Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 21, Number 104, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 September 1900 — ROBERT HARDY'S SEVEN DAYS A DREAM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

ROBERT HARDY'S SEVEN DAYS A DREAM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

By lev. CHARLES M.‘SHELBOIT.’" UUhor of "In ills Steps," "The Crucifixion of Philip Strong" "Malcom Kirk" Etc, Copyright, 1900, by Advance Publishing Co. ] Clara clung to her father in loving urprise. She was bewildered, as were >ll the rest, by the strange event that had happened to her father, but she llever had so felt his love before, and, forgetting for awhile the significance of his wonderful dream, she felt happy in his presence and in his affection for her. The evening had sped on with surprising rapidity while all these matters

There was his son George, too drunk tc standalone. were being discussed, and as it drew near to midnight agaiu Robert Hardy felt almost happy in the atmosphere of that home and the thought that he .could still for a little while create joy for those who loved him. Suddenly he spoke of his other sou: “I wish George would come in. Then our family circle would be complete. But it is bedtime for you, Bess, aud all of us, for that matter.” It was just theu that steps were eard on the front porch, and voices ere heard as if talking in-whispers, he bell rang. Mr. Ilardy rose to -go iO the door. His wife clung to him terrified. “Oh, don’t go. Robert! I am afraid for you.” “Why, Mary, it cannot be anything to harm me. Don’t be alarmed.” Nevertheless he was a little startled. The day had been a trying one for him. He went to the door, his wife and the children following him close behind. He,threw it wide open, and there, supported by two of his companions, one of them the young man Mr. Hardy had seen in the hotel lobby at uoon, was his son George, too drunk to stand alone. He leered Into the face of his fathe r and mother with a drunken look that froze their souls with despair as the Maze of :he hall lamp’ fell upon him reeling there. And so the first of Robert -Hardy’s seven days came to an end.

CHAPTER V. Mr. Hardy was a naan of great will power, but this scene with his drunken pon crushed him for a moment and Beemed to take the very soul out of him. Mrs. Hardy at first uttered a wild cry and then ran forward and, seizing her elder boy, almost dragged him into the house, while Mr. Hardy, recovering from his first shock, looked eternly at the companions of the boy and then shut the door. That night was a night of sorrow in that family. The sorrow of death is not to be compared with it. But morning came, as it comes alike to the condemned criminal and to the t pure hearted child on a holiday, and after a brief and troubled rest Mr. Hardy awoke to his second day, the memory of the night coming to him at first as an ugly dream, but afterward as a terrible reality. His boy drunk! He could not make it seem possible, let there in the next room he lay in a drunken stupor, sleeping off the effects iof his debauch of the night before. Mr. Hardy fell on his knees,and prayed for mercy, again repenting the words, “Almighty God, help me to use the remaining days in the wisest and best manner.” Then calming himself by a tremendous effort he rose up and faced day’s work as bravely as any man Under BUCh circumstances could. A ft or a family council, in which all Us them were drawn nearer together »a«n they ever bad been before on account of their troubles, Mr. Hardy outlined the day’s work something as follows: First, be would go and see James Caxton and talk over the affair with him and Clara. Then he would go down to the office and arrange some ncco—ry aetaiis or.nis nusmess. o possible, be would come home to lnncb. In the afternoon be would go to poor Scovllle’s funeral, which had been arranged for 2 o’clock. Mrs. Hardy announced her Intention to go also. Then Mr. Hardy thought be would have a visit with George and spend the evening at home arranging matters with reference to his own death. With this programme In mind he finally went away after an affectionate leave taking with his wifi* and slept heavily until the middle of the forenoon and then awoke with a raging headache. Bess had several times during the morning stolen into —-K room to see if her brother were iKe. When he did finally turn over • '-A •* ■ 'T~: 'p — -'*V ~

