<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</SPAN><br/> <small>PRESENT AND FUTURE.</small></h2></div>
<p class="cap">Friendly reader, were you at a Columbia
College commencement, in which Philip
Touchtone and Gerald Saxton graduated, amid
a great waving of pocket-handkerchiefs and a
rattle of applause as the class took their places
on the stage for their diplomas? No, I am
quite sure you were not. For Philip and Gerald
happen not to have graduated yet, though
they will soon. Touchtone is a senior this
year, and Gerald a sophomore; tall, wide-awake
young fellows, both of them well up in their
work and their athletics, devoted to their college
life and (though they do not say any thing
about that) to each other, as well. For Mr.
Saxton and Mr. Marcy came to a quiet agreement
over some discussed questions before
that winter found the four of them settled in
the same hotel in New York.</p>
<p>“Gerald and I owe the lad every thing,” insisted
Mr. Saxton. “We can’t take him from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</SPAN></span>
you, but you must let him be as much with us
as is possible. I want you, for one thing, to let
me be responsible, henceforth, for his education
and for his professional starting-out, whatever
he chooses it to be. No more hotel for
him, please! I shall just count him another
son of mine, with or without your consent, my
friend.”</p>
<p>So it was agreed. Philip stayed out of
college an extra winter or two, that he need
not precede Gerald too much, and after the
foreign <em>wanderjahr</em> now before them, when
their graduation is over, they are to go into the
law-school together.</p>
<p>Together (that word which means so much
to all friends) they have been again up the
coast, and this time the trip extended to Halifax,
without let or hinderance, unlike that memorable
first attempt. Knoxport and Chantico
are places that alter little with years. Time
runs slowly there, as of old. They found Mr.
Banger at his desk in the Kossuth, a little
stouter and more business-like looking than
ever. Mr. Banger received them with great
unction and much admiration. They walked
out into the garden and sat down in the arbor,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</SPAN></span>
and smiled, and then grew grave as they recalled
the suspense that they had felt, that
ended in the dramatic scene under its green
roof. Joe has an interest in the hotel now,
and he has married a niece of Mr. Banger, into
the bargain.</p>
<p>Once upon a time there was a great day
for the Probascos—when the two arrived at
Chantico Island. Expecting them had kept the
couple at the farm, almost with the inclusion
of the sagacious Towzer (“His real name’s
Jock, you know”), in excitement, for a week
before.</p>
<p>“Well, well, it’s good to see you both, if
you have changed everlastingly!” reiterated
Mrs. Probasco. “You’re—well, you’re real
<em>sights</em> to comfort one’s eyes, both of you!”
she added impartially. They spent an evening
in the quaint kitchen and a night in the old
room, where Gerald had tossed in his sickness,
Philip watching him in lonely anxiety. Obed’s
rheumatics seem over. He talks more than
he did. Philip vows that on this occasion
Obed began to tell them again the story of the
nautical ancestor and the wary “widow that
lived on Cape Ann”—promptly interrupted by<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</SPAN></span>
Mrs. Probasco, who said that “the boys hadn’t
come all the way from New York to listen to
that old yarn.” Mrs. Probasco’s grandfather
is still “feeble, very feeble.” But he survives
and bids fair to do so for an indefinite time;
and so the little island will probably not soon
lose its satisfied tenants from its wave-bound
circuit.</p>
<p>The Ossokosee flourishes, enlarged, and well-kept
as ever. Philip and Gerald and Mr. Saxton
join Mr. Marcy there each summer, and
then there are great doings in a highly private
and quiet way. I don’t think the two friends
ever walk up one particular path in the evening
without Gerald’s recalling (though he may
not speak of it) the night when, so much
younger, he listened with Philip to those words
of General Sawtelle within the embowered
Summer-house.</p>
<p>The hope and resolve of that evening were
indeed granted. To-day in the little cemetery
near the hotel is a marble monument in place
of a simpler stone, formerly there. One reads
that it is—“To the Memory of Reginald
Touchtone—Cleared of the Stain of a False
Charge upon his Honor—After Many Days—Erected<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</SPAN></span>
by his Son, Philip Touchtone, and by
Jay Marcy and Gerald B. Saxton, Jr.”</p>
<p>Farmer Wooden and his wife lead the same
plodding, healthful, simple lives as ever. They
likewise continue to send butter and eggs in
unlimited quantity to the Ossokosee, and they
delight to talk with Philip of the days when he
used to be the purveyor thereof. They laugh
merrily over those commissary experiences,
and are sincere friends, as says Mrs. Wooden.
