text: S' SS£ ,V K' wr ßij K: ■ -;'. : $ >..< t \. 2-, ■ ' : ir ; O V' 1 •i$c 3 : I [&_ V 4 ** -<mù rai % ■■ *€| - Li'. S3 Xfi i; f. I I ■ rjp» V: Ä >- :v f t ■ M \ m j 7 \ n ! i. fl; i; IÄ ii ii i m / ■■ ■ Æ mm „ i&igt * IpV. gfe; W ■ f aàè W < 1 ' ■ V a® "<&? - ■ iA ■ m. ''A ï fc-A ■ * mÊÊ* > m : i'igi m :-N :•• 'XV iMï i « a*;v {&: U v. a. ■ $ R ** tsi — ■ « < V *;>■ : :! : ► / jr •: » tos». j&g Mm SÄST * ïvjJT > , ; - : ^ ; :>• mm ,'e 4. ,; V. :v Cit 1 * 1 M: ,'JK -• S5. i-fe fi .mwi j* v v./.v. «lyw»-,^6.s>w. 'vä. -^.(^^sai&^scaw^BtäSri \ ^. m. > c. ITC ! > r ere \J yjp c *Lj «■ Cory*/c*tr S THE boat pointed its nose toward the city, the solitary man at the prow turned his back on freedom and gazed longingly at the graystone penitentiary, which seemed to be slipping away from him and growing smaller and cozier as distance lent the enchantment of perspective to his loneliness. For Mulcahy, dazzled by liberty, was very lonely indeed. Every moment that the water widened between him and the prison it lessened the distance from the city, and in two minutes more the man knew that the metropolis, bristling with antagonism, cold and strange and busy with its holiday season, would be upon him, and it filled his heart with a name, less dread. But, after all, he had only himself to blame for his liberty. "Good behavior"—that was the thing that had turned him loose from a comfortable home, three square meals a day, and his companions of the quarry. If he had only transgressed a few laws, broken a simple rule or two, all might have been well, have eaten Christmas dinner with Jerry the Spike, Bottles, Hank and the whole happy crew who had contrived to spend another Christmas in the "pen" through trifling indiscretions committed in defiance of the keepers. These reflections were interrupted by the sharp teeth of the wind snapping at his legs through the thin trousers and the threadbare coat. He shivered as the boat docked, and then took a long breath as he walked up the gangplank and out into—was this freedom striking terror to his soul? He was only free to go anywhere; but these people had their homes to go to, each his separate "penitentiary," where there were warmth and food and human things to talk to. He shut his eyes for an instant and started bravely up the hilly street that led to First avenue. Then suddenly a strange thing happened. He forgot his misery and his wretched home sickness. At first he couldn't realize what the influence was, then he recognized the soothing and thirst-inspiring smell of hops that poured over him like a hot breath from the brewery on the next street. This prompted a thought which was immediately followed by a sharp movement. Mulcahy minded him of the faded five-dollar bill he had in his pocket, the last county of the good home across the river. He pulled it out and looked at it. It represented two weeks and a half of life; that is, he calculated that while he was looking for a job it would provide food and shelter for him. If he couldn't find a job—but that thought ended with a look toward the river; and again he saw the "pen," and another thought occurred to him. If he didn't find anything to do, he could go back to the "pen" and beg them to take him in. No, he couldn't do that. He squared his ragged and a desperate struggle to keep his feet on the globe had frayed its way. No, he determined to go back there honorably, as he had left. He might get a job shoveling snow—but alas! it was one of those cheerless Christraases, and nature had not even supplied the people out of work with Mulcahy. had worked all his life. He was fifty now, and, as he unrolled the long catalogue of calamity which other people might have called his career, he found that the only year of his life that had been a happy one was his last in jail. These thoughts and the haunting smell of hops brought Mulcahy to Fouth avenue and a saloon. It was twelve o'clock, and corned beef and cabbage-leaf being slated for lunch on a blackboard under a Satyrish look ing bock and a life-sized "schooner," determined the man, and he stepped inside. edges. snow to shovel. The story w t I 1 I move much more rapidly if we do not follow Mulcahy and wait for him to eat his corned beef and philander with a spirit more of his ilk than any he has met for the last year, a spirit that seemed