A Man of Samples. Something about the men he met "On the Road" Part 23

He had a night run to Decatur and determined that he would telegraph to the house, and quiet these nervous apprehensions that were so cruel, though probably so absurd. It would cost but little, he reasoned, and though foolish, it was wiser than to continue to be torn by doubts. So before going to bed he gave the operator a half rate message, for morning delivery, as follows:

To Manning, Morgan & Co., Chicago, Ill.: Is my wife or daughter sick?

Answer, care Gilsey.

C. MORGAN.

He felt easier having done this, and pa.s.sed a better night than the previous one, although there was in all his sleeping and waking thoughts an under current of solicitude over impending danger to Mary.

With an attempt not to be anxious, yet terribly apprehensive at heart, he tore open the telegram that reached him about 9 o'clock:

To C. Morgan, care Gilsey & Co., Decatur: Come home first train.

MANNING.

Good G.o.d, what was this! Were his forebodings indeed true? If so he was all the more totally unprepared for the truth. His constant comfort had been that his fears had not the slightest foundation to rest upon, and the more they crowded upon him the surer he had been that they were flimsier than dreams. But here staring him in the face were those four ominous words:

"Come home first train."

Why had they not given him the whole story? He started for the telegraph office to send for further particulars, but stopped. Suppose Mary was dead! Did he want to learn it here, so far from his wife? No; he would wait. Such a story would unfold soon enough. There were several hours before a train went his way; the discipline of twenty years a.s.serted itself, and he attended to his business.

The ride home was one that can be understood in its depths only by those who have been similarly circ.u.mstanced. The train seemed to creep. The minutes were like hours. The stops seemed to be interminable, and every mile nearer home seemed to be proportionately longer than the previous one. He reached the city at dark. The store was closed. He had expected to find Manning there, but he suddenly remembered that he had not telegraphed to him the time of his arrival.

As he neared his home the first glance showed him there was a change.

The lower part of the house was in darkness, and only a dim light shone in the front chamber, which was but rarely occupied.

"They have laid her there," he said to himself, and all his soul cried within him in anguish. His poor wife! How she must have suffered, to have gone through all this alone! What a brute he was to go away Monday, when he ought to have known, and did know, that something dreadful was upon them! He reached the door; it was fastened; he would go to the other side and enter quietly. But some one heard his step, and, opening the door, called him back.

"Is it Mr. Morgan?" The voice was that of a neighbor.

"Yes." He pa.s.sed in, expecting to see or hear his wife. The friend closed the door and turned to him.

"Have you heard--," she began.

"I have heard nothing; is Mary--," he broke down. The door beside him opened.

"Oh, papa!"

Give him air! What mystery was this?

"Mary, is it you? Are you alive? Why, I thought--I feared--Oh, darling, is it you?"

Yes, it was Mary. Oh, thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!

"Tell me again, dear, are you well?"

"Oh, yes, papa, but poor mamma!"

"Mamma! What of her? Is she sick? What is it? Tell me quick!" And again he was pushed from the heaven of happiness to the bottomless pit of doubt. "Is mamma sick? where is she?"

"Oh, papa, the doctor says she is going to--"

"Hush," said the neighbor. "Step inside, sir; the doctor is with her now; he will soon be down. Prepare yourself, Mr. Morgan; your wife is very low. The servant's carelessness caused an explosion in the kitchen, setting herself on fire; your wife ran to her a.s.sistance and saved her life, but, I fear, at the expense of her own."

"I must see her."

"No, sir, not now; be guided by me for a moment. The doctor will soon be down."

He took Mary in his arms and they wept together. Oh, if his wife, his darling wife! were to be taken from him! It was the cruelest blow G.o.d ever struck! And she saving another's life, too! He cursed and raved, but it was in his own heart; and Mary, crying on his breast, only knew what comfort it was to have her papa once more with her.

The physician came down with manner so grave that it told its own story. "There is scarcely a chance," he said; "you can go to her; she will not know you."

"When did this happen?"

"Monday evening."

"Have you consulted others? Can nothing more be done?"

"Nothing except to help her to die easy."

But she did not die. She knew her husband. He begged of her to live, as only a man can plead whose soul is bound up in a woman's life, and whether love, or whether medicine, or whether care saved her, I do not know. But she lived. But Morgan informed Manning that his traveling days were over; that a new man must be engaged for that route. They found him, after diligent search, and much to the surprise of everyone connected with the house, he sold more goods for the firm than Morgan had ever done. The one who rejoices most at this is Morgan, who says he has made his last trip.

"LET US KICK."

[The following sketch by M. Quad in the Detroit Free Press, will be new to some of our readers, and will, we think, be appreciated by them all.]

I really and truly believe that the day will come when the kicker will be cla.s.sed where he belongs and be ent.i.tled to the reverence due him.

I look upon him as a philosopher and a philanthropist. He stands forth one man out of ten thousand. He is actuated by the most unselfish motives. He is the real reformer.

I am not a kicker. I am simply taking the preparatory lessons to enable me to blossom out. The other day when I bought a ticket to go east they told me at the ticket office:

"While the train does not leave until about eleven, the sleeper is open at nine, and you can go right to bed and wake up at Niagara Falls next morning."

I entered the sleeper at half-past nine and went to bed. That is, it is called going to bed. You are boxed up, boxed in, surrounded and smothered and charged two dollars for the misery. A sleeping-car is a mockery, a fraud and a deception. The avarice of the companies results in misery for the pa.s.sengers. Four other persons had gone to bed, and at ten o'clock we were all asleep. At that hour two men entered with a great clatter. They were talking loudly, and they sat down and continued. I waited fifteen minutes for one of the other sleepers to kick. No one uttered a protest Then I rose up and asked:

"Do you men know that this is a sleeping-car?"

"We do," they answered.

"And do you propose to continue this disturbance?"

"We propose to talk as long and as loud as we please!"

I called the conductor and inquired:

"I have paid for a berth in which to sleep. I can't sleep for this disturbance. Will you stop it?"