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THE SUMMARY SPIKE s By Paul Annixttr. . Ha sat alone in the deaolaced ill smellint; smok ing room of the small town depot, wailiog for the freight to puli through this town of Breoton. He waf little more than a boy, but aged from drugs and malnutrition. He bad the narrow, craf ty features of one versed in the ratty cunning of tne city streets. The face was sallow-white and lined, the cheeks sunken showing plainly the line uf the cheekbone. To moat it would have been frankly evil but the more understacding eye wou.d have caught a hint of gamy humour under- ■eatb. The one saving grace. Tbin-shanked and emaciated, be sat. on the seat nearest the round iron stove in which the fire was dying out. His wet sogry coat hung forward from his narrow shoulders, the sleeves shrunken so that several inches of bony wiist protruded. On the floor be- nsatb'the stove a pair of pig skin gloves steamed. It was nearing five in the afternoon. The depot was deserted. Outside, the snow, which bad been failing lightly all afternoon, sifted against the windows like driven sand in the rinng wind. Tne man >ftsbed in an inner pocket, brought forth a tattered time-table, unfo.dedit and traced with a grimy finger the towns probable location in the buwiing wilderness of tnow through which be bad been traveling, li was in Iowa. Something like a smile crossed his frost twisted face. So he had crossed the Missouri line in that last run! A bigger jump than he had thought. An hour and a half had passed since Spike No lan had dropped off the \blinds\ of an east bound limited as ibe slackened slightly to pass through this desolate way-station. He would have struck with her until he fr'ize, and dropped oil on a curve, had it not been for the fateful whi n that caused the baggage-man to cross be tween cars to exchange chaff with the express eleik. He bad caught sight of Spike, clinging there in the swirl of smoke and etaam It was a case of dog and cat-bellowed threats and defiance from Spike. Had the biggage-man known of the rucks of life from which he sprang, he would have appreciated the fact that it takes more than ordinary urge to make a man cling to the rocking, swaying blinds of a passenger-train in the face of a November storm. But the baggage-man was fat, and couldn’t remember the time when hehaa not been well fed. Besides, eince the war-time rules, the roads were especially hard on those of the blind-baggage type, and brakemen every where were developing a kangaroo leg. The pen ally for beatiog a passenger train was a month in ja'l, and Spike knew it well. Therefore, under ta- volley of the baggage man’s oaths, he had dropped for it, plowing up some fifteen feet of Slow and cinders. For some moments be had lain where he fell, letting the dank softness of the snow solace his tortured muscles. When he had arisen, the train was a rapidly disappearing blur on the leaden sky to the east. Spike’s chalky lips had writhed in a feeble curse. His best chance was gone. He had risen, circled around through the town, and later, when the depot had emptied of people, had sought tbe^ahelter of the smoking room. First, however, ke bad consulted the train schedule outside. The next train out a through freight was due at five minutes past six. He would have to catch that. He had lost a good deal more time than he could afford already. From the forgoing it will be evident that gomething of vital moment was responsible for Spike Nolan’s enduring such harbsbips in the face of a growing cold spell. Spike was going home, to Halstead Street, Chica^. The matter was one of life or death—the life or death of his mother. He had no money, but he had to get to Chicago, quick as rails could take him. Perhaps had Spike been a professional rambler, it would have been different but he wasn’t. He had al ways scorned ‘‘beating it” merely for the sake of beating it. For he had a proffassion, though he had not been active at it for more than two years. All be bad to be proud of was wbat he bad been - “Kid\ Nolan best known on the Sheeps- head course. Time was when any mount the Kid rode was alive in the betting days of much money always in the eye of the Big Town. In fact, hpike still treasured in the house on Halstead Street a certain suit of yellow and white eatin, brteches, shirt and cap. But that bad been a short-lived three years in all; then he had fallen prey to a ring of sure-thing gamblers, and begun laying money of his own on the side. The man agers had coma down on nim in short order, anil Spike and ‘‘theold woman\ had gone West, with less than a hundred dollars saved, out of possible thousands. They had settled in Chicago ---- at Isaat Mrs. Nolan had; but Spike bad been ‘‘go ing’’ ever since ---- going down. Here he was, at about the bottom of the last ditch, broken of puree, broken of health and two hundred miles from a friendly roof. It was a year and a half since he seen Chicago last. He had left bis mother in ill health even then, and had gone West to begin all over agsin, for be tad sickened of the little sidewalk games at which be bad eked out an existence during the Halstcd Street period. He had in tended to send for his mother. Denver, the boys had told him, i as the softest town, where no body asked questions and nobody cared. Still, Spike hadn't dore well. He hadn’t been able to send for the old woman—he had rarely had enough money to get back East himself. The main reason waa a little box of white powder in Spike’s inner pocket, a powder that made Spike dream big dreams and never carry them out. The boy bad ventured all too early on the cocaine route. Then abruptly Mrs. Nolan’sletters had stopped. HOW I WOULD LIVE I koow how short this life at best must be. So let me live that, after 1 am dead. There may be those who will remember me For some good tting that I have done or said. If I had mede a little child to laugh. A tired and careworn mother caused to smile, Of said a good word in some one’s behalf; Oh then, will rot my life have been worth while? If by .a kindly word. 1 helptd to cheer Someone in sorrow; helped relieve the pain Of on« who luffered; or di.