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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Face And The Mask + +Author: Robert Barr + +Release Date: November 14, 2004 [eBook #8681] +Last Updated: August 3, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FACE AND THE MASK*** + + + +E-text prepared by Lee Dawei, Michelle Shephard, David Moynihan, Charles +Franks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE FACE AND THE MASK + </h1> + <h2> + By Robert Barr + </h2> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /> + <hr /> + <br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h3> + THE HON. WILLIAM E. QUINBY + </h3> + <h5> + (<i>United States Minister to the Netherlands</i>) + </h5> + <blockquote> + <p> + HAS HELPED SO MANY UNKNOWN LITERARY ASPIRANTS THAT HE CAN HARDLY HAVE + HOPED TO ESCAPE THE DEDICATION TO HIM OF A BOOK BY AT LEAST ONE OF THEM + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE WOMAN OF STONE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE CHEMISTRY OF ANARCHY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE FEAR OF IT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE METAMORPHOSES OF JOHNSON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE RECLAMATION OF JOE HOLLENDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE TYPE-WRITTEN LETTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE DOOM OF LONDON. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> WHY LONDON, WARNED, WAS UNPREPARED. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE COINCIDENCE THAT CAME AT LAST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE AMERICAN WHO WANTED TO SELL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE AMERICAN SEES SIR JOHN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> HOW THE SMOKE HELD DOWN THE FOG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE TRAIN WITH ITS TRAIL OF THE DEAD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE PREDICAMENT OF DE PLONVILLE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> A NEW EXPLOSIVE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE GREAT PEGRAM MYSTERY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> DEATH COMETH SOON OR LATE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> HIGH STAKES. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> “WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE DEPARTURE OF CUB MCLEAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> OLD NUMBER EIGHTY-SIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> PLAYING WITH MARKED CARDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> THE BRUISER’S COURTSHIP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> THE RAID ON MELLISH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> STRIKING BACK. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> CRANDALL’S CHOICE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> THE FAILURE OF BRADLEY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> RINGAMY’S CONVERT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> A SLIPPERY CUSTOMER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> THE SIXTH BENCH. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WOMAN OF STONE. + </h2> + <p> + Lurine, was pretty, <i>petite</i>, and eighteen. She had a nice situation + at the Pharmacie de Siam, in the Rue St. Honoré. She had no one dependent + upon her, and all the money she earned was her own. Her dress was of cheap + material perhaps, but it was cut and fitted with that daintiness of + perfection which seems to be the natural gift of the Parisienne, so that + one never thought of the cheapness, but admired only the effect, which was + charming. She was book-keeper and general assistant at the Pharmacie, and + had a little room of her own across the Seine, in the Rue de Lille. She + crossed the river twice every day—once in the morning when the sun + was shining, and again at night when the radiant lights along the river’s + bank glittered like jewels in a long necklace. She had her little walk + through the Gardens of the Tuileries every morning after crossing the Pont + Royal, but she did not return through the gardens in the evening, for a + park in the morning is a different thing to a park at night. On her return + she always walked along the Rue de Tuileries until she came to the bridge. + Her morning ramble through the gardens was a daily delight to her, for the + Rue de Lille is narrow, and not particularly bright, so it was pleasant to + walk beneath the green trees, to feel the crisp gravel under her feet, and + to see the gleaming white statues in the sunlight, with the sparkle on the + round fountain pond, by the side of which she sometimes sat. Her favorite + statue was one of a woman that stood on a pedestal near the Rue de Rivoli. + The arm was thrown over her head, and there was a smile on the marble face + which was inscrutable. It fascinated the girl as she looked up to it, and + seemed to be the morning greeting to her busy day’s work in the + city. If no one was in sight, which was often the case at eight o’clock + in the morning, the girl kissed the tips of her fingers, and tossed the + salute airily up to the statue, and the woman of stone always smiled back + at her the strange mystical smile which seemed to indicate that it knew + much more of this world and its ways than did the little Parisienne who + daily gazed up at her. + </p> + <p> + Lurine was happy, as a matter of course, for was not Paris always + beautiful? Did not the sun shine brightly? And was not the air always + clear? What more, then, could a young girl wish? There was one thing which + was perhaps lacking, but that at last was supplied; and then there was not + a happier girl in all Paris than Lurine. She almost cried it aloud to her + favorite statue the next morning, for it seemed to her that the smile had + broadened since she had passed it the morning before, and she felt as if + the woman of stone had guessed the secret of the woman of flesh. + </p> + <p> + Lurine had noticed him for several days hovering about the Pharmacie, and + looking in at her now and then; she saw it all, but pretended not to see. + He was a handsome young fellow with curly hair, and hands long, slender, + and white as if he were not accustomed to doing hard, manual labor. One + night he followed her as far as the bridge, but she walked rapidly on, and + he did not overtake her. He never entered the Pharmacie, but lingered + about as if waiting for a chance to speak with her. Lurine had no one to + confide in but the woman of stone, and it seemed by her smile that she + understood already, and there was no need to tell her, that the inevitable + young man had come. The next night he followed her quite across the + bridge, and this time Lurine did not walk so quickly. Girls in her + position are not supposed to have normal introductions to their lovers, + and are generally dependent upon a haphazard acquaintance, although that + Lurine did not know. The young man spoke to her on the bridge, raising his + hat from his black head as he did so. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening!” was all he said to her. + </p> + <p> + She glanced sideways shyly at him, but did not answer, and the young man + walked on beside her. + </p> + <p> + “You come this way every night,” he said. “I have been + watching you. Are you offended?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, almost in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Then may I walk with you to your home?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You may walk with me as far as the corner of the Rue de Lille,” + she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you!” said the young fellow, and together they walked + the short distance, and there he bade her good night, after asking + permission to meet her at the corner of the Rue St. Honoré, and walk home + with her, the next night. + </p> + <p> + “You must not come to the shop,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” he replied, nodding his head in assent to her + wishes. He told her his name was Jean Duret, and by-and-by she called him + Jean, and he called her Lurine. He never haunted the Pharmacie now, but + waited for her at the corner, and one Sunday he took her for a little + excursion on the river, which she enjoyed exceedingly. Thus time went on, + and Lurine was very happy. The statue smiled its enigmatical smile, + though, when the sky was overcast, there seemed to her a subtle warning in + the smile. Perhaps it was because they had quarrelled the night before. + Jean had seemed to her harsh and unforgiving. He had asked her if she + could not bring him some things from the Pharmacie, and gave her a list of + three chemicals, the names of which he had written on a paper. + </p> + <p> + “You can easily get them,” he had said; “they are in + every Pharmacie, and will never be missed.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the girl in horror, “that would be stealing.” + </p> + <p> + The young man laughed. + </p> + <p> + “How much do they pay you there?” he asked. And when she told + him, he laughed again and said, + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless you, if I got so little as that I would take something + from the shelves every day and sell it.” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked at him in amazement, and he, angry at her, turned upon his + heel and left her. She leaned her arms upon the parapet of the bridge, and + looked down into the dark water. The river always fascinated her at night, + and she often paused to look at it when crossing the bridge, shuddering as + she did so. She cried a little as she thought of his abrupt departure, and + wondered if she had been too harsh with him. After all, it was not very + much he had asked her to do, and they did pay her so little at the + Pharmacie. And then perhaps her lover was poor, and needed the articles he + had asked her to get. Perhaps he was ill, and had said nothing. There was + a touch on her shoulder. She looked round. Jean was standing beside her, + but the frown had not yet disappeared from his brow. + </p> + <p> + “Give me that paper,” he said, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + She unclosed her hand, and he picked the paper from it, and was turning + away. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” she said, “I will get you what you want, but I + will myself put the money in the till for what they cost.” + </p> + <p> + He stood there, looking at her for a moment, and then said—“Lurine, + I think you are a little fool. They owe you ever so much more than that. + However, I must have the things,” and he gave her back the paper + with the caution—“Be sure you let no one see that, and be very + certain that you get the right things.” He walked with her as far as + the corner of the Rue de Lille. “You are not angry with me?” + he asked her before they parted. + </p> + <p> + “I would do anything for you,” she whispered, and then he + kissed her good night. + </p> + <p> + She got the chemicals when the proprietor was out, and tied them up + neatly, as was her habit, afterwards concealing them in the little basket + in which she carried her lunch. The proprietor was a sharp-eyed old lynx, + who looked well after his shop and his pretty little assistant. + </p> + <p> + “Who has been getting so much chlorate of potash?” he asked, + taking down the jar, and looking sharply at her. + </p> + <p> + The girl trembled. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right,” she said. “Here is the money in the + till.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said. “I did not expect you to give it + away for nothing. Who bought it?” + </p> + <p> + “An old man,” replied the girl, trembling still, but the + proprietor did not notice that—he was counting the money, and found + it right. + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering what he wanted with so much of it. If he comes in + again look sharply at him, and be able to describe him to me. It seems + suspicious.” Why it seemed suspicious Lurine did not know, but she + passed an anxious time until she took the basket in her hand and went to + meet her lover at the corner of the Rue des Pyramides. His first question + was— + </p> + <p> + “Have you brought me the things?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. “Will you take them here, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Not here, not here,” he replied hurriedly, and then asked + anxiously, “Did anyone see you take them?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but the proprietor knows of the large package, for he counted + the money.” + </p> + <p> + “What money?” asked Jean. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the money for the things. You didn’t think I was going + to steal them, did you?” + </p> + <p> + The young man laughed, and drew her into a quiet corner of the Gardens of + the Tuileries. + </p> + <p> + “I will not have time to go with you to the Rue de Lille to-night,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “But you will come as usual to-morrow night?” she asked, + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly.” he replied, as he rapidly concealed + the packages in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + The next night the girl waited patiently for her lover at the corner where + they were in the habit of meeting, but he did not come. She stood under + the glaring light of a lamp-post so that he would recognize her at once. + Many people accosted her as she stood there, but she answered none, + looking straight before her with clear honest eyes, and they passed on + after a moment’s hesitation. At last she saw a man running rapidly + down the street, and as he passed a brilliantly-lighted window she + recognized Jean. He came quickly towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” she cried, running forward. She caught him by the + arm, saying, “Oh, Jean, what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + He shook her rudely, and shouted at her—“Let me go, you fool!” + But she clung to him, until he raised his fist and struck her squarely in + the face. Lurine staggered against the wall, and Jean ran on. A stalwart + man who had spoken to Lurine a few moments before, and, not understanding + her silence, stood in a doorway near watching her, sprang out when he saw + the assault, and thrust his stick between the feet of the flying man, + flinging him face forward on the pavement. The next instant he placed his + foot upon Jean’s neck holding him down as if he were a snake. + </p> + <p> + “You villain!” he cried. “Strike a woman, would you?” + </p> + <p> + Jean lay there as if stunned, and two gens d’armes came pantingly + upon the scene. + </p> + <p> + “This scoundrel,” said the man, “has just assaulted a + woman. I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “He has done more than that,” said one of the officers, + grimly, as if, after all, the striking of a woman was but a trivial + affair. + </p> + <p> + They secured the young man, and dragged him with them. The girl came up to + them and said, falteringly— + </p> + <p> + “It is all a mistake, it was an accident. He didn’t mean to do + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he didn’t, and pray how do you know?” asked one of + the officers. + </p> + <p> + “You little devil,” said Jean to the girl, through his + clinched teeth, “it’s all your fault.” + </p> + <p> + The officers hurried him off. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said one, “that we should have arrested the + girl; you heard what she said.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other, “but we have enough on our hands + now, if the crowd find out who he is.” + </p> + <p> + Lurine thought of following them, but she was so stunned by the words that + her lover had said to her, rather than by the blow he had given her that + she turned her steps sadly towards the Pont Royal and went to her room. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she did not go through the gardens, as usual, to her + work, and when she entered the Pharmacie de Siam, the proprietor cried + out, “Here she is, the vixen! Who would have thought it of her? You + wretch, you stole my drugs to give to that villain!” + </p> + <p> + “I did not,” said Lurine, stoutly. “I put the money in + the till for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear her! She confesses!” said the proprietor. + </p> + <p> + The two concealed officers stepped forward and arrested her where she + stood as the accomplice of Jean Duret, who, the night before, had flung a + bomb in the crowded Avenue de l’Opéra. + </p> + <p> + Even the prejudiced French judges soon saw that the girl was innocent of + all evil intent, and was but the victim of the scoundrel who passed by the + name of Jean Duret. He was sentenced for life; she was set free. He had + tried to place the blame on her, like the craven he was, to shield another + woman. This was what cut Lurine to the heart. She might have tried to find + an excuse for his crime, but she realized that he had never cared for her, + and had but used her as his tool to get possession of the chemicals he + dared not buy. + </p> + <p> + In the drizzling rain she walked away from her prison, penniless, and + broken in body and in spirit. She passed the little Pharmacie de Siam, not + daring to enter. She walked in the rain along the Rue des Pyramides, and + across the Rue de Rivoli, and into the Tuileries Gardens. She had + forgotten about her stone woman, but, unconsciously her steps were + directed to her. She looked up at her statue with amazement, at first not + recognizing it. It was no longer the statue of a smiling woman. The head + was thrown back, the eyes closed. The last mortal agony was on the face. + It was a ghastly monument to Death. The girl was so perplexed by the + change in her statue that for the moment she forgot the ruin of her own + life. She saw that the smiling face was but a mask, held in place by the + curving of the left arm over it. Life, she realized now, was made up of + tragedy and comedy, and he who sees but the smiling face, sees but the + half of life. The girl hurried on to the bridge, sobbing quietly to + herself, and looked down at the grey river water. The passers-by paid no + attention to her. Why, she wondered, had she ever thought the river cold + and cruel and merciless? It is the only home of the homeless, the only + lover that does not change. She turned back to the top of the flight of + steps which lead down, to the water’s brink. She looked toward the + Tuileries Gardens, but she could not see her statue for the trees which + intervened. “I, too, will be a woman of stone,” she said, as + she swiftly descended the steps. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CHEMISTRY OF ANARCHY. + </h2> + <p> + It has been said in the London papers that the dissolution of the Soho + Anarchist League was caused by want of funds. This is very far from being + the case. An Anarchist League has no need for funds and so long as there + is money enough to buy beer the League is sure of continued existence. The + truth about the scattering of the Soho organization was told me by a young + newspaper-man who was chairman at the last meeting. + </p> + <p> + The young man was not an anarchist, though he had to pretend to be one in + the interests of his paper, and so joined the Soho League, where he made + some fiery speeches that were much applauded. At last Anarchist news + became a drug in the market, and the editor of the paper young Marshall + Simkins belonged to, told him that he would now have to turn his attention + to Parliamentary work, as he would print no more Anarchist news in the + sheet. + </p> + <p> + One might think that young Simkins would have been glad to get rid of his + anarchist work, as he had no love for the cause. He was glad to get rid of + it, but he found some difficulty in sending in his resignation. The moment + he spoke of resigning, the members became suspicious of him. He had always + been rather better dressed than the others, and, besides, he drank less + beer. If a man wishes to be in good standing in the League he must not be + fastidious as to dress, and he must be constructed to hold at least a + gallon of beer at a sitting. Simkins was merely a “quart” man, + and this would have told against him all along if it had not been for the + extra gunpowder he put in his speeches. On several occasions seasoned + Anarchists had gathered about him and begged him to give up his designs on + the Parliament buildings. + </p> + <p> + The older heads claimed that, desirable as was the obliteration of the + Houses of Parliament, the time was not yet ripe for it. England, they + pointed out, was the only place where Anarchists could live and talk + unmolested, so, while they were quite anxious that Simkins should go and + blow up Vienna, Berlin, or Paris, they were not willing for him to begin + on London. Simkins was usually calmed down with much difficulty, and + finally, after hissing “Cowards!” two or three times under his + breath, he concluded with, “Oh, very well, then, you know better + than I do—I am only a young recruit; but allow me at least to blow + up Waterloo Bridge, or spring a bomb in Fleet Street just to show that we + are up and doing.” + </p> + <p> + But this the Anarchists would not sanction. If he wanted to blow up + bridges, he could try his hand on those across the Seine. They had given + their word that there would be no explosions in London so long as England + afforded them an asylum. + </p> + <p> + “But look at Trafalgar Square,” cried Simkins angrily; “we + are not allowed to meet there.” + </p> + <p> + “Who wants to meet there?” said the chairman. “It is + ever so much more comfortable in these rooms, and there is no beer in + Trafalgar Square.” “Yes, yes,” put in several others; + “the time is not yet ripe for it.” Thus was Simkins calmed + down, and beer allowed to flow again in tranquillity, while some foreign + Anarchist, who was not allowed to set foot in his native country, would + get up and harangue the crowd in broken English and tell them what great + things would yet be done by dynamite. + </p> + <p> + But when Simkins sent in his resignation a change came over their feelings + towards him, and he saw at once that he was a marked man. The chairman, in + a whisper, advised him to withdraw his resignation. So Simkins, who was a + shrewd young fellow, understanding the temper of the assembly, arose and + said:— + </p> + <p> + “I have no desire to resign, but you do nothing except talk, and I + want to belong to an Anarchist Society that acts.” He stayed away + from the next meeting, and tried to drop them in that way, but a committee + from the League called upon him at his lodgings, and his landlady thought + that young Simkins had got into bad ways when he had such evil-looking men + visiting him. + </p> + <p> + Simkins was in a dilemma, and could not make up his mind what to do. The + Anarchists apparently were not to be shaken off. He applied to his editor + for advice on the situation, but that good man could think of no way out + of the trouble. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have known better,” he said, “than to mix + up with such people.” + </p> + <p> + “But how was I to get the news?” asked Simkins, with some + indignation. The editor shrugged his shoulders. That was not his part of + the business; and if the Anarchists chose to make things uncomfortable for + the young man, he could not help it. + </p> + <p> + Simkins’ fellow-lodger, a student who was studying chemistry in + London, noticed that the reporter was becoming gaunt with anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Simkins,” said Sedlitz to him one morning, “you are + haggard and careworn: what is the matter with you? Are you in love, or is + it merely debt that is bothering you?” + </p> + <p> + “Neither,” replied Simkins. + </p> + <p> + “Then cheer up,” said Sedlitz. “If one or the other is + not interfering with you, anything else is easily remedied.