Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1915-04-01

"oAu IN lCSSSI puySlQuCS OF SOIiuLU :.
Given. a boy who has had arrogance
as a b1rthright. Sno~bbishness as q prod
uct, and moral stealth as a necessity.
add w years of athletic triumph at
Harvard. and o have Chetwynd.
He went in for boxing and punching
the bag This was advised by his
trainers. In college there were stall
warts who could maui him with i'm
punlty-and science-because Chef
Wynd really lacked moral stamina, but
when he got back home for the sum
mer vacation or the holidays he rev.
elled in a perfect whirl of boxing glove
victories. 1t was never quite fair to
hit Chetwynd hard. it was an edu-
catlon to be slammed vigorously by
this elegant expert.
You've got to learn how to take it
some time" was his usual response to
their objections" and the sooner the
better. Be a man.
Eric came in for some sound drub-
bings In the name of science. He was
slighter and not so tall as his cousin,
put he Na gamer than the rest of the
boys who put on the gloves with the
magnificent sophomore. While Eric
knew little of boxing as it is taught
sport OF the game-and he could in
flict it, too.
More often than not, Chetwynd was
compelled to remind him in the thick
of combat, that if he couldn't box like
a gentleman and not like a murderer
he would not take him on" again.
Whereupon Eric. considerably depressed
and hurt, would lose much of his tierce-
Observation-Disclosures
ness, and, as a result, received a les
son entirely satisfactory to Chetwynd.
on, If l way only big enough!" the
boy cried time and again to old Jabez,
In announcing the result of his most
recent contest.
You'll grow sonny" unused Jabez.
He's a coward at heart, Il If you
wasn't so derned sensitive you could put
1t all over him."
One day. toward the close OF the sum
mer vacation, Eric succeeded in draw
ing blood from Chetwynd's nose, and
In the fusillade that followed, landed a
blow which discolored the big boys
eyes--a most ignominious illumination.
Chetwynd, in wild rage, grappled with
his lighter antagonist, and, hurting him
to the ground. beat him unmercifuliy,
all the time calling him a murderer's
son-and even worse.
Eric, as usual, carried his tale Of woe
to the old seaman. He was bitterly la
menting his unhappy position in the
Blagden family, n the insults he was
forced to endure, when a stranger ap-
peared on the scene.
1t was a warm September day. and
they were sitting on the bench under
the shade trees just inside the gates to
the park. Eric was nursing a bruised
cheek and a twisted elbow. He had
experienced some difficulty in evading
his sister n Joan Bright. the one
girl in Corinth who held an u~ndisputed
place in his loyal young heart. They
were playing croQuet on the lawn and
he, in shame-faced defeat, had been
obliged to crawl over u back fence on
leaving the cellar-(where the boxing
,fa OCT fNnl ~lnaNA - i :.
a meeting and certain explanations. He
would have given much to be able to
stride before los Bright, a victor
over the bully in whom. for reasons in
applicable to Eric, she professed to
have a marked interest. Joan, by the
way, was the daughter of Judge Bright,
not quite Is and amazingly pretty.
But, l am OF the point of DEPRESSING.
1t really doesn't matter about Joan at
this particular juncture. She will come
in later, very handily, I'm sure. 1t is
only necessary to repeat that, by skilful
lodging, he managed to skirt the lawn
without coming face to face with the
girls, and reached the friendly bench
on which he and JabeZ was found by
the stranger l came so nea to over
looking. Which would have been a de-
plorable oversight, as he is to nave a
most important part in the unravelling
of this tale.
He was stock. well-put-up sort of
man with a ~singularly hard and forbid
ding face, recently shaved; his cold
grey eyes were set far back in his head
and We're shaded by straight, bushy
broWs of black. His mouth was wild
and rather sinister in its expression.
There was a suggestion of a smile in
its corners, but not a smile OF mirth;
rather one OF derision. Eric's first
glimpse of him anne when he happened
to turn his eyes, as if urged by an i'm
pulse that was far from voluntary, in
the direction of the watch house by the
gate. The stranger, in his shirt sleeves
in the doorway, idly surveying the two
on the bench. The boy started for a
moment, the words dying on his lips.
1t was the first time he had seen a
human being, other than old Jabez,
about the little house. He was at
once struck by the fact that the strang-
er was quite at home and on familiar
terms with the gate keeper.
Eric never knew why it was. but he
suddenly found himself contrasting this
hard featured individual and the ~ascetic,
pious eyed tormentor of his soul, the
excellent Mr.. P~resbrey. He was aft
erward to enjoy the humor Of that ludi-
crous comparison.
oh" said old Jabez. With a start,
that's my son Eric. He's stopping in
town for a week or two, SOS he can
come over to spend his vacation with
me. Adam. come here and shake hands
with my young friend. Mr.. Eric Mid
thorne."
The man came forward, extending his
hand. A half smile grew in his weather
beaten face.
(TO~tir,1nl raNt uyaoJ,