The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1921-03-03

credit.
With that last sentence, his mind
had stumbled and wandered off to
memories Of his nephew Brewster.
Looking back from the vantage OF
twenty-six years, Randolph caught,
for the first time, the full import of
Asa Thornton's farewell words to him
and to life: "Die with the credit.
They held the kernel Of the old mans
carefully measured amend.
"Great old top!" murmured Mr..
Randolph aloud, and half unconscious
ly turned to the left at Forty-second
street. Five minutes later he was
caught in the maelstrom Of the
Thanksgiving crowd milling around
Times square.
Presently he found himself on the
edge of a human sea, banked up to
give passage to honking empty taxi
cab. Here was another question for a
suddenly inquiring mind. Where did
taxi-cabs empty ones. 60 to in such a
hurry? The door Of this one was
swinging open, and the proof Of how
intent the crowd was on its myriad
individual goals is evidenced by the
fact that a dozen voices did not in
form the driver that the season was
off for fans on wheels.
The cab was moving more slowly
than Mr.. Randolphs subconsciOus
mind, which led him to step into it and
quietly close the inviting door. Upon
seating himself, he tried to analyze
the impulse that had lifted him from
the curb. He decided that it was not
so much the curiosity as to the desti-
nation of empty cabs as a natural and
ancient dislike for being pushed and
elbowed by people.
1t was not long before the cab, un-
Willingly loaded for bear, drew up
with final honk at the stage-door of
the Crocodile. Immediately came a
rasping voice that was vaguely fa-
miliar to Mr.. Randolph.
"Well," it said, "you sure took your
own time getting here" The driver,
expert in aggravating repartee with
out words, pressed the bulb of his
atrocious horn three times. "Cut it
out!" said the rasping voice. There
isn't any hurry now"
1t was incredible, reasoned Mr.. Ran
dolph with himself. that anyone should
forget that voice once heard, and he
was right. He remembered it. It was
the voice of Mr.. Duke Beamer, whom
he had had the distinct pleasure Of
blackballing for one club in college
and three in town. Mr. Beamer, to his
honest mind, was the best living ex-
ample of animated slime in tailor
made clothes.
Mr. B. was not alone; Mr.. Randolph
could just see his companion through
the slant Of the half-raiSed window
glass, and even that distorted glimpse
was very close to a vision. The girl
was young, beautiful, and troubled.
Her cheeks were thin and pale, her
parted lips aquiver; her chin was
atremble. Of course she was very
cheaply but neatly clothed.
Make up your mind" said the rasp-
ing voice. "Ride with me or walk the
streets by yourself, and don't forget
that there's no job behind you. You've
said good-by to that door for good"
The girls wan face went through
that contortion which says, 81 won't
cry," and doesn't thereby achieving a
pity beyond the need of tears. The
quivering of her lips, the trembling of
her chin grew more pronounced only
to steady down as she swept up strick-
en- and imploring eyes to the face Of
the unseen man.
"Oh, Duke" she begged, promise
promise you'll be always good to me-"
"Of course, little one," said the rasp-
ing voice, promptly and much relieved,
promising lightly to pay on demand,
in full for soul delivered in advance
you'll never regret it, believe me-"
The girl tore her doubling eyes
from his face and stepped toward the
cab. Mr.. Randolph made himself ex-
ceeding small in the corner nearest
the curb. An unseen agent opened the
door; the girl slipped in and turned to
seat herself; her escort made to follow.
Then did Mr. Randolph suddenly lean
forward and proceed to push in the
face of Mr.. Beamer with his open
hand and the full weight of his shoul-
der. That s.stonished scion of once
gentlemanly house reeled backward
and sat down on the pavement ker-
plunk.
my, what a bump!" spoke a keen
young voice over Mr.. Randolph's
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