Newspaper Page Text
Loves Ticket
By FRANK H. SWEET.
Copyright, 1904, by Frank H. Sweet.
May Rikkar mounted the stairs
slowly until she reached her room on
the fifth floor, where she placed her
basket upon a table and sat down for
a few moments to regain breath.
Hours for shop girls were long, and
she had walked the mile to her room
to save car fare. An indulgence of one
meal a day at a restaurant, with the
other two dependent upon paper bags
in her room, made a nickel loom up to
the splendid proportions of an extra
cup of coffee or hot rolls. Four dollars
a week, with half for room rent, and
clothing to be economized from the
vest, did not leave much latitude for
appetite.
Presently she rose, lighted her al
cohol lamp and placed over it a tiny
pot of water, then she began to take
the packages from the basket, small
cues holding tea, sugar and raisins
which hud cost five cents each, and
larger ones of rice and beans. The
raisins were her reckless luxury, the
vice and beans she had found by ex
j rrience to yield much for the money.
in the bottom of the basket lay a
bit of green pasteboard, which she
supposed w'as a list of her purchases,
such as the grocer sometimes includ
ed. But as she pushed the basket un
cial the sink, something in the appear
“1 just stopped in to say I can't go Sunday,” she said hurriedly.”
m< e of the green slip made her pick
it up for closer examination.
It proved to be a ticket for an ex
cursion up the river on the following
Sunday, and her first thought was
Ihut in the jostling crowd upon the
sidewalk it had been knocked from
some person’s hand into her basket.
Then she saw her name in faint,
sprawling characters across the face
of the ticket, as though someone had
written and then tried to erase it,
sinally desisting through fear of eras
ing the printed letters also, and the in
cipient wonder in her eyes was. follow
ed by a sudden flush which made her
almost colorless face look really
pretty. The ticket-was Intended for
her, for May Rikkar, who had not
supposed she had a friendly acquaint
ance in the whole big city.
The bubbling of the water brought
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her back to realities and the alcohol
lamp, but the refrain of a long-neg
lected song fell also from her lips as
she made the tea and put on rice to
boll in preparation for the next day's
breakfast. Then with the tea and
raisins and what bread had been left
from breakfast, she sat down by the
one window to nibble and sip and gloat
over the green ticket perched up be
fore her.
Who would have given It to her, she
wondered, the pleasure still glowing in
her cheeks and dancing in her eyes.
Not the old candy woman on the cor
ner who sometimes greeted her with
a motherly smile, for her clothing and
stock-in-trade were too eloauent of
poverty; nor the postman who some
times delivered letters at the next door,
nor the two men she occasionally pass
ed on the stairs or In the hall, for they
were pre-occupied, middle-aged per
sons who merely noticed her by a nod
or muttered word of greeting. Tet
these were all—or no, there was the
janitor. Of course, it was the janitor.
He nearly always gave her a friendly
word when she passed in or out.
So the* next morning she greeted
liim with unusual warmth, and with
words of thanks trembling on her lips,
when something in the surly, unre
sponsive face chilled her. Things had
gone wrong with the janitor the night
before, and e was making it felt this
morning. He scarcely looked in her
direction as he grunted an acknowl
edgment of the greeting.
At the old woman’s candy stand
May’s ardor was again dampened. The
smile was as motherly as usual, but
there was no new warmth or con
sciousness In It. The old woman knew
nothing of the ticket.
But such depression was only tem
porary. Somebody in the big city had
thought of her. was interested in her,
perhaps would make some manifesta
tion of the interest again, and all
through the day the thought of it gave
anew brightness to her eyes, an add
ed buoyancy to her steps.
On Sunday she went up the river,
her eyes watchful and half-expectant,
but no answering look met her own.
Wednesday evening she brought home
another basket of provisions, but in
spite of her eager vigilance, someone
SAVANNAH MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. DECEMBER 4. 1004
must have jostled against her. for
when she removed the packages there
was a ticket among them, this time
with her name boldly written upon it.
This would admit her to a concert at
a near-by churoh.
