The Photo-Play Journal (May 1916-Apr 1917)

PAGE 18. THE PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL FOR JULY, 1916 "I want you, mother. Well stop gambling and start life anew together" tal stagnancy which Moll had displayed even to herself in years, she poked about the three-room shack the rest of the day, talking to herself and occasionally sitting down to smile for minutes at a time — and again to sorrow fearlessly. That night Weed and Gardner were on the alert earlier than usual. Moll, too, showed an unusually keen interest in the tables and made special efforts to keep the chairs filled with players. At midnight Clarke had not appeared and the two gamblers' nerves were fretted down to needle-point. Moll alone appeared inwardly pleased at something, which irritated her partner. "Where do you reckon the Easterner might be this evenin', Moll?" he queried as she dropped into a vacant chair between him and Gardner at the rear poker table. "Couldn't say, Dicky," returned the woman, "but he won't be, long here, if that's what you mean." "The hell he won't!" burst forth Gardner, exchanging glances with Weed. "And why won't he ?" "Because he promised me not to play tonight," returned Moll calmly. And though the two laughed at her words and placed little credence in her idea that anything as slight as a promise could keep the gambling fever down, they grew more sombre as the hours passed and Clarke did not show up. The truth of it was that the young miner had slept through the day and far into the night, from pure mental exhaustion, and late as he awoke, the memory of his promise had little to do with his non-appearance. It was his penniless condition principally that kept him away from the greencovered tables. "I'm tired of struggling! I want my gold!" Crazy Oby stopped at the table and peered into the disgusted faces of Weed and Gardner, as the grave-yard shift came on at two. "Go get it if you can, my friend, and good luck to you !" said Weed, yawning. And Gardner with a curse rose from his chair, and, making for the bar, drank ferociously and departed for his cabin. Then Moll, too, retired. It was again morning, and the break fa si hour in Boiseville just past. Clarke had crossed the township and was not far from Pete Gardner's hut, walking with no particular objective, but because of his thoroughly awakened feeling. Moll on her way to see Kate Gardner met him close to town. "For keeping your promise, boy, thanks," she greeted him. He looked curiously at her and wondering again at her interest, made no comment, while Moll continued : "How about your home folks, anyway — don't you ever figure on meeting up with them?" "My home folks just ain't!" replied Clarke. "My mother lit out when I was too small to understand, and my father never had anything to say about her up to the time of his death." The woman tried to conceal her agitation, but curiosity she could not restrain. "How would you like to find your mother now — a woman like me ?" she queried agitatedly. Clarke started and looked earnestly at Moll. "You know something about her — or me!" he ejaculated. "Tell me!" Drawing a worn locket from the chamois purse which Moll carried in her gun-holster, she opened it and, after a brief, longing look at the miniature therein, passed it to Clarke, who stood in wondering amaze. It was a boy about five years old and though unrecognizable as the man who now held it. was inscribed in tiny print, "Graham Clarke." "How long have you known this, Moll — mother?" burst out the man, as he came close to the woman and laid a hand upon her shoulder. "Since I learned your name — yesterday!" she replied, "but no one else must know it. It would ruin your prospects, and its too long since we met for us to miss each other — " Clarke turned abruptly at the sound of hoof-beats. Doris Wendell was riding to ward them from the village, and smiling eagerly, her lover turned to his mother with : "Doris is to be my wife, and she will be a daughter to you." Moll smiled sadly. "She will never even be a friend to me. my boy — and it is doubtful if .she will recognize you if she finds I am your mother," she concluded, starting back down the path. But Clarke caught her arm and led her toward Doris, who had dismounted upon observing the two. As they reached the spot where Doris had halted, Kate Gardner rounded a curve in the path and stopped where Clarke had held the recent interview with her friend and patroness, Moll. She stood in some surprise at sight of the near-by trio, which increased as Clarke s afiectionate attitude toward both the women became apparent to her. Doris, too. appeared startled at the man's evident affection for the woman of the gambling house, and her stare of greeting showed no indication of changing to a more friendly one without some explanation from him. "This is my mother, Doris, and she will be yours as well." Clarke broke the silence in a somewhat strained tone. "His mother!" murmured Kate, who could just distinguish the words from where she stood. And noting the growing expression of disgust on Doris' features, she exulted inwardly. "If this woman is your mother — I am nothing to you," said Doris slowly. "Live with her as such if you will, and I shall certainly not be either daughter to her, nor wife to you !" And she turned with an arrogant look at Moll and walked rapidly back toward town. Kate had come close enough to hear and note the girl's finality, and as the latter stepped out of sight in the path, she threw herself into Moll's arms, while Clarke, with a sigh, held out hands to both. "I want you, mother. W^e'll stop gambling and start life anew together," he said, and Kate turned with a sudden sob, running toward her cabin while mother and son were clasped in each others' arms. It was three months since Graham Clarke had touched a card. Working on his claim, which as yet revealed nothing of value to his pick, by day, he spent his evenings with his newly-found mother 'and revived many memories of his Eastern life in her books and pictures. Moll, too, had fought against the lure of the green cloth to such good effect that she never sat in any of the games below, and hoped to sell out her interest to Weed as soon as she could explain his strange intimacy with Pete Gardner, which grew more noticeable each day. They in turn had not given up the idea of entrapping Clarke into a game of some sort that they might gain possession of his claim, but did not force matters, as they thought the longer he worked it without result, the more likely he would be to stake it in a lump — and the less chance of him having anything else to stake. One warm Western day, when the silence of the hills oppressed more than usual, Clarke sat alone in . Moll's living-room, wondering if his struggle against the God of Chance were over, or just begun. An occasional clatter of freighters' wagons along the distant road ; calls from the "cribwomen's" line of shanties across the stream