The station agent and a few villagers, who had come to the depot to see that the train arrived and departed properly, were going to his assistance.
From about two miles away I saw the black buggy top slowly resume its normal position and begin to move on the road. The “Jedge” was probably by this time much in need of “refreshment,” and, as he was now on the way to the county seat, relief was not very far off. Undoubtedly his friend Fogarty would fully and deeply sympathize with him in his troubles as long as his cash lasted.
He was one of the pathetic failures whom we meet daily in the walks of life. Naturally gifted, and fairly well educated, he had started bravely out on his road of destiny, with noble ambitions and alluring hopes. In the early part of the journey he had lifted a fatal chalice to his lips, and the way became dark. He drifted from the highway that might have led to fame and fortune to the still by-path in which we found him. Because he was not strong, he fell—as countless others have fallen before him.
The shadow of “Black Betty” has fallen over a chair in the sleepy village that is now empty, and it may be that the poor old “Jedge” is arguing his own plea for mercy before a greater Court. Let us hope that his final appeal may bring forgiveness and peace.
The stone, simple and suggestive, which was erected to his memory, was designed and paid for by his friends. Even Sipes relented and requested Catfish John to put fifty cents in “cash-money” into the contribution box at the store for him.
“AMONG BIG WET STRETCHES OF
HIGH GRASS AND BULRUSHES”