Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 307, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 December 1914 — WHEN ONE GOES WRONG [ARTICLE]

WHEN ONE GOES WRONG

By E. L. BACON.

Before leaving his desk to start on his annual two weeks’ vacation, Lanyon stuffed twenty-one thousand dollars in bills into the inside pocket of his coat Three thousand dollars more were already stowed away in another pocket, and, as he intended to take both rolls with him, he was pretty wen equipped for such a short period of rest. It must not be inferred, however,* that he was a spendthrift or a millionaire. He was very far from being either. Frugality was his most distinguishing characteristic. A modest glass of beer, a cigar now and then, an occasional shot at the races—even sueh small vices never entered into his sphere of life. For ten years he had lived in an unpretentious boarding-house across the bridge. For ten years he had gone to bed at ten o’clock sharp with ma-chine-like regularity, with the exception of Saturday nights, when invariably he allowed himself the luxury of taking his landlady’s pretty daughter to the theater. That, so far as anybody knew, had been his only Indulgence. Yet he felt that for the vacation he was about to take he needed every penny of the large amount with which he had provided himself. He needed all this money to live on during his vacation in his usual thrifty fashion in a town where living was considerably cheaper than.in New York, and where the opportunities for* a spendthrift would have been exceedingly meager. The fact of the matter was that ! Lanyon had made up his mind to pro- ' long this particular vacation Indefinitely. He had kept this resolution a strict secret z Not even his landlady had received so much as a hint of It. What was Stranger still, he had breathed not a word of It to Dwyer, his employer, and he did not intend to. The fact would have to-dawn upon Dwyer gradually, and the longer the truth took to penetrate to the old gentleman’s understanding, the more would Lanyon be pleased. For the roll he had stuffed Into his Inside pocket was Dwyer’s money. / The smaller amount his own savings of ten years of hard and faithful work. It might have been a good deal more if he had not sent a tidy sum each month to his old mother, who lived alone in a sleepy little village on the Maine coast After stowing the money away, he arranged the things in his desk very neatly, brushed it off with a little broom that he kept for the purpose, and gently closed roll-top. He tdok a last look at it as he went out of the door. On the way down-town he stopped at a wholesale house in lower Broadway where his friend Berrlan was employed, to say good-by. "You look run down,’’ observed Berrian. “Old Dwyer’s been working you too hard. But never mind. Maine will fix you up, all right." "It’s not going to be Maine this time, Freddie,” returned Lanyon with a serious air. "It’s going to be Trujillo.” “What! Trujillo! Where the deuce te Trujillo?” "Nice little town in Honduras. Sea air, beautiful tropical scenery—an ideal place for a vacation if the fever don’t get you.” Berrlan merely stared, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. Looking cautiously around to make sure that nobody was within ear-shot, Lanyon continued:

"Fred, you’re the only real friend Pre got in the world. You’re the only man in this city I’ve told about my haring been in prison. I can trust you. "Now, perhaps you’ll understand when I tell you that, in the noble words of its constitution, ’the republic of Honduras is a sacred asylum to every person ifeelng to its territory.’" Berrlan drew back with a gasp. "You mean—you mean —you’ve gone wrong again?" he demanded. "Just that,’’ admitted Lanyon gravely. I’ve come to tell you because I don’t want you to have any worse’ opinion of me than you can help having under the circumstances. "I don’t suppose a man ever can have a good excuse for turning crooked, but mine is as good a one as there ever was, I guess. I’Ve got an old mother up fn Maine dependent on me. If my reputation were the best in the world, I’d rather lose It than see, her starve.” "But—l don’t stammered Berrlan. “You’ve managed to look after her all right, haven’t you?” "I wouldn’t, though, if I were out of a job, with a prison record keeping me from getting another. And if I don’t go now, Dwyer would see that I did next week, even if I hadn’t taken a cent from him. "An old enemy of mine drifted Into town last week. He’s going to send Dwyer m> history in a day or two. "I know Dwyer well enough to know what that would mean. So, you see how it is. If I hdd only myself it is, I’d rather turn thief than face the alternative.” The next moment he was in the tO IOIIOWJ tuO lullr* ***** *** to this