After that other pleasures came, a
Sunday outing in the oountry, an even
ing observation car ride on the trol
ley. an admission ticket to a light
opera, a membership In a circulating
library, and then another excursion
up the river. All were dropped sur
reptitiously Into her basket, and with
no clue whatever to the donor. This
secrecy, as she well knew, was an easy
matter to accomplish In the crowd
which always thronged the sidewalks
when the shops closed.
It was making anew existence,
rose-tinted and falry-like for the
white-faced working girl. She was
homesick and disheartened no longer.
Someone was interested In her. She
was becoming more eager and friend
ly. . She was losing much of the
natural diffidence and shyness and dis
trust which she had brought with her
from the country. All the whole big
city had seemed against her—hard,
unfeeling, selfish—and now from the
very hurry of it was this voluntary
proffer of friendship, unexpected and
unsought. The thrill of it grew
stronger day by day. and changed the
brief nods and smiles with the old
candy woman to occasional five-min
ute talks, and caused the new friendli
ness In her face to bring returning
friendliness from the fellow-lodgers
she met upon the stairs and in the
halls. When she saw the janitor hold
ing a small child in his arms one day,
she stopped and asked about his fam
ily; and when the postman reappeared
after a week's absence she inquired if
he had been ill.
And so it went with her Into the
shop, to the corner grocery—every
where. The new warmth in her heart
was making the whole world seem
brighter and more lovable. The
ticket in the basket had become al
most a matter of course. She looked
for it regularly now when taking out
her packages, and had about given up
hopes of detecting the donor. In good
times, when the unknown friend was
ready, she would know.
She was accustomed to leave her
basket at the grocer's on her way to
work, and stop for it when she return
ed at night. One morning when her
provisions were nearly out she took
is at usual, but the grocer and his as
sistant were busy In the back shop,
with two or three impatient customers
waiting, so she placed her basket upon
a barrel with a note, and hurried off
to her work. When she stopped at
night the basket was just as she had
left it, and the grocer, who had always
filled her orders, had gone to his sup
per.
The assistant was comparatively
new, and had done little waiting on
customers. He went behind the coun
ter, wiping his upon his apron
and looking embarrassed.
“Mr. Brown’ll foe "back pretty soon,”
he volunteered nervously.
“How long?”
”Well-er, ten minutes, mobbe, or a
little more. He has to walk quite a
piece.”
May looked purturbed. Her last
ticket was for a concert to be given
that night, and she had determined
on retrlmming the hat which a month
before she had thought good enough.
"Can't you get the things for me?”
she asked. “I’m in a hurry. I can
show you what I want and where
they're kept.”
"Oh, I know where things are kept
well enough," with a good-natured
smile momentarily hiding the embar
rassment on hia face. "It’s the pesky
tyln’ up bundles that X hate. My fin
gers are too -big. They do all right for
plow handles an’ pitch forks, but
string Is too small for ’em.”
"What! Are you from the country?"
with a sudden wistfulness in her
voice.
"yes, six months ago, and," em
phatically, "I’m going back there
again. My folks have a good farm.
It’s easier to get a livin' there than
here, an’ a sight more comfort. I ain’t
made a friend yet—’cause I'm too
green an' bashful, I suppose. But it
makes the place seem awful lonesome.
It’s different with you, I guess, being
used to a city.”
"No. I’m not used to It,” she declar
ed, "though I’ve been here two years.
I came from the country, too. My
folks died and I had to get work. I
think the city ia a Jot more lonesome
than the country."
"You do?" his far-* beaming with
sudden pleasure. Ms tied ths last
package awkwardly, dropped It Into
ths basket and walked with hsr to the
door "It's funny we both feel that
way. I 1, but pshaw!” breaking off
■lrrupt ly.
"What?"
"Oh, nothin'!" retreating toward the
counter; ' only I—l was tainkuT of an
f Mrs. Elizabeth H. Thompson,!
of Lillydale, N.Y., Grand Worthy
Wise Templar, and Member of
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excursion up the sound Sunday, an’
we both being lonesome an' alone, it
seemed—but I know it's impertinent."
