Evening Star Newspaper, November 6, 1923, Page 23

As Unusual I'n::ol d“:n)ll ‘Whose Very Being Is “PAWNED” By FRANK L. PACKARD “The Miracle Men,” “From Now Ow” etc. Antber ol Th s e P Ui T HER STORY. HANSOM cab, somewhat woe- begone in appearance, thread- ed its way in a curlously dejected manner through the heart of New York's East Side. A fine drizzle fell, through which the street lamps showed as through a mist; and, with the pavements slip- pery, the emaclated-looking horse, the shafts jerking and lifting up at in- tervals around its ears, appeared hard put to it to preserve its footing. The cabman on his perch drove with his coat collar turned up and :'iln '1:|hlg“ is breast. He held the reins list- Py pecmiiting the horse to choose its own gait At times he lifted the little trap door in the roof of the cab and peered into the interior; occa- sionally his hand, tentatively, hesitat- ingly, edged toward a bulge in his coat pocket—only to be drawn back egain in a sort of panic haste. The cab turned into a street where, in spite of the drizzle, hawkers with their pushcarts under flaring, spitting gasoline banjoes were doing a thriv- ing business. The horse went more slowly. There was very little room. With the pushcarts lining the curbs on both sides and the overflow of pedestrians from the sidewalks Into the street, it was perhaps overtaxing the horse's instinct to steer a_safe course for_the vehicle it dragged be- hind it. Halfway along the block a| wheel of the hansom bumped none too gently Into one of the pushearts nearly upsetting the latte h hawker, with a frantic grab, saved his wares from disaster by an un- comfortably _narrow margin, - and, this done, hurled an Impassioned flood of_lurid oratory at the two-wheeler. The cabman lifted his chin from his breast, stared stonily at the hawke slapped the reins mechanically on the root of the cab as an intimation to the horse to proceed, and the cab wended its way along again. At the end of the block it turned the corner and drew up before a small building that was nested in between two tenements. The cabman climbed down from his perch and stood for a moment surveying the three gilded balls that hung over the dingy door- way and the lettering—"Paul Veniza. Pawnbroker’—that showed on the | Qully lighted windows which con- fronted him. He drew_ his hand across his eves; then, reaching suddenly inside the cab, lifted a bundle in his arms, and entered the shop. A man behind the counter stared at him and uttered a quick ejaculation. The cabman went on into a rear room. The man from behind the counter followed. r room a woman rose from a table | where she had been sewing the bundle quickly from the ca arms, as it emitted a querulous oy e cabman spoke for the first time. he's dead,” he said heavily The woman, buxom, middle-a; etared at him, white-faced, her filling suddenly with tea She died an hour ago,” said the cabman in the same monotonou: oice. 1 thought mabbe you'd look after the baby girl for a bi Mrs. Veniza—you and Faul.” “Of course’ d the woman in a echoked vo “I wanted to before, but—but vour wife wouldn't let the wee mite out of her sicht “She's dead now,” said the #An hour ago Paul Veni: the pawnbroker, erossed to th cabman's sid nd, placing his hands on the other's ehoulders, drew the man down & chair. “Hawkins" he said slowly, “we're getting on in years, fifty each of us, nd we've known each othe for a good many of those fifty He cleared .his throat. “You've made a mess of things, Hawkins. The woman, holding the baby, started suddenly forward, a red flush ’dyeing her cheek: “Paul!” she cried out sharply. “How can you be so cruel at such an hour as this?" The pawnbroker shook his head. He had moved to the back of the cab- man's chair. Tall, slight, grave and Xindly faced, with high forehead and the dark hair beginning to silver at} the temples, there seemed something almost esthétic about the man. Tt is the hour,” he said deliber- ately; “the one hour in which I must epeak plainly to my old friend, the one hout that has come into his life which may mean everything to him His right hand slipped from the ¢ man's shoulder and started, t tively, hesitantly, toward a bulge the cabman's coat pocket—but w drawn back again, and found place once more on the c shoulder. “I was afraid i when vou married the I was afraid of your curs The cabman’s clbows were on the table; he had sunk his chin in his hands, His blue cyes, out of a wrin. Xkled face of wind-beaten tan, roved around the little room, and rested finally on the bundle in the woman's cabman. b- a- | in | s| its | bman's awkine, young wife. s finished now,” he sald aully. T pray God it 1s” said Paul