The Salt Lake tribune. [volume] (Salt Lake City, Utah) 1890-current, 1914-01-11
Tragedy of Hope Deferred.

The warden sat serene in his office,
attending to business as Il good Off.
cjal should. writing reports To the de
partment which testified 10 his eff
DienCy and economy, welcoming visitors
with his genial smile, occasionally read
ing cncomiums upon himself in a local
newspaper. written and inserted there
by somebody; the guards sauntcrcd
.jauntjly about, cooking their caps and
making their clubs dance at the end
of the cords; 500 unsightly felons, who
had once been men like you and me,
filed drearily in to their meals, and out
again, the worse for the experience,
and all the while, from morning till
night, Dennis sat on the corner of his
cot in the hospital room. waiting for
the news Of has release. He felt, and
said, at first, that IL was sure to come;
Vt would come in day or two. or at the
end of the week, anyway; or of the
beginning Of the week after. He knew
his application had been accepted; OF
course. those big officials had lots TO
do, and could not he expec ted to attend
to him at once; but they would not
forget him.
For several weeks-a month or two
Dennis kept up his spirits well; he had
been in prison many years, more than
tho number required for parole and he
had no bad marks against him. His
wife and two daughters were still ljy-
ing, however, and he was full of plans
for his future lifo with them--what he
would do where he would live. how
happy tney all would be together, after
that separation. But one day as no sat
on his cot, or paced slowly up and
down the hospital chamber, news was
brought to him. bad news, news that
his wife had died unexpectedly.
He survived it, SOME men survive
miraculously in prison, and some die
easily. Dennis had his daughters left
10 him still; and the release was sure TO
come now--they surely would not delay
it any longer. He had been n tall, pow
erful mulatto when he first came to
prison; he was gaunt. bent skeleton
Of man now, with great bony,
strcngthless hands, that closed round
mine with sort Of appealing. lingering
pressure when we met, as If he feared
TO let 90 his hold upon man who was
sorry for him. The doctor kuew-any
competent physician, ut least might
have known-that he could not last
much longer; but he said nothing and
did nothing. Theu-for the stars in
their courses seemed TO fight against
Dennis-came another piece of news for
him; not news of parole, but news thAt
his daughters, both Of them. had fol-
lowed their mother; they, too, were
dead. Dennis, who had begun 10 plan
out a life with them, to lie father and
mother both to them, to comfort them
and work for them, and to die at last
with their love and companiouship COM
forting him, was now alone III the
world. and still in prison.
Time had gone by; it was six months
since no had begun 10 look for free
dom. What would freedom mean for
him now, with no one in the world TO
90 10 or to be With Probably he gave
up looking for it at this point at any
rate, he spoke Of it no more. lie spoke
very little after that. and ne very sell
dom rose from his scat on the corner
Of his cot, or took notice of anyone or
of anything in the hospital room. He
sat there, day after day, all day long,
with his eyes fixed upon a certain point
of vacancy. what he saw, what he
thought. no one knew. His hands Law
before him on his bony knees, lax and
inert. Half lifetime in prison, and
now he was nearing the end. mute and
motionless. making no complaint. nor
protest-thc power for that had gone
by. He no longer spoke of parole: and
no parole came. No doubt, the urcat
offirinls were busy. and what was Den.
mis- that they should remember him. aud
draw out that paper from its pigeon.
hole, and sign it, and send it to him