She looked at him thoughtfully, her
face coloring a little. But he was only
a boy and from the country, and his
face was open qjtd honest, though just
now very red and embarassed. She
nodded, a little doubtfully.
"I don’t know but I might,” she
conceded. "I know what 'tis not to
be acquainted with anybody in the
city. It's awful lonesome. I —yes, I
guess I’ll be willing.”
May had gone half a block before
she missed her basket. When she
returned she found it on the counter.
The assistant had retreated to the
back room. By this time the shops and
great stores were closed, and the side
walks were crowded with hurrying pe
destrians. May and her basket were
thrust to right and left by impatient
home-seekers pushing by. So when
she reached home she was not sur
prised to find the customary slip of
pasteboard among her packages.
This time, however, it was not a
ticket, but a few penciled lines which
read:
"If it's a good day Sunday I’m com
ing for you to go on an excursion. I
know where you live and will be there
at 8. Your friend, William Saunders.”
In the tumult of anticipation which
filled her mind, May did not even
think of the grocer’s assistant until
she passed the store the next jnorning.
Then she turned and went in. The
grocer came forward, but she shook
her head.
“I don't want anything, Mr. Brow
er,” she said, “only Just to see your
boy a minute.”
"Oh, him,” nodding toward tho
back room, from whence came the
sound of hammering. “Has he been
making some mistakes with your or
der? Just step to the door there.”
May did so, and found the assistant
bending over a box. He looked up
expectantly.
"I just stopped in to say I can’t go
Sunday," she said hurriedly. "I made
a mistake. I—l’ve got another en
gagement. I’m real sorry.” '
The assistant smiled reassuringly, in
spite of the keen disappointment on
his face.
"That’s all right,” he declared, with
an affectation of carelessness. "Don’t
you bother about it a bit. I ain’t real
ly felt that you would go with me
any of the time. It was too good to
be true.”
“I'm real sorry,” May repeated as
she turned away.
Sunday morning she was ready long
before the hour appointed. But 8
o'clock went by and the unknown had
not appeared. And so passed 9 and
10. By sunset her first keen disap
pointment was lost in anxiety for her
friend. Something dreadful had hap
pened to him. He was sick, or per
haps had met with an accident.
Wednesday she bought more gro
ceries. and in the basket were two
tickets and a box of candy. She won
dered how the candy could have been
dropped Into the basket without her
knowledge; but as she opened the box
and began to nibble at its contents the
predominating feeling was gladness.
Her friend was all right, and this was
his apology, yet she could not help
feeling a little hurt at the omission of
any explanation.
As she approached the grocery the
next morning, she saw the assistant
standing in the doorway, evidently
awaiting her appearance, for he tep
ped down upon the sidewalk to inter
cept her.
"I—l just want to say good-by," he
apologized. "I’m going back to the
farm Friday."
"Why, what for?” with real regret
In her voice.
"Because it’s nicer there an’ so
much better chance for a stupid fellow
like me to get on. I’m not sharp
enough for a city, and I don’t like It.
I’ve Just been sort of—of stayin’ on.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” frankly. "I
haven’t many friends here, and you
being from the country has made It
seem like we were acquainted, even
If we haven't talked much.”
"Is that so?” his face suddenly
beaming. "I didn't s'pose you ever
thought of me except when I was tyln’
up your bundles. I—l—’* He hesi
tated and looked embarrassed, then
added depreoatlngly, "Would you be
mad If I asked you to go on a trolley
ride this evening? I know It’s sort of
Impertlnet, but there's going to be
musk- in the -park to-night, an’ we
could ride up an' atay an hour or ao,
an’ then ride back. Maybe we won’t
see each other again, an' both b*lng
from the country, you know, an’—
an'—”
He was beginning to flounder hope
lessly, and ahe, emboldened by his
embarrassment. smiled upon him with
friendly self-poasession.
"Yes, I understand.” she said, “and
I will be very glad to go with you. We
will have a nice time. I'm sura. I
—live at-”
"I know," he Interrupted gaily.
"I've been by there lots of times. I’ll
come for you early, so we can have
a long evening "
"Very well, I will be ready."
