New Britain herald., 1922-02-08

for treasurer that's level -haided and knows how to make quick turn when he has to. someone that uses I the gray stuff in his cocoanut. We1l fix salary when we get goin'. You l and Bob are goin' to have the active management Of this concern. Cattle's my line. an I aim to stick to it. Him ana you can talk it over and fix wore duties so they won't conflict. Burns. tof course will run the actual drillin'. Hes an Al man. Don't let him go" Dave was profoundly touched. No man could be kinder to his own son. could show more confidence in him, than Emerson Crawford was to one who had no claims upon him, He mnrmured q dry Thank you": then. feeling this to be inadequate, added, 'I'll try to see you don't re- gret ths' The cattleman was a shrewd judge of men. His action now was not based solely upon humanitarian motives. Ii was good business to make it worth his while to stick to Crawford's en- terprises
 CHAPTER XIX. Emerson Crawford helped himself to another fsied egg from the platter and shook his knife at the bright eyed girl opr osite.
 '1 tell you, honey, the boys won der" he insisted. Knows what he wants and goes right after it. Don't waste any words. Don't beat around the bush"
 Joyce Jumped up and ran round the table to him. She sat on the arm of his chair. a straight slim creature very much alive. and pressed her face Of flushed loveliness against his head. Tt won't be your fault old duck, if things don't go well with him. But he's SO so-Oh, I don't know--stiff a poker. Acts as if he doesn't want to be friends, as if we're all ready to turn against him. He makes me good and tired. Dad. Why can't he be- human?'
 Now, Joy, you got to remember"
 Some ones got to blow mp that young man like a Dutch uncle. and I think I'm elected. It'll be fun to see how he takes it."
 Joyce found her chance next day He would have passed with bow if she had let him.
 She hesitated, uncertain of he opening. Then, You're dsappoint, ing your friends, Mir. Sanders" shc said lightly.
 Lets walk" she continued, and ht noticed that tho eyes and mouth had softened to a tender smile. II can't talk here, Dave"
 They walked out of the town into the golden autumn sunlight of the foothills. Neither of them spoke. She carried herself buoyantly. chin. up, her face a flushed cameo of loveliness. As sIrc took tho uphill trail small breath of wind wrapped the white skirt about her slender limbs. He found in her q new note, one of un- accustomed shyness.
 The silence grew at last too siEni- fcant. She was driven to break it.
 "I suppose I'm foolish" she began haltingly. But I had hecn expect ing--all of us had-that when you came home from--from Denver--the first time. ] mean-you would be the old Dave Sanders we all knew and liked We wanted our friendship to to help make up to you for what you must have suffered. We didn't think you'd hold us off like this.'
 ."If could tell you." He said it in a whisper. to himself, but she just caught the words.
 Wont you try?" she said. ever so gently.
 
 He could not sully her innocence by telling of the furtiTe whisperings that had fouled the prison life, made Of it an experience degrading and cor rosive. He told her. instead. of the cxternals of that existence. of how he had risen, dressed, eaten, worked, ex- ercised, and slept under orders. He described to her the cells. four by seven by seven. barred. built in tiers, faced by narrow iron balconies. each containing stool, chair, a shelf, bunk.
 When he had finished he knew that he had failed. She wept for pity and