The Monmouth inquirer., 1911-06-22
BY Earl Derr Biggers
cepyiaht 1908. by Benz. B. Hampton

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Two good-looking young men came
from the card room of the Argots
Club into the deserted library.
Billy Meredith, the elder of the two,
held out his hand
Il guess we'd better say good-by
here, Jimmy" He spoke in a low
tone.
The man addressed Jimmy Grant
did not reply. His Doyish face was
very pale and stolid, like that of a
man who has been through a tragedy
too deep for him to understand
For Heavens sake, don't look like
that" Meredith went on, with a shud-
der; this Is better than for both OF
US to clear out. I'm sorry it's me, but
I'm mighty glad it isn't you. You
stay, Jimmy-and have a good time,
boy"
Grant spoke. His voice was harsh
and unnatural. Where are you go
ing?" lie asked
"Oh, / don't know" Meredith an
swered. "Pll hide somewhere Don't
you worry"
He put out his hand again, and
seized that of Grant.
"Good-by, Jimmy" he said brave
ly; don't let them be too hard on me.
We were in it together, boy"
He walked to the door opening into
the hall, and turned, the light of his
great friendship shining in his eyes.
w i'm IA "a
disappeared Grant stood looking
after him. his lips parted. Once he
took step as though to follow Mere
dith. But finally he turned, and walk
ed softly back into the card room
It was warm spring evening, and
q breeze, born seemingly in far-off
fields, swept gayly through the streets.
Crowds hurried to and fro; from afar
came the crash of the elevated; occa-
sionally was heard the roll of wheels
over the smooth asphalt. In the dis
tance reluctant street piano ground
out tune new to Meredith, but
ancient to the ennuied policeman who
balanced himself on nearby curb.
Suburban couples bound from the
trains to the bright street of the the
ters passed chattering gayly of home
affairs. Hundreds of advertising
lamps intermittently pasted lurid le-
gends against starlit sky.
Here was life as Meredith had pic
tured it through the years of exile; in
these very colors had he painted his
brilliant paradise, while he sat wait
ing for Heaven knew what in for
gotten tropic town A dreary surf had
pounded eternally at its shore; green
palms wayered forever against the
steel gray background of the noun
tains. There had been an impossible
hotel, on the hot balcony of which
Meredith had lolled life away In a
haze of smoke, lighting each cigarette
at the glowing stump of its predeces-
sor. There he had drunk bitter brandy
with wrecks that had once been men,
and amidst Gods forgotten he had
waited and wondered, in town that
knew neither hope, nor happiness. nor
treaty of extradition.
A very dirty newspaper, much be-
thumbed, once in long while reached
him with the other eager exiles, CLEAN
ed from these chance messengers lit
tie news save that home was sweet,
and far And when, after long time,
he dared to write to the man who,
like himself, was guilty, his letters
were unanswered. The others-those
who had believed, trusted-he had not
had the heart to inform of his where
abouts. Then came the day when the
drink turned bitterer than usual In
his throat, when the cigarettes sick
ened, and he left forever the balcony
whereon he had lived ten years Of
life. He came north on the obscure
steamer, to find himself, this pleasant
night in spring. in the city of his un-
fortunate youth.
It was the memory of that youth,
walking with him in the streets, that
As he stood in the entrance to the
park he fancied he saw approaching
a man he had once known, and he
drew tremblingly farther back into
the darkness. The man passed by, a
stranger Meredith came forth and
started ON his way, ashamed of the
cowardice which was by no means
physical, but the result of an over
sensitiveness which had damned him
from boyhood.
His aimless way carried him at
length into desolate street which he
had known in other days as boy
knows his own dooryard After a few
PAGES, he stood, with a sort of sob in
his throat, looking up at the Argots
Club House.
There it stood, the club of his father
and grandfather, grim and stately as
his staid ancestors themselves. in the
half light But two or three of its
windows were aglow. Often, in the
years just passed, he had pictured
himself, head up, shoulders back,
marching into the Argots as of old,
and handing his coat to the servant
who had met his father at that door.
He remembered the club was small.
and, at that hour, usually deserted.
Summoning all his courage, he walked
ha ofn