I'm going to give a housewarming soon, and I came over to ask
Williams here where he bought his graphophone and records. We must
have one at my party so that when the musicians get tired we can have
other music. And, Williams, I'm expecting you to come over that night
and run the thing for me. I shall be too busy attending to other
matters. And now, as long as we're all here would you mind letting me
hear 'Annie Laurie' again?"
The song was put on and the children crowded round.
Joe and Mrs. Dustin were listening silently to the song that always
brought back old faces and scenes and that old haunting ache for the
things of long ago.
"That's my favorite tune," said the proprietor suddenly to Mrs. Dustin.
"It's one of mine too," she smiled back with soft, shining eyes.
"My wife's name was Annie," he said again and as suddenly.
"Have you lost her?" Mrs. Dustin asked gently.
"Yes. Quite a while ago. You make me think of her. She was little
and had blue eyes. She died on me when the baby came. She took the
baby with her."
"Oh," murmured Mrs. Dustin and she forgot the beer growing stale on the
counter, forgot the slot machines against the walls, forgot everything
but this man who for this minute stood out from a world of men with
this unhealed sorrow in his heart.
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