and open kAs eyes, he saw the young , girl standing by the bedside. He groaned as he recalled the night and his mother’s look, and Bess said timid- . ly as slid laid her hand on his forehead: I “George, Tm~so sorrjiFfor~ yout X>on't you feel well?'’ "I feel as if mv head would split open. It aches "as if some one was chopping wood inside of it.” “What makes yon feel so?” asked ‘Bess innocently. “Did you eat too much supper at the Brantleys’?” Bess had never seen any one drunk before, and when George was helped to bed the night before by his father and mother she did not understand his condition. She had always adored her big brother. It was not strange she had no idea of his habits. George looked at his small sister curiously; then, under an impulse he could not explain, he drew her nearer j to him and said: “Bess, I’m a bad fellow. I was drunk last night! Drunk —do you understand? And I’yc nearly killed mother!” Bess was aghast at the confessioa She put out her baud again. “Oh, no, George!” Then with a swift | revulsion of feeling she drew back and | said. “llow could you, with father feel- ' ing as he does?” And little Bess, who was a creature of very impulsive emotious, sat down ; crying on what she supposed was a j cushion, but which was George's tall ; hat, accidentally covered with cue end of a comforter which had slipped off 1 the bed. Bess was a very plump little creature, aud as she picked herself up and held up the hat George angrily exclaimed: “You’re always smashing my things!” , But the next minute he was sorry for j the words. ..; Bess retreated toward the door, quivi cring under the injustice of the charge. ' At the door she halted. She had something of Clara’s passionate temper, and once in awhile she let even her adored brother George feel it, small as she ; was. • ' „ “George Hardy, if you think more of | your old stovepipe hat than you do of | your sister, all right. You’ll never get ! any more of my month’s allowance, j And if 1 do smash your things I don’t 1 come home drunk at uight and break i. mother’s heart. That’s what she’s crying about this morning—that and 1 father’s queer ways. Oh, dear, I don’t want to live; life is so full of trouble!” Aud little lk-year-old Bess sobbed iu genuine sorrow. George forgot his headache a minute. “Come, Bess, come aud kiss and make up. Honest, now, I didn’t mean it 1 was bad to say wliqt I did. I’ll | bay a dozed hats and let you sit on 1 them for fun. Don't go away angry, j I’m so miserable.* He lay down and groaned, and Bess i went to him immediately, all her anger ! vanished. “Oh, lot me get you something to ; drive away your headache, and I’ll j bring you up something nice to eat! 1 Mother had Norah save something for you. Didn't you, mother?” 1 Bessie asked the question just as her | mother came in. * | Mrs. Hardy said “Yes” and, going j up to George, sat down by him and I laid her hand on his head, as his sister f had done. 1 The boy moved uneasily. He saw i the marks of great suffering on his 1 mother’s face, but he said nothing to 1 express sorrow for his disgrace. I “Bess, will you go and get George i his breakfast?” asked Mrs. Hardy, aud 1 the minute she was gone the mother turned to her son and said: 1 “George, do you love me?” i George had been expecting something different. He looked at his mother as the tears fell over her face, and 1 all that was still good in him rose up in rebelliofc against the animal part. He I seized ins mother's hand and carried ! it to his lips, kissed it reverently and • said in a low tone: “Mother, I am unworthy. If you 1 knew”—

ne checked himself, as if on the verge of confession. Ilis mother waited anxiously and then asked: “Won’t you tell me all?" “No; 1 can’t.” George shuddered, and at that moment Bess came in bearing a tray with toast and eggs and coffee. Mrs. Hardy left Bess to look after her brother and went out of the room almost abruptly. George looked ashamed and after eating a little told Bess to take the things away. She looked grieved, and he said: “Can’t help it. I’m not hungry. Besides, 1 don’t deserve all this attention. Say, Bess, is father still acting under his impression, or dream, or whatever it was?” “Yes; he is,” replied Bess.with much seriousness, “and he is ever se*good now «nd kisses of us goodby in the he is kind and ever so good. 1 don't" believe'be is in his right mind. Will saSd yesterday he thought father was non campus meant us, and then be wouldn’t teU me what it meant, bu£ 1 guess he doesn’t think father is just, right intellectually.” Now and then Bess got hold of a big word and used it a great deal. She said “intellectually” over twice, and George laughed n little, but it was » Diner mugn, not sum as a ooy <n ma age has any business to possess, lie lay down and appeared to be thinking and after awhile said aloud: “1 wonder If he wouldn’t let me have some money while he’s feeling that way?” “Who?” queried Bess. “Father?” “W>at! You here still, Curiosity? Better take these things down stairs.” George spoke with Us “headache tone,” as Clara called It, and Bess without reply gathered up the tray things-and went out, while George continued to-figure out In his liardly yet sober brafti the possibility of his father letting him have more money with which to gamble, and yet In the very next room Mrs. Hardy knelt in an ago-

