Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 21, Number 22, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 22 November 1890 — Page 3

t€&s*£.

THANKSGIVING STORY.

4 TALE OF CAPE COD AND .NEW YORK KRW8PAPEB LIFE.

[Copyright by Amorican I'rww Association.

DEAR old lady on Cape Cod waa onco listening impatiently to a friend who wan in ru»h mid bustle of Boston's busiest atreete. After few moments k]h) interrupted: "You needn't tell nu\" she said "1

know all about it. Hain't I bccu over to North Bridgownter?" I know this is trui', for my grandmother told mo of it. and sho had no taltmt for fiction.

P, VVinthrop Bowers wont to New York with some Cape Cod idetvs, though perhaps no.no of them

WHS

quite as pro

nounced as tho old lady's, Potor thoy called him at homo, but ho was determiiud to Ijo a city man. That wiu* tho reason he got into trouble. And of all tho men on tho staff Bowers had the greatest faculty for getting into the most kinds of trouble at onco. None of us know why the city editor took him on, and tho longer ho stayed with us tho lews wo understood it. To bo sure ho had a hearty, good natural way with him that captivated everybody who know him. Wo got to calling him Cocktail Bowers after tho first wwk because his laugh was infections. and Billings declared that it wm better than

cocktail to meet him

in tho morning. Tho city editor was very shy of cocktails. His predecessor was enjoying a year's vacation, without pay. in consequent of certain inabstinences that had come to tho notice of thf chief, and ho had been chosen, wo all thought, on account of his rigid virtue rather than because of any other fitness. That might have been one reason why he took Bowers on. Anybody could wee In a minute that Bowers had never leon on a jambom* in his life.

He lost no time. In somewhat less than a week he showed tip an hour late at tho odice, a gorgeous picture of temporary ruin. The pallor of his face was such that chalk would have made a dark mark down his cheek, and his eyes looked like two ml, rising moons, with dark clouds around them. Some of the youngsters laughed, and the older men wondered whether he would catch the reaction soon. Bowers laughed.

The reaction didn't come. Sometimes it hapjjens so, though from watching the habits of successive generations of youngsters we rat her expected it, when the man was really a man at the bottom. It doesn't take very many years to become a veteran in rejwrting, and if a man gets beyond Ids third or fourth year he is likely to turn out well enough, according to his nature. After five or six he will either have set tied into an Irredeemable, or have gotten a start upward, or have left the business. Always excepting the men who are born reporters. They stay where they are,

Th*e-~the veterans—learn to measure the youngster* pretty accurately, as a rule, and, as said, haven't long to wait to learn how their projhecies will pan out. Bowers pujaded rs, though. "Bowers, yoaVft making the pace too hot for the first quarter," said the sporting editor to him very kindly one day. "You'll be out of the race in the Srst half mile if yon don't pull." Bat of xmm\ thotjgh it was. meant wt-11. that did Bo\w* no good, He was waiting for his as toys do. It cauae—it always does and bccaus* 1 happened to be mixed tip in it at two ends is why I am writing this story.

Long before the story developed Itosdtf I had become int orewted in yoatig Bow* «•—larger from curiosity, for 4^hilanthropic dfforta grow pwrftiwclcffy in Hie abnormal conditions of a newspaper office, and even pmt desk neighbor become* a mere trnit la the multitude trhich Is too oomeroos to lie midlly affected by

iadiridoai

effort. Of

iw»i

all this is only a stage of development, but it is the last stage that a good many men reach.

Bowers responded readily enough he was one of those who tell any casual friend nil their aspirations and griefs. Yon love thom for their ways even while you deplore their folly. He talked the usual stuff that captivates so many boys when they begin feeding the press with what they consider ideas. He was in love with Bohfemianism. And Bohemianistn meant to him, as it does to so many, tho writing of verses, the drinking of much tipple, the ignoring of regularity in all the habits of life and the constant association with other similarly misguided youth. Bowers thought he could write verses, and had learned with what facility he could do all the rest.

