The Waterbury Democrat., 1937-11-24
By DICK MIG CAIN NEA Service Staff Writer

By DICK MIG CAIN
 NEA Service Staff Writer
 Tom Dolan wept and felt no shame.
 Old Mrs. Callahan had been good to him. She had taken the place of a mother he had never known, never seen. And now she was dead and Tom felt awfully alone in the crowded little funeral parlor.
 Pardon me, son ="
 Tom felt a tap on his shoulder and turned away from the coffin. A well-dressed, distinguished looking man was standing at his elbow.
 Pardon me, son." the man was saying, "but I know that you'll be needing help. Take this and any time you need anything come to me-"
 The stranger stuffed an envelope into Toms hand and pushed away through the mourners and out to | the street
 Tom was glad the funeral was over. But he wasn't glad to be home. It wasn't home any more with Mrs. Callahan gone. He wasn't the only one who was going to miss poor old Mamie. She surely bad a lot of friends. Dozens of people came to the funeral parlor
 The funeral parlorl Tom sud- denly remembered the stranger ]. .. I know you'll be needing help call me the envelope.
 Where was it? Oh, yes, here it is. Tom had rammed 1t into his pocket without opening it. He rip ped it open now and found $50 in bills and calling card: J. Leo Farrell, Attorney-at-Law. Scribbled on the card was the notation: Don't forget to call on me for anything you want at 235 Orpheum Building
 Right away, Tom knew what he wanted from MT. J. Leo Farrell, Attorney-at-Law. He wanted to know who was MT. Farrell, and why was he willing to give him money, and more and more of 1t Tantalizing
 Munificence
 T can't tell you, son." said MT. Farrell, kindly but determinedly. "Just you take these monthly checks for $200 and go to college. Just write me now and then and tell me how you're doing"
 "But, MT. Farrell, you've got to tell me why you're doing this" Tom was frantic with wonder. Maybe you know my mother? My father? Who were they? Or maybe" and Tom had sudden suspicion, may be you are my father!
 "No son." said Attor1iey Farrell, I'm not your father. Other than that I can't answer any of your questions. Just you take this money and go to college"
 Tom did. But the problem was too much for youth of 20 who was alone. He worried, fretted, couldn't study who is my mother |. who is J. Leo Farrell who is giving me this money .. who was Mrs. Callahan who is my father .. who am l?
 Bridging"
 The Years
 "Tell me! Honest, I'll go crazy"
 Pale, shaking, Tom Dolan stood before Daniel Eisenberg of the Skip Tracers Go. and begged for help in his hunt for his true home and family.
 MT. Eisenberg had never had a case precisely like this one before. The money couldn't be traced and Attorney Farrell, protested by the cloak which the courts ing over the men before the bar, wouldn't talk. There was no precedent, no established procedure to follow, no clues.
 But, yes, there were clues. Two of them. And Skip Tracer Eisen- berg Snatched at them eagerly. Tom knew his birthday-Oct. 31, 1907- and recalled, hazily, that when he was about three years old, Mrs. Cal lahan had taken him to an Eastern city which had bridge" in its name.
 And so the search was on
 The postal guide was culled for names of cities, towns, villages, hamlets from Maine to Maryland containing the syllable bridge"
 Then to each such city, town, vil- lage, or hamlet, went Skip Tracer