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About The courier. (Lincoln, Neb.) 1894-1903 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 29, 1900)
THE COURIER. V H THE AWAKENING. A IJUSINESS MAN'.S STOKY. Busbnell threw down bis pen eo sav agely that tho ink splashed over the blotter. "There," he eaid, pushing a sheet of paper covered with figures toward the other' man, "you will find a full state ment there of both assets and liabili ties," and be leaned back in his chair with a sigh of utter weariness. Rogers took the paper and ran his eye down the column with a rapidity gained by long practice. As he saw the totals he glaccd at Bushnell in a surprised way. "You will pay out dollar for dollar,'' be remarked. "That is good." "Yes," said Bushnell. gloomily, "it is the one redeeming feature of the whole business." The other hesitated a moment, as though at a loss how to continue, and pulled nervously at bis moustache. "The two amounta balance exactly, or nearly so," be said, at last. "There will be nothing left for you." "I know it," snapped Bushnell, short ly. "You need not remind me of it, Rogers. Do you suppose I am an idiot?" The lawyer glanced at his friends from under his eyebrows, and hesitated again. Evidently what he had to say was not easily saiJ. "I suppose you know," he continued finally, "that this is not necessary; that there are ways in which it could be avoided?" Bushnell stirred impatiently in his chair, but he did not meet the other's eyes. "Yes." he said irritably, " know it. I went over all that ground this after noon. .Don't remind me of it. I have rought that battle." Rogers nodded gravely. "That's more than most men can say," be remarked. "It was my duty, as your lawyer, to remind you of every possibil ity. 1 am glad you choose the other way." It was a great deal for the hard-headed man of business to say, and he turned back to the paper with pursed lips and a face slightly reddened by unaccus tomed emotion. "It is a good showing," he said at last. "Much better than the street has any reason to expect or right to expect, for that matter. This is the statement you wish posted?" "Yes," answered Bushnell, "that's what I made it out 'or," and then, as the other rose to go, "I want to get out of town for a few days, Rogere. I'm be ginning to feel run down with the ac cursed worry. I'll not be needed here, will I?" 'No, I can attend to everything, I think," and the lawyer folded the state- J. F. HARRIS, No. I, Board of Trade, CHICAGO. Gf9 STOCKS AND- BONDS. Grain, Provisions. Cotton. Private Wires to New York Gty and Many Cties East and West MEMBER -. N e w. York Stock Exchange . Chicago Stock Exchange. Chicago Board of Trade ment carefully and put it in bis pocket book. "Where can I reach you in case 1 need you?" "At Lexington, Greene county." "In the Odtskills?" "Yes.'' "Born there weren't you?" "Yes." "All right," and the lawyer turned toward the door. "That's the best place to go I'm sure. Good-bye. I hope the rest will 60 you good." "Thank?;" and Bushnell pulled him self to his feet. The two men shook bands. "Good-bye," be said. Bushnell dropped back into his chair as the door closed. His head fell for ward on his hands, and the bitterness and futility of it all weighted him down. The rush and roar of the street drifted in through the window and filled the room, but he did not hear it, for he was far away. He had left that little village in the Catskills full of hope and pur pose it was not long ago in time, but how long in events! and for a space it seemed he was to win his battle against the street. For he had determined to win. It hcd come upon him suddenly the fever to show the stuff that was in him and he bad thought it all out one moonlight night away up on the side of Vly Mountain. He had laids his plans carefully and had dreamed of millions. But the odds had been -too great, and he had been caught in the ruins of the edi fice, which his own brain had built, and crushed utterly. But the bitterest thought of all waB that he must go back empty-banded, when he had hoped to take 60 much. It was not for himself alone be had hoped to win. The station atShandakin, a long, low, grimy structure, was almost deserted as Busbnell stepped off the train the next afternoon. Only the stage was there, as it was every day, ready for theten miles journey over the hills to Lexing ton, and he grasped the hand of the old driver with real warmth. "I'm glad to see you, Jim," he eaid. "How are all the folks?" "Oh, they're all right, I recken. But you look kind er peaked. Been workin' too hard. I 'epect, Mr. Bushnell." Busbnell laughed. "That may be it," he said. "Any way, I decided that a week or two back here in the bills would do me good." ' So 'twill," nodded the driver, "an' the folks will be glad to see you, I recken. Got any luggage?'' "Only this," and Bushnell held up the grip he carried in nis hand.. "All right. Pile in. You're the only passenger. Bushnell "piled in" accordingly. Jim clambered to the front seat, clucked to the horses, and they wore off. The road for the first few miles wound through a wood of stately pines, and Bushnell lay back in his seat and took great breathb of the fragrant air, and felt hw pulse beating with renewed vigor Up and up climbed the coach toward the "notch,' a mere dent in the chain of mountains, and the air grew cool and bracing. A brook splashed along by the side of the road, and Bushnell re membered with peculiar vividners how many trout he had caught in it when he was a boy. He felt bis hands itching to get bold of a pole again, and the nos talgia of asphalt and crowded streets, which had been on him for the past two years, slipped bim imperceptibly. The sun was dipping behind the hills in the West as they reached the summit of the notch, and stopped to get a drink from the spring which bub bled from beneath a great rock at the roadside. An old fruit can was the only drinking vessel, bnt Bushnell took a long draught of tho sparkling water. He felt his brain clearing, his nerves growing steadier, and the great city, with its crush of money-hunters, seemed very far away. The horses felt their way cautiously down into the valley on the other side of the ridge, and sped on thiough the dusk