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The day book. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, June 28, 1915, LAST EDITION, Image 19

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1915-06-28/ed-1/seq-19/

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emotion. He was singing to the home
folks, as of old. He saw the dear old
familiar scenes, nothing else. He for
got his environment and poured out
his soul.
There was a restless rustle as he
concluded. A strange change had
come over the face of Bill Bluff. The
reckless, rollicking air of bravado
had departed.
Soberly, seriously, he removed his
great sombrero and placed it on the
floor. Prom a buckskin bag he poured
out in his palm all it would hold of
gold nuggets. These he dropped into
the hat The other contributed their
mite. The heap was emptied into the
hands of Burr. Bill took his arm
and led him out of the place with a
last word to his fellow convivialists:
"I'm through." Then, as they
gained the street he said in a tone
held steady by the power of a strong
will: "Go home, for I can see you're
used to one. You've hit me hard, I'm
thinking. Maybe it will start me face
about, too," and was gone. '
Burr stood staring after him vague
ly. The enthusiasm that had sus
tained him in his song had given way
to the dead, dull sensation that comes
with theTeaction from the excitement
of drink. What he had imbibed now
drove him into a certain brain leth
argy he could not resist. His steps
grew staggering. He tried to realize
that he had what was untold wealth
for him in his present homeless,
workless condition.
He had a wavering idea of going
back to the drinking den and cele
brating his unexpected accession of
cash. He was conscious of reaching
a doorway. A latch string gave way.
He sprawled in the darkness, crept
around on his hands and knees, and
sank into sudden slumber.
It was morning when Burr awoke.
His senses were still dazed. He grad
ually took in his environment, to re
alize that he was lying under a bench
on a bare floor. Then he guessed
what the place was an old building
used as the only church in the place, 1
It was a place so poor and so free
to all that it was not even kept locked
up. Burr closed his eyes again. His
mind began to go over the scenes of
the preceding evening. The gold?
His hand felt along his coat Yes, it
had been no vision. He could feel the
weighty treasure so prodigally given
for the sake of a song.
There came a glow, a sudden im
pulse to hasten back to the compan
ions who had dragged him to the
depths. Suddenly the scene of last
night's song was revived in his mind.
He looked reverently about the little
place sustained by a struggling group
of good people. There stood the lit
tle organ. It was open. He moved
toward it His fingers strayed across
its keys.
Surely some good spirit was mov
ing his better nature. Again he forgot
time and place. He seated himself
before the humble instrument His
touch swept the keys in a prelude to
an old-time song and then, despite
hhnself, his voice burst forth into a
ringing melody.
He arose, the tears streaming from
his eyes. They were not so blinding,
however, that he did not see the big
metal box with a slit in its top and
bearing the words: "Donations for
Our New Church."
Burr rid his pockets of the last
grain of gold dust He turned toward
the door. It was to face a fresh,
blooming young girl, the minister's
daughter. She had witnessed alL Her
own eyes were humid. It was no time
for words. Only, she toox both his
hands in her own.
"You have made some great re
solve," she spoke.
"Yes a new life."
"Heaven, speed you!"
It was Leslie Burr who built the
new church in Raven Gulch. It was
he who, seeking honest work, became
first a laborer, then a millman and
then superintendent of the great For
tunatus mine.
"You have indeed redeemed your
promise," Mabel Fare told him one
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