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Newspaper Page Text
1 dock, "eood for a tenner." his pals
Rbad decided, for Jim had become
fy- .1 TJ e T--u
( mixea up in a very uau case 01 mgu
way robbery. One man in the dis
trict stood by him. It was Rev. Ab
bott Winslow. Jim had no part in the
actual crime. It was a case of keep
ing bad company. Mr. Winslow had
done him a kindness some time pre
vious. Jim had remembered it and
- sneaked into the mission several
times. Qne night a rowdy crew start
ed to make "rough house" in the
meeting. Jim simply threw them out
and issued a warning as to other dis
turbers. There was peace and quiet
Jim made no professions of refor
mation, but the subtle, unobtrusive
interest of the good man began final
ly to bear fruit. Jim went to work.
In a month he was running two shoe
blacking stands. At the end of a
year he was the proprietor of twen
ty, making money and whenever op
portunity afforded contributed liber
ally to the collection box at the mis
sion. It was the day after the visit of Mr.
Winslow to Ironton that Jim enter
tained a friend in his room, just ar
rived, as if from a journey.
"Well, Dacey," he submitted,
"what's the layout?"
"Bad, Jim. If your friend goes to
Ironton there's a gang there ready to
"No. just the rough, prejudiced fac
tory crowd. They've been nagged and
tagged by the wrong kind of soul-savers
till they think it's hades anyway
for them, so they take a delight in
raising it on home territory."
"Won't be tamed, eh?"
"I should say no. You see, it's a
Isbig joint there where they dispense
kthe hotstutt. umy one license is al
lowed by the town and another will
.never be issued when that one ex-
r,pires. It's when the bad ones get
fired up that tne troume commences.
Cut out the booze and the loafing
It .place and the mission might draw."
"Who runs it?" asked Jim thought
fully. "A man named Ward. He is a con
sumptive and wants to sell out to go
South. Why, where are you going?"
as Jim in his impetuous way put on
his hat and started for the door.
"Back to where you came from,
Ironton. I've got my tip. There's ten
dollars for your work. Thanks."
The Golden Horn, for such was the
name of the one tavern in Ironton,
changed hands one week later, James
Frawley, sole proprietor. If Jim's
method of reaching a final goal of
good at the cost of incidental wicked
ness of no ordinary character along
his line of progress was crude, it had
Mr. Winslow, arriving at Ironton
and beginning his duties, was amaz
ed to find this "brand from the burn
ing" dispensing fiery fluid to the
weak and thirsty of Ironton. He met
Jim on the street and hinted gently
at his backward step. Jim was iron.
He knew his business good day!
None of the brawlers invaded the
mission. Jim kept them too busy for
that. He ran the Golden Horn at a
mad-riot pace. He dispensed free
cigars and liquor lavishly. He encour
aged brawls, he sold to minors and at
the end of two weeks his various mis
demeanors justified the authorities in
canceling his license and closing up
"I'm through," announced Jim
blandly, appearing unexpectedly be
fore Rev. Abbott Winslowj one day.
"The only liquor license in Ironton is
canceled and there'll never be anoth
er one. I bought out the Golden
Horn, so I own the lease. I'm think
ing of fitting it up as a gymnasium
and club for the crowd and gently
drift 'em up against you, see?"
There were no-half way measures
about Mr. James Frawley. He had
money, he was loyal to his friend, he
decided to become rustler and re
former combined. Some of his old
customers drifted across country to
a distant groggery when they need-