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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, December 20, 1912, Image 17',
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Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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and go to work like a man' he
had said. "If you don't, there
will be a home for my daughter
and her child, little Ruth, with
me, but-you must shift for your
self." There were no reproaches from
gentle, loving Ethel, his wife, hut
the inventor sought work.-- Un
skilled, wage and position offered
were to him degrading. He wrote
a brief note to his wife.
v "Go home to your father," it
ran. "I have given up my dream,
I must give up you and the child.
Your father can have the patent.
I cannot face humiliation and de
feat among niy equals. I am a
John Dunbar had heard of a
wonderful silver mine in Mexico.
He went there, worked like a
peon "and at the end of a' year
hired an overseer to send his earn
ings to his wife. Later he found
that they had never reached her.
He worked a second year. The
mine was flooded. With a bare
$300 he escaped with his life. He
started for home. On the way he
was robbed of his little earnings,
and now he had landed in his na
tive town a pauper.
"All that I have in the world,"
-he said bitterly, regarding the'
two bank souvenirs-"two years'
exile, and these! 'WJiy not?"
A sudden resolution had seiz
ed him. !He smiled at the quaint
onceit in his mind. It fortified
liim to resist the impulses of ut
cer despair. Unrecognized and as
a stranger he threaded old fami
.'ar thoroughfares, finally reach
.T the last home he had known.
An inquiry conveyed to him.
that strangers occupied the
house. TheDunbars? The hus-.
band had gone away, the wife
and child had moved to her fath-
er's home. The judge had died ar
year since. Mrs. Dunbar was liv-5-ing
at such and such a places x
It was almost dusk when the?
refugee" reached a neat cottage?
set in the midst of a rare garden.
Its seclusion and peace cast a
healing calm over his troubled
soul. He came to an open door,
sank to a. step, and bent his oar,
The. bright chatter of a little
child mingled with the soft tones
of an elder. John Dunbar arose
to his- feet. He, could trace the
fact that the mother and daugh
ter were busy about the-kitchen,
preparing the evening meal.
It was a night ofstrange emo
tions and impulses! forthe for
lorn wayfarer. The ,"dpor at
which he stood openedjinto the
neat, cheerful dining room. The
table was set for three. He won
dered at that. Softly, on tiptoe,
he advanced into the apartment.
Beside the plate at the head of
the table John Dunbar placed the
rose. At the tiny tray near to a.
child's familiar high chair he laid
the little picture book. Then he
retreated again to the porch, and
drew far back into its shadows;
for mother and child had entered
"Oh, mamma, lookl look!"
cried the little one eagerly, tak
ing up the book.
Ethel Dunbar was dressed in
mourning. The soul of the ar