The San Francisco call., 1906-05-27

The .0ld midnight rain sang dismal
song as it pattered down upon the ROOF
Of the nossgrown Old Bulls Head
Tavern. Billy AIcCann. the proprietor.
fat and pflegznatic, sat on beer keg
in a corner behind the bar sucking away
on a smelly pipe and reading a paper
that was but dinlly lighted by smoking
kerosene lamp hanging close UP under
the low ceiling. In the front of the room
three men were playing seven-up at
small round table. Not a word escaped
their lips; they snapped down their cards
mechanically. one man stopping occasion
ally TO mark up the tally on a cracked,
wooden edged slate with chunk of chalk.
on by himself fourth man sat before
an open fireplace. where a heap of pine
knets whistled and popped and snarled in
the brisk blaze that was whirling wreaths
Of narhe up the chimney. devising fam
tastic figures as the sparks ate their way
into the thick SCOT On the bricks. This
man was the roustabout of the taproom-
He was never known to pay for glass
Of ale, and yet was always to be found
about with an ear eager to catch the first
word Of an invitation. He usually jeined
in the convivialty Of the rough and
ready element that patronized the tavern.
but this night he sat apart, morose and
sullen and with his slouch hat pulled hard
down over his eyes.
Richard Hartley was one whose VICES
had dragged him from afiuence and re-
spectability TO a low level of poverty and
degradation. Hardly Eve years before he
had inherited an ample fortune and held
an enviable position in the society of the
metropolis. The former had been dissi-
peted by an unbounded indulgence in
every pernicious propensity, the latter lost
through his disgrace in being exiled from
college for insubordination and the sub
sequent adoption of the wild and adven-
turesome life of coast smuggler.
AS the eve men sat in the taproom the
only sound TO break the silence except
the regular flick of the cards. was the
splashing of the rain on the grsveled
walk outside as the cutters of the roof
filled to overlooking in a sudden burst of
the storm At long intervals the inn
keeper startled the foreboding quiet with
the crackle of his paper as he clumsily
turned the pages.
! The dilapidsted cuckoo clock was just
xheezing midnight when a coach ratified
UP 70 the door. A man. tall and of dig
nifed appearance, stamped his way into
the place. He carred a grip that was
small but apparently heavy. When he
came upon Hartley he paused and gazed
inquiringly at him Hartley covered.
Moving a few steps away and then sud
denly returning with outstretched hand,
the newcomer exclaimed:
Why Dick Hartley, don't you know
ne2"
i used to know you years ago, Billy
Barton, but what do you want of me
now?" said Hartley, surlily. Il am not
the same old Dick I used to be. but
stu have too much pride TO bear patiently
gibes or jeers from those who knew me
IN the better days"
I'm not reproaching you, old man, or
criticising you in the slightest; your life
is your own affair, not mine. Come up
and talk to me while am getting off my
wet things, and tell me all about your
self"
When the two returned Barton fold
McCann that Hartley was going TO spend
the night at the inn as his guest The
proprietor's suspicious were at once
aroused, as the smuggler had never be-
fore stopped overnight at the tavern.
While the innkeeper was out of the room
booking after the accommoda ton of his
extra patrons Barton and Hartley stood
leaning over the bar talking in subdued
tones. Barton said:
Now, look here. Dick; if money can aid
you I've got plenty of il here in this
satchel and you are welcome to it. When
Twas struggling TO get through my senior
year you lent me many a dollar that kent
me from going to class hungry and you
even helped me to buy some of my
ciothes You were the one fellow in the
world that stuck by me like a brick and
helpeo me TO keep up with the others
I've thought of you many times, and al
though OF course never wishing YOU any