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that,” rejoined Simkins; and then he sat + down and told his friend just what was troubling him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Sedlitz, “that accounts for it. There has + been an unkempt ruffian marching up and down watching this house. They are + on your track, Simkins, my boy, and when they discover that you are a + reporter, and therefore necessarily a traitor, you will be nabbed some + dark night.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s encouraging,” said Simkins, with his head + in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Are these Anarchists brave men, and would they risk their lives in + any undertaking?” asked Sedlitz. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know. They talk enough, but I don’t know + what they would do. They are quite capable, though, of tripping me up in a + dark lane.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Sedlitz, “suppose you let me try a + plan. Let me give them a lecture on the Chemistry of Anarchy. It’s a + fascinating subject.” + </p> + <p> + “What good would that do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wait till you have heard the lecture. If I don’t make the + hair of some of them stand on end, they are braver men than I take them to + be. We have a large room in Clement’s Inn, where we students meet to + try experiments and smoke tobacco. It is half club, and half a lecture- + room. Now, I propose to get those Anarchists in there, lock the doors, and + tell them something about dynamite and other explosives. You give out that + I am an Anarchist from America. Tell them that the doors will be locked to + prevent police interference, and that there will be a barrel of beer. You + can introduce me as a man from America, where they know as much about + Anarchism in ten minutes as they do here in ten years. Tell them that I + have spent my life in the study of explosives. I will have to make-up a + little, but you know that I am a very good amateur actor, and I don’t + think there will be any trouble about that. At the last you must tell them + that you have an appointment and will leave me to amuse them for a couple + of hours.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t see what good it is all going to do, though I am + desperate,” said Simkins, “and willing to try anything. I have + thought some of firing a bomb off myself at an Anarchist meeting.” + </p> + <p> + When the Friday night of meeting arrived the large hall in Clement’s + Inn was filled to the doors. Those assembled there saw a platform at one + end of the apartment, and a door that led from it to a room at the back of + the hall. A table was on the platform, and boxes, chemical apparatus, and + other scientific-looking paraphernalia were on it. At the hour of eight + young Simkins appeared before the table alone. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow Anarchists,” he said, “you are well aware that I + am tired of the great amount of talk we indulge in, and the little action + which follows it. I have been fortunate enough to secure the co-operation + of an Anarchist from America, who will tell you something of the cause + there. We have had the doors locked, and those who keep the keys are now + down at the entrance of the Inn, so that if a fire should occur, they can + quickly come and let us out. There is no great danger of fire, however, + but the interruption of the police must be guarded against very carefully. + The windows, as you see, are shuttered and barred, and no ray of light can + penetrate from this room outside. Until the lecture is over no one can + leave the room, and by the same token no one can enter it, which is more + to the purpose. + </p> + <p> + “My friend, Professor Josiah P. Slivers, has devoted his life to the + Chemistry of Anarchy, which is the title of this lecture. He will tell you + of some important discoveries, which are now to be made known for the + first time. I regret to say that the Professor is not in a very good state + of health, because the line of life which he has adopted has its + drawbacks. His left eye has been blown away by a premature explosion + during his experiments. His right leg is also permanently disabled. His + left arm, as you will notice, is in a sling, having been injured by a + little disaster in his workshop since he came to London. He is a man, as + you will see, devoted body and soul to the cause, so I hope you will + listen to him attentively. I regret that I am unable to remain with you + to-night, having other duties to perform which are imperative. I will + therefore, if you will permit me, leave by the back entrance after I have + introduced the Professor to you.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the stumping of a wooden leg was heard, and those in the + audience saw appear a man on crutches, with one arm in a sling and a + bandage over an eye, although he beamed upon them benevolently with the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Fellow Anarchists,” said Simkins, “allow me to + introduce to you Professor Josiah P. Slivers, of the United States.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor bowed and the audience applauded. As soon as the applause + began the Professor held up his unmaimed arm and said, “Gentlemen, I + beg that you will not applaud.” + </p> + <p> + It seems the fashion in America to address a11 sorts and conditions of men + as “Gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor continued, “I have here some explosives so sensitive + that the slightest vibration will cause them to go off, and I therefore + ask you to listen in silence to what I have to say. I must particularly + ask you also not to stamp on the floor.” + </p> + <p> + Before these remarks were concluded Simkins had slipped out by the back + entrance, and somehow his desertion seemed to have a depressing effect + upon the company, who looked upon the broken-up Professor with eyes of + wonder and apprehension. + </p> + <p> + The Professor drew towards him one of the boxes and opened the lid. He + dipped his one useful hand into the box and, holding it aloft, allowed + something which looked like wet sawdust to drip through his fingers. + “That, gentlemen,” he said, with an air of the utmost + contempt, “is what is known to the world as dynamite. I have nothing + at all to say against dynamite. It has, in its day, been a very powerful + medium through which our opinions have been imparted to a listening world, + but its day is past. It is what the lumbering stage-coach is to the + locomotive, what the letter is to the telegram, what the sailing-vessel is + to the steamship. It will be my pleasant duty to-night to exhibit to you + an explosive so powerful and deadly that hereafter, having seen what it + can accomplish, you will have nothing but derision for such simple and + harmless compounds as dynamite and nitro-glycerine.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor looked with kindly sympathy over his audience as he allowed + the yellow mixture to percolate slowly through his fingers back into the + box again. Ever and anon he took up a fresh handful and repeated the + action. + </p> + <p> + The Anarchists in the audience exchanged uneasy glances one with the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” continued the Professor, “it will be useful for + us to consider this substance for a few moments, if but for the purpose of + comparison. Here,” he said, diving his hand into another box and + bringing up before their gaze a yellow brick, “is dynamite in a + compressed form. There is enough here to wreck all this part of London, + were it exploded. This simple brick would lay St. Paul’s Cathedral + in ruins, so, however antiquated dynamite may become, we must always look + upon it with respect, just as we look upon reformers of centuries ago who + perished for their opinions, even though their opinions were far behind + what ours are now. I shall take the liberty of performing some experiments + with this block of dynamite.” Saying which the Professor, with his + free arm, flung the block of dynamite far down the aisle, where it fell on + the floor with a sickening thud. The audience sprang from their seats and + tumbled back one over the other. A wild shriek went up into the air, but + the Professor gazed placidly on the troubled mob below him with a superior + smile on his face. “I beg you to seat yourselves,” he said, + “and for reasons which I have already explained, I trust that you + will not applaud any of my remarks. You have just now portrayed one of the + popular superstitions about dynamite, and you show by your actions how + necessary a lecture of this sort is in order that you may comprehend + thoroughly the substance with which you have to deal. That brick is + perfectly harmless, because it is frozen. Dynamite in its frozen state + will not explode—a fact well understood by miners and all those who + have to work with it, and who, as a rule, generally prefer to blow + themselves to pieces trying to thaw the substance before a fire. Will you + kindly bring that brick back to me, before it thaws out in the heated + atmosphere of this room?” + </p> + <p> + One of the men stepped gingerly forward and picked up the brick, holding + it far from his body, as he tip-toed up to the platform, where he laid it + down carefully on the desk before the Professor. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the Professor, blandly. + </p> + <p> + The man drew a long breath of relief as he went back to his seat. + </p> + <p> + “That is frozen dynamite,” continued the Professor, “and + is, as I have said, practically harmless. Now, it will be my pleasure to + perform two startling experiments with the unfrozen substance,” and + with that he picked up a handful of the wet sawdust and flung it on a + small iron anvil that stood on the table. “You will enjoy these + experiments,” he said, “because it will show you with what + ease dynamite may be handled. It is a popular error that concussion will + cause dynamite to explode. There is enough dynamite here to blow up this + hall and to send into oblivion every person in it, yet you will see + whether or not concussion will explode it.” The Professor seized a + hammer and struck the substance on the anvil two or three sharp blows, + while those in front of him scrambled wildly back over their comrades, + with hair standing on end. The Professor ceased his pounding and gazed + reproachfully at them; then something on the anvil appeared to catch his + eye. He bent over it and looked critically on the surface of the iron. + Drawing himself up to his full height again, he said, + </p> + <p> + “I was about to reproach you for what might have appeared to any + other man as evidence of fear, but I see my mistake. I came very near + making a disastrous error. I have myself suffered from time to time from + similar errors. I notice upon the anvil a small spot of grease; if my + hammer had happened to strike that spot you would all now be writhing in + your death-agonies under the ruins of this building. Nevertheless, the + lesson is not without its value. That spot of grease is free nitro- + glycerine that has oozed out from the dynamite. Therein rests, perhaps, + the only danger in handling dynamite. As I have shown you, you can smash + up dynamite on an anvil without danger, but if a hammer happened to strike + a spot of free nitroglycerine it would explode in a moment. I beg to + apologize to you for my momentary neglect.” + </p> + <p> + A man rose up in the middle of the hall, and it was some little time + before he could command voice enough to speak, for he was shaking as if + from palsy. At last he said, after he had moistened his lips several + times:— + </p> + <p> + “Professor, we are quite willing to take your word about the + explosive. I think I speak for all my comrades here. We have no doubt at + all about your learning, and would much prefer to hear from your own lips + what you have to say on the subject, and not have you waste any more + valuable time with experiments. I have not consulted with my comrades + before speaking, but I think I voice the sense of the meeting.” + Cries of “You do, you do,” came from all parts of the hall. + The Professor once more beamed upon them benevolently. + </p> + <p> + “Your confidence in me is indeed touching,” he said, “but + a chemical lecture without experiments is like a body without a soul. + Experiment is the soul of research. In chemistry we must take nothing for + granted. I have shown you how many popular errors have arisen regarding + the substance with which we are dealing. It would have been impossible for + these errors to have arisen if every man had experimented for himself; and + although I thank you for the mark of confidence you have bestowed upon me, + I cannot bring myself to deprive you of the pleasure which my experiments + will afford you. There is another very common error to the effect that + fire will explode dynamite. Such, gentlemen, is not the case.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor struck a match on his trousers-leg and lighted the substance + on the anvil. It burnt with a pale bluish flame, and the Professor gazed + around triumphantly at his fellow Anarchists. + </p> + <p> + While the shuddering audience watched with intense fascination the pale + blue flame the Professor suddenly stooped over and blew it out. + Straightening himself once more he said, “Again I must apologize to + you, for again I have forgotten the small spot of grease. If the flame had + reached the spot of nitro-glycerine it would have exploded, as you all + know. When a man has his thoughts concentrated on one subject he is apt to + forget something else. I shall make no more experiments with dynamite. + Here, John,” he said to the trembling attendant, “take this + box away, and move it carefully, for I see that the nitro-glycerine is + oozing out. Put it as tenderly down in the next room as if it were a box + of eggs.” + </p> + <p> + As the box disappeared there was a simultaneous long-drawn sigh of relief + from the audience. + </p> + <p> + “Now, gentlemen,” said the Professor, “we come to the + subject that ought to occupy the minds of all thoughtful men.” He + smoothed his hair complacently with the palm of his practicable hand, and + smiled genially around him. + </p> + <p> + “The substance that I am about to tell you of is my own invention, + and compares with dynamite as prussic acid does with new milk as a + beverage.” The Professor dipped his fingers in his vest pocket and + drew out what looked like a box of pills. Taking one pill out he placed it + upon the anvil and as he tip-toed back he smiled on it with a smile of + infinite tenderness. “Before I begin on this subject I want to warn + you once more that if any man as much as stamps upon the floor, or moves + about except on tip-toe this substance will explode and will lay London + from here to Charing Cross in one mass of indistinguishable ruins. I have + spent ten years of my life in completing this invention. And these pills, + worth a million a box, will cure all ills to which the flesh is heir.” + </p> + <p> + “John,” he said, turning to his attendant, “bring me a + basin of water!” The basin of water was placed gingerly upon the + table, and the Professor emptied all the pills into it, picking up also + the one that was on the anvil and putting it with the others. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, with a deep sigh, “we can breathe + easier. A man can put one of these pills in a little vial of water, place + the vial in his vest-pocket, go to Trafalgar Square, take the pill from + the vial, throw it in the middle of the Square, and it will shatter + everything within the four-mile radius, he himself having the glorious + privilege of suffering instant martyrdom for the cause. People have told + me that this is a drawback to my invention, but I am inclined to differ + with them. The one who uses this must make up his mind to share the fate + of those around him. I claim that this is the crowning glory of my + invention. It puts to instant test our interest in the great cause. John, + bring in very carefully that machine with the electric-wire attachment + from the next room.” + </p> + <p> + The machine was placed upon the table. “This,” said the + Professor, holding up some invisible object between his thumb and + forefinger, “is the finest cambric needle. I will take upon the + point of it an invisible portion of the substance I speak of.” Here + he carefully picked out a pill from the basin, and as carefully placed it + upon the table, where he detached an infinitesimal atom of it and held it + up on the point of the needle. “This particle,” he said, + “is so small that it cannot be seen except with the aid of a + microscope. I will now place needle and all on the machine and touch it + off with electric current;” and as his hand hovered over the + push-button there were cries of “Stop! stop!” but the finger + descended, and instantly there was a terrific explosion. The very + foundation seemed shaken, and a dense cloud of smoke rolled over the heads + of the audience. As the Professor became visible through the thinning + smoke, he looked around for his audience. Every man was under the benches, + and groans came from all parts of the hall. “I hope,” said the + Professor, in anxious tones, “that no one has been hurt. I am afraid + that I took up too much of the substance on the point of the needle, but + it will enable you to imagine the effect of a larger quantity. Pray seat + yourselves again. This is my last experiment.” + </p> + <p> + As the audience again seated itself, another mutual sigh ascended to the + roof. The Professor drew the chairman’s chair towards him and sat + down, wiping his grimy brow. + </p> + <p> + A man instantly arose and said, “I move a vote of thanks to + Professor Slivers for the interesting——” + </p> + <p> + The Professor raised his hand. “One moment,” he said, “I + have not quite finished. I have a proposal to make to you. You see that + cloud of smoke hovering over our heads? In twenty minutes that smoke will + percolate down through the atmosphere. I have told you but half of the + benefits of this terrific explosive. When that smoke mixes with the + atmosphere of the room it becomes a deadly poison. We all can live here + for the next nineteen minutes in perfect safety, then at the first breath + we draw we expire instantly. It is a lovely death. There is no pain, no + contortion of the countenance, but we will be found here in the morning + stark and stiff in our seats. I propose, gentlemen, that we teach London + the great lesson it so much needs. No cause is without its martyrs. Let us + be the martyrs of the great religion of Anarchy. I have left in my room + papers telling just how and why we died. At midnight these sheets will be + distributed to all the newspapers of London, and to-morrow the world will + ring with our heroic names. I will now put the motion. All in favor of + this signify it by the usual upraising of the right hand.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor’s own right hand was the only one that was raised. + </p> + <p> + “Now all of a contrary opinion,” said the Professor, and at + once every hand in the audience went up. + </p> + <p> + “The noes have it,” said the Professor, but he did not seem to + feel badly about it. “Gentlemen,” he continued, “I see + that you have guessed my second proposal, as I imagined you would, and + though there will be no newspapers in London to-morrow to chronicle the + fact, yet the newspapers of the rest of the world will tell of the + destruction of this wicked city. I see by your looks that you are with me + in this, my second proposal, which is the most striking thing ever + planned, and is that we explode the whole of these pills in the basin. To + make sure of this, I have sent to an agent in Manchester the full account + of how it was done, and the resolutions brought forward at this meeting, + and which doubtless you will accept. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, all in favor of the instant destruction of London + signify it in the usual manner.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Professor,” said the man who had spoken previously, + “before you put that resolution I would like to move an amendment. + This is a very serious proposal, and should not be lightly undertaken. I + move as an amendment, therefore, that we adjourn this meeting to our rooms + at Soho, and do the exploding there. I have some little business that must + be settled before this grand project is put in motion.” + </p> + <p> + The Professor then said, “Gentlemen, the amendment takes precedence. + It is moved that this meeting be adjourned, so that you may consider the + project at your club-rooms in Soho.” + </p> + <p> + “I second that amendment,” said fifteen of the audience rising + together to their feet. + </p> + <p> + “In the absence of the regular chairman,” said the Professor, + “it is my duty to put the amendment. All in favor of the amendment + signify it by raising the right hand.” + </p> + <p> + Every hand was raised. “The amendment, gentlemen, is carried. I + shall be only too pleased to meet you to-morrow night at your club, and I + will bring with me a larger quantity of my explosive. John, kindly go + round and tell the man to unlock the doors.” + </p> + <p> + When Simkins and Slivers called round the next night at the regular + meeting-place of the Anarchists, they found no signs of a gathering, and + never since the lecture has the Soho Anarchist League been known to hold a + meeting. The Club has mysteriously dissolved. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FEAR OF IT. + </h2> + <p> + The sea was done with him. He had struggled manfully for his life, but + exhaustion came at last, and, realizing the futility of further fighting, + he gave up the battle. The tallest wave, the king of that roaring + tumultuous procession racing from the wreck to the shore, took him in its + relentless grasp, held him towering for a moment against the sky, whirled + his heels in the air, dashed him senseless on the sand, and, finally, + rolled him over and over, a helpless bundle, high up upon the sandy beach. + </p> + <p> + Human life seems of little account when we think of the trifles that make + toward the extinction or the extension of it. If the wave that bore + Stanford had been a little less tall, he would have been drawn back into + the sea by one that followed. If, as a helpless bundle, he had been turned + over one time more or one less, his mouth would have pressed into the + sand, and he would have died. As it was, he lay on his back with arms + outstretched on either side, and a handful of dissolving sand in one + clinched fist. Succeeding waves sometimes touched him, but he lay there + unmolested by the sea with his white face turned to the sky. + </p> + <p> + Oblivion has no calendar. A moment or an eternity are the same to it. When + consciousness slowly returned, he neither knew nor cared how time had + fled. He was not quite sure that he was alive, but weakness rather than + fear kept him from opening his eyes to find out whether the world they + would look upon was the world they had last gazed at. His interest, + however, was speedily stimulated by the sound of the English tongue. He + was still too much dazed to wonder at it, and to remember that he was cast + away on some unknown island in the Southern Seas. But the purport of the + words startled him. + </p> + <p> + “Let us be thankful. He is undoubtedly dead.” This was said in + a tone of infinite satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + There seemed to be a murmur of pleasure at the announcement from those who + were with the speaker. Stanford slowly opened his eyes, wondering what + these savages were who rejoiced in the death of an inoffensive stranger + cast upon their shores. He saw a group standing around him, but his + attention speedily became concentrated on one face. The owner of it, he + judged, was not more than nineteen years of age, and the face—at + least so it seemed to Stanford at the time—was the most beautiful he + had ever beheld. There was an expression of sweet gladness upon it until + her eyes met his, then the joy faded from the face, and a look of dismay + took its place. The girl seemed to catch her breath in fear, and tears + filled her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried, “he is going to live.” + </p> + <p> + She covered her face with her hands, and sobbed. + </p> + <p> + Stanford closed his eyes wearily. “I am evidently insane,” he + said to himself. Then, losing faith in the reality of things, he lost + consciousness as well, and when his senses came to him again he found + himself lying on a bed in a clean but scantily furnished room. Through an + open window came the roar of the sea, and the thunderous boom of the + falling waves brought to his mind the experiences through which he had + passed. The wreck and the struggle with the waves he knew to be real, but + the episode on the beach he now believed to have been but a vision + resulting from his condition. + </p> + <p> + A door opened noiselessly, and, before he knew of anyone’s entrance, + a placid-faced nurse stood by his bed and asked him how he was. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I am at least alive.” + </p> + <p> + The nurse sighed, and cast down her eyes. Her lips moved, but she said + nothing. Stanford looked at her curiously. A fear crept over him that he + was hopelessly crippled for life, and that death was considered preferable + to a maimed existence. He felt wearied, though not in pain, but he knew + that sometimes the more desperate the hurt, the less the victim feels it + at first. + </p> + <p> + “Are—are any of my—my bones broken, do you know?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. You are bruised, but not badly hurt. You will soon recover.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Stanford, with a sigh of relief. “By the way,” + he added, with sudden interest, “who was that girl who stood near me + as I lay on the beach?” + </p> + <p> + “There were several.” + </p> + <p> + “No, there was but one. I mean the girl with the beautiful eyes and + a halo of hair like a glorified golden crown on her head.” + </p> + <p> + “We speak not of our women in words like those,” said the + nurse, severely; “you mean Ruth, perhaps, whose hair is plentiful + and yellow.” + </p> + <p> + Stanford smiled. “Words matter little,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “We must be temperate in speech,” replied the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “We may be temperate without, being teetotal. Plentiful and yellow, + indeed! I have had a bad dream concerning those who found me. I thought + that they—but it does not matter. She at least is not a myth. Do you + happen to know if any others were saved?” + </p> + <p> + “I am thankful to be able to say that every one was drowned.” + </p> + <p> + Stanford started up with horror in his eyes. The demure nurse, with + sympathetic tones, bade him not excite himself. He sank back on his + pillow. + </p> + <p> + “Leave the room,” he cried, feebly, “Leave me—leave + me.” He turned his face toward the wall, while the woman left as + silently as she had entered. + </p> + <p> + When she was gone Stanford slid from the bed, intending to make his way to + the door and fasten it. He feared that these savages, who wished him dead, + would take measures to kill him when they saw he was going to recover. As + he leaned against the bed, he noticed that the door had no fastening. + There was a rude latch, but neither lock nor bolt. The furniture of the + room was of the most meagre description, clumsily made. He staggered to + the open window, and looked out. The remnants of the disastrous gale blew + in upon him and gave him new life, as it had formerly threatened him with + death. He saw that he was in a village of small houses, each cottage + standing in its own plot of ground. It was apparently a village of one + street, and over the roofs of the houses opposite he saw in the distance + the white waves of the sea. What astonished him most was a church with its + tapering spire at the end of the street—a wooden church such as he + had seen in remote American settlements. The street was deserted, and + there were no signs of life in the houses. + </p> + <p> + “I must have fallen in upon some colony of lunatics,” he said + to himself. “I wonder to what country these people belong—either + to England or the United States, I imagine—yet in all my travels I + never heard of such a community.” + </p> + <p> + There was no mirror in the room, and it was impossible for him to know how + he looked. His clothes were dry and powdered with salt. He arranged them + as well as he could, and slipped out of the house unnoticed. When he + reached the outskirts of the village he saw that the inhabitants, both men + and women, were working in the fields some distance away. Coming towards + the village was a girl with a water-can in either hand. She was singing as + blithely as a lark until she saw Stanford, whereupon she paused both in + her walk and in her song. Stanford, never a backward man, advanced, and + was about to greet her when she forestalled him by saying: + </p> + <p> + “I am grieved, indeed, to see that you have recovered.” + </p> + <p> + The young man’s speech was frozen on his lip, and a frown settled + off his brow. Seeing that he was annoyed, though why she could not guess, + Ruth hastened to amend matters by adding: + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, what I say is true. I am indeed sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry that I live?” + </p> + <p> + “Most heartily am I.” + </p> + <p> + “It is hard to credit such a statement from one so—from you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not say so. Miriam has already charged me with being glad that + you were not drowned. It would pain me deeply if you also believed as she + does.” + </p> + <p> + The girl looked at him with swimming eyes, and the young man knew not what + to answer. Finally he said: + </p> + <p> + “There is some horrible mistake. I cannot make it out. Perhaps our + words, though apparently the same, have a different meaning. Sit down, + Ruth, I want to ask you some questions.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth cast a timorous glance towards the workers, and murmured something + about not having much time to spare, but she placed the water-cans on the + ground and sank down on the grass. Stanford throwing himself on the sward + at her feet, but, seeing that she shrank back, he drew himself further + from her, resting where he might gaze upon her face. + </p> + <p> + Ruth’s eyes were downcast, which was necessary, for she occupied + herself in pulling blade after blade of grass, sometimes weaving them + together. Stanford had said he wished to question her, but he apparently + forgot his intention, for he seemed wholly satisfied with merely looking + at her. After the silence had lasted for some time, she lifted her eyes + for one brief moment, and then asked the first question herself. + </p> + <p> + “From what land do you come?” + </p> + <p> + “From England.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that also is an island, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed at the “also,” and remembered that he had some + questions to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is an island—also. The sea dashes wrecks on all four + sides of it, but there is no village on its shores so heathenish that if a + man is cast upon the beach the inhabitants do not rejoice because he has + escaped death.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth looked at him with amazement in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is there, then, no religion in England?” + </p> + <p> + “Religion? England is the most religious country on the face of the + earth. There are more cathedrals, more churches, more places of worship in + England than in any other State that I know of. We send missionaries to + all heathenish lands. The Government, itself, supports the Church.” + </p> + <p> + “I imagine, then, I mistook your meaning. I thought from what you + said that the people of England feared death, and did not welcome it or + rejoice when one of their number died.” + </p> + <p> + “They do not fear death, and they do not rejoice when it comes. Far + from it. From the peer to the beggar, everyone fights death as long as he + can; the oldest cling to life as eagerly as the youngest. Not a man but + will spend his last gold piece to ward off the inevitable even for an + hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Gold piece—what is that?” + </p> + <p> + Stanford plunged his hand into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “there are some coins left. Here is a + gold piece.” + </p> + <p> + The girl took it, and looked at it with keen interest. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it pretty?” she said, holding the yellow coin on + her pink palm, and glancing up at him. + </p> + <p> + “That is the general opinion. To accumulate coins like that, men + will lie, and cheat, and steal—yes, and work. Although they will + give their last sovereign to prolong their lives, yet will they risk life + itself to accumulate gold. Every business in England is formed merely for + the gathering together of bits of metal like that in your hand; huge + companies of men are formed so that it may be piled up in greater + quantities. The man who has most gold has most power, and is generally the + most respected; the company which makes most money is the one people are + most anxious to belong to.” + </p> + <p> + Ruth listened to him with wonder and dismay in her eyes. As he talked she + shuddered, and allowed the yellow coin to slip from her hand to the + ground. “No wonder such a people fears death.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not fear death?” + </p> + <p> + “How can we, when we believe in heaven?” + </p> + <p> + “But would you not be sorry if someone died whom you loved?” + </p> + <p> + “How could we be so selfish? Would you be sorry if your brother, or + someone you loved, became possessed of whatever you value in England—a + large quantity of this gold, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. But then you see—well, it isn’t exactly + the same thing. If one you care for dies you are separated from him, and——” + </p> + <p> + “But only for a short time, and that gives but another reason for + welcoming death. It seems impossible that Christian people should fear to + enter Heaven. Now I begin to understand why our forefathers left England, + and why our teachers will never tell us anything about the people there. I + wonder why missionaries are not sent to England to teach them the truth, + and try to civilize the people?” + </p> + <p> + “That would, indeed, be coals to Newcastle. But there comes one of + the workers.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my father,” cried the girl, rising. “I fear I + have been loitering. I never did such a thing before.” + </p> + <p> + The man who approached was stern of countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Ruth,” he said, “the workers are athirst.” + </p> + <p> + The girl, without reply, picked up her pails and departed. + </p> + <p> + “I have been receiving,” said the young man, coloring + slightly, “some instruction regarding your belief. I had been + puzzled by several remarks I had heard, and wished to make inquiries + concerning them.” + </p> + <p> + “It is more fitting,” said the man, coldly, “that you + should receive instruction from me or from some of the elders than from + one of the youngest in the community. When you are so far recovered as to + be able to listen to an exposition of our views, I hope to put forth such + arguments as will convince you that they are the true views. If it should + so happen that my arguments are not convincing, then I must request that + you will hold no communication with our younger members. They must not be + contaminated by the heresies of the outside world.” + </p> + <p> + Stanford looked at Ruth standing beside the village well. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” he said, “you underrate the argumentative powers + of the younger members. There is a text bearing upon the subject which I + need not recall to you. I am already convinced.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE METAMORPHOSES OF JOHNSON. + </h2> + <p> + I was staying for some weeks at a lovely town in the Tyrol which I shall + take the liberty of naming Schwindleburg. I conceal its real title because + it charges what is termed a visitors’ tax, and a heavy visitors’ + tax, exacting the same from me through the medium of my hotel bill. The + town also made me pay for the excellent band that performs morning and + afternoon in the Kurpark. Many continental health resorts support + themselves by placing a tax upon visitors, a practice resorted to by no + English town, and so I regard the imposition as a swindle, and I refuse to + advertise any place that practises it. It is true that if you stay in + Schwindleburg less than a week they do not tax you, but I didn’t + know that, and the hotel man, being wise in his own generation, did not + present his bill until a day after the week was out, so I found myself in + for the visitors’ tax and the music money before I was aware of it. + Thus does a foolish person accumulate wisdom by foreign travel. I stayed + on at this picturesque place, listening to the band every day, trying to + get value for my money. I intended to keep much to myself, having work to + do, and make no acquaintances, but I fell under the fascination of + Johnson, thus breaking my rule. What is the use of making a rule if you + can’t have the pleasure of breaking it? + </p> + <p> + I think the thing that first attracted me to Johnson was his utter + negligence in the matter of his personal appearance. When he stepped down + from the hotel ‘bus he looked like a semi-respectable tramp. He wore + a blue woolen shirt, with no collar or necktie. He had a slouch hat, + without the usual affectation of a Tyrolese feather in it. His full beard + had evidently not been trimmed for weeks, and he had one trouser-leg + turned up. He had no alpenstock, and that also was a merit. So I said to + myself, “Here is a man free from the conventionalities of society. + If I become acquainted with anybody it will be with him.” + </p> + <p> + I found Johnson was an American from a Western city named Chicago, which I + had heard of, and we “palled on.” He was very fond of music, + and the band in the Kurpark was a good one, so we went there together + twice a day, and talked as we walked up and down the gravel paths. He had + been everywhere, and knew his way about; his conversation was interesting. + In about a week I had come to love Johnson, and I think he rather liked + me. + </p> + <p> + One day, as we returned together to the Hotel Post, he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I’m off to-morrow,” he said; “off to Innsbruck. + So I shall bid you good-bye. I am very glad indeed to have met you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” I replied. “But I + won’t say good-bye now, I’ll see you to the station to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t do that. I shall be away before you are up. We’ll + say good- bye here.” + </p> + <p> + We did, and when I had breakfast next morning I found Johnson had left by + the early train. I wandered around the park that forenoon mourning for + Johnson. The place seemed lonely without him. In the afternoon I explored + some of the by-paths of the park within hearing distance of the band, when + suddenly, to my intense surprise, I met my departed friend. + </p> + <p> + “Hello! Johnson,” I cried, “I thought you left this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + The man looked at me with no recognition in his face. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said, “my name is Baumgarten.” + </p> + <p> + Looking more closely at him I at once saw I was mistaken. I had been + thinking of Johnson at the time, which probably accounted for the error. + Still, his likeness to Johnson was remarkable—to Johnson well + groomed. He had neatly-trimmed side-whiskers and moustache, while Johnson + had a full beard. His round hat was new, and he wore an irreproachable + collar, and even cuffs. Besides this he sported a cane, and evidently + possessed many weaknesses to which Johnson was superior. I apologized for + my mistake, and was about to walk on when Baumgarten showed signs of + wishing to become acquainted. + </p> + <p> + “I have just arrived,” he said, “and know nothing of the + place. Have you been here long?” + </p> + <p> + “About two weeks,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! then, you are a resident as it were. Are there any good ascents + to be made around here?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not been informed that there are. I am not a climber myself, + except by funicular railway. I am always content to take other people’s + figures for the heights. The only use I have for a mountain is to look at + it.” + </p> + <p> + Then Baumgarten launched into a very interesting account of mountain + dangers he had passed through. I found him a most entertaining talker, + almost as fascinating as Johnson himself. He told me he was from Hanover, + but he had been educated in Great Britain, which accounted for his perfect + English. + </p> + <p> + “What hotel are you at?” he asked, as the band ceased playing. + </p> + <p> + “I am staying at the Post,” I answered. “And you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am at the Adler. You must come to dine with me some evening, and + I will make it even by dining with you. We can thus compare <i>table d’hôtes</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Baumgarten improved on acquaintance in spite of his foppishness in dress. + I almost forgot Johnson until one day I was reminded of him one day by + Baumgarten saying, “I leave to-night for Innsbruck.” + </p> + <p> + “Innsbruck? Why, that’s where Johnson is. You ought to meet + him. He’s an awfully good fellow. A little careless about his + clothes, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to meet him. I know no one in Innsbruck. Do you + happen to know the name of his hotel?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not. I don’t even know Johnson’s first name. But I’ll + write you a note of introduction on my card, and if you should come across + him, give him my regards.” + </p> + <p> + Baumgarten accepted the card with thanks, and we parted. + </p> + <p> + Next day, being warm, I sat on a bench in the shade listening to the + music. Now that Baumgarten had gone, I was meditating on his strange + resemblance to Johnson, and remembering things. Someone sat down beside + me, but I paid no attention to him. Finally he said: “This seems to + be a very good band.” + </p> + <p> + I started at the sound of his voice, and looked at him too much astonished + to reply. + </p> + <p> + He wore a moustache, but no whiskers, and a green Tyrolese felt hat with a + feather in it. An alpenstock leaned against the bench beside him, its iron + point in the gravel. He wore knickerbockers; in fact, his whole appearance + was that of the conventional mountaineer-tourist. But the voice! And the + expression of the eyes! + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I said the band is very good.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. Quite so. It’s expensive, and it ought to be good. I’m + helping to pay for it. By the way, you arrived this morning, I take it?” + </p> + <p> + “I came last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed. And you depart in a few days for Innsbruck?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I go to Salzburg when I leave here.” + </p> + <p> + “And your name isn’t Johnson—or—or Baumgarten, by + any chance?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not.” + </p> + <p> + “You come neither from Chicago nor Hanover?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been in America, nor do I know Hanover. Anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing else. It’s all right. It’s none of my business, + of course.” + </p> + <p> + “What is none of your business?” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s no secret about that. I am a Russian. My name is + Katzoff. At least, these are the first and last syllables of my name. I + never use my full name when I travel; it is too complicated.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. And how do you account for your perfect English? Educated + in England, I presume? Baumgarten was.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was not. You know we Russians are reputed to be good + linguists.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I had forgotten that. We will now return to the point from + which we started. The band is excellent, and it is about to play one of + four favorite selections, Mr. Katzburg.” + </p> + <p> + “Katzoff is the name. As to the selection, I don’t know much + about music, although I am fond of popular pieces.” + </p> + <p> + Katzoff and I got along very nicely, although I did not seem to like him + as well as either Johnson or Baumgarten. He left for Salzburg without + bidding me good-bye. Missing him one day, I called at the Angleterre, and + the porter told me he had gone. + </p> + <p> + Next day I searched for him, wondering in what garb I should find him. I + passed him twice as he sat on the bench, before I was sure enough to + accost him. The sacrifice of his moustache had made a remarkable + difference. His clean-shaven face caused him to look at least ten years + younger. He wore a tall silk hat, and a long black morning coat. I found + myself hardly able to withdraw my eyes from the white spats that partially + covered his polished boots. He was reading an English paper, and did not + observe my scrutiny. I approached him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Johnson,” I said, “this <i>is</i> a lay out. You’re + English this time, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + The man looked up in evident surprise. Fumbling around the front of his + waistcoat for a moment, he found a black silk string, which he pulled, + bringing to his hand a little round disc of glass. This he stuck in one + eye, grimacing slightly to keep it in place, and so regarded me apparently + with some curiosity. My certainty that it was Johnson wavered for a + moment, but I braved it out. + </p> + <p> + “That monocle is a triumph, Johnson. In combination with the spats + it absolutely staggers me. If you had tried that on as Baumgarten I don’t + know that I should have recognized you. Johnson, what’s your game?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be laboring under some delusion,” he said at + last. “My name is not Johnson. I am Lord Somerset Campbell, if you + care to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Oh, well, that’s all right. I’m the Duke of + Argyll, so we must be relatives. Blood is thicker than water, Campbell. + Confess. Whom have you murdered?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew,” said his lordship, slowly, “that the largest + lunatic asylum in the Tyrol is near here, but I was not aware that the + patients were allowed to stroll in the Kurpark.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all very well, Johnson, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Campbell, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t please, as it happens. This masquerade has gone on + long enough. What’s your crime? Or are you on the other side of the + fence? Are you practising the detective business?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, I don’t know you, and I resent your + impertinent curiosity. Allow me to wish you good-day.” + </p> + <p> + “It won’t do, Johnson, it has gone too far. You have played on + my feelings, and I won’t stand it. I’ll go to the authorities + and relate the circumstances. They are just suspicious enough to——” + </p> + <p> + “Which? The authorities or the circumstances?” asked Johnson, + sitting down again. + </p> + <p> + “Both, my dear boy, both, and you know it. Now, Johnson, make a + clean breast of it, I won’t give you away.” + </p> + <p> + Johnson sighed, and his glass dropped from his eye. He looked around + cautiously. “Sit down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Then you <i>are</i> Johnson!” I cried, with some exultation. