After Twenty Years

Bruce Herald, Volume XXXXI, Issue 5, 20 January 1905, Page 3

After Twenty Years

M By William Wendham. §

(Copyright, 1901,.by Authors Syndicate.) M\J. GILLESPIE, was distinctly old-fashioned. "Old-fashioned and ( out of date and irritable and cranky, by George, sir," said he to himself as hs watched ; the blue flames struggle A»**a*c«asfully to leap into something like cheerfulness. "Even my fire won't ! burn. I've jawed every man in the . ofiice to-day, quarreled with every j «ileik't I have seen, bullied the janitor amd »pent the intervening time;indhat- | img myself. I- guess Eastman is right.I ought to take a vacation, and see if I can't get into some sort cxf harmony with things in general." 4 What was.it all worth, anyway— these days and nights of toil? To be sure, he was successful, far beyond the measure that comes to the average man, his reputation was high inthe profession— the greatest cases came to him, and he generally won them. His name stood high in the community, and honors on the bench or in political life waited -him 'at' any time he would accept them. But these things he-ld no fascination, for him. For 20 years -his life had been centered" in ■fekis old-fashioned back ofiice. - He had enjoyed no; social life and little companionship with his fellows, excepting his relations with his partners, his clients and his opponents in the courtroom. He trembled to. think of the rssult should he lose interest in his. work. ' > ■ A ' And yet it had not been always so. Nor was he by nature designed for a life apart from his fellows. In his younger days he had been a prince of good fellows, and had numbered his friends by the, score. . ... But this was bef ore the broken chap-d; ter in-his life, and that broken chapter had changed all the rest of the story. He thought as he tried to coax some warmth outdof the grate how different it all might .have .been. He arose and locked the door leading tb'-_y the outer ofiice, and then he went to the old-fashioned safe, and, unlocking j a drawer, took, from it- an- old- da- y guerrotype. Going back to his seat, he contemplated the portrait long and earnestly. It was the face of a baauti-d ful, high-spirited, impetuous girl. | Thisdwas the face which had caused the broken chapter. As he looked at the old daguerfo type his features softened and he lived over again the old days when all the horizon was rose--colored. This was away back when he was a boy. He was accounted a smart : boy and was making strides in his profession, and every effort and every ambition was centered .upon Amy* Lester.She liked him, too^-th'ere was no doubt ' of that. -Even now, at a distance of 20 years and with the keenest knowledge of men and affairs, he did . not doubt that she loved him in the old days. They had been youthful sweethearts .:. and had built air the air^castles of two lives upon a united future. Then came the- firing on" Sumter and the call to arms by President Lincoln. The blood of the major quickened a little even at this distance of a quarter of a century as he recollected the thrill with ; which that call had been .received. A delirious month or two and 4 he. had found himself at the front. There rolled bef ore the memory of the major all the excitement, the dangers, . the . deprivations, the heroisms of, those dreadful four years; his steady advancement until he was mustered out , a major of volunteers. .«" The perspiration rolled from his face as he remembered hie homecoming and found that Amy had plighted her troth to another — one far - . richer than he and the choice, of her family. He had never asked her to marry him. He had always supposed it to be" understood. They had written continually, and although her letters had grown, more formal he had been so engrossed in his soldierly .profession that he had scarcely had'the time to wonder what the cause was. So the full knowledge of the truth, when he arrived home, nearly took him off his feet. His great pride kept him from doing anything to prevent her marriage, even had it been possible, and sp she had faded from his life, and ■„ with her all the joy and allthe'hope he had ever cherished. Then followed the' weary years in the profession to which he had turned. '.'. A knock aroused' the dreamer, and • hastily stuffing the picture in his pocket he opened the door. :It was a' card from one of his most profitable clients, for whom he-had recently won a hardly-contested lawsuit. j "Show him in," grunted the major, grudgingly. j Accordingly in bustled , Peter Van- y delmeier, prosperous, pushing, selfcomplacent, but apparently somewhat worried. ... ' R. ..' "You have got to get possession of .'■ that Fletcher property, thVt's all there is to it, major," said Vandelmeier, as h» seated- himself and mopped his brow. "Oh, I know ybu are not a sheriff or a marshal or anything of that kind," he went on, as he observed the major's rising ire, "but what good will our decision do us unless we get possession of the property? There is a funny condition down there. A chit of a girl — grandchild of old man Fletcher — is in possession, and she ■ seems to be too much for the officers. Theyhave failed utterly to gether ! 6ut ! and nave, about given it up a*s a bad job. We have but. two more days, according* to the verdict. Now, I want you to go tp Cherrydale yourself. You Svill have all the officers you want, but they are frightened md need somebody to direct theor. Name your own fee, of course, but^ou've got to go. You know how important it is to our general plan that, we get possession." The result was that Maj. Gillespie .