“You see, you haven’t no right to forget us,
Mr. Philip. Not that I expect you ever will.
You ain’t that kind. But ’twas down there in
the ravine, you know, you first met young Mr.
Saxton. You recollect the tramp, that day?”
Yes, Philip perfectly recollects both “that
day” and Mr. Sip.</p>
<p>Mr. Hilliard—jolly, fat, good-tempered Mr.
Hilliard—who has always been afraid ever since
that year “of some clever vagabond borrowing
my name, sir,” but never has been favored
with that little accident again—he is another
regular guest at the Ossokosee. There are
signs (so some knowing observers say) that
Mr. Hilliard contemplates matrimony. He
encountered dignified Miss Beauchamp, a year<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</SPAN></span>
or so ago, at the Ossokosee, and it is known
that she receives very long letters from him;
and that he has lately bought a house not far
from his Madison Avenue flat. I think that
Philip and Gerald are sure of much pleasure
in that house next season.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Well! And is this all? Have we really
come to the end of this story?—which is,
perhaps, a truer one than the imagination of a
writer of such things as stories, or even his heart,
would fain make him believe? I fear we have
indeed reached the last of it, for even by
bright forecast, unnecessary, I think, here, a
story had best not be lengthened if truly it is
all told.</p>
<p>But—if one yields to the temptation to be
among the prophets, and closes his eyes, there
come, chiefly, pleasant thoughts of how good are
friendship and love and loyal service between
man and man in this rugged world of ours; and
how probable it is that such things here have
not their ending, since they have not their perfecting
here, perfect as friendship and the service
sometimes seem. Therewith the inditer of
this chronicle sees Philip and Gerald walking<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</SPAN></span>
forward, calmly and joyfully, and in an unlessened
affection and clearer mutual understanding—into
their endless lives.</p>
<p>And so, Philip and Gerald, as says Brutus in
the play, “give me your hands all over, one by
one.” I am loath to let you go, but I must.
Good-bye.</p>
<p class="p4 noic">THE END.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="noi title"><span class="smcap">Select List of Books</span></p>
<p class="noic">Published by</p>
<p class="noi subtitle">HUNT & EATON, 150 Fifth Ave., New York.</p>
<p class="noi author">CRANSTON & STOWE, 190 West Fourth Street, Cincinnati.</p>
<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Reuben.</b> A Prince in Disguise. By Carlisle B. Holding.
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<div class="blockquot">
<p>Author of <i>Cash</i>, <i>Peter the Preacher</i>, etc.</p>
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<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Gold, Tinsel, and Trash.</b> Stories of Country and City. By
Erasmus W. Jones. 12mo. <span class="flright">1 00<br/></span></p>
<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Gems Without Polish.</b> A Story of the Country Week. By
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<div class="blockquot">
<p>A story showing the benefit, morally and physically, of the
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</div>
<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Shoulder Arms</b>; or, The Boys of Wild Lake School. By John
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<div class="blockquot">
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</div>
<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Peter the Preacher</b>; or, Reaping a Hundred-Fold. By Carlisle
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<div class="blockquot">
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</div>
<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Drummer Boy of the Rappahannock.</b> By Edward A.
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<div class="blockquot">
<p>The readers of the <cite>Intelligencer</cite> have already enjoyed a part
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<div class="blockquot">
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</div>
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<div class="blockquot">
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<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Two Thousand Miles Through the Heart of Mexico.</b>
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<div class="blockquot">
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</div>
<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Left in the Wilderness.</b> By Mary A. Roe.
12mo. <span class="flright"> 80<br/></span></p>
<div class="blockquot">
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<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>John Conscience.</b> By John M. Bamford.
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<div class="blockquot">
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<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>What Nobody Ever Told Me.</b> By Mrs. Chauncey I. Filley.
12mo. <span class="flright">1 00<br/></span></p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>Short papers prepared for, and read to, an infant class.
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</div>
<p class="p2 noi hang"><b>Men of Renown</b>: Character Sketches of Men Distinguished as
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<div class="blockquot">
<p>The pen of the veteran writer of these “sketches” has been
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</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="tnote">
<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p>
<p class="smfont">Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.</p>
<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved, including
aint/ain't and wont/won't.</p>
<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p>
<p class="smfont">CONTENTS changed to reflect the full chapter title descriptions
in the contents for Chapters I, II and VI.</p>
</div>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />