Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1909-04-02

away past toward all that be had loved
and lost.
"It's Home, Sweet Home,'" said
Barney McGinn. mo. it's Annie
Laurie No, it's-hanged If 1 know
what it isi'
The player himself could not have
told him. He was In n kind of tranced
dream. The self made music was call.
ing with a sweet insistence to buried
things that were stirring from a long
sleep. 1t sent a gulp into the throat
of more han one standing moveless
in the street. 1t brought a suspicious
moisture to Tom Felder's eyes. 1t drew
Mrs. Halloran from the kitchen, wip-
ing her hands on her apron. 1t called
to a girl who crouched in the upper
hall with her miserable face buried In
her hands, drew her down the stair
to the Office door, her eyes wide with u
breathless wonder. her face glistening
with feeling.
From the balcony Jessica had wit
messed the fight without understand
ing its meaning. A fascination she
could not gainsay had glued her eyes
to the struggle. 1t was he-it was the
face she knew, seen but once for a
single moment in the hour of her mar
riage, but stamped indelibly upon her
memory. 1t was no longer smooth
shaver. and it was changed, evilly
changed. But 1t was the same. There
was reeklesness and mockery In 1t and
yet strength, not weakness. Stunned
and despised as he might be-the chief
actor, as 1t seemed to her, In a cheap
and desperate barroom ARRAY, a coarse
affair of fisticuffs In the public street
yet there was something intrepid in
his bearing, something splendid in his
victory.
To Jessica, standing with hands close
clasped. the music seemed the agony
Of remorse for a past fall. the cry of a
forlorn soul, knowing itself cast out,
appealing to it's good angel for pity
and pardon. Hugh had often played
to her, lightly. carelessly, as he did all
things. She had deemed 1t only one of
his many clever, amateurish accom-
plishments. Now 1t struck her with a
DuhB thut lhClC hnd OCCA III hini q
deeper side that she had not guessed.
Since her wedding day she had
thought of her marriage as a loStnsG
bond. from which his false pretense
had absolved her. Now a doubt of ner
own position assailed her. Had lone
illness and outlawry driven him into
the career that mad made him Stunned
even in this rough town, a course
which she, had she been faithful tc
her VOW 'for better, for worse" nigh
have turned to his redemption? Go
forgave, but she had not forgiven.
Smarting tears scorched her eyelids.
For Harry Sanderson the music was
the imprisoned memory, crying out
strongly in the first tongue 1t had
found. The slumbering qualities that
had stirred uneasily at sight of the
face on the balcony awoke. Who he
was and had been he knew no more
than before, but the new writing self
consciousness, starting from its sleep
with almost a sense of shock, became
conscious of the gaping crowd. the
dusty street, the red sunset and of
himself at the end of a vulgar brawl
saving a violin in silly braggadocio in
a hotel doorway.
The music faltered and broke off.
The bow dropped at his feet. He
picked it up fumblingly and turned
back into the Office as a man entered
from q rear door. The newcome was
Michael Halloran, the hotels proprie-
tor, short, thickset and surly. Asleep
in his room, he had neither seen the
fracas nor heard the playing. He saw
instantly, however, that something nn-
usual was forward and, blinking Cd
the threshold. caught sight of the man
who was handing the violin back to its
owner. He clinched his fist, with n
scowl, and started toward him.
His wife caught his arm.
"Oh, Michael, Michael!" she cried
SAY nothing, ladI Ye should have
heard him play!"
"Play!' he exclaimed. let him go
fiddle to his side partner. Prendergast,
and the other riffraff he's run with the
year past!' He turned blackly to Har-
ry. "Take yourself from this house
Hugh Stiresl" he said. Whether airs
true that's said of you l don't say, but
you'll not come here!'
Harry had turned very white. With
the spoken name-a name how familiar
his eyes had fallen TO the ring on his
finger-the ring with the initials III. s.
A sudden comprehension had darted to
his mind. A score of circumstances
that had seemed odd stood out now in
a baleful light. The looks of dislike in
the barroom, the attitude Of the street.
this angry diatribe. all smacked of ac-
quaintance, and not alone acquaint-
ance, but obloquy. His name was
Hugh Stires! He belonged to this very
town! And he was a man hated, de-
spised, forbidden entrance to an TN
couth hostelry, an unwelcome visitant