Jasper County Democrat, Volume 5, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 November 1902 — SENIOR WESTLAKE’S THANKSGIVING. [ARTICLE]

SENIOR WESTLAKE’S THANKSGIVING.

BY LEON E. DANIELS.

cr> BOUT Wentworth Institute all AA\ was quiet. The (lull November morning had worn well on toward the noon hour, yet no one was stirring, and a vacation like stillness pervaded the air. “It’a strangely quiet here thia morning," said Harold Westlake to himaelf, aa he strolled down the path toward the «sty. “I wonder If I’m the only man np.” He looked at his watch; it was a quarter of ten. “Well, I suppose boat of the fellows have gone home for Thanksgiving; that accounts for it.” There was a look of unwonted uiedita-

tlon on Westlake's face as he walked tvwn the path. Ilia atep, habitually buoyant, was like that of a man who la pondering some knotty problem. He was a tail, large framed, athletic looking fellow. His college training had not made him pale or round shouldered—a characteristic of most collegians in those early days and be flattered himself that with all his proficiency in what hla practical father called “your Greek and Latin rubbish," he could still prove to the rugged farmer his ability to hold a plow or Kch hay with the best of his old Blmld companions whose education had not been over emphasized. As he turned a corner of the path Ills eye was attracted to the college poplar which stood near the walk, and now enveloped in a momentary outburst of sunshine. It had long been a custom at the Institute for every freshman to cut hla Initial* on the tree trunk, and high up from Its baee the smooth bark waa closely •overed with monograms, the lower ones now almost obliterated by the growth of fee tree. Near the top of the list Westlake saw hla owu, “H. R. W. 87.” A Senior- yea, unreal aa It seemed, three gears had passed since he had carved those lettere. and aa he looked back over therm, the happy occasions which other Thaakaglvlng Days had been to him came to mind—the glad welcome to the Merlvales' pleasant home, the old-fashioned Thanksgiving diuner, the after dinner chat in the cosy parlor, and, a* twilight came on. Ihe singing of some familiar air, •r a rollicking college song in which voice and piano seemed to blend far more sweetly tbnn anywhere else. But this waa no more to be. He might aa well give up all hope of passing the day In the old way, he said to himself, as he pushed hie hands down deeper into hla pock ala. What had he done to vex Helen saucy Helen, with the softest and merriest o'! brown eyes, snd cheeks which the sun' and air had painted? Every year of hla college life thus far ho had never failed to receive an Invitation to spend Thanksgiving at her parents’ house, and he had naver failed to aocopt It. He recalled how eagerly he had awaited the postman’s rsp the even-

ing before, fully expecting to receive a letter in the well-known handwriting, but none had come. Assuredly aomething had happened to change Ilelen’a feelings toward him, but try as he might, no satisfactory explanation presented itself. Westlake, however, was not one to give way to despondency. He had had many disappointments in his college course and had learned to bear them philosophically. He walked briskly down the frozen path, struck the sidewalk and turned Into the long, elm guarded street The air was lold and exhilarating, and he forgot his perplexities for the moment In a new feeling of strength and life. The streets were well nigh deserted. The market windows whose Thanksgiving wares had been so temptingly displayed the afternoon before were now nearly empty. Only a few underfed specimens of poultry remained exposed to the gaze of possible purchasers, objects of keen envy, nevertheless, to a group of street urchins whose patched trousers and ragged caps spoke too plainly of a dinnerless Thanksgiving. The sight gave Westlake a suggestion; why not treat cne of these unfortunates to a good meal? As h» turned a street corner one of the youngsters overtook him. It was the oldest son of his washwoman. Harold hod often seen him and had once visited his home on the outskirts of the city. "Here’s my opportunity,” he thought, as he greeted the boy. The lad was drawing a small express ivngon loaded with a large bundle of washing. The student's quick eye took in the stiuation at a glance. Tho big load at which the boy tugged and strained at every curbing, bis own pale face and thinly clothed form told clearly of his home life, of his widowed, hard-work-ing mother, and of the little, hungry mouths to whom Thanksgiving would be a day, like all other days, of deprivation. In his hasty survey of tho boy’s load, Westlake had caught sight of a piece of crumpled paper in one corner of the wagon, evidently a waste bit escaped from tho linen. Picking it up half unconsciously, he began to unfold it. It was in a feminine hand a hand that struck him at once as being familiar, and each line was crossed by a heavy pen stroke straight across the paper. Glancing at | the heading, lie saw his own name. Then I the truth flashed upon him; it was j Helen’s writing. Making out with some difficulty the scored lines, he. read ns follows; . “My Dear Harold—Dinner will be srrv- | ed at half-past five to-morrow afternoon, and we wish you to be with us as usual. If this conflicts with some previous engagement, please don’t let it interfere. Perhaps your new found friend will expect ” Here the note ended. "So the invitation’s cancelled,” thought Westlake. "What does she mean by my new found friend, I wonder?” He folded the uote carefully, and placed It in his pocket. “Fred,” said he, turning to the lad at his side, whose attention dur-

