Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 36, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 January 1904 — Old Blazer’s Hero [ARTICLE]

Old Blazer’s Hero

By DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY.

CHAPTER XVlll.—(Continued.) •He did not look up nt the house .13 lie west by, and so missed the sight of (■•pzibali, who stood mournfully pressing 19he tip of her nose against n pane in jtbc window of the dark front room* starnog out upon the street. She saw him, ifiowever, and was struck by a something leartless in his gait and the attitude nf Mis figure. lie was strolling in the direction of the Miners' Rest, and HeppztBah knew what her own fears were. She paused in the narrow hall to snatch a WfllLi'-LiOine. sort from a hook, and then slipped after him into the street. He was going so slowly that she had no difflmlty in overtaking him. but when she lad come within a yard or two her heart tailed her. and she found no courage to apeak to him. But he in n...liXtS—while Becoming vaguely conscious that a .hurrying step behind him had suddenly accommodated itself to his own, turned wound and recognized her. / “Been out for a walk. Mister Edhrard?" she asked in as cheerful and castaal a tone as she could seeui-e. “Yes,” he answered her indifferently, land walked on again. .-7 —- “Ned, - ’ she said with an effort, hardly flnowing how she found heart of grace ito speak at all, “it'd do you a world o’ good if you'd tell a body what it is as on your mind instead o' carryin' it on ;«I1 by yourself.” He went dogged again, and she. catchfog sight of his face in the lamplight, •aw the futility of her. own words, and jet having begun to speak could not repress them. “I wonder at you, Ned, you as used to Be so bright and brave, to throw yourself away i’ this fashion. What can't be mured must be endured, my darlin’. Do Be a man. and wake up a bit.” “Good night. Hepzibah,” fee answered, -without so much as looking at her. The •tony voice and manner quelled her, and •he dropped behind and suffered him to rwalk away without further molestation. (Seeing that he did not turn, she dared to {follow him, and having seen him enter ■Che open door of the Miners' Rest, she '•tood for awhile in the street as stricken!Jy and sadly as he himself had done a Bttle while before, and then walked *lotne crying. Rlane sat down in a corner of the •place, after having -distributed a cold ,>od here and there, and obscured himself iMiind a newspaper which he did not i*ead. His arrival cast a chill upon the ;company for a minute or so, but the (Broken conversation was resumed, though ■ot without some meaning glances in his (direction. The old landladj- served him .wnwillingluy, and was evidently desirous •that her unwillingness should be seen, file took this with a stony unconcern, as lie accrued everything. He was going 'to the bad, and he knew it. He walked (forward with his eyes open, and he would I wot so much as try to turn back. In line. he was bent on going to the dogs iwith all possible expedition, a condition mind which is only possible for men of wriginally good quality.

CHAPTER XIX. Hr. Will Hackett was not t.he man to .suffer very severely from the qualms of conscience. He had left his wife base'(r, and in his heart he knew just as well as anybody could have told him that he Had acted like a cur. Of course, that of itself was a disagreeable thing to 'know, and equally of course it was easy to be '•ore that no harm would befall her, and (to promise that in due time he would go ! >ack to her with his pocket full of dol■brs and more than make up for eviarything. And, side by side with this excellent intent —which he knew admirably well he never intended to carry out—iwas the natural sentiment of ill-usage, ’and a sort of forgiving-resentment. Good jwires make good husbands; and if llary tail known how to keep him, there was •She making in him of he knew not what >«f amiability and good fellowship. So, >*B the whole, he went away with a light *leart.

His first appearance in New York was 'fairly successful. He took something like ifrst place in the second rank of singers jinown to the American public, and his ,Miuf came to be a safe draw wherever lie was announced to sing. But if the manager could see that the ehief tenor of his concert troupe sang ’»aly at his bidding, there were things ,Burh more important to the tenor's prosperity and his own to which he could not jnttend. He jeould noy insure that’ Wilf ■bould be early to bejl and early to rise, •r that he should go to bed sober and 'me with his throat unparched. Ha •ould not insure even that this impracSfcable tenor should not dine heavily an ,beur before a concert, 'aud sing rather jjtadly and wildly after it. “You're making a drendful idiot of he would say at times, for Ciiliarity with many men had taught candor, “anfl you’ll regret' it a lot jusre than ever 1 shall. I dare say you'll yrat my time out. even ns you're going. J Css beastly disappointed in you, of iaowme. and it's no use pretending that not. But I’m speaking for your own |«o«d now. though Pth not likely to do fyam much. ' You’ll be about ns pretty ;*sMaten to as a raven in a year or two. fK*w if you'd only live straight and work Ml bit you’ve got a lifelong future. Go |aa you’re going and I’ll give you three rf*on to min yourself in.” To this harangue Will listened often, hpeaerally iu sullen scorn, though somertkgaoes, if it came early in the morning mm* hie head was aching, not without teabag inward reproaches. Meantime he Hhwt in clover, of the growth he cared Ifcr, and his salary being paid weekly he Mwrally had plenty of money 1s sis ■mBM. He became very eorgeous in paftwnt, and had rather more of the (■mate hall than the concert platform air |«Bov* him. rtrklng up gold and silver, he of course Mtongot to send any of his gains to his Old Howarth was well to do,