U was a great owning for them
both. After the first embarrassment
wore oft. the grocer's assistant showed
up to unexpected advantage. He was
well informed, and possessed con
siderable ambition, which he had de
cided could be best expanded on the
farm. Before the evening was over
May felt that she had known him for
a long time, and more, that he could
be thoroughly trusted. When they left
the car in front of her lodging she held
out her hand impulsively.
"I'm awfully sorry to tell you good
by.” she said. "You're the—almost
the only friend I’ve got. I shall feel
lonesome after you go.”
”An' I shall feel lonesome, too.”
quickly. ‘Tve been thinkln’ it over
this evenin', an' maybe I needn't go
right off. I could stay on a little
longer. I s’poso.”
"I wish you would.” she began, then
broke off, flushing and laughing.
“Here I'm sayin' you’re one of my
best friends." she cried, "and don’t
even know your name, excepting the
Will, that I hoard Mr. Brower call
you.’’
“It's Saunders,” apologetically.
“Will Saunders. I ought to have told
you before, only I'm always stupid an"
forgetful-like. I—l hope—”
"Saunders?” breathlessly. "Not the
Will Saunders?”
He paled at the unfortunate betrayal
of himself and the possible conse
quences.
“Yes.” miserably, "I’m he. But I
dldn'it mean nothin’ by It—out of the
way, you know, it was kind of fresh,
maybe, from a stranger; but I thought
long’s , you didn’t find out there
couldn't be no great harm. I—l want
ed to do something, an’ that seemed
the only way. 1 liked you the very
first time you came in the store, long
before you ever saw me. I—I —” He
stopped suddenly, speechless at what
he saw in her face. Her eyes were
wide, joyous, the wonder in them al
ready changed to comprehending de
light. She had found her fairy friend.
Patsy’s Villainous Villain
By ETTPHEMIA HOLDEN.
Dancing class was fun, and playing
outdoors was fun, and school was fun
—sometimes; but after all there was
nothing quite like a matinee.
That’s what Jim and Patsy Newton
thought and what they sought con
tinually to impress on their father.
But he said that if people went to
the theater toe much when they were
young it bored them when they grew
older, and being bored was a very
unpleasant sensation.
So Jim and Patsy had to plan ahead
as to what plays they wanted to see,
for only on great occasions were they
allowed to go to the Opera House
more than once a month.
Jim liked exciting plays where there
were horse races and railroad trains
and saw mills. Patsy had a leaning
toward love plays, although she liked
Jim’s kind too, especially if there was
a nice, pretty heroine in it and enough
places to weep and plenty of love
making besides.
Jim never cried, and always laughed
at Patsy for doing it —as if she could
help it. Sometimes when the lights
were out and sad things happening on
the stage, he would stick his finger in
her eye to see if she were crying, and
if he felt any tears he giggled and
gave her a poke, just to show that It
wasn’t touching him.
One cold Saturday afternoon about
Christmas time Mr. Newton gave
them tickets to "The Streets of New
York.” The pictures on the bill
boards were very exciting, so the chil
dren were quite stirred up to think
they were going to see the real thing.
It was most exciting. Something
happened every minute. Patsy's heart
almost broke for the poor little rag
ged children, and she adored the beau
tiful heroine who was so kind to them
and to their mother.
And then the vlllian.
He was really the most villainous
villain Patsy had ever gazed upon.
He was very large and quite good
looking. He wore a frock coat and
his trousers had elegant creases in
them. Most of the time he smoked
and said, “Ha!” when the others ac
cused him of being bad. No doubt he
couldn’t think of anything else to say,
because everybody knew it was true.
He treated the heroine dreadfully.
He dragged his around the room and
tried to lock her up, and she had to
tell him she would gather kill her
self than have anything more to do
with him.
But she didn’t have to do that, for
the lovely hero who was poor and
didn't wear nice clothes rushed In and
rescued hr.
It ended just perfectly. All the
good people got rich and happy, while
the villain lost everything and had to
leave the country. The audience
clapped and clapped until the villain
oame on and then they hissed like es
caping steam pipes. He was so bold
and bad, however, that he didn’t seem
to mind.
