Western news and the Libby times. [volume] (Libby, Mont.) 1920-1933, 1932-02-04
twNU ssrvics.t

| SUBURBAN Dus move toward him, In
voluntarily he raised his hand In sig
nal. The big vehicle halted. the door
opened. and he was within, bound
anew upon an aimless journey. Others
had gotten on with him. 1t had given
him time to think.
"All the way" he said to the con-
ductor. and handed him a five-dollar
bill. He received change without
counting it. There was too much re-
lief now to think OF money, precious
though It might be- He was moving,
where he did not care; only that 1t be
away from New York.
When the end OF the line arrived.
Joe Barry stepped forth and looked
about him with more of confidence.
He was away from New York and its
canyons Of buttressed fear; here he
could plan with something OF calm.
Early that afternoon he walked slowly
past bank in small Pennsylvania
town and looked within.
This WAS to be his trial. Certainly
| bankers would watch the newspapers.
and be alert for the sight OF criminals.
| Immediately. Joe fought against the
| word: he was not a criminal,
he told himself. But he laughed
| mirthlessly. it was grimace and
| an expulsion Of breath, little
more. He was adjudged a GRIM
inal and he WAS being hunted AZ 4
criminal; murderer, II that made 1t
any clearer, and what difference did
1t make II In his own mind, he knew
himself to be innocent7
That WAS bad reasoning. 1t made
him shaky. Then suddenly he whirled,
walking swiftly. and turned In at the
| door Of the bank.
Good afternoon" he said, and wait
| ed. The banker looked up.
"Oh. hello" he said, and smiled.
Back to make that other deposit?"
Joe Barry cleared his throat.
"No-Tm sorry. I've got to draw
| out some money
Certainly, certainly" Then the
banker passed over saving account
| withdrawal slip and made a remark
about that most casual OF things, the
weather After time, Joe picked up
the pen. His hand had stopped shak-
ing.
| Then, almost before he realized 1t.
he was out OF the bank. Free, and
| money In his pocket. He had drawn
| only half OF his deposit but 1t was
! enough. There would be no need to
take the risk OF going to the other
bank; all custodians Of money might
not be alike.
He had money in his pocket--two
| hundred dollars He could buy a
| ticket all the way across the continent
with that and still have something to
live on after he had made the Jour-
| ney. His brain was filled with the
| thought, OF the clatter of trains, the
rush and roar OF miles slipping away
| beneath him, strange cities where one
could lose oneself, ships at anchor,
looking for eager, hardworking young
| men. More and more glorious be-
came the thought OF the far away.
Then 1t all was gone.
For Joe Barry realized that he was
standing still, half turned from the
Clipped sidewalk which led to the
blackened railroad station Before
| him was q wooden fence, and upon
that fence. the rain-washed, tattered
| posters OF departed circus.
Two days later, Joe Barry stood on
the curbing Of a downtown business
block in the quiet old town OF Fred
erick, Nd, his own troubles for the
moment forgotten. From far down
the street, there came the faint music
of band, rising through the steady
overtones of its bass drum. With this
the crowded sidewalks forgot other
things In an undulating bulge toward
the curb, like the sweep of wave.
The music Of the band became
louder. Joe Barry edged forward.
He had come here only after mental
travail. In few minutes now, the
grand, glittering and glorious pageant"
Of the Dayton Brothers circus would
pass him, and he would see little OF 1t,
save one person. And when that view
had been gained. that one bit OF wor-
ship silently and surreptitiously given,
Joe Barry would 60 Onto far places,
to ships that sailed the seas. He felt
he could not do otherwise
He had fought 1t all out, that day
he had seen the posters, down by the
railroad station. Conditions had
changed since, flushed with the lure OF
new life, Joe Barry had promised to
come back to the Dayton Brothers
circus just as soon as he could be re-
leased from his other job"
Now, he knew, there could be no
release His job was Job OF life
or death; either 1t chung to him like a
hated scourge, to haunt him through.
out the years, or It would send him to
where men screamed and beat their
rough shoes against the floor late at
night when one Of their number, his
head shaved and his trouser legs slit
to make way for the touch. OF clammy
electrodes, went through little door,
never to come back. Joe Barry had