Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 April 1886 — MOONLIGHT FLIGHT. [ARTICLE]

MOONLIGHT FLIGHT.

BY HARRY BALDWIN.

Poverty is no disgrace, it is said, lint I can aver from personal expert* nee t hat it is. one of the most unpleasant ami inconvenient things in the world. I have lieeu there.! , i I have been so poor that I had not a cent to my, name, was out of a job, owed five or six weeks hoard, ami had no immediate prospects of getting anything at all to do. • If that was'hot being poor, then I would like to inquire what poverty ■ > It was in the winter of lsTfi. and I was living at Newark, N. J, “Living” there, did I say? I had keen living there, but along towards the, last I only stayed, hung on like grim death to the very ragged edge of existence —as it were. I had Ik en working there, but along toward the end of '7a I lost my place, and it being the very worst season of the year to find employment, I did not get., another place for some tiim . While my money lasted, I was all right; bat, as soon as that WAS gone, I can tell vou 1 began to feel the bitter truth pretty keenly. Like Miofiwber. I could only wait patently for something to turn up—in the meantime subsisting on hope, and one or two meals a day. I had several anchors out to the windward, in the form of applications, and re. plies from two or . three of them gave me hopes that the clouds would soon rise. Had it not been for that. I believe I would have given up the struggle and allowed the gaunt wolf to mangle me as it would. My landlady, during the first and second we?ks after my funds had given out, sympathized with me in no small.degree,but when it had massed the third week, and was dragging along well into the fourth, then her manner began to change.. But my landlady's daughter, bless her little heart! She was my friend to the very last. She was about seventeen years of age. had a pretty face, and a shapely head with a wealth of black, curling huir. Yes. she was my friend: and, an more occasions than one. my banker, too. Many a little loan did she advance to carry me to New York and back again, or to some other city or town, in search of something to do; and. proud 1 am to say it.' every cent of it was afterward repaid, and with interest. ~ « Yes, I looked for work every day. I was not so particular what it was, either, so long as it would support me until I eonld again catch on at my regular calling. Bnt no work could I find. It is rather amusing, as I look back at it now, to recall the numerous positions in life which I essayed to fill. I tried to find work in almost every field, from driving a street ear to becoming a sailor; but luck was entirely against me. Generally, the first question would be: “Well, vonng man, what have vou been doing?” And my answer was: “I am a newspaper reporter by profession, sir, and was last on the staff of the Scrraming Amerimn - Eagh; but siuce that paper ran Aground some weeks ago. and had to be sbaft'lfflTed. } bttyo . nnt nf on'ipW. ment.” “A reporter, eh? Well. I am sorry for you, sir. but you would be sadly out of your element in this business.” And so, with slight variations, it was at everyplace I applied to. I almost ran my legs off in answering advertisements, and I advertised mvself; but all to no purpose. I could not find a market for my willing services anywhere] iTuTtny “Triends 1 * to. the practical test. I tried.to borrow from two or three of them a sufficient sum to bridge over the dismal chasm, but not a cent could I get! And those “friends,” too, were the very ones I would have backed against long odds as being the true article. Such is life! -•

The only trne friend I ever had was NeMie, my landlady's daughter. If this -were a tale of fiction, how nice it would be to goon and explain how Nellie secured a good position for the hero, how he afterward married Nellie, and then how happily they lived ever after.—the mother-in-law included!- But-it isn't fictionVit is the real essence of grim fact. .* As long as my landlady pitied my condi- • tion, and sympathized with me, I did not feel my troubles so hard to bear; but, when she began to pull a long face over the matter. then I began to grow despondent. And. as long and longer grew her face, the more and more despondent and morose grew I. One morning as I was about leaving house to begin that, upvcr-eriding search again, my landlady intercepted me in lEe~ hhll, and said: —— 1 - “See here, Mr. Scribe, do you not think it is about time I saw the color of your money again?" “Madam,” I answered, “I do. I fully realize that yon should have seen it weeks ago. Bat, yon know how I am situated. As soon as I can find ” “Yes, as soon as yon can find! I have heard lhatcry too long, sir! You must find—a way to pay me. Do yon suppose that I am running this house upon the free-lunch-and-charitv plan? Not much! Your fair promises will not pay thfe butcher nor the baker.’ I mast have money, hoxet, sir!” . : “Well, madam, as soon as I can find—*" “But, why don’t yon find?” —- “I am trying to, madam, I can assure yon; and—” . “Yes, yes; it will be just like Mr. Bohemian’s case was, I know it will. I can feel it in my bones.” Mr. Bohemian's case : —for I had heard . about it severed times already—was simply this: > Mr. Bohemian, too, it seems, was ascribe. He was a young man, and sported a diamond stud and a Saratoga trank. He had boarded at Mr*. Landlady’s for several weeks about three years previously to my advent there, and had at last cleared out X ---2 - rt—r— 1 : - f* •

