Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1928-11-15
The Third Round
Published By special arrAngononf With ThS
Chicago Tribune eyndieatS1
IN TWO PARTs-PART ONE


MO MATTER how many threats hi
mother threw at Matt Kirby, in he
4 ' broad, rolling speech. she never pu
him out of the house.
She would have scraped her hands Z,
the raw on the corrugated dashboard
would have given him the last morse
of food, to keep him with her-the laz.
lout thai he was. He resembled hi
father, a l-ongshoreman who had beer
killed in IN accident on the docks. 4
good man Patrick Kirby had been, Goo
rest his soul, and a wife should cherish
the memory of such q good man.. Sc
cretly she was happy that Matt looked
like him. And there was more thar
that sentiment behind her leniency. A
decent lad Matt had been before they
had drafted him into the army; a de.
cent, hard working lad, with a job or
the docks. like his father.
All his salary had been brought home
to her, his widowed mother. every Sat.
urday night, and in a big voice he had
said, Il amt goin' to see you do that
washin' for other people much longer
not while / got my strengt.'
The change in himl The lord have
mercy on us, the change in that lad
What did they go and do TO him, over
there. anyway? 1t was like they had sent
some other woman's son back to her
some lad she did not know. She fed
him and clothed him and housed him
and when she few out at him, though
she was patience itself, to go and get q
Job, he groaned. Yes, he had gone to
work those times when she wouldn't bear
with his shiftlessness any longer. He
had been a ~truckman, an elevator run
ner. a porter, a guard in the subway,
But rarely longer h a month or two
had he held to any lob.
A big, strong fellow like thatl
Look at the way he goes draggin' his
feet, or hunchin' his shoulders over that
sportin' sheet! They made a bum out
of him, that's what. Most of the boys
had come back" settled down into jobs,
now that the war was receding into the
region of memories. Some, God pity
them, had got themselves into bad ways.
All those holdups and murders you hear
about. Lots of that kind of thing after
a war. Heaven be praised Matt wasn't
like that! Just a dreamy, lazy bum he
was. Never came back" Readin' the
sportin' sheet on Monday mornin', and
me slavin' over Mrs. Doreton's wash, and
him sittin' therel
She turned or him, the opalescent
suds dripping from her bare, hardened
arms.
You're supposed to be eadin the
WdAlt a0o+ AS iOohNa up IdilPily az ASl
wrath. And you better be readin' them,
and hndin' a job. l amt meanin' to
support you much longer, you loafn'
good for nothin'! O, that l should be
havin' to say this to me only child, who
should be the support and comfort Of
me old age!"
I'll be gettin' a job" he mumbled,
pushing aside the sporting sheet.
He was often impelled to tell her how
careful he had to be about his health.
He couldn't work too hard. Those pains
all through him. He got tired right
away. His feet felt as heavy as lead.
He'd go all to pieces sure, If he worked
too hard. Funny things in front Of his
eyes. But he never said it. He looked
big and strong, and how could any one
believe him? Shows you, you can't go
by looks. But there was something
wrong with him. He knew it. Some
thing had happened to him in the army.
Impossible to recall those days in the
trenches without the face of Top Ser
geant Crowder pushing everything else
away. A hard, vicious, cruel face, like
a dirty, reddish stone chunk. The word
had gone around that Top Sergeant
Crowder hated his fellowmen's CUTS. and
he had used every opportunity to prove
the truth OF that assertion. And now,
day and night, the face of Top Sergeant
CroWder was with Matt, and Matt's eyes
had a n look.
He couldn't tell his mother about Top
Sergeant Crowder. There are things a
fellow is ashamed of.
"Gettin' a job and losin' it." his moth
er said, rubbing. swish, swish, on the
w~ashboard. Her face was red. but If
you're losin' a job this time. don't you
be comm home. I'm tellin' vel But lave
me in peace to slave out me days, with
out seem your face again, you great
hulk, you'll There amt a dacent person
will have anythin' at all to do with We.
Take Daisy Delaney, up the stairs, now.
That girl-and a better girl no lad could
tnd-she used to be that sweet on We,
she sure must have been thinkin' she'd
want you some day for her husband.
And now she dom look at We, and it's
your own mother must be respectin' her
for not lookin' at yel'
He rose, o his shapeless cap, and
went out OF the steamy kitchen. All his
motions were made as If at the cost of
heavy effort. Nothing else his mother
might have said could have hurt him as
much as What she had said about Daisy.
But he tried to push away the thought
as he blinked his eyes in the March sun
light. He had no objective, except that
somewhere in the bigness of the city he
wanted to find a job. His eyes slowly
travelled the columns OF want ads. The
wind ratified he newspaper "Plasterers
Wanted"-Piano movers wanted"-Heavy
work, moving pianos He didn't think he
could do 1T. Had to give up thai truck
man job last month. He was afraid to
work. He shivered in the wind. His
overcoat wasn't warm. His legs felt cold.
Porter wanted"-That might do, de-
pending on the kind Of place. He thrust
his hands into his pockets, brought up
his shoulders to get his collar to his ears,
and walked the two miles to the address
on Fourth avenue. The job had already
been taken, n he was thankful for
that. The man who informed him that
he was too late. said something about
early birds.
There was no use hunting further that
DAY, because the early birds copied all
the JOBS. He seemed never able to get
enough sleep.
He drifted down to Tucci's poolroom.
1t was warm and full of tobacco smoke
ana the click click of ivory balls on
green baize tables, and grunting voices.
mere Matt Kirby sat. He did not play
at the tables, or smoke or drink. No one
disturbed him while he read the SPORT
ing sheets OF newspapers. He sat In a
corner, reading avidly every word about
tne prize ring. But he did not read with
pleasure. Rather as If some fierce at
traction, some deep longing, made him
read despite himself.
for 1T is not good to recall that YOU
were better, once upon q time. than
you are now. That Won had apohitiorc