Rensselaer Republican, Volume 15, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 March 1883 — A CHANGE IN FORTUNE. [ARTICLE]

A CHANGE IN FORTUNE.

Mr. Timothy Bloom, salesman in Mr. Crabbe’s big retail dry goods store, was -stealthily eating his lunch in a dusty corner amongst some empty packing boxes. It was not a very good lunch, and warm as the day was, he had but one glass of ice water to drink with it A very mild, pleasant looking young fellow was Timothy Bloom, with eyes like a pretty girl’s and hair parted down the middle; but he was rather doleful at this moment for Crabbe, senior, had just lieen abusing him for permitting a lady, who was uot to be suited by mortal salesman, to get off without buying anything. He had likewise informed hiin that he had been five seconds late that morning and would in consequence “be deducted in eighth” on Saturday evening. That was not pleasant, and Mr. Crabbe’s manner was not pleasant, and the dusty corner and the stale sandwich were not pleasant. And who nan wonder that poor Timothy Bloom, looking up at a row of decorated corset boxes above his head, and taking his idea from the winged infant picture upon them remarked, under his breath: “I wish I was a cherub.” At this moment, even as the wish fluttered up to the corset boxes, a little boy, about three feet high, bearing on his bosom a badge with the enormous number 1189, came around the comer, and fixed his pathetic eyes on Mr. Bloom’s glass of water. “I say, Mr. Bloom,” he whispered, pathetically, “won’t you give me jest a mouthful of that water? Mr. Crabbe says us cashes an’t to have no drinks, and Fm chokin'." Mr. Bloom smiled pitifully at the child, a forlorn widow’s assistant bread winner, and said mildly, as he held out the glass: “Here, Johnny, take halt I’d let you have it all if we were not limited to one glass ourselves.” “Guess water is gettin’ dear,” said Johnny, eagerly swallowing the share allowed of the cooling draught, but scrupulously careful not to exceed the permission. “Thank ’ee. You’re a brick. Mr. Bumps hit me a lick when I asked him. Here have the paper? A customer left it on the desk. Save it for me to take home to mar when Igo home to-night. She likes to read the murders and them things " “Cash 1189!” shrieked a. female voice. •‘Cash! Cash!” “It’s Miss Pringle. I must go," whispered Johnny, and sped away in terror. There were ten cash boys in the store, and they had been numbered high to sound well Mr. Bloom peeped around the boxes at the dock, saw he had ten minutes more to himself, and opened the paper. The first thing his eye lighted on was an advertisement of a fine country seat for sale, and he read it through—4he description of the stables, bams, bath tubs, conservatory, veranda, lawn and kitchen garden; the well, octagon parlors and cupola; the tiled halls and frescoed oeilings,as though he intended to buy it for himself that afternoon. Then he oast his eye upon an account of how Mr. Mullen had beaten Mrs. Mullen, and been arrested for so doing; and then he found himself reading a paragraph to the effect that the heirs of Timothy Bloom, of Lancaster, England, if living, might hear of something to their advantage by applying to Jones & Johnson, . - street. “My name,” thought Mr. Bloom, at first. Then, with a start, he remembered that he had heard that his grandfather was named Timothy. Certainly, he came fTom Lancaster, England. His her,fat David Bloom, had been an only son. He