and could take capital care of her. There was no'doubt about it. and he never permitted himself-to donbt that- the care was taken. At any rate he refrained from making inquiries, and so escaped any burden which might have been laid upon his conscience. Meantime the money came in gayly, and for a man who had as little of forethought as he* had it seemed inevitable that it should continue to come in always. As time went on he and his manager came over and over again to open quarrel, and each grew heartily weary of the other. Hackett's constant cry was that the man who had found him out and opened the way to fortune for him was fattening on his work. The manager's retort was that the work was always, indiffere nll y don e and often ill done. - Each grew anxious to escape from the contract, and after many days the manager found his chance. The popular tenor had dined unwisely ns his habit was, but on this occasion he was prohibited from appearing on the platform, and an apology was presented to the public in his behalf. Next morning a formal letter reached Hackett to the effect that the contract was dissolved, and that if he felt himself aggrieved he might seek legal remedy. He felt himself aggrieved, and he sought his legal remedy. The case went against him. The public found the details amusing, and Hackett found himself out of employment and -nearly penniless. He shuffled along somehow, sartorial glories growing dimmer, and engagements growing rarer and more poorly paid,’ as he showed himself less and less trustworthy in his work. The glorious voice began to go. It even cracked in public on that noble high A of which he had been so proud, and which had indeed been wont to ring out like a clarion. He turned into a restaurant after that night’s concert, aiid sat alone in a sort of sick-heiyfted stupor. He had been hissed for the first time in his life, and he resolved that it should be the last. It was time to end it all, time to ring down the curtain on the poor tragicomedy his life, had been all-along. The deserted wife came back to him in memory. He recalled her as she had been when’he had first kriown her, and a faint remorse touched him. She had been right, after all, and had had a reason for her reproaches. While in this mood he sat absently tapping with the tip of his knife upon a newspaper which lay on the table before him. The journal was creased and crumpled, - and had evidently been left there -by -some " recent guest. Hackett’s eyes fell upon it, and he looked at it with no interest until be awoke to the fact that it was a newspaper from home, and began to glance at its columns here and there. A Brocton newspaper! The thought touched him oddly, and he went on glancing here and there without noticing greatly what he read. And meantime the knife went on tapping, tapping mechanically at. the same spot of the journal. The fancy came into his mind suddenly, what if there were something there where he was tapping which might interest him, which might be of gflod or bad augury to him! He thought of this for a minute or two. fancifully and vaguely, and then glanced at the spot. The tip of the knife blade fell upon the name of John Howarth. The name of John Howarth was in the register of deaths, and the name that followed it was the name of Fanny, his wife.

CHAPTER XX. There is hardly a vjee or a virtue in the world which has not more or less the habit of reproducing itself. When a 'man begins to lie he finds himself often enough compelled to go on, and one falsehood breeds many. He that has stolen may find himself so placed that he must steal again. But the actual compulsive force of vice to vice is hardly found anywhere so strongly as in intemperance. The habit catches, not merely on the man who himself is abandoned to drink, but on people who surround him, and who are grieved and wounded by his folly. Ned Blane must needs take to drinking because Will Hackett declined to keep himself sober; and now, for the salvation of a life or two, as the fate which guides the destinies of men would have it for the nonce, another must needs enter the demon’s circle, and go whirling toward the gulf for a while, only to be arrested at last by the force which sei him in motion. Mary Hackett was on terms of some familiarity with the Bard, and in her happy days had been wont to laugh with some heartiness over his effusions. Mary bad, on one occasion, when nt a school room tea Shadrach.hml rend a set of verses more or less pertinent to the occasion, so far relied upon her power over her own risible muscles ns to congratulate him upon his production, nnd from that hour be was her willing slave. It was a matter of absolute necessity that-Mary should put her hand to some kind of work, mid after much casting to and fro in her mind ns to the best wny of earning enough to hold body nnd soul together she decided on starting nn infant School. News of this enterprise no sooner came to the Bard's ent* than he set to work to hunt out pupils for her, and brought her half a dozen''of the poorer sort. When the Bard happened .to be engnged on night work at the Old Blnzer he would brighten himself up on nn afternoon, nnd hie, in his tall hat, to the place which Mary hnd hired for her school and there humbly presenting himself would listen with a beaming satisfaction to the infant lessons. The Bard was allowed to go to the school, and he became n familiar figure there; but little by little the beaming complacence faded out of him, nnd days came when he would sit gliun nnd silent, and when even the scholastic successes of a niece of Hepzibah’s, who was six years of age, and bad mastered many

words of .One syllable, failed to delight him.

