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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>MY MAMIE ROSE</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="My Mamie Rose" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Owen Kildare" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1903" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="45684" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2014-05-29" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="My Mamie Rose The Story of My Regeneration" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="My Mamie Rose The Story of My Regeneration" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="mamie.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2014-05-30T02:34:13.106005+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45684" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Owen Kildare" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2014-05-29" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="my-mamie-rose"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">MY MAMIE ROSE</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: My Mamie Rose -<br /> The Story of My Regeneration -<br /> -<br />Author: Owen Kildare -<br /> -<br />Release Date: May 29, 2014 [EBook #45684] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>MY MAMIE ROSE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-55"> -<span id="owen-kildare"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Owen Kildare." src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Owen Kildare.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">My Mamie Rose</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics large">The Story of My -<br />Regeneration</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">By</em><span class="large"> OWEN KILDARE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">An Autobiography</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">New York -<br />GROSSET & DUNLAP -<br />PUBLISHERS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright, 1903, by THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">Published, October, 1903</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">To -<br />L. B. R.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">Chapter</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-kid-of-the-tenement">The Kid of the Tenement</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-pair-of-shoes">A Pair of Shoes</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-nomad-of-the-streets">A Nomad of the Streets</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#living-by-my-muscle">Living by My Muscle</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#living-by-my-wits">Living by My Wits</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#at-the-sign-of-chicory-hall">At the Sign of Chicory Hall</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#my-good-old-pal">My Good Old Pal</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#knights-errant">Knights Errant</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-player-of-many-parts">A Player of Many Parts</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#bowery-politics">Bowery Politics</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-pilgrimage-to-nature">A Pilgrimage to Nature</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-frontier-of-the-newer-life">The Frontier of the Newer Life</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-beginning-of-the-miracle">The Beginning of the Miracle</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-old-doors-close">The Old Doors Close</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-kindergarten-of-one">A Kindergarten of One</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#ambassador-bill">Ambassador Bill</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#my-debut-in-society">My Debut in Society</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-journey-home">The Journey Home</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-inheritance">The Inheritance</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">ILLUSTRATIONS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#owen-kildare">Owen Kildare</a><span> . . . . . . . . . </span><em class="italics">Frontispiece</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#map-of-bowery-district">Map of Bowery District</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mr-kildare-s-birthplace-on-catharine-street">Mr. Kildare's Birthplace on Catharine Street</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#bill">Bill</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#a-typical-group-at-barney-flynn-s-side-door">A Typical Group at Barney Flynn's Side-Door</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mike-callahan-s-saloon">Mike Callahan's Saloon</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-kid-of-the-tenement"><span class="bold large">THE KID OF THE TENEMENT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-56"> -<span id="map-of-bowery-district"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Map of the Bowery District" src="images/img-013.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Map of the Bowery District</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">MAP OF THE BOWERY DISTRICT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The map on the left shows how small a fraction of Manhattan -Island (only a small part of New York City in itself) this -world-famous district is. In this small section, called by -Mr. Kildare "The Highway of the Foolish," he was born -and lived, until he was thirty. Rarely did he leave it. In -fact, he states that a large percentage of the people who are -born here go through life with the very vaguest ideas of the -world beyond—many living and dying without ever having -passed north of 14th Street and West of Broadway. It is a -strange world of strange people who live only from day to -day and unto their daily needs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">MY MAMIE ROSE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE KID OF THE TENEMENT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Many men have told the stories of their lives. I -shall tell you mine. Not because I, as they, have -done great and important things, but because of the -miracle which transformed me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If lives may be measured by progress mine may -have some interest to you. When a man at thirty -cannot read or write the simplest sentence, and -then eight years later is able to earn his living by his -pen, his story may be worth the telling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before beginning, however, the recital of how I -found my ambition awakened, let me make my -position unmistakably definite. I am not a -self-made man, having only contributed a mite in the -making. A self-made man can turn around to the -road traveled by him and can point with pride to -the monuments of his achievements. I cannot do -that. I have no record of great deeds accomplished. -I am a man, reborn and remade from an unfortunate -moral condition into a life in which every -atom has but the one message, "Strive, struggle and -believe," and I would be the sneakiest hypocrite -were I to deny that I feel within me a satisfaction -at being able to respond to the call with all the -possible energy of soul and body. I have little use -for a man who cloaks his ability with mock modesty. -A man's conscience is the best barometer of his -ability, and he who will pretend a disbelief in his -ability is either untruthful or has an ulterior motif.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In spite of having, as yet, accomplished little, I -have confidence in myself and my ability, because -my aims are distinctly reasonable. I regret that in -my story the first person singular will be so much -in evidence, but it cannot be otherwise. Each fact, -each incident mentioned, has been lived by me; the -disgrace and the glory, the misery and the happiness, -are all part of my life, and I cannot separate them -from myself. I know you will not disbelieve me, -and I am willing to be confronted by your criticism, -which, for obvious reasons, will not be directed -against my diction, elegance of style and literary -quality. I am not an author. I only have a story to -tell and all the rest remains with you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing remarkable about my early -childhood. Most of the boys of the tenements are -having or have had the same experience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The home which sheltered my foster parents (my -own father and mother died in my infancy, as I will -tell you later) and myself consisted of two rooms. -The rental was six dollars a month. Located on -the top floor of an old-style tenement house in -Catharine street, our home was lighted and -ventilated by one small window, which looked out into -a network of wash-lines running from the windows -to tall poles placed in the corners of the yard. By -craning your neck out of the window you could -look into the yard, six stories below, and discover -the causes of the stenches which rose with might -to your nostrils.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "front room" was kitchen, dining-room, -living room and my bedroom all in one. Beside the -cooking range in winter and beside the open window -in summer was the old soap box on its unevenly -curved supports, which, as my cradle, bumped me -into childhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As may be surmised, both of my foster parents -were Irish. My father, a 'longshoreman, enjoyed a -reputation of great popularity in the Fourth Ward, -at that time an intensely Irish district of the city. -Popularity in the Fourth Ward meant a great circle -of convivial companions and a fair credit with the -ginmill keepers. His earnings would have been -considerable had he been a persistent worker. But -men of popularity cannot afford to be constantly at -work. It would perhaps fill their pocketbooks, but -decrease their popularity. These periods of -conviviality, hilarious intervals to my father, were most -depressing to my mother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Life in tenements is a particularly busy one of -its kind. When all efforts are directed toward the -one end of providing the wherewithal for food and -rent, each meal and each rent day is an epoch-making -event.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as one month's rent is paid, each succeeding -day has its own thoughts of dread "against -next rent day." The thrifty housekeeper lays aside -a share of her daily allowance—increasing it -during the last week of the month—until, with a sigh -of relief, she can say, "Thank God, we got it this -time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I firmly believe that a great share of the dread is -created by the aversion to a personal meeting with -the rent collector or agent. People who have to -measure the size of their meals by the length of -their purses are very apt to become a trifle -unsteady in their ethics concerning financial questions. -They are willing to pay their grocer or butcher, but -lose sight of the fact that the rent money is the -payment for the most important purchase, the -securing of their home. They are friendly with the -shopkeeper, are often "jollied" by him into spending -money otherwise needed, but regard the rent -collector as their personal enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are many rent collectors, and, as in all -greater numbers, quite a few are justly criticised for -their manner. Many tenements are owned by men, -who, though the owners, are only on a slightly -different scale socially from their tenants. They are -men, who, by great shrewdness or some fortunate -chance, accumulated enough to make a real estate -investment in their own ward. Naturally, they -being familiar with the circumstances of their -tenants and having a remnant of neighborly feeling for -them, are more easily influenced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many blocks of tenements were then and are now -owned by large estates. The management of these -buildings is entrusted to real estate agents, who -receive a commission on their collections, or to salaried -representatives, who owe their position to the -faculty of keeping rents up and keeping repairs down. -These are the men who are hated by the poor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is said corporations have no souls, why then -should a large estate, surely a corporation, have -one? And there must be a soul to understand, to -feel the woe, the pleading that comes to it in -halting, sob-broken speech. How, then, is one whose -feeling is long ago calloused by the repetition of -these tales of misery, to be stirred to more than a -sneer by another variation of the old, old wail: -"Have pity on us this once, we are so poor, so ill, -so miserable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here the poor could be reproached for shiftlessness -in household matters, for not practising sufficiently -the principles of economy. The reproach -would be perfectly justified and would touch one of -the most potent causes for the existing conditions -among the poor. No one lives more lavishly and -knows less how to save than the poor. Their -expense account is not based on a sanitary or monetary -basis, but shapes itself according to temporary -income.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Plenty of money in the house" and rent day far -in the distance, and many families will absolutely -gorge themselves at table with food and drink, only -to return on perhaps the very next day to tea and -dry bread.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For this reason no social movements on the East -Side are worthier of hearty support than those -carried on to teach children, and especially girls, "How -to keep house." Teach them how to keep house, -and they will make homes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If rent days are the fearful anticipations of -tenement house life, meals and their preparation are the -pleasurable anticipations of it. At morning, noon -and evening the smells of cooking and frying waft -from the open doors of the apartments into the halls. -The doors are open for two reasons—for ventilation -and to "show" the neighbors that more than -the tea kettle is bubbling away on the range. -Behind the closed doors there is no feast, just the tea -and the bread and scheming how to explain this -unwelcome fact to the neighbors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My mother found her best hold on her husband's -affections by catering to his appetite, which was one -of the marvels of the neighborhood. When working -he was very exacting in the choice and preparation -of his food; so, when idle his wife would strive -still harder to cheer him into better humor by -culinary feats.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Besides this promiscuous cooking, there were -mending, washing, darning and other housework -to be looked after, and little time was left for -sentiment toward me beyond an occasional affectionate -pat on the head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, take the mind, the heart of a child, and then -consider the influence of such a barren existence -on it. A child can do without coddling—yes, most -boys do not, or pretend not to like it—but a child's -heart, sensitive as no other, hungers for a wealth -of affection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child, a little ape, finding no outlet for his -willing response to affection, seeks a field of mental -activity in imitating the adults about him. And -the models and patterns in tenement spheres are -not those a child should imitate. All conditions -there are primitive. To eat, drink, sleep and be -clothed are the aims of life there, leaving but a -small margin for emotions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The forms of expression are also primitive and -accepted. The worthy housewife, who, in a -moment of anger at her husband's mellow state, should -vent her feelings in an outburst of more emphatic -than polite language, will not lose caste thereby, but -will be told by sympathetic fellow-sufferers that -"She did just right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among the men it is considered an indication of -effeminacy or dudeism to utter one sentence without -profanity. To be deemed manly one must curse and -swear. Even terms of endearment are prefaced with -an unintentionally opposite preamble.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 58%" id="figure-57"> -<span id="mr-kildare-s-birthplace-on-catharine-street"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Owen Kildare's Birthplace in Catharine St. The Star marks the window of the Kildare Tenement." src="images/img-020.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Owen Kildare's Birthplace in Catharine St. The Star marks the window of the Kildare Tenement.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>There, not yet mentioning the other detrimental -defects of environment, the child grows up, and -then, when in the manhood days this foundation, -faulty and vicious, breaks and crumbles to pieces -and leaves naught but a being condemned by society -and law, and seemingly by God, there is an army -ready to pelt this creature, cursed by its own -existence, with law, justice and punishment, but not -with one iota of the spirit which even now, in our -matter-of-fact days, echoes the grandest message, -"He is thy brother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such was the setting of the stage on which the -drama of my childhood began. The part I played in -it was not very interesting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An adult man or woman can do with a minimum -of space, but a child must have much of it. -To romp and play and scheme some mischief -requires lots of room, and there being not an inch -of room to spare in tenement apartments, the -children in summer and winter claim the street as -their very own realm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is bad that it is so, for there is much in the -street which is of physical and moral danger to -the child. Hardly a day passes without having a -boy or girl hurt by some passing vehicle. It is -almost impossible to guard against these accidents. -The drivers are careful. No one can make me -believe that these men would wantonly drive into a -swarm of playing children, but there are so many, -so many.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Convince yourself of this. You need not have to -travel very far. Take any street, east or west of the -Bowery, and the young generation, crowding before -your very feet or jostling against you in innocent -play, will tell you more effectively than my pen -could of what the real need of the East Side is.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But then parks and play grounds do not bring -rentals; tenement houses do, and, further, even the -child-life of those districts is dependent on the -whims of our patriotic ward politicians.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among the very poor—and my parents were of -that class—it is the custom to send out the children -to pick up wood and coal for the fire. My mother, -being constantly engaged in looking after the -welfare of my father, had not very much time to spare -on me, and I grew up very much by myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even before it had become my duty to "go out -for coal," I loved to take my basket and make my -way to the river front to pick up bits of coal dropped -in unloading from the canal boats or by too -generously filled carts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among my playmates I held a very unimportant -position, being neither very popular nor unpopular. -I did not mind this much, as I felt, instinctively, -that something was wrong and that I was not on a -level footing with them. It is impossible for me to -explain why I felt so at the time, but I can -distinctly remember that quite often I felt myself -entirely isolated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No one minded me or censured me for my long -absences from home, provided my basket was fairly -well filled with coal. Then spells of envy often -came to me. I envied the caresses given by mothers -to their sons and, yes, I also envied the cuffs given -to them for having spent too much time at the retail -coal business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I reasoned so then and I reason so now, that -behind every whipping given to a child a father's or -mother's love and justice is hidden. But even -parental chastisement was denied me—a fact for -which, according to popular opinion, I should have -been thankful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this way I lived the dull life of a tenement -house child, made more dull in my case by the lack -of a certain inexplicable something in my relations -to my parents and in my home conditions. I missed -something, yet could not tell what it was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It can hardly be termed a hidden sorrow, but -make a boy ponder and worry about something, for -which no explanation is vouchsafed to him, and he -will get himself into a mental state not at all healthy -for his years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Close to the cooking range was an old box used -as a receptacle for wood and coal. There was my -seat, and from there I watched the little domestic -comedies and tragedies played before me with my -father and mother as chief actors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My father's popularity made our home the calling -place for many visitors. At these visits the most -frequently used utensil was the "can," or "growler," -and the functions usually assumed the character of -an "ink pot." Several houses in the ward had well -proven reputations as "mixed ale camps," meaning -thereby places where certain cronies could meet -nightly and "rush the growler" as long as the -money lasted. If the friends were more than usually -plentiful, the whisky bottle, called always the -"bottle," besides the "can," was kept well filled, -producing a continuation of effects, sometimes running -to fighting; at other times running to maudlin -sentimentality. These occasions—no one knows -why—are called "ink pots."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My father's house was in a fair way to become -listed among the well established "mixed ale -camps." In those days no law had yet been passed -making the selling of "pints" of beer to minors a -punishable offense, and children of both sexes were -employed until late in the night, when the bar-rooms -were crowded with drunken and boisterous men, -to "rush the growler" for their seniors at home. -The children did not object to it, as a few pennies -were always given to them for the errand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I, also, had to make these journeys to the nearest -saloon, and, also, did not mind it for the above -mentioned reason. Sometimes, after returning from -my trip, a man would ask me to sing him one of the -popular songs of the day, but I would refuse with -the diffidence of a boy. My father never missed -these opportunities to inform his friends that "that -brat ain't good for nothing. Don't bother with him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I began to dislike my foster father, rather than -hate him. More than once I met his casual glance -with a bitter scowl.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-pair-of-shoes"><span class="bold large">A PAIR OF SHOES.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A PAIR OF SHOES.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was winter, still. I was running about -bare-footed. This was preferred by me to having my -feet shod with the old shoes of my mother. She -had a small foot, yet her old shoes were miles too -large for me, and furthermore, always made me -the butt of the jeers and jibes of my playmates in -the street. Therefore, I never wore the cast-off -shoes unless snow or ice was on the ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But whether bare-footed or slouching along in -my unwieldy cast-offs, the comments became so -personal that I resolved to ask my father for a pair -of real, new shoes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moment for presenting my petition anent the -new shoes was ill chosen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My father was experiencing a period of idleness, -and had reached that intense state of feeling which -prompted him to declare with much banging on the -table that "there wasn't an honest day's work to be -got no more, at all, by an honest, decent, laboring -man." At the moment my mother was deeply -engaged in the task of mollifying her husband's -irascibility by preparing some marvelous feat of cooking, -and was not at liberty to give me her most essential -moral support.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My request was received in silence. It was an -ominous silence, but I did not realize it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want a pair of shoes all to myself, the same as -other boys have."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, is it shoes you want? New shoes? Shoes -that cost money, when there ain't enough money -in the house to get a man a decent meal. I'll give -you shoes; indeed I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still I insisted. Then that which, perhaps, should -have happened to me long before, was inflicted upon -me. I was beaten for the first time, to be beaten -often and often again afterward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The whipping roused my temper. From a safe -distance I upbraided my father for punishing me for -demanding that which all children have a right to -demand from their parents, to be properly clothed. -This incited his humor; but, after his laugh had -ended, he told me in the most direct and blunt way -of my status in the family, and also informed me -that if he felt so disposed he could at any time kick -me into the street, where I, by right, belonged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without mincing his words he told me the story -of my parentage. At least, he told me that I was -no better than an orphan, picked from the gutter, -and kept alive by the good nature of himself and his -wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was all true.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the days to follow I learned more and more -about my parents from the legendary lore of neighborly -gossip. And even he, my foster-father, could -say naught but good about my father and mother, -if he did hate their son.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No, I should not say he hated me. Patrick McShane -had a good heart, but permitted it too often -to be poisoned by the poison of the can and bottle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All I know about my own father is that he was a -typical son of the Emerald Isle. Rollicking, -carefree, ever ready with song or story, he was a -universal favorite during his sojourn in the ward where -he had made a home for himself and his wife for -the short time from his arrival in this country until -his death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few years ago I had the pleasure of meeting -the owner of the building where our home had been -and where I was born. In spite of his old age, he -still remembered my father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, my boy, your father was a fine -man? The same as any man, who lets nice -apartments to tenants, I had to see that rents were -regularly paid, and I always did that without being -any too hard on them. But it was all different with -your father. There were a few times when his rent -was either short a few dollars or not there at all, -but before I had the chance to get angry he'd tell -me a story or sing me a ditty, and instead o' being -mad I'd leave and forget all about my rent. Ah, -indeed, Owney, boy, a fine man was your father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not much of an eulogy, but much, very much, to -me, the son. I have nothing, no likeness, no -photograph, to help my mind's eye see my parents; and, -therefore, any tribute, no matter how trifling, paid -to the memory of my father and mother goes toward -perfecting the picture of them, fashioning in my soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My mother was a French woman, who married -my father shortly before departing for this country -from France, where he had gone to study art. They -knew very little of her in the district. All her life -seemed to be centered in her husband, and she was -rarely seen out of her own rooms. The only -breathing spells she ever enjoyed were had on the -roof—quite convenient to the top floor, where the home -was—and there she would get a whiff of fresh air, -to the accompaniment of one of my dad's songs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why could I not know them?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not being amply provided with funds, my -parents, shortly after their arrival in this country, -were compelled to take apartments on the top floor -of the tenement house in Catharine street, where -I was born.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My mother died at my birth; my father had preceded -her by three months.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sad is the fate of a baby orphaned in a tenement -house. Each family has little, and many to subsist -on it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I, the orphaned babe, was singularly fortunate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even the lives of the poor are not devoid of -romance, and, owing to one, I found a home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not so very long before my parents made their -domicile in the Fourth Ward, Patrick McShane, one -of the most popular and finest looking young men -of the neighborhood, had "gone to the bad." He -had neglected his work to share in the many social -festivities—otherwise, "mixed ale camps"—until his -sober moments were very few and far between.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as his status of confirmed drunkard was -established, he was not as welcome as formerly at -the many gatherings. The reason for it was his -irascible temper while under the influence of drink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Finding himself partly ostracized, he kept to the -water front, spending his days and nights down -there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Facing the river is South street. At one of the -corners was the gin mill and legislative annex of a -true American patriot and assemblyman. Always -anxious to pose before his constituents as a man -whose charity knew no bounds, this diplomat, this -statesman, had given a home to his niece, the -daughter of his deceased brother. Perhaps it was just a -coincidence that, on the same day, on which his -niece became a member of the household the servant -girl was discharged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At any rate, Mary McNulty found little time to -walk the sidewalks of Catharine street, as was the -wont of the belles of the ward. Even would she -have had the time for it, she would not have availed -herself of it, for one very good reason. Mary -McNulty was not beautiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During her first few weeks in the neighborhood -she had been quickly christened "wart-face" by -the boys on her appearance in the street, and, while -not supersensitive, she determined to forego the -pleasure of being a target for these personal comments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thereafter, she only left the house at nightfall -to walk down to the end of the pier opposite to the -gin mill of her uncle. During one of these nocturnal -rambles she met Patrick McShane. He was lying -in drunken stupor on the very edge of the dock, and -in danger of losing his balance. Mary woke him up, -lectured him and then gave him money. Before -sending him away, she told him to be there on the -following evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Regular meetings were soon in order, and it was -not long before Mary conceived the idea of -reforming Patrick McShane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>McShane was willing, and, one day the entire -ward was startled into unusual surprise by hearing -of the marriage of Patrick McShane and Mary McNulty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To give credit where credit is due, it must be -recorded that McShane, for quite a while, inspired -by the devotion of his wife, improved wonderfully -in his habits and walked along the narrow road of -sobriety with nary a stumble. But, after about a -year of wedded life, he permitted himself occasional -relapses into the old ways, multiplying them in time. -It is hard to tell if all the hope of his ultimate -reformation died out in the heart of his wife. She -became very quiet, catering more carefully to his -creature comforts and never offering any remonstrance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But there must have been a void, a yearning to -receive and to give a little affection, and when "the -lady in front"—my mother—died and left her -orphan, Mary McShane would not let it go to the -"institution," but took it into her own humble home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And for this dear little woman, whose entire life -was one of self-sacrifice, devotion and humiliation, -a prayer goes from me at every thought of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It can hardly be expected that I, a boy of seven -years of age, grasped the full significance of the -information imparted by my foster father. Only -two points appeared very grave to me. Should the -fact become known to my playmates that I was an -orphan—not distinguished from a foundling by -them—and that I had sailed, so to speak, under false -colors, my fate would have been one full of persecution -and sneering contempt. I silently prayed and -then beseeched my foster mother to keep the matter -a profound secret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other point of importance was that the street, -"where I, by right, belonged," assumed a new aspect. -Having had plenty of evidence of the impulsive -spirit which ruled our household, something seemed -to tell me that it was not improbable that the threat -of my expulsion would be fulfilled, and I began to -consider my ultimate fate from all sides.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bootblacks and newsboys and other young -chaps, who were making their precarious living in -the streets, became personages of great interest to -me. I watched their ways, and even found myself -calculating their receipts. It was quite clear to -me that, should my foster father drive me from the -house, I should have to resort to some makeshift -living in the streets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this put me in a preoccupied state of mind, -which does not sit naturally on a child. I became -more quiet than ever, and, in the evening, from the -wood box behind the cooking range, watched our -home proceedings. Most times they were very -noisy, and my quietness seemed to grate on the ears -of him whom I had ceased to call "father," and was -then addressing more formally as "Mr. McShane," -which also annoyed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Can you not read here between the lines and -understand how a certain something became more -and more stifled within me? Perhaps I was -unreasonable or lacking in gratitude, but I was a child -and still hungered and hungered and longed for that -which, as yet, had not come into my share.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But if Mr. McShane would not listen to my plea -for shoes, my good, dear "mum" had heard my -request and understood the motive of my insistence. -Happily, children's shoes do not involve enormous -expenditure, and so, on a certain eventful day, -"mum" went to her savings bank, the proverbial -stocking, took the larger part of it and made me the -proud possessor of a pair of real, new shoes, the -first of my life. Bitterness, sulking and wailing -were all forgotten and wiped away as if by magic, -and my feet, in their new casings, seemed to step -on golden rays of sunshine. If I add to this that -I had never had a toy of any kind you will be able -to measure my sensation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The real, new shoes were not an altogether free -gift. It had been agreed between "mum" and me -that I was to pay the equivalent for them by -increased collectibility in the retail coal business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The following day saw me starting out for the -coal docks with the very best of intentions. I -began to fear that we would not be able to find room -for all the coal I meant to carry home that day. -Tons of coal began to heap themselves in my vision, -until, perchance, my eyes fell on the real, new shoes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It became my unavoidable duty to let my footgear -be seen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many detours were made, and so much time was -wasted in exhibiting my shoes to the thrilling envy -of my comrades that the accumulation of coal -suffered in consequence. The awakening from my -dream of glory came with the end of the day, when it -required all my remaining buoyant spirits to nerve -me for my reception at home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The coal basket was dreadfully light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My home coming was very ill-timed. Mr. McShane -was in the throes of another idle period, -which did not preclude credit at the neighboring -saloons. Had there been "company" I might have -been able to escape his wrath, but, having sat there -all alone—that is, without male companionship—and -his wife never daring to reply to his sarcastic -flings, I was just the red rag for the bull.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, and so you're home at last? Mary, have -you no hot supper ready for this young gentleman, -after him being hungry from working so hard at -getting about ten pieces of coal? Oh, and new shoes -are we wearing now, ain't that nice!" Then, with -a quick change of tone and manner, "Come here, -you brat, come here to me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave the boy alone, Pat!" interposed "mum," -but I knew, as she did, that it was futile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have no difficulty in remembering it all. In a -dull, heavy way I felt that the crisis had come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the ending of the scene, my shoes, my real, -new shoes, were torn from my feet. Everything -within me rebelled against that. Life without those -shoes was not worth living, and I stormed myself -into a frenzy, which did not leave me until I found -myself, propelled by a swift leg movement, on the -floor of the dark hallway—minus my shoes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The long expected had come. I had thought -myself prepared for this moment, yet found -myself stunned and bewildered. What was I to do? -The street "where I belonged" now seemed to -belong to me, but I did not look quite as stoically as -before at the prospect before me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Besides, how can I go out without shoes?" I -reasoned, forgetting the fact that, only quite recently, -shoes had become necessities to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the truth was—and will you blame me?—that -from the crack at the bottom of the door came -a tiny streak of light, which told a vivid tale of all -I was in danger of forfeiting. How often I had -growled at my fate; now, behind that door, lay a -paradise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I crouched there in the dark corner of the stairs -leading to the roof. How long I shivered there I -do not know. All my senses were alert and ready -for the slightest alarm. Once I heard pleading and -emphatic denial within, and then all was still—still -for a long while.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My gaze was fixed on the door. It seemed -hours—perhaps it was—before I heard a slight creaking -and saw the reflection of more light on the hallway -floor. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, -and then it was dark and quiet again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But why was that door opened? Something -must have happened. I dragged myself to the -threshold of my lost home, felt around and found—my -shoes, my real, new shoes. And then I tried -hard to cry, but could not. The crust had become -too hardened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crisis had come, was passed, and the curtain -fell on my childhood. Ages cannot be measured -by years.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-nomad-of-the-streets"><span class="bold large">A NOMAD OF THE STREETS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A NOMAD OF THE STREETS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Seven years old, I stepped into the street, where, -by right, I belonged, no longer a child, to begin the -journey, which, through many years in the valley, -led me to the heights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a bleak December night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Can you not draw yourself the picture of the -boy starting on his way—whither?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stood for some time in the doorway. A -policeman loomed in the distance. Boys cannot bear -them in day time, how much less at night. To be -"collared" by a "cop" at this hour meant a stay in -the station house and a visit to the police court. I -put myself in motion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With cap pulled over my ears and hands pushed -into my pockets, I started in the direction of the -Bowery and Chatham Street, now called Park Row. -I halted under a lamp-post to determine on my -course.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Uptown" was an entirely unknown region to -me. "Downtown" was not much more familiar, -but, somehow, I knew that that was the place where -all the newsboys came from.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I turned to the left and walked and ran—the -night was bitterly cold—down Chatham street until -I came within view of the City Hall. So far I -had been once or twice before on some adventurous -trip, but not beyond that. Though I did not realize -it at the time, I stood on my jumping-off place, -ready to jump into the unknown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I paused for a while, looking into the darkness -before me. In those days, before the completion -of the Brooklyn Bridge, City Hall Square was not -as brilliantly lighted as now. I stood there until -the biting cold made me move on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My eyes were watery from the meeting blasts, -and, stumbling on, I almost fell on top of a layer of -diminutive humanity. Before I had time to draw -my stiffened hands from the pockets to wipe my -eyes, I felt a welcome sensation of warmth, thick, -intense, damp, ink-permeated warmth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The warm current came from the grating over the -pressroom of a newspaper. This open-air radiator -only measured a few feet, yet, at least, fifteen boys -were hugging it as closely as their mothers' breasts. -The iron frame was entirely invisible, and my -share of warmth coming from it was very trifling. -But, even so, only a few minutes of this straggling -cheer was afforded to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just as some of the numbness began to thaw out -of my limbs, the cry—ever and ever familiar to the -newsboy—"Cheese it, the cop!" rang out, and, like -a horde of frightened sprites, the boys scampered -away, I bringing up the rear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We raced around the corner into Frankfort street -and stopped in a dark hallway, which seemed to -be the headquarters of this particular crowd. It -was not warm in there, but, at any rate, it was a -shelter against the cutting gusts of night winds, -playing their stormy games of "hide-and-seek" -around the blocks facing Park Row.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Following the example of the others, I cuddled -up in a corner, and tried to forget my troubles in -sleep. Just dozing, preliminary to falling into -sounder sleep, I was suddenly and swiftly aroused -by a grasp and a kick, and informed that I had -usurped a corner "beeslonging" to a habitué of this -dismal hostelry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had yet to learn that a newsboy will claim -everything in sight, to relinquish it only by defeat in -fight, and meekly submitted to my dispossession. -The late comer took a bundle of newspapers from -under his arm and carefully proceeded to prepare -his bed. First, he spread a number of sheets on -the floor; then built a pillow from the major part, -and, at last, proceeded to cover himself with the -remaining papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The light was dim, still, it was enough to show -him my discomfiture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," he addressed me, "what's the matter, ain't -you got no place to sleep? I'll tell you what I'll do. -If you don't kick in your sleep, I'll let you lie down -longside o' me." Then, as an afterthought, "It'll -keep me warmer, anyhow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Most emphatically and impressively did I assure -him that my sleep was absolutely motionless, and -from that night dated a partnership and friendship -which lasted for many years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In later years I have often wondered why I and -all the other boys who comprised the newspaper-selling -fraternity of that day always landed in Park -Row, and in the midst of the future colleagues? It -seemed to be a well defined destiny. Behind the -coming of each new recruit was the little tragedy, -which had made the leading actor therein a stray -waif of the streets. And, no matter where the -tragedy had happened, whether in Harlem or in the -First Ward, the district along and above the Battery, -they all found their way to Park Row.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The life of the newsboy is full of action. His -personal struggle and business is so absorbing that -he has no time for useless speculation. The advent -of a newcomer is not signalized by a very warm -reception. He is neither hampered by professional -jealousy or suffered by tolerance. The field is open -to all, and it rests with the boy how he will fare. -However, in spite of this almost essential -selfishness, impulsive outbursts of good nature are a -characteristic of this most emotional creature, the -newsboy. My apprenticeship in the fraternity owed its -beginning to one of these spontaneous outbursts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was quite early when, chilled to the marrow, I -awoke in the drafty hallway. My new and -independent existence was begun with my first great -sorrow. Here the temptation is very strong upon -me to tell you that remorse, anguish and despair -were racking my soul; that it was homesickness or -a great longing for all I had left behind me. But -putting this temptation behind me, I must confess -that my sorrow was of the most material kind. I -missed my coffee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Across the street was Hitchcock's coffee and cake -saloon. Through the shivery morning air, every -time a patron entered or left the place, a cloud of -greasy, spicy aromas came wafting to the frozen -little troupe leaving their dreary abiding place. My -future colleagues had so often had this torture -inflicted on them that, now, with just an envious sniff, -they could bear it with stoical fortitude. I, still a -weakling, stopped, as if transfixed, inhaled the -perfumed currents and most solemnly swore that, with -my very first money, I would buy the entire stock; -yes, even the entire coffee and cake saloon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alas, Hitchcock's is still doing business.