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you weren’t very sure,” began Johnson. + “However, it doesn’t matter, but you should be above + threatening a man. That was playing it low down.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you’re from Chicago. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all on account of this accursed visitors’ tax. + That I decline to pay. I stay just under the week at a hotel, and then + take a ‘bus to the station, and another ‘bus to another hotel. + Of course my mistake was getting acquainted with you. I never suspected + you were going to stay here a month.” + </p> + <p> + “But why didn’t you let me know? Your misdemeanor is one I + thoroughly sympathize with. I wouldn’t have said anything.” + </p> + <p> + Johnson shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I took a fellow into my confidence once before. He told it as a + dead secret to a friend, and the friend thought it a good joke, and + related it, always under oath that it should go no further. The + authorities had me arrested before the week was out, and fined me heavily + besides exacting the tax.” + </p> + <p> + “But doesn’t the ‘bus fares, the changing, and all that + amount to as much as the tax?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it does. It isn’t the money I object to, it’s + the principle of the thing.” + </p> + <p> + This interview was the last I ever had with Johnson. About a week later I + read in the Visitors’ List that Lord Somerset Campbell, who had been + a guest of the Victoria (the swell hotel of the place), had left + Schwindleburg for Innsbruck. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RECLAMATION OF JOE HOLLENDS. + </h2> + <p> + The public-houses of Burwell Road—and there were many of them for + the length of the street—were rather proud of Joe Hollends. He was a + perfected specimen of the work a pub produces. He was probably the most + persistent drunkard the Road possessed, and the periodical gathering in of + Joe by the police was one of the stock sights of the street. Many of the + inhabitants could be taken to the station by one policeman; some required + two; but Joe’s average was four. He had been heard to boast that on + one occasion he had been accompanied to the station by seven bobbies, but + that was before the force had studied Joe and got him down to his correct + mathematical equivalent. Now they tripped him up, a policeman taking one + kicking leg and another the other, while the remaining two attended to the + upper part of his body. Thus they carried him, followed by an admiring + crowd, and watched by other envious drunkards who had to content + themselves with a single officer when they went on a similar spree. + Sometimes Joe managed to place a kick where it would do the most good + against the stomach of a policeman, and when the officer rolled over there + was for a few moments a renewal of the fight, silent on the part of the + men and vociferous on the part of the drunkard, who had a fine flow of + abusive language. Then the procession went on again. It was perfectly + useless to put Joe on the police ambulance, for it required two men to sit + on him while in transit, and the barrow is not made to stand such a load. + </p> + <p> + Of course, when Joe staggered out of the pub and fell in the gutter, the + ambulance did its duty, and trundled Joe to his abiding place, but the + real fun occurred when Joe was gathered in during the third stage of his + debauch. He passed through the oratorical stage, then the maudlin or + sentimental stage, from which he emerged into the fighting stage, when he + was usually ejected into the street, where he forthwith began to make Rome + howl, and paint the town red. At this point the policeman’s whistle + sounded, and the force knew Joe was on the warpath, and that duty called + them to the fray. + </p> + <p> + It was believed in the neighborhood that Joe had been a college man, and + this gave him additional standing with his admirers. His eloquence was + undoubted, after several glasses varying in number according to the + strength of their contents, and a man who had heard the great political + speakers of the day admitted that none of them could hold a candle to Joe + when he got on the subject of the wrongs of the working man and the + tyranny of the capitalist. It was generally understood that Joe might have + been anything he liked, and that he was no man’s enemy but his own. + It was also hinted that he could tell the bigwigs a thing or two if he had + been consulted in affairs of State. + </p> + <p> + One evening, when Joe was slowly progressing as usual, with his feet in + the air, towards the station, supported by the requisite number of + policemen, and declaiming to the delight of the accompanying crowd, a + woman stood with her back to the brick wall, horror-stricken at the sight. + She had a pale, refined face, and was dressed in black. Her self-imposed + mission was among these people, but she had never seen Joe taken to the + station before, and the sight, which was so amusing to the neighborhood, + was shocking to her. She enquired about Joe, and heard the usual story + that he was no man’s enemy but his own, although they might in + justice have added the police. Still, a policeman was hardly looked upon + as a human being in that neighborhood. Miss Johnson reported the case to + the committee of the Social League, and took counsel. Then it was that the + reclamation of Joe Hollends was determined on. + </p> + <p> + Joe received Miss Johnson with subdued dignity, and a demeanor that + delicately indicated a knowledge on his part of her superiority and his + own degradation. He knew how a lady should be treated even if he was a + drunkard, as he told his cronies afterwards. Joe was perfectly willing to + be reclaimed. Heretofore in his life, no one had ever extended the hand of + fellowship to him. Human sympathy was what Joe needed, and precious little + he had had of it. There were more kicks than halfpence in this world for a + poor man. The rich did not care what became of the poor; not they—a + proposition which Miss Johnson earnestly denied. + </p> + <p> + It was one of the tenets of the committee that where possible the poor + should help the poor. It was resolved to get Joe a decent suit of clothes + and endeavor to find him a place where work would enable him to help + himself. Miss Johnson went around the neighborhood and collected pence for + the reclamation. Most people were willing to help Joe, although it was + generally felt that the Road would be less gay when he took on sober + habits. In one room, however, Miss Johnson was refused the penny she + pleaded for. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot spare even a penny,” said the woman, whose sickly + little boy clung to her skirts. “My husband is just out of work + again. He has had only four weeks’ work this time.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Johnson looked around the room and saw why there was no money. It was + quite evident where the earnings of the husband had gone. + </p> + <p> + The room was much better furnished than the average apartment of the + neighborhood. There were two sets of dishes where one would have been + quite sufficient. On the mantelshelf and around the walls were various + unnecessary articles which cost money. + </p> + <p> + Miss Johnson noted all this but said nothing, although she resolved to + report it to the committee. In union is strength and in multitude of + counsel there is wisdom. Miss Johnson had great faith in the wisdom of the + committee. + </p> + <p> + “How long has your husband been out of work?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Only a few days, but times are very bad and he is afraid he will + not get another situation soon.” + </p> + <p> + “What is his trade?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a carpenter and a good workman—sober and steady.” + </p> + <p> + “If you give me his name I will put it down in our books. Perhaps we + may be able to help him.” + </p> + <p> + “John Morris is his name.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Johnson wrote it down on her tablets, and when she left, the wife + felt vaguely grateful for benefits to come. + </p> + <p> + The facts of the case were reported to the committee, and Miss Johnson was + deputed to expostulate with Mrs. Morris upon her extravagance. John Morris’s + name was put upon the books among the names of many other unemployed + persons. The case of Joe Hollends then came up, and elicited much + enthusiasm. A decent suit of clothing had been purchased with part of the + money collected for him, and it was determined to keep the rest in trust, + to be doled out to him as occasion warranted. + </p> + <p> + Two persuasive ladies undertook to find a place for him in one of the + factories, if such a thing were possible. + </p> + <p> + Joe felt rather uncomfortable in his new suit of clothes, and seemed to + regard the expenditure as, all in all, a waste of good money. He was also + disappointed to find that the funds collected were not to be handed over + to him in a lump. It was not the money he cared about, he said, but the + evident lack of trust. If people had trusted him more, he might have been + a better man. Trust and human sympathy were what Joe Hollends needed. + </p> + <p> + The two persuasive ladies appealed to Mr. Stillwell, the proprietor of a + small factory for the making of boxes. They said that if Hollends got a + chance they were sure he would reform. Stillwell replied that he had no + place for anyone. He had enough to do to keep the men already in his + employ. Times were dull in the box business, and he was turning away + applicants every day who were good workmen and who didn’t need to be + reformed. However, the ladies were very persuasive, and it is not given to + every man to be able to refuse the appeal of a pretty woman, not to + mention two of them. Stillwell promised to give Hollends a chance, said he + would consult with his foreman, and let the ladies know what could be + done. + </p> + <p> + Joe Hollends did not receive the news of his luck with the enthusiasm that + might have been expected. Many a man was tramping London in search of + employment and finding none, therefore even the ladies who were so + solicitous about Joe’s welfare thought he should be thankful that + work came unsought. He said he would do his best, which is, when you come + to think of it, all that we have a right to expect from any man. + </p> + <p> + Some days afterwards Jack Morris applied to Mr. Stillwell for a job, but + he had no sub-committee of persuasive ladies to plead for him. He would be + willing to work half-time or quarter-time for that matter. He had a wife + and boy dependent on him. He could show that he was a good workman and he + did not drink. Thus did Morris recite his qualifications to the unwilling + ears of Stillwell the box maker. As he left the place disheartened with + another refusal, he was overtaken by Joe Hollends. Joe was a lover of his + fellow-man, and disliked seeing anyone downhearted. He had one infallible + cure for dejection. Having just been discharged, he was in high spirits, + because his prediction of his own failure as a reformed character, if work + were a condition of the reclamation, had just been fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up, old man,” he cried, slapping Morris on the + shoulder, “what’s the matter? Come and have a drink with me. I’ve + got the money.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Morris, who knew the professional drunkard but + slightly, and did not care for further acquaintance with him, “I + want work, not beer.” + </p> + <p> + “Every man to his taste. Why don’t you ask at the box factory? + You can have my job and welcome. The foreman’s just discharged me. + Said I wouldn’t work myself, and kept the men off theirs. Thought I + talked too much about capital and labor.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I could get your job?” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely. No harm in trying. If they don’t take you on, + come into the Red Lion—I’ll be there—and have a drop. It’ll + cheer you up a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Morris appealed in vain to the foreman. They had more men now in the + factory than they needed, he said. So Morris went to the Red Lion, where + he found Hollends ready to welcome him. They had several glasses together, + and Hollends told him of the efforts of the Social League in the + reclamation line, and his doubts of their ultimate success. Hollends + seemed to think the ladies of the League were deeply indebted to him for + furnishing them with such a good subject for reformation. That night Joe’s + career reached a triumphant climax, for the four policeman had to appeal + to the bystanders for help in the name of the law. + </p> + <p> + Jack Morris went home unaided. He had not taken many glasses, but he knew + he should have avoided drink altogether, for he had some experience of its + power in his younger days. He was, therefore, in a quarrelsome mood, ready + to blame everyone but himself. + </p> + <p> + He found his wife in tears, and saw Miss Johnson sitting there, evidently + very miserable. + </p> + <p> + “What’s all this?” asked Morris. + </p> + <p> + His wife dried her eyes, and said it was nothing. Miss Johnson had been + giving her some advice, which she was thankful for. Morris glared at the + visitor. + </p> + <p> + “What have you got to do with us?” he demanded rudely. His + wife caught him by the arm, but he angrily tossed aside her hand. Miss + Johnson arose, fearing. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve no business here. We want none of your advice. You get + out of this.” Then, impatiently to his wife, who strove to calm him, + “Shut up, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Johnson was afraid he would strike her as she passed him going to the + door, but he merely stood there, following her exit with lowering brow. + </p> + <p> + The terrified lady told her experience to the sympathizing members of the + committee. She had spoken to Mrs. Morris of her extravagance in buying so + many things that were not necessary when her husband had work. She advised + the saving of the money. Mrs. Morris had defended her apparent lavish + expenditure by saying that there was no possibility of saving money. She + bought useful things, and when her husband was out of work she could + always get a large percentage of their cost from the pawnbroker. The + pawnshop, she had tearfully explained to Miss Johnson, was the only bank + of the poor. The idea of the pawnshop as a bank, and not as a place of + disgrace, was new to Miss Johnson, but before anything further could be + said the husband had come in. One of the committee, who knew more about + the district than Miss Johnson, affirmed that there was something to say + for the pawnbroker as the banker of the poor. The committee were unanimous + in condemning the conduct of Morris, and it says much for the members + that, in spite of the provocation one of them had received, they did not + take the name of so undeserving a man from their list of the unemployed. + </p> + <p> + The sad relapse of Joe Hollends next occupied the attention of the League. + His fine had been paid, and he had expressed himself as deeply grieved at + his own frailty. If the foreman had been less harsh with him and had given + him a chance, things might have been different. It was resolved to send + Joe to the seaside so that he might have an opportunity of toning up his + system to resist temptation. Joe enjoyed his trip to the sea. He always + liked to encounter a new body of police unaccustomed to his methods. He + toned up his system so successfully the first day on the sands that he + spent the night in the cells. + </p> + <p> + Little by little, the portable property in the rooms of the Morrises + disappeared into the pawnshop. Misfortune, as usual, did not come singly. + The small boy was ill, and Morris himself seemed to be unable to resist + the temptation of the Red Lion. The unhappy woman took her boy to the + parish doctor, who was very busy, but he gave what attention he could to + the case. He said all the boy needed was nourishing food and country air. + Mrs. Morris sighed, and decided to take the little boy oftener to the + park, but the way was long, and he grew weaker day by day. + </p> + <p> + At last, she succeeded in interesting her husband in the little fellow’s + condition. He consented to take the boy to the doctor with her. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor doesn’t seem to mind what I say,” she + complained. “Perhaps he will pay attention to a man.” + </p> + <p> + Morris was not naturally a morose person, but continued disappointment was + rapidly making him so. He said nothing, but took the boy in his arms, and, + followed by his wife, went to the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “This boy was here before,” said the physician, which tended + to show that he had paid more attention to the case than Mrs. Morris + thought. “He is very much worse. You will have to take him to the + country or he will die.” + </p> + <p> + “How can I send him to the country?” asked Morris, sullenly. + “I’ve been out of work for months.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you friends in the country?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn’t your wife any friends in the country who would take + her and the lad for a month or so?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything to pawn?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I would advise you to pawn everything you own, or sell it if + you can, and take the boy on your back and tramp to the country. You will + get work there probably more easily than in the city. Here are ten + shillings to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want your money,” said Morris, in a surly tone. + “I want work.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no work to give you, so I offer you what I have. I haven’t + as much of that as I could wish. You are a fool not to take what the gods + send.” + </p> + <p> + Morris, without replying, gathered up his son in his arms and departed. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a bottle of tonic for him.” said the doctor to Mrs. + Morris. + </p> + <p> + He placed the half-sovereign on the bottle as he passed it to her. She + silently thanked him with her wet eyes, hoping that a time would come when + she could repay the money. The doctor had experience enough to know that + they were not to be classed among his usual visitors. He was not in the + habit of indiscriminately bestowing gold coins. + </p> + <p> + It was a dreary journey, and they were a long time shaking off the + octopus-like tentacles of the great city, that reached further and further + into he country each year, as if it lived on consuming the green fields. + Morris walked ahead with the boy on his back, and his wife followed. + Neither spoke, and the sick lad did not complain. As they were nearing a + village, the boy’s head sunk on his father’s shoulder. The + mother quickened her pace, and came up to them stroking the head of her + sleeping son. Suddenly, she uttered a smothered cry and took the boy in + her arms. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” asked Morris, turning round. + </p> + <p> + She did not answer, but sat by the roadside with the boy on her lap, + swaying her body to and fro over him, moaning as she did so. Morris needed + no answer. He stood on the road with hardening face, and looked down on + his wife and child without speaking. + </p> + <p> + The kindly villagers arranged the little funeral, and when it was over + Jack Morris and his wife stood again on the road. + </p> + <p> + “Jack, dear,” she pleaded, “don’t go back to that + horrible place. We belong to the country, and the city is so hard and + cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going back. You can do as you like.” Then, + relenting a little, he added, “I haven’t brought much luck to + you, my girl.” + </p> + <p> + She knew her husband was a stubborn man, and set in his way, so, + unprotesting, she followed him in, as she had followed out, stumbling many + times, for often her eyes did not see the road. And so they returned to + their empty rooms. + </p> + <p> + Jack Morris went to look for work at the Red Lion. There he met that + genial comrade, Joe Hollends, who had been reformed, and who had backslid + twice since Jack had foregathered with him before. It is but fair to Joe + to admit that he had never been optimistic about his own reclamation, but + being an obliging man, even when he was sober, he was willing to give the + Social League every chance. Jack was deeply grieved at the death of his + son, although he had said no word to his wife that would show it. It + therefore took more liquor than usual to bring him up to the point of good + comradeship that reigned at the Red Lion. When he and Joe left the tavern + that night it would have taken an expert to tell which was the more + inebriated. They were both in good fighting trim, and were both in the + humor for a row. The police, who had reckoned on Joe alone, suddenly found + a new element in the fight that not only upset their calculations but + themselves as well. It was a glorious victory, and, as both fled down a + side street, Morris urged Hollends to come along, for the representatives + of law and order have the habit of getting reinforcements which often turn + a victory into a most ignominious defeat. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” panted Hollends. “The beggars have hurt + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Come along. I know a place where we are safe.” + </p> + <p> + Drunk as he was, Jack succeeded in finding the hole in the wall that + allowed him to enter a vacant spot behind the box factory. There Hollends + lay down with a groan, and there Morris sank beside him in a drunken + sleep. The police were at last revenged, and finally. + </p> + <p> + When the grey daylight brought Morris to a dazed sense of where he was, he + found his companion dead beside him. He had a vague fear that he would be + tried for murder, but it was not so. From the moment that Hollends, in his + fall, struck his head on the curb, the Providence which looks after the + drunken deserted him. + </p> + <p> + But the inquest accomplished one good object. It attracted the attention + of the Social League to Jack Morris, and they are now endeavoring to + reclaim him. + </p> + <p> + Whether they succeed or not, he was a man that was certainly once worth + saving. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TYPE-WRITTEN LETTER. + </h2> + <p> + When a man has battled with poverty all his life, fearing it as he fought + it, feeling for its skinny throat to throttle it, and yet dreading all the + while the coming of the time when it would gain the mastery and throttle + him—when such a man is told that he is rich, it might be imagined he + would receive the announcement with hilarity. When Richard Denham realized + that he was wealthy he became even more sobered than usual, and drew a + long breath as if he had been running a race and had won it. The man who + brought him the news had no idea he had told Denham anything novel. + </p> + <p> + He merely happened to say, “You are a rich man, Mr. Denham, and will + never miss it.” + </p> + <p> + Denham had never before been called a rich man, and up to that moment he + had not thought of himself as wealthy. He wrote out the check asked of + him, and his visitor departed gratefully, leaving the merchant with + something to ponder over. He was as surprised with the suddenness of the + thing as if someone had left him a legacy. Yet the money was all of his + own accumulating, but his struggle had been so severe, and he had been so + hopeless about it, that from mere habit he exerted all his energies long + after the enemy was overcome—just as the troops at New Orleans + fought a fierce battle not knowing that the war was over. He had sprung + from such a hopelessly poor family. Poverty had been their inheritance + from generation to generation. It was the invariable legacy that father + had left to son in the Denham family. All had accepted their lot with + uncomplaining resignation, until Richard resolved he would at least have a + fight for it. And now the fight had been won. Denham sat in his office + staring at the dingy wall-paper so long, that Rogers, the chief clerk, put + his head in and said in a deferential voice: + </p> + <p> + “Anything more to-night, Mr. Denham?” + </p> + <p> + Denham started as if that question in that tone had not been asked him + every night for years. