Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1914-09-10

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~~~se sS@esss Ws&&A09t Nasst& . VS."
tant rumble Of life. faint changing oI
troisey-car bells. or the roll OF heavy
trucks over the cobblos OF the thor
oughfare blocks away: but this Was q
quiet side street In the intense heal
OF mid-afteFnoon In July the rows oil
wooden houses. prctentious enough Ia
the early part Of tho century. were now
little used and falling 90 decay: the
overgrown yards. the wide street with
its few old trees. stretched sunny and
deserted. Now and then q footstep
might be- heard far up the street. pass
and then grow fainter In the distance
But for the most part people pre-
ferred TO doze behind closed blinds I'LL
the cool OF evening brought some 70
lief
Inside the court room there was also
o stiffness. not OF desolation. but OF
high tension. The lawyer for the de
Tense was pleading. In the beginning
Of his speech he had stopped often 70
wipe his perspiring brow with a large
red-bordered handkerchief. or TO pour
himself a glass of ice-water from the
pitcher on the table. But now he had
become 10 Interested that he talked
on and on. regardless OF the heat.
The jury. one by one. had tucked
their handkerchiefs inside their wilt.
ed collars. then had stripped of their
coats. and now sat, study In blue.
red. plaid shirtsleeves. all inwardly
cursing the fate that called them TO
Jury duty In such intolerable weather.
A cool. fair.minded jury. indeed!
But there was one person In the
court room that cared neither for the
heavy silence nor the oppressive heat.
The defendant was a young man, un.
der thirty; the Wilderness OF his clean.
cut face was intensified by dark lines
Of dissipation under his eyes. He held
his head high. scorning to feel the dis.
grace Of his position or to ask any
ln.rcy. Even the crankiest member OF
the jury felt vaguely that he was not
just like the other umorous. or sui.
len. wretches who had come before
them during that term OF court.
lie himself could hardly account for
the strange exhilaration. the wonder
full hope, that possessed him. Even
the witnesses against him. who In turn
had come to the stand and testified
as one man concerning his evident
guilt. smiled at him as they stepped
down. That bad affair with the inn.
keeper At Paterson had been painted
pretty dark; but. although things
looked rather black for him from that
point Of view, his high hopes we're
not daunted for n moment His law
yer was 30 encouraging, and the case
seemed so plainly merely one of hard
luck on his part.
His eye lighted In contempt on the
jaded little clerk bending over his
writing; how old and weary and dried
up and humdrum he looked. And he
himself was SO overlooking with life,
with the splendid Joy Of living and
with the thoughts OF that new and
higher life now being unfolded TO him.
The old life was dead and gone.
"Jove!" he told himself. there are
30 many big things a fellow can do
such a satisfaction working day and
night toward some one end"
To be sure he hadn't worked very
much yet. but he had always meant to
always dreamed OF great things he
would do for the world some time. So
tar his life had been something OF a
failure. it's true: these last four years,
anyway, he had gone q pretty fast
gait But had he had half a chance?
His face grew dark as one memory
after another crowded upon him; one
OF mere lad eagerly pleading for.
giveness from his father for some
thoughtless prank. but the stern frig-
idity Of the old gentleman did not soft
en-; OF young man. with face grown
harder and more sullen, suspended
from college without fair hearing
because he would not peach" Oh his
chum-and a thousand others. The
lines of bitterness around his mouth
deepened: then came his lawyers
words:
How well we remember our own
young days, when perhaps we, too.
sowed a pretty good sized crop Of
wild oats. Gentlemen Of the jury.
what is this socalled crime but a boy
ish trick. carried. perhaps. too far?
And always"
The defendants face cleared. and he
smiled. IL seemed as II the harum-
scarum lad. that young daredevil. were
another person entirely: he himself
Vas so changed now. OF course. peo-
pie would make allowances for the
wildness OF a young man; they were
always ready 70 forgive the scrapes Of
mischievous boys. especially the good
looking ones.
And then like a fash came a picture
Of day long ago. when he was a boy
of in the country: a picture of the old.
weatherbeaten court house at Pleasant
Mountain. overgrown with woodbine.
and a great weeping willow almost In
.ront OF the door. That day he cad
Bud wilkins and Andy Blake had been
TO the circus az Upton-Upton was
twelve miles from his fa;hoT'y farm:
II Was such a large. hourishlng town.
$3.50 . cAt~A AN oO~h -AS4a SkStrNs
and the circus always came there:
and that exciting day he and Andy
ana Bud mad been To the circus, aad
then-ch. joy. had happened In upon
4 real live trial at the court house.
Pu3 and Andy had Skinned I'D the
willow tree and peeped in the v lido =.
but he lad o. his SuBily pa=ts I'D
frownel upon shiiAing; 80 he had
showed and ducked In through the
crowd OF farmers.
He could see nov. after all these
years. the drawn, haggard face OF the
prisoner Al the bar. and feel again
the pity with which he had eyed the
poor prisoner. And yet
With q start he realized that nov
he. that same little boy. was the pris-
oner. II surprised him TO notice how
the thought stung him. But then that
man had been tried for murder, the
murder OF lifelong enemy. in q pas
sion OF rage. and had been sentenced
to death. And though his crime vas
not SO monstrous. the penalty doomed
unutterably worse.
He aaw hernsolF On . ><rws~ss- sx.,s.