Cheraw chronicle. [volume] (Cheraw, S.C.) 1896-2005, 1921-08-11

tell. There are things more shameful
than death" 5,
"Yes," snarled the old man. "Rath-
er than save yourself, you bring
dishonor upon him who gave you
birth"
Dyck's face was submerged in color.
Father" said he, ION my honor
wouldn't hurt you If I could help 1t,
but I'll not tell the world of the quar-
rel between that man and myself. My
silence may hurt you, but 1t would
hurt some one else far more If I told"
"By God. think you are some mad
dreamer slipped out of the ancient
fold Do you know where you are!
You're in Jail. If you're found guilty,
you'll be sent to prison at least for
the years that'll spoil the making Of
your life; and you do it because you
think you'll spare somebody. Well,
I ask you to spare me. We've been
a rough race, we Calhouns; we've
done mad, bad things, perhaps, but
none has shamed US before the world
hone but you"
Il have never shamed you, Miles
Calhoun" replied his son sharply.
"As the ancients said, alis volat pro-
priis-I will fly with my own wings.
Come veal, come. woe, come dark,
come light, l have fixed my mind. and
nothing shall change it. You loved
my mother better than the rest Of the
world. You would have thought it no
shame to have said so to your own
father. Well, l say it to you'll
stand by what my conscience and
my soul have dictated to me. You
call me q dreamer. Let 1t be so.
I'm Irish; I'm a Celt. I've drunk
deep Of all that Ireland means. All
that's behind me Is my own, back to
the shadowy kings OF Ireland, who lost
life and gave it because they believed
in what they did. So will /. If I'm
to walk the hills no more on the es-
tate where you are master, let 1t be
so. l have no fear; want no favor.
If 1t Is to be prison, then 1t shall be
prison. If 1t Is to be shame, then let
it be shame. These are days when
men must suffer If they make mis-
takes. Well, l will suffer, fearlessly
II helplessly, but l will not break the
oath which have taken. And so l
will not do ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS !"
But of one thing have you
thought?" asked his father. "You
will not tell the cause of the quarrel,
for the reason that you might hurt
somebody. If you don't tell the cause,
and you are condemned, won't that
hurt somebody even more?"
For q moment Dyck stood silent,
absorbed. His face looked pinched,
his whole appearance shriveled. Then,
with deliberation, he said:
"This Is not a matter Of expedi-
ehcy, but of principle. My heart tells
me what to do, and my heart has al
ways been right"
There was silence for long time.
At last the old man drew the cloak
about his shoulders and turned to-
ward the door.
"Wait minute, father" said Dyck.
Don't 60 like that. You'd better not
come and see me again. If I'm con-
demned, go back to Playmore; If I'm
acquitted, go back to Playmore. That's
the place for you to be-, You've got
your own troubles there"
"And you-if you're set free?"
IF I'm acquitted, I'll take to the
high seas-til I'm cured"
A moment later, without further
words, Dyck was alone. He heard the
door clang.
He sat for some time on the edge
Of his bed, buried in detection. Pres
emily, however, the door opened.
"a letter for you, Sir" said the
jailer.
The light Of the cell was dim, but
Dyck managed to read the letter with
out great difficulty, as the writing was
almost as precise as print. The sight
of it caught his heart like a warm
hand and pressed it. This was the
substance of the letter:
"Nly Dear Friend:
81 have wanted to visit you in pris-
on, but my mother has forbidden 1t,
and so, even If l could be let to enter,
must not disobey her. ! have not
read the papers giving an account of
your trial. l only know you are
charged with killing bad man, noto-
rious in Dublin life, and that many
think he got his just deserts in being
killed.
81 will not believe that your fate Is
an evil one, that the law will grind
you between the millstones Of guilt
and dishonor; but If the law should
call you guilty, still will not believe.
Far away l will think Of you, and
believe in you, dear, masterful, mad
man friend. Yes, you are a mailman,
for Michael Clones told me-faith, he
loves you well that you've been liv-
ing a gay life in Dublin since you
came here, and that the man you are
accused of killing was in great part
the cause Of it.
81 think | never saw my mother so
troubled in spirit as she is at this
time. OF course, she could not feel as
do about you. 1t isn't that which
makes her sad and haggard; it is that
we are leaving Ireland behind.
"Yes. she and | are saying good-by
to Ireland. That's why | think she
might have let me see you before we
ci, hn