ing the reading of the note had been divided between hla wagon and the shop windows, “take home your washing ard bring your wagon back aa toon ns you can." The lad, his big blue eyes expressing hta wonder more plainly than words, quickened hit pace and disappeared, little guessing to what purpose the wagon waa to be put. Westlake, in the meantime, strolled up and down the sidewalk, judging with th# practiced eye of a farm cr’a non the poultry and vegetables in the provisloners’ windows. He had hardly finished his tour of inspection, and selected as good s variety as the lateness of the season afforded, when Fred reappeared. By meant of a few questions tactfully put, Westlake soon had a fairly correct idea of the condition of the Hawkins’ larder, together with the individual likings of th* little Hawkinses. Ere the •teeple clock hard by had struck eleven, tha atrangely assorted couple were making their way toward Asylum lane. The axle* of th* little express wagon fairly creaked with the weight of the boxes and bundles entrusted to It. Their very appearance was a paradise of anticipation to Fred. One of the packages, from which a pair of claws protruded, could contain nothing less than a turkey; there were potatoes and turnips, beets and celery, onlona and sage, assorted cakes and crackers, and In the end of the wagon sundry brown paper baga which the boy’a Imagination fondly pictured 'aa containing candies (tome chocolates, he hoped), nuts, bananas, oranges, popcorn, figs, and perhaps some chewing gum. What a glorious dinner! Th# heart of the college man, Itaelf youthful, beat with pleasure at the boy’a delight, and the long expected dinner at th* Merivalea, even Helen herself, was for th# moment forgotten. B*Teral other persona, bent on like er.rande of charity, were met with in th* Crowded city quarter*, and Westiak* began to feel hlmaelf quite a philanthropist. Th* feeling Increased aa they stopped before an Immense wooden tenement house, and wers ushered Into th* dark, 111 smelling hall. Laden with th* bundles, they were greeted at th# top of

four .flights of stairs by the wxkhwomu herself, a pale, tired looking woman of forty or thereabouts, who thanked Westlake with full eyes. The student hesitated before accepting her invitation to dinner, but thinking that he might be of service In amusing the children, he consented to stay. He found ' plenty to do. The junior Hawkins’, frail, half starved little fellows as they were, seemed to be endowed with a full sense of their duties as hosts, and proceeded to entertain the strange visitor In a manner which left him little time to think of anything save the art of self-defense. Andy, the wide-awake 4-ycar-old, reported the progress of the dinner to the ethers at frequent intervals, taking hasty trips to the kitchen for that purpose. The eagerly awaited moment came at last. Dinner was ready, and such a dinner ns the children mads of It! It was well worth th# cost, Westlake thought, to see them eat and watch the pleased look on the mother’s face. How the turkey disappeared! It was turkey for relish, turkey for entree, turkey for dessert. Surely no one bird ever before did such signal service to humanity I Amid the clatter of the meal a low rap at the outer door was unnoticed. A louder knock brought Mrs. Hawkins to her feet. Her face showed plainly that the visitor was not unexpected. Westlake was helping the boy nearest him to a fourth slice of turkey, and looked up just as the new coiner entered the room. His knife nearly dropped from his hands. There before him stood Helen Merrlvale, surveying the group with a wonder equal to his own. A basket which sh« carried on her arm Indicated that she, too, had cotnc on a mission of charity. “This Is indeed a surprise, Mr. Westlake.” she said, after she had regained her composure. "I’m afraid my journey lias been in vain,” she added, with a smile, glancing at the swiftly disappearing viands. “Not ns far as 1 am concerned,” said Westlake, meaningly, and Helen blushed. At Sirs. Hawkins’ earnest invitation. Miss Merivale consented to drink a cup of coffee after her long walk. Westlake made several unsueeessful attempts to catch her eye. Was she really offended or hurt, or was it nil a mistake? The question was soon to have a reply. Fred felt it his duty to converse with the guests. "That was a pretty girl I saw- you with the other day, Mrs. Westlake,” he said, with an air borrowed from the students he admired at lAdistance. “Yes; niy sister is considered very pretty.” responded Westlake. He looked full at Helen. “Dora paid me only a flying visit, or I should have asked permission to present her to your parents and you, Miss Merivale.” Helen merely bowed in assent; her color had deepened, as if with shame, and Westlake thought he understood matters. They left tho house together soon afterward, and on their way to the city Westlake drew the crumpled note from

his pocket and handed It to his companion. "I believe this Is yours, Helen," ha said. She recognized it at a glance. "Oh, Harold, can you ever forgive me?” »he exclaimed. “If I had only known it was your sister! I saw you on the street together, and you were so far away that I did not recognize her. Then I thought you might wish to spend the day with your new friend, and I would not send the invitation.” “Is it still cancelled?” asked Westlake, playfully holding the scored lines up before her. ‘‘Only the last sentence,” was the reply.