Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-03-03
CHAPTER VIII.
A PRICE ON HIS HEAD.

No Sprinter ever made better time
than did Mr.. Drano in his first run from
the Retreat. 4 medal at the end of a
track is not half the inducement to
speed that pursuer at the beginning
is. If Lawrence had been timed by a
stop-watch it would probably have APP
peared that he had broken all records at
the end of the first hundred yards; and
yet it seemed to him that he was not
running half fast enough. Tho street
was absolutely deserted, but he came
presently to the corner of an avenue
that was brilliantly lighted and lively
with many passers.
Then he stopped abruptly and walked
slowly up the avenue for q short dis
lance. His heart was beating violently
with excitement and the exertion of his
run, and he knew that he must get
somewhere out of sight at once. just
ahead of him he saw that the street-car
tracks entered a tunnel, the sidewalks
and carriage-way rising over hill above
it. Believing that here lay his oppor-
tunity he entered the tunnel and
walked through it's half mile of length
without molestation save from cars
that passed him occasionally. The
drivers and conductors looked at him
sharply, and that made him wish that
he had staid above ground. 1t also i'm
pressed him with the necessity of dis
;guising himself.
At the end of the tunnel he found
himself in front of the Grand Central
Depot. If he could only take train
and go somewhere! lnstinctively his
hand went to his pocket and then he
remembered. The thought of passing
again through an experience of hunger
with its possibilities of police courts
and ferry-boat concerts so distressed
him that he had half q mind to return
to jenkins and confess himself a
1unatic. Then probably he would be
put in straight jacket and be confined
in a loathsome cell for the rest of his
days. Horrible!
Suddenly he remembered that he had
been in the habit of carrying fifty
dollar bill in a little pocket unobtrusive-
ly made at the waistband of his trousers.
Most of us would have thought of that
before, but Mr.. Drane had passed his
boyhood in the lap of luxury, and in his
manhood had not escaped from her lead
ing-strings until the beginning of these
unhappy episodes, so that the where
withal was naturally tho last element
to enter into his consideration of practi-
, cal problems. In this case he felt cor
tain that his enemy, the tramp, must
have overlooked that pocket. He thrust
trembling finger into it, Glorious!
He felt the soft but firm texture of a
bank note, and he knew that he was
saved. He marched proudly into the
depot and inquired about trains for
Boston. That was still further away
from home, but he had friends thore
who would identify him and see him out
of his trouble. A train would leave in
the course of an hour. Good. How
much? Five dollars. Very reasonable.
One ticket, please.
While the strip of paste-board was be-
ing stamped Mr.. Drane drew forth the
hidden bill and unfolded it. Then his
heart went down to hold sad COM
munion with his heels.
81 beg your pardon" he faltered, ad-
dressing the ticket-seller, "but / don't
think I'll go to Boston this evening"
The bill was two.
The tramp had boon commercially
thorough in his search through Mr..
Drane's clothes. and, having found use
for the fifty dollars, had recognized the
utility of an emergency fund and had
limited his reserve to two dollars.