was an only son himself. Well,theD,te was Timothy Bloom's heir, if it should prove thatthe Timothy Bloom inquired for was really his father’s father. “But, oh paha!” said Mr. Bloom, “this sort of thing couldn’t happen to me. It’s some other Timothy, not poor old grandfather.” And he copied the address of Jones A Johnson into his pocketbook,and wait back to his counter quite cal nly, though he wrote to Jones & Johnson that night However, wonders will never cease. When Tim Bloom, the meekest of all young salesmen, went home that Saturday evening with a “deducted’ salary and a scolding, he found Mr. Johnson himself in his boarding-h6use parlor, and an examination of the family Bible in his possession, and of a certain bundle of yellow letters that Mr. Bloom had more than once decided to burn, but had, fortunately, spared, settled the matter. Half 8 million of money had come to him in the regular course of nature, and he was richer not only than Mr. Crabbe,but than any of his most fashionable customers. jt was a wonderful surprise to little Tim Bloom, and he scarcely grasped the idea at first. Even after he had told his confident, his landlady’s pretty grandMr. Bloom remembered the placard over the water-cooler: “Cashes not allowed drinks;” “A cash who drinks deducted one-half,” and though that if Mr. Crabbe really had a heart this must be known one in private. The boarders were not “sociable;” he treated them to ice cream several times, and took Hetty White to a concert or two He improved his mind in libraries and museums, and set up a bookcase of his own, into which he put a miscellanous assortment of volumes; but when one day he received a perfumed envelope, inviting him to a lawn-tennis party at Mr. Crabbe’s country seat, he felt that the dissipations of the wealthy had just begun for h’m. He accepted, of course and went attired in perfect style, and looking very well, indeed. , He returned bewildered. Miss Crabbe sang and danced, and was “stylish.” She had set her cap for him, and bbe —yes, actually Mr. Crabbe—bad plainly allowed him to see that ho would give his consent to the match. “Two months ago he called me a ‘stupid idiot.’ Two months ago he snubbed me whenever he spoke to me," thought Tim Bloom. * : ¥es, this is the old story; everybody, everybody, even old ‘Mrs. White, flattering and cringing to my money. I wander whether Hetty is the daughter, Mehitable White—a pretty, pink-cheeked, capable damsel, called Hetty for short -he on'y went so far as to think of a pair of patent-leather boots and a diamond cravat-pin. Hetty awakened him to a full realization of his changed condition by saying, rather seriously, and looking away from him: “Of course grandma’s won’t suit you any longer, Mr. Bloom, and you’ll never have to go back to Crabbe & Co’s again." “By George! I never thought of it; so I shan’t," said Tim Bloom. “No more counter-jumping for me; and if Mrs. White will let me hire the back parlo'j Fll take that Go away? Not I!” “Not yet; its too soon,” said Hetty to herself; “but he’ll go when he quite understands.” “Let me congratulate you, my dear Mr. Bloom," said Mr. Crabbe, bowing as he parted from the departing clerk as he did to the carriage customers at the very sto re-dooo. “Ihave always felt superiority in you over the other young men. I said to my daughter, Belinda, tne other day: “If it were not for giving offence to ethers I should ask Mr. Timothy Bloom to our little evenings. Something •'t the money. I wonder whether Hetty is the same?’, And in the seclusion of his own apartment poor, young Tim Bloom actually cried; though Mr. Crabbe called that evening and took him to a charming stag party, whqre the guests were principally in the'dry goods line, and in every direction one's ears caught the remark, “sold a bill of goods to a man,” and where everyone scorned to drink anything less costly than champagne. “You rascal,” said the excellent father on the way home, “I see you are afraid to speak, but I know you couldn’t keep your eyes off my Belinda last Wednesday.” “Could I hope for your consent,if she " “My dear boy—ha! ha! ha! Why, ask her and see!” cried Mr. Crabbe. It has always been the wish of my heart, even when you were a poor clerk, and she (don’t say I told you) always admired you—always!” At nine o’clock, one night,Mrs. White’s door bell rang, and a messenger boy handed in a letter—a big letter, with a big seal and “immediate” on it. What could it be? Something about the property, of course. Mrs. White carried it herself to Mr. Bloom’s room, and as she handed it in, saw him seated beside a table on which stood wine and a tray of delicacies. Mr. Crabbe was at supper with her boarder. , 1 “Excuse me,” said Timothy.

“Oh! certainly,” said Mr. Crabbe. Timothy opened the letter, read it, uttered a deep sigh, and passed it to Mr. Crabbe. Mr. Crabbe read it and turned purple. “Do I understand it?" said Timothy, hiding his face. “Your lawyer says the property is no longer yours—that your grandfather was not the right Timothy Bloom, and that the real heir will demand a restoration of all that you have spent already.” “Yes, I was right,” said Mr. Bloom. “But, Mr. Crabbe, after all I shall do very well I can go back to your store, and Miss Belinda has quite a sufficient little fortune of her own. We can still be happy.” Mr. Crabbe leaped to his feet. “Sir! sir!” he said, “this is a great piece of impertinence, sir. You haven’t spoken to Belinda.” “But you assured me— ” began Timothy. didn’t” shrieked Mr. Crabbe. “A least, I was mistaken. I came here with the intention of telling you, upon my word and honor, that she can’t endure you; and as for the store,you were a most incompetent salesman. There is no situation open. Sorry for you, but— Good night, good-night.” ■ “Good night,” said Timothy. Then, as the door closed, he took up his letter and carried it to old Mrs. White, who, with Hetty as assistant, was seeding raisins for next day’s pudding, sitting one on either side of the drop-light in the dining-room. . “I shall have to give up my back parlor,” said poor Timothy. “And as for my half hall bedroom, I don’t know how to pay for that; for Mr. Crabbp won’t take me back.” “Time-serving old wretch!” said Mrs. White. “No matter, Mr. Bloom. I’ll trust you. Intentions being right, I never will be hard on my boarders, and you can keep the parlor until it is hired, because it’s more comfortable.” “And try to keep up your spirits,” said Hetty; “for, after all, money isn’t everything.” “It seemed too sudden to last,” said Mrs. White. “I never trust these lawyers.” . So the good souls comforted him, and after a whueTwlien he asked Hetty to take a little walk with him, she consented. There was a little park on the other side of the street, and though the gates were looked they walked around its railings. Their talk was. long and earnest, and at last Timothy said: “Well, Hetty, poor as I am, will you promise to marry me some day?” And she had answered, “Yes, Tim,” very simple—and so it was settled; and for a young man, recently reduced from affluence to poverty, Mr. Bloom certainly looked very happy as they went home together. But it was only when Mrs. White had given her loving consent to his marrying Hetty when they had enough for bread and butter, that he made confession: “I can’t keep to myself any longer, grandma. I wrote that letter myself. I’m as rich as I ever was, and Eve tested my friends. Old Crabbe has proven false and you have proven true. I felt sure about Hetty all the while; and when we are married you must live with us, and there shall be no more hard work and boarders for you in this world, you dear old souk” After which the reader is to understand a wedding and a happy life|for alL—{Mary Kyle Dallas in New York Ledger.