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About The Oregon daily journal. (Portland, Or.) 1902-1972 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 29, 1908)
?llMH)ll'llill"fMI 'MIMmHlflMlWlHj!''l'lil'!l! ijfiijiiiiM)iiiiiM.jii(nwiipiiilff;iMijiiimwi iHfL. . . ' - I "Will III LI ' 'i MMH MMHMBMWM MNMWA m It t .ii nil lSim i j i, ! ii jjjjMiMllglls IBOBBYS OBBY DORAN had never seen his grand father. What the trouble was Bobby never knew; but his father and hit grandfather had quarreled before he was born, and had liever spoken since. It must be very lonesome for him without any little boy of his own," said Bobby, one morning,, as his father was buttoning up his -jacket for him, for Bobby's mother was dead. She had died when Bobjby was yet a baby, so that he did not remember very much about her. t "Lonesome?" said Bobby's father, shrugging his shoul ders. . "For whom? Father Doran? Oh, I think not. He not the lonesome kind. He would feel crowded with six rooms empty in the house, and a back yard thrown in." The Dorans had no back yard that is, none worth speaking about. They lived in three rooms, the half of a flat in the city, on a block in a side street where all the houses were exactly like one another before and behind, and had no side yards between them. Bobby's father would not let him go up on the roof nor out in the street to play, for Bobby was not strong, and the river wind on the housetops was very damp and cold, while the street was an endless procession of rattling wagons from morning until night. For that matter, the procession was an all-night affair as well, for business is ,never ended in the city; anil Bobby's father often came home in the evening utterly worn out with work, too tired to talk to Bobby, and too blue to do anything but to sit by the fire and shut his eyes, while Bobby borrowed his long lead-pencil and made pictures on all the scraps of paper that he could find. A week was a long, monotonous round of days with . Bobby Doran. But when Sunday came things livened up, for then his father was free, and when the weather was fine would take him to ride on the elevated railroad down to see the shipping in the harbor, or up to where the high bridge was, or out to. walk in one of the great uptown parks, where often they spent the whole Ions day together, looking at the wild beasts in the zoo. watching the peacocks strutting in the grass, the nim ble squirrels, the sheep in the pasture, the handsome horses and carriaget in the drive, the bicyclers, the flowers, the blue sky, and-the trees. Once Bobby rods on the merry-go-round, but the whirl of it made him dizzy, and he liked the patient, homely, long-eared little donkeys better, or the goat-carts on the Mall, where the brass band played- But the drives in the goat-carts grew fewer as time went by, and the rides on the little donkeys came to an end. , "Why can't I have any more tides, papa' asked Bobby, sorrowfully. "Because 1 have not the pennies to spare. Robin, my mart," said his father, looking quite cheerful all at once, and laughing as if it were a huge joke. "You are getting to be such. a tremendous fellow now, and have such an enormous appetite, that it takes all my munificent salary to keep you in provender." "What 's provender?" asked Bobby, doubtfully. '7a It that bitter stuff 1 drink in the morning? If that 's what takes the money, I 'd just as soon not have any more of it. I can do without that." Bobby's father laughed. "No," said he; "that 's not provender; that 's nutriment. Provender Is pork and beans." "But you and Bridget eat the pork and beans." "Why. to be sure. We must have something to ear; and pork and beans are very satisfying confectionery." That night Bobby thought until he had four wrinkles in his brow. Suddenly he looked ur from where he sat beside the fire, with his hands clasped around hi kneesi "Papa," said he, "I am going to make some money." "I hope you will, my hoy, and that you will riot be so poor a business man as I." 'But you 're grown up," said Bobby, "and that 's different. I am going to make some now." "Oh, you are?" exclaimed his father. "Are going to begin immediately?" you "Well, no; not right away to-morrow, morning. "Humph!" said Mr. Doran. "To-morrow morning Is not so very far off. How are you going to do it ?" "I am going to editor a newspaper," Bobby answered with slow precision. "A newspaper makes money." "Sometimes." "Well, this is going to be one of the times." "What will you call it ? 'The Great American Spread Eagle'?" "No, sir. It is named the "Violet.' " "The 'Violet' ? Ah ! 