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next question presenting itself was, how was -I to get the "first" money?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Newsboys work and play in cliques. The particular -gang, with which I had thrown my lot, had -its rendezvous in Theatre Alley. It was the -assembling and meeting place for all the members, those -who had slept in "regular" beds and those who had -"carried the banner"[#] in the Frankfort street -hallway. This distinction did by no means establish -two different social strata among us. Fate was -so uncertain that the aristocrat of the night before, -who had rested his weary limbs on a "regular" bed, -was very apt to fight on the following night for the -possession of the corner in the hallway, which -"beeslonged" to him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] To spend the night without a bed.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Beyond giving me a scrutinizing look, none of -the boys took heed of me, and did not object to my -following them. Arrived in Theatre Alley, we met -the leader of the gang, who had the proud distinction -of being about the only one who had a "home -to go to" whenever he felt like doing so. The same -qualities, which, since then, have made him a leader -in politics and have led him to membership in -legislative bodies, were even in that day in evidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In parenthesis let me say that I am not blessed -with personal beauty. Add to this that my -appearance presented itself rather grotesquely and -disheveled on that eventful morning, and you will -understand why the leader's searching eye singled me -out from the rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you a new one?" he asked me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I answered in the affirmative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Going to sell papers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the affirmative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Got any money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now a convincing negative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as now, our leader was sparing in the use -of words. At the end of our brief interview, I -was "staked" to a nickel to buy my first stock of -papers, and those who know Tim Sullivan will also -know that I was not the first or the last to get -"staked" by the Bowery statesman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He not only furnished my working capital, but -also taught me a few tricks of the trade and advised -me to invest my five pennies in just one, the best -selling paper of the period.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, in less than twelve hours after leaving what -had been for several years my home, I was fully -installed as a vendor of newspapers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then began the usual existence of "newsies," -eating and "sleeping" when lucky, and "pulling -through somehow" when unlucky. I stuck to that -business for over ten years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The life of the streets did not at all disagree -with me. My childhood had been full of bitterness, -childish bitterness, and I had a dull longing to make -the world at large feel my revenge for having dealt -so unkindly with me. Whatever good traits there -had been in me were quickly and willingly transformed -into viciousness. This helped me to become -a leading member of our gang of boys.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among us there was none so absolutely orphaned -as myself. Those who were orphans had, at least, -their memories. I did not even have them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In odd, emotional moments, one or another would -let his thoughts stray back to some still loved and -revered father or mother, or would confess to -having crept up to his former home, at some safe -time, to have a peep at forfeited comforts. I -welcomed these references and day dreams of my -colleagues, but solely because they were utilized -by me as pretenses for inflicting my brutality on -those who had uttered them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is a question, a number of questions, to be -asked here. Why did I do this? Was it because -I was naturally vicious, or because I wanted to stifle -a certain gnawing in my heart by my ferociousness? -A strange reasoning, the last, perhaps; but in -years I was still a child, and if a child has but little -in his life to love, and that little is taken out of his -life, that child can turn into a veritable little demon. -Those, whom I had believed my parents, turned out -to be nothing more than charitably inclined -strangers; that what I had believed to be my home, -proved but a refuge, and my boyish logic saw in this -sufficient cause to envy those, who had all this -behind them and to give vent to this envy in the most -ferocious manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was the tenor of my life as a newsboy. I -had enough callousness to bear all the hardships -without a murmur. One ambition took possession -of me. I wanted to be a power among newsboys. -I wanted to be respected or feared. As I did not -care which, I succeeded in the latter at the expense -of the former. The heroes of newsboys are always -men who owe their prominence to physical prowess. -I chose as my models the best known fighters of the day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As with all other "business men," there is keen -rivalry and competition among newsboys. The -only difference is that, among the boys, the most -primitive and direct way is the most frequent one -employed to settle disputes. Some men, after great -sorrows or disappointments, seek forgetfulness in -battle, being entirely indifferent to their ultimate -fate, and they always make good fighters. My -position was not altogether dissimilar from theirs. -What little I had known of comfort and affection -was behind me; my mode of life at that time had -no particular attraction for me, and my only -ambition was to conquer by fight, and, therefore, I made -a good fighter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In all those long years I cannot recall more than -one incident which stirred the softer emotions of my -heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A newcomer, a blue-eyed, light-haired little -fellow, had come among us, and was immediately -chosen by me as my favorite victim. Certain traces -of refinement were discernible in him and this gave -me many opportunities to hold him up to the -ridicule of our choice gang of young ruffians. I hated -him without knowing why.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day I saw him standing at the corner of -"the Row," offering his wares with the unprofessional -cry: "Please, won't you buy a paper?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a glorious chance to "plant" a kick on one -of his shins, and thereby to relieve myself of some -of my hatred. Stealthily I crept up behind him, and -was on the point of sending my foot on its mission, -when two motherly-looking women stopped to buy -a paper from "the cherub." Wits are quickly sharpened -in a life on the streets, and I realized at once -that my intended assault, if witnessed by the two -ladies, would evoke a storm of indignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I immediately changed front, and endeavored to -create the impression that my hasty approach had -been occasioned by my desire to sell a paper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poipers, ladies, poipers," I cried, but was barely -noticed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "cherub" claimed all their attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a pretty boy!" exclaimed one. "Have -you no home, no parents? Too bad, too bad!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this was noted and registered by me for a -future reckoning with the recipient of so much -kindness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My heart was shivering with acid bitterness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never me, never me!" and the misery of many -loveless years rang as a wail in my soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just as the woman, who had spoken, was about -to hand a dime to my intended scapegoat, her -companion happened to turn and see me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, just look at the other poor fellow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The exclamation was justified. I was a sight. -However, my dilapidated clothes and scratched face -owed their pitiful condition to much "scrapping" -and not to deprivations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, poor boy, here is a penny for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a light pat on my grimy cheek and one of -the sunniest smiles ever shed on me, she was gone -before I could realize what had happened. There, -penny in hand, I stood, dreaming and stroking the -cheek she had touched, and asking myself why she -had done so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somehow, I felt that, were she to come back, I -could just have said to her: "Say, lady, I ain't got -much to give, but I'll give you all me poipers, and -me pennies, and me knife, if you'll only say and do -that over again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "cherub" also was a gainer by this little -touch of nature. I forgot to kick and abuse him that -night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing dwarfish about me, and my -temperament made me enjoy the many "scraps" -which belong to a street arab's routine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Park Row was and is frequented by the lesser -lights of the sporting world. Our boyish fights -were not fought in seclusion, but anywhere. Being -a constant participant in these "goes," as I was -almost daily called upon to defend my sounding -title of "Newsboy Champion of Park Row" against -new aspirants for the honor, myself and my -fighting "work" soon became familiar to the "sports," -who were the most interested of the spectators.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was of large frame, my face was of the bulldog -type, my muscles were strong, my constitution -hardened by my outdoor existence in all sorts of -weather, and, without knowing it, my advance in -the art of fisticuffs was eagerly watched, with the -hope of discovering in me a new "dark horse" for -the prize ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among the men who had followed my progress -in boxing were such renowned sports as Steve -Brodie, Warren Lewis, "Fatty" Flynn, "Pop" -Kaiser and others of equal prominence. In due -time overtures were made to me. I was properly -"tried out" on several third-rate boxers, and said -good-by to the newsboy life to blossom out as a -full-fledged pugilist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before long I began to have </span><em class="italics">higher</em><span> ambitions. -It was the day of smaller purses and more fighting, -and I determined to fight often so as to accumulate -money quickly. I had no definite idea why I -wanted to accumulate money with such feverish -haste. I had some dim desire </span><em class="italics">to wanting</em><span> to have -a lot of it, to having the sensation of being the -possessor of a roll of bills, and, this being the only -road open to me toward that goal, I was eager to -travel it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was my ambition at the age of seventeen, -the age when boys prepare themselves to be men in -the fullest and only sense of the word. My -boyhood, dreary as my childhood, closed behind me -without a pang of regret on my part. I was -aspiring according to my lights and my aspirations -spelled nothing more or less than degradation.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="living-by-my-muscle"><span class="bold large">LIVING BY MY MUSCLE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">LIVING BY MY MUSCLE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The manly art of self-defense, as practised then, -was unhampered by much law or refinement. Still, -with all this license, I was too brutish to make a -successful prizefighter. My sponsor in this -sporting life soon learned that I had a violent temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Time and time again I was matched to fight men -who were not physically my equals, only to be -defeated by them. It was useless to endeavor to -impress me with the argument that these fighting -matches were merely business engagements, in the -same way as the playing of a part by an actor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I fully understood all that was pointed out to -me; would adhere to my instructions for two, -perhaps three, rounds of fighting, then would forget -all, rules, time limits and all else, to "sail in" with -most deadly determination to "do" my opponent at -all hazards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During my brief career as pugilist I only met one -man who was of the same brutish temperament as -myself—Tommy Gibbons, of Pittsburg—and we -fought four encounters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of the same age as myself, Gibbons had earned -for himself a well-founded reputation for viciousness. -He had never been defeated in his own state, -and the promoters of this "manly" form of sport -were anxious to find a more vicious brute than he -to vanquish him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was chosen for this mission.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A paper manufacturer, still doing business in -New York City, after seeing me "perform" in trial -bouts, was induced to "put up" the necessary money -for my side of the purse, and we were matched to -fight in Pittsburg.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We "weighed in" at one hundred and forty pounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This, our first encounter, lasted twenty-seven -rounds. The "humanity" of our seconds and backers -prevented us from going any further. Our -physical condition was the cause for stirring that -"humanity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were smeared with blood, but that alone would -not have been sufficient to terminate the fight. A -broken arm, a torn ear, a gash from eye to lower -part of cheek, constituted Tommy Gibbons' principal -injuries. I was damaged to the extent of two -broken thumbs and a broken nose, not mentioning -minor disfigurements. But, what of that? Had -not the noble cause of sport derived a new impetus -from our performance? Had not the hearts and -aspirations of the "select" crowd of spectators been -moved to higher emotions?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We had behaved so right manfully, that, at the -ringside, we were matched again for another meeting. -In that, after seventeen rounds, I was declared -the winner on a "foul" of Gibbons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again we were matched, this time to fight -according to London prize ring rules—they permitting -more latitude for our brutish instincts. It resulted -in a "draw," but not until we had entertained the -very flower of the sporting world for forty-three -rounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not yet satisfied as to which one of us was the -greater brute, another meeting was arranged, and I -had the proud distinction of being the victor in this -fight of eleven rounds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Tommy Gibbons took his defeat very much -to heart. His fistic prestige was gone, and he went -speedily to "the bad." He ended his busy life at -the hands of the hangman, paying therewith the -penalty for one of the most horrible murders ever -committed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Too bad that such a promising light in the -sporting world should meet with such ignoble end!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My backer, the paper manufacturer, who did so -much, by effort and expenditure, for the cause of -sport, is still on my list of acquaintances. He is -eminently respectable, the father of an adoring -family, the model for striving young men, a pillar -of his church, a power in commercial life, and, -withal, an enthusiastic follower of the Manly Art of -Self-Defense, provided the specimen of it is not too -tame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apropos of the manly art of self-defense I want -to record my individual opinion that it is a lost -art, if it really has ever been an art. In the knightly -art of fencing, skill, artful skill, is necessary and -acquired. Not so in boxing; at least not in that branch -of boxing which is only practised for money. Men -who step into the ring for a "finish fight" are not -prompted by the desire of giving a clever exhibition -of boxing. Their only desire—if the fight "is on the -level"—is to "put out" their man somehow, as quickly -as possible, and to collect their end of the purse -as promptly as possible. I have seen my quota -of fights in my life time, but never one in which -claims of "fouls" were not made.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Is it not logical to suppose that leading exponents -of their art should be able to give a demonstration -of it without resorting to foul means?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although I have given "physical culture lessons" -of a certain kind I have but little knowledge of how -boxing lessons are conducted in academies and -reputable gymnasiums. The popularity of this -branch of athletics indicates that the lessons are -conducive to corporal perfection, and teach men -how to use their strength to best advantage when -driven to the point of defense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This principle is not observed by "scrappers." They -pay less, if any attention to boxing than to -learning tricks of their trade. It is all very well -for sporting writers to speak about Fitzsimmons' -and Sullivan's art, but I am quite sure that one or -more efficient tricks is the real mainspring of many -pugilistic reputations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rules of the prize ring are fair and formed to -protect men from foul methods. For that very -reason, all the tricks learned—and they are many and -efficient—are, if not absolutely fouls, so near the -dividing line that the margin of distinction is -almost nil.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through the press of the country we are informed -that prizefighters now-a-days make considerable -fortunes. Then they did not, and having a -surprisingly healthy appetite in a healthy body, the -fighting profession sadly delayed the perfect -development of my </span><em class="italics">embonpoint</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="living-by-my-wits"><span class="bold large">LIVING BY MY WITS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">LIVING BY MY WITS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>True, my fights with Tommy Gibbons and others -had brought me some money, but the social obligations -were so many and the celebrations so frequent -that, after a short time of plenty, I always found -myself "dead broke" and compelled to resort to my -"wits" for making a living.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All Chatham street—now Park Row—and the -Bowery teemed with "sporting houses," which -offered opportunities to men of my class. In many -of these places boxing was the real or pretended -attraction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On an elevated stage from three to six pairs of -boxers and wrestlers furnished nightly entertainment -for a roomful of foolish men, and—more's the -pity!—women. The real purpose of these gatherings -must remain nameless here, but this fact we -must note, that all of these "sporting-houses," these -hells of blackest iniquity, were run by so-called -statesmen, patriots, politicians, many of them -lawmakers, or else by their figureheads.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The figureheads were chosen with great carefulness. -To become a proxy owner of a "sporting-house" -one had to have a reputation, sufficient to -attract that particularly silly and morbid crowd of -</span><em class="italics">habitués</em><span>. Some of the reputations were made in -the prize ring, viz: Frank White, manager of the -Champion's Rest, on the Bowery, two doors north -of Houston street; Billy Madden, Mike Cleary and -other "prominent" prizefighters. A few of them, -as Billy Madden and Frank Stevenson, later -branched out as backers of pugilists, policy shops -and gambling houses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reputations made in prisons were also accepted -as qualifications, and "Fatty" Flynn, Billy McGlory, -Tommy Stevenson, Jimmy Nugent, of Manhattan -Bank robbery fame, and other ex-inmates of jails -owed their wide popularity and money-making -capacity to their terms spent behind the bars. -An isolated position of especially luminous glamor -was acceptably filled by the famous Mr. Steve -Brodie, the bridge-jumper, and greatest "fake" and -fraud of the period.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In places where boxing was not the attraction, the -vilest passions of human nature were vainly incited -by painted sirens, who, by experience and compulsion -of their employers, had become perfect in their -shrewd wickedness. In front of these "joints"—frequently -called "bilking houses"—glaring posters, -picturing the pleasures within, were displayed in -most garish array.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In addition to these places described, a number -of dance-halls, notably Billy McGlory's Armory -Hall, and "Fatty" Flynn's place in Bond street, -completed the boast of the day that New York City was -a "wide-open town," and the "only place in the -world fit to live in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not very difficult for one, accustomed to -the environment, to "make a living" in it by his -"wits."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Any one, not minding a short spell of strenuousness, -could always get from a dollar and a half -to two dollars for "donning the mitts" in the -"sporting-houses," where boxing was the special feature. -Others, having neither the training or inclinations -to take part in these "set-to's," officiated as -waiters—"beer-slingers"—and found it more remunerative, -if more tedious work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seems to be a distinct trait of people who visit -these "dives" and "joints" to leave their small -allowance of intelligence at the door. Men, who, in their -daily occupation, are fairly alert and awake to their -interests, permit themselves to be cheated by the -most transparent devices of the "beer-slingers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To give these fellows a bill in payment of drinks -is simply inviting them to experiment on you. -Over charging, "palming"—retaining a coin in the -palm of the hand between ball of thumb and fleshy -part—"flim-flamming"—doubling a bill in a number -of them, and counting each end of it as one separate -bill—are the most common means of cheating -employed. Whenever any of these tricks failed, the -money was either withheld or taken away by force, -and the victim—the "sucker"—bodily thrown into -the streets as a "disorderly person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such were the glories of the "open town."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although a recognized factor in the world pugilistic, -I was not above seeking occasional employment -in these resorts, and it helped me to create for -myself another reputation. I did not work in these -places for the purpose of study or observation, yet, -every night my contempt for the patrons of these -"joints" increased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men, whose names I had heard and mentioned -with awe; men, whose positions and station should -have been guarantees of every sterling quality, -came there, not once, but night after night, to enjoy -that seemingly harmless pastime known as -"slumming"—to have a "good time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A "good time" in the midst of moral and physical -filth; a "good time" in the company of jailbirds, -fallen men and women; a "good time" of grossest -selfishness, for, over and over again, I have seen men -there for whose education I would have gladly given -years of my life, and who, by one word of sympathy -or encouragement, could have rekindled the dying -flame of hope, of self-respect, in some fellow-being, -but that word was never spoken, because it would -have brought discord into the "good time," and -would have jangled the croaking melody chanted -by that chorus of human scum in praise of their -host—the "sightseer"—of the evening!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A glorious sport this "sightseeing," these "good -times," when men of "respectability" and position -feast with gloating eyes on all that is vile and look -on the unfortunates of a great city as if they were -some strange beasts, some freaks in human shape. -That almost every creature in these "dives" and -"joints" has left behind a niche in the world's -usefulness, or a home, to which his or her daily thoughts -stray back, is not considered by the "sightseer." One -does not like unpleasant reflections when at a -circus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vile, very vile, are the men and women who -constitute the population of divedom, but how about -the representatives of respectability, who come -among them to spend their "good time" with them?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Were I at liberty to give the names of men whom -I have seen hobnobbing with the most fearful -riff-raff, you would shrug your shoulders and say: "I -cannot believe it of them." Yet, I do not lie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is no need for lying, and there is much -corroboration, not the least being the conscience of -those men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We want you—you men and women of respectability—to -come to these "dives," but we want you -to come for another purpose. Even at this very -moment there is a scope for your efforts in spite -of all change of administration and Christian endeavor -has done for that part of the city. The stamping -out of vice is carried on vigorously, but vice is -a proverbially obstinate disease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only a few nights ago I saw a scene in a widely -known pest hole, reeking with stench beyond its -very doors, which I can only hint at in describing it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At one of the tables sat a youth, a mere boy, who -had been coaxed into the dirty hole by the persuasion -of the wily "barker" at the side door. The boy -seemed from the country, his ruddy complexion and -"store clothes" indicated it. The drink, which he -had been forced to buy, was standing untasted -before him. Without being afraid, he kept wide -awake and resented all overtures made to him. But -he looked too much like an easy victim to escape -the usual procedure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before he was aware of it, a woman had dropped -into the chair on the other side of the table. At -least more than fifty years of age, the toothless -wretch assumed the coquetry of a young girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gray hair, devoid of comb or ribbon, hung -in straggling strands to her shoulders. The front -of her dress was unbuttoned. Still, this witch of -lowest depravity, lulled her Lorelei song, hoping -to transfix the gaze of the boy—young enough -perhaps to be her grandson—by the leer of her bleary -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not dare, and if I dared, could not tell you -the horridness of this scene, yet it was only a detail -in the grander spectacle, the "good time," seen and -enjoyed nightly by thousands of the "better" class.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Forerunners of the eventually coming overthrow -of "open" vice made themselves felt during some of -the more important elections and for a few weeks -preceding election day the ukase was sent out by -the mysterious hidden powers: "Lie low for a while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These periods of restriction, while not welcome, -did not involve great hardships for us, the "sports" -of the Bowery. If the blare of the wheezy cornet -and the thumping of the piano had to be silenced -for the time being, there were other channels in -which the services of the men, who did not care, -could be utilized.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of the most flourishing industries carried on -was the confidence game in its many guises.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, all the 'easy marks' go up to the Tenderloin -now," is the cry of the few remaining Bowery -grafters. Then it was different.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bowery was famed from Atlantic to Pacific -for what it offered. Every day a new consignment -of lambs unloaded itself on this highway of the -foolish and miserable, to be devoured by the -expectant wolves. The recognized headquarters of the -wolves was at the corner of Pell street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few among them were men of some education -and refinement, but the most of them were beetle-browed -ruffians, who seemed ill at ease in their -fine raiment, the emblem of their calling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To get the stranger's money many means were used.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sailors, immigrants, farmers and out-of-town -merchants were approached in most suitable -manner, generally by a claim of former acquaintanceship. -To celebrate the renewal of their old friendship -it was necessary to adjoin to the nearby gin-mill. -Here, the stranger, the "refound old friend," -would not be permitted to spend one cent of his -money—"dear, no, you're my guest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next move: The two reunited friends—the wolf -and the lamb—are joined by a third—"an old friend -o' mine," says the wolf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The newcomer sings one of the many variations -of the old, old theme. He has just won a lot of -money at a game where no one can lose; or has a -telegram promising beyond a doubt that a certain -horse was to win that day; or has a hundred dollar -bill, which he wants to change; or is broke, and -offers his entire outlay of jewelry, watch, studs and -rings, each one flashing with fire-spitting jewels, -for a mere bagatelle of fifty dollars; or offers to bet -on some mechanical trick toy in his possession, trick -pocketbook or snuff box, and loses every bet to the -wolf—but not to the lamb; or offers to take both, -wolf and lamb, to a "regular hot joint," hinting at -the beautiful sights to be beheld there, which, in -reality, is a "never-lose" gambling device.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Should the lamb prove impervious to all these -temptations, the pleasing concoction called "knock-out -drops" is introduced as most effective tonic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sometimes there is a slip in the proceedings, and -the lamb "tumbles to the game" before he is shorn. -This is entirely against the rules of the industry, and -cannot be permitted without being rebuked. Therefore, -the confidence industry was always willing to -draw its apprentices from the class in which -muscularity and brutality were the only qualifications.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Other industries, now much retrograded, were -the "sawdust," "green goods" and "gold brick" -games. All these games were vastly entertaining -to all, and vastly profitable to some. Besides, in -their lower stages, and technically inside of the law, -they gave employment to many young men, who, -like me, were unwilling to use their strength in -more honorable occupation, preferring to be the -slaves of crooked masters and schemes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those were not all the ways in which a well-known -tough could earn an honest dollar. To our -"hang out," sheltering always a large number of -choice spirits, frequently came messengers calling -for a quota for some expedient mission. We were -the "landsknechts" of the day, willing to serve any -master, without inquiring into the ethics of the cause, -for pay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Electoral campaigns in this and other cities -furnished much employment. Capt B——, of Hoboken, -a notorious "guerrilla" chief, was a frequent -employer. During a heated contest in a small town -near Baltimore, he shipped fifty of us to the scene -of strife to "help elect" his patron. Five "Bowery -gents," in rough and ready trim, were stationed -near each doubtful polling place, and, somehow, -induced voters, unfriendly to their master of the -moment, to keep away from the ballot boxes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Local primaries and conventions, regardless of -politics, could never afford to do without us. -To-day we would fight the men, who, to-morrow, would -pay us to turn the tables on our masters of yesterday.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still, we were loyal to our temporary bosses. We -offered our strength and brutality in open market. -We asked a price, and, if it was paid, we did our -"work" with a faithfulness worthier of a better -cause. That this was so is proven by the fact that -not only John Y. McKane, the "Czar of Coney -Island," recruited his police force from among us, -but even reputable concerns, like the Iron Steamboat -Company, and others, engaged men of our class -to preserve order and peace at designated posts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A number of railroad companies and detective -bureaus, in times of strikes, invited us to aid them -in protecting property and temporary employees, -but, for some reason or other, these offers were -never greedily accepted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Among the rest of these unlisted occupations -must be mentioned playing pool and cards. I do not -mean the out-and-out experts of these games -hung around to win money from unwary strangers. -Quite a number of the more "straight" saloons on -the Bowery did not object to having about the place -a crowd of fellows who were fair players of pool or -the games of cards in vogue. If, by any chance -they lost a game, the proprietor would stand the -loss, and, if they proved exceedingly lucky, he would -give them a percentage of the receipts of the game.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is rather difficult to enumerate all the different -ways in which a man, who had to live by his "wits," -could make a living on the Bowery. They were -many and variegated in their nature. It was a -saying of the day that all a man had to do then was -to leave his "hang-out" for an hour to return with -enough money to pay his expenses for the day.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="at-the-sign-of-chicory-hall"><span class="bold large">AT THE SIGN OF CHICORY HALL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AT THE SIGN OF CHICORY HALL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>I have several times mentioned "hang-out." Most -of these "hang-outs" were ginmills (saloons) -of the better class, but the real Bowery Bohemian -chose odd spots for his haunts. The most unique -resort in this Bohemia of the nether world was at -Chicory Hall, where my particular gang had -established itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a basement at the corner of Fourth street -and Bowery. Originally a bakeshop, it had been -unoccupied for some time, until a coffee merchant -rented it to prepare his chicory there. One man -constituted the entire working force of the plant, -and it so happened that Tom Noseley, the chicory -baker, was imbued with sporting proclivities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Do not let us forget that, at the time, the -prize-fighter was a man of consequence to the youths of -the East Side. To know a pugilist, to have spoken -to him, to have shaken his hand, was an event never -to be forgotten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Noseley was a very young man. In the -immediate neighborhood of his basement were many -"sporting-houses." Tom Noseley was earning -eighteen dollars a week. What is more natural than -that one of sporting proclivities should become an -enthusiastic patron of "sporting-houses"?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Noseley wanted to number some well-known -pugilists among his acquaintances. Several -well-known pugilists, I among the number, did not resent -his many invitations to drink with him, and, ere -long, the dream of Noseley seemed fully realized, -for we consented, after much coaxing, to call at his -basement for the pleasant task of "rushing the -growler."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our first call at the cellar convinced us of its -many attractions. It seemed just the place for an -ideal "hang-out." Then, also, there was Tom -Noseley's weekly stipend of eighteen dollars a week, -which he was willing to spend to the last cent for -the "furthering of sport."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Noseley was a hunter of Bowery lions. I -have been told that in higher social strata different -lions are hunted by different hunters. Still, the -species do not differ very much from each other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men who had "done" a long term in prison; men -who had a reputation for crookedness; men who -were known to make their living without having to -descend to the ignoble manner of working for it, -all these had been fads of Noseley. Then, the -sporting spirit of the Bowery flared up with great -spluttering, and Noseley, for the nonce, took the -poor, shiftless boxers to his heart of hearts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We named the cellar "Chicory Hall," and quickly -succeeded in making it known.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cellar consisted of two large rooms. Descending -from Fourth street, about a dozen steps -led to the bakeshop. Four small windows, grimed -with impenetrable dirt, suggested the presence of -light. The sunlight or cloudy sky found no token -there. At night one dim flame of gas gave a sort of -humorous weirdness to the filthy hole.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Adjoining the bakeshop was a dark apartment -of the same size as the first room, used as storing -place for the bags of bran, which were used in the -manufactory of chicory. Shortly after establishing -our headquarters at Chicory Hall, we chose the -storage room as our sleeping chamber, making -unwieldy couches from the heavy, unclean bags.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Certainly we had conveniences, a "front room" -and a "bedroom," what more could we desire? And -we appreciated it. Did not I, myself, spend ten -entire days and nights in Chicory Hall without ever -leaving it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But while Tom Noseley's eighteen dollars a week, -earned by his intermittent labors in baking chicory, -were not to be despised as the substantial nucleus -of our treasury, they were not enough to provide a -little food and much drink for about six able-bodied -prizefighters out of work. The regular staff -included Jerry Slattery, the Limerick Terror; Mike -Ryan, the Montana Giant; Tom Green and his -brother, Patsy Green; Charlie Carroll and myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On Saturday, Tom Noseley's pay day, two or -three of the staff appointed themselves a committee -to accompany our host to the office and to prevent -him from falling into other hands. His return was -celebrated by feasting on many pounds of raw -chopped meat and drinking many gallons of beer. -Sunday morning found the exchequer very much -depleted, containing, perhaps, just enough to -reflicker our drooping and aching spirits by purchasing -several pints of the vilest fusel oil, parading -under the name of whiskey, ever manufactured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sabbath day, the day of rest, as appointed by the -Master, was spent by us in quiet peace. That the -peace was a consequence of the turbulent hilarity of -the night before, and not a desire to live according -to divine dictates is a mere detail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the beginning of our sojourn at Chicory Hall -our feast of Saturday was generally followed by a -famine until the next week's end. This was -somewhat palliated by a happy inspiration of "Lamby," -a character of the locality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lamby"—no one knew him by any other name—had -some mysterious hiding and sleeping place, but -was infatuated with our Subterranean Bohemia -and spent all his spare time—which practically -was all his time, excepting the hours dedicated to -sleep—with the Knights of Chicory Hall. He was -a boy of about seventeen years of age, over six foot -tall, of piping voice and full of most unexpected -opinions and ideas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was good stuff in "Lamby," as in many of -the East Side boys, who are, by environment and -circumstances, led into evil, or, at least, useless lives. -"Lamby's" heart was bigger than all his carcass. -To be his friend, meant that "Lamby" thought it -his duty to give three-fourths of all his temporary -possessions to the cementing of this friendship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I made "Lamby's" acquaintance under inconvenient -conditions. He was not yet entitled to vote. -This did not prevent him from formulating the -strongest opinions on political personages and -principles. During the election which made me -acquainted with him, "Lamby" for some unknown -reason, was doing the most enthusiastic individual -"stumping" for the candidate of one of the labor -parties. It was conceded by the supporters of the -labor ticket that the candidate in question stood -absolutely no chance of being elected and that their -entire list of nominees was only in the field as a -means of making propaganda, of paving the way -for future possibilities. All this did not deter -"Lamby" from sounding the labor-man's praises -on all and every occasion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In one of his many eulogies "Lamby" was -opposed by a ward-heeler of the local organization, -who laughing offered to bet any amount that the -much praised candidate would not poll fifty votes. -This roused the ire of the champion of labor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," cried "Lamby" at his adversary, "you -know I ain't got no money to bet and that's why -you're so anxious to bet me. If you're on the level -in this, I'll tell you what I'll do. You put up your -money and if Kaltwasser don't get elected I won't -speak to no human being for a month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The politician accepted this odd bet and, a few -weeks later, "Lamby," by his own decree, found -himself sentenced to one month's silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And "Lamby" loved to talk!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a fearful dilemma, but leave it to a Bowery -boy to wriggle out of a scrape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In one of his rambles, "Lamby" had met Rags, -and, impressed by some similarity in their appearance -and disposition, had appointed him forthwith -his chum and inseparable companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rags was a cur of nondescript origin and breed. -His long, wobbly and ungainly legs barely balanced -a long and shaggy body, draped with a frowsy, -kaleidoscopic mass of wiry hair. The color of Rags' -eyes could not be determined, bangs of matted locks -wholly screening them from view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For some obscure reason, "Lamby" conceived the -idea that the use of the lower extremities would -prove injurious to Rags, and the mongrel—surely -weighing at least fifty pounds—spent most of his -time in the loving arms of his adoring friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The opportunity to return some of his friend's -devotion, by making himself useful to him, came -to Rags during the period in which "Lamby's" -tongue was restrained from its favorite function -for a month of silence. "Lamby's" pledge not to -speak to a human being for a month was never -broken, but he found a way of expressing -himself to Rags in such loud and distinct tones that -no one had any difficulty in following the train -of conversation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was so much ingenuity in the plan that the -ward politician declared the bet off and presented -"Lamby" with a part of the stake money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a Monday, when the feast of Saturday was but -a sweet memory and the famine of the week had set -in with convincing force, Tom Noseley and his staff -of friends—including "Lamby" and Rags, who -hugged the shadowy recess of a corner—sat -disconsolately in the dingy dimness of Chicory Hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ain't none of you fellows got any money at all?" -queried Jerry Slattery against hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The question was too absurd to deserve an answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what are we going to do?" pursued the -Limerick Terror; "I'm hungry as blazes and can't -stand this any longer. Nothing to eat and nothing -to drink; this is worse than being on the bum -in the country among the hayseeds. If I don't -get something here pretty soon, I'll go out into the -Bowery and see if I can't pick up something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harangue passed our ears without comment. -More deep and dark silence. Then everybody turned -to where "Lamby's" preambling cough heralded a -monologistic dialogue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rags," began the silent sage of Chicory Hall, -"what would you and me do, if we was hungry -and wasn't as delicate as we are? Wouldn't you -and me go up to Lafayette alley and look them -chickens over that don't seem to belong to nobody? -Couldn't you and me use them in the shape of one -o' them nice chicken stews with plenty of potatoes -and onions in it? Ain't it too bad that you and me -is too delicate to be chasing round after them -chickens and that we aren't allowed to speak so's -we could tell other people how to get a meal that'll -tickle them to death?