The Washington herald., 1913-07-13
CHAPTER M.
The Discard.

CHAPTER M.
The Discard.
They gave Lindstrom, the quarry
man. his freedom at the end of the
day. All that time he sat staring down
the whitewashed corridor at the grimy
window beyond which the reddening
naples hung. The other prisoners
swabbed the cement floor or played
with greasy cards. Marryat, the Sheriff,
had a real sympathy for him as he sat
in the stink of the Jail.
Come, John, man-wash 10 and be
leaving 1t was only a day the Judge
sent ye down for-for cursing the law.
John, and that's wrong. But that We
lost the case. that's bad, too. what with
the wife and yer crippled arm, and all
But Judge Van Harris a good man.
yohn-aud ! doubt if any man in ali
the county was sorrier for We than he
but it was law, John"
The quarry worker took his knife
and soiled tobacco and bit a string
and went away without a word. When
a mans fifty and on the ebb of
strength and has felt failure and thinks
of wife and children as he sits holding
his empty sleeve and knows he has lost
against the face of society organized
ruthlessly to crush the loser, he has
little heart for the comfortings of the
jailer.
He went away a newborn criminal.
Before, merely the discard of the
cities, a mechanic, worker on the struc-
tural iron of great buildings until cast
acs4> ,o xhse tod. for
younger men and more alert. Well.
that was right-the old worker faces
that. But Lindstrom was burly and
strong. Surely, in the country. the fat
land, there was place for man stout
of heart and willing. too old to work
at his trade, but too young to lose
hope. He would save himself from
the Stag heap of the cities, where in
the blatant religion of success he who
fails is either vicious or lazy. So he
came to the river bottoms, where his
wife had heard of an uncle squatted
on unclaimed land and truck-raising
for livelihood. There. crowding into
Uncle Michigan's house boat, which
had grown through the years by the
addition of several crazy lean-tos until
it was now a rambling cottage, the
Lindstroms were one of the few very
poor families of the rich county. They
were big with the hope of the country
five years ago. They did not know
that. first of all, the farmer is a capi-
talist. and the city man turned adrift
there penniless and with mouths to
feed is helpless. John became a day
worker in Tanners quarries; his wife.
a Tennessee woman, long expatriated
from her hills, whining to be gone for
ever of Chicago, was now a querulous
invalid, what with labor and child
bearing. There Lindstrom fought his
inevitable losing fight; but with Old
Michigan's truck-raising, which cloaked
his whisky peddling, and Johns wages
they all got on until Tanners quarry
machine crushed the chief bfead-win-
ner's hand.
So it was damn the lawi When one
is old, bewildered, helpless before all
these smooth phrases and precedents,
all this fine talk of sleek men to the
jury, and one hears the judge direct
the verdict against one, does one mince
wordse Why, then, did the lawyers
say one had right if the Judge knew
so glibly different? A good workman,
too, on the rock pile; quiet. steady,
matching his strength against the
young men, those terrible, merciless
young men who fling the discard aside.
take his job, and go whistling down
the road, pipe in mouth, when the day
IS done! And now, broken, crushed.
bewildered with the smooth talk of
the lawyers, and knowing one has lost
does man take it calmly when the
judge sentences him and his children
to beggary? No. He raises his fist
and damn the law!
Lindstrom came back the quarry road
to his shanty. He sat across the table
from his two freckled sons and the
old, one-legged soldier whisky smug-
gler smoking his pipe by the wood box.
They feared to question the return
jailbird; when his wife whined some
complaint, as she held the baby to her
flat breast stirring her pots over the
stove, he growled rough tenderness.
There, woman. The jail-you can
smell it on me. but no matter. And
the work-we can do bit yet with
the garden. It's here well, stay, for
I'll not lift my face in town again.
They heaped the filth of the law on
me and my children's name. Well
have no more of their town and
schools and all. If I'm no fit man
fer 'em, my lads are not-we'll take |
no more of their time and money"
She looked up in her slattern fright. |
He ruled them with his heavy Puri-
tan's righteousness. Even Aurelie,
Michigan's gypsy limb of girl, under
Johns foster parenthood these FIVE
years since the Lindstroms came, had
to be still before him.
"Ah, Johnp the mother cried. Take
the children out of school? Knute
ready for his seventh grade, and Aure-
lie in high school, And like to graduate
if we can get the dress and ALL" She
rubbed her bonny hand across her chin
to ease the sting of the burning pork
fat, and muttered, my mans crazyw
Damn their Schools" he growled,
and courts God will hold us safe,
nor man with his fine talk of justice.
III have no more of it."
Old Michigan took out his pipe to
John, man-don't take it |
50 bitter. There's enough know you're |,
an honest man. A day in jail-who'll
think worse of ye for that?"
The quarryman Topped his big frame
Il "