Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 203, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 September 1917 — THE DIFFERENCE [ARTICLE]

THE DIFFERENCE

By A. C. NEW.

Walter Brent checked his satchel, gave another impatient glance at the dispatch board and walked across the deserted station to the news stand. “See tha t New York train’s an hour and a half late,” he remarked cryptically tu tlieilruwsy prupi'lelur, who nodffeff" a sleepy assent. “Give me a copy of the Tattler. Is there any eating place near here?” answered the other briefly, handing Brent the magazine. Brent then walked out of the station. Raising his umbrella, for it was raining hard, he trudged down the quiet street, until he halted in front of a dimly-lit lunchroom. He paused a moment in surprise, for a very pretty and dainty young girl was standing on tip toes extinguishing the front light, but as he entered she left the light burning and smilingly demanded his order, then disappeared In the direction of the kitchen In the rear. Brent settled himself in a chair and opened the magazine, and did not notice a young man, who appeared at the rear door, scowled at him and then withdrew again. ‘‘Huh!” grunted the latter in a low tone to the young girl at the stove. “Looks like he’s settled down for a stay. I was goin’ to close down after Joe came. What’d he order, sis?” “I’m glad he came,” answered the gfrl, dropping an egg into the steaming pan and Ignoring his question. “Now I won’t have to wait on that bum.”

A bang In the dining room outside was heard and the young man turned on his sister quickly. As Joe lurched into the lunchroom, slunk into a seat, and, grasping in his hands a salt cellar, he beat a tattoo on the table. Soon the girl emerged from the kitchen with Brent’s order, and as she passed Joe she stepped out of his way as he made a grab for her arm. Brent noticed her agitation as she set the dishes down in front of him. In response to her polite and musical query if he would have anything else, he absently gave a negative nod and she started back for the kitchen. This time, as she passed the drunk’s table, she was not quick enough to dodge his restraining hand, and he pulled her over to him. “Please, Joe,” she pleaded. “A kiss —a sweet little kiss,” came the maudlin answer. “C’mon now. Ah, now, you don’t wanta scream ! It’d ruin your place, y’ know it.” “Walt!” pleaded the girl, her face tleman something. When I come back I’ll kiss you.” And she darted away to the kitchen.

Ten minutes slipped by before she rose hastily from her chair and hurried into the lunchroom. At the door she paused in astonishment, for both the stranger and Joe were gone! Returning to the kitchen she routed her brother, and they ran together to the door, but the stranger, with his scarcely tasted meal yet unpaid for, was nowhere in sight, nor was Joe. But the quest of the watchers was brief, for a new gust of rain drove them inside, and locking the doors they extinguished the lights and retired. Half an hour later, Just as the girl had slipped off to sleep, a loud rapping at the front door beneath her room summoned her, attired in a simple dressing gown, downstairs. At the front door a beefy policeman accosted her. “Mis’ Lucy,” he said, shaking off the rain, “we got a young guy up at th’ lockup, who says he owes yeh forty cents. Here it is,” and the officer slipped some coins in her hands. “Says he was eatin’ in here ’while ago.- Big, handsome young felleiybrown hair, an’ all dressed up. Knovfem?” “Y—es,” she Altered. “But why—Js he —locked up?”

“Fer flghtin’,” was the brief reply. “I caught ’em down th’ street. He had his coat around Joe’s mouth and was beatin’ th’ life outa him —you know Joe, th’ one that runs a taxi. He’s at th’ hospittle.” At the mention of “Joe,” the color receded from Lucy’s face, leaving it deathly pale. “Did—do you know what they were fighting about?” she inquired nervously. “ ’Bout a woman, I guess,” replied the bluecoat. “Th’ young un’ was callin’ Joe a skunk fer mistreatin’ a fine little lady. Joe never answered. Never had no front teeth left t’ answer with.” Lucy thought quickly. “Mr. Giles,” she asked, hurriedly. “How much collateral do you want to let that young man out tonight?” Then she checked a reply from the policeman’s lips. “No, I mean IL He—he came in here to kill time till his train came. He —I know he’s too nice to be locked up. How much? Can I pledge this place? It’s mine.” The next day Brent rushed into the restaurant. “Miss Marston— Lucy,” he said, reaching across the counter and taking her hands in his. “I thank you for that. But don’t thank me. I couldn’t let the beast kiss you—and I couldn’t let him ruin your place. So I draggedhim out first, then beat him. But—l I can’t blame him much for wanting to kiss you. Td like to make a life Job of that myself. How about one now—for collateral?” / “Well,” she whispered, “you’re different. I wouldn’t mind kiss—,” but he stifled her sentence with his lips. (Copyright, 1517, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) .ff ' - .