THAT OMINOUS THIRTEEN by George E. Langdon

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Sep 29, 1914

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 41, No. 38.

THAT OMINOUS THIRTEEN

By George E. Langdon

A Story with a Climax of Victory

By GEORGE E. LANGDON

SEVERAL years ago, Joe, a bright young man, finished his academic course with honors at Blank. He was the only son of fond, every-day parents. Their hopes were built high on fitting him for success in the affairs of life.

After leaving school, he secured a promising position as assistant bookkeeper in a large iron foundry, and for a time gave excellent satisfaction. He soon married a sweet young girl of his class, and many envied his happy and prosperous outlook for the future. When two years had passed, a cheery babe blessed their home.

LOSES HIS POSITION

Before leaving school, he had fallen into the delusion of the fatal cup as the "wine went round" for sociability's sake, and he now found himself in the demon's grasp. Little by little he neglects his faithful wife and babes. Later, his employers, instead of promoting him, ask him to seek another position, after repeated default in his work. The drink demon has blighted his life's prospect, driven him from his chosen vocation, robbed him of the sacred love of home, stolen his manhood and self-respect, and he now finds only occasional employment here and there for short periods. His once cherished wife is compelled to seek needlework to keep the "wolf from the door." They have left their comfortable cottage, and have taken rooms in a back lane.

Ten years have passed. All has changed. That once laughing, rosy-cheeked girl is now pale, weary, and hopeless. The frail mother's burdens have increased till four little ones tug at her knee and ofttimes cry for bread. The father's once sparkling eyes are bleared and swollen, that smiling face bestial and bloated, a loving heart hardened and thoughtless. It is the same old story. All know how it ends, unless something marvelous happens.

One evening, on his way to the village tavern with several booze companions, they hear strains of music pealing from the old church on the green. Here they had all once learned of a better way and the life everlasting. While they listen a moment, they observe a notice on the door, "Thrilling Lecture on Booze." Said Joe, "Let's go in and hear the 'sky pilot' jam in the corks till the bottles 'splode."

FOR JUST THIRTEEN MONTHS

The callus on his heart was pierced that night when the lecturer asked, "Have you kept the eager promises that you made to the sweet girl you took from a fond parent's tender care?" When the pledge came around, Joe said, "I'll sign for just thirteen months — that ominous number." It was agreed.

He went home that night a sober man. "Wife, I've signed the pledge for your sake and the children's." She could scarcely believe. He saw the doubt as she raised her longing eyes to meet his. He leaned over, putting his arm about her neck, and planted a clean kiss upon her trembling lips. Her streaming tears of joy only can express her reviving hopes and happiness — not for a day, nor for a month, but a twelvemonth!

Then the suspense! That premonitory thirteen! What shall it bring forth! That wife's prayers — to have heard them as they ascended to the Almighty One, a thrill would have pierced your every vein. Moments were becoming hours. She knew only too well how weak was Joe; but the superstitious thirteen is passed in victory, which gives her much relief. Now what decision will he make for the future? He is so restless, he paces the floor, he roams the streets, he gazes into space. His pale face is drawn as with severest pain. Cold perspiration stands like rain upon his agonizing brow. He is struggling between two mighty forces. One is for home, happiness, friends, heaven; the other, misery, ruin, degradation, death. Which shall conquer? His strong frame heaves from the mighty fight within. Satan is seemingly weaving his strong meshes about him at every turn.

HIS ANXIOUS WIFE WATCHES HIS STEPS

Presently he leaves the house. His anxious wife watches his steps, and directly he wends his way to the same old village tavern, his past rendezvous of ruin. Her heart sinks. The old thought of a blasted home and a broken spirit again takes possession of her. Have her hopes and prayers been all in vain? She sank into her chair to await results with bitter anxiety.

Joe enters the old tavern barroom, and is saluted by the old whisky-bloated landlord.

"Afternoon, Joe! Is that you? Haven't seen you for an age. My treat with the best the house affords!"

He sets out two brimming glasses. Joe walks nervously forward, reaches forth his hand to raise the glass, but instantly stops. "What's the matter?" the old mildew-dealer says.

Joe replies, "I have observed a big lump growing in my side, and"—

"Started since you signed that pledge, I'll vouch."

"Yes."

"You'll have another on the other side soon if you keep on following those 'calamity howlers.' Your wife know it?"

"Yes."

"She wouldn't mind if you had a dozen lumps so long as you hang out with those 'bottle stoppers.' Come, have a glass now. It'll soon remove the lump, I'll guarantee. It's a big chance it hadn't put you in your grave 'fore this."

Again he reaches and raises the demon cup, gazes a moment at the misery it entwines, pushes it back for the last time, remarking, "I have in the past proved your remedy too true." Whereupon he drew a great roll of greenbacks from his side, saying: "There's the lump your grog will always and surely remove from every besotted dupe.

"Good-by, you old booze-vender, and forever. I bid adieu to your damnable traffic, that blights men's lives in body, mind, and spirit, that blasts homes, and crushes the hearts and hopes of wives and children, that destroys the souls of men and women here and hereafter! Once more, I say, Adieu to you and to all your death-dealing tribe."