Venlza fearnestly; “but you said that befo when you married the young wif Tt's finished now—so help me, God!" The cabman's lips scarcely oved. He stared stralght in front of m. ; There was silence in the little, plainly furnished room for a moment then the pawnbroker spoke agai 1 was born here in New York, know, after my parents came from Italy. There was no money, nothing —only misery. I remember. It is like that, Hawkins, fsn't it. where You have just come from, and where | You have left the young wife “Paul!” his wife cried out again, fow can you say such things. It— it is not like you!" Her lips quiv- | ered. She burst nto tears, and buried hier face in the little bundle she snug- Eled to her breast. The cabman eeemed curlously un moved—as though dazed, almost de- tached from his immediate surround- | ings. He said nothing. ‘The pawnbroker's hands still rested on the cabman’s shoulders, a strange gentleness in his touch that sought £omehow, it seemed, to offer sympathy for his own merciless words. “I have been thinking of this for a Jong time, ever since we knew that Claire could not get better.” he sald *We knew you would bring the little ; one here. There was no other place, except an institution. And so I have been thinking about it, What is the little one's name " ‘The cabman shook his head. he has no name,” he sald. ‘Shall it be Claire, then?” fhe pawnbroker gently. The cabman's fingers, where they rested on his cheeks, gathered a fold of flesh and tightenea until the blood fled, leaving little white spots. He nodded his head. Again the pawnbroker was’ silent for a iittle while, “My wife and I will take little Claire—on one condition,” he said at last, gravely. “And that condition is that she is to grow up as our child, nd that, though you may come here and see her as often as you like, she §s not to know that you are her father.” ‘The cabman turned about a haggard ‘Not to know that I am her father he sald huskily, 1 did not say that” said Paul Veniza quietly. He smiled now, lean- ing over the cabman. “I am & pawn- broker; this {s a pawnshop. There is & way in which you may redeem her.” The cabrian pressed a heavy hand over his eyes. “What s that way?" He swallowed hard as he spoke. “By redeeming yourself.” The pawnbroker’s voice ™ was low and earnest. “What have you to offer her today, save a past that has brought only ruin and misery? And for the future, my old friend? There is no lhome. There was no home for the snun{fl'fle. You sald when you mar- ried Claire, as you have sald tonight, that it was all finished. But it was ot finished. And your curse was the stronger. Well,” little Claire is enly & baby, and there would be years, @ayhow, before just a man could take asked | some | tutility of care of her. Do you understand, my old friend? If, at the end of those years, enough of them to make sure that you are sure of yourself, you have changed your life and overcome Yyour weakness, then you shall have Iit- tle Claire back again, and she shall ' know you as her father, and be proud of you. But if you do not do this, then she remains with us, and we are her parents, and you pledge me your word that {t shall be s There was no answer for a long time. The woman was still crying— but more softly now. The cabman's ¢hin had sunk into his hands again. The minutes dragged along. Finally the cabman lifted his head, and push- lag. back his chair, stumbled to his et. God—God bless whispered. you both!" he €00d, as I told you. but you are right, Paul. I—1 ain't fit to have her ve! T'll stand by the bargain.” He moved blindly toward the door. The pawnbroker Interposed. “Wait, Hawkins, old friend,” he sald. “I'll go with you. You'll need some help back there in the tenement, some one to look after the things that are to be done. he cabman Not tonight, way. “Leave me alo He moved again toward the door, and this time Paul Veniza stepped aside, but, following, stood bare- headed in the doorway as the other clambered to his perch on the han- cab, Hawkins s roof of slowly forw The hook his head. he said in a ch tonight. ked reins on the orse started but the was the wet pave and Ereater pac an a Hawkins drove with his coat still turned up and his chin on moved walk colla his breast And horse and man went aimlessly from street to street—and the night grew lai no hand reached a great many in his coa time s it had s fing bman's a and for a grex ithdrawn as emy i then, on: . not his ‘and for a It had begun to r The hor s if con ts own movemen with head r down as though ender protection ends now made his e from but his lips nany times. and, to o ven Afts, whi s dabove slippe s and_fell to the pavement. The c out from his perch & hattered gla said the stopped, 3 w the with a ¢ bman le: hd stared down cab- cabman HIS STORY Twenty Years Later. s silver light. Inside the reefs av placid and still, mirror- “It's all finished now for ! hanging, | THE EVENING STAR, WASHINGTON, ing in a long, shimgering line the redectlon of the full troplo moon; be- yond, ever and anom, it splashed against its coral barriers in little crystal showers. It was a soundle: night. No breeze stirred the palms that, fringing white stretches of beach around the bay, stood out in serene beauty, their firregular tops etched with alvine artistry into the skyline of the night. Out from the shore in that harbor which holds no sanctuary in storm, the mail boat, dark save for her rid- ing lights, swung at her mooring! shoreward, the perspective aitered in the moonlight until it seemed that Mount Vaea had lowered its sturdy head that it might hover In closer guardlanship over the little town. Apla, straggled In white patche: along the road. And from the white patches, which were dwelling: and stores, there issued no light. From a point on the shore nearest the mail boat a figure in cotton drawers and undershirt slipped lently into the water and disappeared. Thereafter, at intervals, a slight rip- ple disturbed the surface as the man coming up to breathe turned upon his back and lay with his face ex- posed; for the rest he swam under water. It was as though he were in_his natural element. He swam superbly even where, there in the islands, all the natives were born to the sea; but his face, when visible on the few occasions that it floated above the surface, was the face, not of a native, but of & white man. And now he came up in the shadow of the steamer's hull where, near the stern, a rope dangled over the side, almost touching the water's edge. And for a moment he hung to the rope, motlonless, llstening. Then he began to swarm upward with fine agility, without a sound, his bare t flnding silent purchase against the fron plates of the hull. Halfway up he paused and listened intently again. Was that a sound as of some one astir, the soft movement {of feet on the deck above? No, there | was nothing no Why should thers ibe? It was v late, and Nanu, ths man who lisped, was no fool. 'The Irope had hung from exactly that placa | where, of all others, one might steal aboard without attracting the atten: I tion of the watch. | He went on again, and finally raised his head above the rail. The deck, flooded with moonlight, lay white and deserted below him. He swung hi self over, dropped to the deck—and the next instant reeled back against the rail as a rope-end swung with brutal force, lashed across his face, uising a welt from cheek to cheek. i Half stunned, he was still consclous that a form had sprung suddenly al ’\nm from out of the darkness of thé er alleywa: that the form was one of the vessel's mates, that the {form still swung a short rope-end {that a murderous weapon becausé i1t was little more flexible than iron was an inch in thickness, and behind this form, other forms, forms, Tongans of the crew, { pressed forward. H A volce roared out, hoarse, profane. | the mate's voice nought vou'd try it again, did you; you damned beachcomber? I'll teach you! And when I find that dog that ieft that rope for you I'll glve leaf out of the ne book! waster! 11 teach jand i that, big you! rope-end hissed as it cut through the air again, aiming for the ':T'h‘e. mflhons who have stopped coffee Takes you direct to Los Angeles and Santa Bar- bara. Shortest and quick- est route to San Diego, through Great Imperial Valley and stupendous Carriso Gorge. Comfort is literally built into our all-steel equip- ment of newest design. Observation, compart- ment, drawing-room sleepers. Diner serving all meals—“The Best on Wheels.” LewvCcgoganon Via Rock laland Lines Through sleepers also from St. Louis daily 9:03 pm. " TOn Your Wen” Geo. B. Farrow, General Agt. Rock Island Lines 1211 Chestnut St. Philadelphia, Pa. “and'now drink S an Dieg o Santa Barbara ‘Via Rock Island —El Paso and Southwestern—Southern Pacific STels, 3vimmer's face. But it missed its jmark, Perhaps it was an illusion of the white moon]ight, lending un- ality to the scene, exciting the [Amagination to exaggerate the detalls, fbut the swimmer seemed to move with incredible speed, with the lithe, iterrible swiftness of a panther in its spring. The rope-end swished through the air, missing a suddenly lowered head by the barest fraction of an inch, and then, driven home with lightning-like rapidity, so quick that the blows seemed as one, the swim- mer's fists swung, right and left, crashing with terrific Impact to the int of the mate's