The Brookings register. [volume] (Brookings, Brookings County, S.D.) 1903-1971, 1922-05-04

lOOh Ut tHCIb liz hSi' o'N
hand, so that the two men could see
the little coins. "Those were taken
from me when | entered prison
They've been In the hands Of the head
of the Jail ever since. They give them
70 me now-all that's left Of what
was"
mo not all. sir" declared Michael
'There's something left from Play
more-there's ninety pounds, and it's
in my pocket. 1t was got from the
sale OF your sporting kit. There was
the BOA upon the lake, the gun and AL
kinds of "riffraff stuff not sold with
Playmore."
Dyck nodded and smiled.
"Good Michael !"
Then he drew himself up stihly and
blew in and out his breath as If with
the 10Y of living. For four hard years
he had been denied the free air of
free men. Even when walking In
the prison yard. on cold or fair days,
when the air was like a knife or when
it had the sun Of summer in it, ii still
had seemed to choke him.
In prison he had read, thought and
worked much. They had at least done
that for him. The attorney general
had given him freedom to work with
his hands, and to slave in the work
shop like one whose living depended
on It. Some philanthrOpic official
had started the idea of d workshop,
and the officials had given the best Of
the prisoners a chance to learn trades
and make a little money before they
went out into the world. All that
Dyck had earned vent to purchase
things he needed, and to help his fel-
low prisoners Or their families. .
Where was he now? The gap be-
tween the old life of nonchalance, fri
vOlity, fantasy and excitement a
as great as that between heaven and
hell. Here he was, after four years
of prison, walking the highway with
two of the humblest creatures Of Ire
land, and yet, as his soul said, two Of
the best.
Stalking along in thought. he sud-
denly became conscious that Michael
and Christopher had fallen behind.
He turned round.
Come on. Come on with me-"
But the two shook their heads.
Its not fitting, you a Calhoun of
Playmore" Christopher answered.
"Well. then, listen to me-" said
Dyck, for he saw the men could not
bear his new democracy. "I'm hun
cry. In four years | haven't had a
meal that came from the right place
or went 70 the right spot. Is the lit
tie tavern, the Hen and Chicken, on
the ~Liffeyside, still going? | mea
the place where the seamen and the
workmanship officers visit"
Michael nodded.
"Well, look you. Michael-get you
both there, and order me as good a
meal of fish and chops and baked
pudding as can be bought for money.
Aye, and I'll have a bottle OF red
French wine and you two will have
what you like best. Mark me, Wen
sit together there, for we're one of a
kind. I've got to take to a life that
fits me, ar eX-iiailbird, a man that's
been in prison for killing!"
There's the kings army" said
Michael. "They make good officers in
It,"
A strange, half-sore smile came to
Dyck's thin lips.
Michael" said he, "give up these
vain illusions. was condemned for
killing a man not in fair fight. | can't
enter the army as an officer, and you
should know it. The king himself
could set me up again; but the dis
lance between him and me is ten times
round the world and back again! No,
my friends, Nhat Is In my mind now
is that I'm hungry. For four years
I've eaten the bread Of prison, and
it's soured my mouth and CALLED my
belly. Go you to that inn and make
ready a good meal"
The two men started to leave, bu,
old Christopher turned round and
stretched a hand up and out.
"Son Of Ireland. bright and black
and black and bright may be the pic.
ture Of your life, but l see for you
brightness and sweet faces, and music
and song. It's not Irish music, and it's
not Irish song. but the soul Of the
thing is Irish. Grim things await you,
but you will conquer where the eagle
sways to the shore, where the white
mist fees from the hills, where heroes
meet, where the hand Of Moyra stirs
the blue and the witches flee from the
voice Of God. There Is honor coming
to you in the world"
Having said his say, with hand out
stretched, having thrilled the air with
the voice of one who had the soul OF
a prophet, the old man turned. With
head bent forward, he shuffled away
with Michael Clones along the stony
street.
Dyck watched them go, his heart
beating hard, his spirit overwhelmed
1t was not far he walked. yet every
footstep had a history. Now and
again he met people who knew him
Some bowed a little too profoundly
some nodded but not one stopped &c