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that, what’s that?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Rogers was astonished, but too well trained to show it. + </p> + <p> + “Anything more to-night, Mr. Denham?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, quite so. No, Rogers, thank you, nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Mr. Denham.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Oh, yes. Good-night, Rogers, good-night.” + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Denham left his office and went out into the street everything + had an unusual appearance to him. He walked along, unheeding the + direction. He looked at the fine residences and realized that he might + have a fine residence if he wanted it. He saw handsome carriages; he too + might set up an equipage. The satisfaction these thoughts produced was + brief. Of what use would a fine house or an elegant carriage be to him? He + knew no one to invite to the house or to ride with him in the carriage. He + began to realize how utterly alone in the world he was. He had no friends, + no acquaintances even. The running dog, with its nose to the ground, sees + nothing of the surrounding scenery. He knew men in a business way, of + course, and doubtless each of them had a home in the suburbs somewhere, + but he could not take a business man by the shoulders and say to him, + “Invite me to your house; I am lonely; I want to know people.” + </p> + <p> + If he got such an invitation, he would not know what to do with himself. + He was familiar with the counting-room and its language, but the + drawing-room was an unexplored country to him, where an unknown tongue was + spoken. On the road to wealth he had missed something, and it was now too + late to go back for it. Only the day before, he had heard one of the + clerks, who did not know he was within earshot, allude to him as “the + old man.” He felt as young as ever he did, but the phrase, so + lightly spoken, made him catch his breath. + </p> + <p> + As he was now walking through the park, and away from the busy streets, he + took off his hat and ran his fingers through his grizzled hair, looking at + his hand when he had done so, as if the grey, like wet paint, might have + come off. He thought of a girl he knew once, who perhaps would have + married him if he had asked her, as he was tempted to do. But that had + always been the mistake of the Denhams. They had all married young except + himself, and so sunk deeper into the mire of poverty, pressed down by a + rapidly-increasing progeny. The girl had married a baker, he remembered. + Yes, that was a long time ago. The clerk was not far wrong when he called + him an old man. Suddenly, another girl arose before his mental vision—a + modern girl—very different indeed to the one who married the baker. + She was the only woman in the world with whom he was on speaking terms, + and he knew her merely because her light and nimble fingers played the + business sonata of one note on his office typewriter. Miss Gale was + pretty, of course— all typewriter girls are—and it was + generally understood in the office that she belonged to a good family who + had come down in the world. Her somewhat independent air deepened this + conviction and kept the clerks at a distance. She was a sensible girl who + realized that the typewriter paid better than the piano, and accordingly + turned the expertness of her white fingers to the former instrument. + Richard Denham sat down upon a park bench. “Why not?” he asked + himself. There was no reason against it except that he felt he had not the + courage. Nevertheless, he formed a desperate resolution. + </p> + <p> + Next day, business went on as usual. Letters were answered, and the time + arrived when Miss Gale came in to see if he had any further commands that + day. Denham hesitated. He felt vaguely that a business office was not the + proper place for a proposal; yet he knew he would be at a disadvantage + anywhere else. In the first place, he had no plausible excuse for calling + upon the young woman at home, and, in the second place, he knew if he once + got there he would be stricken dumb. It must either be at his office or + nowhere. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down a moment, Miss Gale,” he said at last; “I + wanted to consult you about a matter—about a business matter.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Gale seated herself, and automatically placed on her knee the + shorthand writing-pad ready to take down his instructions. She looked up + at him expectantly. Denham, in an embarrassed manner, ran his fingers + through his hair. + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking,” he began, “of taking a partner. The + business is very prosperous now. In fact, it has been so for some time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Miss Gale interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I think I should have a partner. It is about that I wanted to + speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think it would be better to consult with Mr. + Rogers? He knows more about business than I. But perhaps it is Mr. Rogers + who is to be the partner?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not Rogers. Rogers is a good man. But—it is not + Rogers.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think in an important matter like this Mr. Rogers, or + someone who knows the business as thoroughly as he does, would be able to + give you advice that would be of some value.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want advice exactly. I have made up my mind to have a + partner, if the partner is willing.” + </p> + <p> + Denham mopped his brow. It was going to be even more difficult than he had + anticipated. + </p> + <p> + “Is it, then, a question of the capital the partner is to bring in?” + asked Miss Gale, anxious to help him. + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I don’t wish any capital. I have enough for both. And + the business is very prosperous, Miss Gale—and—and has been.” + </p> + <p> + The young woman raised her eyebrows in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You surely don’t intend to share the profits with a partner + who brings no capital into the business?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, I do. You see, as I said, I have no need for more + capital.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if that is the case, I think you should consult Mr. Rogers + before you commit yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But Rogers wouldn’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I don’t understand either. It seems to me a + foolish thing to do—that is, if you want my advice.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I want it. But it isn’t as foolish as you think. I + should have had a partner long ago. That is where I made the mistake. I’ve + made up my mind on that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don’t see that I can be of any use—if your mind + is already made up.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you can. I’m a little afraid that my offer may not + be accepted.” + </p> + <p> + “It is sure to be, if the man has any sense. No fear of such an + offer being refused! Offers like that are not to be had every day. It will + be accepted.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think so, Miss Gale? I am glad that is your opinion. + Now, what I wanted to consult you about, is the form of the offer. I would + like to put it—well—delicately, you know, so that it would not + be refused, nor give offence.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. You want me to write a letter to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly, exactly,” cried Denham with some relief. He had not + thought of sending a letter before. Now, he wondered why he had not + thought of it. It was so evidently the best way out of a situation that + was extremely disconcerting. + </p> + <p> + “Have you spoken to him about it?” + </p> + <p> + “To him? What him?” + </p> + <p> + “To your future partner, about the proposal?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Oh, no. That is—I have spoken to nobody but you.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are determined not to speak to Mr. Rogers before you write?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. It’s none of Roger’s business.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” said Miss Gale shortly, bending over her + writing-pad. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that her opinion of Denham’s wisdom was steadily + lowering. Suddenly, she looked up. + </p> + <p> + “How much shall I say the annual profits are? Or do you want that + mentioned?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t think I would mention that. You see, I don’t + wish this arrangement to be carried out on a monetary basis—not + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “On what basis then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—I can hardly say. On a personal basis, perhaps. I rather + hope that the person—that my partner—would, you know, like to + be associated with me.” + </p> + <p> + “On a friendly basis, do you mean?” asked Miss Gale, + mercilessly. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Friendly, of course—and perhaps more than that.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Gale looked up at him with a certain hopelessness of expression. + </p> + <p> + “Why not write a note inviting your future partner to call upon you + here, or anywhere else that would be convenient, and then discuss the + matter?” + </p> + <p> + Denham looked frightened. + </p> + <p> + “I thought of that, but it wouldn’t do. No; it wouldn’t + do. I would much rather settle everything by correspondence.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I shall not be able to compose a letter that will suit + you. There seem to be so many difficulties. It is very unusual.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, and that is why I knew no one but you could help me, + Miss Gale. If it pleases you, it will please me.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Gale shook her head, but, after a few moments, she said, “How + will this do?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Sir”— + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment,” cried Mr. Denham; “that seems rather a + formal opening, doesn’t it? How would it read if you put it ‘Dear + friend’?” + </p> + <p> + “If you wish it so.” She crossed out the “sir” and + substituted the word suggested. Then, she read the letter: + </p> + <p> + “Dear Friend,—I have for some time past been desirous of + taking a partner, and would be glad if you would consider the question and + consent to join me in this business. The business is, and has been for + several years, very prosperous, and, as I shall require no capital from + you, I think you will find my offer a very advantageous one. I will——” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t think I would put it quite that way.” + said Denham, with some hesitation. “It reads as if I were offering + everything, and that my partner—well, you see what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the truth,” said Miss Gale, defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Better put it on the friendly basis, as you suggested a moment ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t suggest anything, Mr. Denham. Perhaps it would be + better if you would dictate the letter exactly as you want it. I knew I + could not write one that would please you.” + </p> + <p> + “It does please me, but I’m thinking of my future partner. You + are doing first-rate—better than I could do. But just put it on the + friendly basis.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later she read: + </p> + <p> + “... join me in this business. I make you this offer entirely from a + friendly, and not from a financial, standpoint, hoping that you like me + well enough to be associated with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else, Mr. Denham?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I think that covers the whole ground. It will look rather + short, type-written, won’t it? Perhaps you might add something to + show that I shall be exceedingly disappointed if my offer is not accepted.” + </p> + <p> + “No fear,” said Miss Gale. “I’ll add that though. + ‘Yours truly,’ or 'Yours very truly’?” + </p> + <p> + “You might end it ‘Your friend.’” + </p> + <p> + The rapid click of the typewriter was heard for a few moments in the next + room, and then Miss Gale came out with the completed letter in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I have the boy copy it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bless you, no!” answered Mr. Denham, with evident + trepidation. + </p> + <p> + The young woman said to herself, “He doesn’t want Mr. Rogers + to know, and no wonder. It is a most unbusiness-like proposal.” + </p> + <p> + Then she said aloud, “Shall you want me again to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Gale; and thank you very much.” + </p> + <p> + Next morning, Miss Gale came into Mr. Denham’s office with a smile + on her face. + </p> + <p> + “You made a funny mistake last night, Mr. Denham,” she said, + as she took off her wraps. + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” he asked, in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You sent that letter to my address. I got it this morning. I + opened it, for I thought it was for me, and that perhaps you did not need + me to-day. But I saw at once that you put it in the wrong envelope. Did + you want me to-day?” + </p> + <p> + It was on his tongue to say, “I want you every day,” but he + merely held out his hand for the letter, and looked at it as if he could + not account for its having gone astray. + </p> + <p> + The next day Miss Gale came late, and she looked frightened. It was + evident that Denham was losing his mind. She put the letter down before + him and said: + </p> + <p> + “You addressed that to me the second time, Mr. Denham.” + </p> + <p> + There was a look of haggard anxiety about Denham that gave color to her + suspicions. He felt that it was now or never. + </p> + <p> + “Then why don’t you answer it, Miss Gale?” he said + gruffly. + </p> + <p> + She backed away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Answer it?” she repeated faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. If I got a letter twice, I would answer it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she cried, with her hand on the door-knob. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly what the letter says. I want you for my partner. I want to + marry you, and d—n financial considerations——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Miss Gale, in a long-drawn, quivering sigh. She + was doubtless shocked at the word he had used, and fled to her typewriting + room, closing the door behind her. + </p> + <p> + Richard Denham paced up and down the floor for a few moments, then rapped + lightly at her door, but there was no response. He put on his hat and went + out into the street. After a long and aimless walk, he found himself again + at his place of business. When he went in, Rogers said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Miss Gale has left, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and she has given notice. Says she is not coming back, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + He went into his own room and found a letter marked “personal” + on his desk. He tore it open, and read in neatly type-written characters: + </p> + <p> + “I have resigned my place as typewriter girl, having been offered a + better situation. I am offered a partnership in the house of Richard + Denham. I have decided to accept the position, not so much on account of + its financial attractions, as because I shall be glad, on a friendly + basis, to be associated with the gentleman I have named. Why did you put + me to all that worry writing that idiotic letter, when a few words would + have saved ever so much bother? You evidently <i>need</i> a partner. My + mother will be pleased to meet you any time you call. You have the + address,—Your friend, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “MARGARET GALE.” + </pre> + <p> + “Rogers!” shouted Denham, joyfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered that estimable man, putting his head into + the room. + </p> + <p> + “Advertise for another typewriter girl, Rogers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Rogers. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DOOM OF LONDON. + </h2> + <h3> + I.—THE SELF-CONCEIT OF THE 20TH CENTURY. + </h3> + <p> + I trust I am thankful my life has been spared until I have seen that most + brilliant epoch of the world’s history—the middle of the 20th + century. It would be useless for any man to disparage the vast + achievements of the past fifty years, and if I venture to call attention + to the fact, now apparently forgotten, that the people of the 19th century + succeeded in accomplishing many notable things, it must not be imagined + that I intend thereby to discount in any measure the marvellous inventions + of the present age. Men have always been somewhat prone to look with a + certain condescension upon those who lived fifty or a hundred years before + them. This seems to me the especial weakness of the present age; a feeling + of national self-conceit, which, when it exists, should at least be kept + as much in the background as possible. It will astonish many to know that + such also was a failing of the people of the 19th century. They imagined + themselves living in an age of progress, and while I am not foolish enough + to attempt to prove that they did anything really worth recording, yet it + must be admitted by any unprejudiced man of research that their inventions + were at least stepping-stones to those of to-day. Although the telephone + and telegraph, and all other electrical appliances, are now to be found + only in our national museums, or in the private collections of those few + men who take any interest in the doings of the last century, nevertheless, + the study of the now obsolete science of electricity led up to the recent + discovery of vibratory ether which does the work of the world so + satisfactorily. The people of the 19th century were not fools, and + although I am well aware that this statement will be received with scorn + where it attracts any attention whatever, yet who can say that the + progress of the next half-century may not be as great as that of the one + now ended, and that the people of the next century may not look upon us + with the same contempt which we feel toward those who lived fifty years + ago? + </p> + <p> + Being an old man, I am, perhaps, a laggard who dwells in the past rather + than the present; still, it seems to me that such an article as that which + appeared recently in <i>Blackwood</i> from the talented pen of Prof. + Mowberry, of Oxford University, is utterly unjustifiable. Under the title + of “Did the People of London Deserve their Fate?” he endeavors + to show that the simultaneous blotting out of millions of human beings was + a beneficial event, the good results of which we still enjoy. According to + him, Londoners were so dull-witted and stupid, so incapable of + improvement, so sodden in the vice of mere money- gathering, that nothing + but their total extinction would have sufficed, and that, instead of being + an appalling catastrophe, the doom of London was an unmixed blessing. In + spite of the unanimous approval with which this article has been received + by the press, I still maintain that such writing is uncalled for, and that + there is something to be said for the London of the 19th century. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHY LONDON, WARNED, WAS UNPREPARED. + </h2> + <p> + The indignation I felt in first reading the article alluded to still + remains with me, and it has caused me to write these words, giving some + account of what I must still regard, in spite of the sneers of the present + age, as the most terrible disaster that ever overtook a portion of the + human race. I shall not endeavor to place before those who read, any + record of the achievements pertaining to the time in question. But I would + like to say a few words about the alleged stupidity of the people of + London in making no preparations for a disaster regarding which they had + continual and ever-recurring warning. They have been compared with the + inhabitants of Pompeii making merry at the foot of a volcano. In the first + place, fogs were so common in London, especially in winter, that no + particular attention was paid to them. They were merely looked upon as + inconvenient annoyances, interrupting traffic and prejudicial to health, + but I doubt if anyone thought it possible for a fog to become one vast + smothering mattress pressed down upon a whole metropolis, extinguishing + life as if the city suffered from hopeless hydrophobia. I have read that + victims bitten by mad dogs were formerly put out of their sufferings in + that way, although I doubt much if such things were ever actually done, + notwithstanding the charges of savage barbarity now made against the + people of the 19th century. + </p> + <p> + Probably, the inhabitants of Pompeii were so accustomed to the eruptions + of Vesuvius that they gave no thought to the possibility of their city + being destroyed by a storm of ashes and an overflow of lava. Rain + frequently descended upon London, and if a rainfall continued long enough + it would certainly have flooded the metropolis, but no precautions were + taken against a flood from the clouds. Why, then, should the people have + been expected to prepare for a catastrophe from fog, such as there had + never been any experience of in the world’s history? The people of + London were far from being the sluggish dolts present-day writers would + have us believe. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COINCIDENCE THAT CAME AT LAST. + </h2> + <p> + As fog has now been abolished both on sea and land, and as few of the + present generation have even seen one, it may not be out of place to give + a few lines on the subject of fogs in general, and the London fogs in + particular, which through local peculiarities differed from all others. A + fog was simply watery vapor rising from the marshy surface of the land or + from the sea, or condensed into a cloud from the saturated atmosphere. In + my day, fogs were a great danger at sea, for people then travelled by + means of steamships that sailed upon the surface of the ocean. + </p> + <p> + London at the end of the 19th century consumed vast quantities of a soft + bituminous coal for the purpose of heating rooms and of preparing food. In + the morning and during the day, clouds of black smoke were poured forth + from thousands of chimneys. When a mass of white vapor arose in the night + these clouds of smoke fell upon the fog, pressing it down, filtering + slowly through it, and adding to its density. The sun would have absorbed + the fog but for the layer of smoke that lay thick above the vapor and + prevented the rays reaching it. Once this condition of things prevailed, + nothing could clear London but a breeze of wind from any direction. London + frequently had a seven days’ fog, and sometimes a seven days’ + calm, but these two conditions never coincided until the last year of the + last century. The coincidence, as everyone knows, meant death—death + so wholesale that no war the earth has ever seen left such slaughter + behind it. To understand the situation, one has only to imagine the fog as + taking the place of the ashes at Pompeii, and the coal-smoke as being the + lava that covered it. The result to the inhabitants in both cases was + exactly the same. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE AMERICAN WHO WANTED TO SELL. + </h2> + <p> + I was at the time confidential clerk to the house of Fulton, Brixton & + Co., a firm in Cannon Street, dealing largely in chemicals and chemical + apparatus. Fulton I never knew; he died long before my time. Sir John + Brixton was my chief, knighted, I believe, for services to his party, or + because he was an official in the City during some royal progress through + it; I have forgotten which. My small room was next to his large one, and + my chief duty was to see that no one had an interview with Sir John unless + he was an important man or had important business. Sir John was a + difficult man to see, and a difficult man to deal with when he was seen. + He had little respect for most men’s feelings, and none at all for + mine. If I allowed a man to enter his room who should have been dealt with + by one of the minor members of the company, Sir John made no effort to + conceal his opinion of me. One day, in the autumn of the last year of the + century, an American was shown into my room. Nothing would do but he must + have an interview with Sir John Brixton. I told him that it was + impossible, as Sir John was extremely busy, but that if he explained his + business to me I would lay it before Sir John at the first favorable + opportunity. The American demurred at this, but finally accepted the + inevitable. He was the inventor, he said, of a machine that would + revolutionize life in London, and he wanted Fulton, Brixton & Co. to + become agents for it. The machine, which he had in a small handbag with + him, was of white metal, and it was so constructed that by turning an + index it gave out greater or less volumes of oxygen gas. The gas, I + understood, was stored in the interior in liquid form under great + pressure, and would last, if I remember rightly, for six months without + recharging. There was also a rubber tube with a mouthpiece attached to it, + and the American said that if a man took a few whiffs a day, he would + experience beneficial results. Now, I knew there was not the slightest use + in showing the machine to Sir John, because we dealt in old-established + British apparatus, and never in any of the new- fangled Yankee + contraptions. Besides, Sir John had a prejudice against Americans, and I + felt sure this man would exasperate him, as he was a most cadaverous + specimen of the race, with high nasal tones, and a most deplorable + pronunciation, much given to phrases savoring of slang; and he exhibited + also a certain nervous familiarity of demeanor towards people to whom he + was all but a complete stranger. It was impossible for me to allow such a + man to enter the presence of Sir John Brixton, and when he returned some + days later I explained to him, I hope with courtesy, that the head of the + house regretted very much his inability to consider his proposal regarding + the machine. The ardor of the American seemed in no way dampened by this + rebuff. He said I could not have explained the possibilities of the + apparatus properly to Sir John; he characterized it as a great invention, + and said it meant a fortune to whoever obtained the agency for it. He + hinted that other noted London houses were anxious to secure it, but for + some reason not stated he preferred to deal with us. He left some printed + pamphlets referring to the invention, and said he would call again. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE AMERICAN SEES SIR JOHN. + </h2> + <p> + Many a time I have since thought of that persistent American, and wondered + whether he left London before the disaster, or was one of the unidentified + thousands who were buried in unmarked graves. Little did Sir John think + when he expelled him with some asperity from his presence, that he was + turning away an offer of life, and that the heated words he used were, in + reality, a sentence of death upon himself. For my own part, I regret that + I lost my temper, and told the American his business methods did not + commend themselves to me. Perhaps he did not feel the sting of this; + indeed, I feel certain he did not, for, unknowingly, he saved my life. Be + that as it may, he showed no resentment, but immediately asked me out to + drink with him, an offer I was compelled to refuse. But I am getting ahead + of my story. Indeed, being unaccustomed to writing, it is difficult for me + to set down events in their proper sequence. The American called upon me + several times after I told him our house could not deal with him. He got + into the habit of dropping in upon me unannounced, which I did not at all + like, but I gave no instructions regarding his intrusions, because I had + no idea of the extremes to which he was evidently prepared to go. One day, + as he sat near my desk reading a paper, I was temporarily called from the + room. When I returned I thought he had gone, taking his machine with him, + but a moment later I was shocked to hear his high nasal tones in Sir John’s + room alternating with the deep notes of my chief’s voice, which + apparently exercised no such dread upon the American as upon those who + were more accustomed to them. I at once entered the room, and was about to + explain to Sir John that the American was there through no connivance of + mine, when my chief asked me to be silent, and, turning to his visitor, + gruffly requested him to proceed with his interesting narration. The + inventor needed no second invitation, but went on with his glib talk, + while Sir John’s frown grew deeper, and his face became redder under + his fringe of white hair. When the American had finished, Sir John roughly + bade him begone, and take his accursed machine with him. He said it was an + insult for a person with one foot in the grave to bring a so-called health + invention to a robust man who never had a day’s illness, I do not + know why he listened so long to the American, when he had made up his mind + from the first not to deal with him, unless it was to punish me for + inadvertently allowing the stranger to enter. The interview distressed me + exceedingly, as I stood there helpless, knowing Sir John was becoming more + and more angry with every word the foreigner uttered, but, at last, I + succeeded in drawing the inventor and his work into my own room and + closing the door. I sincerely hoped I would never see the American again, + and my wish was gratified. He insisted on setting his machine going, and + placing it on a shelf in my room. He asked me to slip it into Sir John’s + room some foggy day and note the effect. The man said he would call again, + but he never did. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW THE SMOKE HELD DOWN THE FOG. + </h2> + <p> + It was on a Friday that the fog came down upon us. The weather was very + fine up to the middle of November that autumn. The fog did not seem to + have anything unusual about it. I have seen many worse fogs than that + appeared to be. As day followed day, however, the atmosphere became denser + and darker, caused, I suppose, by the increasing volume of coal- smoke + poured out upon it. The peculiarity about those seven days was the intense + stillness of the air. We were, although we did not know it, under an + air-proof canopy, and were slowly but surely exhausting the life-giving + oxygen around us, and replacing it by poisonous carbonic acid gas. + Scientific men have since showed that a simple mathematical calculation + might have told us exactly when the last atom of oxygen would have been + consumed; but it is easy to be wise after the event. The body of the + greatest mathematician in England was found in the Strand. He came that + morning from Cambridge. During the fog there was always a marked increase + in the death rate, and on this occasion the increase was no greater than + usual until the sixth day. The newspapers on the morning of the seventh + were full of startling statistics, but at the time of going to press the + full significance of the alarming figures was not realized. The editorials + of the morning papers on the seventh day contained no warning of the + calamity that was so speedily to follow their appearance. I lived then at + Ealing, a Western suburb of London, and came every morning to Cannon + Street by a certain train. I had up to the sixth day experienced no + inconvenience from the fog, and this was largely due, I am convinced, to + the unnoticed operations of the American machine. + </p> + <p> + On the fifth and sixth days Sir John did not come to the City, but he was + in his office on the seventh. The door between his room and mine was + closed. Shortly after ten o’clock I heard a cry in his room, + followed by a heavy fall. I opened the door, and saw Sir John lying face + downwards on the floor. Hastening towards him, I felt for the first time + the deadly effect of the deoxygenized atmosphere, and before I reached him + I fell first on one knee and then headlong. I realized that my senses were + leaving me, and instinctively crawled back to my own room, where the + oppression was at once lifted, and I stood again upon my feet, gasping. I + closed the door of Sir John’s room, thinking it filled with + poisonous fumes, as, indeed, it was. I called loudly for help, but there + was no answer. On opening the door to the main office I met again what I + thought was the noxious vapor. Speedily as I closed the door, I was + impressed by the intense silence of the usually busy office, and saw that + some of the clerks were motionless on the floor, and others sat with their + heads on their desks as if asleep. Even at this awful moment I did not + realize that what I saw was common to all London, and not, as I imagined, + a local disaster, caused by the breaking of some carboys in our cellar. + (It was filled with chemicals of every kind, of whose properties I was + ignorant, dealing as I did with the accountant, and not the scientific + side of our business.) I opened the only window in my room, and again + shouted for help. The street was silent and dark in the ominously still + fog, and what now froze me with horror was meeting the same deadly, + stifling atmosphere that was in the rooms. In falling I brought down the + window, and shut out the poisonous air. Again I revived, and slowly the + true state of things began to dawn upon me. + </p> + <p> + I was in an oasis of oxygen. I at once surmised that the machine on my + shelf was responsible for the existence of this oasis in a vast desert of + deadly gas. I took down the American’s machine, fearful in moving it + that I might stop its working. Taking the mouthpiece between my lips I + again entered Sir John’s room, this time without feeling any ill + effects. My poor master was long beyond human help. There was evidently no + one alive in the building except myself. Out in the street all was silent + and dark. The gas was extinguished, but here and there in shops the + incandescent lights were still weirdly burning, depending, as they did, on + accumulators, and not on direct engine power. I turned automatically + towards Cannon Street Station, knowing my way to it even if blindfolded, + stumbling over bodies prone on the pavement, and in crossing the street I + ran against a motionless ‘bus, spectral in the fog, with dead horses + lying in front, and their reins dangling from the nerveless hand of a dead + driver. The ghostlike passengers, equally silent, sat bolt upright, or + hung over the edge boards in attitudes horribly grotesque. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE TRAIN WITH ITS TRAIL OF THE DEAD. + </h2> + <p> + If a man’s reasoning faculties were alert at such a time (I confess + mine were dormant), he would have known there could be no trains at Cannon + Street Station, for if there was not enough oxygen in the air to keep a + man alive, or a gas-jet alight, there would certainly not be enough to + enable an engine fire to burn, even if the engineer retained sufficient + energy to attend to his task. At times instinct is better than reason, and + it proved so in this case. The railway from Ealing in those days came + under the City in a deep tunnel. It would appear that in this underground + passage the carbonic acid gas would first find a resting-place on account + of its weight; but such was not the fact. I imagine that a current through + the tunnel brought from the outlying districts a supply of comparatively + pure air that, for some minutes after the general disaster, maintained + human life. Be this as it may, the long platforms of Cannon Street + Underground Station presented a fearful spectacle. A train stood at the + down platform. The electric lights burned fitfully. This platform was + crowded with men, who fought each other like demons, apparently for no + reason, because the train was already packed as full as it could hold. + Hundreds were dead under foot, and every now and then a blast of foul air + came along the tunnel, whereupon hundreds more would relax their grips, + and succumb. Over their bodies the survivors fought, with continually + thinning ranks. It seemed to me that most of those in the standing train + were dead. Sometimes a desperate body of fighters climbed over those lying + in heaps and, throwing open a carriage door, hauled out passengers already + in, and took their places, gasping. Those in the train offered no + resistance, and lay motionless where they were flung, or rolled helplessly + under the wheels of the train. I made my way along the wall as well as I + could to the engine, wondering why the train did not go. The engineer lay + on the floor of his cab, and the fires were out. + </p> + <p> + Custom is a curious thing. The struggling mob, fighting wildly for places + in the carriages, were so accustomed to trains arriving and departing that + it apparently occurred to none of them that the engineer was human and + subject to the same atmospheric conditions as themselves. I placed the + mouthpiece between his purple lips, and, holding my own breath like a + submerged man, succeeded in reviving him. He said that if I gave him the + machine he would take out the train as far as the steam already in the + boiler would carry it. I refused to do this, but stepped on the engine + with him, saying it would keep life in both of us until we got out into + better air. In a surly manner he agreed to this and started the train, but + he did not play fair. Each time he refused to give up the machine until I + was in a fainting condition with holding in my breath, and, finally, he + felled me to the floor of the cab. I imagine that the machine rolled off + the train as I fell and that he jumped after it. The remarkable thing is + that neither of us needed the machine, for I remember that just after we + started I noticed through the open iron door that the engine fire suddenly + became aglow again, although at the time I was in too great a state of + bewilderment and horror to understand what it meant. A western gale had + sprung up—an hour too late. Even before we left Cannon Street those + who still survived were comparatively safe, for one hundred and + sixty-seven persons were rescued from that fearful heap of dead on the + platforms, although many died within a day or two after, and others never + recovered their reason. When I regained my senses after the blow dealt by + the engineer, I found myself alone, and the train speeding across the + Thames near Kew. I tried to stop the engine, but did not succeed. However, + in experimenting, I managed to turn on the air brake, which in some degree + checked the train, and lessened the impact when the crash came at Richmond + terminus. I sprang off on the platform before the engine reached the + terminal buffers, and saw passing me like a nightmare the ghastly + trainload of the dead. Most of the doors were swinging open, and every + compartment was jammed full, although, as I afterwards learned, at each + curve of the permanent way, or extra lurch of the train, bodies had fallen + out all along the line. The smash at Richmond made no difference to the + passengers. Besides myself, only two persons were taken alive from the + train, and one of these, his clothes torn from his back in the struggle + was sent to an asylum, where he was never able to tell who he was; + neither, as far as I know, did anyone ever claim him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PREDICAMENT OF DE PLONVILLE. + </h2> + <p> + This story differs from others in having an assortment of morals. Most + stories have one moral; here are several. The moral usually appears at the + end—in this case a few are mentioned at the beginning, so that they + may be looked out for as the reading progresses. First: it is well for a + man—especially a young man—to attend to his own business. + Second: in planning a person’s life for some little distance ahead, + it will be a mistake if an allowance of ten per cent. at least, is not + made for that unknown quantity—woman. Third: it is beneficial to + remember that one man rarely knows everything. Other morals will doubtless + present themselves, and at the end the cynically-inclined person may + reflect upon the adage about the frying-pan and the fire. + </p> + <p> + Young M. de Plonville of Paris enjoyed a most enviable position. He had + all the money he needed, which is quite a different thing from saying he + had all the money he wanted. He was well educated, and spoke three + languages, that is, he spoke his own well and the other two badly, but as + a man always prides himself on what he is least able to do, De Plonville + fancied himself a linguist. His courage in speaking English to Englishmen + and German to Germans showed that he was, at least, a brave man. There was + a great deal of good and even of talent in De Plonville. This statement is + made at the beginning, because everyone who knows De Plonville will at + once unhesitatingly contradict it. His acquaintances thought him one of + the most objectionable young men in Paris, and naval officers, when his + name was mentioned, usually gave themselves over to strong and + unjustifiable language. This was all on account of De Plonville’s + position, which, although enviable had its drawbacks. + </p> + <p> + His rank in the navy was such that it entitled him to no consideration + whatever, but, unfortunately for his own popularity, De Plonville had a + method of giving force to his suggestions. His father was a very big man + in the French Government. He was so big a man that he could send a censure + to the commander of a squadron in the navy, and the commander dare not + talk back. It takes a very big man indeed to do this, and that was the + elder De Plonville’s size. But then it was well known that the elder + De Plonville was an easy-going man who loved comfort, and did not care to + trouble himself too much about the navy in his charge, and so when there + was trouble, young De Plonville got the credit of it; consequently, the + love of the officers did not flow out to him. + </p> + <p> + Often young De Plonville’s idiotic impetuosity gave color to these + suspicions. For instance, there is the well-known Toulon incident. In a + heated controversy young De Plonville had claimed that the firing of the + French ironclads was something execrable, and that the whole fleet could + not hold their own at the cannon with any ten of the British navy. Some + time after, the naval officers learned that the Government at Paris was + very much displeased with the inaccurate gun practice of the fleet, and + the hope was expressed that the commander would see his way to improving + it. Of course, the officers could do nothing but gnash their teeth, try to + shoot better, and hope for a time to come when the Government then in + power would be out, and they could find some tangible pretence for hanging + young De Plonville from the yard-arm. + </p> + <p> + All this has only a remote bearing upon this story, but we now come to a + matter on which the story sinks or swims. De Plonville had a secret— + not such a secret as is common in Parisian life, but one entirely + creditable to him. It related to an invention intended to increase the + efficiency of the French army. The army being a branch of the defences of + his country with which De Plonville had nothing whatever to do, his + attention naturally turned towards it. He spoke of this invention, once, + to a friend, a lieutenant in the army. He expected to get some practical + suggestions. He never mentioned it again to anyone. + </p> + <p> + “It is based on the principle of the umbrella,” he said to his + friend; “in fact, it was the umbrella that suggested it to me. If it + could be made very light so as not to add seriously to the impedimenta at + present carried by the soldier, it seems to me it would be exceedingly + useful. Instead of being circular as an umbrella is, it must be oblong + with sharp ends. It would have to be arranged so as to be opened and + closed quickly, with the cloth thin, but impervious to water. When the + army reached a river each soldier could open this, place it in the water, + enter it with some care, and then paddle himself across with the butt-end + of his gun, or even with a light paddle, if the carrying of it added but + little to the weight, thus saving the building of temporary bridges. It + seems to me such an invention ought to be of vast use in a forced march. + Then at night it might be used as a sort of tent, or in a heavy rain it + would form a temporary shelter. What do you think of the idea?” His + friend had listened with half-closed eyes. He blew a whiff of cigarette + smoke from his nostrils and answered: + </p> + <p> + “It is wonderful, De Plonville,” he said drawlingly. “Its + possibilities are vast—more so than even you appear to think. It + would be very useful in our Alpine corps as well.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you think so. But why there?