We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
A Western Redemption
(Essanay)
By RALPH CONWAY
Mrs. Harris allowed her husband to read the newspaper at the breakfast table when her son was there to entertain her. She argued that, while it was extremely bad example for her son and he would probably make his future wife miserable, it mitigated to some extent her otherwise rigid rule, and relieved John of any social obligations. The only flaw in her argument was that Tom was so entertaining that it was quite impossible for John to concentrate on the paper. He compromised by listening to them and reading scraps of news aloud when conversation flagged. Tom wasn't always present at breakfast. There were days at a time when he did not come home at all. Therefore this was a joyous occasion, and one to be made the most of.
"Aren't you glad to get back to some of my good coffee, dear ? ' ' asked Mrs. Harris, tactfully.
She had long since learnt the futility of asking him where he had been spending his time. His invariable grudging response was ' ' With the fellows." Mrs. Harris' coffee was so good that the answer was too obvious to need articulation, and John Harris did not scruple to break in with one of his irrelevant items of news :
"CAR-BARN THIEF ARRESTED.
"Early this morning one of the carbarn bandits was captured by the police, and after being sweated he squealed on his accomplice. Detectives are now in search of him, and say that they will land him in jail before night."
The plate which Tom was holding out to his mother crashed to the floor.
"Why, Tom," exclaimed his mother, mildly, "what's the matter? Your hand is generally the steadiest I ever knew."
"I — I've been sitting up late,
40
mother. I'm nervous. Never used to be. Ha! ha!"
He laughed constrainedly.
"Ha!" he almost shouted, as the front door was banged unceremoniously open.
"Come, boy," said the sheriff, softly. "I want you."
He eyed Tom keenly as he spoke, but his voice was compassionate. Every one liked Tom. They scarcely knew why, but the appeal in him was irresistible. A spice of deviltry in the boy only made it the more alluring.
"What do you want me for?" asked Tom; but he was simply sparring for time.
"No use bluffing, Tom," said the sheriff. "You and Dick robbed that man near the car barns. One of you hurt him too. It's serious. Dick says that you did it."
"Squealer!" said Tom, in deep disdain.
"Tom!" gasped his mother. "It isn't true?"
Tom took her in his arms.
"It isn't your fault, mother," he murmured tenderly. "You have always done everything you could for me. So have you, father. It's all my own fault. Sometimes I think there 's a devil inside me. Come, sheriff."
He grasped his father by the hand, and before their tear-dimmed eyes he marched out with the sheriff. Could that erect head and alert bearing be that of a criminal ?
John Harris was not rich, and one of the tragedies of poverty is that it has but little time to indulge in the luxury of feelings. It is also a saving grace. Hard work has sometimes saved a man's tottering reason. Augustus Carney was a hard employer, and John had to be at his desk by a certain hour. Stricken to