That Printer of Udells | Page 4

might as well go to the devil and done with it. Why
shouldn't I drink if I want to; whose business is it but my own?" He
looked around for the familiar sign of a saloon.
"That's the talk," exclaimed the other with a swagger. "That's how yer
paw used ter put it. Your maw warn't much good no how, with her
finicky notions 'bout eddicati'n an' sech. A little pone and baken with
plenty good ol' red eye's good 'nough fer us. Yer maw she--"
But he never finished, for Dick caught him by the throat with his left
hand, the other clenched ready to strike. The tramp shrank back in a
frightened, cowering heap.
"You beast," cried the young man with another oath. "If you dare to
take my mother's name in your foul mouth again I'll kill you with my
bare hands."
"I didn't go fer to do hit. 'Fore God I didn't go ter. Lemme go Dicky;
me'n yer daddy war pards. Lemme go. Yer paw an' me won't bother ye
no more Dicky; he can't; he's dead."
"Dead!" Dick released his grasp and the other sprang to a safe
distance.--"Dead!" He gazed at the quaking wretch before him in
amazement.
The tramp nodded sullenly, feeling at his throat. "Yep, dead," he said

hoarsely. "Me an' him war bummin' a freight out o' St. Louie, an' he
slipped. I know he war killed 'cause I saw 'em pick him up; six cars
went over him an' they kept me in hock fer two months."
Dick sat down on the curbing and buried his face in his hands.
"Dead--Dead"--he softly repeated to himself. "Dad is dead--killed by
the cars in St. Louis.--Dead--Dead--"
Then all the past life came back to him with a rush: the cabin home
across the river from the distillery; the still-house itself, with the rough
men who gathered there; the neighboring shanties with their sickly,
sad-faced women, and dirty, quarreling children; the store and
blacksmith shop at the crossroads in the pinery seven miles away. He
saw the river flowing sluggishly at times between banks of drooping
willows and tall marsh grass, as though smitten with the fatal spirit of
the place, then breaking into hurried movement over pebbly shoals as
though trying to escape to some healthier climate; the hill where stood
the old pine tree; the cave beneath the great rock by the spring; and the
persimmon grove in the bottoms. Then once more he suffered with his
mother, from his drunken father's rage and every detail of that awful
night in the brush, with the long days and nights of sickness that
followed before her death, came back so vividly that he wept again
with his face in his hands as he had cried by the rude bedside in the
cabin sixteen years ago. Then came the years when he had wandered
from his early home and had learned to know life in the great cities.
What a life he had found it. He shuddered as it all came back to him
now. The many times when inspired by the memory of his mother, he
had tried to break away from the evil, degrading things that were in and
about him, and the many times he had been dragged back by the
training and memory of his father; the gambling, the fighting, the
drinking, the periods of hard work, the struggle to master his trade, and
the reckless wasting of wages in times of wild despair again. And now
his father was dead--dead--he shuddered. There was nothing to bind
him to the past now; he was free.
"Can't ye give me that drink, Dicky? Jest one little horn. It'll do us both
good, an' then I'll shove erlong; jes fer old times' sake, ye know."

The voice of the tramp broke in upon his thoughts. For a moment
longer he sat there; then started to his feet, a new light in his eye; a new
ring in his voice.
"No, Jake," he said slowly; "I wouldn't if I could now. I'm done with
the old times forever." He threw up his head and stood proudly erect
while the tramp gazed in awe at something in his face he had never
seen before.
"I have only five cents in the world," continued Dick. "Here, take it.
You'll be hungry again soon and--and--Good bye, Jake--Good bye--"
He turned and walked swiftly away while the other stood staring in
astonishment and wonder, first at the coin in his hand, then at the
retreating figure. Then with an exclamation, the ragged fellow wheeled
and started in the opposite direction toward the railroad yards, to catch
a south-bound freight.
Dick had walked scarcely a block when a lean hound came trotting
across the street. "Dear old Smoke,"