It wfta as bitter bad a chapter for Bowers as it could easily be, for he fell in love with her, or thought he did, in manly, honorable fashion and wanted her to marry him. Bohemianism even of his type doesn't kill that impulse in the first year or two. Fortunately for him the woman was not in a marrying mood just then, or if sho was she dared not, for two of her husbands were in the city watching her very closely. Of course Bowers knew nothing of that Sho told him she was a widow. It amused her, 1 suppose, to play with the boy's feelings. She was young enough, perhaps, io take pleasure in vain imagining, for she was only thirty or forty years older than he, having been born live yearn earlier than he was. Naturally she had no good influence whatever

BOWERS CAXK tJS DRUNK.

over him, and eqwdly in the natural coram of things he thought she WAS every tiling that was bright and beautiftil.

One afternoon the news came into the office that a noted man about town had been shot by this woman. Bowers happened to hear it spoken of, as he was standing near the city editor's de*k while that official was instructing another reporter to "work up the case."

He turned very white, but spoke quietly enough. "I know Iter very well," he said, and ho was wise beyond what was to be expected, for he did not ssy "the lady.w as be wanted to. If be had the city editor would have mistrust* ed him instead of saying. "Then you take the detail, Bowers and, FilMm, yon see the mayor about that deadlock in the police which was exactly what Bowers wanted.

He «*id "Very well, sir,* and start** mt It was earij* when be went, and he should have been back with history by lift o'clock, feat he wasn't

At half past 10 the city editor called me up. He usod to come in of «v«ntof very often, though his day wwsover at o'ckdfc, w^-n the nigh* city editor came on. "1 fl&ttttg: nerrsw* abort he mid. "Doyaa know how until be knows that *«»«&? I bafe a that 1 ought not to bat* given thit dctRiL1"

wmm

Bowers kept along, doing his work he had gone for fuller particulars than fairly well, but, never rising above me- he could get in the routine way. He diocritv, and managing by several nar- saw

row shaves to escape the dismissal that might perhaps have made a man of him, when one day he had tho luck to make tho acquaintance of an adventuress.

This showed plainly enough that it was a good thing for the paper that Bowers had been unable to write the story, but it made me anxious about Bowers.

Luckily I knew the detectives who were investigating the case, and I got them to lay the full details of her career before the boy. Bowers had got his lesson.

It would have been a severe one for a stronger man. It seemed for a few weeks as if it would be altogether too severe for Bowers. Somehow I didn't look on him as a mere unit in the multitude in those days. It really seemed to be worth while to try to save him.

I was getting dubious about succeeding when I was suddenly ordered to Cape Cod. A ship had been driven ashore in one of the fiercest gales of November, and when the news came there were known to be a number of men still on board, in peril of their lives, and unable to get away. There was a chance for a magnificent story if I could get there before they were rescued, and I lost no time.

The chance was caught, and I was hard at work in my room in the village tavern, sending copy page by page to the telegraph office by a boy who was chartered for the night, when he brought me word that there was a man down stairs who was very anxious to see me. "Tell him I can't see him to-night unless he has important news," I growled impatiently but the boy replied, "He don't want to interrupt yon, he says, but he wants to see you a minute when you are through." "That will be 1 o'clock," I said still more impatiently, and straightway forgot the man. As I hurried across to the telegraph office with my last page, bowever, a white haired gentleman at the tavern door accosted me. "Be you the reporter of* he began. "Don't stop me now,*' I exclaimed angrily "I haven't a minute," and I rushed on, not too qnidkly, however, to bear him say politely, "I beg your pardon." Whereupon I turned my anger against myself for not being as courteous as he.

After I bad "given the office good night1* I took time to wonder who my caller was, and speedily found ont Be at the tavern does-. "Be you the reporter of the New York he asked, as I came up." "I am, sir," said I, trying to make up for former hTttsquenesseby extra civility. "My name Is Bowecs,*le said. "I hav% a acm wea-kin' on your paper, VI thought maybe yoo might give me news on him. I hain't beerd from Mm for nigh two months,** and the old gentleman's voice almost broke. "Why yes* indeed,'" Add J. "I mm Mm almost ensry day. So he is yonr sea. I knew he came from Hew England. but I didn't know just what part,4" And I went on nervcwaly sf»d verboselyfoiling Mm bow machwe all Efeed the boy, and bow be Kked bis work, bofing to escape mam questim* tfepl I knew would beba*d toa£fw^.