'Within a green and shady nook modest violet grew.' I 'm afraid a modest violet will have a pretty rough time trying to be a newspaper. How came you to think of that?" "Why, you used to buy a bunch of violets every Sunday morning when we went walking, you know, and leave them up there." - Mr. Doran was very quiet for a moment, and then he said softly: "That is a very good name. The robins and the violets come together in the spring.'' Next morning Bobby was exceedingly busy when his father went downtown. "Hullo I Robin, my man, where are you? It 's time to say good-by," called out Mr. Doran from the elevator landing. "Good-by, good-by!" cried Bobby, charging out into the lobby; "I 'm editoring my newspaper. May I go down to the street-to sell it?" "What are your orders about going out into the street, Robin ?" "Oh, I don't mean out in the street, papa; just to the steps at the door. I will not go off the steps; and Joseph will bring me up in the elevator won't you, Joseph?" "Well, I should say I would 1" replied the.bony Josephus, grinning whttely; "a dozen times, if you like." Mr, Doran looked down into the eager face. "All right, Mr. Editor, this once," said he; "keep an eye on him, Joe." ' , Bobby went back, to his paper. The first thing was the heading, so he printed that in large, bold capitals. Then Bcbby began in earnest: Once there was a little boy. His name was Tom. t Once he was left a lone, and was told not to go off of the porch. So his mother i came home, and took him out to take a walk in the woods, when Tom sat down to pick littfs flowers in the. grass he hearde a sdnd that, sonded like .-, '. '-, tome wolfs running to catch ' , him. The mother and the boy -, '. ran as fast as they cood. i ' ' i ,,' And after they went home . 13 THU OREGON SUNDAY SflilRtoipawi 1 "liiiiliminipiHiiit'imiiiMiitiiii iuiiiih Mini' IKili'lN'lHn'illr" NEWSPAPER Bobby drew a great'brcath. He could almost hear, buy one every morning. Mind you, I don't promise the "wolfs" running to catch that little boy; but "they '"to pay this for them every time'; and with that he lived happy ever after," Jie said to himself, half aloud; was gone, and Bobby was standing on the step with "so it was n't so very dreadful I must n't make it half a dollar in hii hand, staring like a little owl. too dreadful or folks won't buy it." Then at the "There, papa," said he, that night; "there 's some bottom of the page he drew some very charming money": ana he laid the half-dollar proudly on the flowers with some colored pencils he had saved with table. The old gentleman said he would take one most jealous, care since Christmas. "Now," said he, . every day, but not pay so much as that every time. I will "I '11 go down and sell It." just make as much as I' can, and help to keep us in The first man passed without so much a looking providence." ; at him. ' ' . His father laughed, but in the middle of his laugh-. A dirty boy with a blue coat and a red-striped cap ing, choked, and threw his arms around the boy. "Oh, f f Intel Ir fchhktyip j j r ffjl WfJMi kMn4mi1 fft -MZlii 'rLLASE DON'T BOTHER, BRIDGET; came slowly by, reading a folded pamphlet. "Don't you want to buv a paper?" asked Bobby. "Paper? What paper ?'' said the boy. "My paper the Violet,' " said Bobby. "The which?" "The "Violet." I make it all myself." "Oh,, get off the earth!" said the boy, and went on slowly down the street. Half a dozen others passed before he summoned courage enough to speak up. The wind was blowing keenly down the narrow street, pent in by the tall buildings on the other side, and the men who came hurrying up from the elevated station to their business places in the thoroughfare beyond, held to their hats and morning papers with both hands. As one passed by, a fold of his paper caught the wind and was out of his hands in an instant, whirling under the horses' hoofs and the wheels in the dirty street. He was a very stern-looking, dignified old gentleman with iron-grey hair and a smooth-shaven fce. ' -'Good morning!" said Bobby, taking off his hat I m sorry it went away. Do you want to buy another f The old gentleman merely turned his head. ISO, said he; "I don't." Then he turned sharply all the way around and looked at the small boy perched in the corner of the steps. .. . .. "It 's a very good paper, sir,' said Bobby, con- fi-fInt,,yJ- a gooj pap;ri is jt tne old gentleman asked quizzically. . . "Yes, sir; I think it is a good paper. I made it all ""That 's not so bad. either," said the old gentleman, musingly. "A man ought to think that the things he makes himself are pretty good." - "But there are mistakes sometimes, said 8?