The Alchemists Secret | Page 6

all on his side, the
seeking on mine. Try as I would I could not seem to obtain an
interview with him. He was never at home when I called; so I decided
that my only chance of coming to close quarters with the enemy was to
surprise him at his work. That afternoon I had gone to the quarries and
found my man superintending the gang in charge of the stone-crusher.
He certainly was surprised and not very pleased to see me, and all I
could obtain from him after more than an hour of argument and
pleading was a promise that 'he would think about it.' The 'it' referred to
the making of his Easter duty, the time for which had nearly expired.
Bitterly disappointed, and with a feeling of utter defeat, I was turning
away when my steps were arrested by a not unpleasant voice:
"'Why don't you try your hand on me, Father? I'm a black enough sheep
to keep you busy for a few moments anyway.'
"I wheeled around and found myself confronted by a short, thick-set
man of most unattractive appearance, a man whom you would scarce
choose as a companion along a lonely road at night. At a glance I sized
up my new acquaintance: a typical tramp who had taken a job at
stoking the engine to vary the monotony of the road. He was no
professional 'hobo,' but belonged to that class who take to tramping
from necessity rather than from choice--a too great love for the bottle
being the necessity. They find an odd job here and there, hold it until
pay day, squander the month's earnings in the nearest saloon, then on
again in search of a job somewhere else.

"I am well acquainted with these men, but there was something about
the rough looking specimen before me, a certain something in his
manner, in his speech, in the twinkle of his eyes, which set him apart
from the rest of his class. A grizzled beard of iron grey concealed the
lower half of his face, and the right temple and cheek were disfigured
by a scar which gave the countenance a decidedly sinister appearance.
In spite of that I felt that the man before me had at one time been
accustomed to a very different life from the one he was leading now.
"'Why don't you try your hand on me, Father?' he repeated, and the
smile accompanying the words made the ugly face almost pleasing.
"There was not time for a lengthy conversation, the engine requiring
constant attention, but the tramp volunteered the information that he
answered to the name of Jim, and promised to report at the rectory in
the evening and give me a chance to try my hand on him.
"In the evening, then, I sat and waited, half fearing that he had changed
his mind and would not come. But just as the first pale stars began to
twinkle in the sky Jim pushed open the gate and I went to meet him
with both hands extended in warmest welcome. He gave me his left
hand, and for the first time I noticed that the right was gone--amputated
at the wrist. Jim saw my glance of shocked pity and smiled as he said
calmly:
"'It was the drink did it, Father--the hand and this scar on my face. I'd
been hitting it up pretty lively and didn't realize where I was walking.
The track wasn't wide enough for me and the train. One of us had to get
off, and as the engine was the stronger of the two--well, you see the
result before you.'
"'How long have you been tramping, Jim?' I asked.
"'More years than I care to think of now, Father. The drink again. In
fact, it's been the drink at every turn; it's ruined my life, made a
complete fool of me. But let's get down to business; only, you'll have to
help me out, it's so long since I went to confession I've almost forgotten
how.'

"'Come into the house or the confessional in the church,' I suggested.
"'The house or the confessional in the church? No, thank you, Father.
My little friends up yonder, those pretty, sparkling stars, my only
companions on many a lonely night, have been the witnesses of my
degradation. Let them now behold my restoration to the favor of the
God whom I've offended.'
"Strange words, those, from a tramp, and I marveled at them. Without
more ado we 'got down to business,' and it was nearly two hours later
when we parted at the gate. In answer to a question of mine, Jim replied
whimsically:
"'Where do I live while I'm working on this job? Well, you see, Father,
I am rather particular with