Hopkinsville Kentuckian., 1910-02-15
The l2rodigal
Uncle
BY HAROLD CARTER


the penitentiary that the great plan
first came into Jim Byers head. At
first II was only a thought that stole
upon him during the night, while he
tossed uneasily upon his plain bed;
then a desire; suddenly mighty and
overwhelming passion which must be
fulfilled
When he was freed prison societies
came to him and offered him help
But he refused and started on his
tramp eastward with the little money
that he had earned First he must
fulfill his determination.
II was 15O miles vp state to the old
home VIE his bro.her-the rich
man lived Walter had stayed
at hon nd prospered, and was al
ways spoken of as prospective mil
lionaire, while he, the outcast, the
prodigal. the jailbird, the broken man,
tramped eastward along the railroad
line for that first reunion after Is
years of absence and silence.
1t was his absolute determination to
meet his brother face to face and kill
him, kill him as calmly and remorse-
lessly as he himself had once killed
cattle in the slaughter yards, because
he had prospered while he was starv-
ing. What would come afterward he
did not think or care.
For five nights and days he tramped
along the railroad line exulting at
each remembered landmark for the
vengeance which was to come to him
A dusty tramp, disheveled, torn, a few
coins dancing in his pockets as he
tripped from tie TO tie, the knife hid
den in his sleeve which was to alb
solve his debt of hatred In this wise
he reached the little village.
He stood still, rubbing his eyes in
wonder This his home site? Why,
here was a factory town, with smoke
belching from the tops of 20 tall chin
neys.
Did anybody remember the old By
ers homestead?
Yes, the saloonkeeper remembered
It. But he did not remember Jim in
his tramp's clothes, with prison pal
lor upon his face. 1t had been sold
and pulled down these ten years or
more. Walter Byers? Why, that was
the Byers' home, that red brick build
ing on the hill yonder He might get
job there possibly. Mr.. Byers was
always in need of hands in his fac
tory.
Slowly Jim turned his face toward
his brothers house and toiled up the
hill painfully. No matter, his work
would soon be over. But when he
reached the gate of the garden he
stood still, staring into the face of
little girl who sat there, shading her
eyes as she gazed cityward.
"Is Mr.. Byers at homer" and he
felt the steel beat a tattoo against the
bare flesh of his arm.
Fathers not home yet" said the
girl There's nobody home but me-"
80 you're Walter Byers' daughter,
are you? Have you any brothers and
sisters?"
NO, there's only me- You're not
my Uncle Jim, are your"
She looked into his face frankly
and anxiously.
mo, l know you're not Because
you're so poor and Uncle Jim's rich.
He's coming home some day to take
us by surprise. Only, you see, we're
all so anxious for him to come, be-
cause father tried so hard for years
to find him, and we know he's making
his fortune out in the west somewhere
and he'll come back again.
He had become a myth, the rich
uncle who was to return some day to
his devoted family Jim heard in
cidents of his boyhood, exploits now
greatly magnified, from his little
niece's lips. And they were proud of
him.
For the first time since he had left
the penitentiary he laughed, then
stopped and drew his sleeve across
his eyes. He turned away.
Wont you wait for father? He
won't be long. Who shall l tell him
called to see him."
Jim Strengthened himself
Tell him a broken man who's gone
out to fight the world again, to lift up
his head and look It in the eve
squarely. A man who's taken his beat
ing and learned his lesson
He turned and plunged down the
steep hill westward in the direction
Of the railroad line.