.'.' .A.-.iAM the next afternoon at ..* (VMi>ot of the little town of Cherrydale, some 40 miles Trom home. After making some inquiries, at the country tavern he decided to begin operations* at once, so as to end the disagreeable task as soon as possible, and ! was' driven, to the Fletcher, homestead •on the outskirts of .the town.- Hedwent ! to get thejlay of,thejjland and left the {officers sent withihim. at the .tavern, j lie found an^ohMashioned country j place— iA big, homelike house surj rounded ./ith great tree-sin the midst } of a farm of great natural beauty, I rolling meadows and fruitful fields i traversed by a rippling brook. j In response to the knocker a grim " old woman opened the Aront door far | enough tp let the major see that it was i fastened with a chain inside, ahd in response to ihis request to- see Miss Fletcher was told to wait on the porch and she would see him there. As the major stood smiling at the crude at- (- tempt to thwart the edict of the law, '. and inwardly fuming at the trivial ne- ! cessity-for taking him so far from his i snug bachelor Atpar'tihents, the .door [ opened and immediately he heard the • chain rattle into place again. Turning, he^ lifted his hat tothegirlish figure in the doorway. It was a perfect type of. budding womanhood, the major noted briefly, just before bis eyes rested on her fafcey Then with a start the hat dropped from his hand and he grasped the railing for support.' '....-'....■'.■ ,■ . ', . "Amy!" he gasped, his hand seeking his brow with a gesture of bewilderment. For there before^ bam in the flesh stood" Amy Lester, the irweetheart of his boybood, jnst as she had y looked on the day he had left her to, .dj go to the war. Not a day older, not A : a feature changed! Anddhe knew she. A had died these ten years »go. lost his mind? ' Had. paresis pT-ertaken^i him in the prime of life? He stood transfixed; with trembling limbs and staring eye's. r-7" Amy Fletcher, if you please, sir, " replied the young woman, with some spirit. "And what is your business here,- may I ask?" "I must "beg your pardon," said he, i .with, courtly grace. "You reminded nic so strong-ly of an old and very dear . - friend." .-' . "You. were a friend of mamma's, then ?" inquired the girl. "Her name 'was Amy? lister." *• A • "Yes; she was once a very dear friend of -mine," replied the major, gravely." ..^t ....... A,_ y Thedgirl7. who had b£en standing defiantly, with.\eyes 'flashing, softened A visibly. A ■■" ' -* "Oh, I'm so glad you came. lain the most dreadful trouble* and they -A are trying to. take the old place away Rfrom me; but they won't do it. I'll never let them. I'll die first. Grandpa told me never to let them do it, and that they had no right, and I won't. But it's ;so hard for a girl who don't know, anything aboiit business op law or anything to combat all those men. I need a dfriend. Indeed'ldo, and if you were a friend of mamma's yon will be my friehd;'.l know you will; .You will help me,d won't you? You are so big and strong. And you know all about .these horrid^ business. thinjps;dldknow you do. And— and you— you r are kind N — and honest; I know you sro. Tell me— tell me what to dp." y '• "Tell me" all atibut it," ihe Vaid, with a treihbr ih his voice. „ .They sat A do:yyn on . the rustic bench together. — and the major's tall, soldierly figure* thrilled as lt had not for 20 years, arid he could not realize that it was not the other woman— the woman, of 20 years ago— who was seated beside him, as she had been so often in the old days. She'tol'd ham- her pathetic, story— how she had been left an orphan to her "grandfather's care, and how He haddied a year ago in the midst of a quarrel with a big land syndicate that sought to acquire his property, and had told her that the negotiations had not been closed, although some papers , had*, passed.^. He warned her never to' yield' possession of the property; .Then there had been lawsuits, and now they were trying to eject her frc;m.t|^;hp v use;jn jwhich she was born and to deprive her of all she had in the world. Going further into the.matter, the. major . learned, many things that had puzzled him dduring the trial of the case involving the property, and discovered, how a great injustice had been wroughtA "Dp 'not be afraid," said he, rising abruptlyy "You will be harassed no ' more." .He .went straight back to the city, d and there' was' an interview with Vanidelmeier—the stormiest, it. is said, y that ever occurred .in ;tbe major's old- " A j fashioned 'Saclc-dropm— land1 and the result J was that certain checks bearing. the i major's signature! passed l tod VandelI meier and the deed to the Fletcher estate. passed to Amy Fletcher. I Therewas the- glow of long-deferred : yoxith on his; face arid the agility of a boy in his soldierly c-i::*i nge as he '! , sprang" up the steps. yrii'i .the deeds in . i his pocket. She did not entertain him on the veranda '^iis'.tini^.and before the day was over she in ''fed him ie) enjoy atshort season on the estate he had saved, for.' her— Bhje, [did not know at • what cost. -He remembered Eastman's admonition that he needed a vacation, j anddhe decided to spe:>d. it. There really U novn.i-*e.d* of telling the A rest of this acory, for the major was dj in the' very prime of life, despite his s\ iron-gray hair,, for a life of modera- J tion and regularity had lef t him in per- n | feet health, and she had been drawn j rto him from the first by that subtle at- j traction alwayts feltdby daughters for .'A the unsuccessful- suitor for the moth- j er's hand. Aa for the major, he never j could realize that it- was not his Amy j of old to whom he was paying court. ■'•*. It might be added.that after the wed- j ding the major,: greatly to the delight I of his partners, abandoned the old- A fashioned office and the firm moved ; • -into palatial quarters in the newest Ai building in ths ;«ity, i ;, ~*.*Q(,.f,>tvr\i>. x,. < a f ■•■J■■/<f''■•'^■■»r , ■. '