suddenly, leaving his board-bill about six weeks in arrears. : j He also left his Saratoga; btft when the lan Jl ady nnmytfroT^ti''* t r~ntt~*h~ fonud - were a pair of old suspenders ahd a paper collar. ' i She whs thunderstruck. The trank had .•seated ;to be womyirfully Ugavy. arid Bohemian had more than once hinted that it contained books to (he value of two hundred dollars or upuje. Further ifivestigwtion. though, disclosed the fact that the rssciil had actually set®weld the bottom of the trjrhk to the floor. . And f for mv landlady to.think that I would, or rou'l l. be guilty of such a thing! It was 100 much, too much. Besides, l had no .Saratoga trunks.—l could trim-port all my worldly possession* in a valise, very comfortably. / —"MAflflm.T’TiTirsweri'd her, “if my lire -is spared 1 most solemnly swear that you shall notioHe'one cent of what 1 owe you.” A . . “ Thus by promises must fair. ■ and—oy iriy little friend Nellie's intercession in mv behalf. ’the fatal day was staved off for another week. Ntill I looked for work, but looked in vain; and that week, too, soon passed away. After tea. on that last day of grace, niy landlady came to me and said —or in wi.rds to the same effect: " Well, Mr. Scribe, what have you to say?”,, - ■ ■ . : “Madam.” I answered. “I am still looking ’’ ' _ -Yes. I hnve no doubt you are. tomorrow morning, though, you must look ; for a new place to hoard. I can keep you j ho longer, I shall retain your few hooks and your valise as security—though I don't suppose they're worth one week’s board, and tb-moirow morning yon must go!” Ami with that she left me. I was utterly, wholly and teetotally crushed. ■ V _ As I said before, poverty mav not bo anything to be ashamed of, but for-incon-venience it does just take the cake. I went out into the street and wandered about aimlessly. Presently I came to the river. Should l" tumble iu and end it all? 1 thought the matter over in all earnestness. and came to the conclusion that I would ••• not. —====== Truth crushed to earth will rise again, I thought, and so will weeds in a garden; and so-woftld I. ; •• ? Besides, the great Centennial Exhibition was coming on, the Brooklyn Bridge was growing, and 1 wanted- to B,ee both, ere I .surrendered -my ghost. Moreover, the water, I knew, must be fearfully cold, and—But I simply wouldn’t do it. Come what might, live or die, sink or swim, I would see my dilemma to the end. I went back to my boarding-house. Mrs. Landlady met me iu the*hall, and said; “Mr. .Scribe, here is a telegram for you. It came a few moments ago. I ilo hope-it is good news!” “And so do I!" I exclaimed. And with beating heart and trembling hands I took the envelope nnd tore it open. -Leonid have jumped for joy: but I didn’t. X even drew a longer fai'e than usual, if that were possible. It was a call for me to go to Philadelphia at once, to fill a position. “Bad news?” my landlady queried. “Only an uncle dead,” I replied, heart- “ Will you allow me to have breakfast before I leave your house in the morning?” “Yes,” was the answer,' “you may.” I went to my room, and there 1 1 Lb light my position over carefully. Two things were positive: - I must be at Philadelphia at !> o’clock next day, and I must have my valise wilh me-. Should I explain all to my landlady, and ask her if she would allow me to take my effects with me? I reasoned mot. Her recollection of Mr. Bohemian's ease would come before her, and she would no doubt answer me “nay.” More than that, she would be Very watchful to see that I did not steal away during the night. In fact, it was not really necessary for me to'spend much thought on the question, for my plan of action had suggested itself to me the moment I read the telegram. Hence the little piece of fiction I had given my landlady, and also my inquiry concerning breakfast. I meant to steal away like a thief in the night. I could not help laughing to myself as I imagined what my landlady's consternation would be when she found I had flown. I could see her, in my mind's, eye. exactly as she would appear, and almost bear her.exclaim: . ■ ' „ •‘There! what did I' tell you? I knew it would be just like Mr. Bohemian's ease; I could feel it in my bones,” Such, as I afterward learned, was what she actually did say. The question now arose —liow was I to get my valise out, of that house without being seen? • r It watt Bid. tin cany one to nnswor.—:—_ Mrs Landlady was as watchful as a hawk all night,, and if I attempted to steal my way down stairs with it, the chances were tkatshe would discover me in the a“t. In such an event, no excuse I could offer would be of any use. It would be' plain proof that I was a second Mr. Bohemian. 7 No. that valise must go out the window.

There was no other course open. But how?. X • ‘ A plan soon suggested itself. Be it understood, before I go any farther, that I fully intended to pay Mrs. Landlady every cent I owed her, just as soon as I was able to do so. Therefore, when I took a sheet right off the bed and tore it into ribbons to make a rope with which to lower my valise to the street from that third-story window, I fully intended to pay for that, too. That was just what 1 did. In a short time all was ready, and then I only waited for time. .Along in the small-hours of the morning I cautiously raised the window and looked out. The policeman of that beat was just

parsing. I waited until he was some distance away, and then I swung my valise out oyer the sill and lowered it down, down, until it rested upon the ground. ", ■ So far, all was well. I next opened my door and peered out into the hall. All was still. Cautiously, exceedingly Cautiously. I descended the stairs, opened the front door, passed ont, and then as carefully closed "thettoor behind, me. . Then I hastened around to the other side of the house—it was a corner house—picked -Up my valise* untied the rope, and “skipped by the light of the moon.” : I hied me at once to the Pennsylvania station, boarded the first-battle train that came along westward bound, and thus rode out of the cityvas poor as— Well, I was about as poor as a fellow well cau be; but I - ’wailmpnyy - Two mouths later I returned and squared ■ my,..tecbunt with Mrs. Lan ilady rand also with little Nellie, mib.rosa); and a happier ‘woman I never saw ia my, life. She actually cried for .“joy, and-deefcired that it did her heart good to know that all young men were not like-Mr. Bohemian- . I was foTgiven, freely and fully; and had I asked it, 1 am sure that I coaid have had

credit there for throe months, and perhaps longer. " Moß'A'fc?- • “Irnwstv twttiwtrflßt polica" man " I should any “policy.” ■>