- The old man looked at him sharply, and flushed a little under the boy's frank gaze. "Yes, said he; there are mistakes.; Don't make any and you 11 be a happy man." t ..... "Oh. I 'm going to be happy," Bobby replied, when I make lots of money." t "Don't do it." said the old gentleman, suddenly, shutting his stern lips together over his words; "that s the first and the worst mistake of all. I know for I made it myself." He smiled cynically. "WTiat s the price of your paper?" Bobby was nonplussed. A paper should have a price, to be tfure. He had not thought of that;i "What ever yoa think a real good paper is worth, sir," said he, doubtfully; "I never made any before." "So, this is the first, hey? Why did youwnake this ne?" . . , "To make some money for papa," cheerily. It takes all of his mu rouhifercent salary Jo keep "us in provi dence." He told me it did." ' 11 '( . The old gentleman began to laugh. . "Here," said he, "just pat Jhis in your pocket, son. I 11 Jake your paper, nyttu"'U'maka them I will JOURNAL PORTLAND, SUNDAY MORNING,1, K ' 1 11,111 . M ... . . THIIV.U 151 5 i s BY JOHN BENNETT. I'll BUSY MAKING A PAPER!' Robin, Robin, my brave little man. yoti '11 keep your old daddy in Providence and the trut in it, after all. But I 'd rather you wcAjld not sell the papers in the street. We 're not so bad off a? thai yet," and he smiled a trifle sadly. "Oh," said Bobby, "but T promised to make him one every dav! I must make tomorrow's paper I said I would. So he sat down and wrote: Once there was a small little hoy. his father was a bad man and sent him out to the woods to get lost. The little boys name was johnny johnny was three years old, his father thought that he was not alive, but all this time he hade fteen taking little walks, but some people took him to there home., they liked him very mouch. one day he was taking a little walk with a framl of his, but who do you think he saw walking from the house he"did once live in. he saw his father, his lather soon knew that he was his little boy that he hade lost in the woods, and his father took him to the house and the boy was there for two days, but the next day the father killed johnny, and the father cried after he hade killed the little boy. And after that time the father got nicer, but the father died soon, and they lived happy ever after. "That is rather a small paper, Robin," observed Mr. Doran, patting the small boy's curly head. "Had n't you better get out a supplement with the latest news from the war?" "All right," said Bobby, and wrote t SUPLAMENTE. In olden times there was a war betut'ne the English men and betuine the ameracons. This war began by the F.nglish men trying to kill the ameracons. George Washington was the jenrell of this time in the war. The war lasted eight years, many men were killed in that war. Soon George was killed and the ameracons were nearly beeten and starved. Because they did not get any foud. But at last the English were beeten and serrendered to jenrell Washington and that is the end of the war and they lived happy ever after. He was on the front steps bright and early in the morning. At nine o'clock the express came down, and soon among the pushing men he saw the tall old gentleman. "Well, sir, is the paper out yet T' asked his slngla customer, smiling. i "Yes, sir,, answered Bobby, promptly. "I promised you it would be, you know. i "Oh, you always keep your promises, do your" Bobby hung his; head. "No, sir." The. old gentleman smiled a bitter smile. "That the way ot the world; don't -follow It-son; you U get nothing but tremble and regret out of ft" t COPYBIGHT at-tH WMTUa COMPANY NOVEMBER 29' liiilflll iiiiililliillillli (S mate csTJ W M.CADV V 1 'mawsE "I told Bridget I would take my medicine this morn ing," said Bobby, slowly, "and then I poured it in the scuttle it is so bitter, you know." The grim look upon the old gentleman's face was altered to a smile. "You are not the only one who would1 like to pour his medicine into the scuttle and forget; and you 'rc lucky that you can." "But papa will be ashamed of my pluck. He says it is what a man ought to do, to do what he should whether he wants to or not; and that if you make a promise, keep it, or else don't make it at all." "Your father is a most remarkably wise and vir tuous man," said t lie old gentleman, smiling a tritle unpleasantly with the upper corner of his mouth, as he laid a quarter in Bobby's hand. "There was not a great (leal of news in yesterday's edition." Bobby's face fell. "It was very good what there was of it, but there was not very much of it. Oh, but thev all lived happy ever after, sir!" said Bobby, eagerly, "and surely that 's something. They all lived nappy ever after." The old gentleman stared at him again. "What is the name of this remarkable father of your?, son?" he asked. "My papa's name Is John Doran, sir," answered Bobby. He 's a" But the old gentleman had whirled upon his heel, and was a down paces t;p the street, hurrying into the crowd. "I 'II have to make him another paper, papa." said Bobby, that night, "for he did not take the one I had, he was in such a hurry; and now it is old, and Joseph crumpled it. He left a quarter for it, so you '11 let