"
That night Henry Floyd wrote a letter. This was the close of it:
"Possibly your recollection may hereafter trouble you. I wish to say
that I do not hold you accountable in any way."
That night a wretched creature, half beggar, half worse, was standing
on the street under a lamp. A man came along. She glanced at him timidly.
He was looking at her, but it would not do to speak to him,
he was a gentleman going somewhere. His hands were full of roses.
He posted a letter in the box, then to her astonishment he stopped at her side
and spoke to her.
"Here are some roses for you," he said, "and here is some money.
Go home to-night."
He pushed the roses and money into her hands, and turning,
went back up the dim street.
How the Captain made Christmas
It was just a few days before Christmas, and the men around
the large fireplace at the club had, not unnaturally,
fallen to talking of Christmas. They were all men in the prime of life,
and all or nearly all of them were from other parts of the country;
men who had come to the great city to make their way in life,
and who had, on the whole, made it in one degree or another,
achieving sufficient success in different fields to allow of all
being called successful men. Yet, as the conversation had proceeded,
it had taken a reminiscent turn.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137