The Veteran is an ardent patriot and given, as old men are, to the relation of his past exploits. He is proud of his battle record and when a park lounger jeers at the oft-told tale his indignation overpowers him and he suffers from a ...See moreThe Veteran is an ardent patriot and given, as old men are, to the relation of his past exploits. He is proud of his battle record and when a park lounger jeers at the oft-told tale his indignation overpowers him and he suffers from a stroke that leaves him faint and weak and tells of organic trouble. Proudly he starts off for the meeting of the G.A.R. post where he will mingle with the comrades and live again in the midst of a heated debate over some trifling executive matter. There is a recurrence of the attack and this time when the kindly comrades come to his aid they find that he does not know them; that some blood clot, pressing upon the brain, has destroyed his memory. Sorrowfully they lead him back to his home, the Post Commander giving the family warning of the shock. Even the arrival home does not bring back the sense of memory and wonderingly he looks about the familiar room and into the faces of his wife and daughter. Other troubles come quickly. The mortgage upon the little home is foreclosed and the house and its contents sold at auction. The Post in the small town is not rich; they cannot raise the mortgage, but the kindly old men do their best, each buying some of the things the old veteran loved best, his easy chair, the little things that contributed to his comfort, while the manly young sweetheart of the daughter purchases the sword and flags and the picture of Lincoln that were the veteran's most cherished possessions. These are installed in the more simple home that the two women can maintain. The veteran shows no improvement in his mental condition and for the first time he does not take part in the Memorial Day parade. Some of the comrades come from the cemetery with flowers for the living and as they file into the little home the sight of the uniforms rouses some vagrant memory. The veteran recalls the days when he carried a sword and reaches for the blade that once he waved over battlefields. As he draws the blade from its scabbard there flutters to the floor a certificate of deposit for $10,000, the proceeds of the sale of mining stock that the veteran concealed in the scabbard the evening of the stroke. With the financial worries cleared away and with reason once more on her throne, the evening of the veteran's life promises to be a pleasant and peaceful one. Written by
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