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, if the army reached a high peak looking into a deep + valley, only to be reached over an inaccessible precipice, all the army + would have to do would be to spread out your superb invention and use it + as a parachute. The sight of the army of France gradually floating down + into the valley would be so terrifying to the nations of Europe, that I + imagine no enemy would wait for a gun to be fired. De Plonville, your + invention will immortalize you, and immortalize the French army.” + </p> + <p> + Young De Plonville waited to hear no more, but turned on his heel and + strode away. + </p> + <p> + This conversation caused young De Plonville to make two resolutions; + first, to mention his scheme to no one; second, to persevere and perfect + his invention, thus causing confusion to the scoffer. There were several + sub-resolutions dependent on these two. He would not enter a club, he + would abjure society, he would not speak to a woman—he would, in + short, be a hermit until his invention stood revealed before an astonished + world. + </p> + <p> + All of which goes to show that young De Plonville was not the conceited, + meddlesome fop his acquaintances thought him. But in the large and small + resolutions he did not deduct the ten per cent. for the unknown quantity. + </p> + <p> + Where? That was the question. De Plonville walked up and down his room, + and thought it out. A large map of France was spread on the table. Paris + and the environs thereof were manifestly impossible. He needed a place of + seclusion. He needed a stretch of water. Where then should be the spot to + which coming generations would point and say, “Here, at this place, + was perfected De Plonville’s celebrated parachute-tent- bateau + invention.” + </p> + <p> + No, not parachute. Hang the parachute! That was the scoffing lieutenant’s + word. De Plonville paused for a moment to revile his folly in making a + confidant of any army man. + </p> + <p> + There was a sufficiency of water around the French coast, but it was too + cold at that season of the year to experiment in the north and east. There + was left the Mediterranean. He thought rapidly of the different delightful + spots along the Riviera—Cannes, St. Raphael, Nice, Monte Carlo,—but + all of these were too public and too much thronged with visitors. The name + of the place came to him suddenly, and, as he stopped his march to and + fro, De Plonville wondered why it had not suggested itself to him at the + very first. Hyères! It seemed to have been planned in the Middle Ages for + the perfecting of just such an invention. It was situated two or three + miles back from the sea, the climate was perfect, there was no marine + parade, the sea coast was lonely, and the bay sheltered by the islands. It + was an ideal spot. + </p> + <p> + De Plonville easily secured leave of absence. Sons of fathers high up in + the service of a grateful country seldom have any difficulty about a + little thing like that. He purchased a ticket for that leisurely train + which the French with their delicious sense of humor call the “Rapide,” + and in due time found himself with his various belongings standing on the + station platform at Hyères. + </p> + <p> + Few of us are as brave as we think ourselves. De Plonville flinched when + the supreme moment came, and perhaps that is why the Gods punished him. He + had resolved to go to one of the country inns at Carqueyranne on the + coast, but this was in a heroic mood when the lieutenant had laughed at + his project. Now in a cooler moment he thought of the cuisine of + Carqueyranne and shuddered. There are sacrifices which no man should be + called upon to endure, so the naval officer hesitated, and at last + directed the porter to put his luggage on the top of the Costebelle Hotel + “bus.” There would be society at the hotel it is true, but he + could avoid it, while if he went to the rural tavern he could not avoid + the cooking. Thus he smothered his conscience. Lunch at Costebelle seemed + to justify his choice of an abiding-place. The surroundings of the hotel + were dangerously charming to a man whose natural inclination was towards + indolent enjoyment. It was a place to “Loaf and invite your soul,” + as Walt Whitman phrases it. Plonville, who was there incognito, for he had + temporarily dropped the “De,” strolled towards the sea in the + afternoon, with the air of one who has nothing on his mind. No one to see + him would have suspected he was the future Edison of France. When he + reached the coast at the ruins of the ancient Roman naval station called + Pomponiana, he smote his thigh with joy. He had forgotten that at this + spot there had been erected a number of little wooden houses, each larger + than a bathing-machine and smaller than a cottage, which were used in + summer by the good people of Hyères, and in winter were silently vacant. + The largest of these would be exactly the place for him, and he knew he + would have no difficulty in renting it for a month or two. Here, he could + bring down his half- finished invention; here, work at it all day + unmolested; and here test its sailing qualities with no onlookers. + </p> + <p> + He walked up the road, and hailed the ancient bus which jogs along between + Toulon and Hyères by way of the coast; mounted beside the driver, and + speedily got information about the owner of the cottages at Pomponiana. + </p> + <p> + As he expected, he had no difficulty in arranging with the proprietor for + the largest of the little cottages, but he thought he detected a slight + depression on the right eyelid as that person handed him the key. Had the + owner suspected his purpose? he asked himself anxiously, as he drove back + from the town to Costebelle. Impossible. He felt, however, that he could + not be too secret about his intentions. He had heard of inventors being + forestalled just at the very moment of success. + </p> + <p> + He bade the driver wait, and placed that part of his luggage in the cab + which consisted of his half-finished invention and the materials for + completing it. Then he drove to the coast, and after placing the packages + on the ground, paid and dismissed the man. When the cab was out of sight, + he carried the things to the cottage and locked them in. His walk up the + hill to the hotel rendered the excellent dinner provided doubly + attractive. + </p> + <p> + Next morning he was early at work, and speedily began to realize how many + necessary articles he had forgotten at Paris. He hoped he would be able to + get them at Hyères, but his remembrance of the limited resources of the + town made him somewhat doubtful. The small windows on each side gave him + scarcely enough light, but he did not open the door, fearing the curiosity + of a chance passer-by. One cannot be too careful in maturing a great + invention. + </p> + <p> + Plonville had been at work for possibly an hour and a half, when he heard + someone singing, and that very sweetly. She sang with the joyous freedom + of one who suspected no listener. The song came nearer and nearer. + Plonville standing amazed, dropped his implements, and stole to the + somewhat obscure little window. He saw a vision of fresh loveliness + dressed in a costume he never before beheld on a vision. She came down the + bank with a light, springy step to the next cottage, took a key that hung + at her belt, and threw open the door. The song was hushed, but not + silenced, for a moment, and then there came from out the cottage door the + half of a boat that made Plonville gasp. Like the costume, he had never + before seen such a boat. It was exactly the shape in which he had designed + his invention, and was of some extra light material, for the sylph-like + girl in the extraordinary dress pushed it forth without even ceasing her + song. Next moment, she came out herself and stood there while she adjusted + her red head-gear. She drew the boat down to the water, picked out of it a + light, silver-mounted paddle, stepped deftly aboard, and settled down to + her place with the airy grace of a thistle-down. There was no seat in the + boat, Plonville noted with astonishment. The sea was very smooth, and a + few strokes of the paddle sent girl and craft out of sight along the + coast. Plonville drew a deep breath of bewilderment. It was his first + sight of a Thames boating costume and a canoe. + </p> + <p> + This, then, was why the man winked when he gave him the key. Plonville was + in a quandary. Should he reveal himself when she returned? It did not seem + to be quite the thing to allow the girl to believe she had the coast to + herself when in fact she hadn’t. But then there was his invention to + think of. He had sworn allegiance to that. He sat down and pondered. + English, evidently. He had no idea English girls were so pretty, and then + that costume! It was <i>very</i> taking. The rich, creamy folds of the + white flannel, so simple, yet so complete, lingered in his memory. Still, + what was he there for? His invention certainly. The sneer of the + lieutenant stung his memory. That Miss Whatever-her- name-might-be had + rented the next box was nothing to him; of course not. He waved her aside + and turned to his work. He had lost enough of time as it was; he would + lose no more. + </p> + <p> + Although armed with this heroic resolution, his task somehow did not seem + so interesting as before, and he found himself listening now and then for + the siren’s song. He dramatized imaginary situations, which is + always bad for practical work. He saw the frail craft shattered or + overturned, and beheld himself bravely buffeting the waves rescuing the + fair girl in white. Then he remembered with a sigh that he was not a good + swimmer. Possibly she was more at home in the waves than he was. Those + English seemed on such terms of comradeship with the sea. + </p> + <p> + At last, intuition rather than hearing told him she had returned. He + walked on tip-toe to the dingy window. She was pulling the light canoe up + from the water. He checked his impulse to offer assistance. When the girl + sprang lightly up the bank, Plonville sighed and concluded he had done + enough work for the day. As he reached the road, he noticed that the white + figure in the distance did not take the way to the hotel, but towards one + of the neighboring Chateaux. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon, Plonville worked long at his invention, and made + progress. He walked back to his hotel with the feeling of self- + satisfaction which indolent men have on those rare occasions when they are + industrious. He had been uninterrupted, and his resolutions were again + heroic. What had been done one afternoon might be done all afternoons. He + would think no more of the vision he had seen and he would work only after + lunch, thus avoiding the necessity of revealing himself, or of being a + concealed watcher of her actions. Of course she came always in the + morning, for the English are a methodical people, and Plonville was so + learned in their ways that he knew what they did one day they were sure to + do the next. An extraordinary nation, Plonville said to himself with a + shrug of his shoulders, but then of course, we cannot all be French. + </p> + <p> + It is rather a pity that temptation should step in just when a man has + made up his mind not to deviate from a certain straight line of conduct. + There was to be a ball that night at the big hotel. Plonville had refused + to have anything to do with it. He had renounced the frivolities of life. + He was there for rest, quiet, and study. He was adamant. That evening the + invitation was again extended to him, the truth being that there was a + scarcity of young men, as is usually the case at such functions. Plonville + was about to re-state his objections to frivolity when through the open + door he caught a glimpse of two of the arriving guests ascending the + stair. The girl had on a long opera cloak with some fluffy white material + round the neck and down the front. A filmy lace arrangement rested lightly + on her fair hair. It was the lady of the canoe—glorified. Plonville + wavered and was lost. He rushed to his room and donned his war paint. Say + what you like, evening dress improves the appearance of a man. Besides + this, he had resumed the De once more, and his back was naturally + straighter. De Plonville looked well. + </p> + <p> + They were speedily introduced, of course. De Plonville took care of that, + and the manager of the ball was very grateful to him for coming, and for + looking so nice. There was actually an air of distinction about De + Plonville. She was the Hon. Margaret Stansby, he learned. Besides being + unfair, it would be impossible to give their conversation. It would read + like a section from Ollendorf’s French-English exercises. De + Plonville, as has been said, was very proud of his English, and, + unfortunately, the Hon. Margaret had a sense of humor. He complimented her + by saying that she talked French even better than he talked English, + which, while doubtless true, was not the most tactful thing De Plonville + might have said. It was difficult to listen to such a statement given in + his English, and refrain from laughing. Margaret, however, scored a great + victory and did not laugh. The evening passed pleasantly, she thought; + delightfully, De Plonville thought. + </p> + <p> + It was hard after this to come down to the prosaic work of completing a + cloth canoe-tent, but, to De Plonville’s credit, he persevered. He + met the young lady on several occasions, but never by the coast. The + better they became acquainted the more he wished to have the privilege of + rescuing her from some deadly danger; but the opportunity did not come. It + seldom does, except in books, as he bitterly remarked to himself. The sea + was exasperatingly calm, and Miss Margaret was mistress of her craft, as + so many charming women are. He thought of buying a telescope and watching + her, for she had told him that one of her own delights was looking at the + evolutions of the ironclads through a telescope on the terrace in front of + the Chateau. + </p> + <p> + At last, in spite of his distractions, De Plonville added the finishing + touches to his notable invention, and all that remained was to put it to a + practical test. He chose a day when that portion of the French navy which + frequents the Rade d’Hyères was not in sight, for he did not wish to + come within the field of the telescope at the Chateau terrace. He felt + that he would not look his best as he paddled his new-fangled boat. + Besides, it might sink with him. + </p> + <p> + There was not a sail in sight as he put forth. Even the fishing boats of + Carqueyranne were in shelter. The sea was very calm, and the sun shone + brightly. He had some little difficulty in getting seated, but he was + elated to find that his invention answered all expectations. As he went + further out he noticed a great buoy floating a long distance away. His + evil genius suggested that it would be a good thing to paddle out to the + buoy and back. Many men can drink champagne and show no sign, but few can + drink success and remain sober. The eccentric airs assumed by noted + authors prove the truth of this. De Plonville was drunk, and never + suspected it. The tide, what little there is of it in the Mediterranean, + helped him, and even the gentle breeze blew from the shore. He had some + doubts as to the wisdom of his course before he reached the gigantic red + buoy, but when he turned around and saw the appalling distance to the + coast, he shuddered. + </p> + <p> + The great buoy was of iron, apparently boiler plate, and there were rings + fastened to its side. It was pear-shaped with the point in the water, + fastened to a chain that evidently led to an anchor. He wondered what it + was for. As he looked up it was moved by some unseen current, and rolled + over as if bent on the destruction of his craft. Forgetting himself, he + sprang up to ward it off, and instantly one foot went through the thin + waterproof that formed the bottom and sides of his boat. He found himself + struggling in the water almost before he realized what had happened. + Kicking his foot free from the entanglement that threatened to drag him + under, he saw his invention slowly settle down through the clear, green + water. He grasped one of the rings of the buoy, and hung there for a + moment to catch his breath and consider his position. He rapidly came to + the conclusion that it was not a pleasant one, but further than that he + found it difficult to go. Attempting to swim ashore would be simply one + form of suicide. The thing to do was evidently to get on top of the buoy, + but he realized that if he tried to pull himself up by the rings it would + simply roll him under. He was surprised to find, however, that such was + not the case. He had under- estimated both its size and its weight. + </p> + <p> + He sat down on top of it and breathed heavily after his exertions, gazing + for a few moments at the vast expanse of shimmering blue water. It was + pretty, but discouraging. Not even a fishing-boat was in sight, and he was + in a position where every prospect pleases, and only man is in a vile + situation. The big iron island had an uncomfortable habit every now and + then of lounging partly over to one side or the other, so that De + Plonville had to scramble this way or that to keep from falling off. He + vaguely surmised that his motions on these occasions lacked dignity. The + hot sun began to dry the clothes on his back, and he felt his hair become + crisp with salt. He recollected that swimming should be easy here, for he + was on the saltest portion of the saltest open sea in the world. Then his + gaze wandered over the flat lands about Les Salins where acres of ground + were covered artificially with Mediterranean water so that the sun may + evaporate it, and leave the coarse salt used by the fishermen of the + coast. He did not yet feel hungry, but he thought with regret of the good + dinner which would be spread at the hotel that evening, when, perhaps, he + would not be there. + </p> + <p> + He turned himself around and scanned the distant Islands of Gold, but + there was as little prospect of help from that quarter as from the + mainland. Becoming more accustomed to the swayings of the big globe, he + stood up. What a fool he had been to come so far, and he used French words + between his teeth that sounded terse and emphatic. Still there was little + use thinking of that. Here he was, and here he would stay, as a President + of his country had once remarked. The irksomeness and restraint of his + position began to wear on his nerves, and he cried aloud for something—anything—to + happen rather than what he was enduring. + </p> + <p> + Something happened. + </p> + <p> + From between the Islands, there slowly appeared a great modern French ship + of war, small in the distance. Hope lighted up the face of De Plonville. + She must pass near enough to enable his signalling to be seen by the + lookout. Heavens! how leisurely she moved! Then a second war vessel + followed the first into view, and finally a third. The three came slowly + along in stately procession. De Plonville removed his coat and waved it up + and down to attract attention. So intent was he upon this that he nearly + lost his footing, and, realizing that the men-of- war were still too far + away, he desisted. He sat down as his excitement abated, and watched their + quiet approach. Once it seemed to him they had stopped, and he leaned + forward, shading his eyes with his hand, and watched them eagerly. They + were just moving—that was all. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, from the black side of the foremost battle-ship, there rolled + upward a cloud of white smoke, obscuring the funnels and the rigging, + thinning out into the blue sky over the top-masts. After what seemed a + long interval the low, dull roar of a cannon reached him, followed by the + echo from the high hills of the island, and later by the fainter re-echo + from the mountains on the mainland. This depressed De Plonville, for, if + the ships were out for practice, the obscuring smoke around them would + make the seeing of his signalling very improbable; and then that portion + of the fleet might return the way it came, leaving him in his predicament. + From the second ironclad arose a similar cloud, and this time far to his + left there spurted up from the sea a jet of water, waving in the air like + a plume for a moment, then dropping back in a shower on the ruffled + surface. + </p> + <p> + The buoy was a target! + </p> + <p> + As De Plonville realized its use, he felt that uncomfortable creeping of + the scalp which we call, the hair standing on end. The third cannon sent + up its cloud, and De Plonville’s eyes extended at what they saw. + Coming directly towards him was a cannon ball, skipping over the water + like a thrown pebble. His experience in the navy—at Paris—had + never taught him that such a thing was possible. He slid down flat on the + buoy, till his chin rested on the iron, and awaited the shock. A hundred + yards from him the ball dipped into the water and disappeared. He found + that he had ineffectually tried to drive his nails into the boiler plate, + until his fingers’ ends were sore. He stood up and waved his arms, + but the first vessel fired again, and the ball came shrieking over him so + low that he intuitively ducked his head. Like a pang of physical pain, the + thought darted through his brain that he had instigated a censure on the + bad firing of these very boats. Doubtless they saw a man on the buoy, but + as no man had any business there, the knocking of him off by a cannon ball + would be good proof of accuracy of aim. The investigation which followed + would be a feather in the cap of the officer in charge, whatever the + verdict. De Plonville, with something like a sigh, more than suspected + that his untimely death would not cast irretrievable gloom over the fleet. + </p> + <p> + Well, a man has to die but once, and there is little use in making a fuss + over the inevitable. He would meet his fate calmly and as a Frenchman + should, with his face to the guns. There was a tinge of regret that there + would be no one to witness his heroism. It is always pleasant on such + occasions to have a war correspondent, or at least a reporter, present. It + is best to be as comfortable as possible under any circumstances, so De + Plonville sat down on the spheroid and let his feet dangle toward the + water. The great buoy for some reason floated around until it presented + its side to the ships. None of the balls came so near as those first fired—perhaps + because of the accumulated smoke. New features of the situation continued + to present themselves to De Plonville as he sat there. The firing had been + going on for some time before he reflected that if a shot punctured the + buoy it would fill and sink. Perhaps their orders were to fire until the + buoy disappeared. There was little comfort in this suggestion. + </p> + <p> + Firing had ceased for some minutes before he noticed the fact. A bank of + thinning smoke rested on the water between the buoy and the ships. He saw + the ironclads move ponderously around and steam through this bank turning + broadside on again in one, two, three, order. He watched the evolution + with his chin resting on his hands, not realizing that the moment for + signalling had come. When the idea penetrated his somewhat dazed mind, he + sprang to his feet, but his opportunity had gone. The smoke of the first + gun rose in the air, there was a clang of iron on iron, and De Plonville + found himself whirling in space: then sinking in the sea. Coming + breathless to the surface, he saw the buoy revolving slowly, and a deep + dinge in its side seemed to slide over its top and disappear into the + water, showing where the shot had struck. The second boat did not fire, + and he knew that they were examining the buoy with their glasses. He swam + around to the other side, intending to catch a ring and have it haul him + up where he could be seen. Before he reached the place the buoy was at + rest again, and as he laboriously climbed on top more dead than alive, the + second ship opened fire. He lay down at full length exhausted, and hoped + if they were going to hit they would hit quick. Life was not worth having + on these conditions. He felt the hot sun on his back, and listened + dreamily to the cannon. Hope was gone, and he wondered at himself for + feeling a remote rather than an active interest in his fate. He thought of + himself as somebody else, and felt a vague impersonal pity. He criticised + the random firing, and suspected the hit was merely a fluke. When his back + was dry he rolled lazily over and lay gazing up at the cloudless sky. For + greater comfort he placed his hands beneath his head. The sky faded, and a + moment’s unconsciousness intervened. + </p> + <p> + “This won’t do,” he cried, shaking himself. “If I + fall asleep I shall roll off.” + </p> + <p> + He sat up again, his joints stiff with his immersion, and watched the + distant ironclads. He saw with languid interest a ball strike the water, + take a new flight, and plunge into the sea far to the right. He thought + that the vagaries of cannon-balls at sea would make an interesting study. + </p> + <p> + “Are you injured?” cried a clear voice behind him. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mon Dieu!</i>” shouted the young man in a genuine fright, + as he sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg pardon,” as if a rescuer need apologize, “I + thought you were M. De Plonville.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>am</i> De Plonville.” + </p> + <p> + “Your hair is grey,” she said in an awed whisper; then added, + “and no wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” replied the stricken young man, placing his + hand on his heart, “it is needless to deny—I do not deny—that + I was frightened— but—I did not think—not so much as + that, I regret. It is so—so— theatrical—I am deeply + sorrowful.” + </p> + <p> + “Please say no more, but come quickly. Can you come down? Step + exactly in the middle of the canoe. Be careful—it is easily upset—and + sit down at once. That was very nicely done.