Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-09-08
Deacon regarded puzzled woud

moment, the girl sighed, touched the self
starter and drove away.
Deacons mood was pitiable. Ills mind was
mass Of whirling thoughts in the midst of
which he could recognize pictures of his bcy-
hood, a little boz doing many things-with a
hand always tucked within the fingers of a
great big man who could always explain all the
mysteries OF she big, strange booming world
There we're many such pictures, pictures not
only relating to boyhood, but to his own strug-
gle at Ballot, t the placid little home in Phila-
delphia and all that it had meant, all that it
stu meant, to his father, to his mother, to him.
ANY act of his that would bring sorrow or dis
may or the burden of defeated hope to that
home!
But on the other hand, the morrow was to
bring him the crown Of toilsome years. was to
make his name one to conjure with wherever
Ballot was loved or known He knew what the
varsity cachet would do for his prospects in
the world And after all, he had his own life
TO live, had he not? Would not the selfish or
rather the rigorous, settlement of this problem
be for the best in the end, since his making
good would simply be making good for his
father and his mother? But how about his
fathers chance for making good on his own
account?
THERE was something unreal to Deacon
about the morning. 1t was difficult for
Jim Deacon to look upon the bronzed fellows
about the breakfast table, and realize that for
ever where loyal men of Ballot gather he would
be an outcast, pariah.
That was what he would bean outcast Out
Of all the welter of thought and travail had
been resolved one dominant idea. His father
came nrSt; there was no evading 1t. With all
the consequences that would follow the execu.
ton OF his decision he was familiar He had
come now to know what Ballot meant to him as
place not only of education, but place to
be loved, honored, revered. He knew what his
future might be. But his father came first.
Arising from the breakfast table he spoke to
out one man, Junior Doane.
"Doane," he said, drawing him to one side
you will row at stroke this afternoon"
The man stared at him. Are you crazy,
Deacon?"
mo, not crazy. I'm not feeling well; that's
all"
But look here, Deacon-you want to see the
coach. Wait here just a minute" AS Doane
hurried away in search of DR.. Nichols Deacon
turned blindly through the yard and SO out to
the main road
He was striding along in the middle of the
road when the horn of a motor car coming
close behind startled him. AS he turned, the
vehicle stopped with a grinding of brakes.
DR.. Nichols the coach, rose to his full height
m the roadster and glared down at Deacon.
while Junior Doane, who had been driving,
stared fixedly over the wheel. The coach's
voice was merely series of profane roars He
paused as Junior Doane placed an admonish-
ing hand upon his arm. '.
II beg your pardon, doctor; but don't
think that is the right way. May say some
thing to Deacon?"
Look here, Jim Deacon, we've come to take
you back. You can't buck out the race this
way, you know. It isn't done Now, wait a
minute!" he cried sharply as the boy in the
road made to speak II know why you ran
away. Jane Bos;wick called me up and told
me everything She hadn't realized quite what
she was doing"