Forbes and the Rich Man

A Thanksgiving Story

By HENRY HOWLAND.

‘Twas the day before Thanksgiving, but there was no feeling of thankfulness within Henry Forbes. His look was hopeless, his clothes wore seedy, and it was long since he had been able to satisfy his hunger.

Forbes was beginning to long for vengeance. He was beginning to feel that the blade and the torch were justifiable. He had gone from place to place all day and he had always heard the same reply. But It was not only the experience of a day that rankled in his breast It was the experience of that day repeated over and over.

The fever from which he had but lately recovered had been responsible for the loss of his position. He had worked up to that place through years of steady, patient efforts. Now wherever he applied they gave him to understand that he would have to go back to the bottom and begin all over again. Bitterly he thought of the old adage: There's always room at the top.

He was standing beside a big iron gatepost at the end of a driveway which wound among elms and maples up to a mansion that could be partly seen through the trees. It was too cold to snow. Only an occasional tattered flake was whirled along by the wind.

Occasionally a carriage passed up the drive toward the big house in which the first lights were beginning to flicker in one of these carriages

Forbes caught a glimpse of a man with an armful of flowers. Other carriages passed out. Presently a wagon loaded with folding chairs was driven through the gate and up toward the huge pile that loomed among the leafless trees.

Forbes drew a heavy high and shivered in the cold. He started on, fearing that he might be suspected of vagrancy or something worse if he were found loitering at the gate, but after he had gone half a square he turned and went back and stood beside the tall iron post again.

"I have tolled and been honest," he thought, "and what's my reward? After twenty years they tell me to go back and start all over again. Pretty soon they won't even give me a chance to do that. Then they'll tell me I'm too old, and what'll follow? Oh God, if there is a God, what are we coming to? Here I stand out in the cold, miserable, alone, with the world against me. Up there some one has enough to make a hundred perhaps a thousand such men as I am. happy, People drive past me with no thought of what I am, with no sympathy to offer, and hurry to where he is, surrounded by splendor, whore they may flatter him and add to his Joys because  -- because he has the money that a hundred -- perhaps a thousand -- others should share.

"And which of us has been the better man? Which of us has honestly earned the most? Which hub kept nearest to God's commandments? Perhaps he has his money because he has cheated others, or because luck favored him in some speculation or some one may have loft it to him.

Surely, he cannot honestly have earned so much more than I have. Yet the preachers talk about God's Justice. If God is Just why he is there and why am I compelled to stand out here in the dark and shiver, with no hope for tomorrow?"

Another carriage passed up the drive and Forbes bitterly said to himself:

"Bah! I suppose society is gathering hero this evening for one of its 'functions.' Tomorrow the papers will have lists of the names of the people who were present. The money the  will spend for flowers this evening would be enough to keep many a poor family comfortable that will have to suffer through the winter."

He clinched his hands and swore that he didn’t believe a just God could reign while such conditions existed. He worked himself into such a passion that he forgot the cold, forgot the danger of being arrested for vagrancy, and forgot that he was talking aloud.

Then he saw a woman coming down the walk from the palace among the trees. He started away, but impulsively turned again and met her as she was passing through the gate. He could see in the dim light which remained that she was probably a servant, and he asked:

"Who lives up there?"

"Mr. Talburn I mean the Talburns."

"Oh. And they're having a ball or a reception or something of that kind tonight, are they?"

"No. Mr. Talburn's dead. They're getting ready for the funeral."

Forbes pushed his hands down into his pockets and stood for a moment, looking at the splendid house in which the rich man lay dead. Then, turning toward the woman, he asked:

"When is the funeral to be?"

"Tomorrow," she answered.

"Thanksgiving is a poor day for a funeral, isn't It?"

"Any day is a poor day for a funeral," she said, and went on her way.

Forbes pulled himself together, a moment later, and, starting onward, said: "So it is. Any day is a poor day for a funeral, and any day is a poor day for giving up hope and losing faith in God."

At the street corner ho halted, uncertain which way to go. While he hesitated a man approached him.

"What's the trouble, my friend?" the stranger asked.

"I'm hungry and I'm out of a job,” Forbes replied.

"Can you drive a team of horses?"

"Of course I can."

"I need an extra driver. I'm to furnish carriages for Mr. Talburn's funeral tomorrow. Come along. You're just the man I’m looking for. I can put you to work now and give you a steady Job if you want it."

"I'm alive and I’ve got a Job," thought Forbes as he walked along with his employer, "and tomorrow's Thanksgiving."