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MATT*

llttSll

'J'^. '*&*:

"I guess it's all right," said I, though I had the same feeling but he continued: ••Don't go away.. If he doesn't come in by 11 yon will have to go and cover the story."

In a few minutes Bowers came in stupidly drunk. It was the first time he had ever offended so grievously, and our amazement was great when it transpired that he was unable to write -or even to tell his story.

I took a cab and went over his ground as rapidly as possible, managing to get a fairly good account of the shooting1 in type before the paper went to press, but Bowers was discharged peremptorily. 1 hunted him up in a day or two and asked him how it happened. He declared that he had been drugged by an intimate friend of tho woman to whom

plainly as I that the drugging

had been an.idiotic attempt to keep the news out of the paper we worked for, but what he could not be made to acknowlwlsro was that, the woman ,b» was worthless. He raved about injured innocence, and declared that she had shot the man in her own defense.

Tiiey had io be answered though, and I wish all

ikj

In the momingi though^' Bowers" drove over with the old gentleman, and of all the dear old ladies that ever gladdened the eye she was the dearest. I could see at once why her scapegrace eon was everybody's favori te. He had her eyes.

It was Tuesday,, and she had come to get Peter's friend to spend Thanksgiving in the old homestead. They had expected day by day to hear that Peter was coming, and hadn't given it up yet, but whether he came or not I couldn't go away. I pleaded work and the necessity for getting back to the city at once, but such a look of pain came in the gentlofSce that I wavered and gave up.

One sneaking thing I did. There was much telegraphing to do yet about the wreck, and of course I was busy all day. But before any copy went to the paper a short dispatch went to the prodigal son. It read, "Come home at once if yon want to see your mother alive," and it was signed Peter Bowers. That would bring him if anything would. And I told the old people that probably young Peter was intending to give them a surprise. That was why he had not written. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise to see him come home for Thanksgiving, said'his mother smiling, but the wistful longing And doubt in her sweet eyes told adiffeir^tstory.

So we/Went to £he old farm house, and as I kn6lt with the family at their evening prajfer, and listened to the earnest eloquence of the old man praying for the youngest son to be preserved from the temjitations of a great city, I shuddered to think what sorrow I could have brought them by telling the truth.

Next !ay I drove over to the village and attended to what business I had left, which was little, for the sensation was over. Then I went to meet the train on which I hoped to find young Bowers. He was there, and I, forgetting for the moment that he did not expect to see me, was surprised when he passed me -with a slight nod. I hurried after him, though, and caught his arm. "Don't detain me," said he, "my mother is dying." And I was very glad to see the pain in his eyes. He was not really bad. "Your mother is perfectly well," I said, "and is at this minute busy getting my Thanksgiving dinner ready."

THE PRAYER AND PRAISE OF THAT THANKSGIVING.

Young Bowers looked at me in a confused way. "What do you mean?" he demanded. 'I mean I have played you a trick. 1 sent the telegram to rouse you from—" And then I went on and preached the first and last Thanksgiving sermon 1 ever delivered.

Young Bowers listened in silence. When I was through he said, "Thank yon, old man." As he shook my hand I knew I had said enough.

When he had yielded to his mother's pleading, and had promised to stay at home instead of going back to the big city, the Bowers family was the happiest one on Cape Cod. He admitted, with a blush that I honored him for, that his mother was right in thinking that newspaper work was too severe for his health, and no one mistrusted that dissipation and not work bad paled bis cheeks.

And the prayer and praise of that Thanksgiving day were as wonderful as the feast of turkey and pie and all of nature's bounties that I enjoyed as I never enjoyed a feast before.

And if Peter's friend does not take bis Thanksgiving dinner is that house every year it is because he can't get them There is always a chair set for bim.

This fcxrfcey is altogether too aad tongjh to eat. What on earth shall we do with it?

Husband--Why not send It arooad to

tbeparamage?

sins lay as lightly on my

conscience as those I committed in the next fifteen minutes. It was plainly impossible to tell all the truth to this rugged, earnest, simple,- white haired Puritan. And I found it equally impossible to resist bis insistent invitation to visit bis home and tell "mother" all the glad news I had told him. It was easy to plead fatigue as an excuse for not going that night, but in the morning 1 must go. The short way was to accept There was always the plea of urgent business.

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1891.

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