The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1902-02-04
Observation-Disclosures

IenrlOnS OF the pr0yefDlal hangman.
Maggie Brennan, aged fifteen, was a
popular employee at Johnson's cigar
factory. Young Dan was a district
messenger boy, and even little Jennie
earned odd pennies by caring for the
neighbors' children when the latter
were called away to christenings, flu
nerals and weddings.
But from the day that the kid"
at the tender age of nine months, had
fallen from the fire escape to the area
way, striking three clotheslines en-
route, and had sat up, bowling vigor-
ousiy, but unhurt, his young life had
been marked by a succession of stir
ring and nerve distracting events.
Even his good natured Irish mother
had begun to regard him as hopeless,
and his one friend was pretty Miss
Harris, whose pink and blue shirt
waists and daintily embroidered skirts
decorated the Brennan clothes horse
each ironing day. Meta Harris always
declared that the kid" was particu-
larly intelligent and some day would
perform great deed.
On this afternoon the kid" having
reached the age of three and having
acquired sufficient wisdom to snatch
stick of Iicorice from weaker and
meeker playmate in the gutter, had
wandered far from home.
An overdose of licorice on this hot,
sultry day had affected the kid as
nothing had ever done before. He
yearned for the narrow, dim court and
the towering tenement, to say nothing
bosom. But all around him was mud,
the thick, yellow mud of newly open
ed street, and beyond disgustingly new
cottages painted in aesthetic tints and
surrounded by gardens laid out in
geometrical flower and lawn patterns
that is. all were thus laid out save one
II was overgrown with weeds. which
had choked out the flowers planted
there early in the spring.
A young man In a natty flannel suit
had paused at the gate and was sur
veying with a clouded brow the scene
of desolation. 1t hardly seemed pos
sible that just four months previous
he and she had planted those flowers,
coming up each evening to water them,
pick out the weeds and put finishing
touches within doors.
The parlor furniture had been put in
place. Even some of the shining tin
ware had found its way to the small
pantry when the quarrel came
He had done his best to smooth over
the difficulty. but finally one afternoon
he had walked over to the little cot
tage, which represented his savings Of
two hard years. closed and barred the
windows and doors and with heavy
heart had walked out through thesmall
gate. Never again had he been near
the burial ground of his high hopes
until this evening. Vaguely he had felt
lately that something ought to be done
with the place.
The frown deepened as he turned
away and marched resolutely down
the street He would see a real estate
man at once and offer the place at any
sacrifice. Then he'd try his luck in
South America. The papers all said
there were great openings down there
for clever fellows from the States.
Mamma! Ma
Jack Griswold stopped communing
with the disagreeable past and stared
down upon bedraggled, forlorn bit of
humanity.
Hello, old chapl Are you black or
white?"
The "old chap resented the familiar
address, fell to weeping Justify and
rolled disconsolately in the soft mud.
"Oh, say exclaimed Jack, bend
ing over the little fellow, you mustn't
do that! You'll be a sight. Guess you're
lost
Griswold glanced helplessly at the
neat cottages and then at the child of
the slums. How ever did the youngster
get way out here? And his sobs we're
actually pitiful. Jack thought of a
policeman, but such officials were sell
dom needed in this quiet neighborhood.
Finally pity overcame discretion. and
Jack grasped small hand and led the
runaway toward the cottage over
which he had but lately been gloating
in misery. He unlocked the door and
led the culprit to the kitchen, turned
on the water and awkwardly washed
the astonished denizen of DiggIe's
court.
'ThereI When get few layers of
dirt off I'll take you to the nearest po-
lice station, and they can locate your
ma. But I'll be hanged if I'd drag
such a connecting link as you were
through the streets"
A fresh handkerchief was sacrificed
on the altar of cleanliness. and then
Griswold started toward the door with
his unexpected charge. But here an
other surprise was in store for him.
The skies were overcast. and lightning
was playing along the horizon. There
was nothing to do but wait till the
storm passed by.
Griswold sank into rocker in the
tiny parlor. and Mis- Brennans Kid"
clambered Familiarity upon his knee.
The afternoon was sultry. the little
head sank lower and lower on Girls
wold's immaculate flannel suit. and
scon soft, even breathing filed the
quiet room.
The storm gathered and burst. but
the child slept on. and Griswold. with
half closed eyes. lived over again the
happy days when he and she had plan
ned and furnished the cottage.
A sudden flash of vivid lightning and
shrill feminine shrek.
"Oh, Mrs. Brennan, if only | had a
/ key we could get in here! And porches
and trees are so dangerousr
Jack rose to his feet, the sleeping
child still clasped in his arms. There
was no installing that voice. For an
instant he hesitated, then threw open
the door
Two women crouched in the portal.
One was middle aged and haggard, her
sleeves rolled up to her elbow and her
apron tossed over her head. The 9TH
err was young and dainty and fair to
look upon even in her fearful fright.
They rose and faced the sudden vision
in the doorway.
lie OlQel WOAueliI s5<lNC a 81 CStAA AoAA
of anger, half of joy.
Its me Kid! Where did We foind
him?'' Then, without waiting for reply,
she jerked the sleeping child from Girls
wold's arms and fell to weeping and
scolding over him in true Irish fash
/ ion.
Ten minutes later the storm died
down as suddenly as it had risen, and
Mrs. Brennan and her kid, duly pro
vided with car fare. were vending theiI
way toward the nearest trolley line.
The younger woman still stood at the
window, staring out upon the weeds
which hung heavy with moisture. She
tapped her fingers mechanically on the
window pane.