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bully "Lamby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In less than five minutes a small, but determined -gang of marauders made their stealthy way through -Lafayette alley. Every one of the husky pilferers -endeavored to shrink his big body into the smallest -compass. The alley ended in a hamlet of ramshackle -stables in the rear of a famous bathing -establishment. The place was deserted in day time -as all men and animal occupants were in the streets -pursuing the energetic calling of peddling. As said, -the place was deserted, save for those chickens. -Dating from our first call, the chickens, young and -old, began to disappear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For over a week we feasted on chicken. We had -them in all known styles of cooking. Our bill of -fare included fried, baked, stewed, broiled and -fricasseed chicken. But a day came when naught -was left of the flock of chicks excepting one big, -black rooster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I shall never forget him, because it was my fate -to be his captor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He surely was a general of no mean order. We -had often hunted him, but he had always succeeded -in eluding us by some cleverly executed movement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This survivor of his race irritated my determination -and, supported and flanked by my cohorts, I set -out to exterminate the last of the clan. Sounding -his defy in many cackles and muffled crows the black -hero raced up and down the yard, dodging, -whenever possible, under some of the unused wagons -and trucks standing about. But escape was impossible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Driven into a corner he faced me and my bag -with splendid heroism. He met the lowering -deathtrap by an angry leap, and, when I and bag fell -on top of him, we were greeted by a shower of -furious picking and clawing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, brave descendant of a brave ancestry, nobly -did you meet the inevitable fate! You were never -born to be eaten; you were the tough son of a -tough father! First, you fought right splendidly -against being captured, then, you resisted most -stubbornly against being devoured! Boiled, stewed, -fried, hashed, you remained tough, and, even in -death, you defied us! You escaped the destiny of -your weaker brethren, for you were never eaten!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Chicken coops are not many on the Bowery. -Having found and demolished the feathered oasis, -we were again reduced to dire straits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again "Lamby" proved our rescuer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He and Rags, with the story of the extraordinary -bet, were discovered by a reporter and given due -fame in the press. "Lamby" and Rags became -celebrities and deigned to receive their many callers -in the attractive reception room of Chicory Hall. -A trifle of the glamor reflected on us, the minor -characters in the comedy, and visitors became quite -frequent to behold the "truly charming, typical -Bohemia of the nether world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But visitors will not call again unless you make -their first visit entertaining. How could we -entertain them? Not one of us was as yet of a literary -turn of mind, and were not prepared to -offer readings or selections from Shakespeare, -Lowell or Browning. Some of us were quite -renowned as comedians, but it is very -doubtful if our humor would have appealed to -the class of people honoring us with their -visits. There was nothing left to do but to offer -entertainment in the only line in which we all were -proficient. The reception room of Chicory Hall -became an impromptu arena and fights were fought -down there which, for ferociousness and bloody -stubbornness have never been beaten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would be quite logical to suppose here that our -visitors were of the rowdy element, and all of the -male sex. I wish I could tell you differently, but -the truth of the matter is that the "very best -families" were represented at our nocturnal seances by -younger members of both sexes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the course of time Chicory Hall became quite -a "sight place," and it was nothing unusual to see a -string of carriages and coaches in front of the -humble entrance to the subterranean Bohemia. Would -I were a Balzac to describe to you an evening at -Chicory Hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the foot of the stairs was a circle marked on -the floor with chalk. No one save the regular -members of the staff were permitted to enter the sacred -precincts without depositing a "voluntary" contribution -in the circle. Corresponding to the amount -gathered by the circle was the degree of entertainment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a row of boxes, crippled chairs, upturned pails -and other makeshift seats, the guests were served -with drinks at their own expense pending the -preliminaries. Above their heads, traced with white -paint on grimy walls, was this legend in straggling -letters:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>"WELCOME TO CHICORY HALL!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>With our increasing prosperity came needed -improvements, and the solitary gas light was reinforced -by a murky smelling kerosene lamp, which I can -never remember having seen topped by an uncracked -chimney. The door, on account of the lively -proceedings within, had to be kept shut, and you can -easily imagine the atmosphere in the cellar, there -being no ventilation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still our guests kept coming and truly enjoyed -themselves because "it was all so charmingly realistic -and odd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Being the most steady member of Chicory and -rarely absent from the hall, it was quite natural that -I took part in most of the "goes" in the cellar. I -felt myself in my element. Neither the Marquis of -Queensberry or the London prize ring rules were -rigidly enforced, and my viciousness had full scope, -our guests—men and women of the "better" class—liking -nothing so well as a "knockout finish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mainly through my savageness the last vestige of -regulated fighting disappeared from our "set-tos," -and our performances fell to the level of -"go-as-you-please" scrimmages. My reputation as a precious -brute increased rapidly, and again a certain set of -men saw a probability in me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was asked if I would fight anything and -anybody under any conditions. An easy question to -answer for a man, who, in the fullest possession of -all his strength, had no knowledge of any other -controlling influence than his brutal instinct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not knowing or caring who my opponent was to -be, I left all arrangements to the enthusiasts, and in -due time was introduced to Mr. Mickey Davis, who -had the great honor of being the champion rough -and tumble fighter of New York.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These were the conditions of our meeting: We -were to be locked in a room, with the privilege of -using any means of defeating each other. Of course, -weapons were excluded, but any other pleasantries -like biting, clawing, choking, gouging, were not only -allowed, but really essential. He who first begged -to have the door unlocked and to be taken from the -room was the loser.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I held the championship for some time. In fact, -I relinquished it voluntarily not long afterward on -account of several changes which occurred in my life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I should not blame you in the least were you to feel -disgust and contempt for me for writing of it and -for seemingly to glory in it. Your disgust is -justified, your contempt is not. I myself am disgusted -with my past and its several stages of degradation, -but I have pledged myself to tell you the truth, and -I am doing and will do it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps you may despise me for it, but put yourself -in my place and you will be less severe. There -was something brewing and fermenting within me -which wanted to assert itself. I wanted to be -somebody; to be successful. It is a frank confession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Will you blame a blind man for choosing the -wrong path at the crossroads? Will you not, -instead, lead him in the right direction?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was I not blind when I stood on life's highway -and could not see the pointed finger which read: -"To Decency, Usefulness and Manhood"?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And there was no one to lead me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, criticise, sneer, if you will, but do not forget -that in my life there had been no parental love or -guidance and no moral influence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The attaining of my championship revived the -interest of the "sporting set" of the Bowery in me, and -several flattering offers were made to me by certain -dive-keepers. I changed from place to place and left -such a trail of noble deeds behind me that ere long -I found myself a real, genuine celebrity and a man -with a name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I never had any difficulty in getting work at my -calling—that of a "bouncer," called, for the sake of -politeness, "floor manager," as my connection with -any place meant additional customers. I was -splendidly equipped for the position, and my fame kept -steadily increasing until I thought myself on the -sure road to success.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I reasoned the case with myself and drew the -following deductions: I was feared because of my -brutality; I was respected because of my "squareness," -which had never been severely tempted; I had more -money than ever before; I was wearing well-made, -if flashy, clothes; the grumbling envy of my less -fortunate fellows and chums sang like a sweet refrain -in my ears; I was strong, vicious and healthy. Why, -why shouldn't I consider myself successful?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="my-good-old-pal"><span class="bold large">MY GOOD OLD PAL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MY GOOD OLD PAL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Here we have reached a stage in my story where -I must introduce to you the dearest friend of all, -my good old pal, my Bill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bill is only a dog, but when the doors of my past -banged shut behind me he was the only one able -to squeeze through them into my better life. He is -the only relic of my other days and a living witness -of remembrance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, who can tell, but he, too, may have gone -through a transformation, if that was necessary in -his case. He was always faithful, true and loyal, -and what would you think of me were I to repudiate -him now?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those who know me do believe and you will believe -that I have not the shadow of desire to detract -one iota from the work accomplished by my little -martyr, but I would be grossly unjust were I to -deprive Bill of the credit due him for his share in -the making of me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am a man; I feel it. My soul and conscience -tell me so, and to all the forces and factors that -combined in my transformation I owe a debt of -gratitude which deeds only—not words—can repay. -If this mentioning of Bill shall demonstrate to you -that he was of importance in my regeneration, then -I shall have paid part of my debt to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not very long ago the rector of a fashionable -church in New York City came forward with the -blunt claim that dogs have more than intelligence; -that they have souls. Of course, this assertion -caused a storm of indignation and a flood of -discussion in many circles. Dogs were rated very low -after that in the list of intellectual values by the -representatives of those circles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is fortunate that I am not sufficiently learned or -educated to have an authoritative or deciding voice -in the matter, for it will save me from criticism -when I become too enthusiastic about my good -dumb, soulless brute.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, I wish, pray and hope that he has a soul.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Between First and Houston street, on the Bowery, -was a saloon which was known throughout the land -as the "hang-out" of the most notorious toughs and -crooks in the country. Still, the place was nightly -visited by persons called "ladies and gentlemen," -representatives, specimens, of the "best" classes of -society.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was employed there as "bouncer." My nightly -duty was to suppress trouble of any kind and at -all hazards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The business staff of my employer included a -number of gentlemen who were renowned for their -deftness of touch, and who, at various and frequent -times, had had their photographs taken free of -charge at a certain sombre-looking building in -Mulberry street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their code of ethics—never adopted by the public -at large—was most elastic. Still, there were times -when they did overreach the limits of Bowery -etiquette and then it became my painful duty to rise in -righteous indignation and smite them into seeing the -error of their ways.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One night a middle-aged man of respectable -appearance, evidently the host of a party of -"sightseers," got into a quarrel with a member of the -mentioned gentry. There was a rumpus of sufficient -volume to distract the attention of the other patrons -from their most important duty, that of spending -their money, and I was forced to take a hand in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I quickly ascertained that the "sightseer" and his -friends were lavish "spenders," and, with a great -display of dramatic effect, I ejected the loafer, who -had already become decidedly threatening. That, -a few minutes later he found his way back again via -the little, ever-handy side door, was a fact not made -public.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My stylish "sightseer" had been somewhat sobered -by the occurrence and was most effusive in thanking -me for having so gallantly rescued him. A lingering -sense of shame and realization of his position -made him turn homeward, but before leaving he -insisted that I should call at his home on the following -day to be properly rewarded for having prevented -him from falling further into the contumely -of contempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Greed was then one of my many besetting sins, -and without losing any time I called at the address -given to me. It was a rather pretentious dwelling -in one of New York's thoroughfares of ease and -good living, and I could not help speculating on the -moral make-up of a man who could leave this abode -of comfort and home cheer behind to spend his -leisure hours in a "good time" at a Bowery dive. -Even though I could not read or write at that time, -and was not sensible to the world's finer motives, -such an act on the part of a man who had all that -life could give, seemed to be beyond the ken of -human intelligence and my humble understanding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The reception accorded to me was none too -cordial. He seemed to regard me as a blackmailer, -and, alas! he was very nearly correct in his -estimate. After entreating me not to breathe a word -to any living soul about his nightly adventure, he -invited me to follow him to the stable in the rear of -the house, where I was to receive the reward for my -righteous conduct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My hopes fell at this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stables are the lodging places of horses, and I -began to wonder if he could imagine the -consequences were I to attempt to lead a gift horse -through the streets down to the Bowery. The police, -if in nothing else, are very careful in looking after -strayed horses and delight in finding, by accident, -a pretended owner at the other end of the halter rope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I mentioned all this to him, but he only laughed -and bade me wait. He took me to a stall, and there -pointed with pride at a litter of pure-bred bull pups -who were taking a nap at the breast of their mother. -He stooped and, one by one, lifted them up by the -scruff of their necks for my inspection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt disappointed, saw my dream of reward -evaporate, and could not screw up any interest in -the canine exhibition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My aversion for all dogs dated from my years -as newsboy in Park Row. One homeless little cur, -a mongrel looking for a bit of sympathy in his -miserable existence, once made friendly overtures to -me. I was still a brute—bestial, cruel—and sent the -poor thing yelping with a kick. As soon as he had -regained his footing he waited for his chance and -then bit me in the leg.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Therefore I hated dogs, and reveled in the execution -of my hatred.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I watched the pups with ill-concealed disgust. The -little fat fellows hung limp and listless until dropped -back into their nest. Just as I was priming myself -to propose a compromise on a cash basis, a little -rogue, different from his brothers, was elevated for -examination. Instead of hanging quietly like the -rest of the younger generation of the family, he -twisted and wriggled, while his eyes, one of them -becomingly framed in black, shone with play, -appeal and good nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The shadow of a smile must have been on my lips, -for the owner placed the pup in my arms and -presented me with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My first impulse was to drop the pup and kick it -back into the stall, but the little fellow seemed to -consider his welcome as an understood thing, and -with a sigh of content snuggled into the hollow of -my arm. He was on my left side, and his warmth -must have been infective, for I felt a peculiar if dull -glow creep into my heart.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 57%" id="figure-58"> -<span id="bill"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Bill." src="images/img-106.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Bill.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without exactly knowing what I was doing, I -tucked my new property under my coat and made -my way to my room. It is a question whether the -pup gained by the exchange of quarters. My room -was on the top floor of an old-fashioned tenement. -The ceiling was slanting and not able to cope -efficiently with the rain. Of the original four panes of -glass in the window, only two remained, paper -having been substituted for the others. There was a -cot, a three-legged chair, and a washstand with a -cracked basin, and a pitcher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I dropped the pup on the cot, and intended to note -how he would take to his new surroundings. He -failed to notice them. First, he squatted down and -looked at me intently. I must have passed inspection, -for, not seeing me draw closer, he came to the -edge of the bed and gave a little whine. I meant -to grab him by the neck and throw him to the floor, -but when my hand touched him he felt so soft and -warm, and—well, I patted him. Of course, I had -no intention of allowing a pup to change the tenor -of my life. That night I went to the saloon at the -accustomed time and did my "duty" as well as -before. However, at odd moments, I would think of -the little fellow up in the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been our custom to spend the major part -of the night drinking and carousing after the close -of business. But on the morning succeeding the -pup's arrival, I thought it best to go to my room -at once, as he might have upset things or caused -other damage. That is what I tried to make -myself believe—a rather difficult feat in view of the -pup's enormous bulk and ferocity—not caring to -interpret my feelings. I opened the door of my attic -room and peeped in. The little fellow was curled -upon the blanket and did not wake until I stood -beside him. Then he lifted his little nose, recognized -me, and went off again into the land of canine -dreams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I was burdened with the dog, I could not let -him starve. Therefore, my neighbors had the -wonderful, daily spectacle before them of seeing me, -the champion rough and tumble fighter of the city, -go to the grocery store on the corner and buy three -cents' worth of milk and sundry other delicacies -suitable to my room-mate. Had they taken it -good-naturedly, I would have felt ashamed and the pup -would have fared badly in his nursing, but my -neighbors sneered and smiled at my unusual proceeding -which did seem rather incongruous, and, mainly -to spite them and give them a chance to break their -amused silence, did I persist in playing my new -part, that of care-taker and nurse to his royal -highness, the dog.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I became used to him, after a fashion, and, though -showering very little affection on the pup, he seemed -to be supremely happy in my company. We had been -together for some time before I was sure of our -relative positions. Always finding him asleep on my -return from the saloon, I was surprised to hear him -move about, one morning, as I was inserting the key -in the lock. I opened the door, and before me danced -the pup in a veritable frenzy of delight at beholding -me. This not being a psychological essay, only a -plain, true story, I shall not attempt to analyze, but -will tell you straight facts in a straight way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a new, a bewildering sensation to me to -perceive a living being to be so pleased at my -appearance. It was a new, a strange welcome, perhaps -not entirely unselfish, because milk and good things -to eat generally came with me, but, still, much purer -and more sincere than, the greeting "hello" or -loud-mouthed invitation to drink vouchsafed me by ribald -companions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had not yet softened, at least, did not realize -it, or would not admit it, but in occasional, -unobserved moments, a sporadic, spontaneous dropping -of the hard outer shell would come to me and I -would not deny it until my "manhood" whispered to -me: "Why, what is the matter with you? Are you -not ashamed of giving way to your feelings? You -are a man, a great, big, tough man, and not supposed -to have any softer emotions. Get yourself together -and be again a worthy member of your class!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I must have been in one of these softer moods -on the morning when the pup gave his first -outspoken recognition. Why I did it, I do not know, -but I lifted the little fellow to my arms and sat -down on the bed. To us two a critical moment had -come and it was best to make the most of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you like me, pup?" I asked in all seriousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bless me, if that little thing did not try to bark -an emphatic "Yes!" Oh, it was no deep-toned growl -or snarl. It was the pup's first effort in the barking -line, and it sounded very much like a compound -of whine and grunt. But I understood and we -settled down to talk the matter over.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I realized that the pup was entitled to be named, -and that matter was first in order.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, pup; you and I are very plain and -ordinary people, and it wouldn't do to give you a -'high-toned' name. Now, what do you say to 'Bill'?—just -plain 'Bill'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The motion was speedily passed, and then Bill -and I went to discuss other questions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bill, you and I aren't overburdened with friends. -If you and I were to die at the same moment, not -even a cock or crow would croak a requiem for us. -Now, I am going to make you a proposition. You're -friendless, and so am I; you're ugly and so am I; -you belong to the most unintelligent class of your -kind and so do I; why not establish a partnership -between us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bill had sat, watching my lips and looking as wise -as a sphinx, until I asked the question. He answered -in the affirmative, without a moment's hesitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm glad you like my proposition, Bill. Now -you and I are going to live our own life, without -regard for others. We're going to stick to each -other, Bill; we're going to be loyal to each other, -and, though we do not amount to much in the -world, to each other we must be the best of our -class. We're going to be true friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I took Bill's paw, and, there and then, we sealed -the compact, which was never broken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our relationship being founded on this basis, I -spent a good deal of my spare time in the room, -which until Bill's arrival, had been nothing but -my sleeping place. Soon the bare walls and the -dilapidated condition of the furniture began to -grate on me and, slowly, I improved our </span><em class="italics">home</em><span>. I -bought a few pictures from a peddler, purchased -two plaster casts from an Italian, and even -employed a glazier to put our window in good shape. -Bill and I took pride in our home, and thought it -the very acme of coziness. You see, neither one -of us had ever known a real home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But dogs, as well as men, need exercise, and, in -the afternoon, attired in our best—Bill with his -glittering collar, on which the proceeds of a whole -night had been expended—we took our walk along -the avenue. He was beautifully ugly, and the usual -pleasant witticisms, such as, "Which is the dog?" -were often inflicted upon us. But we didn't mind, -being a well-established firm of partners, who could -afford to overlook the comments of mere outsiders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the midst of our prosperity came an unexpected -break. A reform wave swept over the city -and closed most of the "resorts." The loss of -my position left us in a badly crippled financial -condition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bill and I had lived in a style befitting two -celebrities. Porterhouse steaks, fine chops, and -cutlets had been frequent items on our bills of fare. -The drop was sudden and emphatic. Stews, fried -liver, and hash took the place of the former -substantial meals, and our constitutions did not thrive -very well. It did not even stop at that, for, ere -long, we were regular </span><em class="italics">habitués</em><span> of the free-lunch -counters. It often almost broke my heart to see -my Bill, well bred and blooded, feed on the scraps -thrown to him from a lunch counter. But there -was a dog for you! Instead of turning his nose up -at it, or eating it with growl and disgust, Bill would -devour the pickled tripe or corned beef with a -well-feigned relish. Between the mouthfuls his -glance would seek mine and he would say, quite -plainly: "Don't worry on my account. I'm getting -along very nicely on sour tripe. In fact, it is -a favorite dish of mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You poor, soulless Bill, of whom many men; -with souls, could learn a lesson in grit and pluck!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During that spell of idleness our hours in the -room were less cheerful than before. I must -confess that my "blues" were inspired by material -cares, and not by any regrets or self-reproaches; -but, whatever the cause, they were sitting oppressively -on me, and I often found myself in an atmosphere -of the most ultra indigo. It did not take Bill -very long to understand these moods, and, by right -of his partnership, he took a hand in dispelling -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He would place himself directly in front of me, -and stare at me with unflinching gaze. Not -noticing any effect of his hypnotic suggestions, he -would go further, and place his paw on my knee, -with a little pleading whine. Having awakened -my attention, he would put himself into proper -oratorical pose and loosen the flood-gates of his -rhetoric.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Kil, I gave you credit for more sense and -courage. Here you are, sitting with your hands -in your lap, and bemoaning a fate which is largely -of your own making. Besides—excuse me for -being so brutally frank—you ought to be ashamed -of yourself. Big and strong, you live in idleness, and -now you kick because you are down and out and -deprived of your despicable means of livelihood. -Owen Kildare, brace up and be a man. You are -not friendless. I am here. True, I'm only a dog, -a soulless brute, but I'm your Bill, and we're going -to stick until we both win out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You will not offend me by calling me a silly -fool for putting these words into Bill's mouth. -Perhaps I err greatly in believing that Bill was not -without influence over me, or that I could -understand him; perhaps it was all imagination, but, if -it was—and I doubt it—it was good, because, no -matter what it may be, whether imagination, -inspiration or aspiration, if it leads up and not down, -it cannot be too highly appreciated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were times when Bill's speech was either -less convincing or my period of blues more -pronounced than usual, and then he would resort to -more drastic measures. He undertook to prove -by the most vivid object lesson that a buoyancy of -spirits is the first essential. Dogs, when gay and -playful, run and romp. Bill made believe he was -gay, and romped and raced and ran. If you will -take note of the fact that the exact measurements -of the room were fifteen by twelve feet, you can -easily imagine the difficulties opposing Bill's -exercise. Snorting and puffing, he would cavort about -the narrow precincts, now running into a bedpost, -now bumping against the shaky washstand. But -he always accomplished his object, because, -before his collapse from his exertions, he never failed -to put me into a paroxysm of laughter. No "blues" -could ever withstand Bill's method.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still, he was but a brute—a poor, dumb brute.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="knights-errant"><span class="bold large">KNIGHTS ERRANT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">KNIGHTS ERRANT.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>An episode, which occurred about this time, took -me into latitudes and scenes never before dreamed -of by me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As near as I can figure it, the event happened in -March, 1893. I admit that in view of the seriousness -of the incident my indefiniteness seems strange, -but it is typical of my class.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Since I have moved in different spheres I have -often wondered at this and tried to explain it to -myself. No other explanation seems to be at hand -except that this disregard of dates, of time and place -is a characteristic of the world Bohemian, whether -on the Bowery or in the Tenderloin. Recently I -had an illustration of this.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In preparing a story, treating of a certain phase -of Bowery life for a newspaper, I bethought -myself of a man, who had been closely connected with -the very occurrence I intended to mention. I sent -for him and he came to my house, willing to tell -me all he could remember. He recalled it all and -graphically described every detail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last I asked him to tell me the year and month -in which it had happened. That caused an -immediate halt in the narrative and many minutes -were spent in serious reflection. It was of no avail. -We fixed the date of it to be in "about" such and -such a year, and such and such a month, but it was -impossible to accurately settle the year and month.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And this in view of the fact that the occurrence -had been a cold-blooded murder, that my informant -had been an eye-witness of it and had spent several -months in the House of Detention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why others are so careless of dates I do not -know and it is not to the point here, but I do know -that in the life of the East Side, every existence is -so crammed full of reality that even the most -important occurrences are only of temporary moment. -There, events are dated by events.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ask a fellow of the Bowery when he had lost -his father or mother, and he will very likely answer:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, about five or six years ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If you insist on a more precise answer, he will -scratch his head, ponder for a while, and then: -"Let's see! Yes, the old man died about two months -after I came from the penitentiary on my last bit, -and that was somewhere in 1891."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was playing my now familiar rôle of bouncer -at "Fatty Flynn's," an ex-convict, who was running -a dance hall and dive at 34 Bond street. It was only -a few doors from the Bowery and enjoyed a great -vogue among the transient sightseers, traversing -the Bowery in search of "good times."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the night in question, two Princeton students, -arrayed in yellow and black mufflers and wearing -the insignia of their fraternity, visited the dance -hall in the course of their lark. It was rather early -for that sort of thing, the place was half-empty, and -I, to do the honors of the establishment and also to -speed their "buying," stepped over to the two young -men for a "jollying" chat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were very young, had a considerable amount -of money, and seemed flattered by my mark of -distinction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We spoke about "sporting" life in general and -they asked me concerning several dives which were -the most notorious of the day. As I had worked -in every dive of notoriety, it was not a difficult -matter for me to give all desired information. This -seemed to invite their hunger for knowledge and -they invited me to make the third in their party and -to spend the night in going from dive to dive. This, -by the way, this unofficial guide-business is another -way in which the man, who has to live by his wits, -turns many an "honest" dollar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not accept the invitation as they held out -no financial inducement and, that not forthcoming, -I felt myself in duty bound to stick to my post and -employer. However, it was a rainy night, business -was slow and my chances for making any "extra" -money very slim, and I entrusted one of my favorite -waiters with the diplomatic mission of "boosting my -game" with the two students. Moved by their -curiosity and the skillful strategy of my emissary they -made me an offer which was far more than I had -expected, but which was nevertheless declined by -me, until my persistent refusal to utilize my services -in their behalf screwed their bid up to a figure, -which I could not conscientiously decline.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I made my excuses to "Fatty" Flynn, and, that -done, we started out on our expedition of studying -social conditions and evil. Measured by dive -time-standards, we had started out too early. It was -only nine o'clock and the "fun" in the dives hardly -ever began before midnight. Still, thanks to my -knowing guidance, we found quite a number of -dance halls where we could spend the intervening -hours to the profit of the respective proprietors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One thing, which soon disgusted me with my -two charges, was that they were unable to stand -much drink. I warned them against too much -indulgence, as that would incapacitate them for the -pleasures to come, but youth is proverbially -obstinate and they went their whooping way rejoicing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After having left the "Golden Horn," a well-known -dance hall in East Thirteenth street, we -walked down Third avenue as far as Twelfth street, -where they insisted on going into a gin-mill, which -shed its garish radiance across our path. It was -not a regulation dive and only known as the -rendezvous of a gang of tough fellows, who made that -part of the thoroughfare none too safe for passing -strangers. From this it should not be supposed that -they were unkempt in appearance. Quite the -reverse, they were rather well-dressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We happened to drop into the place at a most -inopportune moment. A crowd of these fellows were -at the bar spending lavishly the proceeds of some -successfully worked "trick." They were very -hilarious; so were my protégés, and I was kept -constantly on the alert to prevent friction between the -hilarious majority and minority. It was not my -policy to become embroiled in any useless rows -and I entreated the students to continue on our way -downtown. But they were not in a condition to -listen to reasoning and, attracted by several unclean -stories told by members of the other faction, began -to treat the "house" and intermingle with them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There seemed to be no immediate prospect of any -disturbance, and I permitted myself to leave the -room for a few minutes. On my return the scene -had completely changed. The crowd had closed -around the students and were threatening them. -I learned afterward that one of the students had -taken umbrage at the rough familiarity of one of -the gang and had attempted to hit him. The -situation seemed critical, but not dangerous, and I was -about to smooth matters, when my eye caught the -reflection of some suspiciously glittering object. -It was a knife in the hand of the tough offended -and only partly concealed by the sleeve of the coat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was sneaking around the crowd to get beside -his intended prey and had almost reached him -when I decided to interfere. I had not measured my -distance well, for just as I jumped between the two -men, the knife was on its downward path and found -the fulfillment of its mission in my neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A three-inch cut, a tenth part of an inch from the -jugular vein, is not exactly the sort of souvenir -one cares to take with him from an evening -dedicated to "fun" and "good times." And when it -confines one to the hospital for several weeks, it -becomes a decided bore. All this was recognized -by my new found friend, the student, who had been -the indirect cause of my disfigurement, and -having in the meantime, been expelled from his college -for some wild escapade, he decided to show his -gratitude to me, for what he was pleased to call "having -saved his life," by taking me abroad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not educated. Travel is the greatest -educator, therefore, I will show you the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It did not require much coaxing to accept the -proposition, and after arranging for a boarding-place -for my good, old Bill, we started out to see -the world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next six months were and are like a dream -to me. I was perfectly willing to have the world -shown to me, but am inclined to believe that I had -a rather imperfect demonstrator. To be quite -candid, I doubted if my fellow-traveler was any more -familiar with the world at large than I was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At any rate, after a hurried and zig-zagged jaunt -through Europe, we landed in Algiers with a -fearfully shrunken cost capital. The cafés of that -African Paris certainly broadened my education.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An expected remittance from home failed to -arrive and my partner fell into a trance of deep and -pondering thought. The conclusion of it was that -we, by decree of my "college chum," were forthwith -appointed adventurers, soldiers of fortunes, -dare-devils and anything else that could make us -believe our miserable, stranded condition was the -stepping stone to great, chivalrous deeds to come. -We enlisted in the Legion of Strangers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But chivalry loses half of its charm when it -comes in red trousers, blue jacket and on the back -of a bony Rosinante, carrying you through stretches -and stretches of glowing, burning sand. In short, -the life of an African trooper, banished into the -interior and subsisting on food as foreign to a Bowery -stomach as the jargon spoken by his messmates, -had absolutely no charm for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am not very good at disguising my moods and -emotions, and that I was homesick, that my heart, -in spite of the excitement of the occasional -skirmishes, yearned for my old Bowery, became -apparent to my brother in misery. Then, a stranger -coincidence, it also cropped out that my partner -would much prefer to be on Broadway or Fifth -avenue than in the dreary stockade of Degh-del-ker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alas, then, the railroad system of that part of -Africa was hardly in existence, and even if it had -been, it would not have been advisable for us to take -berths of civilization, as the government foolishly -wanted to retain our valuable service. History -informs me that, shortly after our departure the -garrison of Degh-del-ker had several disastrous -encounters with some of the rebellious tribes, which -would have probably resulted differently had we -two lent our arms and strength to the cause of the -tri-colored flag.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I mention this merely for the purpose of explaining -the delicacy with which I have related this -experience. Neither my friend nor myself have the -slightest intention of becoming the unfortunate -causes for international complications between our -own country and France, for having bereft the -latter of two such valiant warriors as ourselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We of the Bowery love colors and I had often -had a potent wish that I could show myself in all the -glory of my gaudy raiment to the gang of my -old, beloved street. A Bowery boy in blue coat and -red trousers, with clanking sabre by his side, I -would have made the hit of my life if appearing -thus attired in my favorite haunts. However, this -pleasure was denied to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We managed to procure less stunning costumes -and successfully besting the sentinels, started on -our march for the coast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a fearful trip. For six long weeks we -plodded on through blinding sand and blistering -heat, carefully avoiding all native villages and, yet, -often saved from perishing just in the nick of time -by tribesmen, who found us in helpless state in -hiding places.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the coast we shovelled our way across the -Mediterranean in the boiler-room of the good ship -St. Heléne. It was suffocating work, and time and -again, we were hauled up from the regions of below, -thrown on the deck, and revived by streams of cold -water.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last, we steamed into the harbor of Marseilles, -where we expected to find a letter of credit. It -was there and we both fell on our knees in the most -sincere thanksgiving ever offered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing more can be told in relation to this -episode, excepting that we both felt we had been -sufficiently educated by seeing the world and that we -were urgently needed at home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We lost no time in getting there.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-player-of-many-parts"><span class="bold large">A PLAYER OF MANY PARTS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A PLAYER OF MANY PARTS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>You will easily believe me when I tell you that -my very first task on coming home was to look up -my good, old pal, my Bill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His temporary home was a stable. The owner -of it was an old acquaintance of mine and I was -satisfied that Bill had been well treated during my -absence. But how I had longed for him!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In Europe and Africa I had seen dogs of purest -breed and best pedigree, but, to me, they were -only as mongrels when compared to my Bill, my -loyal boy. There had not been a day in our travels, -when I had not asked myself the question: "I -wonder what Bill is doing just now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And here I was home and rushing up to meet my pal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The owner of the stable met me at the door and -congratulated me on my safe return. Then he grew -serious and began: "See, here, Kil, whatever we -could do for Bill, we did, but there's something -the matter with him. He's off his feed and not -half the lively dog he used to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not wait to hear any more, but went to -look for Bill. Up in the hayloft I caught a glimpse -of him. On a bale, nearest to the dilapidated -window, there lay my Bill, the picture of loneliness. He -looked right straight in front of him and never -shifted his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stood and watched him for a few minutes, then, -stepping behind a post, whispered: "Bill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One ear went up, the eyes blinked once or twice, -but otherwise he remained unchanged. He was -afraid to trust his sense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again I whispered: "Bill, Oh Bill," and then hid -myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not hear him move, but when I peeped out -from my hiding place I found the gaze of his true -eyes upon me and, with a whine and cry, my Bill -and I were partners once again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a meeting that was I cannot describe to -you, and, were I to attempt it, you would laugh -at our silliness. Still, I think that some of you -would not laugh and you will need no description -of the scene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That night saw Bill and me back in our ramshackle -attic, and we sat up late into the morning -exchanging experiences.