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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, March 18, 1915, NOON EDITION, Image 19',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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there was a look of recognition upon
her face, though she made no sign
of greeting and neither spoke.
Then John Travers went into the
world of business. Eight years had
passed and he had fought hard dur
ing those years. He had made a
name for himself in the financial
world; at 30 he was a rising power
in the street. It was no wonder that
his enemies grew numerous as his
power grew stronger.
And as the years went by Travers
began to realize that he was obtain
ing singularly little out of life. At 30
he seemed already an old man in ex
perience. Life brought him no hap
piness. He did not understand the
cause of this, but he realized that he
had somehow missed something
which all his wealth could not supply.
Then came the panic, and the fight
for survival. Everybody was leagued
against Travers to pull him down.
For a whole week, during which time
he hardly slept, John rought. Then
the pack had him down and his for
tune, swollen to millions, crumbled to
nothing in a single day.
So he had gone home to the little
village, to the house which he had
inherited after his parents' death, but
never occupied. It was some homing
instinct that drew him there to gath
er the wreck of his world about him.
And, once there, just as in the days
of his return from school and college,
everything seemed to. fall away from
him but the old house and its imme
diate interests. He spent two days
there, never going outside, afraid of
the stares of the curious, . keeping
the shades drawn and the gas burn
ing. It was absurd, but he began to re
alize that through all his days of
struggle in the metropolis he had
been thinking subconsciously of the
girl at the window opposite. What
an immense share she had had in his
life, this girl to whom he had never
even spoken, although, he knew her
well! And he realized, too, that it
was her memory that kept him from
doing the shady things which other
men did in the financial world.
At last he had resolved to end it,
to plunge out of the life that had
brought him nothing into one which
could at least offer nothing worse to
him. And, after long thought, he had
drawn from his pocket the revolver
which he had always carried since
the beginning of his debacle.
He raised it to his forehead and
looked at the reflection in the mirror.
His finger tightened upon the trigger.
A knock at the door strartled him
and he thrust the weapon away and
opened the door. He gasped to see,
before him, the girl at the window
She came into the room impul
sively. "Mr. Travers," she began, "I know
you will resent this intrusion, but we
are old neighbors. My name is Mar
jorie Danvers, and I often used to see
you when we were children. I live
opposite I have lived there alone
since my parents died two years ago.
And I heard you were nack and in
"You know how people gossip in
this little place. We heard you were
alone here and had not left the house.
We were all afraid some harm had
come to you. So I went to the door
and knocked, and when you did not
answer I came up. Is there anything
I can do for you?"
Her eyes fell upon the revolver
muzzle protruding from the bookcase
in which he had hidden It She looked
at it and him wildly.
"You were not not thinking of
that?" she cried.
"Yes," he answered, "I was. But
you cured me now Listen, Miss Dan
vers. I have lived a selfish life, solely
for myself and I have had little pleas
ure out of it But now I have come
home, and and I want life i? begin,
to mean something to me. Do you
know how oftai I have thought of
"How strange!" she said. "I have