Then lator he began to have little oddi- ■ tics of manner and motion which th« i schoolmistress was slow to understand. By ami by these little oddities so grew and multiplied that, she was forced to battle with herself lest she might understand them. And then at lust, iu spite of herself, she was compelled to understand and to beg the falling Shadrach to cease his*visits:' The doing of (his cost her fitter tears and many "a new heartache. But half her little world seemed now floating on tliajt hideous drink whirlpool, ami swirling towards its depths. Her husband she had found out long ago. Then her most faithful suitor, who had passed as a model of what a man should be. followed on the same road. The smarf, bright, genial lad was clean spoiled. He had grown haggard and unkempt and surly, and his old friends had begun to give him the cold shoulder, ami to pass him with averted nnrecognizing glance in the street. All this, as she know full well, was in part the fruit of her unhappy marriage.. It weighed upon her conscience to think that she was in any measure responsible for it. And 110 W that the harmless, gentlehearted Bard had joined the ranks she saw her own work in the matter still. Ned Rhine's misery and his falling oft' wore breaking Hepzibah's heart, and Hepzibah’s unhappiness had started Shqdracli down' hill. ——-

This dreadful new could not long remain hidden from Hepzibah’s eyes, and when she beheld it the staunch creature's seemed dike to break at once, “Shadrach,” she said, “you can go home. You'd better. But, oh! to think that a man wi’ gifts like yourn should demean himself to this, which is a thing as the brutes that perish would not do.” The wretched Shadrach swayed, and beamed upon her with a fatuous smile. “What’s the good talkin’!” said Shadrach. “Does man's heart good.” “1 do’ know what it does for' a man's heart,” cried Hepzibah with 'sudden tears. “Ixknows i|L-breaks a woman's. And Edward, too! Then you, that was thought to be the soberest i’ the town! Go away, Shadrach, do; and heaven forgive you!” “That’s a little too much,” Shadrach protested, moved vaguely and stupidly by her tears. “Tell you what it is, Hepzibah. It's Ned. That’s what it is. Breaks your heart see a fine young chap like that.”

“Oh. you fool!” said Hepzibah bitterly. “What’s poor Ned's fault to you as you should go an’ copy it? Go away, and never let me see you any more!” “All right.” responded Shadrach. “I shall go to the Rest and ask for Mister Ned. , Said he wanted me to pay for a <1 rink, because lie saved my . life —didn’t lie? So I wFll.” “D’ye think he'd be seen drinking with the likes of thee?” demanded Hepzibah, driven nigh to her wits’ end. “Go home, an' be a laughing stock along the road.” And therewith her tears became a passion not to be resisted, and she hid her face in her apron after the manner of her class, and eried as if her heart were fairly broken. Shadrach took himself away, and left her to her grief, ashamed enough to be glad of absence from her, too bland and mild to be wrathful with her or with himself, and easily restored to a condition of vacuous self-satisfac-tion.

It was early evening still, and when, an hour later, Ned Blane reached home, he glanced askance at Hepzibah's red eyes, and guessed himself the cause of her grief. The unspoken reproach of her face, its hungry pity and affection, stung him. It angered him to be pitied and wept over. ..... He and Hepzibah were alone in the kitchen. She busied herself in preparing a meal for him, but she had not so far mastered the hysterics of her weeping that she could control herself completely, and an occasional sob escaped her. He, lounging against the upright of the mantel shelf, with crossed feet and arms, looked angrily at her for a time as she went to and fro about her duties, and at last broke out fiercely. "" “What’s the matter now? What sort of a house is this to come home to?” ‘•Who made it.the sort of house it is?” Hepzibah almost shrieked, turning upon him. “Eh?” he said, advancing a step and staring wildly at her. “Eh? What’s that 2" “You,” returned Hepzibah. ‘‘Ay, you may hit me, if you like, Mister Ned. Me as nursed you when you was a child, and loved you better than if even you'd been my own.” (To be continued,)