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Then just at dawn the navarch died.
And after, for three days white and blank,
In a dazzling flash came return of day!
To recollect that exultant hour
When I saw the sunlight redly poured,
And the land before like a sparkling sword,
And I know, from then
We lashed at our sweeps with more strength than men,
O, the strange craft that seemed as friends
In our wildered relief that the voyage ends!
And the weird dusk folk that blackened the shore!
And the cry of welcome, a hideous roar!
That we loved as we did this ominous place,
Why even Medea's evil face
Seemed richly and cleanly graven!
Thomas C. Chubb.
The overflowing chalice of my soul
I gave, exulting in the rim unstained
By other lip; nor meant it to be drained
In one quick draught, but, lasting through the whole
Of passing years' demands, that things which pained
In the unceasing struggle, toward the goal.
Entrusting all to you, I had no fears,
Nor hesitated once, nor thought to stay
Judson Stanley Bradley.
AN OLD MAN
It was Saturday afternoon in sunny, early spring. An old man was walking slowly west from Second Avenue-leaving that airy Russian district just south of Stuyvesant Square, and progressing toward dirty, crashing Third Avenue. For some reason or other venerable old men, when they appear unattended in the street, always arouse in us a sense of pity. It is really natural to regard youth as a millenium, unappreciated at the time, and there is great pathos in one who has palpably lost it. We seem to think that happiness leaves as age comes on, and look upon the poor old fellow with a white beard and a heavy stick who waits on a corner in obvious terror of the rumbling trucks as one for whom there is no hope. His life is well-nigh spent-surely there can be no joy left for him. And yet this particular old man seemed to be different. He was very feeble and walked with the greatest difficulty. It seemed horrible that he should be forced to go alone. Were it not for the occasional genial policeman who
helped his tottering footsteps across some of the busier streets, he must surely have been run down. People noticed him and gave him room to pass. Many of them stared at him openly. Still, his appearance was much the same as that of the many infirm that are seen on the pavements of New York. Nevertheless, he attracted attention. He made by contrast the youth and strength of the other pedestrians seem more manifest, and the picture appeared to typify the eternal conflict between youth and age-this time with youth an easy victor, and a condescending one. Young men who passed him seemed to hunch their shoulders as if to vaunt their blatant strength. Still, people looked at this old man.....
There was something about him that held your attention. Not his clothes, for they were quite the conventional type-black and quite threadbare, with a pair of square-toed, slipperlike shoes projecting from beneath. His hat was also black, with a single crease in the crown. His hands, oddly enough, were clean; so was his face. His hair and beard were a snowy white. Deep crow's-feet surrounded a pair of blue eyes, showing a kindly nature-perhaps a sense of humor. He regarded the pavement before him as he progressed slowly along, taking little steps that seemed not more than six inches long. The heavily-laden trucks that roared past made one think of our modern machine age, and the man appeared like the last relic of a fast-departing era. Crash! Crash! went the traffic over the cobbles, drowning the gentle tapping of his cane, and efficiency roared on, leaving helpless age to totter its last few steps.
He turned up Third Avenue. The elevated clattered overhead, and all the reverberating world continued to make itself felt. The old man stopped in front of a German delicatessen and then went into the small door leading to lodgings above. was a narrow passageway, with steep stairs. Painfully, slowly he mounted. Perhaps it took as much as ten minutes for him to reach the third floor, where he entered a small front bed-room. There were two beds in it, and the miscellaneous odds and ends of furniture that are provided with such a flat. One side of the room was decorated chiefly with large shoes and photographs cut from the Sunday supplements. The other was almost bare
of ornament, save a small picture. It was oval and framed in walnut. The face therein was that of an old lady, a rather mild-looking old lady, in customary black. The man sat down in a broken rocker near the window, watching the hub-bub in the streets, the faces in the passing elevated trains, the sky, whatever his eyes could see-and with such evident happiness! From time to time he would glance at the picture, and then a note of kindly affection would steal in. This then was the secret of his drawing the attention of those who saw him! An old man, poor, in New York-yet happy! The street pleased him, the crowds of factory workers disgorged from those dank, dark tombs on Fourth Avenue pleased him, life pleased him!
Presently a crashing and pounding were heard on the stair; the door was flung open and a young man entered. He was a nice enough looking young man, but of a rather common type. His trousers were peculiarly baggy, and he had a heavy gold ring on his hand.
"Hello, Bobbie," said the old man.
"Uh," grunted the other. He prepared to change his clothes. From the closet he produced a remarkable light grey suit. A pinkish shirt followed, then a collar, a tie, and shoes. These he put on with evident satisfaction. He applied water to his hair and hands. Then he started to go out. Suddenly he turned and tossed a fifty-cent piece to the old man.
"There, grandfather," he announced, "that oughta hold you for a week."
"Thank you, Bobbie," answered the other, picking up the coin with some difficulty. "Thank you. I've been out of tobacco for two days."
"You smoke too much, anyway," said the boy brusquely. "It's bad for you."
He regarded the old man a moment with cynical amusement. Then his face became more hard.
"I lost my job to-day," he added shortly.
"What, Bobbie! Why? How?"
"That fool Babbit-the second in charge of the shipping department-told the boss he'd seen me tight Tuesday night.
Damn him! I can't get $35 a week again for a long while or anywhere near it. Hell!"
"That's too bad, Bobbie," said the old man sympathetically. "I'm so sorry for you. Perhaps you can get it back if you speak to him. I'm so sorry for you. Can't I do anything—
"Don't talk as if I was a kid."
"Oh, shut up," said the boy. And he went out, slamming the door.
He left a rather pathetic figure standing there, for the old man had hobbled to his feet. But he smiled as he listened to the retreating footsteps.
"He's a good boy," he murmured. "Such a good boy, only headstrong.".
About an hour later, Bobbie decided he would come homenot to spend the evening with his grandfather, but because in his hurried departure he had left most of his week's salary in his other suit. He went upstairs and got the money, scarcely noticing that the chair by the window was empty. As he emerged from the building, a policeman came up.
"Are you Robert Sanders?" he asked. "Yeah; what do you want?"
"Well, your grandfather was hit by an automobile crossing the street, and he's at the Flower Hospital. He wants to see you. I guess he's all in."
Bobbie inquired where the Flower Hospital was quite calmly, and boarded the street-car. He had had a couple of drinks, and felt angry, rebellious. The loss of his position had been a blow, and youthful pride resented his grandfather's sympathy.
"Good thing if the old man does die, maybe," he reflected. "He was kind of crazy anyhow, and it costs a lot to feed him." An interne met him at the door of the emergency ward.
"You his grandson? He's been asking about you. Go in to him. There isn't a chance that he'll live-internal injuries. He may die any minute.”
Bobbie walked in to where the old man lay, his wan face on the pillow, surrounded by his white hair; but his expression was ecstatic.
"Oh Bobbie," he exclaimed feebly, "I'm so glad to see you. I was afraid you wouldnt' come. I wanted to tell you. I got