^pelled the fear Of one afraid —then have I not lived in V E in’/ If I deal fairly with my fellow men. Helped those disheartened, weary wi.h the strife; If I am honest with myself, pray, then. Have I not played the belter part in life? So let me live that, after I am dead, There may be these who, looking on my face, Will think uf some good thing 1 did or said That made this world for them a brighter place. —Harrison Rvssell, The Girt. Spike waited a period, then wrote hia pal Frenchy Lewis. After another long wait, be bad received this letter: Dear Pal Spike; I sent one of the boys out to look in on your eld woman as you asked. She’s getting no bet ter fast. It’s her lungs —same old thing. I guess it’s all right with her. You better make a line for home. I left some change with her, but times is herd. It’s tough luck, Spike. I know how you liked her. Yours resp., Your pal, Frenchy. That was all. . * Spike pulled this letter‘out of bis pocket and stared at it long, for the hundredth time, study ing meticulously the stilted, h^lf colloquial half- formed sentences. Always his gaze brought up as if hypnotized- on the sentence; ‘1 guess it’s al right with her. ’ ‘‘I gotta makeit,\ he mut'ered, ‘‘1 just gottal I goUa get out o’here to-night.\ Hia thin band clenched, as the fear that had been with I im for weeks returned— the fear that be would be too late. His mother was all Spike had, ail be ever loved Mrs. Nolan was honest, and for all her knowledge of Spike’s ways, she loved him with a tigerish love, made more intense by the knowledge of the constant war that society waged on her boy. There had been very few demonstrations of any sort between them. Iven when Spike was at home, scarce a dozen words a day passed between the two. Mrs. Nolan might have been different, but it was Spike who held the barrier. He’d grin shamefacedly and growl a few monosyllables at any show of emotion on the old woman’s part. But Spike knew, and Mrs.Nolan knew, how deep was the love between them. The depot cloek marked five-twenty. In forty- five minutes the freight would arrive. He needed to eat. He hadn’t had a sqaara meal in days. It would take nerve and a \front” to bold that freight down. And to keep np a front, he must •at. A hand fnmbled in the tebaeeo-strewn living of hia pocket and found a solitayy nickel—his last. Sinkers was all that spelled. What be noeded was meaL He arose and picked bis soggy gloves frens the floor. He couldn’t afford to sit here tmd soft^ cn np by the fire. The cold in the open country would be intense. Between his toes dampness oozed, for one of his shoes had cracked that day, and now part of his sock showed through the crack. For the first time since be had left Denver, Spike was afraid, and what he feared was numbness on the night's run. He knew how it would come. His feet would deaden first, and slowly his legs, until he either dropped from his perch, or slid out at another such deserted town as this. He pulled the loose collar of bis jersey up about his chin and stepped outside. A shiver went thru his whole frame at the first etab of the night wind. If he ate, it would have to be quickly. He start ed across the street for the town lights, his chin hugged low against his chest, body hert egainet the wind. Up the main-lighted street he went at hia shuffling limp. Curious eyes toined to look at him, eye.s of heavy shouldered, big - necked provincials to whom Spike, wif.h bis rszurliko thinness and sharp features was an alien marked. Twice he made an attempt to panhandle a coin, once in a poolroom, again at. a street corner, but received only a growl orabuvine, suspicious stare In all that town, it appeared, there wasn’t a loose dime for such as be. Ten minutes before the freight was due, ho gave up. He sought the single‘restaursnC in the town, and had swallowed a cup of black coffeo and a doughnut before the far-eff whistle set him off at a run for the railroad tracks. But the god of chance wasn’t ibreugh with Spike yet He didn’t make the freight, though he waited twenty-five minutes in the lee of the water-tank, flailing his thin arms against bis sides. He had madi- a runr.iug jump and climbed up between cars, but a ‘‘shack’’ from th- tops swung down a ladder almcst on top of I itn, and he had to drop for it under the ihrtatof the heavy boot that mtnaeed his face. He had fallen prone, and before he was up again, the Ireight had gathered half her speed. The caboose tail-light flashed by him, iteming to fling back a green-eyed jeer. A sohbirg cure* had ripped from his twisted lips; he had ven ataried down the tracks at a atunibling lun as if to overtake this last hope. Finallv he hod tome to a stop and stood there.forcing himself to face the storm, hot rage and desperation surgirg ia his soui,- ‘ My luck- -my dirty luck!\ be muttered. He strained his eyes against the stinging snow as he gazed after th? dimming lights. For a mo ment he contemplated walking, but the country on either side of the track stretched away dark and shelterless and hare of hgbts. ‘‘Where’s yourtown?\ questioned a vcice close behind him. Spike swung around confused, and in the gloom made out another figure not ten feet away, climb ing up the grade. •‘Chicago,’’ said Spike. \What road you?” \From the West,’’ said the stranger, drawing closer. ‘ Had a brush with a shack down the line, and got the leg just as we come in But you wait. I’ll get that guy proper one of these days. It won’t be long, neither.’’ Hia hand went to a prominent bulge in hia coat pocket, and bis voice was sullen with deadly threat. \Anything doing around here?\ \Na a-a,’’ answered Spike wearily. ‘‘I been tryin.' to get out all the afternoon, and now there’s no more trains due till midnight ’’ ■‘Listen,\ sail the other. \How’s chances for a little handout? Coffee and sinkers. You Irav- elin’ on anything?” \Nol a sou.” said Spike, flipping out the lin- iaga ef his pockets. \Aint had a square meal iw two days.\ \Same here - you can frisk me,’’ said the tramp glumly. \Come on; let’s do the town. There’s a feed for ut somewhere in this dump, and I ’m going to And it.\ ‘‘I’m jake,” said Spike blithely. An boar later the two emerged from a small restaurant where they had obtained a meal in re turn for mopping out for the night shift. Tba stranger was a heavy-set, evil-looking man, hulk ing of shoulder and thick of neck - one of tha country’s nondescript army of husky tramps. Hia face was wind-scoured and raw red, in direct contrast to the parcbmant-white featuiea of Spike Nolan. \Now wot fell we goin’ to do?’’ he growled. iContinwed on Page 6\
