Crawford avalanche., 1897-07-29
JACKIE'S BURGLAR.

the thin streaks OF light whlch nitered
in through the tiny, dust-choked sky
light only seemed to heighten the
darkness and increase the misery of
the place. 1t was q small, square
room, with no furniture, except a
couple of broken chairs, grimy table,
and broken packing case, and it
seemed place scarcely fit for habita-
tion. Yet on the floor were three
coarse straw mattresses, and on one
of them, with his weary face turned
up to the dismal skylight above, lay
boy. He was only small boy, but
his face was like an old mans, and
his limbs were shrunken and dwarfed
and thin. He lay looking up into
the face of man who bent over him.
81 shall be all right by and by,
dad" he said, in weak voice. Il
shall be all right as soon as the sun
creeps up bit and I can get out.
Don't worry, dad. P'raps l shall be
able to do something soon. P'r'aps L
could make some boxes or something
if / could sit up bit.
Two big tears coursed down the
mans cheek and fell on the boys
hand. He turned away hurriedly and
began walking to and fro across the
garret.
"I must get the doctor to you some-
how" he said, more to himself than
the boy on the bed; "If fetch him
by force he must come. It's no good
putting it off any longer"
"No, no." said the boy, with the
thoughtfulness of an old man; wait
bit. 1 may be all right tomorrow.
The man plunged his hand
into his pocket and sighed.
With twopence between them
and starvation, what was the use
of fetching doctor who would order
eggs and milk for this boy? What
was the use of anything except to sit
and stare at the skylight and starve?
John Endleton was man who had
once been In good position. Only
q year ago he had believed himself to
be out of the reach of want; but mis-
fortune had overtaken him, his bank
had lost money in hundred differ
ent ways, ill-luck had followed him,
and he had fallen from bad to worse,
until he at last found himself, with
his 10-year-old son, in an East End
slnm, penniless, heart sick, hopeless,
with sickness overtaking them, with
no prospect of anything better than n
hand-to-mouth existence, and with
criminal Jail bird-a common con-
vict for a companion.
IAl In LOT
1t was his pride, perhaps, that had
led him to refuse good berths that he
would have been thankful for now,
and he hated the man who shared
their garret. If he could have afforded
tiff he could only have made sure of
the necessary pence-he would have
rented the entire room in order to
keep his boy from contact with the
man; but he had reached such hope
less state of his existence that he was
thankful if he found himself able to
provide for one decent meal day,
and he was obliged to tolerate him,
although his very presence seemed
poison. He hated his coarse ways,
his bad face, his evil breath, and the
thought that he was within almost
yard of his son made him shudder.
Jem Brooker was the leader of
gang. There was no better known
criminal in the whole of London than
he,- and he was proud of his reputa-
ton, proud of his wickedness, and
proud even of the time he had "done"
in Portland Prison. He was foul
mouthed, bad tempered and had been
convicted of numberless crimes; but
fer some strange reason little Jackie
Endleton interested him.
In the early morning, when he stag
gered up to the garret half drunk, the
sight of the thin, white face on the
dirty mattress sobered him. The
touch of the boys hand dragged back
his memory through thousand dirty
byways to the fresh country, where,
when he was a small lad, he had play
ed with his sister in green fields under
blue skies. Something in the boys
eyes recalled his mother, something,
too, in the droop of the little lips re-
minded him of hers as he had seen
them last, when she had been dying
with shame for her son. And the big,
gaunt man, whose heart was black
with crime, who had resisted the
overtures of missionaries and sneered
at prison chaplains, found himself
suddenly overcome by a 10-year-old
boy who was dying of starvation in
miserable garret. He scoffed and
swore at himself as he did it, but it
became a regular thing for him to
bring oranges and sometimes grapes
on his return to the garret at night.
And John Endleton hated it. He
resented it fiercely, and shrank back
when Jem Brooker approached the
bed and looked down at Jackie's face
As the winter passed into the spring
Jackie seemed to grow weaker instead
of stronger, and at last, with a solitary
shilling in his pocket, John Endleton
set off in desperation for doctor. If
anything happened to the boy he
would have nothing to live for, and
the thought seemed to choke him. But
he knocked at the doctors door with
ont success. The doctor was busy-too
bnsy to attend to him until night, and
when night came he had forgotten all
about it, and Jackie lay in a half fever,
moaning and tossing restlessly from
side to side, while Endleton sat over
him with rage at his heart.
When, toward morning, Jem mount
ed the creaking stairs in his usual
half drunken fashion and staggered
into the parret he found Endleton