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I took that little fellow three years ago. I had no idea he would grow so pretty. Folks said it was the oddest of pranks, but if I had bought fifteen more horses than I could use, or dogs enough to craze the neighborhood, or even a parrot, like my good neigbor Tarbelle, everybody would have been satisfied.
Where is the people's idol, elected to Congress by to-night's count, already conceded at Opposition head-quarters? The orator stands over his dead. What is that? Elected to Congress? A speech? "It will be better," says Richard Tarbelle. "Come up on the balcony, Mr. Lockwin. It will be better." This noise relieves the father's brain. How fortunate it has come. The orator goes up by a rear stairway.
"Well, Esther, the truest thing I have heard of my boy was said by old Richard Tarbelle. He stopped me the other day. You know our houses adjoin. 'Mr.
"No, no!" shrieks the woman. "No, no!" The child's eyes, almost filmy before, are lifted in beautiful appeal to the mother. "No, Davy. It shall not be!" "It must be," says Lockwin. "I have not brought my instruments," says the surgeon. "It is now very late in the case, anyway." "Thank God!" is the thought of the father. The child smiles upon his mother. He smiles upon Richard Tarbelle.
Lockwin, I'm not rich, but I'd give a thousand dollars a thousand dollars!" "My God, doctor! why have you been so slow getting here?" "My horses have been taken sick as fast as I got them." The doctor advances to the child. The child is smiling on Richard Tarbelle. "What ails you?"
Tarbelle, you are very kind." "Mrs. Lockwin, as I said, I have been a hard man all my life, but your little boy has enslaved me. Sixty-three years! I don't believe I looked twice at my own three boys. But they are great men. Big times at the ho-tel, Mrs. Lockwin. Four hundred people on cots. Here, Davy, you can carry an orange, too. Well, Mary will be waiting for me. Your servant, madam. Good day.
Tell him to come and stay with us. Tell him we have difficulty in keeping the child warm." The sun has poured into the window and gone on to other sick chambers. The flaxseed and stramonium seem like reminders of the past stage of the trouble. Richard Tarbelle, never before in a room where the tide of life was low, looks down on Davy. "Mr.
Is it not hard, Richard Tarbelle?" "Mr. Lockwin, as I said, I am not a rich man, but I would give a thousand dollars a thousand dollars I guess you had better look at him, Mr. Lockwin." Davy is dead. Never yet has that father showered on the child such a wealth of love as lies in that father's heart.
Lockwin, I don't want to say it, but it is so." It is the kind voice of Richard Tarbelle. "Very well, then. It is diphtheria." It is the one goblin that for years has appalled Lockwin. Well it might, when it steals on a man like this. "To think I never gave him a drop of whisky. Oh! God! Get us a surgeon." A medical college is not far away.
And then Richard Tarbelle would come around the corner with his basket, his eye fastened on that window where the smiling child was pictured. "Here, Davy. There was a banquet at the hotel last night. See that bunch of grapes, now!" "You are very kind, Mr. Tarbelle." "Mrs. Lockwin, I have been a hard man all my life. When I had my argument with the bishop on baptism " "Yes, Mr.
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