At the Eleventh Hour

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To make clear what has occurred before "The Eleventh Hour," it is necessary to go back five years when we are shown a fond but stern father learning the sad truth that his son is not only a drunkard but that, while under the influence of drink, he has so forgotten his honor as to deem it no disgrace to rob his father's safe. The young man rebels against his father's stern words of reproach and, filled with hot anger, raises his cane to deal his father a blow. This is more than the parental love is willing to stand, and the boy is turned out of the house. Five years pass by, and the father has become the Governor of the State. One morning, while seated at his desk in his private office, the following message is handed him from the warden of the penitentiary: "I have just discovered that the young man who is to be banged at 11 o'clock for murder, has been identified by marks on his clothes, as your son. What shall I do?" This is an awful blow to the Governor, and all at once the love of the father springs into his heart: He writes out a pardon, but ere the secretary has reached the door, the man slinks away and only the Governor, the representative of the law, remains. He tears up the pardon and writes, "Let the law take its course." The secretary pleads with him, hut he will not listen. What right has he to stop the wheels of justice? His son is guilty and the law says he shall be hanged; and he, the Governor, must uphold the law. The message is sent. Left alone, all the tender chords of a father's love for his boy are being torn asunder. In his mind he sees himself a young man, his arms around the young mother of his boy as they stand smiling down at the tiny crib before them. If he could hut shut out the sight and silence the clicking of the clock, which is slowly bill surely bringing his boy to the moment of that death from which he has refused to raise a hand to save him! The Governor starts for the door, hut suddenly before him stands the vision of Justice. The scales are balanced, and the sword is in her hand. The struggle is too great; he is afraid of his own weakness. He locks the door and hurls the key far out of the window. Now he is safe with his duty. Slowly the hands of the clock creep toward that awful "Eleventh Hour." Now he can see the prison wall, the reporters and doctors standing before that little iron door. It opens, and his hoy comes forth. How young he is, and death but a few moments away! He sees the boy stagger, shrinking from the awful future. At last the agony is too great and the Governor falls fainting on the table. Outside a young man appears with a grip in his hand. "May I see the Governor? I am his son." The secretary cannot believe it possible until a messenger rushes in from the penitentiary with the following message: "Clothes found on condemned prisoner were discovered to have been stolen. He is not your son. I humbly beg your excellency's pardon. R.P. Holmes, Penitentiary Warden." A few moments later and the door is smashed in, and what an awakening of great joy when the Governor finds his boy, now leading an upright life, clasped in his arms.