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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, April 30, 1913, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1913-04-30/ed-1/seq-18/

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By Alvah Gordon Garth.
The man was cold, but there seem
ed to he. no. warmth, nor'shelter for
him. His soul craved, compassion, a
friendly; word; Norone offered it. He
was hungry and weak. Through well
lit windows; there' Showed tables
groaning. -with;, the rich roast, the
steaming urn, the. tasteful delicacies,
and bright, happy faces. The refuse
"What Is Your Name."
viands were tossed to the dogs, but
none to the gaunt, thinly clad sup
plicant whom these very animals
drove away into the biting blast with
savage attacks.
There was a black shadow upon
this forlorn being's face as upon his
soul. The prison bjight told in the
unnatural pallor, the shrinking mien,
the pained eyes. This man had been
suddenly; mysteriously snatched
from work, position and content
ment, witn little or no explanation.
HehadieriQ-fiveyeafs penal-
! servitude. The awful change to
dreary solitude, a slave-chained exis
tence, the consciousness of utter
helplessness had broken his spirit and
stunned him.
No news from the outside world
had reached him during his convict
life. He recalled his last day of lib
erty teller in a country bank. He
rernemberecl a hideous charge of em
bezzlement, the case railroaded
through. He had sent for his closest
friend, tne cashier of the bank; Ellis
wooa. worg was orougnt uacK to
him that young Wood was danger
ously ill with' brain fever.
Since the two-four-six-eight
monotonous steps up and down bis
cell far into the night, the dayseyen
the hours tallied off. Finally, liberty.
The first move of the wretched con
vict was to visit the town where his
life had been blighted. He learned
that Ellis Wood had been abroad for
five years, a confirmed invalid, and
his father and sister had removed to
some other town. Then a dispirited,
almnst- niirnnRpless wanderine'. and
now Randal Thorne, a shivering out-v
cast, fronted the wild night storm.
He knocked at the door of a small,
humble cottage and asked for a mealv
out ursi. tne wurK 10 pay iur . lis
mistress told a tale of sickness ana"
destitution that fairly shamed his
own solitary condition. '
The wanderer battled the elements
anew until he felt that he should
succumb if he did not soon reach
shelter and food. He turned in des
perately at the gate of a somewhat
pretentious house. Necessity, the
urgings of his sufferings, inspired him
momentarily with a certain reckless
audacity. He rang the door bell. A
tall, fair woman about his own age
responded to the summons."
"Madam," he said simply, "I)am a
stranger in a strange place. I have
been just released from a prison." I
am bewildered, stunned,' unable- to
find my way back into the world that
has forgotten me since five years
ago:"-' 1

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