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1 To-Day's Short Story.

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1 To-Day's Short Story. J DR. FRESTON'S BROTHER. I I I was sisteT in a large male surgical ward t of a well-known hospital at the time when i the following incident occurred. A few months previously one of those disastrous colliery explosions, only too common in our neighbourhood, had taken } place, and eight of the men, poor fellows, all badly injured, had been brought into the i accident ward. We all had a heavy time of it, and our house-surgeon, never very etrong, had completely broken down under the strain j of his devoted attention to his patients. „ We all grea.tly missed his cheery presence I in the ward, and felt small interest in the doctor who came as his "locum," feeling ■; Jure that no one could take his place. Dr. Preston, the temporary house-surgeon, j however, made, a favourable impression on his arrival, and soon showed that he thoroughly knew his work. < Then an accident, if there is such a thing, ■: showed me the real man. One evening on 'j going his rounds I reported a new case. just 3 some in, to him.' It was a men who had been J found lying in the road. He had evidently | fallen against the curbstone, and had received a scalp wound. That he was a stranger in the town was proved by some papers in his pocket, shaw- ing him to have been discharged from a flail- ing vessel in another port a few days previously. j "I have not made out his history yet," I said; "he seems to be very poor, and appar- ently has no friends. "No friends," repeated Dr. Preston with an expression I had not seen on his face before. "We see so many such lives in our work," I said. "Yes," he said slowly and absently, as if his thoughts were far away, "it must always be a sad sight, even if those who suffer are utter atrangera to us." }1 He paused, then turned round to face me, i, and spoke more quickly, as if he wished to ? force himself to say something. ¡' #"To me, it is the most pitiful sigh? of all, b?cau,e I am haunted by the feeling that jj. somewhere in this world there may now be a man who is friendless and alone through ? my fault. Every fresh face I see I think may be his. Every morning I wake with the thought that I may see it before night. V | "I had a younger brother. There were two 5 of us. I was (lder by three years, and, both j, in appearance and character, we were totally -1: unlike. He had been spoiled by my father who always let him have his own way, chiefly, I fancy, on account of the strong J5 likeness be bore to our mother, who died when we were quite young." father had had a nasty fall in the hunting field, and wv almOGt dying § before I got home. All his affairs were in 11 perfect order, but he was anxious about < Jack—always his first thought. "I Promised again and again to look after I him, and, God knows, I meant to keep my word, and my old father died quite happy, with my promise still sounding in his ears, and his eyes .resting to the last on his dar- ? ling Jack. He never doubted me for a i moment. How could he foresee? I am -? thanMul he died happy. "I went ??k to Oxford, and Jack entered I ithe same college. "That was the mistake. If I h<ad only seen him at a distanœ, now and then, we might ( j have got on wIl, but at my elbow, always bursting into my room when I wanted to hM room with friends as noisy and hht-hearted as himself, spending money recklessly on all sides, and turning every- '< thing I s-aid into a joke, all this was a daily < annoyance to me. I had no sympathy at all with any of his pursuits, and I grew more s cold and reserved, until one day, exasperated more than usual, I told him that if he j wanted to 'go to the dogs' he might go by r himself. His temper was as quick as mine. | His sliarp answer drew a sharper one from 5 me, which roused him to a fury, and he was gone. Even then, sister, if I hrtd gone after j. him, I might have stopped him, but I was j ..d with him, and was glad that he was ? gone. As glad then to hear that he was gone, » as I should be now to hear that once again on this earth I might hope to see his face. I live for that, and one day it may come." j| "Perhaps," I suggested, utterly at a lose what to say, "he found some work, or-" "Work! Jack never did a day's work in his | I life; be was not made to work." [ There was a silen« I did not know how to break. ? "I think, sister," he added, looking up with j; eyes which long sorrow had filled with won- 4 derful depth of expression. "I think I should t have put an end to my life before now, but I knew father's first question would be, 'Have you looked after him, Tom?'" | The door opened to admit the stretcher with- a new ease from the surgery, and Dr. V Freston was in a moment the professional man, absorbed in investigating the extent of the new man's injuries. ■J Before leaving the ward he turned to the 4 bedside of the patient whose friendless eon- £ dition had led to our conversation. He took down the head card to fill up the details. "Name, sister?" "George Thomas." 9} -.