toward home. The noises of the night began to sound from the woods on either hand the croaking of tho frogs, the chirping of the crickets. How long it had been since he had heard them! It almost Beemed as if they were welcoming him back. The air Beemed charged with electricity. Now they were near the Schoharie, and its waters danced with phosphorescence as they plashed noiselessly over the stones. Surely this was better music than that of the ticker, and Bushnell breathed a sigh of thankfulness that he had left the uproar of the street far behind. At last he saw the twinkling lights which told him that he was near his journey's end. They danced and bright ened and grew larger. A dog barked, and two or three women came to the door to see the coach go by. Bui Bush nell was looking through thy window up toward the hillside. His heart leaped as be saw a light there. "Jim," he eaid, suddenly, "let me down here. Take my baggago on to the house and tell them I'll be there in the course of half an hour." The driver pulled up his horses with out a word, and watched Busbnell for a moment as he struck off up the hillside. And when he clucked at his horses again, there was a light of comprehen sion in his eyes. Bushnell climbed steadily upward along the path. The unaccustomed ex ercise made bim breathe quickly, but in a moment bo saw the house standing out against the sky, its vindows warm with light. How well he knew the path. His throat contracted queerly as he went on toward it, and his heart leaped suddenly, for he saw something white runniDg toward bim. "Ob, Tom," cried a eirl's voice, and in an instant she was in bis arms. For a moment he could not speak. He could only gaz9 down into her up turned eyes. And as she looked up at him, she saw the cloud upon bis face and drew quickly away. "What is it. Tom?" she asked. ' What has happened?" "The worst that could happen. I have played and lost," he answered, bitterly. "Lobt?" she echoed. "Yes, lost" "Do you mean that you have failed?" she asked, coming closer to him, her face Buddenly white. "Taat's it. Failed. For every dol lar I'm worth." She put her hands upon his arm and he could feel them tremble. "Tom, tell me," she whispered, "did you lose it all theirs as well as yours?" He laughed, but with a touch of anger in hie voice. "It's not quite eo bad as that. I didn't lose a cent of any one else's money only all my own. Isn't that enough?" "Oh, I am so glad so glad!'' and she came close to him and clasped her arms about his neck and kissed him. The moon was silvering the tree-tops and flooding the valley with soft radiance. She continued, still holding him with one hand: "It is a good world that you left a sweet world. It is worth living in Now, tell me, what does money matter?" He looked about at the horizon and back again into her eyes. "It doesn't matter," he said, "not here. Not a bit." And the leaves of the trees and the waters of the brook seemed to catch up the words and send them echoing up and down the valley. "It doesn't mat ter, not here. Not a bit." For a moment she stood eo, looking at him. "It was a dream," she said, at last, very softly. "Only a dream. Forgot it, dear. This is the awakening. Is it not a sweet one, Tom?"' Burton Egbert Stevenson, in The Independent. THE MATINEE GIRL. First-nights are happening all over the place. It looks now as if we were to have a plethora of heroes. All theso fusty historical characters that call for boots and feathers in the make-up arc going to be sprung upon us without end. We Matinee Girls don't care for that sort of thing. This going back to the deluge for romance and adventure is all fudge. There's plenty of it hero today. And the modern, up to date article is eo much more real, actual and human than these fuss and feathers chaps, stalking about flashing their swords and jingling their trappings like car riage horses. For my part I wish somebody would wake up and give us a good old New Yorky play, with people in the latest kind of clothes, the newest American talk and sentiment, fun and villainy of the most modern style. But no! We must take our comedy Englished, Londonized, our farco Frenched, and go back to the dark ages when it comes to a real plot. I wonder what the matter is with us, anyhow. In a little bit of a story that is now being done as a one-act play, Richard Harding Davis I won't call him Dickie, although all tho other girls do has given us a glimpse of the sweet ness, the sentiment, the pathos, tho badness there is in life right here and now. I mean "The Littlest Girl," that sim plest of stories, yet with all the human elements in it. There is nothing moldy about it. In fact, a hasty, rubbereque view of the literary and dramatic situa tion impresses me with the fact that Davis is tho only writer who is taking advantage of the time we live in for his working ideas. Tbere seems to be a general idea that it's crude to pick plots out of the pres ent. Yet we'll belong to the past some day and the writers of the future will, if they continue to be as dull as we are, delve and dig among us for material. Anthony Hope once said to me: "We have to go further afield for our ro mance and adventure, but it's there." For my part, I am tired of seeing Faversham and Sothern and Hackett in mouequetaire boots and ostrich plumes. A hero in a Tuxedo or a Poole mackin tosh is far more real and interesting, and the chappies at the windows of the clubs along Fifth Avenue have just the same feelings and emotions and senti ments as these waybacks that our play wrights are giving us in such abun dance. Take the impossible hero in "The Pride of Jennico." He takealife easily. I don't know how many he kills in that last act, but it seems to me that as a theme for a burlesque it would be sim ply inimitable. Take the typical historical -hero of playland and put on his rullles and his pom-pons and look at him in the right light and you have tho funniest thing that ever happened. He'd go around loose in New York 21 f V And Dairy Go. Manufacturers of the finest qual ity of plain and fancy Ice Cream, Ices, Frozen Puddings, Frappe and Sherbets. Prompt delivery and satisfaction guaranteed. A 188 SO. 1 2th St. PHONE 205. $Xm2rJi2rmZJHrrZJl2r.3 5 - r- ir -A - s r yjwMivH iT-feSwwg
