Harrisburg telegraph. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1879-1948, 1917-01-20

tne portrait OF Billy un0er SneeL OIL
music on the table. They'd find it
there later.
CHAPTER XXI
The Vision
Had the swine walked in at the
feast to claim acquaintance with the
prodigal son, that returned wanderer
could not have been more startled
and degraded in his own eyes than
was John Doe at the appearance of
his one-time cronies of the Bowery.
Revolving ghosts from his besotted
past, they had come in upon him
to soil the cleanness of his present
manhood. Why, his swine were there
before he had even sat at the feast.
before the fatted calf had been killed;
and he shuddered to think of the long
/ train of persecution which had threat
ened him. 1t had been his impulse
| to share with these unfortunates some
measure of his prosperity, but, in a
flash, he had seen before him end
less extortion which would finish only
with his death. Let him go where he
would, these vermin would find him
out, and intrude their brazen faces,
made impudent by his helplessness,
into the finest and best of his right
fully earned surroundings. The one
glowing dream of his life centered
on the day when, freed from all his
clogs and encumbrances, and walk
! ing upright in the mental and moral
and spiritual image of God. he should
| rejoin Jean and Tavy! Even into that
sanctuary these foul birds of carrion
would intrude: would present their
| frowsy selves before the pure eyes of
his wife and daughter, and, clapping
him on the shoulder, call him broth
err
No man may escape his guilt. He
cannot hide himself so well beneath
the guise of respectability, the shelter
of wealth, nor the wall of years, but
that, at some unexpected moment,
when the world seems the happiest
and the gayest and the fullest of ra-
diant promise, his old-time sin will
raise its frightful visage above the
horizon, and cover all his sky.
That beautiful little problem in roof
construction, that delicate problem,
the solution of which must combine
strength and grace, and which had
promised so much pleasure; he looked
upon it now with aversion. The joy
was gone from him. He put on his
coat and hat and left the office, but,
before he went, he considered we'll
what. If any, moral obligation he owed
to his old companions. Jerry-the
Limp and Piggy Marshall and Red
Whitley and Tank Tonkey. If it be
the obligation of the strong to pro-
tect the weak, of the able to feed the
incompetent, of the ambitious to sup
ply the lazy, of the rich to support
the poor, then he owed a debt to his
afore-time brother swine. Money laid
in their hands would do them no good,
so he called up Mike Dowd again,
and, much to that gentleman's indig-
nant protest, arranged fund to be
held secretly for the denizens at the
Sink, when they should be ill or in
trouble, or immoderately thirsty.
| Then, his conscience washed of this,
he went home to the dim, heavy quiet
OF Billy's lounging-room.
Burke came in to offer his services,
but. being an experienced soldier of
fortune, he discerned in glance, with
out being told, that John Doe would
infinitely prefer to be alone; so Burke
quietly effaced himself.
The old, old occupation, the one
which came upon him at every un-
toward turn of his new life; self
self-abasement; and these things are
good for no man except for a mo-
mentary Acknowledgement to
strengthen him. Slowly, ineXorably,
he went back over his distorted ca
reer, trying to comprehend by what
impossible steps he had slipped into
the degrading annihilation from which
Billy had rescued him. 1t was in
credible He could not see how it
was possible for any man of brilliant
intellectual attainments. of notable
and honorable achievement, of en-
viable social position, of rare, high
| fortune in his married life, to for
sake all these things for an existence
of foul besottedness, the consequences
of which, even now, after the miracle
which had happened to him, could
be terrible. Even now his soul was
writhing in abject misery. Tavy was
miserable; Jean was miserable; Billy,
good; kind Billy. who had brought
him back from his wretched oblivion.
was miserable. And for what? All
for that yellow liquid which stood in
the decanter at his hand, 4 glass be-
side it,
Whisky. What was it? A taste on
the tongue, numbing of the brain,
an exhilaration of the blood, and then
a paralysis of every single thing. phys
ical, mental and moral, which is the
best in man; paralysis in which
there is no joy, no happiness no COM
fort. Why! Why should man VOL
UNFAIRLY subject himself tc this de-
basement of every nobler instinct, of
every finer attribute. of every uual-
ity he holds most dear! tt was mon
strous! 1t was not to he beiievedi
A taste upon the tongue, numb
ing of the brain, an exhilarating of
the blood, that was all. There was
nothing more which could be cata-
logued as a reason for fitting the de-
canter, and pouring the pungent vel
low liquid into a glass and swallow
ing it. That was all; and yet men
gave their wealth, their abilities.
their families, their lives, their souls.
to tilt that .decanter and pour the
yellow liquid into the glass, and swal-
low it! A taste upon the tongue. a
numbing of the brain, an exhilaration
of the blood. John Doe reached out
and laid his hand upon the decanter.
What devil of perversity had seiz-
ed upon him! Why, looking this in
explicable enigma calmly and logic
ally in the face, should he suddenly
be impelled to tilt that decanter and
pour the yellow liquid into the glass
and swallow it? Why knowing ali that
he knew, should he be seized with
a sudden fierce desire to feel that taste
upon his tongue, to feel those numb
ing fumes ascending into his brain !?
There would ensue a dizzy discon-
fort, revolt of his stomach q thick
ening of his tongue, blearing of his