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Divedom was still flourishing. The reform -movement had subsided after the election, and things -grew livelier every day. In spite of my ocean -voyage and change of scene, my health was not very -good, and it took considerable time to eliminate all -traces of my African adventure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is an old German saw, which reads that -any one that goes travelling can tell a good many -tales afterward. Not being strong enough to take -up my former calling of "bouncer," I hung around -the back room of Steve Brodie's place on the -Bowery, and became a raconteur par excellence. It was -not my rhetoric or elocution which made me the lion -of the hour. It was solely the recapitulation of my -trip, and, particularly my African experience. This -should not astonish you, for, I beg to assure you, -Bowery boys are not in the habit of extending their -tours to the Dark Continent, confining their -excursions mainly to Hoboken and other convenient -picnic grounds along the Hudson or East River.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot mention the name of Steve Brodie without -relating to you a curious phase of fraud, which -is not entirely without humor. In saying this, I do -not refer to Mr. Steve Brodie's accomplishments -in the bridge jumping line. Whether he really did -jump from the Brooklyn and other bridges is a -question, which will never disturb the equanimity -of the world's history. I may have my opinion and -a foundation for it, but have neither the inclination -or time to air it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not very long before the stories of my -travels had been told and told again, until every -one of the </span><em class="italics">habitués</em><span> of the Brodian emporium was -surfeited with them. This largely curtailed the -number of drinks bought for me by admiring listeners, -and I was sorely puzzled how to fill this aching -void. I was not yet fully able to "hustle" very -much, and still stuck to the sheltering shadow of -Steve Brodie's back room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the veriest chance that put me in the way of -a new "graft" and again brought me the surety of -food and drink. I became a splendid exemplification -of the saying that life is but a stage and we -players of many parts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scheme developed finally owing to prevalent -hero-worship. Take the greatest celebrity of the -day, push him into a crowd which is not aware of -his identity, and he will pass unnoticed. But only -properly label him and the multitude will kneel -before the erstwhile nonentity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, while we always have the inclination for -hero-worship, heroes are rather scarce and not -always handy for the occasion. This is especially -the case on the Bowery, where quantities of heroes -are always supposed to be waiting around, "but -ain't." Their supposed presence draws the usual -attendance of worshippers, and it was solely for -the purpose of not wishing to disappoint these -worthy people that Steve Brodie, with my co-operation, -decided upon a plan, which proved satisfactory -from the start, and was the means of conveying -many pleasant recollections into the houses of many -uptown people and into the rural homes of our land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The plan itself was very simple, and was originated -by John Mulvihill, at the time the dispenser of -liquids of the Brodie establishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Horton Boxing Law had not yet been -thought of, and the fistic cult had more followers -than ever before. A few of the lesser lights of -pugilism had their permanent headquarters at -Brodie's, while some aspirants for champion honors -and even real champions dropped in whenever -happening to be in the neighborhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brodie's well engineered fame and the many odd -decorations and pictures in the place did not fail -to draw the many, and they, after inspecting Brodie -and the other oddities, invariably inquired if "some -prominent fighters" were not present. As a rule, -Johnnie Mulvihill was able to produce some -celebrity to satisfy this craving of the curious, but -there were times when the stock of stars was very -low; then the mentioned plan was resorted to. It -was the inspiration born of emergency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On a certain evening I happened to be quietly -sitting in the desolated back-room. Business was -dreadfully slow. My quiet was suddenly disturbed -by Mulvihill, who came tearing through the -swinging doors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Kil, you got to do me a favor. Steve is -out, and there ain't a single solitary man in the place -whom I can introduce to the bunch I got up against -the bar. They just came in and are fine spenders, -but I'll lose them if you don't do this for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mulvihill's request was not fully understood by -me, yet, owing him many debts of gratitude for -having given me a drink on the sly and for having -often shared his corned beef and cabbage with me, -I was quite willing to do him the favor desired, -which, I thought, would be nothing else than to -"jolly" the men at the bar into the buying of more -drinks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," interjected Mulvihill, "that ain't what -I want you to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He immediately unfolded his scheme, which was -nothing more or less than that I should face the -expectant as a pretended Jack Dempsey, famous -throughout the land as one of the best and squarest -fighters that ever entered a ring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Naturally, I rebelled, not wishing to expose myself -to an easy discovery of the palpable fraud, but -Mulvihill pleaded with his most persuasive voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you see, those fellows don't know Jack -Dempsey from Adam. Any old thing at all would -convince them they are in the presence of the real -man, and you know enough about Jack Dempsey -and his history not to be tripped up by those -fellows, who never saw a prize fight in their lives."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who could resist such gentle pleading? I -could not, and followed my mentor in the path of -deception.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Assuming the proper pose, I stepped into the -barroom and was ceremoniously introduced by -Mulvihill to the "easies," who had traveled quite a -distance to bask in the radiance of a real fighter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen, permit me to introduce you to the -famous champion of the world, Mr. Jack Dempsey," -quoted the artful Mulvihill, and, thereby, started -me in a repertoire, which, in the number of different -rôles cannot be surpassed by the most versatile -actor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The visitors pumped my hands and arms with -fervid enthusiasm and showed their appreciation of the -honor afforded them by copious buying of many -rounds of drinks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, the ball had been set rolling and it was a -long time before it stopped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The plan proved surprisingly profitable, at least -for Steve Brodie, and although Mulvihill and I -had to be satisfied with the crumbs from the feast, -we had a lot of fun out of it and that was no mean -recompense. You can imagine some of it, when I -tell you that rather often some of the "sightseers" -would bring themselves to my remembrance (?) by -recalling to me something, which had happened -to me (?) in their own town, or how they had seen -me defeat Tom, Dick or Harry by one mighty -swing from my tremendous left.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If there was fun in it, there was also some -embarrassment attached to it. The male sex is not the -only one which admires physical prowess, and ladies, -escorted by gentlemen, appeared quite frequently -at this newly founded shrine of pugilistic worship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot recollect having ever been so confused -as I was on a certain night when I was cast for -the rôle of Jake Kilrain, the man who tried to -wrest the heavyweight championship from the -redoubtable John L. Sullivan. In my limited but -appreciative audience were several ladies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A short while after my introduction I noticed -a lot of whispering among the ladies. One, the -spokeswoman, stepped over to me and presented -the guest of the others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Kilrain, you must have a perfectly -developed arm and chest. They are necessary in -your profession, are they not? And may we not -have the privilege of testing your strength?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before I fully realized what they intended to do -they had gathered around me and with many "oh's" -and "oh, my's" they began to feel my biceps and -to prod me in the chest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course, this was only an odd occurrence, and -did not happen every night, but it did not help me -to respect my "betters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was also very embarrassing when, at the same -time, I had to "double" and even "treble." As an -illustration, just let me tell you that in one evening, -and at the same time, I represented Jack McAuliffe -at the head of the bar, Mike Boden at the end of it, -and Johnny Reagan in the back-room—all well-known -pugilists and champions in their class. My -audiences were especially annoying that night, -holding me down to dates and details and keeping me -on the edge of apprehension lest I should mix my -identities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Also, on a certain auspicious occasion, while -portraying a certain renowned pugilist with admirable -accuracy, the said pugilist happened to appear on -the scene in person and it was only his true friendship -for me which prevented the imitation ending in -a fizzle, if not worse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, when all that lies behind me and belongs -to a different world and personality, I cannot fail -to see the wrongness of it, but, at the time of its -happening, I cannot deny having often laughed heartily -at the silliness of those gaping curiosity-seekers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Later, when on account of a disagreement with -Steve Brodie, I transferred my headquarters to the -palace of the king—Barney Flynn, the King of the -Bowery—at the corner of Pell street and the -Bowery, we instituted another fraudulent scheme -intended to interest and entertain our many friends -and provide drink and small change for us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The palace of the King of the Bowery is not -a very imposing building. On the ground floor a -saloon, overhead a lodging house, it serves the two -purposes of refreshing and resting the subjects of -his majesty. For two weighty reasons the saloon -has always been the Mecca of the curious. It is, -so to speak, the entrance-gate to Chinatown and, -also, the official address of Chuck Connors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Besides the transient crowds of nightly visitors -to Chinatown, the saloon is often honored by calls -from literary personages. For some time, it seemed -to be the proper thing for writers of a certain genre -to come there to study types.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 82%" id="figure-59"> -<span id="a-typical-group-at-barney-flynn-s-side-door"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Jackey Doodles. Barney Flynn. Jumbo. "Chuck" Connors. A typical group at Barney Flynn's side door." src="images/img-140.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Jackey Doodles. Barney Flynn. Jumbo. "Chuck" Connors. A typical group at Barney Flynn's side door.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Right here let me say, that, without wishing to -discredit any writer of dialect stories, I have yet -to find the story which presents the idiom of the -Bowery as it is spoken. I have taken the trouble -to compare different stories—each one guaranteed -to be a true and realistic study of the -underworld—written by different writers and the discrepancies -in the dialect are flagrant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One, throughout his entire tale, puts "youse" in -the mouth of his most important character. The -other only uses "ye." One spells the question: -"Do you?"; the other phrases it: "D'you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps this also applies to other stories written -in New England or Southern dialect, but whether -it does or not, it seems to be a case of "you pays -your money and you takes your choice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have yet to see the "low life" story which is not -studded with "cul" and "covey." Take my advice -and do not use this form of address on the Bowery. -They would not understand it and, therefore, would -feel insulted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Also, the men of the East Side are not so lacking -in gallantry as to call their lady loves "bundles" and -other similar names.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, in the matter of emphatic language the -writers are far from hitting the target. The favorite -phrase is "Wot'ell," which is a hundred leagues -removed from the distinct utterance with which this -dainty bit of conversation is used by a Bowery -boy in a moment of rhetorical flight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So I might cite hundreds of instances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The same carelessness of detail is manifested in -other things, when writing about us. They are -not all important errors or serious mistakes, but -are grave enough to prove the unreliability of those -"true East Side studies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A writer, who for a considerable time, has been -accepted as an authority on conditions in the -underworld, is the most profligate in calling beings -and things of the sphere he describes by their wrong -name. He persists in claiming that thieves are -called "guns" by police and fellows. Every man, -who has lived all his life on the Bowery, as I have, -knows that "gun" means an important personage. -A millionaire is a "gun," so is a prominent lawyer, -or a politician, or a famous crook; in short, -anybody who is foremost in his profession or calling, -be he statesmen or thief, is a "gun."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bowery is not hard to reach and, if so -inclined, you can easily test my assertion. Take a -page from one of the many East Side stories extant -and read it to a typical Bowery boy and he will ask -you to interpret it for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The East Side dialect does not abound in slang. -Whatever of it there is in it has been absorbed from -the Tenderloin and other sources. To coin a funny -slang phrase one must have time to invent and try -it. They have no time for this on the East Side, -where even time for schooling cannot always be -spared. And that accounts for ungrammatical -expressions and whimsically twisted sentences, but -not for the idiotic gibberish and forced coinages -of words slipped onto the tongues of my people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The courtiers of the King of the Bowery, being -a good-natured set of fellows, did not wish to curb -the fervency of the literary "gents," and did their -best to supply the ever-increasing demand for types.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The inner sanctum of the royal palace was divided -from the outer room by the usual glass and wood -partition. As Barney Flynn, the King of the -Bowery, was a genial and jovial monarch, the more -secluded chamber did not resemble a throne-room -so much as a rendezvous of kindred spirits. It was -a specimen of another strata of nether world Bohemia.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tables and chairs were about the place in picturesque -disorder. On the walls were three gigantic -oil paintings, "done" by a wandering Bowery artist -for his board and lodging, including frequent -libations. In one corner was the voluntary orchestra, -consisting of Kelly, the "rake," the fiddler, and -Mickey Doolan, the flute-player. Their day's work -over—they were both "roustabouts" along the river -front—the two court musicians would take their -accustomed seats, and, without paying much attention -to those present, would fiddle and flute themselves -back again to their own green shores of old Erin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They are pathetic figures, these men of the Bowery, -who live their evenly shiftless lives in dreams -of days passed, but not forgotten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Being directly in the path to and from -Chinatown, Barney Flynn's saloon was, at odd times, -visited by the sociological pilgrims to this centre -of celestial colonization. One night, a writer -happened to stumble into the place. Whether his -impressions were perceived in normal or abnormal -condition is not known. The "gang" was engaged in -a little celebration of its own, were observed by the -writer, and, forthwith, Barney Flynn's and the -royal staff became a mine for authors of low-life -stories.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the acumen acquired in my dive training, -I saw very soon that those coming to study us were -most willing to pay for grotesquely striking types. -The "real thing" had very little interest for them. -What were we to do? To get the money we had -to be types, therefore, whenever the word was passed -that a searcher for realism—with funds—had -arrived, we put on our masks, lingual and otherwise, -to help along the glorious cause of literature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No good purpose would be accomplished were -I to mention the names of authors, who portrayed -us so correctly. They are now celebrities with more -paying aims. Their stories of us are still remembered, -but only because of their "beautiful and pure -sentiment," and not because of their "true -realism." The latter differs with every writer and has -bewildered the casual reader.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am strongly tempted to call by name one, whose -glory as demonstrator was dimmed in an unexpected -manner. The writer in question had come here -from Philadelphia, preceded by a reputation for -his sympathy with those in the slums. Several -of his "low down" stories had been hailed as the -models for all the other writers of that tribe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With his usual aggressiveness, not devoid of a -touch of almost medieval dash and chivalry, this -young man threw himself into the study of New -York slums with wonted ardor, and, naturally, -mastered the subject almost immediately. Being -socially well-connected, or, rather, being well-taken -up by society, he had no trouble in interesting -his friends in his hobby. He was not niggardly -in the spending of his money and quite popular -on that account with my friends in Barney Flynn's. -As a matter of fact, this promising young writer—a -promise since then fulfilled—was a favorite of -the highest and lowest; verily, an enviable position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With note-book in hand, this young man sat -among us for hours, jotting down phrases and slang -expressions, manufactured most laboriously and -carefully for the occasion. The interest of his friends -increased, and one night we were honored by a -visit of a large party of ladies and gentlemen, -piloted by the aforesaid author.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before the precious cargo had been unloaded from -the cabs and hansoms, word had been taken to the -back-room. As actors respond to the call of the -stage-manager, so did we prepare ourselves to play -our parts with our well-known finesse and correctness -of detail. By that I mean, that we knew what -was expected of us and that we emphasized our -"characteristics" as we had seen them burlesqued -on the stage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The promising young writer was in his glory. -With irrepressible glee, he introduced us, one by one, -to his admirers, watching the effects of our "quaint" -salutations. The chorus of enthusiastic approval -was unanimous. We were "absolutely charming," -"perfectly thrilling," and "too droll for -anything." Encouraged by this warm reception of our feeble -efforts, we surpassed ourselves and assault, battery, -murder was committed on the English language -in most wilful frenzy. Taking it all in all, it was -a gem of slum mosaic, and is still remembered by -most of the offenders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having given our performance and exhausted -our programme, we were told by our friends how -"very glad, charmed and delighted" they had been -at meeting us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The doors had barely closed behind the last of -the promising young author's friends, before all -the performers rushed up to the bar to spend the -money given to them for their instructive -entertainment. The comments on the visitors were many -and very much to the point, but were not uttered -in the manufactured dialect. There was much -laughter and many imitations of our late audience, -and none of us had noticed that the promising -young author, accompanied by a few of the party, -had returned to look for a pair of gloves forgotten -by one of the ladies. Part of our conversation -was overheard and the laugh was at the writer's -expense.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course, we instantly endeavored to rectify -our mistake and fell back to addressing each other -as "cull" and "covey," but, somehow, the effect -was not convincing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of his friends turned to the promising young -author on leaving:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Old man, you certainly deserve another medal -for this, but this time, it should be a leather one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not know then to what the above remark referred.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="bowery-politics"><span class="bold large">BOWERY POLITICS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BOWERY POLITICS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The death-knell of divedom had been sounded -by the legislature. Albeit, it had been sounded -before, without stopping the dives from resurrecting -themselves. But vice had become so rampant, so -nauseating that the righteous of the city braced -their backbones a trifle stiffer than usual and -insisted on having a committee of investigation -appointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All the daily papers heralded the coming of the -inquisitors in big head lines, and the inhabitants -of divedom began to quake in their shoes like -fallen angels on the eve of judgment day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shortly before the beginning of the upheaval, I -had overcome one of my many spells of lassitude -and gentlemanly idleness and had accepted the -position of bouncer in the "Slide," the most -notorious dive which ever disgraced a community.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When a body is covered with a cancerous growth, -the most dangerous ulcer is the first to receive the -surgeon's attention. For that reason, the "Slide" -was the first to be put under the prying probe. -The investigation was thorough. The investigators -and prosecuting officials, stimulated by fear of public -censure and thoughts of political advancement, were -merciless, and, as a consequence, the "Slide" was -closed forever and the nominal proprietor sent to -jail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without waiting for further developments, the -other dive-keepers retired from business and a -general cleansing process struck all quarters of the -city.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The immediate effect of this was that a shifting -of quarters of the vicious began. The harlots, -bereft of their known places of business, hid -themselves in the obscurity of virtuous surroundings, -and the male element of the lowest dives -congregated on the Bowery, ever the dumping-ground of -human scum and offal. In a short time, the Bowery -was full of a muttering crowd of able-bodied men, -each one cheating the world out of an honest day's -labor, all proclaiming loudly at the injustice which -deprived them of their "living." Even the -recollection is loathsome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In company with a number of fellows who, like -me, were "thrown out of work" by this "uncalled-for -interference," we established headquarters in a -ginmill owned by a legislator. As a matter of course, -the "back-room," seemingly a legislative annex, -was very much in evidence, and by no means -subdued in its proceedings. If anything, the business -behind the "partition" had increased in volume -since the other dives, operated by less influential -citizens, had been obliged to close. So we have here -another of the many paradoxes of our political -conditions. While his fellow-legislators were -scouring the city with really commendable zeal to rend -the evil-doer limb from limb, this being of their -kin could be seen daily in front of his hall, sunning -himself in the radiance of his increased prosperity -and influence, and looking with self-satisfied smile -across Chatham Square at the closed windows of -minor dives.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, as the Romans clothed the men of wisdom -and love of country in the flowing robes of dignity -and called them patriots, statesmen and senators, so -do we take—take by the will of the people—the -men fat of jowl and fat of paunch from beneath us -and place them above us in the seats of the mighty -and give them power over us. And if you would -growl at my saying "from beneath us to above -us," and would wrathfully confront me with the -slogan of political and other equality, I would not -wish to stand in your way of being their equal, but -would have trifling respect for your integrity. As -I tell the stars by seeing them and find but small -difference in their lustre, so do I tell the rascals by -their rascality, and there is small difference in the -degrees of rascality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Senators! Rome and Albany! Would the difference -of time, of centuries, were the only one between them!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In all governments by and for the people, the -making of the nation lies with the common people; -that great mass, which you would call "rabble" -were it not for the continental sound of the word -and the danger of being quoted. An ever-watchful -press keeps its eye on you, and would readily -pillorize you as an offender against the most sacred of -our possessions and privileges; our sacred freedom; -our sacred equality; our sacred franchise, and, by -no means lastly, our sacred screaming eagle, -screaming ofttimes from veriest agony. The buncombe of -press and loud-mouthed gabbers has decreed it to -be treason to see the truth and to speak it, and you -must, to be above suspicion of being a traitor to the -land you love, on the Fourth of July let off in -sissing streams of pyrotechnics your patriotism, -which, after its one gala day, is forgotten for the rest -of the year in the strenuous pursuit of getting all -you can out of "what's in it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The common people of the fields and meadows -plow, sow and reap their harvest. They pluck the -weeds from out among the useful growth and stamp -them under foot. The common people of our cities -live "downtown"—that vague and indefinite -region—in tenement and barracks. (Notice how "down" -and "common" always run together).</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They have no knowledge of agriculture, and, with -their seldom sight of plant or flower, even the -stink-weed, for it is leafed and green, finds a welcome and -place among them through their ignorance. Yes, -more, it is cared for and nurtured until, as all -ill-weeds, it grows to tremendous proportions, -overshadowing and dwarfing those who have spared its -life instead of plucking it out by the roots and -pressing the heel upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who plants the weeds? Who is their sower? -They care not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Does not the same blessed sunshine and dew of -heaven fall upon them as on the corn and roses? -And do they not get more of it than the flower and -the fruit-bearing plant? For they are greedy and -strive for that which is not theirs according to merit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not most, but all the men, who played their part -in our history so well as to be immortalized forever -were self-made from the field and farm. Remember -that there they destroy the weeds!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not most, but all the men, who have made it a -risk to a fair name and reputation to become -actively engaged in the affairs of one's own country -and state were self-made from the slums and -gutters, with their only chance of immortalization via -Rogues' Gallery. We of the city do not destroy -the weeds!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They of the gutter, who have been forced upon -and above the multitude, if not caught or not too -notoriously prominent, keep the data of their -success and formulative period secret. If, however, -they run foul of the calcium, which often strikes, -unexpectedly, dark places, they become arrogantly -defiant in their ill-gotten might. Even against the -scorn of the decent and to the awe of their own -kind, they swing themselves onto the pedestal of -the self-made man and strike their pose. All that is -intended as a parallel to several rail-splitting and -canal-boating men in our little history, who, as a -"patriot" remarked, deserve a whole lot of credit -"even if they was farmers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, when forced into the public focus from -their disturbed obscurity, is theirs the cry of -repentance? Do they sob and cry: "Peccavi! Yes, -I have sinned! I have wronged you and my -country! Have mercy and forgive!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If it were that it would be the cry of a tortured -soul, rotten and distorted, yet still a soul and worthy -of the chance of atonement. No; what reaches us -from the usurped pedestal is the self-satisfied grunt -of the swine: "Look and behold! You know or can -surmise what I have been! Look now and wonder -at what I am and how I got there!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Surely this affront is resented and the daring -knave pulled from his lofty perch to be punished for -his insults and ill deeds? Some are foolish and -un-American enough to suggest such a course of -proceeding. But what really does happen is a taking -up of that refrain of self-adulation by the admiring -throng. There in almost worshipping attitude, we -find that the chicaning game of politics makes mates -of all sorts and conditions of men, and pickpocket -and tax-paying citizen, cut-throat and that very -peculiar animal, the intelligent workingman, all -kneel in equal humility before the rum-soaked idol -of their own creation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A subject for deep guesswork is where the -workingman keeps his well advertised intelligence. To -claim to be one thing and then prove yourself the -opposite, which, in this case means a fool, is a rather -absurd proceeding. Presumably a good part of that -intelligence is occupied in defending their rights, -which nobody assails. Howling and haranguing do -not require much intelligence, and of both the -"intelligent" workingman does more than enough and -to no purpose. When the time of his usefulness -approaches—although it should be the time for him -to assert himself—he stops his howling and listens -to the strongly flavored persuasion of the wily -politician—the weed he permitted to grow and to -prosper—and becomes the gently led sheep, to awaken -after election and find himself the twin brother of -the donkey. They will not recognize that far -better, by virtue of his sincerity, would be the sincere -demagogue as leader than the dishonest politician -of the gutter breed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No man can choose his birthplace. Mansion and -tenement have each furnished their quota of honest -and dishonest men. If he of the gutter gets above -it and gets there by means which are those of a man -and an American, he will not lack the respect and -esteem of those whose ranks he has fought to join. -That is what proves this the land of opportunities -and therein lies true equality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is another way to get out of the gutter, -and that was the way employed by statesmen of the -stamp of the Hon. Michael Callahan, of the State -Legislature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mike Callahan's place in horticulture was most -decidedly among the rankest weeds. "Lucky" -Callahan, as he was sometimes called, had escaped the -inconvenient calcium of public opinion, and, on that -account, little was known about his origin, except -by his intimates. Perhaps bootblack, perhaps -newsboy, he had early learned to make himself -subservient to his superiors, genial to his equals and -condescending to his inferiors. Of course, these social -lines were drawn by him according to his viewpoint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mike's striving for political recognition was -aggressive from the start, and, having no other aim or -ambition, he threw himself into the game of -intrigue and wire-pulling with all his energetic -intensity. Never questioning, always obeying, he -became the ideal plastic mass to be molded by the -enterprising chiefs of the organization. His -promotion from ward heeler to captain, and from captain -to the leadership of the district was his logical -reward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, even in spite of his usefulness, his ascendancy -to the leadership was not accomplished in a day. -He did not mind this much, his bulldog tenacity -keeping him alive to his ultimate purpose. His -manhood and individuality, whatever they might -have been, had long been sacrificed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To strengthen his own power in the district it was -necessary to weaken the influence of the incumbent -leader, and, to effect this, knowing nothing of -diplomacy, Callahan resorted to plain treachery. -The fact that the leader to be deposed had been his -benefactor and stanch friend was of small moment. -Certainly Mike was sorry, but what could he do? -Take a back seat and beat himself out of his -chances? "Not much," said he, and invented the -useful and often quoted phrase, "Friendship in -poker and politics don't go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mike's assumption of the leadership was worked -by decisive methods. There was no vagueness about -him. The great leaders in the history of nations -were endowed with attributes and traits of the -highest and noblest order. Mike's most pronounced -attribute in his functions as leader was directness. -It was this that enabled some of the brilliant young -men of the party press to apostrophize him as -"rugged, bluff, stalwart, frank and straightforward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The district contained a population in which the -intelligent workingman was not greatly represented. -The few of them who lived in the many lodging -houses had very little belief left in the dignity of -labor and toiled only enough to "square" themselves -with their landlords and liquor dealers. Still, -they were of use. They could talk beautifully about -the rights of labor, and were encouraged—before -election day—to spout grandiosely about the -tyrannical oppression of the American workingman by -the opposing faction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The great majority of the voters in the district -belonged to the class of grafters, and for that -reason if no other, the Hon. Michael Callahan of the -State Legislature was their born leader.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Callahan was at his best shortly before election. -Then no man or woman—unfortunately the ladies -of the district would indulge too strongly—had to -linger in the throes of the law. It was the sacred -duty of the leader to call daily at the police court -to save his constituents and their "lady friends" -from their impending fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the eve of election no time had to be wasted -in speculating on how much the free and independent -voter could expect to receive for the exercise of -his sacred franchise. According to the amount -sent down from the headquarters of the organization, -Mike's ultimatum would settle the market price -of votes. One or one and a half, or two dollars were -the rates paid, although the last named rate was only -given to liquidate the voter's claim at the most -critical periods. In this way the voter could figure with -certainty, and with very little interruption resume -his dissertation on the betterment of municipal and -national politics.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The most important events in our history were -conceived amidst surroundings of severest -simplicity. No marble hall, no lofty council chamber, -just the Common with its green sward and sturdy -oak was the favorite meeting place of our -forefathers. In the shadow of the mighty tree they -spoke of liberty, of the rights of man and of the -welfare of our country, and we reap to-day the benefit -of their integrity, in spite of the machinations of -politicians, whose very thoughts are a pollution of -patriotism.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A careful and thoughtful student of American -history, the Honorable Mike tried to live up to -tradition as much as possible. Customs have changed, -civilization has progressed, real estate has risen in -price, and the political leader of to-day has felt -himself obliged to substitute the gin-mill and the -dive for the Common of old. Besides, "there is not -much in Commons," excepting when the city fathers, -in the goodness of their charitable hearts, decide to -create another breathing place and playground for -the poor children of the East Side, and, thereby -can get a "chance at" the property owners of the site.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When one is a leader, one must do as leaders do. -Mike could not swerve from the accustomed -practice, and, nolens volens, found himself the -proprietor of a dive. But, forced into this, he had at -least the satisfaction of opening this adjunct to his -legislative office on the Common, or Square, as it is -now called. True, there was no sturdy oak and no -green sward, but there were elevated railway -pillars and their shadows were quite sufficient for the -practice of side issues in politics. The oak bears -only acorns. The pillars and their shadows bore -better fruit of silvery and golden sheen, and their -sturdiness was often welcome to the backs of the -many weary pilgrims who had traveled far to imbibe -the pure draught of American patriotism as -dispensed by the Hon. Michael Callahan of the State -Legislature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the characteristic modesty of great men, -Mike refrained from making the exterior of his -place too showy. This superficial attraction to his -resort was absolutely needless, as his more lasting -fame—some detractors called it "disgraceful -notoriety"—was firmly established. Did he not have -several fist-fights with "officious" police officers to his -credit, and, did he not openly dare and defy all -known authorities to "monkey" with him. He -feared no man but one, and that one only, because -he was a more successful thug than himself and -the Great Leader and Chieftain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dives of a certain kind make no effort to attract -transient trade by bright, or, at least, neat and clean -exteriors. Their business is not supplied by the -honest man, who is looking for an honest place to have -an honest drink. They depend on that flotsam -and jetsam that can find a dive blindfolded. -Callahan's place was more suggestive than attractive in -its front and the interior was fairly dazzling in its -austere plainness. Sawdust and traces of former -expectorations were the most evident features in -the bar-room, which only ran the length of the bar. -At the end of it a partition jealously claimed the rest -of the space for the back-room. There, and not -in front, was the real business transacted. The -front, a pretense of respectability; the back, without -any pretense whatsoever.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I cannot tell you what furnished the real -attraction of the back-room. A minimum clearance -of space in the centre of the room was reserved -for dancing and surrounded by tables and chairs -which were nightly occupied by young men and -women, many of whom had been born and brought -up in the immediate neighborhood, under the very -eyes of the legislating dive-keeper. But that fact -made no difference to this vile thing, empowered -by our sanction to make laws which were to -safeguard homes, property and life.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 80%" id="figure-60"> -<span id="mike-callahan-s-saloon"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Mike Callahan's Saloon in Chatham Square. The entrance to Chinatown on the right." src="images/img-164.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Mike Callahan's Saloon in Chatham Square. The entrance to Chinatown on the right.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>And there, safe in the protecting radius of our -friend and statesman, we found a resting-place; -for our enforced retirement from dive activity, and -there, in all my uncleanness, there came to me the -sweet messenger of a newer, better life, and took -me from it by the all-powerful persuasion of an -unquenchable love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before telling you how this miracle transformed -me in a way, which will tax my power of description -to the utmost, I must relate to you the one and -only attempt we, myself and two cronies, made to -get away from a life which was the only one we knew.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-pilgrimage-to-nature"><span class="bold large">A PILGRIMAGE TO NATURE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A PILGRIMAGE TO NATURE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was in May. The side-walk in front of Mike -Callahan's dive was wide, and we, the gang of -discharged dive employees, were in the habit of -lounging on the empty beer barrels along the curb or -sticking ourselves up against the swinging doors of the -place. People, whom we knew from having met -them in the "better" days, when we were still -working, often passed by and were eagerly hailed by us -in the hope that they might buy a drink for our -thirsty throats.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Corner loafers are despised by all people who lead -useful lives, and justly so. Still, there is something -very moving in thinking about the dreary existence -of these fellows. With brains as empty as their -pockets, they assemble with praiseworthy regularity -at their open-air clubs, and waste their days in -pessimistic conjectures. The loafer is a born pessimist -and cynic. No matter what subject or event you -may mention to him, he will sneer at it and promptly -proceed to pick it to pieces. His criticisms are as -acidly sarcastic as his excuses are ingenious. Ask -him his opinion about the work done by some -skilled mechanic, and he will find a multitude of -faults and then expound how the job ought to have -been done. Surprised at his technical knowledge -you ask in a mild way why he does not put his -evident ability to practical use, and are forthwith -shocked by suggesting such a thing to a man, who -has such a wealth of haughty and convincing -reasons for remaining a loafer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Loafers are forever hovering in the ante-room of -crime. If his Satanic Majesty bethinks himself of -his own and calls them, they willingly and without -compunction, do any crooked commission provided -it does not require too much physical courage. After -due time, crime seems easy, they have not yet been -caught, and from their familiarity with evil-doing, -and not because of any lately awakened courage, -they commit deeds which are called "desperate" -by every conscientious reporter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jack Dempsey, Frank Casey and myself formed -a sort of inner circle in the larger gang. We often -philosophized together, exchanged ideas and -commented on things in general. At one of our -confabs, Frank Casey seemed to be entirely out of -humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter with you, Frank?" I asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think there is? There's nothing the -matter with me, excepting that I'm dead sick o' -this game." We could see he was deeply moved -by some unsuspected emotion and were deeply -interested in its development.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell you what I'd like to do," he resumed. -"I'd like to cut this all out and go to work some -place. There's nothing in this kind o' life and it's -the same every day. See, it's years and years -since I done what you may call an honest day's work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you're only kidding!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kidding?" he echoed, indignantly. "Say, Kil, -and you, too, Dempsey, I was never more serious -in me life. What are we getting out o' this? It's -hanging round here all day, looking for graft and -the few pennies to go to bed with or to buy a -beef-stew; and when a fellow does make a piece o' money, -does it do him any good? Not on your life! If -you flash it, you got to blow it in for booze, and if -you don't they think you're no good, and the whole -gang gets sore on you. A fellow that's working -and making his dollar and a half or two dollars -a day, is better off than the whole bunch of us -taken together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the love of heaven, you ain't thinking about -going to work?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just what I'm doing, and the sooner -I can start in the better," attested Casey with -emphasis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A warm discussion followed. It is hard to tell -if it was the novelty of the proposition or Casey's -evident sincerity, but Dempsey and I began to -consider it very seriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say Casey," I asked, "supposing the three of -us really wanted to go to work, where could we get -it? They don't take men like us in shops or -factories, where there are a whole lot of trained help -looking for work every day. So, even if we wanted -work, we couldn't get it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that so? You're talking as if New York City -is the whole thing. What's the matter with the -country? That's where we ought to go, because -we'll never amount to anything here. In the first -place, even if we was to get jobs here, the three of -us would be going on a drunk on the first pay -day and stay on it until we're broke. But in the -country you ain't got no chance to spend your -money, and it's healthy and it's better anyway."