The Caucasian. (Shreveport, La.) 1900-192?, 1913-09-07
The 'TAZISnIAN
OF GOOD LUCK
A Peri2atetio Painter 1rifies
With Fate.


the ears and nose which was not pleas
ant Hannigan WAS a wandering
painter He had once been proficient
as a despoiler of scenery, as many OF
the legends which now adorn the
Buckeye landscape and proclaim the
merits Of pink pellets and condition
powders will testify Rum had got the
upper hand Of Hannigan. His hand
was no longer steady enough to follow
the configuration Of letters, even when
they were chalked out by steadier I'm
gers, but Hannigan could still paint
blackboards.
Mr. Hannigan as he strobe along the
tracks was muttering to himself about
the perversity Of fortune. He had
spent nearly his last cent for material.
He had been to three schoolhouses, and
in each he had been confronted with
slabs Of smoothly polished slate which
covered the plastered wall The agent
Of a Chicago school supply company
had preceded Hannigan and had done
him much injury. At the last school
house the teacher had smiled pityingly
when the decorator talked Of the evil
which had come upon him. She had
unclasped from long chain which she
wore silver mounted rabbits foot and
had insisted upon the astonished paint
er accepting it.
Now that Hannigan was alone again
his thoughts went back to the little
schoolhouse. and the more he thought
about the duplicity Of the trustees and
the slate blackboards the more angry
the fuzzy fetch which the teacher
had given him and in the half dark
ness contemplated it with a look Of
fine scorn. Hannigan was walking on
the railroad track with the measured
tread common to the Wanderer
Luck muttered Hannigan. Jim
Hannigan walking the track with not
a thing in his pocket but a rabbits
foot has a run Of luck, hasn't he?
Where's that fool thing?"
Hannigan took the talismaE from
his pocket and threw it Oh the track
1t dropped nearca rail. where the CLINT
from its mounting revealed its pres
ence. Hannigan stopped as though to
pick it UP again. Then he reconsidered.
NO" said he; don't want it; won't
have it. Let some fellow find it who
wasn't born to be unlucky." q
Hannigan heard shrill whistle and
the rumble Of wheels. He stepped
aside in mechanical way just in time
to evade train He stood for a mo-
ment contemplating the two fiery eyes
of red which were diminishing in front
Of him. Then he looked around him.
81 was crossing the long trestle. and
didn't know it, said Hannigan.
"Now, by gum, that is what | call
luck-crossing the trestle with no
chance in the world to get off it and
spikes on the sides of the track to
make 1t uncomfortable for us hoboes:
crossing the trestle, by jung! If l had
jumped, I would have been drowned
in twenty feet of water, and if l had
stayed they cwould never have recog-
nized me except for this can of saw
dust cocktails. jim Hannigan, you
are an ungrateful cuss. That rabbits
foot saved you, and you threw it away.
This is where you see crayon en-
largement Of Jim Hannigan going back
to find the only thing which ever
brought him luck"
He went back over the ties, lodging
the spikes. looking for the rabbits
foot He could see no trace Of it. He
glanced up in time to see two bullying
eyes Of red which were growing bigger
with every second. James Hannigan
jumped and shrieked. The Cannon
BALI was backing down on him, and
threw himself on the track rolled over,
claspel the end Of a tie in his arms and
swung himself off just as the express
vhizzeG over his head. Above him was
the roar Of the train, and beneath him
the waters Of the Hooking We're greed
lily tapping the wooden piles.
Talk about hard luck" muttered
the trembling painter of blackboards.
"Queered for life by a rabbits foot and
q schoolmarm's smile"
The trestie was vibrating beneath
the weight Of the train. Hannigan,
with his right arm within six inches Of
the rail over which We're rushing the
wheels Of the Cannon Ball" felt a
SILVER through every nerve of his body.
He yelled curses. and the rails gave
back hooking sound. ole felt the
dull pain of WEAKNESS in his arms.
Twenty feet of water below"
moaned Hanngan, land | can't swim,
I couldn't draw myself up even if the
train wasn't here. Well, so long. every
body. Here is the end of James Han
nigan. born a scenic artist, died a
bum.
He dropped. The cold waters closed
about the form of the knight of the
road. Then moment of silence and
James Hannigan awoke. He thought
he was sitting on downy cushions and
around him was poured cooling and
crystal food. Hannigan sat bolt up
right in the dark mud of the Hooking
river bottom. and about him flowed
two feet Of the t1wny flood, BeyOnd