New-York tribune., 1918-06-15


His friends, Ostransky, Briggs and
Lischuck, were going away. Sixty-eight
nine fifty-one had said goodby to them
and wished them luck, but none of the
three had the good grace to thank him
and shut up. They kept talking, which
was bad enough, and praying-which
was worse.
Sixty-eight nine fifty-one wasn't so
situated that he could move out of ear
shot. There was only one way to cur
tain off the voices.
"Mr Thacker!" he called. "Oh, Mr..
Thacker! Please come here a min
ute"
Around two turns in q gray corridor
Tha-a-ckerl" carried. Outside the iron
door stood a woman who had come
through a great many like doors, to be
halted before this last one-a woman in
a cheap blue dress, who clasped and un-
clasped her hands as if she would wiring
the fingers off, and between the palms
crushed little damp ball of hand
kerchief.
Recognized the Voice
She heard the voice, and dropped the
handkerchief.
"Listen!" she whispered. "It's Paul"
From a remote somewhere behind
the door came presently the sound of
shoe leather scruffing on stone. Mr..
Tha-a-acker was astir. His shuttle re-
ceded and approached. He was in no
particular hurry. There was plenty
of time for the woman to consider her
surroundings.
At her side was busy telephone
switchboard, incorporated, which
seemed discord in the setting. Be-
hind her was tall desk, and on it
the book in which she had shakily
signed her name. Beyond that was an
other desk, fenced in police station
diagonal slashes of gold braid on his
blue sleeves sat up to it. His duties
appeared to lie entirely along the line
of scientific research: Seeing where the
smoke goes when you blow it around
the bit of pipe.
Another man, almost as old and dis
playing almost as much gold under his
elbows, stood at the woman's side.
More elderly men in blue were in the
offing. On one side of the iron door
at least life was a thing of perman-
ence. On the other side
The woman's glance turned to the
gilt-and-black signboard that hung by
the door, and she shuddered.
The word CENSUS" stood out at
the head Of the signboard. Directly
beneath, heading the list, was: "Con-
demned Cells. 90" (They were all
but ready then to revise the figure
down to 17-on account of Ostransky,
Briggs and Lischuck.)
And after the shudder the woman
wept afresh. The first line had been
~>1o u%4 4r% Af ha
was the one in which she was inter
ested.
Wanted the Doctor
Mr.. Thacker was slow, but he finally
arrived. The peephole in the iron door
swung open, and there he was, another
man in blue with golden sleeves.
"Chapman," he told the outer guard
ian, wants the doctor"
"Just was going to tell you to bring
him out" grumbled his vis-a-vis.
"Is he sick?" the woman cut in. els
he sick? Is it bad? Can't go to
him-please
Nothing serious" was the diagnosis.
once in while. Only to-day they're
little worse than usual. That's nat
ural. All he wants is something to put
him to Sleep"
"If that's ALL" decided the outer
guardian, "bring him up front"
Up front, in due time, came Sixty
eight nine ty-one-escaped in bet
ter and pleasanter way than he had
expected from the clamor Of men who
prayed for the impossible and in their
frenzy to be heard promised impossible
things.
The iron door turned back; the
woman passed through, and for the
first time in six weeks Paul Chapman
the boy in the death house, saw his
mother.
"My boyl" she said, hesitating on
the threshold for that fraction of a
moment which by the movie theory is
the proper procedure for principal
entering room.
Greets His Mother
"Mother!" answered Paul. "Pool
mother!"
Sheer melodrama, the trite old lines
| leading up to the same old thing-the
rush and the embrace. But here it was
only a one-sided rush and there was
no embrace. Paul stayed where he
was, which was as near as he coulc
come. Six feet away from him stee
progress. If she could have gotter
through the screen there would have
been stouter bars to consider.
Paul was in cell, a cell in row OF
cells all behind the screen. Next door
to him Elmer Green, one of Paul's
doomed companions in the death
house, was dividing his gloomy atten
tion between cigarette that wouldn'
stay lit and visitor Of his own. The
other cells were empty.
The boy was ON his feet-five foo
eleven of him, in felt slippers, mis-
mated, shapeless coat and trousers ane
torn shirt.
Chow have you been, mother?" hi
asked, fighting to be at ease. "Yo,
don't look WE'LL You're worrying"
!. "I'm perfectly we'll, and I'm not wor
rying," she denied. "But you, SON
you're not looking healthy. You've los
weight terribly. Aren't you eating?"
|, "Why. eat like horse! couldn'
be healthier. It's just fat I've lost
Pm trained down. mother, that's ALL"
And so they went on, as might an.
, mother and son who had been lonl
separated.
Tragic Game of Bluff
1t was tragic game of bluff at whicl
the two played, and they playe'
,, gamely. There were no tears now il
| v.,,1r1