THE RAND MILLION

Lake County Press, Issue 2789, 12 June 1919, Page 2

THE RAND MILLION

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL

ARRANGEMENT.

By MARTIN J. McHUGH.

Author of "The Maid of the Mill. fhe Death Mask," "Peacock Farm," "The Dream Song," Etc. (COPYRIGHT.) CHAPTER I. Bally ran sweltered in the glare of a July sun. The town which elsewhere would be called a village, but was regarded as an important commercial and social centre in south-wes-tern Ireland —had an aspect of peace that gave an impression of desolation. Only three human beings were to be seen in the wide main street which, composed of dwelling houses and shops of very irregular sizes and diverse styles of architecture, had, however, a look of neatness not very general in that part of the worldOf these visible inhabitants, one was the manager of the Munster and Connaught Bank, who sunned himself at the door of his establishment smoking a cigarette. A little further away, a girl was listlessly rearranging some fabrics displayed outside a drapery store, while at the kerb near by wated a rude cart, the donkey harnessed to which would have seemed to be sleeping, were it not that he occasionally flicked an ear to ward off the attacks of flies.

The third person was Larry Tumpano, who was indolently leaning against the doorpost of his father’s general shop on the shady side of the street, fie was a young man of about twenty-five, of medium height and slight, and goodlooking in an undistinguished style.

But at the moment his face had a sullen, brooding expression, as he stood there doing nothing. His gaze idly ranged the street, resting now and then in moody thought on the slender gothic spire of the Catholic church at one end, or the square ivy-covered tower of the Protestant church at the other, which gave their note of decoration to the place. Now and then his glance, tiring of the sunlit house fronts facing him, would settle vacantly on a bicycle that stood at the footpath’ edge a couple of yards away.

j. \ From inside his father’s shop came | the sound of conversation, but so indistinctly that it reached the ' j young man’s ears as unmeaningly as ‘ S did the buzzing of passing flies or , j the droning of an occasional bee. But Larry Tumpane, immersed in 11 « his own thoughts, was heedless of [ the conversation, and would not ,e have felt any interest in it had he e ~ clearly heard every word of it. For one moment, however, he 1 ‘ seemed to be diverted from his thoughts, as he heard the whistle of ? ‘ a train to his left. He looked in the ° direction of the station, where the • incoming afternoon train was indi)r cated by the harsh grating of its brakes as it came to a stop. A couple t of minutes later the engine’s quick panting and a cloud of smoke ane nounced the train’s departure, s Larry was relapsing into his leY thargy when there was a quick, firm footfall behind him, and a clergy- - man emerged from the shop. He r placed his hand on the young man’s j shoulder and said: “What’s this ,> your father is telling me about your s wanting to go off to America?” “Sure, you must have heard all . there is to say from himself, Father Dolan,” answered Larry, rather [ sulkily. "He talked enough for ! that.” j

Father Dolan stood and scrutinised Larry’s face closely. The priest was a tall, athleticlooking, fair-haired man of forty. ■ His clean-shaven face, naturally ■ clear-complexioned, but now much i sun-browned and freckled, had a pleasant open expression, but it , nevertheless gave a hint of the pos--1 session of considerable mental strength and energy. "That’s true,” said the priest at length. "Your father had a lot to say about this queer notion of yours. ■ * (But why you’d want to leave him ( ! at all is more than he can make out ; himself. And that’s what I want 1 you to tell me now.”

“There’d be many a reason, gooc or bad, for leaving Ballyran, anc why wouldn’t I want to do so as well as all the others that went before me?” replied Larry, with a slight air of confusion, as he averted his eyes from the clergyman’s keen scrutiny and stared doggedly at a sparrow that was giving itself a dust bath in the roadway. “That’s all true enough,” retorted Father Dolan, lowering his hand from the other’s shoulder, but still confronting him. “But it doesn’t explain your reason. Now, what is it?” “Maybe it is only that I would like to make a change, and would be the better for it,” answered Larry. “There’s many a one does better out of his own country than in it, and why shouldn’t I, too?” “You would not—and how could vou have so little sense as to expect it ?” returned the priest, quickly. “Is there a man doing better in Ballyran than your father, with only y r ourself to succeed to his fine busi-

