The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1916-03-30

waited two months tOS the answer and
then 1t came; my check torn across
and a short letter saying that the loss
had already been met by a bankers
surety association. ! wrote the asso-
ciatiOn dozen letters and some OF
them took some writing In the last
offered fourfold the theft. There had
been plenty OF Bible in my bringing
up. They wrote baCS that 1t was no
use-that | could keep on climbing in
peace but 1t was their business to jail
me for fifteen years the first chance
they got and they'd do 1t the minute I
set foot where they could grab me.
THAT letter frightened me. l be-
gan to realize that what I'd been work
ing for wasn't money, or honor, or
rehabilitation but just the right to go
back-the right to go back home.
Nobody had been harder on me
than my old man. For years nobody
in the house was allowed to say my
name and IL he saw a letter from me
he threw 1t in the, fire, opened or un-
opened. But somehow 1t got to him
that had offered to pay fourfold and
that I'd been refused and that turned
him. 1t was the fourfold that did 1t
the divine and sacred measure OF JUS
tice. He started to fight for me as
hard as he'd ever fought against. And
then he died and my old mother died.
Letters stopped. My brothers and sis
ters were coming up in the world.
They couldn't afford to own a thief
much less fight for him. So the letters
stopped.
Il spent money then. l built me a
house in Pernambuco that was a won
der palace and l started in to forget.
But when you've been remembering
with all your might, the color of the
paper on the walls of home, the lay
of the wood-pile, of the sheds and the
tumbling barn and stables, the holes
In the fence, the friendly limbs of ap-
pie trees and the smell of hay; when
you've been cOddling bare memories
of simple things like those for fifteen
years, you can't turn around on your
inside self and forget.
There's flag the sight of which
makes my heart come up into my
throat and tears to my eyes. You
think mean the Stars and Stripes,
but | don't. l mean the Blue Peter
that flies at the halyards of big ships
and says to everybody that takes the
trouble to look, we sail today Over
the tops of the houses I've seen that
flag blinking in the heavens like a bit
or deep blue sea married to a white
cloud and to me 1t always said, we
sail for home today I'd shut my eyes
or close the blinds but what was the
use of that? Night and day l could
hear the below of the great horns-a
blast for good-by and another for a
challenge to the sea-as the big boats
headed out for home.
Il couldn't stand it. came up here.
And now, last night, | dreamed that
heard 1t in my sleep-up here. Gen
tlemen, man without a country Is in
a bad way but man without home,
even L it's well-we all know
the Oh song" He paused to master
his voice. Then in whisper that they |
just caught he added, Home is the
anchor Of mans soul. want to go
Honte."
L,4ber stopped talking. The reveal
ing silence had done it's. work. 1t had
brought them elOse--so' close that he |
haG spoken lest they take his soul by
assault. He left them and went to his |
own room. They saw he was an old
man, beyond the years he had dis
cl4sed
They did not speak. They were
Nervous. Kemp made cigarette, |
pIffed at it once or twice and then
.Irew it away, to roll another mo-
;lent later. His thoughts were wing
lg away to the fork of Big and Little
,,reek where three-room shack stood
h the shadow of the White mountains
If New Mexico. He had thought it
mall miserable cramped. But out
ere in the wilderness, thousands and
of miles away, it came back
10 his vision, glorifed. A swelling
ame into his throat He tried to
'ough it up. But as long as he thought
# the mountain, the thickness stuck
n his throat. He took from his pocket
i treasured cake of tobacco and with
strong teeth tore off a generous por-
Ion. Then he rose and walked off to
he corral.
Gerry sat on alone. Thoughts were
roubling him, too. What was he do
ng here: Who was this Margarita
hat had twined herself into his life?
Vas 1t his life? And her little boy
'lack-haired, black-eyed, olive-tinted-
le was his boy, too. He was Gerry
son. No, not that-not Ger
y Lansing's. Gerry Lansing belonged
o time that was far away, to a hill
where white houses with green blinds
)eered out from the darkness of
l0med naples, from the long shadows
# appointing frs and from the caves
# t1aring elms, the wine-cups of heav-
N. A sigh came quivering through all
lis body and escaped from his trem-
'ling lips. Il am alone" he breathed
o himself.
.AS7S2 n