scolding each other from different
doorways. What a place in which to
bring up a child! Suppose it had
At a few minutes after seven he
stood before a door in- a tenement
building. He rang, and a tired-looking
woman opened to him. The wom
an was unmistakably the mother of
the girl. And, weary as she was, and
poorly dressed, she was unmistakably
"Good evening, Mrs. Kimball," said
Randall roughly. "I'm Mr. Randall,
and I've called to say that your hus
band can have his job back."
The woman stared at him in terror.
"I'm I'm not Mrs. Kimball," she
stammered, and ran back into the
apartment. Randall heard her sob
bing as she ran.
Then he was aware of a tiny figure
at his side, and the little girl was
looking up into his face.
"Old Grouch!" she lisped. "Old
Grouch, come and see papa!"
It was strange that the child's
touch turned his will to water. Ran
dall suffered her to lead him by the
He went into a dark passage and
halted at the door of a tiny room. It
was almost dark inside, but he heard
the woman sobbing at the side of the
man who lay there. She rose and
turned and faced him.
"I am your son's wife," she said
with simple dignity.
And in the dark Randall, incredu
lous, saw the figure upon the bed.
"I guess it was a mistake," the
woman continued. "This is my little
girl, and Mr. Kimball has been taking
her to the office nights while my hus
band was ill. You didn't know; and
there is no need to stay, Mr. Ran
dall." Randall struck a match with trem
bling fingers and looked at the man
on the bed. He saw the fever-flushed
face of his own son, whom he had
thought gone forever. And then the
man's will broke "Old Grouch"
neeled dowp. at his side.
"Horace!" he whispered, taking his
hand in his. "Horace, you will come
home! I have come to take you
home you and your wife, and and
Leonora. I have wanted you heaven
knows how much," he continued.
"Only I didn't know it."
The woman turned away her face.
"Not now," she answered. "We do f J
not want your forgiveness after these
Randall looked at his son. "Hor
ace?" he asked.
But the sick man turned his face
away and answered nothing. And
then Randall felt a little hand slipped
into his own.
"I'll go with you, Old Grouch!" said
And suddenly the waters of pity
gushed from the man's eyes. "God
forgive me!" he cried, catching her
to his breast.
In a trice the mother was sobbing
in his arms. And the three, by the
sick man's bed, the son and father
clasping each other's hands, was the
sight that met Kimball's eyes as he
"Old Grouch" broke the silence.
"Get to your job, Kimball!" he bel
lowed. "Tomorrow I'll have some
thing to say to you. Get to work
now, or I'll I'll discharge you!"
For he meant to keep up his repu
tation to the last.
(Copyright, 1916, W. G. Chapman.)
NEW SKIRT IS SHORT AND VERY,
By Betty Brown
Late spring styles will bring no
startling changes in the fashion
world. That is the news I hear from W
a noted designer of modes. As the
wide skirt, paniered and puffed into
barrel-like roundness and width, has
been established designers are con
centrating their attention on the skirt
for this season the skirt really
makes the gown.
Separate wraps, especially capes,
also claim the attention of those "Who
tell us what to wear.
-mj j. ,-rffe,
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