al most fabulous when dreamed of in the "pen"—to-wlt, the bartender. But look where Mulcahy emerges half an hour later, the inner man lulled by the succulent cabbage and beef, but a melancholy gnawing at the outer man, whose clothes are slight protecUon against the Increasing wind. - As the day drew her portals slowly together he fell to trembling again. How was he going to face the night? All alone in one of those tan-cent beds which promise so much to a 1 ,, a* j [ 3 n; ti Ai a % usdgzi 7, * tm o Ilf; O Jfl 'Have You Seen My Mammal" weary body that soon discovers the egg-shell substance of the promise? He shuddered and hurried down a side street of Amerl can-basement houses, with their dainty Boston terns and yews, pretty windows with costly curtains that sealed happy homes from the profana eyes of the public. And this atmosphere gave Mulcahy hope. The inspiration born of despair took root. He intended to abandon all thoughts of getting work until warm weather. It was worse than hopeless to think he could get work now—why, the weather, his age, all were against it. He would go back to the "pan" if he had literally to "steal" his way back. The thing to do now was to conjure up some reasonable offense, some trifling transgression that would open the iron gates of the prison, as difficult of entrance as it was of exit, and tide him over the winter months. But what could he do? Not a single misdemeanor suggested itself to his overwrought brain. If he could only steal something long enough to get arrested and sent to the island. But how? When, and above all where? Broadway and Thirty-third street, with its triangle of shops, answered that question. It was very late, but he knew that a week before Christmas the shops would be open until late. In the hope that his clothes would contribute their help toward arousing the suspicions of the store detectives, he quickened his steps wheel and the linch-pin. Inside the shop was warm, brilliant, and jammed with people. The incoming and outgoing crowds jostled and pushed Mulcahy as if he were a rubber-washer between the hub of a case of toothbrushes. He felt his fingers close on something; mechanically he placed the thing in his pocket, and then let himself drift along with the crowd. Presently he found himself at the notion counter, swept there by the tide of customers. He wondered at the confidence of the storekeepers, who took no trouble to protect their wares set forth in little compartments. Now he was backed into a little shop. The "pen." He had stolen something! Was it a cake of soap—perhaps; but with a sickening sensation of impotence he remembered that one cake of soap might not unlock the iron gate of Mulcahy sighed. Now he was in the jewelry department. It yielded vast possibilities as far as valuables were concerned, but these were carefully protected by glass cases. True, there were some little trays of gold-filled pins and bracelets scarcely worth the effort of attainment. And yet a handful of these trifles, flagrantly abstracted, might attract the attention of a detective. Perhaps there were no detectives, after all. This thought smote to him in the act of reaching out a trembling hand toward a delicate gold-filled bangle. Then he paused, and in that moment of hesitation he felt a twitch at his coat, and, turning to face what he felt must be authority either in plain or blue clothes, he perceived at his side a very pretty little girl. She was well dressed; and after the first shock he felt on looking into her clear blue eyes, Mulcahy saw a beautiful locket and chain clasped around her neck. In the meantime she has possessed herself of his coat pocket as if it were his hand, and clung to him as she asked; "Have you seen my mama?" Her voice was smothered by the crowd that pressed. Around her, and Mulcaby had to lift her up in his arms to make himself heard. "No," he replied, his face close to her pretty neck and ear. "Shall we go and look for her?" he added, touched by the end of moisture that blurred her eyes. As he spoke, he carried her to the revolving door. Once out in the street, she told him that she had been shopping with her mother and had got lost. She lived, she said on Fifth Street, between Madison and Fifth Avenue. She didn't know the number, but there were green trees at the door, and it was a white