Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1913-11-18
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| tuated their recital by occasional com
ments that showed he appreciated every
point. He examined with interest speci-
mems OF their work, for they under
stood both the stitching and stamping Of
! leather, and once he found himself duly
speculatIng az to what career he would
have carved out for himself we're he
| given in boyhood the opportunities they
reioiced in.
But throughout there was in his sur
charged brain current OF cunning pur-
pose. First, there was Grenier, away in
the North, robbing a dead man and
plotting desolation to some girl. He
must be dealt with,
Then he, the slayer, must he slain,
! and by his own hand. He would spare
his sons as much pain as might be with
| in his power.
He would not merely disappear, leav-
| Ing them dubious and distressed No.
| They must know he was dead. not by
suicide but by accident They would
mourn his wretched memory. Better
that than alive with the abiding grief
OF the knowing that he was Philip An
/ sons murderer.
| re was quite Nufb Dv" AlidN Nib hNhA
would arise and call for vengeance II
| he dared to continue to exist. Yes, that
was ia life for a life prayer that
his deeds might not bear fruit in his
| children-and then death, speedy, GER
tain death
! Some reference to the future made by
Willie, the younger. who favored his
mother more than tho outspoken John,
gave Mason an opportunity to pave tho
way for the coming separation.
II don't want you two lads TO make
any great changes on my account" he
said slowly. at is far from my inten-
ton to settle down here. and let all
your friends become aware that you
are supporting a ticket of-leave father.
Yes, know. You are good boys, and
1t won't he any more pleasant for me
to-to live away from you, than II would
be for you-under-other conditions-to
be separated from me. Butt am in
| earnest in this matter. I win stop here
to- night just TO feel that l am under
the same roof as you. II Is your roof,
not mine. Long ago l lost the right to
provide you with a shelter. Tomorrow
90 away. | have some work to do
lot OF work. II must be attended to
at once OF course, you will see me,
often. We can meet in the evening
go out toRether-bu live herewith you
i can't"
His sons never knew the effort thar
his speech cost him He spoke with
such manifest hesitation that Willie,
who quickly Interpreted the less pro-
nounced signs Of mans thoughts,
winked a warning at his brother
He said with an optic signal:
A Horrible Dream.
, Not word now, John. Just leave
| things as they are"
| Under any ordinary conditions he
| would be right. He could never guess
the nature OF the chains that encir-
cled his father, delivering him fet-
tered TO tho torture. bound hand and
, foot. body and soul
a T last they ali retired 10 their
u rooms. the boys to whisper kind
- ly plans for keeping their ia
Their a prisoner again in their hands,
Mason to lie. open-eyed, dry-eyed,
through the night, mourning for that
which might not be
The rising sun dispelled the dark
phantoms that fitted before mis- vision.
| He fell into a ftful slumber, disturbed
by vivid dreams. once he was on a
storm swept sea at night, on a sinking
ship. a ship with crew of dead men,
and a dead captain at the helm.
Driving onward through the raging
| 81
more surely. as she rushed into each
yawning caldron. Suddenly. through the
wreck OF flying spindrift he saw a
smooth harbor. a sheltered basin, in
/ which vessels rode IN safety. There
! were houses beyond with cheerful lights
and men and women were watching the
doomed craft from the firm security of
, the land
! But. strain his eyes as he would he
could see no entrance to that harnor;
: naught save furious seas breaking over
! relentless walls OF granite.
Even in his dream he was not afraid.
| He asked the captain. with an oath:
| is there no way in?"
And the captain turned corpselike eyes
toward him. Ii was Philip Arson. The
]
/ and shrank away
Then he awoke TO find Willie standing
by his bedside with soothing words.
at is all right. father. You were dis
turbed In your sleep. Don't get up yet.
1t is only O'Clock
AT that hour policeman LETT his cot
tage in village on the Yorkshire coast.
and walked leisurely toward the Grange
House
He traversed four miles of rough
country, and the sun was hot, SO he
did not hurry. About half past six he
reached the farm There were no signs
of activity such as may be expected
in the country al that hour
He examined three sides Of the build
ing carefully-the sea front was mac
cessihle-snd waited many minutes he
fore he knocked at the door There was