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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, March 24, 1914, NOON EDITION, Image 18

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

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1914-03-24/ed-1/seq-18/

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By Bernard Price.
They say that, if the ups and downs
of life could be measured truly, each
man would discover his exact share
of woes and joys correctly appor
tioned'. But "when hard luck comes in
chunks, it is a little difficult to con
sider -a -very occasional slice of good
fortune as a fair equivalent.
Thomas Salford, A. M., of Torrens
University, sat in his hall bedroom in
Thinking What a Mess He Had Made
of His Life.
a cheap lodging house in the metrop
olis. He was only five and thirty,
but his hair was already streaked
with white. It was ten years since he
left the university, with a reputation
as the most brilliant student of the
day. Wonderful things were prophe
sied of him.
His contemporaries, men of medio-
ere ability, were carving their way to
fortune and celebrity. Some had ar
rived, some were arriving. And Sal
ford was a poor teacher, eking out
ten or twelve dollars a week by
coaching the rich, idle sons of weal
thy people.
As he sathuddled over the radia
tor he was thinking whas a mess he
had made or his life. He had started
out into the world with such high
hopes.' And the face of a woman rose
before him vividly, as it had done so
often. Mary Routledge was the
daughter of President Routledge, and
they had been fast friends. Routledge
had urged him to stay and accept a
college professorship. It had been
well understood that that would
mean a more intimate attachment.
"My boy," said Routledge laying
a kindly hand upon Salford's shoul
der, "you are not the sort of man
equipped to cope with the world. Your
nature is too fine, too self-sacrificing. "
I cannot imagine you as a successful
professional man you would be the
first to shrink from gaining an advan
tage at the expense of another. Stay
here and teach us Latin. There.is no
man in America more competent to
do this than you."
Salford bad declined and gone,
forth into the world, with a pressure
of the hand from Mary, who had
waited for the unspoken' words which
were to bring her that happiness
which her heart craved. But he had
meant to ask her when he made his
fortune. How long ago that seemed
today to the broken man of hirty
five, who had long ago realized that
Routledge's words were true,
Salford had soon found his level
at the bottom. He had simply drop-,
ped out of sight; he had not written
to Mary for eight'years.
Why was he thinking' so intently
of the old life that night? Suddenly
he remembered. Tomorrow was Re
union Day, when the old students of
Torrens would .reassemble at the
great annual banquet which Rout- .
ledge' had instituted. Routledge was

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