The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1922-03-17
Continued from yesterday

iS
 like this had happened, and, for the
 very reason that it was unprecedent-
 ed. 1t seemed to stir her memory now
 and awaken a dormant train of
 thought The White MolI. She
 remembered the first time she had
 ever been called by that name. It took her back almost three years. and
 since that time, here in this sordid
 realm of crime and misery, the name
 of Rhoda Gray, her own name her
 actual identity, seemed to have be- Frome lost, obEterated in that of the
 White Moll. A dip had given it
 to her, and the underworld quick Iand trenchant in its .tmonikers" had instantly ratified it. There was not ta crook or denizen of crimeIand, probably, who did not know the White Mo1l; there was, probably, not one today who knew, or cared, that tEhe was Rhoda Gray!
 She went on, trayersing block after lblock, entering a less deserted, though no less unsavory, neighborhood.
 lg1ere, a saloon flung a sudden glow Of tyellow light athwart the sidewalk
 las it's wing1ng doors jerked apart; land a form 1drched out into the might; there, from a dance-haD lCame the rattle of a tinny piano, the
 squeak of a raspy violin, a high lpttched. hectic burst of laughter;
 while, flanking the street on each
 side, like interjected inanimate IA1lotches, rows of squaiid tenements- tand cheap. tumble-down frame thouses silhouetted themselves in Broken, jagged points against the Isky-line- And now and then a man tspoke to her-f1is untrained fingers
 funlbhng in clumsy homage at the tslrim of his hat
 How strange a thing memory was, tH1ow strange, too, the coincidences Ia Tt was man, a thief, just like the tFnan tonight, who had first brought liner here into this shadow-and Of EGrine. That was just before her tTather had died Her father had been mining engineer, and, though ian American, had been for many eS-ears resident in South America as rhe representative of large Eng Iaish concern. He lad been in i'll lhealth for a year down there, waen, lacting on his physicians advice, he had come to New York tor consulta- ftfon, and she had accompanied him. trrhey had taken & t:ttle flat, the engi- tneer had placed himself in the hands of a, famous specialist, and an oper- Itltion had been decided upon And | Hhen. a few days prior to the date set for the operation and bef-re her Efather, who was still able to be 4fbout, had entered the hospital, the tIlaI nau Deen pIChSu IHLO Ille fearly morning hours. The thief. labviously not counting the engf lneer's wakefulness, had been caught bred handed. At first defiant, the lman had firally broken down. and had told a miserable story. It was E1ackneyed possibly, the same story lfoId by thousand others as a last tdefense in the hope of inducing leni- e.ncy through an appeal to pity, but som chow to her that night the story had rung true. Pete McGee, alias the Bussard, the man had said his name was He couldn't get any
 work; there was the shadow of a llong abode in Sing Sing that lay up- on him as a curse--a job here today, his record discovered tomorrow, and the next day out the street again. lit was very old, very Ihreadbare. that story; tt3ere were even the sick wife. i4he hungry, uucIothed children: but to her 1t had rung true. Her father thad not placed the slightest faith in it; and but for her intervention the f3ussard would have been incontin- sentIy consigned to the nercies of the tpolice.
 Her face softened suddenly now as Eshe walked along. She remembered well that scene. when at the enc, she ] had written down the address the lman given her.
 Father is going tc let you go. iNcGee- because I ask hin' to- she thad said. "And tonorraw morning I Twill go to this address, and If find tyour st"ry true. as I believe it Is, II will see what I can do for you" 1 ..It's true. miss. so help me Gcd' l1he man had answered brokeniy- sYouse come an see. I'll be dere-- lan'-an'-God bless youse miss And so they had let the man go free. and her father. with a wf,irnsI cal tolerant smile, had shaker ms head at her. ! ..You'H never find that address. l Thoda-or our friend the Bussard, either!" l But she had found both the Bus lsard and the address, and Restitution and a squalor unspeakable. Pathe- tie still but the vernacuiar of the Underworld where men called their l women by no more gracious names than "molls'' and skirts no longer Ito her Cars, there came ro her again 1 now the Bussard's words in which he had paid her tribute on that morning Hong ago. and with which he had in rrodI,ced her to shrunken form that lay upon dirty cot in the bare ! fIoored room:
 Met de moH I was tellin' youse about Mag. She's white-all de way up. She's white. Mag; she's white | moIl-take it from mel!
 The White MoIll
 The firm little chin came sudden- | 1v upward: but into the dark eyes unbidden came sudden film ana ! ] mist Her fathers health had been too far undermined. and he had been ! unable to withstand the shock of the 1 operation, and he had died in the l hospita1 There weren't any rela- ' lives except distant ones on her i mothers side, somewhere out in Cali fornia whom she had never seen. She and her father had been all in taU to each other, chums. pals. com rades, since her mothers death many ! wears ago. She had gone every where with him save when the de- rnands of her education had neces- . sarilY kept them aparti she had