The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 1 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

THANKS TOQ# THE B. R. T. 5 day had murmured, and then, being in a particularly gloomy and reckless mood at Dr. Jim Bowen’s going, he had added again: “I do envy you!” Well,.did the Rev. Halliday but know it, he had no ground at all for envy, Dr. Bowen reflected bitterly as he came to what seemed to be the end of McDon- ough Street and stopped on the corner. Hallas might be little and remote, and poor and God-forsaken, but at least it fed and housed its minister; whereas its late doctor, having wished his practise on the suffering medical man over at Hallas Crossing, stood here with four dollars and ten cents in his clothes, and—Dr. Jim Bowen laughed savagely and thrust his hands in his light overcoat-pockets. What had happened yesterday up at Hallas was of small account now. The thing that really mattered was, what was going to happen to him now and to- morrow and all through the future? What on earth was he to do? Not re- turn to Hallas, certainly. He had not even the railroad fare; but supposing himself to be in Hallas at that minute he would be hardly better off in the way of habitation or living. Part of the poor furnishings he had contrived for the forlorn little house had gone to settling the last two years of un- paid rent; the other part had gone to the Widow Mackay, his housekeeper, who was marrying again and charitably will- ing to accept the nucleus of a new home in lieu of unpaid wages. As for making a living at Hallas, he had been trying that for twelve years, and the four dollars was the net result— and since he seemed to have drifted back to Hallas again, Dr. Jim Bowen once more jerked himself back to Brooklyn and the really awful query: what was he to do now? Obviously, he could not stand forever on the corner. A professional man and a total abstainer, he could hardly seek the seclusion of the saloon back room as a place to think out his problem; and, having dined well on the train, he was not ready for even the bargain-priced dinner that loomed ahead. Across the way a trolley-car stopped, deposited a passenger, and rumbled on its way again. Dr. James Bowen gazed at it with an acid smile. That conventional, rattling vehicle, with its “ Brooklyn Rapid Transit ” along the top and its “ B. R. T.” in a circle on the side, somehow typified the drop he had taken. Half an hour back, he had been silly enough to picture himself driv- ing the Rimborne car around town and gazing contentedly at the unlucky ele- ment which walked; at present, he might thank his lucky stars if he owned car-fare a week hence. Although, come to think of it, he need waste no time despising trolley-cars just now. For a mere nickel one of them would furnish him with a seat wherein to think, and that was what he needed most until the first dreadful shock was past. Dr. Jim Bowen, observing another car bowling toward him in the distance, halt- ed the letter-carrier who had just left the flat-house at his side_and asked: “Excuse me, but where does that car go?” “Ocean Avenue? Sheepshead Bay.” “Ts it a long ride?” Dr. Bowen asked drearily. “All the way .down to the bay,” the carrier grinned. “ Biggest nickel’s worth the B. R. T.’s giving, I guess.” He flitted on, blowing his whistle as he — vanished in the next house. Dr. Bowen, with a sigh, crossed the street and waited for the car; and presently he was hunched down in a corner, staring at the busy street into which they had turned, trying to find the answer. What had brought him to this direpass, anyway? He knew his business thorough- ly; with the vast amount of reading he had been able to do these last years, he was almost ready to specialize the nose and throat. He was tireless and faithful to a fault; taken by and large, his proportion of com- COPMICLOOOKS (E@)