me make another for him, won't you?" "Certainly," said Mr. Doran. "Never take money for goods that you don't deliver. That is not honest business." So Bobby made a paper with an illuminated back a yellow sun, with a multitude of orange rays, rising from a brick-red sea hcross two purple hills, with amazing grass along their crests. But in the morning, when he waited upon the steps, the old gentleman went up the other side of the street anil did Hot look across. "Oh. Joseph, Joseph !" crid Bobby, running into the hall. He went right past and never rame"at all. Do take it after him. See, Joseph ! There he goes; the tall old gentleman with the white hair and the stiff back. He will take it " And he did. ' .The old gentleman looked at the slip of paper in his hands. His desk was piled deep with letters that must be answered, and with matters most imperative. But the yellow sun and the childish scrawl seemed to fas cinate him. Then he threw them both together into the waste-basket, and with a bitter frown began to read the letters on the desk. Yet he fidgeted uneasily. "There 's no fool like an old fool," he said, and, stoop ing, picked the yellow sun and the purple hills out of the waste-basket again and spread the paper on his desk Bobby's story was in his best hand a queer lot of curls and quavers. This was how it ran : Once there was a man who had a little boy. they lived at a place where there was no mama, so the boy By Annie Paul Pierrot is a I. fPT . im ... .i'lLHM "W?!.:5P lift !?f X'-, -3i tV? mm .. ,. ..,.,.V,. ,.,..,T,.t lm.J..v.,rT.till,ll Tres Plttit that's very small, r He will not be eight years old Till Vautomne that means the fall j v KiJK:Jar: But he knows w ell how do Courteous acts Us odes gracieiur. When he says, "Bonjour, monsieur" Just the way he speaks Brings a sunny summer smile To Grandpa's winter cheecks. When he brings his mama's chair Which he lores to do , Mama cherS a comfrtnei-vcjut ' ' ' if was loansom and went away Where he cold find a little boy of his own for company, so the man was verj anger at him and he shut the door in and said you canj come in. so they went away and there was no mama there, the little boy's father was too busie to get an other, so the new little boy was loansom too and it was very loansom there, but the other father was loan som too and next week he said come home, there is six roomes and a back yard and a biley-gote; and thej; lived happy ever after. lie laid the paper down on his desk. "Thomas hr called sharply, "if Henderson comes about that Chicago 1 deal, tell him that I am not in." Then he sat in his chair looking steadfastly at the paper on his desk with Bobby's scrawl1 and the flaming yellow sunrise. "Jamison," he called again, not quite so sharply as before, "you will please to answer all these letters on, the desk for me ; you know the business and whan it needs." Then he took a pen himself, and began to write a letter. But as fast as he wrote one he tore' it ta pieces and threw it on the floor. But the sixth one he finished, folded up, and placed in an envelope, and sealed it. "Jamison," said he, very quietly, " I am going home,' "Yes, sir.". The private secretary did his best to, look as if he were not surprised, but his effort failed,. "When will you be back, sir?" -"J do not know," said the old gentleman, srnilinjf very oddly. The private secretary stared. 'And what is more, Jamison," said the old gentle man, placidly, with a mistiness creeping down into the corners of his eyes, "between you and me and the gate-post, I don't care a picayune when I come barfk." .The private secretary gasped. There is going to be a new partner in this firm, Jamison." "A new new partner?" stammered the private sec retary, holding fast to the arms of his revolving chair,, "W-why, Mr. Doran, did I understand you? What! do you mean, sir?" x :: . " I mean. lamison."-said the old centleman. turnina around to face his private secretary, "that I am tirea of being sole and only proprietor of this firm of John! Doran, ir., and that after Monday morning next-the firm name in this house will be 'John Doran & Son,' and that I am going out now to find the son." And when Bobby's father came home that night, there was a large envelope upon his tabls containing Bobby's paper with the yellow sun and the purple hilhu i . r ,i i j. T anu a nuic in a iirur outness nanu ; I My Son John: Read this story that your boy has, written; let bygones be bygones; forgive and' forget anj old man's mistakes, and corns home. There are 'sixi rooms and a back yard,' and by the time the boy gets here there will be a billy-goat. Come home, both olj you, for I am very 'loansom' ; and, please God, Johiy we '11 all 'live happy ever after.' ' Your father, Johx DOKAIT. And they did. E. Tynan. man VC' HT v- ""vat r. , m r- mi V- A
