The daily worker. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1924-1958, 1926-08-14


withdrew, tapped several times on the
wrist Of his left hand and placed be-
tween his lips. He then extracted a
match from his coat pocket which he
ignited by stroking his thumb nail
over the tip. This completed, he re-
clined leisurely in his wooden seat,
crossed his legs and puffed heavily at
his cigaret, inhaling mouthfuls of
smoke which he transmitted thru his
nostrils.
Whitley, as patrolman Quirk was
more popularity known among his fell
low policemen, sat in the waiting
room of the West 3Oth Street police
station, musing intently over a cy-
clonic event that had just blown thru
his life. After a final puff at his di-
minishing cigaret, which he threw
away, he arose from his bench and
walked towards the window It was
the first of May and bright cool
wind pregnant with the first approach
of summer breezed gently through the
atmosphere. He leaned against the
high sill peering blankly into the
street. Outside children were playing
ball. At other times, Whitley would
md an interest in watching the young
sters romp. Not so today. A sullen
restlessness which he couldn't explain
lowered consistently about his being.
He returned to his bench and con-
tinued thinking, puzzled over the COM
picking antiquities of life.
1t was a beautiful spring day and he
had just murdered a man. Fresh
from cold blooded killing was he.
The gun in his pocket was still pow
der marked from the use it just under
went. He almost could feel the warm
blood of his victim oozing thru his
thoughts. Barely two hours had
elapsed since his steel-jacketed bull
let's sent "Jew" Brady travelling along
the road to the dead.
Whitley was strolling 1eisure1y
along a quiet avenue on his way to
the station house; his lean face fur
rOwed by lines of uneasiness and his
brass buttons shining conspicuously
in their blue setting. A multitude of
thoughts born out of an argument he
had with his wife that morning kept
running rapidly thru his head.
Damn that woman of mine" he kept
cussing. "She must think I'm playing
valet to a bunch gf butter and egg
men, the way She keeps nagging me
for money" His face clouded, for he
understood vaguely that the complaint
of his woman was just one. He had
his insurance to pay, and the children
needed clothes. Soon he would have to
get a new uniform for himself, and
the wife hadn't bought anything for
herself in an age. His narrow eyes
cleaned angrily behind the black
leather peak of his cap. He heaved a
deep breath and continued walking,
stepping in long even strides.
It'll be pay day soon," he argued,
"that'll straighten things out, guess"
But he knew that "pay day" wouldn't
solve his difficulties. He had been ac-
customed to pay days for four years
and could never catch up with condi-
lions.
''The hell with It ALI" he grunted
under his breath. TITS my afternoon
of today, and I'm goin' to the ball
game. hope Babe Ruth hits another
homer. He's sure bangin' 'em out
heavy this year.
THUS debating silently the incongru-
tiles Of life, he turned a corner,
when a man, poor distorted creature,
hatless with his hair disheveled ran
out of a jewelry STORE followed by
cries of "Policel" Robert" A re-
volver was clutched tightly in his
hand which he brandished threaten
ingly. Whitley forgetting everything,
stepped behind the shadow of cor
ner drug store. He drew his own