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The surety of Casey amused me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you tell me where you have ever been in -the country to know so much about it, and where you -got your information from?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That don't make no difference," insisted Casey -stubbornly, "I know there's lots o' fellows going -over to Philadelphia or Jersey or some place over -there every year about this time, and they come -back like new and with money from picking strawberries -and whatever else there's growing out there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We put our heads together, discussed the matter, -came to the conclusion that, surely, we would not -be in worse circumstances in the country than we -were in the city, and resolved to try our luck at -strawberry picking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To financier our expedition was our first duty. -We skirmished round and raised about six dollars -as our joint capital. Casey went on a secret errand -to make inquiries of some well-known "hobo" -authority where to go, and how to get there, and then -undertook to personally conduct the tour into the -unknown land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Baggage did not encumber us. I had thought of -taking my good old pal, my Bill, along with us, -but did not wish to expose him to the dangers, -which, no doubt, were lurking for us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the ferry, Casey flew his flag and read us -the last orders. To save our small capital, we were -to walk or "jump" freight trains. Also, for reasons -of economy and sagacity, we were not to indulge in -one solitary drop of anything intoxicating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The first hitch occurred in Hoboken. To get a -freight train was impossible. Dempsey and I never -knew why we were unable to make connections, as -Casey's plausibility drove the question from our -minds and made us follow him blindly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We walked from Hoboken to Newark. It was a -scorching afternoon, the sand was hot and heavy -under foot, and our mouths became parched at an -uncomfortable rate. A few wells and pumps were -passed by us, but Casey would not permit us to -slake our thirst, as "Newark is only a step or so -further on, and it's dangerous to monkey with -them country people. They got dogs and are kind -of suspicious of fellows like us, who come from -New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, really and truly, it would have been the most -confiding and unsophisticating nature that would not -have been suspicious of us, no matter where we -hailed from. Three tough specimens of humanity, -indeed, we were!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No stop was made until we reached the -railroad station at Newark. Quite a crowd was -assembled to wait for either an incoming or outgoing -train, but we, without paying the slightest attention -to the many mistrustful glances given in our direction, -raced for the ice-water tank, prepared to gorge -ourselves with the cooling drink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Casey was the last to have his turn at the chained -tin cup. He started off splendidly, but paused after, -his first gulp and smacked his lips in a most -critical manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Taste anything funny in that water?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We replied in the negative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something wrong with it, just the same," -Casey persisted. "And do you know, the worst -thing a man can do this time o' the year is to drink -bad water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we got to drink something. We ain't going -to drink any beer, and I hate to spend money for -soda and ginger-ale and stuff like that," remarked -Dempsey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true enough," admitted Casey, "but, I'll -tell you what we'll do. The same fellow who gave -me points on how to get to the strawberries, also, -told me that the biggest glass of beer in the country -was sold right here in Newark. Now, we ain't -going to get full or anything like that, but, being -as the water ain't fit to drink, I guess we might -have one, just one o' those biggest schooners, which -I never seen and which, besides quenching our -thirst, are surely worth looking at, the same as any -curiosities."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without the aid of a Baedeker, we found our -way to Newark's most interesting spot. We -entered the hospitable tavern at about seven o'clock, -and, at ten o'clock, were still tarrying there admiring -the size and beauty of the biggest beers in the -world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Regardless of the size of the drink, the beer -alone,—never a product of malt and hops—a vile -concoction of injurious chemicals, is sufficient to -put the indulger far above the most worrying -troubles. Late that night, the quiet streets of -Newark were profaned by three unsteady musketeers, -who, with song and laughter, were making their -way to the "meadows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only one more resolution made and broken. It -was not the first and was not the last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out in the "meadows," the train-yard, where the -freight trains were made up, we succeeded, after -many mishaps, including Casey's tumble from a -moving train into a ditch, in catching a train at -about midnight. We had only traveled about a -mile, when a trainman, stepping from car to car -with lighted lantern, saw us huddled between the -bumpers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are you fellows going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Philadelphia," came the answer in sleepy, drowsy -tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're on a wrong train. This train goes to the -'branch.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the time we did not know that this was only -a common ruse to make "hoboes" leave the train -and accepted it at its face value.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did he say we were going?" asked Casey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To the 'branch,' wherever that may be," I answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess we better get off, then. This train ain't -going to Philadelphia," suggested Dempsey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What we'll get off for? This train goes somewhere, -don't it? And it don't make much difference -where it goes to, as long as it goes somewhere -into the country and away from New York," said -Casey, with the evident intention of ending further -argument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The heavy, damp night air and the drink partaken -by us lulled us into deep slumber, forgetful of our -precarious attitude. We had journeyed for hours -without waking and were not aroused until the -coldness in our limbs became actually painful. Without -speaking a word and merely staring at each other -we jolted on and on into the unknown, and the -dawning morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly a brilliant spectacle caught our eyes. -Coming out from wooded land, the train sped along -a level stretch and we fed our looks on the Fata -Morgana of a large city. The size, brilliancy of -illumination and distance from New York left no -doubt in our minds that we were not far from -Philadelphia, and had we known how to pray, we -would surely have done so. I have never regretted -the experience, still have no wild desire to repeat -it. There are more easily obtainable joys in life -than the riding on the bumpers of a freight train -on a chilly May morning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not long before we were slinking along -Market street in Philadelphia. After fortifying -ourselves against the bad consequences of our -benumbing voyage by sampling some "speak-easy" -whiskey, we visited "Dirty Mag's" famous -all-night restaurant on Sixth street and feasted on -steak-pie and coffee, with crullers included. The -bill amounted to ten cents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were so tired out by our traveling that it -was out of the question to continue our journey. -Down on Calomel street we found a resting-place -for our weary and frozen bones at fifteen cents -per couch. It was almost noon before we woke -from our sleep and held a conference. At its -termination we hied ourselves to the nearby grocery -store and spent almost the entire remainder of our -depleted treasury in buying provisions for our trip -into the wilds of Pennsylvania. After that, with a -last parting drink, we turned our backs on Philadelphia -and set boldly out to win our fortunes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just as the suburbs had been reached by us we -were reminded by our stomachs that we had -forgotten to breakfast. An inviting tree stood nearby, -a brook, as clear as crystal, was rippling past our -feet, and the place seemed to be made for a picnic -ground. The enjoyment of the meal was marred by -the thought that now we would have no lunch or -dinner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the use of worrying about that now? -Besides, we won't have to carry so much," was -Casey's way of consoling us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We rose and began our tramp in earnest. For -hours we walked, giving little attention to the things -about us and only holding desultory conversation. -Not one of us knew the route to the "strawberry -country," and we were often obliged to ask people -whom we met for directions. We had little luck -in this. Most of the people addressed by us would -quickly button their coats and hurry on without -heeding us. Others would barely stop and throw us -such a small scrap of information that, instead of -enlightening us, they only bewildered us the more. -At last, Casey got tired of this way of securing -information and burst upon us with his latest and -brightest inspiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's no use of asking any o' these men. Most o' -them are hayseeds and been to New York and have -been buncoed. They can see in a minute that we're -from New York and ain't going to take no chances -with us. It's different with women. They're -always nice and gentle and, especially, when they -get spoken to the way I know how to talk to them. -Leave this to me. Don't ask any more men. Wait -till we meet some women, and then I'll ask them, -and then you'll be surprised in the difference."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Casey, who had given voice to this speech with -properly inflated chest, proved himself to be a true -prophet. We found there was a difference in the -way in which men and women received our approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before long, we saw two women with baskets -coming our way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, you fellows want to keep a little behind, -and watch me how I do this," was Casey's final -instruction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Giving his clothes a quick brushing with his hands -and setting his hat jauntily over his ear, Casey went -toward his fate with a grace all his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dempsey and I could not hear the first passage -of words, but it was hardly necessary, as the effects -of it were immediately visible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One woman proceeded to pummel Casey with her -umbrella, while the other was trying to fit her -market-basket on his head. When they saw Dempsey -and me come running to the rescue, they left Casey -and took it on a run across the fields, but they took -good care to shout back to us that they would have -the sheriff or constable after us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For heaven's sake, what did you say to those -women?" I asked Casey, after I had pulled the -basket from his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did I say to them? They ain't civilized, -and it don't make no difference what a fellow says -to them kind o' people. I spoke to them like a -regular dude. This is what I said: 'Ain't this a fine -morning, girls. We're strangers here and didn't -like this country very much until it was our good -fortune to see you, who are sweeter than any sugar, -and now we'd like to stay here if you will tell us -the road to where the strawberries grow and where -there are as many girls as beautiful as yourselves!' And -the minute I said that they soaked me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We consoled Casey and resumed our tramp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was now late in the afternoon and I determined -that we should know something about our whereabouts. -I stopped the very next man we met in -such a way that he could not get away from us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After assuring him that we had no intention of -robbing him, I insisted on getting correct -information.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Can you imagine our feelings when he told us that -we had spent our time and energy in describing -circles around Philadelphia, without getting away -from it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dempsey and Casey made no attempt to hide their -chagrin. The blow was too crushing. I, also, felt -fearfully discouraged, but did not want to give in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no use in going back. We're here now, -and must go on. If we go back to Philadelphia, we -might as well go back to New York. We're in -the country now, and we might as well stay here. -I don't care what you fellows do, I'm going to go -ahead."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The last sentence was a fearful bluff. Had -Dempsey and Casey decided to return to New York, I -would have joined them on the spot. Fortunately, -they adopted my way of looking at it, and we once -more pursued our sorry pilgrimage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, we were sure of penetrating right into the -heart of the country and evidences of it were not -lacking. Suburban villas grew fewer and fewer -and we had to walk for a considerable distance -before we passed another farmhouse. With our -inborn stubbornness we kept plodding on, until -our legs almost refused to obey.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the hour in which evening unwittingly -yields supremacy to night. We felt it, as was proven -by Casey in answer to Dempsey's question in regard -to the time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, when it looks like this they always begin -to light up in Callahan's, and that's about seven -o'clock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again we were silent and tramped and tramped. -Dempsey was the next to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, fellows, I ain't seen any strawberries yet. -And even if we were to see any now, we couldn't -go to work at them this evening, it being so late now, -and I think the best thing we can do is to sit down -some place and take a rest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only a few more steps and we saw a spot, which -by you, would have been called a dell. We called -it nothing, just saw the soft grass and, with one -accord, sank down on it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tone of evening now rang unmistakably -clear. Evening and its partner, the gloaming, were -at the last and best moment of their supremacy. -Too short, by far, are evenings in the country, -those short brief hours of nature's neutral state, -before retiring to its well-earned rest. But that I -only feel now, and did not then.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Remember! this was my first night in God's -country. Like thousands of others who live and -die in the southeast corner of Manhattan—along -the Bowery—I had never had a sight of nature. -I could not have told a daisy from a rose; or a crow -from a robin. All that I write here are the -impressions that linger in my mind of this, my first -night with nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was one grand moment in our lives, yet we -did not feel it. Hold, I am wrong! We did feel it, -perhaps subconsciously, but feel it we did. Our -kind is not given to much talking while doing -anything of import. Then our energies are in our task, -no matter how dirty that may be. As soon as we -rest, we change, and the silent drudge becomes a -veritable magpie. We three were resting as, like -three daisies in the wilderness, we sat in our dell, -but there was something all about and around us -that stopped our flow of talk from loosening itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We sat and stared, and the most insignificant -changes in the tranquil scene before us left their -unrecognized, yet deep impressions on us. And -looking back through all the years passed since then, -I see it all still before me, though I cannot attempt -to picture it to you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From where we sat it looked before us like the -setting for a glorious play. On both sides, small -sketches of woodland interjected just far enough to -serve as the wings on the stage. Back of it, there -was a grand, majestic last drop, a range of hills, -running unbrokenly from where to where we could -see. The cast, the actors of the play were supplied -by all the many living things about us and, above -it all, like the last curtain, hung the forerunners of -the coming night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was no tumultuous melodrama, no rollicking -farce, it was a pastoral play so successful, so wisely -composed and staged that from its first night it has -been enacted every night through all the ages. No -wonder that with so many rehearsals the scene, as -we saw it, was played with perfection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out from a loophole in the sky, a bird came -flying toward us with unfaltering swing. Night after -night it had flown the same course, night after night -it had the same rôle, that of bringing their share -to the young striplings in the nest above our heads. -Along the road came a creaking, lumbering -farm-wagon. The farmer looked at us with suspicion, -still, gave us a "good evening, boys." I do not -know if we returned his greeting or not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was quiet, so quiet, that the many little noises, -made by unseen beings, pealed like tornadoes of -sound. The snatch of laughter, coming from the -tree-encircled farm-house behind us, was as the -laughter of a multitude; the chirrup of that -homeward bound bird was as a lofty, airy chorus; the -croaking of the frog was as a grunting wail from -many, many, who never get above the very ground. -While we had sat staring holes into the air before -us, evening had flown, and night, a gallant victor, -had unrolled the standard of the stars. I know I -cannot tell you my impressions, but even had I the -gift and genius of a hundred of our greatest -writers, I could not convey to you what a picture that -night, my first night in God's country, left with me. -It seemed to me that all and everything, before -becoming wrapped in slumber, gave one praise-offering -to Above. The corn of the field and the poor -lowly flower by the roadside and even the tiny blade -of grass, they all were straightened by one last, -upward tremor before relaxing to their drooping -doze. The birds of the air and the beasts of the -ground, all sounded their evening song. With some -it was a thrill of sweetest divine melody, with -others it was but a grunt, but it all seemed like a -thanksgiving for having lived and worked a day -made by the Creator of all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And from beneath all this, the silent attitude of -prayer and the intoned evening hymn of creatures -rose onward, upward, like an anthem to the sky, -where brilliant orbs and shining, milky veils were -interwoven in a web of glory, and peeping over the -tops of hours into the birthing cradle of another -day. It is a witching hour, this hour, when stars -and nature in unison sing their evening song.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Where nature is grandest, man most likes to profane it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The sublime, sweet spell held us enthralled. Not -a word had been spoken by us. How long we had -sat there we did not know. How much longer -we would have sat there is a matter of unprofitable -conjecture. As if turned loose from the regions -of the arch-fiend, with howling screech, with snorting, -rumbling, rattling, a train, looking like a string -of toy-cars in the distance, clattered along the range -of hills, the last drop of our scene. Spitting fire -before it, leaving white streamers behind it, the iron -disrespecter of nature's sanctity rushed into the very -heart of the hills and took the haze of idealism with it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The spell was broken, and we were not long in -getting back to terra firma.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say," remarked Casey very pensively, "ain't it -very quiet here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I should say so," hastened Dempsey to -corroborate him. "It's so quiet you couldn't sleep -here if you wanted to. This ain't no place for us. -Let's go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We started ahead and tumbled along the country -road. All directions, as to our route, were, for the -present, forgotten. We only had one purpose now, -to get away from the haunting quiet. With every -step our nerves became more unstrung. A rabbit -scooted across the road and made us grasp each -other's arms. The faint rustle of the leaves sent -shivers down our backs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Out in the open, we felt the hazy, vapory night -air enshroud us, which showed every object in -ghost-like mold. A dog barked far away, then it -howled, and I can swear to it, we trembled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not physical fear. It was the weirdness of -the unaccustomed that played havoc with our -reasoning powers. Some may doubt all this and -mention as proof the "hoboing" tramps, who spend their -most pleasing and profitable period of vagrancy in -their country. I am not prepared to discuss this at -all, but am quite sure that every tramp, at the -beginning of his career as such, was similarly impressed -on his first night in the country, provided he had -not found shelter in a barn or haystack or had not -been born and lived in the country before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We, we were city bred to the bone, and noise was -essential to us as ozone is to the country lad. He -cannot sleep with noise,—we could not sleep without it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our musings—we had not spoken for a long time—were -interrupted by Dempsey, who had fallen -over a rail, which he had not noticed in the shadowy -Darkness. Yes, it was a full-fledged railroad track -and, for some obscure reason, it seemed to possess a -great deal of fascination for us. We were apparently -not able to get away from it. We stood and -looked at it as if we had never seen a railroad track -before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This lasted until the ever-ready Casey interpreted -our feelings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if this is the Pennsylvania railroad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That started a chorus of "wonders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder which end of this runs into New -York;" "I wonder how far we are from New York;" -"I wonder if we could get to New York from here;" -"I wonder how long it takes to get to New York -from here;" "I wonder if there is a station near here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How it happened, whether any one proposed it, or -how we got there I do not know, but I do know that, -quite unexpectedly, we found ourselves at a little -wayside station, with a lot of milk cans on its -platform. There is no mistaking the fact that we were -entirely unbalanced mentally, and it was a good -thing for the crew of the freight train, which rolled -in to unload and load milk cans, that they were an -easy-going crowd of men. We made no pretense of -hiding ourselves, but climbed boldly on to the cars -and would have committed murder had they attempted -to put us off. The spectre of the stillness -had taken possession of our brains, and we wanted -to flee from it as from a plague.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the long, cold journey, and, then, at last, a -great white sheen of shining lustre in the heavens -told us that we were home once more to the city of -our birth, of which we were so proud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But could she be proud of us?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rest of the night, or rather the beginning of -the day, was spent in chairs in Callahan's back-room, -which seemed like paradise to us after our "fierce" -experience in the country. After a nap, I went to -look for my Bill, who greeted me as if I had left him -alone as long as I did on our previous separation, -and then again settled down to grace Callahan's dive -with my presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In a day our country trip was forgotten, and I -felt quite resigned at taking up my career where I -had dropped it. There was little hope of things -in divedom brightening up for some time to come -and I was perfectly willing to resume playing the -gentleman of leisure, who makes his fluctuating -living at the expense of his fellow men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the days in the old life were numbered. Only -a short space of time more, and I was to be taken -from the cesspool by one whom God must have sent -solely for this end. Why this was and why I was -chosen, neither you or I can answer, but it is -enough for me to know that, even were every miracle -of old found to be a fraud or sacrilege, the -existence of one great, mighty, living God would be -proven to me beyond the slimmest shadow of doubt -by the miracle he performed on me by His sweetest -prophet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord my master, here I thank Thee, not only for -having permitted me to live the life of purity and -cleanliness, but also for having had me come from -out and through the life of the most miserable and -sinful. Mysterious are Your ways and Your -purposes are not for us to know, but I have suffered, -learned and prayed, and I know You will not let it -be without avail. And if naught else I can do, give -that for her sake, I shall always live in the way she -wanted me to live and that was in Your way, God.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-frontier-of-the-newer-life"><span class="bold large">THE FRONTIER OF THE NEWER LIFE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE FRONTIER OF THE NEWER LIFE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Returned to New York from my Philadelphia -trip, I immediately fell back into my old ways, which -meant for the time being I established myself again -as an ornament in and in front of Mike Callahan's -dive in Chatham Square. Things in our line -of business were growing quieter every day and no -one seemed to know when this drought in the former -land of plenty would cease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our temporary occupation during this lull was to -"lay for" easy things and suckers. But even they -seemed to grow fewer and, at last, we were reduced -to a state of desperation. Then, when hunger and -an unquenchable thirst were less and less satisfied, -some of the gang overcame their inborn cowardice -and turned "crooked." One, two and three would -go on secret expeditions and return either with -money or easily disposable goods, or would not -return at all, at least, not for a long time. The gang -could well afford to stand these occasional -vacancies in the membership, as more than fifty -constituted it and more and more were constantly -joining it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I am not making an untruthful statement and do -not wish to tax your belief unduly when I tell you -that I did not take active part in these "crooked" -doings. My list of misdeeds is so full that one more -or less would make but small difference therein, and -I have no cause to tell you a lie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Had it been necessary for me to turn "crooked" -I would have surely done so, but it was not necessary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was the recognized leader of our gang, and -leaders of or in anything always have certain -prerogatives. Out of every expedition I received a small -share. I was "staked" is the proper expression. The -return I made for the "stake" was small enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In case one or more of the men were locked up -in the city prison, I, not officially known to the -police, had to visit them and act as go-between to -lawyers and their "outside" friends. Were any -barroom growls between one of the men and outsiders -started I had to throw myself—regardless of the -merits of the fight—into the mixup to end it quickly -in favor of my brother in loaferdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not having to go on any of the mentioned expeditions, -I had all my time to myself and hardly ever -left Callahan's. In truth, I was in a fair way of -becoming one of the monarchs of the Bowery, having, -so far, been only one of the knight errants of -that locality. It was the beginning of Summer, and -excepting when business of a liquid or financial -nature called me inside, I could have always been -seen on my keg at the curb, flanked and surrounded -by a galaxy, whose very faces made men, respectable -men, clasp their hands over their watches and -pocketbooks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I remember, how once a "sport" hung up a prize -for the "homeliest mug" in Callahan's, and a -hurried ballot awarded me the prize. However, there -were extenuating circumstances, which I do not -care to recite, the whole matter being one not very -interesting to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hanging around the dives all day we "regulars" -often found the time hang heavy on our hands. To -help us over these periods of ennui we invented a -gentle form of sport. The sidewalk was very wide, -the traffic was heavy, the police, for reasons of -policy, absolutely blind to our doings, what more -did we need? From our kegs we looked, like the -gallery of the play, at the passing show, and -frequently became so interested in the ever-playing -drama that we took part in it ourselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Is there more manly, noble sport than for the -many, with stamping horses and yelping, snarling -dogs, to throw themselves on to the death-scared, -fright-unwitted fox and tear him to his end, after -having him partly finished by hoof beat and dog -bite? Of course not. Were it unmanly, unwomanly, -ignoble sport, our "better, upper" classes, our social -leaders, would not enjoy it. We, of Chatham -Square, aped our models in the higher circles, and, -not having a fox in our collection of rare animals, -chose the passing pedestrians as the objects of our -sport.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our imitation of our "betters" was fairly -correct. If only one or two were on the kegs -passers-by would not be molested; but when the gang -was there in force, then woe to the unoffending -man or woman, whose way led by us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To be exact, our "sport" consisted of insults of -various kinds to pedestrians. Old people—and -especially old women—received the most of our -playful attention. They were our favorite victims, -as they were less likely to resent our brutishness. -It brings a flush to my face when I think of our -beastly cowardice. There is more manliness in -one mongrel cur than there was in that whole gang -of ours!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And in that sport I was the acknowledged leader.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were many variations to our game. We -would quickly put our feet between those of men -and women passing by, would "trip them up" -and send them sprawling to the pavement; we -would throw rotten fruit and decayed vegetables at -them; would deliberately run into them and upset -their balance and, besides all this, would shower -avalanches of filthy expressions on them. Why -didn't they resent it? Because people who were -obliged to pass there did not do it from choice, but -because they were obliged to do so, and knew the -calibre of our tribe. They knew that, like the -rooster taken away from his dung-heap, singly and -on different ground from our own, we were crawling, -cowardly caricatures of men, and only brave -when we could throw ourselves on One in mass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yet, withal, even loafers can be saved from their -mockery of an existence, but different means from -the stereotyped ones of the present day must be -employed. Where is the harvest of the many -millions sown on the East Side? The time, the day, -the hour is ripe for a Messiah to the slums who will -have much piety, more manhood and, most of all, -common sense. Bring less talk and more muscle; -less hymns and more work, and there will be an -echo to your labor in every lane and alley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My loaferish career ran along so evenly that I -could not imagine such a thing as a break in it. -Without a moment's warning, in the most ordinary -way, the message from across the frontier of -decency was brought to me by one whom I cannot -call otherwise than one of God's own angels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had been a most quiet day. In the early -forenoon "Skinny" McCarthy, one of my intimate pals, -had informed me that "something would be doing" -that day. I gave him my rogue's blessing and -sped him on his way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Skinny" belonged to the class of meanest grafters. -His graft consisted in walking miles and miles -looking for trucks and wagons left temporarily -without the driver's protection. To whip something -from the vehicle and then to accelerate his steps, at -the same time holding the stolen article before him, -was only a moment's effort. Naturally, the -proceeds of "Skinny's" expeditions were never very -large, but he kept at it so constantly and spent -his few dollars so quickly that he was a rather -handy acquaintance for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was about two o'clock in the afternoon of June -the second when "Skinny" returned to Callahan's -and, pulling me aside, whispered that he had done -better than usual. I praised him for his zeal and -luck, encouraged him to greater efforts, and then -suggested that our thirst should find an immediate -end. Forthwith, at a signal from me, several other -birds of our feather joined us and we celebrated -"Skinny's" safe and welcome return in the customary way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The only serious fault I had to find with "Skinny" -McCarthy was that he could not stand very much -drink. Just when the others would begin to feel -the mellowing influences of the drink "Skinny" was -always so intoxicated as to lose all control over his -speech and actions. He was a bit of a hero-worshipper, -and I—mind you, I—was his hero. As -soon as the fumes of the stuff consumed would -befuddle his brains he would declare with howling, -roaring emphasis that he was a thief and proud of -it, that he didn't care for what anybody thought of -him as long as I was his friend, and that he was -always willing to share with me, because he knew -that I would stick to him if he should happen to -get into "stir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>All this was very flattering to me and sounded -sweet to my ears, yet, being of limitless capacity, I -never found myself sufficiently drunk to enjoy this -too public endorsement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On this occasion—June the second—"Skinny," -elated over his markedly successful expedition, -bought drinks so fast that, in a little over an hour, -he was near a state of coma. I, as leader of the -gang, was more or less responsible for the individual -safety of my fellows, and, not caring to see -"Skinny" utterly helpless so early in the afternoon, -ordered a cessation of drinking and proposed an -adjournment to the kegs at the curb, hoping the -air would partly revive my ailing follower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My suggestion was accepted, and I led the way -to the sidewalk, closely followed by "Skinny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just as I had reached the curb and was about to -seat myself on my keg I heard a slight commotion, -followed by a muffled scream, behind me. Leisurely -turning I saw what I had expected to see.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was one of our customary frolics. "Skinny" -McCarthy had wilfully and fiercely collided with a -frail young girl. Although I could not see her -face, her figure and general appearance denoted -youth. But what did youth, age, sex or size matter -to us?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They all stood about her in a circle, grinning -and leering at her. I, too, meant to join in the -general enjoyment. But before my facial muscles had -time to shapen themselves into a brutish laugh the -girl wheeled around, looked at McCarthy, at me, at -all of us and, quite distinctly could I read there the -sentence: "And you are MEN!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Possibly there was a psychic or physical reason -for it, but whatever it was I could almost feel when -her look fell on me the bodily sensation of -something snapping or becoming released within me. -It was as if a spring, holding back a certain force, -had been suddenly freed from its catch and had, -catapult-like, sent a new power into action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had neither the inclination or intelligence to -explain it all to myself. Instead, I rushed into the -crowd, tore through it, until I stood in front of -McCarthy, who, without a word from me, received a -blow from me under his ear, felling him to the -ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This decisive and unexpected action on my part -amazed the members of the gang so that they stood -motionless for several seconds before paying any -attention to McCarthy, who was lying motionless -on the sidewalk. They did not know what to make -of it. Was I more drunk than they had judged me -to be? Was there a private grudge between -McCarthy and myself?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That I had acted solely to save the young lady, -from further insult would have been—had they -surmised it—as inexplicable to them as it was to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I took no heed of their wondering attitude, but, in -gruff tones, asked the young lady to come with me. -She was completely bewildered and followed me -mechanically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Poor "Skinny" in his stunned condition was still -on the ground, and this, as always, furnished an -interesting spectacle to the many idle gapers, who had -joined the rank of spectators. I, holding the girl -by her arm, made my way through them without -any trouble and then addressed my companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, sis, I guess I better walk a block or two -with you, because I think it's better. That push -there won't do you nothing, but they're all drunk -and might get fresh to you again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Surely, it was not a very cavalierly speech, but, -somehow, it was understood and remembered. -Often in the future, we—she and I—had our laugh -at this offer of my protectorate, which was word -for word remembered by her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd through which I had roughly forced -a passage for the girl and myself closed again -behind us, and, with that, the doors of my old life -creakingly began to move on their rusty hinges and -slowly started to close themselves entirely. They -did not close themselves with a bang and a -slam—if they had done that I might have been aware of -their maneuver and would, most likely, have -offered resistance—and, even their slow move was not -known to me then, but only recognized by me in -the years to come. This happens to many of us. -We are successful or unfortunate, rich or poor, -and can in our acquired state clearly trace back the -line to an event which was the parting of the ways.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-beginning-of-the-miracle"><span class="bold large">THE BEGINNING OF THE MIRACLE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE BEGINNING OF THE MIRACLE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For the first time in my life I found myself playing -the part of a chivalric knight, and, let me assure -you, the poorest actor could not have played it -worse. Part of my existence had been to watch -others. Not to learn from them by observation, -but to find their weaknesses. While engaged in the -most potent part of my observations, I was -never so concentrated in them that I entirely -overlooked the minor details. So I had seen -gentlemen help ladies to and from carriages, had seen -them assist their women friends across gutters and -crossings, and open doors for them. Walking -beside the young lady I knew something was expected -from me in the line of politeness, but I who had -always been accustomed to go up "against the -hardest games and unfavorable odds," felt most -uncomfortable at not being sure what to do in a case -like this. Perhaps this was the reason, why I, -instead of seeing her along for a block or two, kept -on walking beside her, because I did not know -how to take leave without giving serious offense -by my way of expressing my leavetaking. The -truth of the matter was I was afraid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This confession of mine will lead you to think -that there was something about her inspiring awe -or fear. But you are wrong, very wrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was not tall, not statuesque. She was -not a "queenly looking" girl judged by external -appearance. Her queenliness was within, so potent, -so convincing, that neither man nor beast could -refrain from bowing to it. I was in the dilemma of -wanting to be a gentleman, a courtier to my queen, -and not knowing how to be one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Somehow impelled, I kept on walking beside her. -She was not wanting in expressions of gratitude, -but I did no better than to acknowledge them with -deep-toned grunts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To explain matters, she told me she was a teacher -in one of the near-by schools, and was compelled to -pass our "hang-out" every day on her way to and -from home. In exchange for her confidence I -should have introduced myself, but, alas! this big, -hulking oof knew naught of politeness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the bonny little lass was a marvel of tact and -diplomacy. Not commenting on or pretending to -notice my neglect of the customary introduction, she -appointed herself inquisitor-in-chief. She put me -on the witness stand and cross-examined me. Leading -questions were fired at me with the rapidity of a -trained lawyer. Ere I knew it, she knew all about -me and I felt ashamed at having a little mite like her -break down all the barriers of that reticence on -which I prided myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We walked on, the street traveling beneath and -unnoticed by us. She stopped me at Houston -street and the Bowery and I looked about me as if -descended from a dream. She wanted me to leave -her there and wanted me to return to Chatham -Square, or from wherever I had come. But the -bulldog in me growled and persisted in seeing her to -her door. We halted at a modest dwelling-house in -Houston street, near Mott street. She thanked me -with very much feeling and, expecting a modicum -of manners from me, waited for a second for my -response. There are things which we learn without -being aware, and I knew and felt that I should -say something, but my courage had fled, my knees -weakened under me and the words which I meant to -utter stuck in my throat, kept there by my fear of -not being able to use the right expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last I squeezed out a gruff "Good night," and -then turned to leave. I was not permitted to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are you going?" she asked. "I am afraid -you are anxious to return to that place on Chatham -Square. Don't go there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where else can I go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where else?" she asked, with a mingling of pity -and contempt. "Mr. Kildare, I have absolutely no -right to interfere with your business, but I have the -right to tell you the truth. You may not know it or -would if you did know it, deny it, but you and most -of the men of that gang are too good to be of it. We -are strangers, and you may think me presumptuous, -but a man, strong and able bodied as you, sins -against his Maker if he wastes his days in an -idleness which is hurtful to himself and others."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I heard that before, young lady, but that -sort of talk don't amount to anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It doesn't amount to anything? From what you -have told me about yourself and from what I have -seen of the street life, I am afraid it is not absolutely -impossible that, one of these days, you may find -yourself in serious trouble. And, Mr. Kildare, you -can rest assured that the prisons are full of men -who are convinced when it is too late that this sort -of talk does amount to something. You say you do -not know where else to go? The evening is beautiful. -There are parks, the river-front, the Brooklyn -Bridge, where one can go and sit and think——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think," I interrupted, "now, what would I be -thinking about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She remained silent for some little while and then -held out her hand to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so sorry for you, so sorry. Do try and be -a man, a man who has more than strength and -muscle. And—and—do not be offended at my -solicitude—pray, pray often." She had almost entered -the hall, but stepped back again and whispered, "I -will pray for you to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pray! I can imagine the sneer which surely -settled on my face. The name of the Divinity had been -used by me daily. But in what manner! Before I -reached my teens I was past master of the art of -profanity, and my skill in cursing increased as I -grew older. And now she had counselled me to -pray, to use in reverence the name which had no -meaning to me and slipped glibly from my lips at the -slightest provocation. Why, it was ridiculous—but -was it so very ridiculous?