The Colorado statesman., 1915-01-30
NO. 6, SECOND tier
BY RALPH r. HOLMES.
(CopYright.)

No. 6, second tier, united his apron
and formed in line with the others.
No II, behind him, inquired in a
whisper what was up-was No. 6 all
in, or was he ready to retire on his
fortune?
There was ring of satisfaction in
No. 6's muttered reply that No. II
noted, and the truth dawned.
Your last day, eh? Well, good luck
to you. Hope they don't get you
again."
That night, in his cell, No. thought
it all over. 1t was the last night he
would ever spend in cell, he said
the last.
After twelve o'clock tomorrow he
would no longer be No. 6, second tier.
Men would call him Cummings, as
they had before-Tom Cummings, per-
haps, and some day Mr.. Cummings.
Yes, some day they would call him Mr..
Cummings.
The warden shook hands with him at
noon the next day, and told him to
brace up and be a man.
huOW YOU Can uo II, cummings.
You've worked hard here and behaved
yourself, and it's in you"
A strong May sun warmed Cum
mings' heart when he went out, and
the soul within him quivered with de-
light and expectancy, like seed push
ing its first sprout above the loam
At the railway station the ticket to
the city cost one dollar, and on the
train he planned the spending of the
rest. His clothes had been returned
to him, as wrinkled as when he had
stepped out of them half year be-
fore, and he needed new ones. That
would take eight or nine dollars. His
supper and a cheap, clean bed for the
night would take most of another, and
then he would start to look for work.
But, better than his expectations, an
upholsterer gave him a job that very
afternoon, and put him to work repair
ing a couch.
True to the principles of his new
life, he made no secret of his past,
and, with a child's trust in human ma
ture, he told of his plans for the fu-
ture, the new life he was to lead to
win back the place in the world he
had fallen from. And his confidence
was not misplaced.
The next morning Cummings went
to work with step whose telltale,
measured tread sucked a quickening
springiness from the cool air. He was
Cummings now. and he was working
and justifying his existence-the first
step in his upward climb had been
made.
Life, with its myriad possibilities
loomed large before him as never be-
fore. The world was giving him his
chance now, and he was taking it, The
blood pumped through his veins JOY
ously. The prison pallor would be
gone in a week.
Turning corner, he brought up in
front of the police station
He shuddered involuntarily, and
then smiled. The last time he had en-
tered it irons had bitten into his
wrists, and a crowd of newsboys had
laughed at his heels. Passersby had
looked at him with curiosity and pity.
None OF them did that now, and he felt
the difference with a glow of satisfac-
ton.
But why not go into it again-for
once a free man? Why not stand
again before those men inside-this
time without trembling, with a mind
not searching for plausible lie? Why
not make the antithesis complete?
An undeniable desire was on him to
face them again unafraid.
He walked round the block once, try
ing to find plausible excuse for pre-
senting himself. They would not
know him-he did not want them to.
Hundreds such as he passed through
their hands, and they had seen him
but once.
He felt of skeleton key that he
had designed one evening in his cell,
and, with special permission, had fash
ioned. He knew something of the
locksmith's trade, and he knew his
key was different from any he had
ever seen.
Might it not be of use to the police ?
He hardly hoped to convince them of
that, but it was the excuse he needed.
The sergeant at the desk directed
him to the inspector on the second
floor. The inspector eyed him closely,
but bade him be seated, and listened
to half the suggestion before he said
| anything D,ore.
Then he asked bluntly:
When did you get out?"
There was that in his tone that
brought back to Cummings vivid recol.
lections of night six months before,
when the same voice had told him he
lied-that he had taken the money,
and did know where it was.
Its sound was unpleasant now. but it
had no terror for him. He was Thomas
Cummings now, upholsterer, and he
/ npn ho