The Argosy, Vol. XXIV, No. 1 — page 166: what you’re looking at

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

166 LIVING IT DOWN. Annie’s begun with it; she’ll go, too. It’s been hard enough too keep the children, but it will be harder to lose them !’’ she cried Jeffreys went to the bed where the little consumptive girl lay in a restless sleep, breathing heavily. ‘‘ Poor little Annie !’’ said he; ‘‘I did not know she was so ill.” ‘How could you? Yes, I saw the lady come down—a pretty wee thing. She comes and goes here. Maybe when she hears of Annie she’ll come to her”? ‘“Do you know her name?’”’ "No. She’s a lady they say. I heard her singing upstairs to Trimble ; it wasa treat! You'll be glad of some help, I expect? If you’ll mind the children, Mr. John, I'll go up and do the best we can for the poor fellow.’’ And so Jeffreys, with the baby in his arms, sat beside the little invalid in that lonely room, while the mother, putting aside her own sorrows, went up and did a woman’s service where it was most needed. The next day he had the garret to himself, That letter—how he treasured it !—changed life for him. He had ex- pected when Jonah’s illness ended to drift back once more into the bitterness of despair. But that was impossible now. | 3 He made no attempt to see the angel of whose visits to the alley he now and again heard. Indeed, whether he was in work or not, he left early and came back late on purpose to avoid a meeting. He had long been known by his neighbors only as John, so that there was no chance of her discovering who he was. He worked patiently at the temporary manual labor on which he was einployed, and when that came to an end he looked about resolutely for more. Meanwhile—do not smile, reader—he made an investment of capital! In other words, he spent threepence in pen, ink, paper, and a candle, and spent one night in his lonely garret writing. It was a letter, addressed to a stranger, on a public question. In other words, it was an article to a London paper on “‘Life in a Slum, by One who Lives There.’’ It was a quiet, unsensational paper, with some practical suggestions for the improvement of poor people’s dwellings, and a few stories of experiences in which the writer himself had taken a part. He dropped it doubtfully into the editor’s box, and tried to forget about it. He dared not look at the paper next day, and when two days passed and he heard nothing, he concluded that the bolt had missed fire. But it was not so. A week later, the postman entered Storr Alley—an unheard of event—and left him a letter. It contained a money order for ten shillings, and read : ‘The editor incloses ten shillings for the letter on Slum Life, contributed by Mr. John to the paper of the 2 3d. He can take two more on the same subject at the same terms, and suggests that Mr. John should deal especially with—’’ And here the editor gave an outline of the topics on which the public would be most likely to desire information. With overflowing heart, and giving Raby the credit, he sat down and wrote the two articles. (@) Gom boo sd : 1 : 7 3 < Me rf