The pioneer press. (Miller, Hand County, S.D.) 1893-190?, 1900-08-23

i or the pen he might remedy this
misfortune, and avert that dreaded in
terview with Mr.. Nicholson, from
4 which John now shrunk in imagination
/ as the hand draws back from fire.
| Close under the Cation Hill there
runs a certain narrow avenue, part
street, part by-road. The head of it
faces the doors Of the prison; its tail
i descends into the sunless slums Of the
i Low Cation. On one hand 1t is over
hung by the crags Of the hill, on the
other by an old graveyard. Between
4 these two the roadway runs in trench,
/ sparsely lighted at night, sparely fire.
quented by day, and bordered, when
1t was cleared the place OF tombs, by
dingy and ambiguous houses. One of
these was the house of Colette; and at
his door our ill-starred John was pres
emily beating for admittance. In an
evil hour he satisfied the Jealous in
1 quiries Of the contraband hotelkeeper:
in an evil hour be penetrated into the
somewhat unsavory interior Alan, to
be sure, was there, seated in room
lighted by noisy gas jets, beside dirty
! tablecloth. engaged on coarse meal.
and in the company Of several tipsy
members Of the Junior bar. But Alan
was not sober; he had lost thousand
pounds upon horse race, had received
the news at dinner time, and was now,
in default Of any possible means of
extrication, drowning the memory OF
his predicament. He to help John! The
thing was impossible; he couldn't help
himself.
I IF you have a beast of a father"
said he, II can tell you have brute
of trustee"
| I'm not going to hear my father
called beast" said John, with beat
ing heart. feeling that he risked the
last sound rivet of the chain that bound
him to life.
/ But Alan was quite good-natured.
Il "All right, old fellow" said he.,
Mos respectable man your father"
And he introduced his friend to his
lcompanions as "old Nicholson the
/ what-d' ye-call-um' son."
/ John sat in dumb agony. Colette's
lifoul walls and maculate table linen,
and even down to Colette's villainous
casters, seemed like objects in night
mare. And just then there came
knock and scurrying; the police, so
llamentably absent from the Cation Hill,
appeared upon the scene; and the party,
| taken f1agrante delictu, with their
glasses at their elbow, were seized,
marched up to the police Office, and all
duly summoned to appear as witnesses
In the consequent case against that
arch shebeener, Colette.
1t was a sorrowful and a nightly
sobered company that came forth again.
The vague terror of public opinion
weighed generally on them all; but
there were private and particular hor-
rors on the minds Of individuals. Alan
stood in dread of his trustee, already
sorely tried. One of the group was the
son OF country minister, another of
a judge; John, the unhappiest of all,
had David Nicholson to father, the
| idea of facing whom. on such a scan
| dalous subject was physically sicken-
| ing. They stood while consulting un-
der the butresses of Saint Giles; thence
they adjourned to the lodgings of one Of
the number in North Castle street,
where Qor that matter) they might
have had quite as good supper, and
far better drink, than in the dangerous
paradise from which they had been
routed. There, over an almost fearful
glass, they debated their position Each
explained he had the world to lose il
the affair went on, and he appeared AS
a witness 1t was remarkable what
bright prospects were just then in the
1 very act OF opening before each Of that
little company of youths, and what
pious consideration for the feelings of
their families began now to we'll from
! them. Each, moreover, was in an odd
| state OF restitution. Not one could
bear his share of the fine; not one but
eyinced wonderful twinkle of hope
that each of the others lin succession)
was the very man who could step in
| to make good the deficit. Cne took
a high hand; he could not pay his
share; If 1t went on to trial he should
bolt; he had always felt the English
bar to be his true sphere. Another
branched out into touching details
about his family, and was not listened
to. John, in the midst of this disorder
iy competition Of poverty and mean
ness, sat stunned, contemplating the
mountain bulk OF his misfortunes.
At last. upon a pledge that each
should apply to his family with COM
mon frankness, this convention OF un-
/ happy young asses broke I'm .yent
down the common stair, and In the
gray OF the spring morning, with the
streets lying dead empty all about
them. the lamps burning on into the
daylight in diminished luster, and the
birds beginning to sound premonitory