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two arch enemies began a fierce battle within -me. Without any trouble can I remember my walk -to Chatham Square that night. Sometimes I halted, -leaned up against a lamp post and said: "By -Heavens, I think there's a great deal of truth in -what she said!" Buoyed up by this assurance I -would start afresh, would walk half a block and then -again halt to listen to the other voice, which -whispered: "Fool, don't listen to women's talk. You are -somebody. You are known and feared, and wouldn't -be that if you were a goody-goody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Many men are only feared, while they believe -themselves to be respected. That is how it was with -me, and that is why my "other" voice did not say -"respected," but "feared."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The battle was waged within me until I was -almost at Chatham Square. And then a strange -thing came to pass. Mike Callahan's place was on -the western side of the square. I had come down on -that side, but, when on the corner of the square, I -deliberately crossed over to the eastern sidewalk, -and, from there, surveyed my camping ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I stood and looked at the flashily illuminated front -of Mike Callahan's dive and wavered between the -old-rooted and the new-come influences. It would -have been laughable had it not been so pitiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just think, a man, supposedly intelligent and -mature, considering himself the martyr of martyrs if -he had to forego the "pleasures" of Callahan's dive -for one precious night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The new-come influence was a potent one, yet it -was so strange, so inexplicable to me that I could -have refused to heed it and would have let my old -inclinations persuade me, had I not thought of my -good old Bill. The importance of my recent -adventure had driven my partner temporarily from my -mind. But now I thought of him, remembered that -he had been subjected to a long fast by my -carelessness and hurried to the attic to make up for my -negligence. I found him as expectant and -philosophical as ever, and watched him with languid -interest while he was munching the scraps I had -saved for him. Then it occurred to me that Bill -had been deprived of his customary walk with me -and had not had a breath of fresh air all day. It -also rankled in my mind what she had said about the -parks and the Brooklyn Bridge, and, lo and behold, -Bill and I found ourselves in the street, bound for -City Hall Park, like two eminently respectable -citizens intent on getting a little air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I consoled myself for this evident display of -weakness by emphatically resolving to return to -Callahan's as soon as Bill should have had his fill of -fresh air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were comparative strangers to City Hall Park. -Every foot of the park and the sidewalks about it -had been traveled by my bare feet many years ago, -but never had I looked on the leafed oasis in the -light of a recreation ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We felt a trifle out of place, and, most likely on -that account chose the most secluded and -unobserved spot for our experimental siesta. The rear -stoop of the City Hall, facing the County Court -House, was in deep shadow, and there we seated -ourselves to test how it felt to be there just to rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It gradually began to dawn on us that City Hall -Park was almost as interesting as the sidewalk in -front of Mike Callahan's dive on Chatham Square. -A perpetual stream of people crossed our view on -their way to and from the Brooklyn Bridge and to -and from the Jersey ferries. Very few of them -walked leisurely. Most of them seemed in a hurry -and all seemed to have a definite purpose. Bill and -I were the only two without a purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, no, it is wrong for me to say that. Let me -speak only for myself. Bill had a purpose, and a -noble one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My thoughts ran oddly that night. I looked -around and saw the people on the benches. Then, as -now, the majority of the seats were occupied by -homeless men, by "has-beens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I am surely better than those tramps," I -assured myself with self-satisfied smirk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Was I better than those tramps? The newer voice -gave me the answer. These tramps, useless now, -had once been useful, had once worked and earned, -but I, almost thirty years of age, couldn't call one -day in my life well spent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was a wondrous night to us, this night in the -shadow of City Hall Park. It was the first night I -had given to thought, and found myself at my true -estimate. Saints are not made in a day, and I was -still hard and callous, but, after my introspection, -a feeling took possession of me which very -much resembled shame. Instead of returning the -way we had come, via Chatham street—now called -Park Row—we wandered home by the way of Centre -street. We passed the Tombs, the sinister prison -for the city's offenders, and Bill and I looked at it -musingly. There were many in the cells who were -known by me. Many in them could justly call me -their accomplice, because I had willingly spent their -money with them, knowing, or, at least, suspecting, -how it had been gotten. And how long would it be -before a cell in there would be but a way station for -me before taking the long journey "up the river"?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mere suggestion of it was shivery and I -remarked to Bill that our attic, no matter how humble, -was preferable to a sojourn at Sing-Sing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then an inspiration came to me, and, to this very -day I am making myself believe it came from old -Bill. Most likely I am a fool for doing it, but I -want to have my old pal have his full share of credit -in my reincarnation. The inspiration was: "Why -not try and stay in my attic in preference to going -to Sing-Sing?" To this came an augmentation: -"If able to keep away from the road that leads to -prison, it may not always be necessary to stay in an -attic. There are more nicely furnished rooms in -the city than your cubby-hole on the top floor, friend -Kildare."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How can I now, at this long range, analyze my -feelings of that critical night? I would have to -perform a psychic wonder, and I am not that kind -of a magician. But I did not go back to Callahan's, -and have never been there since as a participant in -the slimy festivities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Up in our attic Bill and I gave ourselves up to -much mutual scrutiny. Some outward change in me -must have been noticeable, for Bill watched me most -critically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The one thing I remember best of all the little -incidents which left their clear impressions on my -mind was my first attempt at praying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bill laid in his usual place at the foot of my bed, -and I was stretched on my back, gazing into the -ceiling and overcoming my astonishment at being -in bed at such an unearthly early hour by going -over the events of the day. I lingered longest at the -scene at her door and tried to laugh when my train -brought me to her advice to pray. Somehow the -laugh was not sincere, and, instead of being able to -continue my mind's recital, I could not get away -from her admonition.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was not all. A soliloquy ensued and ended -with the result of giving prayer a chance to prove -itself. Why not? It did not cost anything, might -do some good after all, and, besides, it would be -interesting to note how it felt to pray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I prayed, and you will not accuse me of irreverence -when I make the statement that my prayer -was certainly one of the funniest that ever rolled on -to the Father's throne. It was hardly a prayer. -The "thou" and "thee" and "thy" were sadly missing. -I did not think or ask with faith. Quite the -reverse. I frankly avowed my skepticism. The -substance of it was that I had been told God could -do much, everything. The one who had told me this -possessed my greatest respect, yet was only a little -girl and not as experienced as I, and, perhaps, -fooled. So, if God wanted me to believe in Him, He -would have to give me conclusive proof right away -or else lose a follower. It was a heart-to-heart talk -of the most informal kind and—are they not the -best prayers?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I said quite coolly that I had been told I wasn't as -much of a man as I had thought myself to be and -that there was a much better life than the one I -had led. Well, I was willing to try it, and, if I -really liked the newer life better than the old one, I -promised to stick as closely to God as I had stuck -to all that was evil before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One should not bargain with the Creator, but I -am sure that on the Judgment Day my God will -find extenuating circumstances. As for the -bargain made that night, both parties have lived up -to it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-old-doors-close"><span class="bold large">THE OLD DOORS CLOSED.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE OLD DOORS CLOSED.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Sober to bed and sober out of it was an uncommon -experience and I felt embarrassed by the -unwonted sensation. Happily I found some money in -my pocket and that deprived me of the excuse to my -conscience that I must go to Callahan's so as to get -my breakfast money. How we ate that morning, -Bill and I, and how we relished our breakfast. Yes, -I had a drink, a big drink of whiskey, but not -because I had forgotten my resolve of the night before, -but because I was yet ignorant. To be quite frank, -I have always been a bit cynical about these sudden -conversions of confirmed drunkards.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not long ago I met a man at a rescue mission -where I frequently attend, who, as we say on the -Bowery, "eats whiskey" and almost subsists on it. -He was homeless, or rather bedless, his home being -forfeited long ago, and received his "bed ticket" -from the missionary after his confession of salvation. -I happened to meet him on the following day; -and his breath was strong with the perfume of -cloves. He told me he liked to chew them, which is -rather an odd hobby.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Far be it from me to slander any one, yet the -perfume of cloves can hide a multitude of aromas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sublime is the aim of the rescue missions, but how -and whether they accomplish this aim is another -story, which we might discuss at some future time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another habit, which also still clung to me, was -my late rising. It was noon before Bill and I -appeared on the street on our way to the restaurant. -After breakfast we walked over to City Hall Park, -looked gravely and wisely at the spot where we had -sat the night before, and then we permitted -ourselves the luxury of a day dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dreams are funny fellows, always playing pranks. -This dream kept me embraced until I found myself -in the immediate neighborhood of the school where -a certain little professor was engaged in leading the -infantile mind through the labyrinth of the A, B, C's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon they began to stumble out with noisy, -natural, healthy laughter and hubbub, and the dingy -street became one long, squirming stream of -babbling children. I could not help looking back on -my boyish years and tried to imagine how it would -feel to have your slate and books under your arm. -There were many youngsters before me and I kept -staring at them to draw the picture in my mind's eye -of how I would have looked coming from school, -my school.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last she came!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As I saw the little tots, her pupils, cling to her -skirts from very love of her, I felt a light, an -oriflamme, within my breast, and knew that I would -have to fight a harder fight than ever before; that I -would have to conquer myself before I would dare to -touch the hem of her skirt as those children. And he -who fights, fights best when in the sight of an -inspiring emblem. So then I took my sailing flag and -nailed it to the mast of purity. It has withstood all -sorts of weather. Sometimes it droops, again it flies -defiantly. But, whatever, it is still safely on the mast -and will stay there until I strike my colors for the -last dipping to my God above.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I crossed the street and put myself in her way so -that she could not help seeing me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Mr. Kildare!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She remembered my name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is impossible for me to recall how I acted at -this meeting. However, I consider it very fortunate -that no camera fiend took a snapshot at me. The -human document which would have evolved from -it would certainly be very embarrassing to me. -Still, lout, churl as I was, it was the first time in my -life that I spoke to a girl without even the shadow -of an ulterior or impure motif, and some of my want -of politeness may be forgiven on that account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If I cannot recollect my behavior during that -scene, I can correctly recollect my feelings. I was -in a turmoil. Her face showed real, unaffected -pleasure on seeing me, and that to me, if you will -understand my social position then—was an -incomparable boon. If people, the good, well intending -people, would only realize that the hardest heart is -very often the most ready to respond to genuine -kindness and that, usually, it is only hard, because, -through life, it had to be satisfied with the -stereotyped prating which passes as a message from our -all-loving and loving-all God!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Knowing the awkward propensities of my limbs -and arms, it does not surprise me in the least that I -stood there shuffling and wobbling, and never noticing -the little hand held out to me in truest greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She greeted me kindly, in evident surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Most gingerly I took her dainty hand into my big, -brawny paw. She spoke of the "chance meeting." Since -then I have often felt certain that when I said -"chance meeting," a twinkle danced for the time of a -breath in her eyes. Afterward, I often accused her -of it and was severely squelched for my presumption. -Yet, yes, she was an angel, but also very much of a -woman, and, between you and me, there are times -when a true, little woman with staunch heart, level -head and unwavering faith is of more practical -benefit to a rough, big fellow like me than the angel -who wouldn't dare take a chance of spoiling those -snowy garments or to let the harp remain -untwanged for a few moments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Being more unfamiliar with etiquette than I am -now, I had no little white lie ready, but blurted -out that I had come there for the express purpose of -seeing her. She seemed a trifle annoyed at this -and I hastened to explain that I was there to see her -home, so that she would not have to run the risk -of being insulted again. When she learned this -determination of mine to act henceforth as her -body guard, she chided at first, declared it absolutely -unnecessary, but then laughed, and told me it was -very kind of me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And all this time I was playing a part and, as I -thought, so perfectly that she could not penetrate -my disguise. But she could not be deceived. She -quickly saw through my pretense of wishing to -appear a fairly considerate man of the world, who, -not having anything better to do, would do a chivalrous -act merely for the sake of killing some of his -superfluous time. The only wonder is that she -permitted me to bother her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, though no daisies or roses garlanded our -path and though we walked along the crowded, not -too clean, sidewalks in the precincts of the poor, -began walks that one could turn into poetry, but -which I cannot do, not having the essential gift of -expression. All I could do in return for being -permitted to be beside her was to devote myself entirely -to the task of protecting her. Protect her against -what?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You know the most glorious thing about love is -that it is no respecter of persons. To rich and poor -it comes alike; here to be received in passion and -impurity, there to be welcomed in a better spirit -and to be nested in an ever-loyal heart. But the -bad thing about love is that it makes us lose our -proper respect for truth. In short, it makes splendid -liars out of us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Where is there the young man who has not told -her whom he adored that her eyes made the most -brilliant star look like a tallow candle, or that her -cheeks were as peaches?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the same way did I magnify my knightly duty -to myself. Surely the dangers along the journey to -her home were trifling and few, but, thanks to my -love-stirred imagination, I felt as serious as a -plumed knight, and no proud queen in days of sword -and lance had more devoted cavalier to fight, die or -live for her. That now became my sole duty, and -with such duty, to serve the best and truest, a man -must grow better even in spite of himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every day, rain or shine, I waited on the corner -above the school to serve as permanent escort. -Every day she told me it was not necessary to see -her home, yet, every day she permitted me to do so. -When one arrives in a strange land the smaller -details are often not noticed, and, afterward, you -can only re-see the grander pictures. I cannot tell -you how and why the turns in our conversations -occurred, but I can remember certain bits of talk -and questions, very important to both of us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For instance, on our third meeting she asked -me if I were still one of Mike Callahan's -ornamental fixtures. I felt then, as many of us have -felt before and will feel again; I was ashamed to -admit that I had severed my connection with the -gang and had not been there since the night I had -taken her home. You see, I still considered myself -a "red-hot sport," and did not care to be identified -with anything that was goody-goody. Since then I -have learned that it is quite the thing among certain -sets to speak lightly of one's religion and to laugh -at being found out as an occasional church-goer. -It makes such a rakish impression to intimate you -are "really devilish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, to her question, I did not give a straightforward -answer, but hummed and hawed and—lied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I ain't been there the last two nights, -because—because, I wasn't feeling any too good, and—and, -oh, yes, one night I went up to a show."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The greatest lies can be compressed into the -smallest parcels, yet they always weigh the same.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had a way of letting me know when my lies -were too transparent. It was not what she said, but -how she looked when she said it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In reality I had stood away from Callahan's -because I had taken a dislike to the place and -everybody in it, but, of course, it would have never done -to tell that to a little slip of a girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently my explanation was not taken at its -face value, for she merely said: "Oh, I see." Barely -a second later she added: "Oh, I'm so glad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The intuition of women is certainly wonderful. -Even such an accomplished diplomat as myself was -floored on the spot by a little girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, the days wore on, and our walks became to -me walks in an unknown realm. Her little casual -references to mother, brother, home, friends and -daily work gave me a vista of a life not even -imagined by me. To live as she, in well-regulated -household and according to well-ordained schedule, had -never been desired by me and, therefore, never been -considered by me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that kind of life turns out such fine little -women, it can't be so bad after all, and may be worth -trying," was my train of reasoning, and a dull but -positive desire to try that sort of life began to rankle -in my soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While I was engaged in these musings, she did -not keep entirely quiet, but put me through the most -severe kind of civil service. I had to answer so -many questions—and truthfully, too, as she could -tell a fabrication immediately—until I honestly -believe every hour of my life was covered. The -finish of it all was that I was made the subject of -several of the most scathing lectures ever delivered. -Those sermons fairly made my blood boil, and often, -under my breath, I wished she were a man, that I -could close the lecturing for good and all with a blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is simply awful how impudent little people—and -especially women—are. And the worst of it is -that we big fellows have to stand it from them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had a peculiarly direct way of getting at -things and never minced matters. The effect of it -was that I began to shrink into myself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A leering knave, I had stood on the pinnacle of -wickedness; had grinned and sneered at decency, -manhood and womanhood; had thought myself a -"somebody" because the laws of God and man were -unregarded by me, and because a chorus of fools -and friends had always shouted an amen to my -deeds, and now—now I awoke to the pitiful fact -that I was not only a "nobody," but a despicable, -contemptible thing, without the least of claims to -the grandest title—man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, there was no denying the fact, the "somebody" -had fallen, sadly fallen from his horse, and -all his house of cards had been knocked into -smithereens by a little bit of a schoolma'am.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-kindergarten-of-one"><span class="bold large">A KINDERGARTEN OF ONE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A KINDERGARTEN OF ONE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Keeping away from Callahan's and from the -sinister harvest which was often reaped there, had a -depressing effect on my income. For a comparatively -long time I lived on a few dollars, which came -to me from outstanding loans, now determinedly -collected. I learned then that if one keeps away from -Callahan's and places like it, one can subsist on a -remarkably small income. As it had been with me, -it was always a case of "getting it easy and spending -it easy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My expenses became the object of much thinking -and figuring. So much for room rent, so much for -meals, including Bill's fare, and so much for shaves -and incidentals were estimated at the lowest -minimum and so as to last the longest until something -should turn up. This something did not fail to turn up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the funds became dangerously low, I -bethought myself of some of my swell friends, who -had often evinced a desire to have me "train" them -or keep them in condition. These propositions had -been so frequent as to make me think that to be rich -included being rich in ailments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some wanted me to make them thin, others desired -more flesh to cover their bones, and they all came to -me, I being such an authority on anatomy and physiology!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I communicated with many of these ailing swells -and ere long made a fairly good living by my -physical culture lessons. There is a heavy cloud on my -conscience that on my balance-sheet a score of -offenses are recorded against me in connection with -the furtherance of my physical culture system. A -frank confession is good for the soul, and I might as -well confess right here that, only too frequently, I -prescribed the identically same course for fat and lean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This calling of mine was not without humor. I -remember a "patient" who was troubled with too -much embonpoint. He did not believe in the -prescriptions of his physician, but rather preferred the -physical culture system of "Professor" Kildare. -He was a man of much weight in public affairs and -in flesh. About 250 pounds in the flesh, if I -remember right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lived in the immediate neighborhood of -Madison Square, and for a long succession of many -mornings a select audience, including several -news-boys, a few policemen and myself, had the edifying -spectacle of seeing these 250 absolutely-refusing-to-melt -pounds chase around the square like mad at 5 A.M.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not think it did him very much harm and it -did the audience an awful lot of good, if you will -take laughter as an indication of increasing health.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No fear of want or need threatening me, I gave -myself completely up to peeping into the better life. -I fairly revelled in my new experience, and dreams -by day and night were my only territory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few weeks of this and then a crisis came.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We had reached her house from our customary -walk from the school. I had taken leave and had -already taken a few steps, when she called me back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Kildare, I forgot something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was quickly back to the door waiting to hear -what she had forgotten.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She took a small card from her bag and handed it -to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Kildare, you have been very kind and -considerate and I would like to show you that I -appreciate it. I am afraid you will find it rather tame, -but I hope you will come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I twirled the card between my fingers and without -looking at it asked: "What is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, just a little social entertainment of our -church."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When and where does it take place?" I still -kept on asking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not quite sure as to the date, but the card -will tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As it was said, I could do no less than refer to the -card. Whether I held the card upside down or what -I did, I do not know, but my secret was out and -nothing could hide it any longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There I stood, to all appearances a man, intelligent -and able-bodied, and not able to cipher or decipher -even my own name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I felt all go away from me. My fairy palace of -bliss crumbled to pieces. What else could I do -but slink away, to hide myself, my ignorance, my -shame forever?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why prolong the agony of this torturing moment?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I turned quickly without a word, intending to -return to the dark "whence" from which I had come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But before I had taken a step a little hand grasped -my arm, and then and there took up its faithful -guidance of me, and every fibre of my big, ungainly -frame thrilled at this waking of the better life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The memory of the following months—yes, years—but -for the tingeing sadness would be a bit of -most laughable humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The work of my little schoolma'am became doubled. -Besides her class at school she saddled herself -with this unwieldy, husky kindergarten of one. I -know many youngsters—God bless them!—who like -their school and studies, but they were not in it with -me in the drilling of my A, B, C's. Never was the -alphabet more quickly mastered. In a surprisingly -short time "c-a-t, cat," and "r-a-t, rat," were spelled -by me with the facility of a primary scholar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Who would not have learned quickly with such a -teacher?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My good old Bill did not fail to note this -educational process and was sorely puzzled at it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our attic became a study; the washstand a student's -desk, with a big, ungainly head bent close to a -smoking oil lamp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How I pored over my private lessons!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pen in cramped fingers would trace those -tantalizing letters, while the lips gruffly murmured the -spelling. Naturally, arithmetic was also included in -my curriculum, and often Bill had flung at him the -maddening puzzle: "Seven into thirty-five goes how -many times—yes, how many times?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bill always sat beside me during my studies and -blinked a hundred questions at me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, Kil, what are you up to now? I am afraid -it is some new sort of tomfoolery. If not, why -can't I do it, too?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I often answered and explained, but the situation -was not fully grasped by my old pal until he met my -teacher. And then? Why the rocks, the hillsides, -trees and birds and flowers were all responsive to -that little sprite, and Bill, in just one glance, saw -that the fairy of our destinies had but begun her -miracle of love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But even dolls can be made to talk and parrots -can imitate empty chatter. My teacher wanted me -to have the means to lift myself out of my ditch. -The little sculptor who was moulding this huge -mass of the commonest clay into the semblance of a -man wanted to waken that in me which would make -me something apart from the thing I had been. -Coming out of blackest darkness I was not led at -once into the radius of the dazzling light, but, as -with the tots in her class at school, she coached me, -step by step, into the way of righteous intelligence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gradually I began to see—to see with the eyes of -my soul—and I found a great world about me -abounding in the evidences of an almighty and wise -Creator. I began to understand and love this newer -and better life, and began to hate the old life, which -often tried to tempt me back to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our lessons were carried on with much inconvenience -and difficulty. The distance from school -to home was little more than ten blocks, and during -the time it took us to walk that length I had to report -my lesson and to receive instructions for additional -study. The inconvenience of this method was not -at all conducive to learning, and one day I was asked -by my teacher to come to her house to receive my -lesson there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could hardly believe mine own ears. I was to -see the very place in which she lived. It was beyond -belief. Was it not a sacrifice on her part? Indeed -it was, and I can never sufficiently emphasize the -many sacrifices this sweet little girl underwent for -me from the beginning to the very end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Let us understand her position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marie Deering was the sole support of her mother -and a young invalid brother. Besides these two she -had only one other relative, an elder brother in a far -western city. The father, a retired captain of -engineers in the British army, had come to America to -dispose of several inventions. Whatever the value -of these inventions, the captain knew little of the -ways of business and commerce, and soon found -himself minus his inventions and balance of his -savings. Disappointment and failing health combined -to shorten his days, and the little family found -themselves fatherless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The burden to provide fell then on the shoulders -of the daughter, and that, as all her other burdens, -was borne with a fortitude worthy of a saint in -heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It goes without saying that the Deerings were -refined people, and you can imagine what it meant -to them to have a big, uncouth fellow intrude into -their home circle. I shall never forget the -horror-stricken countenance of Mrs. Deering when I -appeared for my first lesson. It needed no -interpreter to read the question in her eyes: "For -goodness' sake, where did this come from, and what is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But I immediately found a dear little ally in my -teacher's invalid brother, who quickly discovered me -a willing horse for many a wild and hazardous canter -from kitchen to parlor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This first glance into real home life fairly upset -me. Since then I have seen many more luxurious -places, but none where my heart felt so much at -home. I noticed everything—the neatness, the -taste of the modest decorations—and I set my teeth -and said: "I, too, will have a home, a real home, and, -perhaps, not only for myself, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ah, it was too early to dream that far.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To dream of things will never bring them. People -who had known me had always given me credit for -stubborn determination in wicked pursuits. I -resolved to test the strength of my determination by -applying it to a better end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as my mentor ascertained that my income -came from practising my uniform system of physical -culture, of which the only beneficiary was the -inventor and professor, she counselled against it and -told me to cease it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This brought me face to face with my most novel -experience. I looked for work—good, honest, hard -work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My luck surprised me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Only a few months had passed since the beginning -of my transformation, but it had been noticed by -men whom I had thought indifferent to my fate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I can say, with all the conviction possible, that, if -a man determines without compromise to do right, -he will find friends, all willing to help along, among -those he had expected to be nothing more than mere -acquaintances. And another thing. I also claim—and -it has never disproven itself to me—that the man -who really wants to work can always find it, friends -or no friends. The rub is that "suitable" work -cannot always be found so easily. It is this lack of -"suitable" work which sends men to Bowery -lodging-houses, there to keep themselves in high collars -and cuffs by begging instead of soiling their tender -hands by the first work offered to them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I started out to do my hustling turn and had no -trouble in finding work. Happily it was of the—to -me—"suitable" kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I went to work at one of the steamboat piers as -a baggageman—sometimes lovingly referred to as a -"baggage-smasher." The wages were eight dollars -a week, and that was a smaller amount than I had -often "earned" in one night while employed in the -dives.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On my first pay day, those eight dollars were -recounted by me innumerable times, not because I -was dissatisfied with the smallness of the amount, -but because I felt good, really good, at having at -length earned a week's wages by honest toil. Every -one of those bills had its own meaning for me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My teacher knew of my new employment, and, -with my first pay I bought a little gift for her. It -also gave me a pretext for explaining to her my -future plans.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Much of her time had been taken up with me, and -I owed all of my new life to her endeavor. Persistently -she claimed that all her efforts were only a -small return for the favor done for her by me, and -that, besides, it was her duty to help me to gain a -foothold on my new road of life. This argument -failed to convince me, as my favor amounted to -nothing, and I understood without difficulty that all -the benefit I received from her unceasing toil with -me was inspired by nothing else than the sweet, -Christian spirit which ruled every one of her actions. -I insisted that it would have been an imposition for -me to be a trouble and bother to her any longer, -especially when I had steady employment, which -afforded me the time and means to attend evening -schools and to study at home in spare hours. I -wanted to thank her, and not be quite so conspicuous -where, because of social differences, I felt I did -not belong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I mentioned something about coming from the -gutter. As always, she had an answer, and a -flattering one, ready. As to coming from the gutter, -she expostulated, why, many a coin is dropped there -and remains until some one picks it up and, by a -little polishing, makes it as good as it ever was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was just like her. She always claimed to have -found in me something good, something I could -never have discovered. On the other hand, as soon -as we resumed the lessons, she found that quite often -her pupil could be severely trying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the harrowing science of arithmetic which -caused the most trouble, and even to this day—but -that is a different story. I had a confirmed habit of -becoming hopelessly muddled in my multiplication -table. When floundering in the numerical labyrinth -I would hear just the faintest little sigh, and, -looking up, would see a dear little forehead showing the -most cunning wrinkles of resignation. It was then -that horrid wickedness would take possession of me, -and I would intentionally make more mistakes just -to see those eyes reproach me for my stupidity. I -would also make errors in my spelling and reading -to have the pleasure of being chided in her -modulated voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My course of education had now run on for -months and the beginning of winter gave us the -chance to elaborate it. The free lectures of the Board -of Education were a boon quickly taken advantage -of by us. Almost every night we went to Cooper -Union or some public school where an interesting -lecture was announced. To be sure I was not at -first a howling success as an attendant. I could -stand the illustrated lectures, but astronomy and -political economy without pictures always produced -the lullaby effect on me, and I was often on the verge -of snoring. All this disappointed my professor, but -did not discourage her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Summer came and my knowledge of botany was -destined to be enriched. Strange are the paradoxes -of fate. No class loves flowers as much as the -poor, and no class has less of them than they. Ah, -it is pitiful, I tell you, to wander through the streets -inhabited by my people, and to see never a patch of -green, a fragrant oasis, in this stretch of barren, -joyless materialism. There is no time there for -flowers, where even the cabbages in front of the -dingy grocery stores look withered and seared, and -where there is no other watchword than, "Work, -work, or we will be homeless and starving." That -one thought rules the brains of my fellows with an -iron grasp. With the close of their daily toil their -day's worry is not over. Listen to the talks on the -stoops and in the doorways of the tenements and you -will be the witness of much fretting. Often all this -mind's botheration is not necessary. There is no -actual want, no threatening danger of it. Yet, the -poor find a gruesome pleasure in dwelling in the -midst of their horrors, and the roll of their organ of -misery churns along on an endless chain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And I believe that this is so because the child life -of the East Side is dwarfed and deprived of all that -is dear to a child's natural desires. Every year -brings improvements. Men and women with hearts -of gold are working like Trojans among the children -of the poor, and the harder they work the more are -they appreciated by their charges. I cannot rid -myself of the opinion that in the aiding of the children -lies the only solution of our social troubles. Teach -them to be natural—a difficult feat, to swing -themselves above their level in intellect and not by -imitating the modes and fashions of the idle rich in the -shoddy fabrics offered to them by unscrupulous -dealers, and we will have advanced miles nearer -to the goal which is desired by all who love their -fellow men, not with mushy sentiment, but with -intelligence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still, in spite of all that is done, the yearning look -in the eyes of the children is still there, and I would -not care to have the heart of the man who can see -the unspoken wish in the childish gaze when -beholding a flower, no matter how scraggy, and then -laugh at it as at a freak of humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My acquaintance with the denizens of the kingdom -of flowers was exceedingly limited. My teacher -had noticed this and forthwith set to work to remedy -this other defect in my education.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As early as May did we begin our out-of-door -course. We did it by means of excursions. I did -not care to have this arrangement all one-sided and -we agreed to change off in the management of our -personally conducted tours. We both had to work -during the week and could only indulge in our -excursions on Sundays. So, on one outing she would -be the supreme director and dictator; I, on the next.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Candor compels me to confess that my outings -always led us dangerously near to Coney Island, if -not quite to it, yet, people can enjoy themselves even -there, for it is the same old ocean, and the same -sea air there as elsewhere, and it only lies with the -visitor how to spend the holiday.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On her Sundays I was always kept in the dark as -to our destination until we reached it. It invariably -proved to be some quiet country place, with nooks -and brooks and all the charming props which set -the stage of nature with tranquil loveliness. After -depositing the luncheon in some shady spot, the -professor would trip from flower to flower, from -tree to tree, and deliver little sermons on birds, -flowers and minerals. There is no schoolroom like -God's own nature, and in a way which I cannot -describe to you, I learned that there was a life -abounding in purity, in the understanding of things, -and based in the wisdom of a wise Father. Step by -step my faithful teacher led me on, until there was -no doubt travailing me, until I could stand in street, -or field, or forest, and feel my soul, my own undying -soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There never were other days like these and, -surely, there never will be again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We had then known one another for a long time. -I had become capable of reasoning, and had grave -cause for doing so. Was it all for the best? Will -it surprise you to know that constant companionship -with my mentor had awakened in me thoughts very -foreign to grammar and arithmetic?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I loved her. I knew it, but I also felt that that -love was doomed to be buried unsatisfied. A cat -may look at a queen, but that is about all a cat may -presume to do.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That is what my reason told me, but in my heart -there echoed a stirring hymn of fondest hope. It -would not let me rest, and I became a pestering -nuisance to my teacher. Many times daily would I -ask her the questions, "Why, why do you undergo -this ceaseless labor—why do you set yourself this -gigantic task of making of me a man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As in all other matters, I was rough and uncouth -in my annoying questioning, and an answer to it -was long refused. But my bulldog tenacity came -to my aid and I would not let go. Determination -will overcome a good many things, and surely a -little school teacher. I need not tell you how it -happened—you either know, or will know it yourself—but -one day we understood the question and the answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then life for us became a blessed thing indeed. -For the first time in my life I was supremely happy. -I cannot tell you how my little girl felt, but can give -a very strong guess at it, for my sweetheart never -wavered, never failed me, and was my very own -until the very last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My Mamie Rose, my bride, my dearest friend, my all.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It took me a long time to fully grasp that she had -really said "Yes," to the ever-important question, -but, as soon as I was quite sure of it, I assumed the -grand airs of proprietorship new swains usually -assume.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>First of all I exerted my prerogative of calling -her by her first name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although long under her tutelage and exposed to -her refining influence, I was by no means, very -polished, and still harbored many prejudices against -customs and usages not common to the social shift -from which I had sprung. The nomenclature of -my people is very limited. Only a very small choice -of male and female baptismal names is resorted to -by tenement house folk. John, James, Michael, -Patrick, Henry, George, Charles are the most used -male names; Maggie, Sadie, Susie, Lizzie, Nellie -and Mamie are the favorite female names, or, at -least, the favorite abbreviations of the names.