The Bismarck tribune., 1924-08-13
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imagination which lifts me abov,
the rest of those whom society +
pleased to call outlaws, is responsi
BILE for the feeling Of indignation
which possesses me when l look upo,
any brutality. am not matter-of
fact: l am an artist. And the ar
tist. more keenly in tune with what
ought-to-be than the material mindet
man of business, resents any imper'
fection, whether it be Of the body o,
| of the spirit.
And here were both! The hunch.
back, imperfect of body-and the su.
perstitjous lout, imperfect of spirit
who stroked the hump.
They were standing on the curb, at
the corner of Fifty-ninth Street and
Fifth Avenue, waiting for break in
traffic which would permit them to
cross the street. ! was doing the
same thing. l had walked from the
snug little apartment, which at the
moment l was maintaining on Cen.
tral Park West, across town on my
way to attend an auction, on Madi-
son Avenue. 1t was balmy spring
day, the sort of morning which af-
ter blustery March revives ones
faith in the miracles of Nature Ex-
actly as pretty girl revives ones
faith! / admit that my faith had
been revived several times this morn
ing 1t seemed to me .that all the
lovely girls of the universe had been
placed in Central Park and on the
Avenue this morning, to tantalize me
with thoughts of what might have
been.
/. who hated the world, loved it
this morning. Yet it was the hope
less love of one who knows that the
simple joys are denied to him. I felt
a moisture yelling beneath my lids !;
my eyes were filmy. Then laughed
at my sentimentality. | had made
my choice months ago when, after
years OF desperate struggle along the
paths Of honesty, had given up the
unequal battle and become one of
those who prey.
Suffice it that no young girl would
ever be harmed by me-and even
knowing me might some day cause
her irreparable damage. As 1 have
said in one of my previous memoirs,
like Kipling's cat, l walk alone.
So, because ! was in softened
mood, as we'll as because / am an
artist and gentleman, l felt a surge
of pity for the hunchback, and a
surge of wrath against the man who
stood beside him. For this latter
person rubbed the cripple's hump.
Oddly enough, although the lout
seemed none too gentle, the cripple
did not resent the action. Perhaps,
poor devil, he had become so used to
the brutalities of his fellows, that
his spirit had lost its powers of re-
sentiment.
A year or so ago, when l had been
crushed by the brutalities of life, !
would have felt no indignation at
such sight. / had then been un-
able to become angry at indignities
heaped upon myself. Moralist5
would tell you that / had since lost
my soul, but l tell you that had
found it. A year ago, an honest man,
l would have sneered cynically; to-
day, thief, / took the lout by the
collar and threw him across the side
walk.
The north and south-bound traffic
halted as the lights flickered on the
tower down the Avenue; the police
man blew his whistle and waved the
pedestrians to pass over. 1t was an
opportunity, and as my bewildered
victim climbed unsteadily to his feet,
muttering threats, merged with the
human tide and gained the doors Of
hotel across the street, slipped
through it's reception-rooms and came
out upon Fifty-ninth Street, certain
that l had avoided pursuit, and not
worrying about future recognition.
AS for the hunchback, he had not
glanced my way.
By extreme caution, I eliminate ac-
cidents. Before l entered the auc-
tion-rooms which were my destina-
tion, l glanced over my shoulder to
make certain that no extensively
right-minded person was guiding
upon my trail the man whom / had
knocked down. If policeman inter
vened in street-brawl in which I
was concerned, it is conceivable that
I might be asked my means of liveli-
hood, a question of obvious embar-
rassment.
So / entered the auction-rooms,
and took chair in the rear. Half
an hour passed before Il made a bid,
and then I offered fifty dollars for
mediocre tapestry. / acquired it at