71
February 1932
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
THE RETURNo/iL TIDE
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A Serial Story . . . By ZENOBIA BIRD
bed to add to the weight if not to the warmth, and in à few minutes, tired out as he was, he was fast asleep. From out of a troubled dream, he was suddenly startled by a heavy hand laid on his arm. He had turned and looked straight into the face of an officer of the law. For only an instant he shrank speechless, when a hand was laid heavily on his other arm and he knew without looking that he was between them, and he was helpless. He might as well give up without a struggle. He shuddered—and awoke. Where was he? Was it all a dream? It might just as
C hapter X I
ear the close of a short Alaskan day in early winter, a man walked slowly through one o f the smaller streets of Juneau. He was hungry and cold, and he purposed to have a good meal tonight. As he ventured out on Front Street, with its bright lights, his attention was riveted on an exhibit in a large show window. Yet, what he saw was not what caught the eye of the pas ser-by, but his own reflection in a large mirror. He stood
well be true ; anything was bet ter than this agony and sus pense. Sometimes he thought he would go back to the States and give himself up. And then he thought of his family and the suffering and disgrace it would bring to them, and his heart failed him. He dozed off again, to dream , this time that he was looking out between prison bars. He awoke and slept and awoke again, through the long winter night. The next morn ing, his nerves were bad, and he purposely avoided the restaur antwhere he had eaten the night before. He was likely to jump guiltily if any one spoke to him. The weather was milder, and he felt quite comfortable as he sat in a sheltered corner and watched the world go by. Down the street toward him came a young boy with a bright, sunny face, whistling a tune that stirred strange mem ories in the mind of the man. “What a Friend we have in Jesus, All our sins and griefs to bear; What a privilege to carry Everything to God in prayer 1” As he reached the cortief
gazing at the picture he made. Unshaven, unkempt, ragged, he looked like a veritable tramp. His night trip down from Skagway in an Indian’s old gasboat had not improved his appearance any. “ Been some while since I had a chance to see the whole of me,” he muttered, the flicker of a smile lighting up his face for a moment. “ What wouldn’t I give for a bathand abarber!” But he did not wish to at tract attention, and soon moved on. He found a cheap-looking restaurant, which he entered, and ordered what seemed like a generous meal. Then he must find a room for the night. He asked the proprietor of the restaurant. “ First-rate rooming house around the corner from here. Just go down this street to the next corner and turn to your right. Can’t miss it. Hope you have a good night.” And then, as Jake still lingered, “ Been here long, or just come?” “ Today,” laconically an
swered the customer, in a tone that discouraged further con versation. “ Come from the inside, I take it. This is the time o’ year they come out. Been in all summer?” “ Mostly,” answered the man. “ Well, you may be glad you made it, The winter inside is awful. Have pretty good luck this summer ?” But the shabby-looking stranger was walking out the door. He knew the friendliness that did not hesitate to question a newcomer most persistently, and he had no wish to enter into such an acquaintance. He found the lodging house and took the cheapest room he could get. It was fairly clean and comfortable, with a cot, one chair, and a table made from a store box. He tried to lock the door but found the lock broken. He removed his damp outer garments and piled them on the
TOTEM POLE IN ALASKA
where Jake sat, something across the street attracted his attention. Neither he nor the man saw a great truck at the top o f the hill break loose in some way and begin slowly backing down the hill, gaining momentum as it came. It was almost on top of the boy when the man gave a startled exclamation, “ Run, boy, the truck!” The little fellow jumped, saw his danger, started to run, slipped on the icy street, and fell flat in the path of the oncoming truck. In a moment, the man gave a spring, shot his body across the intervening space in a football tackle that had once made him famous on the gridiron. Boy and man slid into the gutter together, and not a sec ond too soon, as the car went rumbling by. A crowd soon gathered, with warm greetings and con gratulations for the stranger. Before the day was over,
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