, dazzling light was a diamond of considerable size. Stub, tightly grasping his valuable find In his hand, darted through the throng of wagons and carriages to the

sidewalk. There he stood staring after the car. “It was der ol’ gents,” he muttered to himself. “I seen It swing from der chain uv ills ticker. It mus’ | tiv caught in,d« r seat as lie got in der car. An'- ah —he looks a rich tin. He kin buy anudder lots more. An' an’ —me—l ain’t had a square meal dis Bummer.” The papers were under his arm, forgotten. The locket was clenched In his fist. And down the crowded street he could see the car that bore the elderly gentleman, slowly making its way. He watched it dully. Then he muttered to himself again. “It—it goes round der loop. It—goes round der loop.”

Far down the street he saw It at last turn a corner and disappear. Then he turned and looked up the street at his left. In a few minutes the car would pass that corner h block above. “He kin—buy more—” he muttered the words again, -utlll watching that corner. Then suddenly the crowded street blurred for a moment and he saw that sweet mother-face that sometimes seemed so dim when he tried hardest to remember it. It was so clear ■ow —so clear! Stub swallowed a lump In his throat, then with one spring he cleared the gutter, dodged an express van. bumped against a stately policeman, swung around a clanging automobile aud footed it as fast as he could up the crowded sidewalk. In and out the crowd es business men aud shopping women he darted like an eel, then swung to the curb as he neared the corner. Beyond him was the car, already crossing the street. Betting his teeth. Stub again cleared the gutter with a bound nad flew up the track. The motor and trailer wore boundlag ahead, but an Italian, with his fruit .art got In the way. It was a moment’s l sum. and Stub did his l»est. Panting sad gasping, he reached the trailer, tangbt tbs rail and sprang to tbs

step. Then he saw the elderly gentleman, quietly reading the paper Stub had sold him. Stopping at his elbow, Stub reached out a grimy little fist between the gold eye glassed and the paper, and opened his fingers. “Please, sir, yer dropped it. An’— an’ I jest ketched der car.” The elderly gentleman stared at the locket, picked it up from the grimy hand, and then Stub quietly dropped to the ground as the conductor pushed him to one side. Making his way to the sldew’alk, Stub stood still for a moment. “I didn’t git even er dime,” he said, blankly, to a wooden Indian that stood In front of a cigar store. “Not even er dime." He shifted his papers to the other arm, pushed his ragged cap back from his wet forehead, wiped his face on his arm, then opened his mouth. “Extry! All ’bout der big rail ” A hand came down on Stub's shoulder, and he looked up straight into the gold-rlmmed glasses of the elderly gentleman.

“I want to talk to you a minute, young man,” said Stub’s customer. “I suppose you eat ice cream and—such things? Come in here. It is rather noisy on the sidewalk for conversation.” A little frightened and a little delighted, Stub walked along toward a confectioner’s near by, the firm hand still on bls shoulder. Soon he was sitting at a small round table with a big glass of ice cream soda in front of him. Stub set to with a will, and the twinkling eyes of the old gentleman studied his face sharply through the gold-rlmmed glasses till the cream had disappeared. “And now,” he said quietly, “tell me all about finding that locket.” And Stub told him. The old gentleman listened attentively. “Why didn’t you keep the locket?" he asked. “Why—lt—lt wouldn’t ha' been actin* square,” stammered Stub. “Oh! And who taught you what was ‘acting square?’” queried the old gentleman. “Me mudder,” replied Stub, in a low voice.

“And where does she live?” “She—she’s dead,” said Stub. “Ah! And what is your name?” asked the old gentleman. “Stub—er—l mean, me right name Is Disbro—Stanley Dlsbro,” said Stub, reaching down for bls ragged little cap. But when he sat up again the cap dropped from his fingers. He looked at the old gentleman—who had grasped the edge of the table with both hands and was staring at him—with terror. For the old gentleman's face was white and his mouth was working strangely. The next moment be had taken the locket from bls pocket and bad opened it with shaking fingers and thrust It across the table toward Stub. I And Stub?—Stub looked down with wondering eyes and saw, framed in the delicate gold, the fair, sw’eet motherface that he had cherished so long in his boy memory. And on the other side of the table the old gentleman was sitting with his head bowed in his hands. And Stub, awed and still, knew that he was crying. And afterward Stub learned all about ,It bow the old gentleman's daughter ■ had married against his wishes and he had disowned her. And then Stub told ! Ids part—of his father's death, and his

young mother’s struggle with poverty till she followed her husband to the shadow land. And of her teachings to “act square,” that he could not forget, even though he went hungry. And two weeks after Stub was living in a snug cottage on the lake shore, far from the city heat and noise. And there were bathing and boating and games in the sand, and three square meals a day, with lunches between, and a donkey and cart, all his own, and a happy old gentleman whom he called affectionately “gran dad.” And last, but not least, there was a houseful of noisy and delighted guests, who once had been known in newspaper alley as "der gang.”—Chicago HecordHerald.

“WHO TAUGHT YOU WHAT WAS ‘ACTING SQUARE’?”