When It was all over, Jim and Patsy
went down to their father's office to
tell him about it and to get some pads
of ijaper and some pencils.
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HOW TO 00 TO SLEEP
By EUSTACE MILES.
We do not know what sleep is.
Popularly It Is looked upon as a sort
of temporary death. We do not know
whnt death la either; It may be the
life of the highest part of us. Per
sonally-, I do not most orf my work
sulb-consclously, and a good deal of it
I tell myself to do before I go to sleep;
I find It dont when I wake.
A vast amount of digestion and as
similation goes on during sleep, accord
ing to Prof. Pawlow and others. It
is vital, therefore, whether we regard
sleep as sheer rest or as activity of
many parts of us, including the spirit,
that sleep of the best possible quality
should be obtained somehow. Its im
portance may be over-estimated. Many
seem capable of doing without the or
thodox eight hours. Some may com
press their rest into a few hours, but
most of us cannot, at any rate as we
live at present. And most of us, if
we are to get our eight hours, need
helps to start us going—or, If the
phrase may be used, to start us stop
ping. How supremely difficult It Is in
a city to start stopping and not do
ing!
Avenues to Rest. \
First and foremost among the ave
nues to rest comes the imagination of
sleeplfying things—such as flowers or
children in repose or of repeated and
montonous things. One writer sug
gests that we should imagine ourselves
marking out a law tennis court again
and again. Hundreds of other devices
—some suiting you, others not suiting
you—.belong to this class.
Rhythm seems to be of the very es
sence of sleep, though there Is no one
rhythm for all. Indeed, what is one
man’s Jerkiness may be another’s
rhythm. If you massage your head—
for Instance, by striking your forehead
from above the eyes over the head to
behind the neck—you should do it leis
urely, and, as a general rule, rhythmi
cally, together with rhythmical breath
ing, and suggest to yourself, confident
ly but courteously, that tt cannot fall
to send you to sleep. This may re
store the cadence of slumber. For the
unrhythmical body is unlikely to be a
restful 'body. It is quite conceivable
that rhythm somehow tends to draw
excess of blood from the brain. Cer
tainly It Is partly for this reason that
water is an aid for many. Some pre
fer alternate hot and cold foot baths;
others the splashing of the face and
forehead with cold water for several
minutes. This seems to paralyze cer
tain nerves. And that is what many
drugs may do. The water treatment
Is likely o be preferable.
Sonin Heeljins.
Alternate hot and cold foot baths
seem to work as a sedative; among
other reasons they may take ithe excess
of blood from the brain to the feet.
One night also take it towards the
stomach by eating apple, lettuce, or
something else, or perhaps even by
sipping water. The lettuce has In It
a certain opiate salt; so, I believe, has
the cucumber. Some prefer such things
raw; others prefer them cooked with
their juices. Here is a recip*; that
might be good for most people. If a.ny
one objects to onion, he can easily omit
It:
Wash In cold water the outside
They found It very economical to
pay him a visit now and then, be
cause then they didn’t spend their
own money for these stern necessities.
doing home they ipassed the thea
ter. In front It was quiet, but around
at the stage entrance some people
were still lingering.
"Look, look, Patsy!” cried Jim.
“There comes the heroine. She’s
walking with the villain—isn’t that
funnv?”
Patsy looked. Sure enough, out
came her adorable heroine chatting
with the villain and laughing as if they
ware old friends.
Patsy and Jim stared with eyes and
mouths wide open. To be sure the
villain wasn’t quite so fierce without
his black mustache and the black stuff
on his eyes. Neither was the heroine
quite so pretty. Patsy hated to ad
mit this point, but It was really true.
How could she possibly have anything
to do with such a horrid man—she
knew he was horrid, too, for she had
found out at the end of the play.
The children almost unconsciously
followed the two actors to see what
was going to happen next. At the
corner they stopped. The heroine
seemed to want to go one way and the
villain Another. Patsy and Jim were
close to them now.
“Oh, come on, dear,” they heard him
say; “come and have a bite to eat.
You look tired and you ought to be
hungry.”
