The Clyde whom Samuel Griffiths described as having met at the Union League Club in Chicago, was asomewhat modified version of the one who had fled from Kansas City three years before. He was now twenty, a little taller and more firmly but scarcely any more robustly built, and considerably more experienced, of course.

　　For since leaving his home and work in Kansas City and coming in contact with some rough usage in the world-humbletasks, wretched rooms, no intimates to speak of, plus the compulsion to make his own way as best hemight--he had developed a kind of self-reliance and smoothness of address such as one would scarcely havecredited him with three years before. There was about him now, although he was not nearly so smartly dressed aswhen he left Kansas City, a kind of conscious gentility of manner which pleased, even though it did not at firstarrest attention. Also, and this was considerably different from the Clyde who had crept away from Kansas Cityin a box car, he had much more of an air of caution and reserve.

　　For ever since he had fled from Kansas City, and by one humble device and another forced to make his way, hehad been coming to the conclusion that on himself alone depended his future. His family, as he now definitelysensed, could do nothing for him. They were too impractical and too poor--his mother, father, Esta, all of them.

　　At the same time, in spite of all their difficulties, he could not now help but feel drawn to them, his mother inparticular, and the old home life that had surrounded him as a boy--his brother and sisters, Esta included, sinceshe, too, as he now saw it, had been brought no lower than he by circumstances over which she probably had nomore control. And often, his thoughts and mood had gone back with a definite and disconcerting pang because ofthe way in which he had treated his mother as well as the way in which his career in Kansas City had beensuddenly interrupted--his loss of Hortense Briggs--a severe blow; the troubles that had come to him since; thetrouble that must have come to his mother and Esta because of him.

　　On reaching St. Louis two days later after his flight, and after having been most painfully bundled out into thesnow a hundred miles from Kansas City in the gray of a winter morning, and at the same time relieved of hiswatch and overcoat by two brakemen who had found him hiding in the car, he had picked up a Kansas Citypaper--The Star--only to realize that his worst fear in regard to all that had occurred had come true. For there,under a two-column head, and with fully a column and a half of reading matter below, was the full story of allthat had happened: a little girl, the eleven-year-old daughter of a well-to-do Kansas City family, knocked downand almost instantly killed--she had died an hour later; Sparser and Miss Sipe in a hospital and under arrest at thesame time, guarded by a policeman sitting in the hospital awaiting their recovery; a splendid car very seriouslydamaged; Sparser's father, in the absence of the owner of the car for whom he worked, at once incensed andmade terribly unhappy by the folly and seeming criminality and recklessness of his son.

　　But what was worse, the unfortunate Sparser had already been charged with larceny and homicide, and wishing,no doubt, to minimize his own share in this grave catastrophe, had not only revealed the names of all who werewith him in the car--the youths in particular and their hotel address--but had charged that they along with himwere equally guilty, since they had urged him to make speed at the time and against his will--a claim which wastrue enough, as Clyde knew. And Mr. Squires, on being interviewed at the hotel, had furnished the police and thenewspapers with the names of their parents and their home addresses.

　　This last was the sharpest blow of all. For there followed disturbing pictures of how their respective parents orrelatives had taken it on being informed of their sins. Mrs. Ratterer, Tom's mother, had cried and declared herboy was a good boy, and had not meant to do any harm, she was sure. And Mrs. Hegglund--Oscar's devoted butaged mother--had said that there was not a more honest or generous soul and that he must have been drinking.

　　And at his own home--The Star had described his mother as standing, pale, very startled and very distressed, clasping and unclasping her hands and looking as though she were scarcely able to grasp what was meant,unwilling to believe that her son had been one of the party and assuring all that he would most certainly returnsoon and explain all, and that there must be some mistake.

　　However, he had not returned. Nor had he heard anything more after that. For, owing to his fear of the police, aswell as of his mother--her sorrowful, hopeless eyes, he had not written for months, and then a letter to his motheronly to say that he was well and that she must not worry. He gave neither name nor address. Later, after that hehad wandered on, essaying one small job and another, in St. Louis, Peoria, Chicago, Milwaukee-- dishwashing ina restaurant, soda-clerking in a small outlying drug-store, attempting to learn to be a shoe clerk, a grocer's clerk,and what not; and being discharged and laid off and quitting because he did not like it. He had sent her tendollars once--another time five, having, as he felt, that much to spare. After nearly a year and a half he haddecided that the search must have lessened, his own part in the crime being forgotten, possibly, or by then notdeemed sufficiently important to pursue--and when he was once more making a moderate living as the driver of adelivery wagon in Chicago, a job that paid him fifteen dollars a week, he resolved that he would write hismother, because now he could say that he had a decent place and had conducted himself respectably for a longtime, although not under his own name.

　　And so at that time, living in a hall bedroom on the West Side of Chicago--Paulina Street--he had written hismother the following letter:

　　DEAR MOTHER:

　　Are you still in Kansas City? I wish you would write and tell me. I would so like to hear from you again and towrite you again, too, if you really want me to. Honestly I do, Ma. I have been so lonely here. Only be careful anddon't let any one know where I am yet. It won't do any good and might do a lot of harm just when I am trying sohard to get a start again. I didn't do anything wrong that time, myself. Really I didn't, although the papers saidso--just went along. But I was afraid they would punish me for something that I didn't do. I just couldn't comeback then. I wasn't to blame and then I was afraid of what you and father might think. But they invited me, Ma. Ididn't tell him to go any faster or to take that car like he said. He took it himself and invited me and the others togo along. Maybe we were all to blame for running down that little girl, but we didn't mean to. None of us. And Ihave been so terribly sorry ever since. Think of all the trouble I have caused you! And just at the time when youmost needed me. Gee! Mother, I hope you can forgive me. Can you?

　　I keep wondering how you are. And Esta and Julia and Frank and Father. I wish I knew where you are and whatyou are doing. You know how I feel about you, don't you, Ma? I've got a lot more sense now, anyhow, I seethings different than I used to. I want to do something in this world. I want to be successful. I have only a fairplace now, not as good as I had in K. C., but fair, and not in the same line. But I want something better, though Idon't want to go back in the hotel business either if I can help it. It's not so very good for a young man like me-toohigh-flying, I guess. You see I know a lot more than I did back there. They like me all right where I am, but Igot to get on in this world. Besides I am not really making more than my expenses here now, just my room andboard and clothes but I am trying to save a little in order to get into some line where I can work up and learnsomething. A person has to have a line of some kind these days. I see that now.

　　Won't you write me and tell me how you all are and what you are doing? I'd like to know. Give my love to Frank and Julia and Father and Esta, if they are all still there. I love you just the same and I guess you care for me alittle, anyhow, don't you? I won't sign my real name, because it may be dangerous yet (I haven't been using itsince I left K. C.) But I'll give you my other one, which I'm going to leave off pretty soon and take up my oldone. Wish I could do it now, but I'm afraid to yet. You can address me, if you will, asHARRY TENET,General Delivery, ChicagoI'll call for it in a few days. I sign this way so as not to cause you or me any more trouble, see? But as soon as Ifeel more sure that this other thing has blown over, I'll use my own name again sure.

　　Lovingly,YOUR SON.

　　He drew a line where his real name should be and underneath wrote "you know" and mailed the letter.

　　Following that, because his mother had been anxious about him all this time and wondering where he was, hesoon received a letter, postmarked Denver, which surprised him very much, for he had expected to hear from heras still in Kansas City.

　　DEAR SON:

　　I was surprised and so glad to get my boy's letter and to know that you were alive and safe. I had hoped andprayed that you would return to the straight and narrow path--the only path that will ever lead you to success andhappiness of any kind, and that God would let me hear from you as safe and well and working somewhere anddoing well. And now he has rewarded my prayers. I knew he would. Blessed be His holy name.

　　Not that I blame you altogether for all that terrible trouble you got into and bringing so much suffering anddisgrace on yourself and us--for well I know how the devil tempts and pursues all of us mortals and particularlyjust such a child as you. Oh, my son, if you only knew how you must be on your guard to avoid these pitfalls.

　　And you have such a long road ahead of you. Will you be ever watchful and try always to cling to the teachingsof our Saviour that your mother has always tried to impress upon the minds and hearts of all you dear children?

　　Will you stop and listen to the voice of our Lord that is ever with us, guiding our footsteps safely up the rockypath that leads to a heaven more beautiful than we can ever imagine here? Promise me, my child, that you willhold fast to all your early teachings and always bear in mind that "right is might," and my boy, never, never, takea drink of any kind no matter who offers it to you. There is where the devil reigns in all his glory and is everready to triumph over the weak one. Remember always what I have told you so often "Strong drink is raging andwine is a mocker," and it is my earnest prayer that these words will ring in your ears every time you aretempted--for I am sure now that that was perhaps the real cause of that terrible accident.

　　I suffered terribly over that, Clyde, and just at the time when I had such a dreadful ordeal to face with Esta. Ialmost lost her. She had such an awful time. The poor child paid dearly for her sin. We had to go in debt so deep and it took so long to work it out--but finally we did and now things are not as bad as they were, quite.

　　As you see, we are now in Denver. We have a mission of our own here now with housing quarters for all of us.

　　Besides we have a few rooms to rent which Esta, and you know she is now Mrs. Nixon, of course, takes care of.

　　She has a fine little boy who reminds your father and me of you so much when you were a baby. He does littlethings that are you all over again so many times that we almost feel that you are with us again--as you were. It iscomforting, too, sometimes.

　　Frank and Julie have grown so and are quite a help to me. Frank has a paper route and earns a little money whichhelps. Esta wants to keep them in school just as long as we can.

　　Your father is not very well, but of course, he is getting older, and he does the best he can.

　　I am awful glad, Clyde, that you are trying so hard to better yourself in every way and last night your father wassaying again that your uncle, Samuel Griffiths, of Lycurgus, is so rich and successful and I thoug............