The Washington times., 1905-12-24

cred the Prison Spirit" "stay here
and peel potatoes with the knife
they gave you
But could he? Would they keep
him in the Tombs? How could he
make himself so indispensable? To
peel potatoes was the only way. He
began to make a study of his work
Before his time was up-those long
six months, he had learned to peel
potatoes as no man ever did before
CT since-swiftly, silently, contented-
ly. No three men could do his daily
task.
He's a wonder" said the cook:
he's a professional. I'll be sorry
TO lose him
So they didn't lose him. Every six
months, when his discharge was due.
the professional potato peeler", was
taken before a magistrate and recon-
mitted- 1t was charity, the officials
said, he was so helpless; the Tombs
was home for him Although an
example of that ancient pleasantly.
he got six months twice a year"
George never complained; he was
only anxious TO get back TO his post.
On these biennial occasions "Citi-
zen" Towne was attired in a cast
on suit Of black, which was always
carefully brushed and folded away.
ready for it's next appearance.
Winter and summer the profess
sional potato peeler sat at work near
the top of the cellar steps. From
there he could see each new arrival
come across the bridge of sighs, and
George looked into the eyes of every
one who entered. Old offenders knew
and greeted him, and the profes-
slonal potato peeler was the first
sight pointed out To the fresh fish
What laughter his misery and de-
formity inspired! Every day there
was some new insult, and the worst
OF all came from the outcast women
OF the streets. George hated the
sight of them.
But he had one friend-the knife.
All day long IL sank into and
through the flesh of potatoes innum-
cradle. The skins curled and drop
ped in spiral ringlets at its touch.
Sharp? oh. be sure of that The
stone step on which he sat began
TO wear where the blade was whet-
ted every morning. He loved that
knife; it was always in his hand.
And so year after year he waited
What a life, what miserable exist
encei-pain, squalor, insult; and the
memories that tortured him most of
all. and how easy to have ended it.
No, he was too good a hater for
that, and every night the spirit came
and whispered in his heart. Per
haps your enemy will come tomor-
row"
professional potato peeler had waited
a dozen years. The moment which
he knew must come did come; and
on that day-it was Christmas morn
ing-zhis enemy was brought into the
Tombs.
He, too. was changed. Thirteen
years had left their mark; the hand
some scoundrel would lead astray
no more infatuated wives; there was
nothing now in his face or figure TO
arouse forbidden passion in eager
eyes. Into the Tombs they brought
him on stretcher, wounded by a
policeman's bullet. He was swathed
In bandages. but the professional po-
tato peeler knew his enemy.
George waited till they had put
the patient to bed and taken away
his clothes. Ahl 1t was now the
thef's turn TO lie in a hospital and
think The Christmas service had
commenced and George stood just
outside the hospital ward. The mo-
ment had arrived. Was 1t possible
that this man, with uplifted head,
with eyes on fire, whose deformity
had turned to strength. could be the
miserable professional potato peeler?
Gloria in excelsis"-lt was the
cho.- singing the opening anthem.
GLORY, glory. glory" echoed in the
professisGalT Tfftato peeler's heart. "a