after all those yean o‘s living straight’” he muttered. Two hours later Lanyon arrived in Jersey City with a*good half-hour to spare before his train was due to start. He sat down in a corner of the waiting-room and pulled out his time-tables. But, Instead of poring over them as he had Intended, he gave himself up to his thoughts. Somehow, he could not get his landlady’s pretty daughter out of his mind. He had tried hard to forget her, but his thoughts always came around to her again before long, and'every now and then he would ask himself how she vAild regard him after she had heard the news. He glanced up at the line of people sitting facing him onthe - opposite benches, and over their heads to the big clock on the wall. It seemed to him that the minutes were dragging terribly. He was getting nervous. He gave a startled look over his shoulder toward the entrance. He could feel his heart thumping against his ribs, and as he looked down again at the time-tables he saw that his hands were trembling. And then a vision of the gray, bleak prison came before him. He heard the clanging of the great steel? doors, the sharp orders of the keepers. He straightened up with a frightened gasp and looked about in alarm. It was reassuring to find that no one was watching him. But would his train never be called? How he wished he was safe across the Honduran border! What a relief it would be to feel that he need have no fear of capture! Again his eyes wandered about the room, keenly observant of the crowd this time. He glanced from one to another of the long row of travelers in front of him, slowly turned his gaze to the doors where the passengers were filing in from the ferries, and then — "Dwyer!” He choked back the cry that rose to his lips an<i sank back in his seat, white and trembling. Far down at the other end of the room was the man he had robbed.

For a moment Lanyon’s nerve deserted him completely. He felt that he was lost, that Dwyer would surely search the room until he had discovered him, and that escape was impossible. Probably Dwyer had not come alone. At any rate, there were always policemen near at hand in such a place. Dwyer came forward very leasurely. For a man on the trail of a thief who had relieved him of a fortune, -he seemed to be singularly unperturbed. He even stopped to laugh at a crowing baby on one of the benches. Still, it was just like the old man never to betray his true feelings. Never before had Lanyon been through such agonizing moments of suspense. He felt that the strain was more than he could bear, that bls nerves would give way, and he would cry out if he had to endure it much longer. At last Dwyer saw him. “I’ve been looking for you, Lanyon," he called, as he stepped up to the bench. The old man seated himself by Lanyon’s side, and, lounging back, chewed thoughtfully at an' unlighted cigar. Apparently, he was dividing his attention between the cigar and the clock on the wall, but Lanyon knew that the tall of his eye was upon him all the time. At last, he said slowly: “I know all about that prison record, Lanyon. Your friend Berrlan has just given me the whole story." "Berrlan! He told you!" cried Lanyon, and in that moment the remnants of his faith in human nature vanished. ft

“Yes, he told me,” Dwyer continued. "And, I’ve come here to let you know I won’t hold it up against you. You’ve done good, faithful work for me for ten years, and I believe I can trust you. "You weren’t much more than a boy when that happened. You’ve learned a good deal since then, I guess.” Lanyon felt as if he were in a dream —a dream that had brought one fleeting glimpse of hope, and then had plunged him' in' despair. A mist came Into his eyes. At last his hand went into his pocket, and he pulled out a roll of bills. “Mr. Dwyer,” he said, "this money is yours. Even though I am a thief, I couldn’t rob a man that’s treated me as you have. But, you see, you made a mistake about wanting me back.” Without the least show of surprise, Dwyer took the bills and counted them very slowly. Then he put them carefully away in his pocket "I guess when a man goes wrong more than once there isn’t one person in a hundred who’d be willing to trust him again,” he said. "I don’t believe there is,” Lanyon assented, leaning forward and covering his face w|th his hands. “Unless it’s somebody that’s gone wrong himself and knows what it is to live it down,” said Dwyer. He laid a hand on Lanyon’s shoulder. "I was in Trujillo myself thirty years ago. But they got me at last. I did my turn behind the bars. And if Berrian’s father hadn’t given me a chance, I’d have been behind ’em again before very long, like as not "Go -up to Maine, my boy. That old mother of yours will want to see you. And then come back.”