ny of pe* !t i .. for that firstborn, crying out of her Ik art: “O God, it is more than I can bear! To 3ee him growing away from me so! Dear Lord, be thoh merciful to me. Bring him back sgfin to the life lie used to live! I was of him! What a joy he was to me! And now, and now r ! O gracious Father, if thou art truly compassionate, hear me! Has not this foul demon of drink done harm enough? That it should still come into my home! Ah, but 1 have been indifferent to the cries of other women, but now T it strikes me! Spare me, great and powerful Almighty! My boy! my heart’s hunger is for him! I would rather see him dead than see him as I, saw him last night. Spare me! spare me, O God!” Thus the mother prayed, dry eyed and almost despairing, while he for whom she prayed that heartbroken prayer calculated, with growing coldness of mind, the chances of getting more money from his father to use in drink and at the gaming table. * O appetite, an ' thou spirit of gambling! Ye are twin demons with whom many a fair browed young soul today is marching arm In arm down the dread pavement of hell’s, vestibule, lined with grinning skefetons of past victims, and yet men gravely discuss the probability of evil and think there is no special danger in a little speculation now and then. Parents say, “Oh, my boy wouldn’t do such a thing!”. But how many know feally and truly what their boy Is really doings and bow many of the young men would dare reveal to their mothers or fathers the places where they have been and the amusements they have tasted and the’thlngs for which they have spent their money? •**• • • • i Mr. Hardy went at once to his neighbors, Abe Caxtons, who lived only a bloclAway. Hte had not been on speaking terms with the

time, and he dreaded the interview i with the sensitive dread of a very j proud and stern willed man. But two j days had made a great change in him. j He was a new man in Christ Jesus, and as he rang the bell he prayed for j wisdom and humility. James himself came to the door with his overcoat on and hat in hand, evidently just ready to go down town. He x started back at seeing Mr. Hardy. “Are you going down town? 1 will not come in then, but walk along with you,” said Mr. Hardy quietly. So James came out, and the two talked along together. There was an awkward pause for a minute; then Mr. Hardy said: “James, is it true that you and Clara t are engaged?” “No, sir; that—is—not exactly what you might call engaged. We would like to.be.” Mr. Hardy smiled in spite of himself, and James added In a quickened tone, “We would like 'to be, with your < consent, sir.” Mr. HaVdy walked oh thoughtfully j and then glanced at the young man at his side. He was 0 feet tall, not very i handsome', as Bessie had frankly said, 1 but he had a good face, a steady, clear , blue ey£ and resolute air, as of one j who was willing to work hnrd to get j what he wanted. Mr. Hardy could hot j help contrasting him with his own prematurely broken down son George, j and he groaned inwardly as he thought | of the foolish pride that would bar the j doors of his family, to a young man like James Caxton simply because be was poor and because his father had won in a contested election in which the two older men were candidates for the same office. It did not take long to think all this. { Then he said, looking again at the , young man with a businesslike look: “Supposing yhu had my permission, j what areAyour prospects for support-

lng my daughter? She has always bad everything she wanted. What could you give her?” The question might have seemed cold and businesslike. The tone was thoughtful and serious. A light flashed into James’ eyes, but he Bald simply: “I am in a position to make a thousand dollars ix year next spring. I earn something extra with my pen at„home." Mr. Hardy did not reply to this. He said, “Do you ksow what a willful, quick tempered girl Clara is?” “I have known her from a little child, Mr. Hardy. I feel ns If I knew her about as well as you do.” “Perhaps you know her better than I do. I do not know my child as I should.” The tone was not bitter, but Intensely sad. 'Jhe young man had, of course, jjee n greatly wondering at this talk from Mr. Hardy and had observed the change in his manner and his speech. He looked at him now and noted the

pale, almost haggard, face and h!s extremely thoughtful appearance. “Mr. Hardy,” said James frankly, “you are in trouble. 1 wish 1 could"— * “Thank yotf. No, ~ou can t help me any in this except,” continued Mr. Hardy, with a faint smile, “except you solve this trouble between you and my daughter.” “There is no trouble between us, sir.” replied James simply. “You know I love her and have loved her for a long time, and I believe I am able to support her and make her happy; Won’t you give your consent, sir? We are not children. We know our minds.” [to be continued.] / Bitter fighting does not neoessnrily mean personal abuse or unsavory remarks. Keep your temper. Work for your party and stand by your convictions-work all night and talk all day if you find it essential to your success. It will irritate you and cause Dyspepsia, but you can find relief for that in Dr. Caldwells’ Syrup Pepsin, which is guaranteed by A. F. Long.

“ James , is it true that you and Clara are engageat ?”