Patsy's heart heat hard. The next
leaves of lettuce or endive, then put
them In the inside pan of a double
pan boiler with a little butter and
half a wineglassful of water. In the
outer vessel let there be boiling water.
Meanwhile fry some opinion slices in
oil. Serve the green food Just as It
Is, pouring none of it away, and leis
urely cat first a mouthful of the let
tuce, then a mouthful of the ontons.
A well-known writer has a plan that
is the exact reverse of this. He tells
us to ignore all other helps, and to
think of the eternal verities. The na
tural effect of this will be confldenc#
(or the absence of worry) and repose.
Here, again, the tendency will be to
restore the rhythm of the body—of
the breathing, heart, and digestive or
gan or gland that, like the stomach
und Intestines (according to Dr. Can
non's recent experiments), has a beat
and swing of its own, depending partly
on the emotions?
Don't Hurry.
But repose can be sought In th
physical way also. You can smile, un
tense the eye, think of a distant hori
zon, breathe deeply, and relax mors
and more together with the outward
■breath. I described an exercise in a
previous article, it must be done with
out hurry. For one of the great hin
drances to sleep is Jumpiness and alert
quickness, and, on the other hand,
muscular tension. Notice how muscu
lar tension comes when you are send
ing out thoughts against others. They
must be avoided at all costs. Send
out thoughts for the health of others,
if you like, but never any thought
against the all-round health of others.
One writer, Thomas Jay Hudson,
says that this suggestion of health for
others, this imagination and realiza
tion of others as healthy, produces the
sweetest and 'best kind of sleep. Need
less to say, you cannot worry while
you are are imagining and realizing
this, and, if you do not actually get
sleep, at any rate you are avoiding
harmful thoughts.
Early rising is another cure. Many
people have told me that when they
have had sleepless nights they rise
early, and. after a day or two of this,
a natural sleep comes. But the human
temptation Is rather to get sleep by
means of some drug; people have not
the patience to watt for sleep.
Think Yourself to Sleep.
And, Indeed, there is one enormous
difficulty in acquiring sleep. From the
mere fact that sleeplessness is close
ly associated with narrow selfishness,
with what is wrongly regarded as to
he self-centered and really Is to be
self-circumferenced, directly you be
gin to fuss about yourself you are
likely to destroy the power of sleep.
What you need to do is to turn your
attention 'by some means from the
worldly Interests of the petty self to
the eternal Interests pf the larger Self,
which interests are the interests of
all other living ibeings.
Then, even if sleep does not come,
at any rate the activity of the mind
is doing you almost if not quite as
much good as sleep itself. If. as cer
tain "transcendentallsts” hold, and as
the Bible and some of Plato's follow
ers imply more than once, sleep Is the
time when the spirit lives and grows,
then to send out these thoughts for
others may be, In a sense, the sleep
of the body, and, according to recent
science, cannot hurt the body as much
as worry would.
moment, she burst out:
"Oh, no, don't do It; don’t go with
him! Maybe he’s going to hurt you!”
The actors looked down at the eager
face In astonishment.
Then the lady laughed a merry
laugh, much merrier than she had
used on the stage. Jim was blushing
and trying to pull Patsy away.
“Oh, no, he won’t! Thank you,”
said the lady. "He’s my husband and
he's really quite good to me.”
And Patsy suddenly blushed hotly
and let Jim drag her oft up the street
and scold her, and she never talked
back with a single tiny word.
Sylvester Houston of Oklahoma City,
who died recently, was once a private
soldier of the United States army, and
In his will, disposing of a large estate,
he bequeathed $130,000 to his nephew
on the Bole condition that the young
man ’’shall serve at least one full term
of not less than three years In the
United States army, during which ha
shall have reached the grade of non
commissioned officer, and that his cer
tificate of discharge shall read “Serv
k'e, honest and faithful; character, ex
cellent.’ ’’ In making this toequeat tha
testator said: ‘‘l know that after such
service my nephew will have had
enough experience of the world and
disciplinary training to insure tha
proper disposal of what has taken me
a lifetime to accumulate,”