Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1897-04-22

garb; worn. soiled with weather and |
labor and intolerabIe. The trousers /
felt chilly after the thick, tight-fitting |
knickerbockers, and rough, thick, wors- |
ted stockings. The coat seemed to fit /
him nowhere. With one look round his |
cell. en- the walls of which he had done |
innumerable calculations to keep him |
self from insanity bred by the terrible |
silence and sense of loneliness, ''No. 81"
now no longer mere figure, a machine, |
but a human being, stepped int the cor
ridor.
There was breakfast for him such as |
he had not tasted for nine long years, |
but he had no appetite. The one idea |
now possessing his mind was home, |
escape whilst the governor was willing |
for him to depart. He swallowed few
mouthfuls, drank few gulps of cocoa,
and then with the allowance money in
his pocket hurried to the gateway.
He was free. Free to go wherever he |
liked. Free to start for home as fast as
steam could carry him. Free to stretch
out his arms to the placid gray-blue wa
tiers of Western Bay now denuded of
their mantle of fog and sparkling in the
sunshine. Free to breathe the pure air
uncontaminated by companions Grim
inal and vicious. But the waters, the
hillside, the lovely stretch of verdant
country extended before his eyes, had
&c charm for him save that they spelt
freedom. Behind him lay the prison
house, the flagstaff from which no en-
sign of dread futtered to tell of his
escape. Before him lay freedom.
He rushed down the road, waving his
arms with the reawakened instincts of
a boy escaping from school, oblivious
alike of the sympathetic gaze of women
he passed, and the haf-contemptuous
remarks of the men. He dashed into the
bleak, shabby little railway station,
only to learn that there was no train
for an hour. Already his limbs, unused
to such riotous movements and still feel
| ing the lag of the chain. had begun to
fail him, making the half-jocular sug
gestion of the solitary porter, that he
should take a little exercise and walk
to Weymouth" out of the question.
iii have to watt was all he could
think of to say.
''Doin' time amt altogether exilter-
attn nor strengthenin' work. the por
ter remarked.
Harborde nodded his head, yet longed
to tell him that he was an innocent man.
The porter, however, had vanished, to
return in a few moments with paper.
| Here, mate" lie exclaimed, with
rough kindness. "You won't know all
yesterdays news, I'll go ball.
Harborde seized the paper. No! he
knew nothing of yesterdays news, nor
that of thousands of days which had
once been yesterday. He could see
nothing at first. The print swan in a
confused tumble before his eyes. When
| his sight cleared he commenced to read.
| How strange it was: He used to be a
great reader before he became mo. 27.''
And now he seemed to know nothing
| OF the world. New names confronted
him everywhere. Names of those in
authority. names of towns, names even
Of countries. Where was Mashonaland
and Matabeleland? He was confused.
He read on. This delicious new-found
turmoil of the world, how good it was
after all.
At last his eye caught small par
agraph slowed away at the bottom of
the third column on page six of the
paper. He read it and reread it over
and again. Her majesty, the queen,
has been graciously pleased to pardon
Thomas Harborde, who was convicted
of forgery at the Winchester assizes
some ten years ago, and who is now
completing his sentence of Is years
penal servitude at Portland. Harborde
will be released this morning. The step
has been taken in consequence of the
dying confession of a man at Bristol"
Nothing more! Now he knew why he
had been released. And so death had
taken Edward Tilwell out of the hands
of justice. 1t was hardly fair of death.
The porter came up whistling to tell
him the train would start in ten min
utes. He got up, thrust the paper into
the mans hands, and pointed to the
paragraph.
That's me-"
"You Thomas Harbortle?' exclaimed
the man. Then all I've got to say is it's
a hanged shame the queen didn't send
coach-and-six for you. Let's have your
hand. man, to wish you good luck Got
q missis? No? So much the better;
poor soul. if you had. it would cut her
up terrible"
NO" said Harborde, as though
speaking to himself, 81 was to have
been married; but that's years ago now,
and I'm an old man."
"Oid!" interjected the porter, you're
no more than five-and-thirty, I'll go
bail. You do look older, to be sure
But wait till you've been out a bit, you'll
soon rub off them lines and look a bit
more uppish."
The engine at the end of the short
train of carriages relegated to the Port
land line after becoming too thoroughly
out of date for even the Somerset and
Dorset local service between Weymouth
|
squeak, and Harbortie. in fever of ap-
| hap Lost II Shouid ri