(ness? Where would you expect to get as good a living, or anything like it, as you’re secure of here—if only you’ll mind it? I’ll tell you what it is—you’ve got a bit restless, and want to see the world. Isn’t that it?” "Maybe it is that, Father,” answered Larry, snatching with relief at the proffered explanation "Well, then, what’s to prevent you from seeing as much.of it as is good for you before you die?” retorted the priest "Hasn’t your father had many a fine jaunt away, that he enjoyed well. I’m sure—though, as he told me himself, he was always glad enough to get back to Ballyran and his snug home. And isn’t what’s good enough for your } own father good enough for you ? Even as it is, he lets you go where . you wish; and there’s not a young j man in the place as free as yourself . to go to a race meeting or any other . diversion, or gets more in his pocket I to spend just how he likes. And f what more would you ask for?” i "I’m thinking, for all that, i America is the place for me,” said r the young man, obstinately, after a • pause; “and ’tis there I’ve set my . mind on going.” F "Well, your father is not of the > same opinion,” returned the priest: "and if you go against his wish, > you’ll go with empty pockets.” "I have enough saved to pay my [ passage,” said Larry, sullenly. . "And it isn’t much more I’ll want . when I get to the States, where . there’s a good living waiting for . everybody. It’s a grand country, sc it is.” 1 "It is a grand country—in some 1 respects the finest in the world—but > it can do without you,” replied the , priest. : "She can do with one more, Father.” said Larry, with affected ■ lightness. "If she can, he’s not going to . be yourself, Larry.” returned Fa- ■ j ther Dolan, briskly. "Now, think • j sense and talk it. You’ve got a ; good living and a. happy home here, ' and it’s your first duty to mind , them. So here you will remain, to succeed in time to your father, to whom you owe obedience. Why, Larry, with such a present and future, you should be the happiest and most contented young man in the county.” * Larry Tumpane looked irresolute but made no rejoinder. "This restlessness—this fever of emigration—will it never cease until Ireland is utterly depleted of those elements she most needs!” exclaimed Father Dolan. "Remember, Larry, the duty you owe to your country, too. These are times when Ireland wants everyone of her sons and daughters; for there is pelnty for all to do in the great work of raising up a prosperous and happy new Ireland on the site of that old unhappy Ireland that has, please Heaven, seen the end of her too big ’•are of shame and sorrow. An cl ■;o don’t let me hear again of your going to America, or anywhere else, when you should be here to take' your part in the glorious work of ' our country’s regeneration.” \ | Father Dolan went to the edge of I "lie path, adjusted the clips on his trousers, and then examined his bicycle. Larry Tumpane, staring down the street in the direction of the railway station, maintained silence. I "I’ve been only a year in this parish, and yet, in that short time, I have, among other tilings, done something to check senseless tide of emigration,” resumed the priest, earnestly, while he stood up and tried the bicycle pedals with las foot. "There’s plenty of work here awaiting us all, Larry, whatever our station in life. My special task is to make this the happiest, the most prosperous, and the most crimeless parish in Ireland. And you. like every other decent man, must do your best to help me to that end.”

“I will. Father.” answered the young man, in a mechanical, abtracted tone.

| "That’s right. I knew well I ' could count on you,” said Father Dolan, cheerfully. "And do you know, Larry,” he went on, an affectionate smile lighting up his face, "it strikes me that we’d hear no more talk from you of emigration if you took a fancy to some nice girl; and I know there’s nothing would please your father better than that you’d marry and settle down. 1 So, if you don’t soon make a choice for yourself—which you could do ' whenever you liked without help, ! there being enough girls to pick and choose from—l’ll look out for some

good, sensible girl to suit you. And when I marry you I'll expect you and your wife to be a model couple and an example for all." "As sure as I'm alive, here comes Anthony Clair!" suddenly exclaimed Larry, in a voice of intense astonishment. Father Dolan, looking in the direction of Larry's gaze, noted on the other side of the street the figure of an approaching man, who carried a large portmanteau with evident difficulty. "It certainly is Mr. Clair," hr said, his face and voice also express iug great surprise. (To be Confined.)