Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 138: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

480 ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. swered Tom with a touch of irritation, as in Monroe County. It’s worth fifty thou- if others had asked him that question. “We save rent, of course, and raise enough stuff to eat with part-time from the hired man in the neighborhood; but it takes a good share of-my salary from the job to pay the taxes on the darned place! “Well, I really must go. Abbie and I will be glad to have you stop off and pay us a flier, if ever you’re through up that way. Thank you both for your kindness to a man in hard luck. Well, good-by!” Grabbing his bag, he shot out of the door and for the elevator, a unique little figure in gray, worried now lest he miss his train. Lemp walked slowly into the living-room and stood staring from the window. Mrs. Lemp approached him. — “That farm he spoke of?” she asked. “Ts it an abandoned farm of some kind?” His eyes, turned to hers, held a strange look. “It’s one I used to wish I owned,” he answered. “It’s one of the richest farms sand dollars, if it’s worth a cent!” While she gazed at him, overwhelmed, while to her mind rushed the memory of their buried dream, he stared out over the great city, now winking awake in its glories of the night. In this city their lot was irretrievably cast, while their hearts were up among the hills toward which Osgood . would soon be hurrying. “What is thereto it, I wonder?” he asked, thinking of the strangely mixed scheme. “{ wonder!” responded his wife in a hushed tone. : Then came to Lemp his master compen- sation for the business of living. It was his inextinguishable sense of humor. He laughed great, bellowing, thunderous laughter, the mirth of Balzac, whom he re- sembled in person and in mind, and did not know it. His mirth was hysterically echoed by his mate. A WAYSIDE PRAYER EMEMBER, artist soul of mine, / This green, gold, white, and blue Of May-time in-the morning shine, When every leaf is new; How cotton-soft the white clouds rise \ To drift in laggard train’ Through the warm stretch of azure skies Washed clean by April rain. Remember dancing o’er the grass Winds such as Corot knew, Flinging a fragrance as they pass Of lilacs drenched with dew; The thrush upon the tall oak’s limb, In leafy, high survey, Tossing the rapture of his hymn Through the green fields of May. Hold these, my soul, inviolate— Clear colors of the spring, Soft winds that bid the thmushes mate And set the leaves aswing} Bird song and lilacs drenched with dew Keep as they are to-day, That they may pass in dream review When sleep has had her way! Eleanor Robbins Wilson Cconmiclooolks.conn