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Show gp g g CZ g g By Courtney Ryley Cooper g Copyright by Courtney Ryley Cooper fWNTJ Service.) H .. Hu PRECEDING EVENTS Joe Barry, country youtb In New York, ekes out a living as caretaker cin a poor-rooming house and accordion player In Louie Bertolini's restaurant. Lured by the open country, he spends a night in the fields, neglecting neg-lecting his duties. Next day Ber-tolini Ber-tolini discharges him. A frequent fre-quent visitor to Bertolini's offers of-fers to befriend him. CHAPTER I Continued 3 "Still live there?" "No, sir. They're dead." "Got lots of relatives around there? Most country people have." Joe Barry shook his head. "No, sir. We just sort of drifted. My dad was a farm tenant." "What do you really call home where you've got relatives?" There was a slight wait, "I don't know of any." "And so, in a jam like you're in now broke and out of a job, there's nobody no-body you can really turn to. That It?" "Yes, sir." Then suddenly: "I've kind of lost heart, here in New York." "Why did you come here, anyway?" "Everybody told me I could get rich here." Interest had loosed the gates of a taciturnity developed though the long knowledge that nobody eared and nobody wanted to know. "I used to play for dances around Waverly and everybody thought I was great. Finally Final-ly it got so they didn't want the regular reg-ular orchestra at all, just me." "So they thought you were pretty good around Waverly. Then they kidded you Into coming to New York. When you got here, Broadway told you to go get a rep, Is that it?" "Yes, sir."- "How long have you been at Louie's?" "About a year." "Been working at this rooming house on Third avenue about the same length of time?" Joe Barry answered in a surprised affirmative. Martin enlightened him : "I was in the restaurant last night when Louie was talking about sending send-ing up for you. Well, now you're out of a job. Nobody cares what happens to you. You don't care much yourself, your-self, do you?" "No, sir." "Then how would you like to get ten thousand dollars for a few years' work?" Joe Barry's lips parted, but he said nothing. Even If he could have thought of something to say, there would not have been the power to utter it. Martin leaned closer. "Suppose you had a chance to make ten thousand dollars without hurting anything but your sense of pride. How about it?" "Ten thousand dollars?" At last Joe Barry had been able to utter the words. " 'Ten grand,' as they say on Broadway. All you've got to do Is keep quiet and leave New York for a while." "Where to?" The man shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, up the river a piece, as you'd say in Missouri." Joe Barry laughed. "That's what got me Into trouble, going up the river a piece. Every spring, I just think I'll go crazy here In town. So yesterday morning, I woke up early and I just didn't even stop to consider. I took all the money I had and went out and caught a bus and got off somewhere up around Newburgh. Then I Just wandered around. Gee, it was fun 1" "Yes?" asked Martin, non-commlt-tally. "Then what?" "Nothing, I just kept on roaming around. It would have been all right, except that it rained. You know, it sort of made me not care If I kept my Job or not. I'd told myself in the afternoon that I'd never go back. Well, I got under a tree and waited a long time until it stopped. Then I started out and got off on a side road. It must have been after midnight before be-fore I came back to the main highway. I guess there had been an accident. There were some red lights out and something that looked like a truck turned over." "Anybody around to tell what happened hap-pened ?" "I don't know. I didn't go up. I thought afterward that maybe I should have gone up there, in case anyone was hurt still they'd put out red lights, so people must have been there, j I just kept on until I saw a light in a farmhouse and went up and asked if I could stay all night. The old fellow must not have liked my looks. He ran me away. So I sneaked over in a field and burrowed Into a bay-! bay-! stack. I used to do that a lot when I was a kid. It's a great way to dry ; off; the hay's warm and It soaks up . the water." ' "Come into town this morning?" , askod Martin. j "No. this afternoon. I must have beep dog-tired. I slept until after one ! o'clock. Finally when 1 did come out, some fellows were in a field in a wagon. They yelled and started for me, I heard one of them shouting to the other about getting a gun, and calling the sheriff. So you bet I ran! They didn't see me again after I ducked Into a little grove. I caught the bus about four miles down the road." Joe Barry shifted suddenly. "But here I've been going on " "Quite all right It was very interesting." inter-esting." Then, at quick variance, Martin asked : "I gather you haven't a sweetie here in New York?" "No such luck, Mr. Martin. Why?" "Just thought I'd ask." His voice became more crisp. "Now about my end of this affair. As I told you, I'm an attorney. Now and then I am called upon to represent persons who get into trouble. I have a case now. A young fellow I knew tried to beat the Jones law transporting liquor, you know. Naturally, my client doesn't care to suffer the penalties. It's largely a matter of circumstantial evidence. So we come to the point. How would you like to step Into his shoes?" There was a moment of waiting. "I don't think I understand." "Well, I don't know how to make It any plainer. I'm offering a straight business proposition. You give up your freedom for a while the Jones law in itself, you know, isn't so bad. Courts have the right tc use their discretion dis-cretion on first offenders; it's only the hard-boiled ones who get the maximum, maxi-mum, five years, with time off for good behavior. My client can't afford to take the rap, as they call it. You can. I'm offering you ten thousand dollars to do it." "But I'd go to prison !" The youth's voice carried a tremor ; Martin met it with matter-of-factness. "All right," he answered. "We'll suppose that you go to prison. Think it over. You're a prisoner anyway. Aren't you a prisoner?" Martin asked sharply. "Are you getting any sense of freedom out of this life you're living?" "No sir; it's just a bed and three meals a day." "Then you're already caged, In a way. There wouldn't be any shame in it, because a person must have something on his conscience before he "A Fellow Could Do a Lot With Ten Times That Much Money," the Voice Beside Him Was Saying. can feel sorry for an act. Now, the matter of income. Suppose you had to do two years. You'd have a roof over your head, three meals a day, comparatively kind treatment as long as you obeyed the rules, care In case of illness, the chance to play in the orchestra and be a trusty, and besides that, you'd have the knowledge that you were Just doing a job for which you were being paid nearly fourteen dollars a day, Sundays and holidays Included." Joe Barry felt suddenly dizzy. "But how would I know " "That you were to be treated squarely?" The man drew a hand from his pocket. "Lean forward and count that I'll snap on the light." The dizziness increased. Joe Barry's fingers fumbled with the bills; his lips moved with audible undertones: "Nine hundred and forty, nine-sixty, nine-eighty, a thousand " "A fellow could do a lot with ten times that much money," the voice beside be-side him was saying. "He could go out Into some little town and buy himself a little business and a home. Or get a farm if he liked that kind of a life. What's a few years anyway? any-way? l'ou're onlv about twenty-five," (TO BE COVTINUED.) |