Evening star., 1921-12-04
Our work Is not design, but destiny.
-0wen Meredith. ''Clytemnestra."

tonight" |,
The big warden. whose faith in his
fellow man had never yet wavered.
clapped the little, twisted fellow oe-
side him upon the shoulder and
pushed him almost affectionately out
of the prison office.
We'll. Squinty, go to it. Remem-
ber, Word of honor now.
Then the Boss closed the door and
left the convict free man outside
free for six hours on his own parole.
Souinty fitted on the derby hat he
had borrowed from one of the keep
ers and took a tentative step along
the macadam. In the wardens enor-
NOUS black cutaway he looked curl
ously like a crow. A half minute
later Squinty. Il grotesque figure. was
hurrying along the road to the rail-
road station.
Back in the office in the bare brick
building on the hill over the track
Tim Anders. the trusty, watched him
through the window. Tim, as vice
president of the Mutual Welfare
the use? The Boss was all right
had IA big heart and all that-but he
was taking big chance in letting
convicted professional safe-cracker
go off by himself to New YORK TO ms
grandmother's funeral. If Squinty
shouldn't turn up. then they would
all be in bad. their privileges would
be cut off. and, to use his own mental
expression, the whole damn league
be put on the bum. He grunted dis
approvingly as he contemplated the
brass cuspidor he was polishing upon
his knees.
whats the matter. TIM" inquired
the warden from his desk; nJeal9usf nIsaa9 81
cuspidor on the floor and sat back on
his launches. Suppose the little
runt don't come back
He will come back" asserted the
Boss with conviction.
Anybody else, mebbe" muttered
Tim. But Squinty's weak char
acter You can't count on him. Does
whatever happens to come along: !
Amt got no will of his own: Fact.
He'll do anything you tell him. He !
amt a real gun at all-belongs to !
the class of mental deficients. high
grade neuro'-ain't that what the bug !
doctors call 'em?"
You mean, if he sees a safe he !
cracks it,' smiled the warden.
you've said it." assented the other. |
Hes a good sort, whatever else he !
is" returned the warden. Had less
trouble with him than with most OF
you. And he's only got six months
more to serve He'd be crazy to beat |
it and forfeit all his time off for good
behavior. He's earned a year and |
two months besides making himself |
liable for another ten-year term on
that suspended sentence OF his.
COUNTY, the warden's cutaway |
- Tapping about his legs. seemed
to himself, as he entered the train. to
fill the entire car. The blazing light
from the river blinded him; the rattle
and roar deafened him. Squinty. al
ways retiring, sank in confusion to
a secluded seat by the fire extin- |
guisher. Those who in fact noticed |
him, saw only meager. narrow
shouldered, middle-aged man with
plaintive, half-surprised look upon
his twisted face.
If he had not had a real purpose
in going to the city, he might very !
well have got out at. Yonkers and |
taken the next train back to Ossin-
ing.
awful thirst and light headache.
He had curious, helpless feeling. |
He congratulated himself on having
no duties except to go to the funeral
He had his return ticket-the warden
had handed IT to him. And he had
two-dollar bill.
The funeral services for Grand
mother Phelan were held at the house
of his Uncle Richard in Long Island
City, but he had no sooner arrived
there than 1t became quite evident
that his appearance was both unex-
been arranged for him in any one of the
funeral hacks, so that ultimately he
was thrust. ignominiously and much to
his disgust, into the landau used to
transport the floral decorations from the
house.
Even at the cemetery he was clearly
de trop and he fingered in the back
ground, the last to leave when the cere-
monies were concluded. The others all
piled into their hacks. but Squinty
found himself standing disconsolately
alone at the gate while they rolled off
merrily toward the Greensboro Bridge:
A fine lot they were. Curse them!
Give him the boys at Sing Sing. the big
boss the Welfare League and a fixed
and unambiguous place in the social
order!
Squinty (as there were no street
cars) started to walk back to New
Saturday afternoon stream of motors
filled the air with a hanging pail of
white powder that got In his nose and
eyes. Tired out, utterly miserable. his
cutaway weighing him down like a coat
of mail. Squinty staggered footsore into
Long island Cny-with an hour in
which to catch his train at the Grand
Central station.
Just before him. across the way,
clean. cool. refreshing, a row of lights
was alluringly reflected in plate-glass
mirrors and shining mahogany.
Through the windows he could see
white jacketed barkeeper busly fill
ing beer glasses from the wood and
sliding them across the counter to
thirsty souls like himself. To Squinty
It was the most beautiful vision he
had ever seen.
We make no excuses for Squinty.t
He had promised not to touch alcohol
while in the city and he had intended
to keep his word. The promise played
no part in the matter. At that in |
stant there was for him no such thing
as Sing Sing, a warden, or a Welfare
League: promises and paroles did not
exist He was thirsty and he drank
again and again.
others-he drank up his 50, and then.
mysteriously absenting himself for a
few moments in the company Of a
new and sympathetic friend, he re-
turned without the warden's cutaway
and drank some more. But when he
woke up it was the next day and he
was in a fifteen-cent lodging house on
East Houston street: In place OF the
cuta way he was wearing blue jumper.
Tim Anders had proved right and
the warden wrong. Squinty had
broken his parole. The curse was
upon him.
.EAN THORNTON was younger than
II Sauinty by ten years. and every
thing had been In his favor from the