The Washington times., 1918-08-25

nave SOhlOtHihS
TO tell you"
He put down his cup hastily, and halt
turned toward his mother
What is it?" he said. Anything about
Molly?"
"No, it's not Molly. Jim, your fathers
coming home"
She drew back little then, frightened
by the expression in her sons eyes Her
still rounded face lost some of its color.
and she seemed to shrink in her plain.
ugly calico dress. At the crash of Jim's
overturned chair she put out her hands
deprecatingly.
Don't, now, jim" she begged. Don't
carry on about it! 1t would have been
only year or so more, anyhow"
Speech did not come easily to Jim Priest
ley. Like his father before him, he was
silent man, to whom a blow came more
quickly than a word, and whose rage was
of the brooding, sullen. kind. Now. as he
walked past his mother and took his hat
from its nail on the kitchen door, there
was no outburst of anger; only the straight
line of his lips showed'that her words had
had any effect on him.
He was a tall, loose-limbed young fel-
low, with heavy black hair, and eyes that
were almost childishly blue-eyes like
those of the little old woman who watched
him.
At the door he stopped and turned
around.
Hes not coming here" he said, the
very lack of infection making his tone
menacing.
Its the only place he's got, JIM" she
pleaded. 81 know it's yours now, but
where else can he go? You wouldn't turn
your own father out in the street, would
you? He was a good father to you for
fifteen years, Jimmie" There was a hunt
ing note of reproach in the thin old voice,
and the corded, calloused hands under the
gingham apron were twisting desperately.
I've seen trouble" she went on in her
strained treble. ''but l never thought to
see the day child o, mine would turn his
father out in the street"
Jim opened the door with an air of
finality; then he closed it again, and came
slowly back into the room.
Hes been a good father, has he?" he
sneered. He was a fine one, he was-a
credit to his family We're proud of him,
aren't we? Ten years I've walked the
streets and seen people turn to look at me,
because my father killed a man and was
doing time for it. And if you think, after
all that, that I'm going to have any shave
pated, lock-stepping ex-convict in my house
my house." he repeated, you're wrong,
that's all He doesn't come here!"
The painful tears of old age came into
her dim eyes, and she fumbled in the
bosom of her dress for a handkerchief
Her son watched her irritabIy. with the
unreasoning anger We feel at those we
have wounded.
You know as well as do. mother" he
said more mildly, that Molly's people
wouldn't let her look at me IL he came
Molly wouldn't give you up, Jim. If it
was her father, she'd stick tC him. Every
one knows it was an accident; it was a
quarrel, Jim-just the kind of a quarrel
your temper may get you into any day. 1t
wasn't murder. You know that Ragan had
pulled his revolver. and it was his life or
your fathers And he's an old man now
an old man, Jim!'
She dropped weakly into chair beside
the table, still set with the remains of sup
per, and rested her head on her hand. The
young fellow stood for a moment creasing
the crown of his straw hat; then he came
over and put an awkward hand on his
mothers shoulder.
Just forget about it, mother" he said,
not unkindly "He spoiled your life and
mine and he isn't worth worrying about.
He can't come here, that's settled. Now
Just don't think about it any more"