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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

Solid customers turned truant;
the business went down with terrifying velocity; and old Bates, who
loyally came day after day to advise and assist, spoke with sincere
regret. "William, I never foretold this. I must see what can be done.
I'll leave no stone unturned." And he trotted about, touting for his
successor, tramping long miles to beg for a continuance of favors that
had unexpectedly ceased, but usually returning sadly to confess that
his efforts had again been fruitless. They were gloomy evening hours,
when the old and the young man sat together in the office by the
roadway; and at night Mavis used to hear her sleeping husband moan and
groan so piteously that she sometimes felt compelled to wake him.
"What is it?" Awakened thus, he would spring up with a hoarse cry, and
be almost out of the bed before she was able to restrain him.
"It's nothing, dear. Only you were in one of your bad dreams, and I
simply couldn't let you go on being tormented."
"That's right," he used to mutter sleepily. "I don't want to dream.
I've enough that's real."
"Don't you worry, dear old boy. You're going to pull through grand--in
the end. I _know you are_. Besides, if not--then we'll try something
else."
She always murmured such consolatory phrases until he fell asleep once
more.


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