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Show 286 ®li:> "Rose an!) $tl1>er ----1------------------------1 "bu"m sn 1ntcrc&t" Stotl! every clue that presented itself, waited days at hospitals for chiefs of staff, and made the dreary round of newspaper offices, where knowledge of every conceivable subject is supposedly upon file for the asking. One enterprising editor, too modern to be swayed by ordinary human instincts, had turned the Colonel over to the star reportera young man with eyes like Allison's. By well-timed questions and sympathetic offers of assistance, he dragged the whole story of his wanderings from the unsuspecting old soldier. It made a double page in the Sunday edition, including the illustrations-a "human interest" story of unquestionable value, introduced by a screaming headline in red: "Old Soldier on the March to Save Son. Violinist about to Lose Hand." When the Colonel saw it, his eyes filled so that he could not see the words that danced through the mist, and the paper trembled from his hands to the floor. He was too nearly heartbroken to be angry, and too deeply hurt to take heed of the last stab. No word reached him until late at night, when he arrived at the metropolitan hotel that he had made his headquarters. When he registered, two telegrams were handed to him, and he tore them open eagerly. The first was from Madame Francesca: "Risen from tbe l!lcab "Slight change for the better. New man gives hope. Better return at once." The second one was wholly characteristic: "Willing to take chance. Am camping on job. Come home." It was signed: "]. E. Middlekauffer." When he got to his room, the Colonel sat down to think. He knew no one of that name -had never even heard it before. Perhaps Francesca-it would have been like her, to work with him and say nothing until she had something hopeful to say. His heart warmed toward her, then he forgot her entirely in a sudden realisation of the vast meaning of the two bits of yellow paper. Why, it was hope; it was a fighting chance presenting itself where hitherto had been only despair! He could scarcely believe it. He took the two telegrams closer to the light, and read the blessed words over and over again, then, trembling with weakness and something more, tottered back to his chair. Until then, he had not known how weary he was, nor how the long weeks of anxiety and fruitless effort had racked him to the soul. As one may bear a burden bravely, yet faint the moment it is lifted, his strength failed him in the very hour that he had no need of it. He sat there for a long time before he was able to shut off the light and creep into bed, with his tear-wet cheek pillowed upon one telegram, trwoi\lts ofl1dlow paper |
