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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,
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'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'
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"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
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Tres Plttit that's very small,
r He will not be eight years old
Till Vautomne that means
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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.
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