jaw. And the head Jjolted back, gquivered rotesquely on his shoulders for an nstant like a tuning fork, sagged and the great bulk of the man col- lapsed and sprawled inertly on the deck. There was a shuffle of feet from the alleyway, cries. The swimmer swung to face' the expected rush, and it halted, hesitant. It gave him time to spring and stand erect upon the steamer's rail. On the upper deck taces and forms began to appear. A man In pajamas leaned far out and peered at the scene. There was a shout from out of the dark, grouped throng in the alley- way; It was chorused. The rush came on again for the rail; and the dripping figure that 8t00d there, with the first sound that he had made—a laugh, half bitter, half of cool contempt—turned, and with a clean dive took the water again and disappeared. Presently he reached the shore. There were more than riding lights out there on the steamer now. He gave one glance in that direction, shrugged his shoulders, and started oft along the road. At times he raised his hand to brush it across his face where the welt, raw and swollemr now, was a dull red smear. He walked nelther fast nor slow. The moonlight caught the dripping figuro now and then in the open spaces, and seemed to peer Inquisi- tively at the great breadth of shoulder and the rippling play of muscle under the thin cotton drawers and shirt, which, wet and clinging, almost transparent, scarce hid the man’s nakedness; and at the face, that of a young man, whose square jaw was locked, whose gray eyes stared steadily along the road, and over whose forehead, from the drenched, untrimmed mass of fair hair, the brine trickled in little rivulets as though persistent in its effort to tor- ture with its salt caress the raw, skin-broken flesh across the cheeks. Then presently a point of land ran out, and the road ignoring this, the bay behind was shut out from view. And presently again, farther on, the road came to a long white stretch of beach on the one hand, and follage and trees on the other. And here the dripping figure halted and stood hesitant as though undecided between the moonlit stretch of sand and the darkness of a native hut that was dimly outlined among, the trees on the other side of the road. After a moment he made his way to the hut and, groping arount £ (@8] HE most the starched ) Y To Superiority achievement in America is TOLMANIZED fort, flexibility of a TOL- MANIZED collar, phone Franklin 71. D. C., TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1923 cured some matches and & box of clgarettes. He spoke into the empty blacknes: “You lose, 'Nanu,” ke mutterad whimsically. “They wouldn't stand water and I left them for you. But now, you see, I'm back again, after all. ame of the matcl tively at the small, broken p of coral that made the floor of the hut, and equally, by the addition of a thin plece of native matting, his bed. “The sand is softer,” he sald with a grim drawl. fle went out from the hut, crossed the road, flung himself upon his b: on the beach and clasped his hands behind his head. The smoke from his cigarette curled languldly upward {n wavering spirals, and he stared for a long time at the moon. “Moon madness,” he said at 1 “They say it you look long enough the old boy doés you in.” The cigarette finished, he flung the stub_away. After a tme he ralsed his head and listened. A moment later he lay back again full length on the sand. The sound of some one's footsteps coming rapidly along the road from the direction of the town was now unmistakably audible. “The jug for mine, 1 gues served the young man to the 2 robably & filo of native constabulary in bare feet that you can't hear bring- Ing up the rea: The footsteps drew mnearer, until, still some distance away, the white- clad figure of & man showed upon the tree-fringed road. The sprawled figure on the beach made no effort toward flight, and less toward con- cealment. With a sort of studied in- solence injected into his challenge, he stuck another cigarette between his lips and deliberately allowed full jplay to the flare of the match. The footsteps halted _abruptly. Then, in another moment, they crunched upon the sand, and a tail man, with thin, swarthy face, a man of perhaps forty or forty-five, who picked assiduously at his teeth with a quill toothpick, stood over the re- cumbent figure, “Found you, complacently. “If you like to put said the young man indifferently. He ralsed himself on his elbow again, and stared toward the road. “Where's the army?