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Dominion, Volume 30, Issue 259, 29 July 1937, Page 6

Characters . ..

'TOM BURTON was aptly named. A No man was more staunchly framed in body and mind than he. It was not surprising that be should be nightwatchman for the town where he lived. He was so completely unimaginative that fear or a weak sympathy would have been beyond his understanding. Bur we knew be felt lonely on bis rounds for he would button-hole passers-by and hold them in talk fdr hours at a time. After one such session. I used to dodge into dark corners whenever I spied his dark, chunky figure. Once he caught me unawares. His deep voice halted me and bis torch dazzled my eyes. “Mr. Burton!” I exclaimed with false joviality. “Hullo! I can’t envy you your job on this freezing night. Tom Burton’s face was strangely solemn. “These nights I hate.” he confided. “No Stars, pitch black, the rain over and everything still.’ In the silence I heard the slow drip of water off the shop verandahs. Something in the sound and in Tom Burton’s attitude filled me with faint misgiving. I shivered and turned up my coat collar. "Ugh! Terrifying, these dark alleys!” “You think so?” Tom spoke almost eagerly. “Anything might be biding down those alleys.” he added, dropping his voice. With a laugh I shrugged off a sudden, unreasoning terror. ‘ You have your baton or a gun or something, I suppose?” Tom showed me how to use his only weapon, his torch, to ram a criminal s solar plexus. “But that wouldn’t help when they’re behind you.” be said. “There are alcoves and corners along these lanes. One blow on the head, a shot —that’d be the end. “First month I took this job. ten years ago now, a couple of the boys were pinched for thieving. P n . e told me afterwards they had been biding in an alley when I went my rounds. They had a crowbar, and one said. ‘Hit! but the other decided not. He said when he was caught that he was glad my death wasn’t on his conscience. “I walked so close they could have touched me with their bands. It was luck they let me go, but another time it might be different. I often think that. . . .” The band that held the torch quivered, ever so slightly, and the silence was menacing. Every dark shadow in the street. I thought, was robed like death. I made an effort to speak casually. “You’re not nervous, I know, Mr. Burton," I said. “Anything could hide there and me not notice,” repeated Tom. In the street lights his face seemed drawn and haunted. “Good-night. Mr. Burton,” I said abruptly and directly. I turned the corner—ran home as though for life. My mother looked up startled as I flung myself inside. “What is the matter?” _ tj “I’ve been talking with Mr. Burton. ’ My mother turned back comfortably to her knitting. “You seemed frightened, but not if you walked along with Mr. Burton. Nothing ever scares him.” —O.M.A.