The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1918-05-04

ally" There was no mistaking the
perfectly savage emphasis.
"Oh, but that's where you make
mistake, you know" The boyish
treble was softly argumentative. BE
cause that way you don't harm any
SELF ~
that-so?" roughly sarcastic
AN how do you-as old as you think
yourself-knoW so much about it,"
He was an amusing little duffer, the
Philosopher thought.
I've had experience" the boy an
nounced eagerly.
At which the convict roared out
heartily and jovially for the first time
since his entrance to the big prison
Say, kid, even the animal laughed"
as the alligator gave a last hopeful
snap.
All right" Benedict said in an in
jured tone. Everybody has some ex-
perience-even kids. Mines with the
fellows at school, When I have a
scrap-or anything-why, the longer |
hold spite the meaner l feel. 1t just
eats into you. But as soon as you
forget it you begin to feel entirely
different-like yourself
."Oho! Entirely different, like your
self, eh?" still loosely sarcastic.
well, you can gamble on it that that's
exactly the way I'm goin' to BEEN
tirely different, just like myself"
"Oh, very we'll" Benedicts tone
became remote and polite. He had an
annoyed feeling that the Philosopher
was laughing at him, SO of course his
advice was all thrown away.
There was twinge of disappointment
Il have to CO." he said. And he
stepped away briskly. But he had
not gone very far when changed
voice called after him: $50 long,
kid!'
80 long," the boy answered, way
ing his hand, with smile.
The big mans eyes followed the boy
with a curiously panied and wistful
look in their depths, and a memory,
double-edged and keen, tore at his
heartstrings Good God" he mutter-
ed Good God! To think | was once
as innocent as that little shaver"
Something pitiful clicked in his throat
and film came over his eyes. Then
| quite suddenly his face contorted with
almost demOniac fury as, still watch
ing the boy, he saw Father DTkin
come out of the chapel and join him,
But at-that-that-" he sputtered
in vain attempt to find fitting
epithet. "An' that white-livered
crawlin' dog that passed me up! !.
I'll git even with you both!' he prom
Used vengefulIy. ITO steal a feller's
pal, an make him TESS up every.
thing" And all the momentary soft.
ness gone, the Philosopher let himself
loose in stream Of profanity that
kept his mind engaged for the better
part of a h2lf-hour.
Followed many other encounters be
tween Benedict and the Philosopher
the latter telling himself that the boy
was an "amusin' little cuss," and that
"trifin' little talks" helped some tC
pass the time, still hanging most
drearily and heavily on the unrecon
ciled ,convict's hands. Because of a
disabled arm he was still in charge
of the alligator, and when Benedict
could not stop for few minutes chat
he would call out genially:
EELJo1lo DbiIoconhonf ovor1y
thing?" And the horse-thief would re
ply in the same strain: 'Lo, kid!
Still kickin' up fuss on the inside!
But gradually it came to be under
stood that the Philosopher looked with
special favor on the boy, whereat the
authorities rejoiced, and Father Dur
kin began to cherish stray hopes OF
his ultimate conversion. The priests
long experience as a prison chaplain
had given him to know men, and he
knew that no matter how hardened
the criminal, hidden to him some
where there was a point of contact
with the goodness of the world
lingering light, it might be, in a sou
crusted over with sin and sordidness
Occasionally in some such blackeneG
and defled soul the priest had seer
this dim and Pickering light fame vi
into almost divine brightness, send
ing its heavier mate, the body, over
the chasm to eternity with an exaIta
ton of spirit that left the chaplain
stunned at the magnitude of Gods
mercy. For he had seen many die
as he had helped many to a new life;
and he had learned to despair of none
One evening, some months later as
dusk was falling Father Durkin came
out of the prison hospital, whittier he
had been called to see a sick convict
into the shadows Of the long yard He
! was tired. He had had an unusually
hard day and was beginning to fee
the need of his dinner Benedict, he
knew, had been down late in the after
nOon-he had left him in the mems
study room back of the chapel when
he-Father Durkin-had gone to the
hospital over an hour ago. Of course
the boy was gone; still he had bet
ter be sure And with a sigh he turn
ed slowly in the direction of the
chapel. The side of the chapel was
| turned toward the yard, and the en-