Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 January 1916 — HELPING A FRIEND [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

HELPING A FRIEND

By CHARLES TURNER ROSS.

“What a charming maa,” said Miss Ada Rankin. Her practical father noticed her flushed cheeks and shining eyes critically. Then he propounded: “How long will he last?” Ada shivered. She had not thought of that. She and her father had been interested for years in mission work over in the poor section of Ironton. Philanthropically inclined, Mr. Rankin and some other charitably inclined men of wealth in the rich section of the town had financed the movement, and Ada and her girl friends had done a good deal of missionary work to help along. Three ministers in turn had essayed ta ‘Preform the humble and erring.” They had failed signally. One; remained only a month, his fastidiousness taking alarm at the constant proximity of rags and dirt. A second -essayed to quiet a riot K on the rear benches and was unmercifully belabored. The latest incumbent had antagonized “the scoffers,” who were denominated as “lost souls,” and they had forthwith forbidden their wives and children from “going nigh to that gospel shop.” Rev. Abbott Winslow had met with considerable success in conducting a large mission in the heart of the slums of a big city. He had overworked himself and his physicians had ordered less arduous labor. Mr. Rankin had heard of him. Mr. Winslow had been invited to meet a group of representative local business men of Ironton interested in missionary progress. He

had pleased them greatly. Miss Rankin particularly had been drawn toward this earnest, unselfish man, who it could be readily seen was oneminded aM sincere in principle mnd practice. The words of her father aroused in Ada thought and anxiety. How long, indeed, would Mr. Winslow last with the unruly mob who resented intrusion on what they called their rights? It needed a trained pugilist to handle some of the rough ones. Mr. Winslow was not frail or puny, but Ada shuddered as a mental picture of the brawny fists and bulging shoulders of some of the mill workers flashed through her mind. - “If they only give him a chance,” reflected Ada. “He does not talk like the others, His soul is full of pity and charity. I wish I could help him.” Meantime, at the mission in the city a certain James Frawley, otherwise known as “Big Jim,” was arranging to give some creditable help to the young man who had so impressed Ada Rankin. Jim was a natural product of the slums. He had lorded it over all the other hoodlums until they were forced to acknowledge his supremacy. He had run the gauntlet of police supervision until he had gained a very bad name. One day he stood in the prisoner’s dock, “good for a tenner,” his pals had decided, for Jim had become mixed up in a very bad case of highway robbery. One man in the district stood by him. It was Rev. Abbott Winslow. Jim had no part in the actual crime. It was a case of keeping bad company. Mr. Winslow had done him at kindness some time previous. Jim had remembered it and sneaked into the mission several times. One night a rowdy crew started to make “rough house” in the meeting. Jim simply threw them out and issued a warning as to other disThere was peace and quiet after that. Jim made no professions of reformation, but the subtle, unobtrusive interest of the good man began finally 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 twenty, making money and whenever opportunity afforded contributed liberally to the collection box at the mission. It was the day after the visit of Mr. Winslow to Ironton that Jim entertained a friend in his room, just arrived, as if from a journey. “Well, Hacey,’* he submitted, “what's tho layout 9 ” ‘•Bad, Jim! If your friend goes to Ironton there’s a gang there ready to smash him.” “Our kind?” „ * "No, just the rough, prejudiced factory crowd. They’ve been nagged and tagged by the wrong kind of soul-sav-

ers till they think it’s hades anyway for them, so they take a delight In raising it on home territory." “Won’t be eh?” “I should say, no. You see, it’s a big joint there where they dispense the hotstuff. Only one license is allowed by the town and another will never- -be issued when that -one expires. It’s when the bad ones get fired up that the trouble commences. Cut out the booze and the loafing : “Who runs it?” asked Jim thoughtfully. “A man named Ward. He is a consumptive 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 mv 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. 5 1 If Jim’s method of reaching a final goal of good at the cost of incidental wickedness of no ordinary character along his line of progress was crude, it had sensational embellishments. Mr. Winslow, arriving at Ironton and beginning his duties, was amazed to find this “brand from the burning” 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 mis~ J 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 encouraged brawls, he sold to minors and at the end of two weeks his various misdemeanors justified the authorities in canceling his license and closing up the place. “I’m through,” announced Jim blandly, appearing unexpectedly before Rev. Abbott Winslow one day. “The only liquor license in Ironton is canceled and there’ll never be another one. I bought out the Golden Horn, so I own the lease. I’m thinking 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 reformer qpmbined. Some of his old customers drifted across country to a distant groggery when they needed refreshment. Most of them fell unsuspectingly under the wiles of Jim's plan. “I hardly know what to say in the way of gratitude for your great aid to Mr. Winslow,” said Miss Rankin, meeting Jim on the street one day. “Don’t try to,” laughed Jim, “but there’s something I’d like to say to you, if I don’t offend.'’ “What is that?” inquired Ada. “Mr. Winslow. Young lady, he’s wearing his heart away thinking about you. You see I know it. I just give you the tip.” _.. Ada blushed, more beautiful than ever. Jim chuckled to himself as she passed on, for, keen-witted fellow that he was, he noted a new happiness in her bonny face. (Copyright, 1915, by W. G. Chapman.)

“I Should Say, No.”