Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1893-1920, 1907-06-05

! for Gods sake not a word! You're a
better man than I am or you wouldn't
have written at all. There. shut up!
I, Gratitude, forsooth. If you must show
some. don't set me thinking"
But the lads emotions were aroused
! too thoroughly to be soon allayed.
| They had the corner now to them
selves, and he was crying like a girl.
| Tom envied him his tears.
Read it through" sobbed the young
| fellow, forcing the torn letter upon his
champion, and TO please him Tom pc
rusel it from beginning to end.
Awhile ago it would have made him
! laugh and cry; now he read 1t unnloved
save by his own Indifference. 1t con-
tanned touching lie, describing the
writer as being still very happy with
the master who months since had sent
him to the iron gang The rest was
wondrous iumble-"and I inform you
that snaiks is very bad in this country.
We ofttimeS see them fourteen to tif-
teen feet long. Parrots is as thick as
crows in your country. kangaroos. too.
and it is night here when IL is day
there, but Arthur Smith, do not know
where he is. Mutton Is 4d. H.. beef
But he had written no farther. and
Tom said: THANK you. Butter, 1t
should make them happy" as he re-
turned the letter He felt that he
ought TO be touched. and lie was not.
His heart seemed turned TO stone when
suddenly he felt it quicken.
The lad had simply said. MY name
isn't Butter: it's Butterfeld."
"A YOrkshreman? You talk like
one" cried Tom. with most painful
fash of memory. Once more he was
n lucky. hopeful. penitent sinner in
sweet smelling wagon on n night in
spring. with Blaydes' watch ticking no
warning in his pocket and with vivid
mental picture of Blaydes himself smil-
ing wistfuily across the stile. beside
which he was even then lying dead.
AYE" said young Butterfield. poor
old Yarkshire. l doubt I'll ever see IL
again. My folks have left there an
ALL"
Tom had more flashes. He was get
ting used to them now.
Where did they move to-"
"a little place they call Hendon,
an it was me that drove 'em there by
getting into trouble, Oh. II was me
diSCraced them all and drove them
away
Tom let him talk, but said little more
in return. 1t was Jonathan Butter
fields son. How it brought all that
back TO him! True. it was not year
ago, but it seemed lifetime. 1t was
terrible to think of the little time and
,, the stupendous change Tom Erickson
saw himself as he had been and as he
was, and the mental vision hurt him
more than the material one which the
stockade barber had shown him in a
glass. He could not tell Butterfield
that he had known his father. Nothing
was to be gained by telling him. 1t
would lead to his telling more. and how
could he speak of things OF which the
mere thought was become torture 80
! refined and so exquisite?
His eighteen inches were n very rack
that night He was thinking Of Claire
for the first time in many weeks. She
would hold him guilty still. How could
she do otherwise? His sweet friend
held him guilty when he was innocent
and his enemy. the major, held him in
nocent when guilty. oh. the irony
: the bitter irony. that had made worse
/, man of him when he was bad enough
already. All the foul night he lay toss
ing in his noisy chains. His wild eyes
were never closed Yet once the
= thought stole over him, had he beer
: worthy OF Claire when she loved hin
would all this ever have been? AND
after that he lay queter-his hear
. knew why.