* he inquired. The' tall man allowed the point of the quill toothpick to flex and strike back against his teeth. The sound was distinctive. Tck! He ignored the question. When the mate came out of dream- land.” he sald, “he lowered a boat and came ashore to lay & complaint against you.” “I can't say I'm surprised.” ad- mitted the youmg man. “I suppose I am to go with you quietly and make no trouble or it will be the worse for me—] believe that's the usual for- mula, isn't it? The man with the quill toothpick sat down on the sand. He appeared o be absorbed for a moment in a have 17" he grunted it that way, i ontemplation of his surroundings. “The! @@@@@@@ tropic nights are wonderful, famous laundry collar. Having attained superiority in our collar work, our efforts are now devoted equally superior service to our customers. THE TOLMAN LAUNDRY F. W. MacKenzie, Manager 6th and C Streets N.W. to giving learn the com- smoothness and National Apple Week October 31st to November 7th Learn What Angeles | Juicy Jonathans the Wenatchee District sends you Your favorite apple is here—the first cool- weather cating apple—the Jonathan, fresh from the famous Wenatchee District of the Pacific Northwest. Note its sound, firm, white flesh—its colorful beauty tempts the appetite. Bitc into its crisp, juicy, melting spiciness. You'll call it an ideal apple as thousands of others do. Wenatchee Apple Growers are apple sp&itl- ists. Th concentrate on select varicties— like Jonathans. That's why they can sell these finest apples at a common price. Because they are in great demand, Wenatchee "Apples arc obtainable at all the better grocery stores and fruit stands. Buy them by natchee” on the label, the box and look for “We- Prom the W castchas Divteict i the Steteof Wasbiogion Aren’t they? Kind of get you.” He plied the quill toothpici: industriously. T'm a passenger on the steamship, and I came ashore with the mate. He's gone back—without laying the complaint. There's always & way of fixing things—even injured feelings. anQ of the native boat’s crew sa'd he knew where you were to be found. He's over there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the road. bolt upright. he sald slowly, ,” sald the other. “I had thres reasons for coming. The first was ,(hu I thought I recognized you yes- terday when they threw you off the steamship, and was sure of it tonight lwhen—l am a light sleeper—I came out on the upper deck at the sound of the row and saw you take your de- parture from the vessel for the sec- ond time. “I had nq idea,” sald the young man caustically, “that was 8o well known. Are you quite ure you haven't made a mistake?" “Quite!” asserted the other com- posedly. ' “Of course, I am not pre- pared to say what your present name —you may have considered a change beneficial—so 1 will' not presume in that respect. But you are, or were, & resident of San Francisco. You were very nice people there. I have no knowledge of your mother, except that I understand she died In your Studebaker Satisfying Sixes represent a Jegree of automobile value that the public has been seeking for years. Joseph McReynolds Selling satisfactory transpertation in Washington fer 36 years Commercial Auto and Supply Co. 14th Street at R infancy. A few years ago your father ! died and left you, not a fortune, but quite & moderate amount of money. 1 belleve the pulpits designate it as a ‘besetting sin’ You had one—gam- bling. The result was that you tra eled the road a great many other young men have traveled; the only difference being that, in so far as I am competent to speak. you hold the belt for speed and all-round profi- clency. You went utterly, completely and whole-heartedly to hell” The tall man became absorbed again in his surroundings. “And I take it," he sald presently, “that in spite of the wonders of a tropic night, you are still there.” The young man shrugged his shoul- ders. “You have put it very delicate! he sald, with a grim smile. “I'm sorry, but I am obliged to confess that the recognition isn't mutual. Would you mind telling me who you P ‘We'll get to that in due cours: 1d the other. “My second reason was that it appeared to me to be logical to suppose that, having once been the bona-fide article, you could readily disguise yourself as a gen- tleman again, and your interpretation of the role would be beyond suspicion Etiatrl “By God!" The welt across the young man's face grew suddenly white, as though the blood had fled from it to suffuse his temples. He half rose, staring levelly into the other's eye (To be continued tomorrow.) b of Ssmy est En ° . j . joying Misery Do you just “enjoy your misery” or do you really want to be well? Most people have a sincere desire to rid themselves of the troubles that cause so much worry and anxiety to their family and friends. 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