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Updated: May 16, 2025
"If I can get the loan " "Which you can't," Thaine broke in. "Any man on Grass River will tell you the same, if you don't want to believe the word of a nineteen-year-old boy." "Thaine, I must do something. Even our home is mortgaged. Everything is slipping out from under us. You don't know what that means." "My father and mother knew it over and over." Thaine's face was full of sympathy.
My son Siegmund never comes. The last time I saw him was when I was buried. On my 49th birthday-I lay in a plain wooden coffin. I was placed on a wagon-like catafalque. Nine pall-bearers dressed in black walked beside me. Behind me was the pastor, Leopold Lehmann, and at his side my wife Frieda and my nineteen-year-old son Siegmund.
She hummed gaily as she went along, this nineteen-year-old school teacher so near the end of her first year's work in the schoolroom. Her eyes roved over the fair panorama of Lancaster County in early spring dress. As she neared the house she saw her Uncle Amos resting under a giant sycamore tree that stood in the front yard. "Good times," she called to him. "Hello, Manda," he answered.
To me, a nineteen-year-old man, who had just been offered a fighting man's berth! "I want you to," she commanded. I saw more clearly just what the Swede's offer meant: to spend my days in evil living, my drugged will twisted about the slim, dishonest fingers of the wanton; to spend my nights carrying out whatever black rascality the Swede might command. An ignoble slavery. Not for me!
As he called to them he saw Pearce, the young British sailor, lying between the thwarts with the long shaft of an arrow in his chest, and a young Norfolk Islander with an arrow under his left eye. The arrows flew around them in clouds, and suddenly Fisher Young the nineteen-year-old Polynesian whom he loved as a son who was pulling stroke, gave a faint scream. He was shot through the left wrist.
Supper Bean soup, potatoes, coffee or tea and bread with butter. John F. Patterson, head of the plant, had his dinner in this general dining room on Sunday. The only luxuries enjoyed by him and not provided for the others were hard-boiled eggs and preserved peaches. Among the most active of the uniformed waitresses was Mr. Patterson's nineteen-year-old daughter.
John Jacob Astor was returning from a trip to Egypt with his nineteen-year-old bride, formerly Miss Madeline Force, to whom he was married in Providence, September 9, 1911. He was head of the family whose name he bore and one of the world's wealthiest men. He was not, however, one of the world's "idle rich," for his life of forty-seven years was a well-filled one.
The family had sold the old home to obtain money with which to meet expenses until the salaries of the workers should begin to count, and had moved into the little flat where the nineteen-year-old sister had, for a year now, done her girlish best to make a home for her "four men," as she called them, while she kept many violent attacks of heartache bravely hidden for the most part under a bright exterior.
No doubt she is a tender nurse, for in every case she is nursing vicariously that nineteen-year-old boy of hers in the trenches. That morning I visited the various Calais hospitals. It was a bright morning, sunny and cold. Lines of refugees with packs and bundles were on their way to the quay. The frightful congestion of the autumn of 1914 was over, but the hospitals were all full.
That the shrewd old Vogel should trust so much in a nineteen-year-old was proof enough at least of his character; but when Brock, the foreman from Harper's, came for them at Silver City, Bolles witnessed the affection that the rougher man held for Drake. Brock shook the boy's hand with that serious quietness and absence of words which shows the Western heart is speaking.
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