house. You mustn't think that this pade diverted Mulcahy from his original scheme. Only he wanted to be of use to the child, and he also saw a much better way of obtaining his arrest and entrance to prison. The locket and chain he knew would serve his purpose, for he intended stealing them as soon as he had found her home. There were four dollars and ninety cents left from the "pen's" munificence, but he spent enough of it in a candy store to have provided for himself for two days. Over a congenial glass of the cream soda, the little girl gave him her name — Violet Van Twiller. The telephone book did the rest to the matter of locating the Van Twiller mansion, whither Violet was escorted by her ragged friend. Afterward, when Muleahy left her standing at the door of her home, waving at him and smiling in her sweet, frank way, he wondered how he had found it in his heart to steal the necklace; but there it was in his hand, still warm from Contact with her throat. Then he darted away from the street, and, clasping the locket tightly, flew to the first police station and gave himself up. The judge did not conceal his disgust when he learned that Mulcahy had robbed a child; and when he uttered sternly, "Six months on the Island for him," he marveled at the brutality of a man who could smile at the sentence. Meantime, Violet Van Twiller had been received with the tears and rejoicings of a hysterical and loving family and diligently interrogated concerning the events of the evening. Over and over again she repeated the story of the "kind, ragged gentleman" who had bought her candy and soda and had found her home for her. Later, Mr. Van Twiller discovered that Violet had mysteriously lost her pocket; but, though he suspected her of being a "ragged gentleman," he was so grateful to the "ragged gentleman" that the next day he advertised in all the papers that he wished to reward the person who had restored his daughter to her family. But Malcahy never learned of his golden opportunity which might have given him a new start in life, though he gave the officer who accompanied him to the island the name and address of the little owner of the necklace, and it was sent to her. The next day saw Mulcahy safely aboard the Fidelity and headed for the "pen." At the end of the week he was sitting at the Christmas dinner which had seemed a fan torn on that dreadful day he was set at liberty. Between mouthfuls of fat turkey and cranberry sauce he boasted to Jerry the Spike, Hank, and Bottles of How be had hoodwinked justice. When he reported for work, a few days later, the keeper who presided over the men engaged in breaking stone remarked casually to a tallow keeper; "I see Mulcaby is back on the job." "Tea," the other replied; "he was liberated a week ago, and now he's back again. I tell you this place is a cinch for those fellows. They're doing his on the installment plan. If you damped the whole caboodle into the East river and told them to swim to New York, they'd all turn like a lot of rats and squeak to come back to the pen." R. D. Raves Harness Shop The place to secure everything in the line of Saddles, Robes, Blankets, Whips, Work or Driving Harness, Schapps, Etc. Harness accessories. All kinds of repair work at reasonable prices. Shoe Making and Repair Work. The best of material used and workmanship guaranteed. Give us a trial with next work. R. DRAVES HARNESS SHOP. Cougar Building on Main street. Dry 16-inch Fir and Tamarack Slabwood Delivered, per load $2.75. PHONE YOUR ORDERS TO MAIN 96. We handle everything in lumber. Bonners Ferry Lumber Co. Bonners Ferry, Idaho. If You Bought It at Howe's Jewelry Store, It's Good. Complete lines of Silverware, Clocks, Rings, Watches, Cut-glass, Novelties in Silver and Gold, Optical Goods, at prices to suit. Our wares will. Bear the test of time. Watch and Jewelry Repairing promptly done. All work guaranteed. O. F. HOWE, Jeweler REAL ESTATE Kootenai Valley Lands City Property Notary Public Loans Fire Insurance Chas. O Callaghan Bonners Ferry, Idaho The Pastime Cigar Store The headquarters of old and young when one has a leisure hour or two and desires pleasant companions and clean amusement...... Cigars, Tobaccos, Confections, Soft Drinks, Ice Cream, plain and fancy. We Are Exclusive Agents for the Victor Phonographs and Records A w w. 