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The name, Marie R. Deering, sounded a trifle too -fashionable, too "toney," to me, and I proceeded -to acclimatize it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mamie" is the abbreviation or substitute for -"Marie," so my little girl was immediately dubbed -"Mamie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "R."—the initial of her middle name, stood -for Rosetta, and it was decidedly against the code -of ethics of the Fourth Ward for any one to be -burdened by such an enormity. Again I officiated -at the imaginary baptismal font, and "Rosetta" -became a plain "Rose," sweet to me as no other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Let no one think for a moment that my changing -of names was accomplished without opposition. -Besides other things, little people also possess the -virtue of stubbornness, and many were the -arguments pro and con. I was told with most charming -emphasis that I could shout "Mamie Rose" to the -winds, but that she, Marie R. Deering, would never—no, -never—answer to that name. But, you know -the old saying about many little drops of water -penetrating the surface of the hardest stone, and the -same was true in this case. Also, it should not be -forgotten that she, my Mamie Rose, was of English -descent, I was of Irish stock, and it is in Ireland -where the Blarney stone is, which same instils a -wonderful magic in the love-making of every -descendant of good Erin's folk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We had barely sealed the compact of our love -when I received a fearful shock. My Mamie Rose -wanted me to inform her mother concerning what -had happened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Deering and myself had become very good -friends. On several occasions she had even been -my fellow-conspirator, by helping me to solve some -weird puzzles in multiplication, imposed on me by -her daughter. I had often sat at her table and had -spent many hours, made pleasant by her, in the cosy -home. However, all this did not seem sufficient to -screw my courage up to the required pitch. Many -particularly ticklish situations in my past life had -been met by me without flinching, but I actually -trembled when I was obliged to face this sweet lady -with my portentous information and request.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If I had trembled with fear before telling her, I -trembled with joy after it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could hardly believe my senses when I did not -hear one word of regret or reproach from her lips. -And when she said quietly, and, therefore, most -impressively: "I have no fear for Marie's future," -I became her bonded slave right on the spot, and -hold myself in bondage to her to this very day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Richard, my brave, crippled Dick—my "other" -pal—was most effusive in his congratulations, but, -he admitted to me his was a selfish reason, for now -I was his big brother in "dead earnest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Naturally, all this gave me an increased impetus -to earn more money, and I put so much zeal into -my work that my wages were several times -increased. Nevertheless, I was still nothing more or -less than a "baggage smasher." However, all of it, -courtship and the rest, was so entirely out of the -ordinary that a little thing like this did not cause us -any worry. And if one happens to be a "baggage-smasher," -it does not follow that one must always -remain one. Besides, the queen did not mind it, -and as to the cat, well—there is no use in talking -to you if you cannot imagine what the cat thought -about it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="ambassador-bill"><span class="bold large">AMBASSADOR BILL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AMBASSADOR BILL.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One who has been somewhat neglected in the few -preceding pages is my old pal, my Bill. His soul, -heart, instinct, call it what you will, was -undergoing severe trials.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mamie Rose was the cause of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With her coming into our lives, she sowed the -seed of jealousy between me and Bill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bill found a new joy in trotting beside my teacher -at times when he should have been at my side. He -seemed the proudest dog in all the world and hardly -deigned to notice me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This I resented.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the other hand, at times when Mamie Rose -and I would sit close together, Bill could not rest -until, with all his mighty prowess, he had squirmed -himself between us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a long time he did not know whom of his -two friends he should love the best. But, with -coming weeks and months, he decided to share his -affection evenly, and then we understood one another's -feelings and respected our relative positions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Would that I could take a peep into Bill's doggish -brain and read the memory of those heavenly days!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A man who is born to coarseness and brutality -will sometimes lose control of his acquired -attainments. There came a day, long forgiven and -forgotten by her, but not yet sufficiently atoned by me, -when I permitted the subdued brute within me to -assert itself for one brief moment. I saw -immediately what I had done, and realized that my -rowdyism could not be forgiven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then was a lapse in deepest shadows. Regrets, -reproaches, self-accusations—what good were they? -They could not lead me back to paradise. The room -became a place of silent brooding, and not as -regularly shared by Bill as formerly. Bill had taken no -part in our estrangement. Emotional dog as he -was, he never forgot to take care of the inner dog -whenever an opportunity presented itself. From -the very beginning he had industriously cultivated -the acquaintance of my little girl's mother. First, -becomingly modest, he had, in the course of time, -insisted on being a regular guest at the dinner-table. -I meant to break him of this habit, but the mother -told me in confidence that Bill had whispered to -her, quite plainly: "I think you are the very best -cook in the world." Few women can resist such -a compliment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For two long days I had not seen her—had not -heard her voice. She lived just around the corner, -and, from the window of my tenement, I could see -the walls that sheltered my treasure, that I thought -forever lost. I sat and sat and stared at the cruel -bricks that seemed to cry, "Halt!" Small wonder -that the lesser things of life had lost their importance -to me! Even Bill had, for the nonce, but little space -in my thoughts; but he lost no time in bringing -himself most forcibly to my notice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was at the window, and the door way slightly -ajar. All was quiet, very quiet, until a slow patter -on the stairs told of my partner's home-coming. -My most casual glance was his share on entering -the room. He was very anxious to avail himself -of this, and made quickly for the sheltering shadows -under the bed. But my careless glance had quickly -changed to one of concern on beholding him, and, -after much coaxing, he crawled out to face me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My valiant knight had met his conqueror. The -hero of many a battle sat wounded and bandaged -before me. His left eye was swathed in linen. He -tried to pass over the matter lightly; he wagged his -tail, but only once, for that, too, was bandaged. -Then he threw himself on my mercy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It behooved me, as his partner, to investigate -the extent of the damage, and I carefully untied -the bandage that covered his eye. It was only a -trifling scratch, suspiciously like one made by a -cat. I also noticed that his badge of honor—his -collar—was missing. On the point of throwing -aside the bandage, a handkerchief, my eye fell -on a well-known monogram in its corner, and—I -cannot exactly recall how it happened—but, in -the very next minute, my Bill and I were descending -the rickety stairs, two steps at a time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just as we turned the corner, a belligerent-looking -tabby made herself exceedingly conspicuous. Somehow, -Bill found the other side of the street preferable. -At her door he joined me again, and my -queen's ambassador led the way upstairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There I stood before her, and stammered uncouth -phrases of apology. I mentioned Bill's collar. A -dainty hand took it from the mantel and handed it -to me; our fingers met and—all the world was -singing again the sweet refrain which for days had been -silent. The impudence of that dog beggars all -description. He had the unblushing nerve to claim -all the credit for having brought love's jangle into -tune again, and, in his excitement, rapped his -damaged caudal appendage three times on the floor -before he tried to bite it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then our happiness began once more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="my-debut-in-society"><span class="bold large">MY DÉBUT IN SOCIETY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MY DÉBUT IN SOCIETY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Had our future plans depended on my inclinations, -or rather my impulses, our wedding would -have taken place very soon after our engagement. -All I deemed necessary to insure our future -happiness was our love. All else was of no importance. -Now I know that her judgment was the better.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had sense enough to admit her wisdom. I was -still very much entangled in the forest of ignorance. -It could not have been right for me to force myself -on her, refined and cultured as she was—until, at -least approximately I was on the same level. I had -still much, very much, to learn before considering -myself capable to class myself with the non-illiterate. -There were years of study before me, yet, with such -a prize dancing before me, I threw myself into my -task with true enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, though I often grumbled at my fate, I fully -understood that it would be many moons before I -could justly say to my Mamie Rose: "Now I am -ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were both human. Sometimes, perhaps, in the -hour when the homing of the sun had come and -when the golden wings were folded for the rest -of one more night, we, Mamie Rose and I, in field -or rural quiet, felt the intoned, unison song of our -hearts, which sung to us that we were one, a unit, -and not two different personalities, and then we often -came very near to throwing aside all previous -sagacious resolves and felt ourselves fired by the -desire to end to-morrow this two-fold existence. -These periods never lasted long. The morrow came -and whispered: "Fools," and we forgot the swerving -from our intentions, in hard work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Since that time I have had many days of very -hard labor, but I never worked as I did then. -Corporations are not in the habit of paying liberal -salaries unless every cent of them is earned by the -sweat of your brow. For one in my humble position -I was receiving exceedingly high wages—and, to -be candid, I had to earn them by my sweat. Often -I was given an opportunity to work "over time" at -extra pay. It was always welcome, because it meant -so much more added to my deposit in the Savings -Bank, but it simply "played me out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From the pier I would hurry to Mamie Rose's -house to report or to receive a lesson, although, -sometimes, besides the lessons, other things were -discussed. Then home and to other work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had left the attic and had taken a room, from -where I could see Mamie Rose's roof. Arrived in the -room, Bill would be given his walk and dinner, and -then would be permitted to watch his master -"making himself educated." The Standard Oil Company -really ought to give me a discount. I was a good -customer, yet received not all the benefit possible -from the oil. My midnight oil often burned away -into morning to no better purpose than to throw -shadows of the sleeping student and his dog.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I blush with deep shame while making this -confession; I invariably fell asleep over Ralph Waldo -Emerson, while I had no trouble in keeping -awake with Alexandre Dumas. It is not intended -as a criticism of Emerson, although he could well -afford to be criticised by me, but, generally speaking, -it seems to one as unformed as myself, as if -the truths of life, of thought, of science come to -us always on stilts. I have not been able to learn -very much from present day novels, and am, and -always will be, compelled to fall back on old friends -to supply me with the scaffolding for the rather -meagre structure of my education. But, in spite -of loving them dearly, I often wish they were better -adapted to my understanding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, with books and work and sweet intercourse -with her whom I loved, time marched along with -never-halting step and was recorded by me with -most exact care. My calendars were model -chronicles of time, and often did I wish they were -practical statesmen, so that, by the usual means, they -could be speeded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With one exception nothing occurred to change -the even tenor of our lives. That one exception has, -to this very day left a peculiarly bitter taste in my -mouth. I admit I am biased in the matter, still, I -can be truthful, and so, that I may be better -understood, the episode will be related here.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Late one Saturday night, I had occasion to call -on one of my former pals, who was lying ill on a -cot in a lodging house near Chinatown. On my way -home, I passed the entrance to Chinatown—Pell -street, beginning at the Bowery. I had just greeted -a few of the men loafing about the front of Barney -Flynn's place—the palace of the King of the -Bowery—when I was hailed by some one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked around and saw a party of sightseers -coming in my direction. I had no more to do with -that sort of business and intended to proceed on my -way without paying any attention to them, but -was called by name by one of them, whose voice -was familiar to me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want?" I asked, and halted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter, Kil? Don't you remember -your friends any more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I looked at the speaker and knew him again as one -of my former pupils in the physical culture line. -To mention his name will do no good and I will -only say that he had been my favorite pupil and that -I had believed a mutual liking existed between us. -To prevent error, let me say that he had not been -my patient, being neither too fat nor too lean, but -had only taken a course in boxing to learn the -manly art of self-defense. I had never seen him -since the closing of my physical culture system and -was overjoyed at this unexpected meeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He insisted that, for this one time only, and to -oblige him, I should take him and the party of his -friends through Chinatown and show them the most -interesting sight-places. His friends were all from -out of town, seemed to be more serious than the -average sightseer, and were so strong in their -persuasion that I could not refuse to act as their guide.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During our journey along the old scenes of my -former days, my ex-pupil inquired into my present -welfare and was very glad to hear I was getting -along by other ways than those formerly employed -by me. Shortly before I parted from him, he told -me that he had taken very little exercise of late and -wanted me to box with him occasionally. I laughed -at his proposition, told him that I considered myself -retired for good, but did not think it advisable to -tell him the true reason for my refusal. He kept -on increasing the terms he was willing to pay me. -I could not help thinking how the additional income -would increase my deposit; thereby bringing me -closer to the realization of my fondest dream, and, -after some reflection, I agreed to call on him twice -a week in the evening to "don the mitts" with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had called on him several times before I told -him how completely my life had been changed. In -this Mamie Rose was not left out, and, you can -rest assured, my accounts of her sweetness, -devotion and beauty were given in the most glowing -colors. My regard for this man was sincere and I -supposed that all I told him was received in the -proper spirit. I am not garrulous, but when it came -to talking about my Mamie Rose, I knew no limits. -My heart simply glowed with love, and I never grew -tired to praise her, who was the truest and best.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My man never omitted to inquire after her and -even sent her a few presents through me. Mamie -Rose warned me against this, but the things were -beyond my means and added to her charm, and I -would not listen to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the end of one of our sessions, my ex-pupil -extended an invitation to me. He had told his -mother about me and she was very anxious to know -me. At a certain date I was expected to call at -his mother's residence—he, himself, lived in bachelor -quarters—to meet a few friends there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this invitation Mamie Rose was also included. -I was bubbling over with excitement when telling -her about the honor fallen to us. The quiet way -in which she received my news disappointed me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aren't you glad?" I asked. "Doesn't this prove -that my friend is of the right calibre and wishes -to honor both you and me by this invitation to his -mother's house?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could feel quite sure on that point," -said my little adviser, "but I am afraid that this -invitation instead of bringing us pleasure, will bring -just the opposite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, girl o' mine," I coaxed, "I know this fellow -and you don't. He is as good as gold and you may -believe me that the invitation was extended in good -faith."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I prevailed, and, on the appointed day, we invaded -the most fashionable quarters of the city to enjoy -the hospitality of our friends, the swells.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After we had passed the scrutiny of the man at -the door, who had evidently been told of our coming, -we were ushered into a drawing room. The only -one I knew among the people was my ex-pupil, -who quickly came forward to greet us and, then, to -introduce us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In spite of my lack of familiarity with the customs -of the upper classes, I saw at a glance that the -crowd had been expectant and was now disappointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To explain this disappointment, I should mention -that my wearing apparel consisted of a black suit -of good material and workmanship. My necktie -was not colored in imitation of the rainbow and I -had no occasion to look for a convenient spot for -my expectorations. To carry the disappointment -further, I acted contrarily to expectations at the -dinner table. I neglected to carry the food to my -mouth at the point of my knife and forgot to dip -my finger into the salt-cellar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My Mamie Rose was, as always, becomingly -and properly gowned, and carried herself with a -tact which fortified me against giving full reins to -my temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before entering the dining-room, the two freaks -from the Bowery were made the centre of much -curiosity. The men got around me, expecting to hear -choice stories of a certain kind, which contrary to -accepted ideas, are not original in the Bowery, but -are brought there by these pioneers of refined -civilization. Their faces fell when I proved a decided -failure at that sort of story-telling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While in their midst, I did not forget Mamie -Rose, who was the centre of the female -freak-hunters. I compared her poise, her naturalness, -to the artificial sprightliness of the society ladies, -and found it so admirable and sufficient, that I -could well afford to laugh at the winks and sneers -exchanged behind her back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One old woman, who with her gray hair, made -a reverential picture of old age, deliberately -surveyed my Mamie Rose through her lorgnette, as -if the sweetest girl there or elsewhere were an -escaped beast from the jungle. I could not bear this -and started toward my girl. But she felt my -coming, turned to me and showed in her eye the -competency to withstand the illy veiled sneers and -insults of that horde of her sisters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few minutes before dinner was announced, I -had an opportunity to entreat Mamie Rose to have -us leave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not want to come, but now we are here -and here we stay," was her spirited dictum.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ceremonial style of the meal and the -conversation during it impressed me very little. The -emptiness, the superficiality and the desire to "show -off" was too palpable. I had not then—or now—reached -that altitude of social perfection to make a -meal the most important function of my day's work. -After we, the gentlemen, (I am afraid I was not -included), had had our smoke and bout with the -decanters, we joined the ladies in the drawing room. -One of them had evidently been "laying for me," -and captured me as soon as I entered. I was led -to a settee and there we had a very, very serious talk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She asked me this and she asked me that; if the -dives were really as horrible as pictured; if it was -quite safe to visit them; if I would consent to act -as guide, for a generous compensation; if I had ever -witnessed any "interesting" scenes down on the -Bowery; and—spare me telling the rest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My answers were not what were desired and, -at last, I had a sample of frank truthfulness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, Mr. Kildare," said my resplendent -companion, "you are a decided disappointment as -a Bowery type, and not at all the entertaining chap -we had been led to believe you to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure that is more the fault of time than of -me," I replied. "Years often make us lose our -entertaining qualities and, also, our attractiveness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our serious talk ended with this, still, she was a -surprisingly well made-up woman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last the time for our departure came and I -said my adieus. Our visit having proved more or -less of a fiasco, one of the more intimate friends -of the family chose this moment to make an attempt -to save the "entertainment" from becoming an -absolute fizzle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I say, Kildare," began this worthy young man, -who was doubtless unacquainted with my past -performances in the exhibition of my temper, "you've -been in society now, and it would be very appropriate -if you were to tell us your impressions in your -own language—mind you, in your own language."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For once the pleading in the eye of my Mamie -Rose was of no avail, and I started to give my -impressions in "my own language," which proved -sufficient, and did not oblige me to borrow the -language of anybody else. My heart was soured. -I did not care a snap of my fingers for the opinion -of these people. To them I was a freak. What -they were, what they are to me, need not be -written here. I could have laughed at it all and -would have been the only one really entertained. -But to think that those people, purse and -caste-proud, should include my Mamie Rose in their -sport, made my blood run like boiling lava.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How far I might have gone in my outburst I -cannot say. The same little hand, which had always -been my guide, touched my arm, and I followed her -out into the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before we departed, mother and son came to us -with their sincere apologies. They were sincere, -we felt that and accepted them. The son accused -himself of having misunderstood the situation, in -which I agreed with him. We were most graciously -invited to dine with them "en famille," a few days -hence, but while we left in the best understanding, -the invitation was thankfully declined.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again out in the air, under God's own heaven, -we walked along silently for quite a while. My, -but I felt ashamed, and was ready to hear with -perfect composure my Mamie Rose's "I told you so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it did not come, and I began rehearsing my -plea for pardon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Girl o' mine," I pleaded, "won't you forgive -me this time, and I promise never——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ere I could finish, my pardon came with a silvery -laugh, and the world went very well again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Less than an hour after that, we were without -the pale of society and, strange though it may seem, -we were perfectly happy. My Mamie Rose was -busy with her school-work, the mother was taking -a well-earned rest—perhaps trying to take a little -nap in the rocker, and the little fellow and I were -racing about the place to the tune of "The Rocky -Road to Dublin," sung—let me call it that—by me -in tones that shook the rafters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Within the last twelve months, I have been -honored on several occasions with invitations to -functions of the upper set. They were extended in a -different spirit than the first one, still, I could not see -my way clear to accept them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I want to say most emphatically that I am not -of anarchistic or nihilistic tendencies. We all have -our work cut out, and my work is not in the direction -of stirring up emotional outbursts of charity in the -drawing rooms of the upper circles.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-journey-home"><span class="bold large">THE JOURNEY HOME.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE JOURNEY HOME.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Time passed on, bringing with it many of the -things I was striving for. To become a learned -man, a scientist, was never my desire, and, most -likely, would have been an impossibility had I -desired it. What I wanted was to be able to -understand, to acquire a fair amount of mental balance, -and then, to be able to put the acquired knowledge -to the best use.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the changing of my life, a changing of aims -had also come, and, as in the old life, I was striving -for success in the new life. The best way to make -an ambition possible is to make the ambition reasonable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was still groping and groping, but thank God, -I was groping forward. From whatever darkness -still enshrouded me I kept steadily emerging closer -to the light. I felt this and it made me feel that -my probation should be ended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Success without thrift is not well possible. My -material advancement had continued. I had again -been promoted and had soared way above the lowly -position of a "baggage-smasher." My salary was -more than ample for my needs, and my deposit -in the savings bank had grown wondrously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Capitalists are proverbially aggressive. I, being -one of the order acted accordingly and began to -force matters. Women like to be coaxed and urged, -and I did my proper share of it, because I knew -it would result as it did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the consent of the mother, the date of our -wedding was set for February.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again another glorious period began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was over two months until the fixed date -on which we were to become man and wife, and we -thought it necessary to inform ourselves concerning -several practical details. As I had now almost -succeeded in securing a mentor for life, we agreed to -suspend our evening lecture tours, and spent most -of our time in wandering from store to store.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The time for buying household goods had not -yet come, but it seemed to delight Mamie Rose to -gaze into the shop-windows. At times, we would -even go so far as to enter a store and price the -goods. It was then that my admiration for my little -girl increased again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had long ago recognized that of common sense -I had only a very small share, and it was a splendid -object-lesson to see my Mamie Rose dealing with -the tradesmen. Calm and collected, she would listen -to the smooth talk, and then act according to her own -judgment, which was always sound. I knew nothing -then of the sagacity of women shoppers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One night I attempted to show off a little of my -business sagacity. I chose a bad subject to practice -on—diamonds. I can still hear her words ring in -my ears. How foolish it was of poor people to -stint and starve themselves for the sake of imitating -flashy people by wearing jewels bought at the -expense of something more useful. Diamonds and -jewels were often the means of making the ignorance -of the wearers more conspicuous. A woman who -wears jewels knows that she needs other attractions -than those given to her by nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Right here I got the best of my Mamie Rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That may be all true, but nevertheless, I am -going to buy you a ring, girl o' mine," I said very -seriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you will not, because you know I do not -want it, and it will only offend me to have you give -me one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" I retorted, playing my part with perfection. -"Won't you permit me to buy you a ring for -that day in February?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that is different, and—why are you laughing, -Owen Kildare?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Oh, girl o' mine, girl o' mine, why had it to be!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day was only weeks distant.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was in January, and we were out on one of -our nightly rambles in the shopping district. It was -one of those mild winter evenings which make -our climate so uneven. I was glad of it, because -my Mamie Rose was a dainty, delicate little -creature, and on cold evenings I was afraid that she -might suffer from the weather.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We were looking at some furniture displayed -in a window, when a shower fell. We were caught -right squarely in it. I wanted her to seek refuge -in a store, or at least, in a doorway, but we were -only a short distance from her home, and she insisted -on reaching it before the shower turned into a -downpour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had a heavy overcoat over a stout suit of clothes. -"Let me put, at least, my overcoat over your -shoulders," I insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, you foolish boy, no," she laughed in -answer. "Why, we're only a jump from home, and I -am dressed warm enough to risk these few drops."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For once my Mamie Rose was wrong and it -was the "once" that counted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My misgivings were many when I left her at -her home, but she assured me that she was in no -danger of feeling the effects of the dampness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I called on the following evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been in bed all day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of course it was nothing. "Just a trifling cold," -that was all—but the beginning of the end had come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed at us for our fears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, I'll be up and about the same as ever -to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To-morrow! To-morrow multiplied into dread, -fearsome weeks. Yes, for weeks she painfully -lingered on her bed, and I marveled with awe at -the heroic spirit of my little girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The weakness increased until she looked like a -dainty statue hewn in alabaster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was only a trifle more than a week before -the date set for our wedding. The physician -stepped from her bed and beckoned me to follow him -into the next room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You know what he told me, and you know that -I did not believe him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The end coming? Pshaw, what nonsense! Was -there not a loving, a merciful God above us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I could not deny the evidence before me. She -was getting worse every day, but I could not, would -not, believe that, which even her mother had -accepted with resignation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And next week we were to be married!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Spells came, during which reason left her, but in -all her conscious moments she spoke to me with the -wisdom of another world, and gave me then her -legacy of purest, Godliest love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then came the day!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The afternoon sun was low when she asked me to -lift her to the window. It was a humble neighborhood, -devoid of all picturesqueness. All we saw -in the last sheen of the sun's departing rays was a -little girl on the opposite sidewalk, playing with a -kitten. The picture was very simple, but my beloved -one watched with smiling interest until her tired -little head fell on my shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was so light, one did hardly know anything -was in his arms, and without disturbing her -reposing position, I carried her back to her couch. -Back in her bed, we clasped hands, as foolish lovers -will do, and, still confident, still hoping, lulled by the -quiet and her happy smile, I fell asleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly I was awakened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hand was not in mine. Her mother, weeping, -knelt beside the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why——?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I understood, and in that same moment the -edifice reared by her with such infinite care shook -to its very foundations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the twinkling of an eye I was my old self again. -The brute, so long subdued and partly tamed, arose -in me with fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I drove them from the room. No one, except me, -had a right there. And then, alone with her, I -reveled in my sorrow, or burst into wild rage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There, on the dome above us, were all the glistening -orbs, which she had taught me were radiant -evidences of God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What mockery!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I rushed to the casement, and bellowing in delirium, -I shook my fist at moon and stars—and cursed -the Mighty Presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then came an interval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a time I was cool and realized.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her soul had flown to the realms above.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alone with her, I sat for minutes, hours, -eternities, it seemed, and every lovely feature of my -Mamie Rose became forever engraven upon my -mind and heart. My right hand was resting on hers, -my left was hanging motionless by my side. Something -rubbed against it. It was Bill, and all he had -been to me was forgotten. No one, not even he, had -a right there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again the beast flared up, and for the first and -last time my Bill felt the brutal force of my wrath. -He returned defiantly from the corner where he -had landed and spoke his valid claim:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a right here, Kil. You loved her, so did -I, and I can understand your sorrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I let him stay, and through that bitter night man -and dog kept their silent vigil beside the bier of her -who had loved both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps I was wrong to profane the quiet -chamber by the presence of my Bill, but I know she -would have sanctioned it—we three were square, -honest comrades.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the coming of the same sun whose going -she and I had watched only a few hours ago, came -saner, holier thoughts. A message seemed to float -to me from her sacred lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I knelt and prayed, "Thy will be done."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Spare me telling you where, how and when she -was buried. What difference does it make to you -how she went her last journey, never to return in -the flesh? Whether we had her buried in mountains -of her favorite flower or sent her away in the -pine box of the pauper, is of no consequence to you. -She was nothing to you, she was mine, all mine; in -life or in death, on earth or in heaven.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-inheritance"><span class="bold large">THE INHERITANCE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE INHERITANCE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Little more is to be told.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Time has smoothed the jagged edges, and I have -never again dared to measure my puny wisdom to -His. Yet, and there is a forgiveness, no day passes -without the question: "Is what I have learned worth -the tuition fee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>True, my knowledge is trifling when compared -to yours, but we also differ in our "Whence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To me it is all a miracle. Before it I did not even -grope about in the darkness searching for light.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was satisfied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now I know at least that there is a soul, a mind -within me, and that they were given for a purpose. -There are limits to my understanding, and why it -was that just as the portals of the better life were -slowly opening to me, my little guide should fall -exhausted on the threshold, is now a mystery to me, -but will some day be answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after the funeral the mother and the little -brother went West to the elder son to make their -future home with him. That left just Bill and me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We got used to it in time. We had always had -the same likes and hobbies, and we found ways to -spend our time with profit to ourselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Down here, where we live, there are few trees -and flowers, and even air is at a premium. Air is -necessary, and Bill and I have devised a scheme to -get it as pure as possible under the circumstances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The roaring bustle of lower Broadway turns into -deadly silence with the fall of evening. For miles, -excepting a watchman or policeman, you will -scarcely see a living being. That is where Bill and -I enjoy our pleasant pastime. After the day's work -is ended we travel through the quiet streets until -we reach our stoop in the yawning dark cañon of -the skyscrapers. We do not talk much; there is -better intercourse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From where we sit we gaze up at the skies and -greet the merry twinkle of our glistening friends. -Then through the dancing myriads of celestial -bodies our vision winds its way on through the -mazes, and does not stop until it sees the most -beloved spirit in all the glory of the heavenly home. -Every star reflects her face in brilliants, and from -behind the hazy veilings of the cloud-smile her eyes -shine radiantly. Bill and I go home, not lonely, not -sad or soured, for we have spent the hours in the -anteroom of heaven and have learned another lesson -in the quiet night.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The firmament and the stars are for all of us; -their glories shine for all mankind. You, gentle -reader, may learn to know them—to own them—but, -alas! you cannot own my Bill. Perhaps you -would not care for him. He never was handsome, -and now he is getting old and might not be to you -a pleasant companion. But he has traveled with -me along life's highway; he has never told a lie; -he has been loyal and true, and there's not in all -this world another dog like my good old pal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For some time after the going-home of my -Mamie Rose I was ill, but found my position still -open for me after regaining my health. I was not -so strong as I had been, but did not wish to neglect -my work, and, overtasking myself, an accident -permanently incapacitated me for that kind of -employment. I had to submit to an operation—to be -repeated later—and the expense of it, with the long -and enforced idleness, soon exhausted the remainder -of my savings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was then that the old past crooned the tempter's -lay. But for only a very short time was I near the -brink, from which it would have been easy to drop -back into the black abyss from whence I had come.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I overcame my temptation, and, since then, have -had no fear that I would revert to my former ways -of wickedness. I have learned to understand life, -feel mind and soul within me, and I want to go on, -not back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, besides, there is the legacy of her who has -taught and inspired me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some who will approve of my determination to go -on might disapprove of the immediate methods -employed by me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I had to go to work and was compelled to accept -the first opportunity offered to me. I became a -dishwasher in a downtown lunchroom at three -dollars a week.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was unsavory work, but it was work, and left -me time in the evenings and on Sundays to live -in my books.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bill and I were again reduced to the attic. It did -not affect us very much, as we were both in a mood -in which we did not care for the nicety of our -environment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day I heard that a man I knew wanted to -see me to tell me about a better job, which, however, -was in the dishwashing line, too. He was staying -at a lodging house. He was not in when I called -there, and I sat down in the reading room to wait -for him. The tables were covered with daily papers -which are furnished free by the lodging house -keepers, and I took one to while the time away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the Evening Journal. I glanced through -the news columns and then meant to drop the paper. -The only page which had absolutely no interest -for me was the women's page. Once, indeed, it had -helped to built castles in Spain, and the patterns of -gay frocks and dresses had made our "dreams to -come true" more enjoyable, but now—it was all different.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Throwing the paper to the table it happened that -just that women's page was uppermost. I did not -read it, but every once in a while my glance would -sweep the page in rambling look. At the bottom -of it there was a caption in big type: "The Evening -Journal's True Love Story Contest." The caption -was so conspicuous that my eye could not help -meeting it every time I looked at the page. My wait -was long. I did not care to go over the news -columns again, and at last I began reading the True -Love Story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not a bad story, still the features of it -were not very extraordinary. I finished it, and -then soliloquized.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If the story of this man is worth printing, why -not mine? All there is to his story is that he and -the girl had a quarrel before the marriage -eventually took place. Neither one of them had to -undergo a self-sacrifice. Would it be sacrilegious to -tell the story of my Mamie Rose? Or would it not -rather inspire greater unselfishness in those who -are in love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I discussed this question with myself for some -time, and then came to the conclusion that the -memory of my little girl would not be profaned by -having the story of our love told. To this very day I -am not sure whether I did right in giving way to -my inclination. Perhaps I acted indelicately, but -on the other hand I am not refined or cultured, and -the dictates of my heart are generally decisive in -a question of this kind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I did not have a scrap of paper in my pocket, but -saw a piece of yellow wrapping paper on the floor. -I examined its cleanliness, and, finding it fairly -clean, began to write my story. The conditions -were rather severe for an amateur author. The -story had to be told in less than seven hundred and -fifty words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After the last line was written I hurried to the -office of the Evening Journal, not trusting the -stability of my impulse. A very imposing young man -condescended to receive my contribution, and, -instead of reading it immediately, threw it carelessly -aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a story for the 'Prize Contest,'" I -whispered, falteringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it? I thought it was an editorial on the -relative positions of England and Russia in Manchuria. -Anyway, don't let it worry you, it won't worry us. -We haven't anything to do with that kind of stuff; -it goes up to the editor of the women's page."