••t'Age/' -•* do not know; he looks about forty, but ,1 he is very weather-beaten." p The doctor glanced at the tanned, eoarred face, nearly hidden by bandages, and stood hesitating, pen in hand. ;«tj "Oçeu.ration-oo you know?" "Sailor." tj "No other particulars, sister?" |yj j He laid the card on the table, and wiped f: his pen carefully, a methodical and orderly H man in every detail of his work. ij "I only found a few coppers, and these few §t old papers in his pocket. I showed the con- | tents of a pocket-book very much the worse for wear. In this I found aif-old plain locket, worn thin and bright, one side was J smooth, on the other was a monogram still j faintly legible 'J.F.' ♦- I felt it suddenly sna.,tehed from my hands. Dr. Preston had seized it, and carrying it quickly across the ward, turned the gas on full, and gazed on the locket with eyes that seem to pierce it through. "Look, sister," he said, and his strong hand shook as he held it towards me, "there can be no mistake. I remember this locket. Jack gave it to my father before he died, with his photograph inside before he went to school, and after father died Jack kept it. It was an old joke of theirs to take each other's things, because they were marked with the same initials. I could swear to this anywhere, and I see quite clearly how it came here. Jack met this man; perhaps he came off the same boat, and if he was hard up-—but he must have been hard up before he would part with this, and then it is not much use to anyone else. No one would give a shilling for an old thing like this, but here it is, and here is the address of where the man stayed. It's the first clue I have ever had, sister," and his face was bright with hope. "Jack may still be there; I must go without losing a moment. I may catch him before he goes any farther. Is there anything else you want me for to-night?" He was already near the door. "No, not to-night; the others are all very comfortable, but you do not think it would be worth while to ask this man where he got the locket from?" "Give me the locket, and I will ask him." He handed it to me without appearing to have followed what I said. I bent over No. 7's bed. "I found this among your things," I said, "Is it your own, or did someone sell it to, you?" He looked up quickly and suspiciously, "What do you want to know for?" he muttered. "I only want to know whether the man who owned this first was with you at this address." He looked at me sharply, and did not answer for a moment. "Yes," he said slowly, "the man who owned this was there when I was." and he turned round as if unwilling to say more. I had learned all I wished and repeated the information to Dr. Preston. "Thank you very much," he said simply. Good night. sister; I may not see you for a day or two." Next day Dr. Freston's wort was done by the junior surgeon, and the ward routine went on as usual. I could find out nothing more of No. 7*3 history, except that his real age was 28. He looked at least ten years older. He had knocked about a good deal in the world, he told some of hrs fellow-patients. His injuries proved to be very slight, and on the evening of the second day he was allowed to sit up for a short time. On the day following when it was growing dusk the door of the ward opened, and Dr. Freston came quietly in. I saw in a glance, that he had not been successful in his search. I "I ought not to have built so many hopes upon so slight a foundation," he said, with a poor attempt at a smile and a tone of woary sorrow in his voice. "I have waited so long that I venture to think that perhaps at last h" then checking himself, and with an effort turning his thoughts elsewhere, But I am late, sister, I must catch up my work. Have you anything for me to-night?" "Will you sign. No. 7's pajpe<r? The wound was very superficial, and Mr. Jones dis- charged him this morning; he is anxious to get on." "I must epeak to him first; he may be able to tell me something more," and he turned towards No. 7, sitting by the fire, and foT the first time he looked him in the face, the first time for five years, rather, for I saw Dr. Freston pause, as if transfixed, and the next moment he was at his brother's side. "Jaok," he said, but he could not say another word. But that was all he had to say. Jack had been the thought of. his life, night and day for five years, and now Jack was there, and he held him fast, what should he say but repeat "Jack" again and again until he could realise that this was no dream, but rather the awakening to a better and happier life than he had known before. Jack said nothing, at all. For one moment he had looked around as if wishing to escape, but if he would, he could not. And where in the world that he had found so hard and merciless could he hope to meet the warm welcome that strove to Bud utter- anœ in his brother's happy eyes, whíh gazed on the ragged figure before him M if he could never look enough. That is all the tale. It gave the patients something to talk about for a day or two, and was then forgotten—in the ward, at least. But there are three people from whose memories no word on act recorded here can ever be effaced. Need I name them ? They are Dr. Freston, Jack, his brother, and myself, Tom Freston's wife.

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