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If that young man could have read my thoughts -he would have been surprised to find how near he -was to trouble. The story of my only blessing -called "stuff" by that young whippersnapper!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not until many months later did I understand -that "stuff" meant anything and everything from -an essay to a two-line joke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I firmly believe that I was the first buyer of the -Evening Journal on the following day. I turned -to the women's page, but did not find my story. -The following day brought the same experience, -and I felt certain then that my "stuff" had found -its way into the waste basket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the third day I saw the name, Owen Kildare, -for the first time in print. I had won the prize and -received my check. My elation knew no bounds, -and when, after a few days, letters full of sympathy -reached me, I was certain that I had not done wrong -in writing that little story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My thoughts found something new to think -about. If this story, written under adverse -circumstances and without any preparation, could win -a prize, why could I not write other stories about -the men and women I had known, and about -the things and scenes I had seen and am still -seeing? If, as in some of the stories which I had read -in reputable magazines, untruths and deliberate -misrepresentations can find a place in print, the -truth about us—the people of the slums—should -surely be also worthy of publication.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My mind was full of incidents witnessed by me -through the many years I spent in slummery, and, -without any difficulty, I wrote a story of the life I -know best.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sent the story to McClure's Magazine. It was -accepted and partly paid for, but later returned to -me because it was a trifle "too true." I sold it three -days later to the Sunday Press, and the editor, -Mr. William Muller, invited me to become a contributor. -The invitation was gladly accepted, and short stories, -editorials and special articles, all treating of my -peculiar phase, have since then been written by me for -that paper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During my connection with the Press I learned -much from Andrew McKenzie, who succeeded William -Muller as Sunday editor, and who never tired -of pruning my "copy" with kind care. There -also I met one of the finest men that it has -ever been my pleasure to know, Hilary Bell, who, -besides being the critic of the paper, was an -artist and literateur of high degree, and so devoted -to his work that the zeal with which he pursued -his studies brought him to a much too early end. -Bright, staunch, manly, Hilary Bell is no more, but -his memory will live forever in my grateful heart. -In the fall of 1901 the Sunday Herald published -a story, "How To Be a Gentleman on Ten Thousand -a Year." I happened to read it and, providing one -has the other and more essential qualities, thought -it no hard matter to keep from starvation on that -amount. The story was written in a spirit of -complaint, reciting how difficult it was to be a -"somebody" in society on that figure. Down here on the -Bowery and East Side we have gentlemen, though -some may doubt it, and they manage to retain their -claim to the title on very much less than ten -thousand. The contrast was so wide that I could not -refrain from writing about it and submitting it to -the Herald.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dinwiddie, the Sunday editor, sent me a -letter asking me to call. I had called the story "How -To Be a Gentleman on Three Dollars a Week." The -editor thought my story a trifle exaggerated, -and it took some time to convince him that the truth -had not been stretched. But at last the story was -printed, and I followed it up with other stories -about my people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In January, 1902, Mr. Hartley Davis, the editor -of the Sunday News, invited me to become a steady -contributor to that paper. The News had always -been the paper of the Fourth Ward, and you can -easily imagine what a stir it created among some -of my old friends when they saw my name so -frequently at the bottom of a story. In the "front -rooms" of many humble homes down there I have -seen some of my stories hang proudly, and framed, -in the place of honor on the wall. And it has made -me feel good. Not so much because of the -self-satisfaction, although let me be frank and state that -very often when I know and feel I have written a -fairly good story, I cannot hide my pride in my -work and glory in it, for it proves to me that all was -not in vain—but because it shows that even these -poor people whom you think so vile, so demoralized, -are glad to recognize it with sincerity, when one -from among them succeeds in climbing a few steps -on the ladder of useful decency and manhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During my connection with the Sunday News I -had a chat with Hartley Davis which was the starting -point of this book. I had returned to the office -from an assignment, and, after reporting to the -editor, made a few comments on the scenes just left by -me. We fell into a discussion on the slums, and -Hartley Davis congratulated me on my escape from -them. My origin was not known to my readers at -the time. This point was accentuated by Davis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kildare, if the readers of the Sunday News knew -how you were developed from a seller of the paper -on the streets to a writer for it, they would have -greater faith in your stories of your people and in -you. A chance was offered to you and you took -advantage of it. When a man is a Bowery tough at -thirty, unable to read, and at thirty-seven starts -in to earn his living by writing, it is worth the telling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I said: "It was not a chance, it was a miracle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a difference of opinion. To settle the -difference and to adopt the suggestion made, I wrote -my story for the Sunday News and was surprised -at the sympathetic response it awakened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Below, you will find a copy of the epitome written -by Hartley Davis at the publication of my story:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">NEW YORK SUNDAY NEWS.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">February 2, 1902.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">AN EPITOME OF THE CAREER OF OWEN KILDARE.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That a man should, with the aid of a good woman, -raise himself from the depths of brutish -degradation to an honest manhood and regard for things -pure and holy is a fine thing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That a man should reach the age of thirty without -being able to read and write, and then, within a -few years, with the aid of this woman and through -his own indomitable will and energy, gain such -mastery over the art of writing as to be able to tell -such a story as is here presented, is so strange, so -unprecedented as to warrant unbelief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Owen Kildare is a real man and that is his real -name. He is widely known on the Bowery, where -he lives. The writer of this knew him when he -was a bartender in Steve Brodie's saloon and when -he was a "bouncer" in the frightful dive to which -he refers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His article is printed as it was written, with no -more editing than the "copy" of the average trained -writer would receive, and it has a power that is rare -in these days. Glance at this epitome of his life, -and wonder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>1864—Born in Catharine street. Orphaned in his -infancy and adopted by a childless couple.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>1870—Became a newsboy in the gang of which -Timothy D. Sullivan was the leader, and fended -for himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>1880—A "beer slinger" in a tough Bowery dive and -a pugilist. His fighting capacity and -brutishness made him a bouncer in one of the -most infamous resorts New York has ever known.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>1894—Met the little school teacher through -protecting her from insult, who taught him to read -and write and who made a man of him. -Gave up working in dives, where he made -sixty dollars a week, more or less -dishonestly, to work for eight dollars a week.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>1900—Death of the little school teacher one month -before they were to be married.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>1902—From a newsboy, selling the Daily News, he -became a writer for this newspaper.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In no profession are the changes as frequent as in -journalism, and not long after the appearance of my -story, I became a writer on the staff of the Evening -World. While there I "ran" a series of sketches on -the editorial page of the paper. They were written -in language closely resembling the real idiom of the -Bowery. I called the series "The Bowery Girl -Sketches," and their indorsement by the readers was -exceedingly flattering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>My experiment in Bowery language attracted the -attention of William Guard, editor of The Sunday -Telegraph, who made me a very favorable proposition. -My stories in that paper were written in -Bowery "slang," which is not slang at all, but merely the -primitive way of expression my fellows use. The -stories were signed by "The Bowery Kipling," a -sobriquet which my old and good friend, John -J. Jennings, of the Evening World, had given me. At -no time during my work for the Telegraph had the -"other" Kipling occasion to sue me for libel or -infringement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This newspaper experience has been of great value -to me, but it is not the career I would care to pursue -for the rest of my life. In it reward is too often the -consequence of accident, instead of being the logical -sequel of merit and striving. The constant physical -and mental strain affords many excuses for stimulants, -and absolutely temperate newspaper men are -among the rarities. As said before, the changes are -many in editorial offices, and at every shifting of -editors, the staffs are also included and obliged to -decamp. There seems to be no stability as far as -permanent employment is concerned, unless a -contract is signed. But contracts are only signed with -the stars of journalism and the "small fry" is always -in fear and trembling about their jobs. Still, -personally, throughout my short stay in newspaperdom, -I have had many kindnesses and courtesies extended -to me, and the schooling was appreciated and -digested by me.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In January, 1903, I was asked by the Success -Magazine to write my story for that publication. -While preparing the story I had the pleasure of -making the acquaintance of Hall Caine, the -distinguished novelist from the Isle of Man. He has -often been made the subject of much criticism, but, -this being a story of facts and not a critical essay, -I can only say that Hall Caine is a man worth -knowing, and I value very highly the letter he sent me -after reading the story for Success in manuscript.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I herewith append the letter:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"My Dear Mr. Kildare: I have read your story, -and I have been deeply touched by it. Nothing more -true or human has come my way for many a day. -It is a real transcript from life, and that part of it -which deals with the little lady who was so great -and so ennobling an influence in your life, brought -tears to my eyes and the thrill to my heart. I am -not using the language of flattery when I say that -no great writer would be ashamed of the true -delicacy and reserve with which you have dealt with the -more solemn and sacred passages of your life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was a true pleasure to me to meet you personally, -and no conversation I have had on this side -of the ocean has moved me to more sympathy. I -wish you every proper success, and I feel sure that -such a life as yours has been, and such a memory -as brightens and solemnizes your past, can only lead -you from strength to strength, from good to better.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That this may be so will be my earnest wish for -you long after I have left your American shores.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With kindest greetings, HALL CAINE."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The story was published in the February number -of Success, and the response was—I do not know -how to describe it—astounding, amazing, yes, -almost embarrassing. Over four thousand letters -reached me from all parts of the country, and the -editor received letters from ministers informing him -that the story had been read by them from the pulpit -in place of the regular sermon. My heart throbbed -when I saw how the miracle performed by my -Mamie Rose in the name of God had moved the -many, and again had I cause to thank my Maker -for having sent her to me—if even for so short a -time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Through Mr. Powlison I was invited to speak -before several branches of the Y.M.C.A., and, -though my delivery and elocution are very much -at variance with oratorical methods, the story of the -miracle proved again that our God is the same God, -the God of old and of new.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I believe that I can see my path before me. I -shall write. Brilliancy, elegance of diction and a -choice vocabulary will not be found in my stories -and articles, but the truth is there, as I have seen it, -as I have lived it, and that is something.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is the direction in which my ambition lies. -I want to be a writer with a clearly defined purpose. -I want to tell the plain truth about men and things -as I know them and see them every day in the homes -of the tenements, in those abodes of friendless, -hopeless men, many of whom were once as good and -respectable as any of you. I want to dedicate my -pen, no matter how ungifted, to their service, that -others may know, as I know, of the places and -conditions where fellow-beings begin to rail against -their God and men because they deem themselves -forgotten. I want to show that often their hearts -hunger most and not their stomachs, and want to -ask you to believe that they, as well as others, -cannot only feel hunger and cold, but can also love and -despair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I feel that there is work in this field for me, and -it is my ambition to become successful in it and -worthy of it, as a living testimony that one of God's -sweetest daughters has not lived and died in vain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is the story of the miracle wrought by my -Mamie Rose.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS -<br />IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library -size. Printed on excellent paper—most of them with -illustrations of marked beauty—and handsomely bound in cloth. -Price, 75 cents a volume, postpaid.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. By Myrtle Reed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone -romance finds a modern parallel. One of the prettiest, sweetest, and -quaintest of old-fashioned love stories * * * A rare book, -exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate fancy, of tenderness, -of delightful humor and spontaneity. A dainty volume, especially -suitable for a gift.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>DOCTOR LUKE OF THE LABRADOR. By Norman -Duncan. With a frontispiece and inlay cover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How the doctor came to the bleak Labrador coast and there in saving -life made expiation. In dignity, simplicity, humor, in sympathetic -etching of a sturdy fisher people, and above all in the echoes of the -sea, </span><em class="italics">Doctor Luke</em><span> is worthy of great praise. Character, humor, -poignant pathos, and the sad grotesque conjunctions of old and new -civilizations are expressed through the medium of a style that has -distinction and strikes a note of rare personality.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE DAY'S WORK. By Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The </span><em class="italics">London Morning Post</em><span> says: "It would be hard to find better -reading * * * the book is so varied, so full of color and life from -end to end, that few who read the first two or three stories will lay it -down till they have read the last—and the last is a veritable gem -* * * contains some of the best of his highly vivid work * * * -Kipling is a born story-teller and a man of humor into the bargain."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>ELEANOR LEE. By Margaret E. Sangster. With a frontispiece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A story of married life, and attractive picture of wedded bliss * * * -an entertaining story of a man's redemption through a woman's love -* * * no one who knows anything of marriage or parenthood can -read this story with eyes that are always dry * * * goes straight -to the heart of every one who knows the meaning of "love" and -"home."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS. By John -Reed Scott. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Full of absorbing charm, sustained interest, and a wealth of -thrilling and romantic situations." "So naively fresh in its handling, -so plausible through its naturalness, that it comes like a mountain -breeze across the far-spreading desert of similar -romances."—</span><em class="italics">Gazette-Times, Pittsburg</em><span>. "A slap-dashing day -romance."—</span><em class="italics">New York Sun</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE FAIR GOD; OR, THE LAST OF THE TZINS. -By Lew Wallace. With illustrations by Eric Pape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The story tells of the love of a native princess for Alvarado, and it -is worked out with all of Wallace's skill * * * it gives a fine -picture of the heroism of the Spanish conquerors and of the culture and -nobility of the Aztecs."—</span><em class="italics">New York Commercial Advertiser</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Ben Hur</em><span> sold enormously, but </span><em class="italics">The Fair God</em><span> was the best of the -General's stories—a powerful and romantic treatment of the defeat of -Montezuma by Cortes."—</span><em class="italics">Athenaeum</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS. By Louis Tracy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A story of love and the salt sea—of a helpless ship whirled into the -hands of cannibal Fuegians—of desperate fighting and tender romance, -enhanced by the art of a master of story telling who describes with -his wonted felicity and power of holding the reader's attention * * * -filled with the swing of adventure.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A MIDNIGHT GUEST. A Detective Story. By Fred M. White. -With a frontispiece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The scene of the story centers in London and Italy. The book is -skilfully written and makes one of the most baffling, mystifying, -exciting detective stories ever written—cleverly keeping the suspense -and mystery intact until the surprising discoveries which precede -the end.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI. A Romance. By S. Levett -Yeats. With cover and wrapper in four colors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those who enjoyed Stanley Weyman's </span><em class="italics">A Gentleman of France</em><span> -will be engrossed and captivated by this delightful romance of Italian -history. It is replete with exciting episodes, hair-breath escapes, -magnificent sword-play, and deals with the agitating times in Italian -history when Alexander II was Pope and the famous and infamous -Borgias were tottering to their fall.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>SISTER CARRIE. By Theodore Drieser. With a frontispiece, -and wrapper in color.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In all fiction there is probably no more graphic and poignant study -of the way in which man loses his grip on life, lets his pride, his -courage, his self-respect slip from him, -and, finally, even ceases to struggle -in the mire that has engulfed him. * * * There is more tonic value -in </span><em class="italics">Sister Carrie</em><span> than in a whole shelfful of sermons.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES. By Irving Bacheller. -With illustrations by Arthur Keller.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Barrel, the clock tinker, is a wit, philosopher, and man of mystery. -Learned, strong, kindly, dignified, he towers like a giant above the -people among whom he lives. It is another tale of the North Country, -full of the odor of wood and field. Wit, humor, pathos and high -thinking are in this book."—</span><em class="italics">Boston Transcript</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>D'RI AND I: A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War -with the British. Being the Memoirs of Colonel Ramon -Bell, U. S. A. By Irving Bacheller. With illustrations by -F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Bacheller is admirable alike in his scenes of peace and war. -D'ri, a mighty hunter, has the same dry humor as Uncle Eb. He -fights magnificently on the 'Lawrence,' and was among the wounded -when Perry went to the 'Niagara.' As a romance of early American -history it is great for the enthusiasm it creates."—</span><em class="italics">New York Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>EBEN HOLDEN: A Tale of the North Country. By Irving -Bacheller.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As pure as water and as good as bread," says Mr. Howells. "Read -'Eben Holden'" is the advice of Margaret Sangster. "It is a -forest-scented, fresh-aired, bracing and wholly American story of country -and town life. * * * If in the far future our successors wish to -know what were the real life and atmosphere in which the country -folk that saved this nation grew, loved, wrought and had their being, -they must go back to such true and zestful and poetic tales of 'fiction' -as 'Eben Holden,'" says Edmund Clarence Stedman.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>SILAS STRONG: Emperor of the Woods. By Irving Bacheller. -With a frontispiece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A modern Leatherstocking. Brings the city dweller the aroma of -the pine and the music of the wind in its branches—an epic poem -* * * forest-scented, fresh-aired, and wholly American. A stronger -character than Eben Holden."—</span><em class="italics">Chicago Record-Herald</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>VERGILIUS: A Tale of the Coming of Christ. By Irving Bacheller.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman patricians whose -great and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through -the momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding -the birth of Christ.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Splendid character studies of the Emperor Augustus, of Herod and -his degenerate son, Antipater, and of his daughter "the incomparable" -Salome. A great triumph in the art of historical portrait painting.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BARBARA WINSLOW, REBEL. By Elizabeth Ellis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With illustrations by John Rae, and colored inlay cover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The following, taken from story, will best describe the heroine: -A TOAST: "To the bravest comrade in misfortune, the sweetest -companion in peace and at all times the most courageous of -women."—</span><em class="italics">Barbara Winslow</em><span>. "A romantic story, buoyant, eventful, and in -matters of love exactly what the heart could desire."—</span><em class="italics">New York Sun</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>SUSAN. By Ernest Oldmeadow. With a color frontispiece -by Frank Haviland. Medalion in color on front cover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Riddington falls helplessly in love with Miss Langley, whom -he sees in one of her walks accompanied by her maid, Susan. -Through a misapprehension of personalities his lordship addresses -a love missive to the maid. Susan accepts in perfect good faith, -and an epistolary love-making goes on till they are disillusioned. It -naturally makes a droll and delightful little comedy; and is a story -that is particularly clever in the telling.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE. By Jean Webster. -With illustrations by C. D. Williams.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The book is a treasure."—</span><em class="italics">Chicago Daily News</em><span>. "Bright, -whimsical, and thoroughly entertaining."—</span><em class="italics">Buffalo Express</em><span>. "One -of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been -written."—</span><em class="italics">N. Y. Press</em><span>. "To any woman who has enjoyed the pleasures -of a college life this book cannot fail to bring back many sweet -recollections; and to those who have not been to college the wit, -lightness, -and charm of Patty are sure to be no less delightful."—</span><em class="italics">Public Opinion</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE MASQUERADER. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. -With illustrations by Clarence F. Underwood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't drop it till you have turned the last page."—</span><em class="italics">Cleveland -Leader</em><span>. "Its very audacity of motive, of execution, of solution, -almost takes one's breath away. The boldness of its denouement -is sublime."—</span><em class="italics">Boston Transcript</em><span>. "The literary hit of a generation. -The best of it is the story deserves all its success. A masterly -story."—</span><em class="italics">St. Louis Dispatch</em><span>. "The story is ingeniously told, and -cleverly constructed."—</span><em class="italics">The Dial</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE GAMBLER. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. With -illustrations by John Campbell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tells of a high strung young Irish woman who has a passion for -gambling, inherited from a long line of sporting ancestors. She has -a high sense of honor, too, and that causes complications. She is a -very human, lovable character, and love saves her."—</span><em class="italics">N. Y. Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. -With illustrations by Martin Justice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As superlatively clever in the writing as it is entertaining in the -reading. It is actual comedy of the most artistic sort, and it is -handled with a freshness and originality that is unquestionably -novel."—</span><em class="italics">Boston Transcript</em><span>. "A feast of humor and good cheer, -yet subtly pervaded by special shades of feeling, fancy, tenderness, -or whimsicality. A merry thing in prose."—</span><em class="italics">St. Louis Democrat</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>ROSE O' THE RIVER. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. With -illustrations by George Wright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Rose o' the River,' a charming bit of sentiment, gracefully -written and deftly touched with a gentle humor. It is a dainty -book—daintily illustrated."—</span><em class="italics">New York Tribune</em><span>. "A wholesome, bright, -refreshing story, an ideal book to give a young girl."—</span><em class="italics">Chicago -Record-Herald</em><span>. "An idyllic story, replete with pathos and inimitable -humor. As story-telling it is perfection, and as portrait-painting -it is true to the life."—</span><em class="italics">London Mail</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>TILLIE: A Mennonite Maid. By Helen R. Martin. With -illustrations by Florence Scovel Shinn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little "Mennonite Maid" who wanders through these pages -is something quite new in fiction. Tillie is hungry for books and -beauty and love; and she comes into her inheritance at the end. -"Tillie is faulty, sensitive, big-hearted, eminently human, and first, -last and always lovable. Her charm glows warmly, the story is well -handled, the characters skilfully developed."—</span><em class="italics">The Book Buyer</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>LADY ROSE'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. -With illustrations by Howard Chandler Christy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The most marvellous work of its wonderful author."—</span><em class="italics">New York -World</em><span>. "We touch regions and attain altitudes which it is not given -to the ordinary novelist even to approach."—</span><em class="italics">London Times</em><span>. "In -no other story has Mrs. Ward approached the brilliancy and vivacity -of Lady Rose's Daughter."—</span><em class="italics">North American Review</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE BANKER AND THE BEAR. By Henry K. Webster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An exciting and absorbing story."—</span><em class="italics">New York Times</em><span>. "Intensely -thrilling in parts, but an unusually good story all through. There -is a love affair of real charm and most novel surroundings, there is a -run on the bank which is almost worth a year's growth, and there is -all manner of exhilarating men and deeds which should bring the -book into high and permanent favor."—</span><em class="italics">Chicago Evening Post</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. By George Barr McCutcheon. With Color -Frontispiece and other illustrations -by Harrison Fisher. Beautiful inlay picture in colors of -Beverly on the cover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The most fascinating, engrossing and picturesque of the season's -novels."—</span><em class="italics">Boston Herald</em><span>. "'Beverly' is altogether charming—almost -living flesh and blood"—</span><em class="italics">Louisville Times</em><span>. "Better than -'Graustark'."—</span><em class="italics">Mail and Express</em><span>. "A sequel quite as impossible -as 'Graustark' and quite as entertaining."—</span><em class="italics">Bookman</em><span>. "A -charming love story well told."—</span><em class="italics">Boston Transcript</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>HALF A ROGUE. By Harold MacGrath. With illustrations -and inlay cover picture by Harrison Fisher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here are dexterity of plot, glancing play at witty talk, characters -really human and humanly real, spirit and gladness, freshness and -quick movement. 'Half a Rogue' is as brisk as a horseback ride on -a glorious morning. It is as varied as an April day. It is as charming -as two most charming girls can make it. Love and honor and -success and all the great things worth fighting for and living for the -involved in 'Half a Rogue.'"—</span><em class="italics">Phila. Press</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE. By Charles Clark -Munn. With illustrations by Frank T. Merrill.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Figuring in the pages of this story there are several strong -characters. Typical New England folk and an especially sturdy one, old -Cy Walker, through whose instrumentality Chip comes to happiness -and fortune. There is a chain of comedy, tragedy, pathos and love, -which makes a dramatic story."—</span><em class="italics">Boston Herald</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE LION AND THE MOUSE. A story of American Life. -By Charles Klein, and Arthur Hornblow. With illustrations -by Stuart Travis, and Scenes from the Play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The novel duplicated the success of the play; in fact the book is -greater than the play. A portentous clash of dominant personalities -that form the essence of the play are necessarily touched upon but -briefly in the short space of four acts. All this is narrated in the -novel with a wealth of fascinating and absorbing detail, making it one -of the most powerfully written and exciting works of fiction given to -the world in years.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">PRINCESS MARITZA</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span>A NOVEL OF RAPID ROMANCE.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span>BY PERCY BREBNER</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span>With Harrison Fisher Illustrations in Color.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Offers more real entertainment and keen enjoyment than -any book since "Graustark." Full of picturesque life and -color and a delightful love-story. The scene of the story is -Wallaria, one of those mythical kingdoms in Southern Europe. -Maritza is the rightful heir to the throne, but is kept away from -her own country. The hero is a young Englishman of noble -family. It is a pleasing book of fiction. Large 12 mo. size. -Handsomely bound in cloth. White coated wrapper, with -Harrison Fisher portrait in colors. Price 75 cents, postpaid.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">Books by George Barr McCutcheon</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BREWSTER'S MILLIONS</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Montgomery Brewster is required to spend a million -dollars in one year in order to inherit seven millions. He must -be absolutely penniless at that time, and yet have spent the -million in a way that will commend him as fit to inherit the -larger sum. How he does it forms the basis for one of the -most crisp and breezy romances of recent years.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>CASTLE CRANEYCROW</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The story revolves around the abduction of a young -American woman and the adventures created through her rescue. -The title is taken from the name of an old castle on the -Continent, the scene of her imprisonment.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>GRAUSTARK: A Story of a Love Behind a Throne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This work has been and is to-day one of the most popular -works of fiction of this decade. The meeting of the Princess -of Graustark with the hero, while travelling incognito in this -country, his efforts to find her, his success, the defeat of -conspiracies to dethrone her, and their happy marriage, provide -entertainment which every type of reader will enjoy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE SHERRODS. With illustrations by C. D. Williams</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A novel quite unlike Mr. McCutcheon's previous works in -the field of romantic fiction and yet possessing the charm -inseparable from anything he writes. The scene is laid in -Indiana and the theme is best described in the words, "Whom -God hath joined, let no man put asunder."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics">NEW POPULAR EDITIONS OF</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">MARY JOHNSTON'S NOVELS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>TO HAVE AND TO HOLD</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was something new and startling to see an -author's first novel sell up into the hundreds of -thousands, as did this one. The ablest critics spoke of -it in such terms as "Breathless interest," "The high -water mark of American fiction since Uncle Tom's -Cabin," "Surpasses all," "Without a rival," -"Tender and delicate," "As good a story of adventure as -one can find," "The best style of love story, clean, -pure and wholesome."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>AUDREY</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With the brilliant imagination and the splendid -courage of youth, she has stormed the very citadel -of adventure. Indeed it would be impossible to -carry the romantic spirit any deeper into -fiction.—</span><em class="italics">Agnes Repplier</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>PRISONERS OF HOPE</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pronounced by the critics classical, accurate, -interesting, American, original, vigorous, full of -movement and life, dramatic and fascinating, instinct with -life and passion, and preserving throughout a -singularly even level of excellence.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">GET THE BEST OUT-DOOR STORIES</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold">Stewart Edward White's -<br />Great Novels of Western Life.</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">GROSSET & DUNLAP EDITIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE BLAZED TRAIL</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mingles the romance of the forest with the romance of -man's heart, making a story that is big and elemental, while -not lacking in sweetness and tenderness. It is an epic of the -life of the lumberman of the great forest of the Northwest, -permeated by out of door freshness, and the glory of the -struggle with nature.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE SILENT PLACES</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A powerful story of strenuous endeavor and fateful privation -in the frozen North, embodying also a detective story of -much strength and skill. The author brings out with sure -touch and deep understanding the mystery and poetry of the -still, frost-bound forest.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE CLAIM JUMPERS</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tale of a Western mining camp and the making of a man, -with which a charming young lady has much to do. The -tenderfoot has a hard time of it, but meets the situation, -shows the stuff he is made of, and "wins out."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE WESTERNERS</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tale of the mining camp and the Indian country, full of -color and thrilling incident.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE MAGIC FOREST: A Modern Fairy Story.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No better book could be put in a young boy's hands," -says the New York </span><em class="italics">Sun</em><span>. It is a happy blend of knowledge -of wood life with an understanding of Indian character, as -well as that of small boys.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">THE GROSSET AND DUNLAP SPECIAL -<br />EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS THAT -<br />HAVE BEEN DRAMATIZED.</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BREWSTER'S MILLIONS: By George Barr McCutcheon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A clever, fascinating tale, with a striking and -unusual plot. With illustrations from the original New -York production of the play.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE LITTLE MINISTER: By J. M. Barrie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With illustrations from the play as presented by -Maude Adams, and a vignette in gold of Miss Adams -on the cover.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>CHECKERS: By Henry M. Blossom, Jr.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A story of the Race Track. Illustrated with scenes -from the play as originally presented in New York -by Thomas W. Ross who created the stage character.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE CHRISTIAN: By Hall Caine.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE ETERNAL CITY: By Hall Caine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Each has been elaborately and successfully staged</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>IN THE PALACE OF THE KING: By F. Marion Crawford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A love story of Old Madrid, with full page illustrations. -Originally played with great success by Viola -Allen.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>JANICE MEREDITH: By Paul Leicester Ford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>New edition with an especially attractive cover, -a really handsome book. Originally played by Mary -Mannering, who created the title role.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>MISTRESS NELL, A Merry Tale of a -Merry Time. (Twixt Fact and Fancy.) By George Hazelton.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A dainty, handsome volume, beautifully printed -on fine laid paper and bound in extra vellum -cloth. A charming story, the dramatic version -of which, as produced by Henrietta Crosman, -was one of the conspicuous stage successes of -recent years. With a rare portrait of Nell Gwyn -in duotone, from an engraving of the painting by -Sir Peter Lely, as a frontispiece.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>BY RIGHT OF SWORD, By Arthur W. Marchmont.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With full page illustrations, by Powell Chase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This clever and fascinating tale has had a large -sale and seems as popular to-day as when first -published. It is full of action and incident and -will arouse the keen interest of the reader at the -very start. The dramatic version was very -successfully produced during several seasons by -Ralph Stuart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>CAPE COD FOLKS: By Sarah P. McLean Greene.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated with scenes from the play, as originally -produced at the Boston Theatre.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>IF I WERE KING: By Justin Huntly McCarthy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrations from the play, as produced by E. H. Sothern.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>DOROTHY VERNON OF HADDON HALL: By Charles Major.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Bertha Galland Edition, with illustrations from -the play.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>WHEN KNIGHTHOOD WAS IN FLOWER: By Charles Major.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated with scenes from the remarkably -successful play, as presented by Julia Marlowe.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE VIRGINIAN: By Owen Wister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With full page illustrations by A. I. Kelley.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dustin Farnum has made the play famous by his -creation of the title role.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE MAN ON THE BOX: By Harold MacGrath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Illustrated with scenes from the play, as originally -produced in New York, by Henry E. Dixey. A piquant, -charming story, and the author's greatest success.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">HERETOFORE PUBLISHED AT $1.50</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">BOOKS BY JACK LONDON</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">12 MO., CLOTH, 75 CENTS EACH, POSTPAID</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE CALL OF THE WILD:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin and Charles -Livingston Bull. Decorated by Charles Edward Hooper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A big story in sober English, and with thorough art in the -construction ... a wonderfully perfect bit of work. The dog -adventures are as exciting as any man's exploits could be, and -Mr. London's workmanship is wholly satisfying."—</span><em class="italics">The New -York Sun</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE SEA WOLF: Illustrated by W. J. Aylward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This story surely has the pure Stevenson ring, the adventurous -glamour, the vertebrate stoicism. 'Tis surely the story -of the making of a man, the sculptor being Captain Larsen, -and the clay, the ease-loving, well-to-do, half-drowned man, -to all appearances his helpless prey."—</span><em class="italics">Critic</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A vivid and intensely interesting picture of life, as the -author found it, in the slums of London. Not a survey of -impressions formed on a slumming tour, but a most graphic -account of real life from one who succeeded in getting on the -"inside." More absorbing than a novel. A great and vital -book. Profusely illustrated from photographs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE SON OF THE WOLF:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even the most listless reader will be stirred by the virile -force, the strong, sweeping strokes with which the pictures of -the northern wilds and the life therein are painted, and the -insight given into the soul of the primitive of nature."—</span><em class="italics">Plain -Dealer, Cleveland</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A DAUGHTER OF THE SNOWS:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is a book about a woman, whose personality and plan in -the story are likely to win for her a host of admirers. The -story has the rapid movement, incident and romantic flavor -which have interested so many in his tales. The illustrations -are by F. C. Yohn.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS OF BOOKS BY</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">LOUIS TRACY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">12mo, cloth, 75 cents each, postpaid</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Books that make the nerves tingle—romance and -adventure of the best type—wholesome for family reading</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE PILLAR OF LIGHT</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Breathless interest is a hackneyed phrase, but every -reader of 'The Pillar of Light' who has red blood in -his or her veins, will agree that the trite saying applies to -the attention which this story commands."—</span><em class="italics">New York Sun</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE WINGS OF THE MORNING</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is a story filled with the swing of adventure. -There are no dragging intervals in this volume: from the -moment of their landing on the island until the rescuing -crew find them there, there is not a dull moment for the -young people—nor for the reader either."—</span><em class="italics">New York -Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>THE KING OF DIAMONDS</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Verily, Mr. Tracy is a prince of story-tellers. His -charm is a little hard to describe, but it is as definite as -that of a rainbow. The reader is carried along by the -robust imagination of the author."—</span><em class="italics">San Francisco Examiner</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">GROSSET & DUNLAP, NEW YORK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>MY MAMIE ROSE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45684"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45684</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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