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, allow me at least to row the boat.” + </p> + <p> + “It is paddling, and you do not understand it. I do. Please do not + speak until we are out of range. I am horribly frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very, very brave.” + </p> + <p> + “Hs—s—sh.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Stansby wielded the double-bladed paddle in a way a Red Indian might + have envied. Once she uttered a little feminine shriek as a cannon ball + plunged into the water behind them; but as they got further away from the + buoy those on the iron-clads appeared to notice that a boat was within + range, and the firing ceased. + </p> + <p> + Miss Stansby looked fixedly at the solemn young man sitting before her; + then placed her paddle across the canoe, bent over it, and laughed. De + Plonville saw the reaction had come. He said sympathetically:— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle, do not, I beg. All danger is over, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not frightened, don’t think it,” she cried, + flashing a look of defiance at him, and forgetting her admission of fear a + moment before. “My father was an Admiral. I am laughing at my + mistake. It is salt.” + </p> + <p> + “What is?” asked her astonished passenger. + </p> + <p> + “In your hair.” + </p> + <p> + He ran his fingers through his hair, and the salt rattled down to the + bottom of the canoe. There was something of relief in <i>his</i> laugh. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + De Plonville always believes the officers on board the gunboats recognized + him. When it was known in Paris that he was to be married to the daughter + of an English Admiral, whom rumor said he had bravely saved from imminent + peril, the army lieutenant remarked that she could never have heard him + speak her language—which, as we know, is not true. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A NEW EXPLOSIVE. + </h2> + <p> + The French Minister of War sat in his very comfortable chair in his own + private yet official room, and pondered over a letter he had received. + Being Minister of War, he was naturally the most mild, the most humane, + and least quarrelsome man in the Cabinet. A Minister of War receives many + letters that, as a matter of course, he throws into his waste basket, but + this particular communication had somehow managed to rivet his attention. + When a man becomes Minister of War he learns for the first time that + apparently the great majority of mankind are engaged in the manufacture or + invention of rifles, gunpowders, and devices of all kinds for the + destruction of the rest of the world. + </p> + <p> + That morning, the Minister of War had received a letter which announced to + him that the writer of it had invented an explosive so terrible that all + known destructive agencies paled before it. As a Frenchman, he made the + first offer of his discovery to the French Government. It would cost the + Minister nothing, he said, to make a test which would corroborate his + amazing claims for the substance, and the moment that test was made, any + intelligent man would recognize the fact that the country which possessed + the secret of this destructive compound would at once occupy an + unassailable position in a contentious world. + </p> + <p> + The writer offered personally to convince the Minister of the truth of his + assertions, provided they could go to some remote spot where the results + of the explosion would do no damage, and where they would be safe from + espionage. The writer went on very frankly to say that if the Minister + consulted with the agents of the police, they would at once see in this + invitation a trap for the probable assassination of the Minister. But the + inventor claimed that the Minister’s own good sense should show him + that his death was desired by none. He was but newly appointed, and had + not yet had time to make enemies. France was at peace with all the world, + and this happened before the time of the Anarchist demonstrations in + Paris. It was but right, the letter went on, that the Minister should have + some guarantee as to the <i>bona fides</i> of the inventor. He therefore + gave his name and address, and said if the Minister made inquiries from + the police, he would find nothing stood in their books against him. He was + a student, whose attention, for years, had been given to the subject of + explosives. To further show that he was entirely unselfish in this matter, + he added that he had no desire to enrich himself by his discovery. He had + a private income quite sufficient for his needs, and he intended to give, + and not to sell, his secret to France. The only proviso he made was that + his name should be linked with this terrible compound, which he maintained + would secure universal peace to the world, for, after its qualities were + known, no nation would dare to fight with another. The sole ambition of + the inventor, said the letter in conclusion, was to place his name high in + the list of celebrated French scientists. If, however, the Minister + refused to treat with him he would go to other Governments until his + invention was taken up, but the Government which secured it would at once + occupy the leading position among nations. He entreated the Minister, + therefore, for the sake of his country, to make at least one test of the + compound. + </p> + <p> + It was, as I have said, before the time of the Paris explosions, and + ministers were not so suspicious then as they are now. The Minister made + inquiries regarding the scientist, who lived in a little suburb of Paris, + and found that there was nothing against him on the books of the police. + Inquiry showed that all he had said about his own private fortune was + true. The Minister therefore wrote to the inventor, and named an hour at + which he would receive him in his private office. + </p> + <p> + The hour and the man arrived together. The Minister had had some slight + doubts regarding his sanity, but the letter had been so straightforwardly + written, and the appearance of the man himself was so kindly and + benevolent and intelligent that the doubts of the official vanished. + </p> + <p> + “I beg you to be seated,” said the Minister. “We are + entirely alone, and nothing you say will be heard by any one but myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, Monsieur le Ministre,” replied the inventor, + “for this mark of confidence; for I am afraid the claims I made in + the letter were so extraordinary that you might well have hesitated about + granting me an interview.” + </p> + <p> + The Minister smiled. “I understand,” he said, “the + enthusiasm of an inventor for his latest triumph, and I was enabled thus + to take, as it were, some discount from your statements, although I doubt + not that you have discovered something that may be of benefit to the War + Department.” + </p> + <p> + The inventor hesitated, looking seriously at the great official before + him. + </p> + <p> + “From what you say,” he began at last, “I am rather + afraid that my letter misled you, for, fearing it would not be credited I + was obliged to make my claims so mild that I erred in under-estimating + rather than in over-stating them. I have the explosive here in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried the Minister, a shade of pallor coming over his + countenance, as he pushed back his chair. “I thought I stated in my + note that you were not to bring it.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me for not obeying. It is perfectly harmless while in this + state. This is one of the peculiarities—a beneficent peculiarity if + I may so term it—of this terrible agent. It may be handled with + perfect safety, and yet its effects are as inevitable as death,” + saying which, he took out of his pocket and held up to the light a bottle + filled with a clear colorless liquid like water. + </p> + <p> + “You could pour that on the fire,” he said, “with no + other effect than to put out the blaze. You might place it under a steam + hammer and crush the bottle to powder, yet no explosion would follow. It + is as harmless as water in its present condition.” + </p> + <p> + “How, then,” said the Minister, “do you deal with it?” + </p> + <p> + Again the man hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I am almost afraid to tell you,” he said; “and if I + could not demonstrate to your entire satisfaction that what I say is true, + it would be folly for me to say what I am about to say. If I were to take + this bottle and cut a notch in the cork, and walk with it neck downwards + along the Boulevard des Italiens, allowing this fluid to fall drop by drop + on the pavement, I could walk in that way in safety through every street + in Paris. If it rained that day nothing would happen. If it rained the + next or for a week nothing would happen, but the moment the sun came out + and dried the moisture, the light step of a cat on any pavement over which + I had passed would instantly shatter to ruins the whole of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” cried the Minister, an expression of horror + coming into his face. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would say that. Therefore I ask you to come with me to + the country, where I can prove the truth of what I allege. While I carry + this bottle around with me in this apparently careless fashion, it is + corked, as you see with the utmost security. Not a drop of the fluid must + be left on the outside of the cork or of the bottle. I have wiped the + bottle and cork most thoroughly, and burned the cloth which I used in + doing so. Fire will not cause this compound, even when dry, to explode, + but the slightest touch will set it off. I have to be extremely careful in + its manufacture, so that not a single drop is left unaccounted for in any + place where it might evaporate.” + </p> + <p> + The Minister, with his finger-tips together and his eyes on the ceiling, + mused for a few moments on the amazing statement he had heard. + </p> + <p> + “If what you say is true,” he began at last, “don’t + you think it would be more humane to destroy all traces of the experiments + by which you discovered this substance, and to divulge the secret to no + one? The devastation such a thing would cause, if it fell into + unscrupulous hands, is too appalling even to contemplate.” + </p> + <p> + “I have thought of that,” said the inventor; “but some + one else—the time may be far off or it may be near—is bound to + make the discovery. My whole ambition, as I told you in my letter, is to + have my name coupled with this discovery. I wish it to be known as the + Lambelle Explosive. The secret would be safe with the French Government.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that,” returned the Minister. “Some + unscrupulous man may become Minister of War, and may use his knowledge to + put himself in the position of Dictator. An unscrupulous man in the + possession of such a secret would be invincible.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say,” replied the inventor, “is undoubtedly + true; yet I am determined that the name of Lambelle shall go down in + history coupled with the most destructive agent the world has ever known, + or will know. If the Government of France will build for me a large stone + structure as secure as a fortress, I will keep my secret, but will fill + that building with bottles like this, and then——” + </p> + <p> + “I do not see,” said the Minister, “that that would + lessen the danger, if the unscrupulous man I speak of once became + possessed of the keys; and, besides, the mere fact that such a secret + existed would put other inventors upon the track, and some one else less + benevolent than yourself would undoubtedly make the discovery. You + admitted a moment ago that the chances were a future investigator would + succeed in getting the right ingredients together, even without the + knowledge that such an explosive existed. See what an incentive it would + be to inventors all over the world, if it were known that France had in + its possession such a fearful explosive! No Government has ever yet been + successful in keeping the secret of either a gun or a gunpowder.” + </p> + <p> + “There is, of course,” said Lambelle, “much in what you + say; but, equally of course, all that you say might have been said to the + inventor of gunpowder, for gunpowder in its day was as wonderful as this + is now.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the Minister laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “I am talking seriously with you on this subject,” he + exclaimed, “as if I really believed in it. Of course, I may say I do + nothing of the kind. I think you must have hypnotized me with those calm + eyes of yours into crediting your statements for even a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + “All that I say,” said the inventor quietly, “can be + corroborated to- morrow. Make an appointment with me in the country, and + if it chances to be a calm and sunny day you will no longer doubt the + evidence of your own eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you wish the experiment to be made?” asked the + Minister. + </p> + <p> + “It must be in some wild and desolate region, on a hill-top for + preference. There should be either trees or old buildings there that we + can destroy, otherwise the full effects can hardly be estimated.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a place in the country,” said the Minister, “which + is wild and desolate and unprofitable enough. There are some useless stone + buildings, not on a hill-top, but by the edge of a quarry which has been + unworked for many years. There is no habitation for several miles around. + Would such a spot be suitable?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly so. When would it be convenient for you to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I will leave with you to-night,” said the Minister, “and + we can spend the day to-morrow experimenting.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” answered Lambelle, rising when the Minister had + told him the hour and the railway station at which they should meet. + </p> + <p> + That evening, when the Minister drove to the railway station in time for + his train, he found Lambelle waiting for him, holding, by a leash, two + sorry-looking dogs. + </p> + <p> + “Do you travel with such animals as these?” asked the + Minister. + </p> + <p> + “The poor brutes,” said Lambelle, with regret in his voice, + “are necessary for our experiments. They will be in atoms by this + time to- morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The dogs were put into the railway-van, and the inventor brought his + portmanteau with him into the private carriage reserved for the use of the + Minister. + </p> + <p> + The place, as the Minister of War had said, was desolate enough. The stone + buildings near the edge of the deserted quarry were stout and strong, + although partly in ruins. + </p> + <p> + “I have here with me in my portmanteau,” said Lambelle, + “some hundreds of metres of electric wire. I will attach one of the + dogs by this clip, which we can release from a distance by pressing an + electric button. The moment the dog escapes he will undoubtedly explode + the compound.” + </p> + <p> + The insulated wire was run along the ground to a distant elevation. The + dog was attached by the electric clip, and chained to a doorpost of one of + the buildings. Lambelle then carefully uncorked his bottle, holding it at + arm’s length from his person. The Minister looked on with strange + interest as Lambelle allowed the fluid to drip in a semicircular line + around the chained dog. The inventor carefully re-corked the bottle, wiped + it thoroughly with a cloth he had with him, and threw the cloth into one + of the deserted houses. + </p> + <p> + They waited near, until the spots caused by the fluid on the stone + pavement in front of the house had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “By the time we reach the hill,” said Lambelle, “it will + be quite dry in this hot sun.” + </p> + <p> + As they departed towards the elevation, the forlorn dog howled mournfully, + as if in premonition of his fate. + </p> + <p> + “I think, to make sure,” said the inventor, when they reached + the electrical apparatus, “that we might wait for half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + The Minister lit a cigarette, and smoked silently, a strange battle going + on in his mind. He found himself believing in the extraordinary claims + made by the inventor, and his thought dwelt on the awful possibilities of + such an explosive. + </p> + <p> + “Will you press the electric lever?” asked Lambelle quietly. + “Remember that you are inaugurating a new era.” + </p> + <p> + The Minister pressed down the key, and then, putting his field-glass to + his eye, he saw that the dog was released, but the animal sat there + scratching its ear with its paw. Then, realizing that it was loose, it + sniffed for a moment at the chain. Finally, it threw up its head and + barked, although the distance was too great for them to hear any sound. + The dog started in the direction the two men had gone, but, before it had + taken three steps, the Minister was appalled to see the buildings suddenly + crumble into dust, and a few moments later the thunder of the rocks + falling into the deserted quarry came toward them. The whole ledge had + been flung forwards into the chasm. There was no smoke, but a haze of dust + hovered over the spot. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried the Minister. “That is awful!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lambelle quietly; “I put more of the + substance on the flagging than I need to have done. A few drops would have + answered quite as well, but I wanted to make sure. You were very + sceptical, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The Minister looked at him. “I beg of you, M. Lambelle, never to + divulge this secret to the Government of France, or to any other power. + Take the risk of it being discovered in the future. I implore you to + reconsider your original intention. If you desire money, I will see that + you get what you want from the secret funds.” + </p> + <p> + Lambelle shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I have no desire for money,” he said; “but what you + have seen will show you that I shall be the most famous scientist of the + century. The name of Lambelle will be known till the end of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my God, man!” said the Minister, “the end of the + world is here the moment your secret is in the possession of another. With + you or me it would be safe: but who can tell the minds of those who may + follow us? You are putting the power of the Almighty into the hands of a + man.” + </p> + <p> + Lambelle flushed with pride as the pale-faced Minister said this. + </p> + <p> + “You speak the truth!” he cried, “it is the power of + Omnipotence.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” implored the Minister, “reconsider your + decision.” + </p> + <p> + “I have labored too long,” said Lambelle, “to forego my + triumph now. You are convinced at last, I see. Now then, tell me: will + you, as Minister of France, secure for your country this greatest of all + inventions?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the Minister; “no other power must be + allowed to obtain the secret. Have you ever written down the names of the + ingredients?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” answered Lambelle. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not possible for any one to have suspected what your + experiments were? If a man got into your laboratory—a scientific man—could + he not, from what he saw there, obtain the secret?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be impossible,” said Lambelle. “I have been + too anxious to keep the credit for myself, to leave any traces that might + give a hint of what I was doing.” + </p> + <p> + “You were wise in that,” said the Minister, drawing a deep + breath. “Now let us go and look at the ruins.” + </p> + <p> + As they neared the spot the official’s astonishment at the + extraordinary destruction became greater and greater. The rock had been + rent as if by an earthquake, to the distance of hundreds of yards. + </p> + <p> + “You say,” said the Minister, “that the liquid is + perfectly safe until evaporation takes place.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” answered Lambelle. “Of course one has to be + careful, as I told you, in the use of it. You must not get a drop on your + clothes, or leave it anywhere on the outside of the bottle to evaporate.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see the stuff.” + </p> + <p> + Lambelle handed him the bottle. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any more of this in your laboratory?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a drop.” + </p> + <p> + “If you wished to destroy this, how would you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I should empty the bottle into the Seine. It would flow down to the + sea, and no harm would be done.” + </p> + <p> + “See if you can find any traces of the dog,” said the + Minister. “I will clamber down into the quarry, and look there.” + </p> + <p> + “You will find nothing,” said Lambelle confidently. + </p> + <p> + There was but one path by which the bottom of the quarry could be reached. + The Minister descended by this until he was out of sight of the man above; + then he quickly uncorked the bottle, and allowed the fluid to drip along + the narrowest part of the path which faced the burning sun. He corked the + bottle, wiped it carefully with his handkerchief, which he rolled into a + ball, and threw into the quarry. Coming up to the surface again, he said + to the mild and benevolent scientist: “I cannot find a trace of the + dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor can I,” said Lambelle. “Of course when you can + hardly find a sign of the building it is not to be expected that there + should be any remnants of the dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we get back to the hill now and have lunch,” said the + Minister. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to try another experiment?” + </p> + <p> + “I would like to try one more after we have had something to eat. + What would be the effect if you poured the whole bottleful into the quarry + and set it off?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, impossible!” cried Lambelle. “It would rend this + whole part of the country to pieces. In fact, I am not sure that the shock + would not be felt as far as Paris. With a very few drops I can shatter the + whole quarry.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll try that after lunch. We have another dog left.” + </p> + <p> + When an hour had passed, Lambelle was anxious to try his quarry + experiment. + </p> + <p> + “By-and-by,” he said, “the sun will not be shining in + the quarry, and then it will be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “We can easily wait until to-morrow, unless you are in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “I am in no hurry,” rejoined the inventor. “I thought + perhaps you might be, with so much to do.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the official. “Nothing I shall do during + my administration will be more important than this.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear you say so,” answered Lambelle; “and + if you will give me the bottle again I will now place a few drops in the + sunny part of the quarry.” + </p> + <p> + The Minister handed him the bottle, apparently with some reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “I still think,” he said, “that it would be much better + to allow this secret to die. No one knows it at present but yourself. With + you, as I have said, it will be safe, or with me; but think of the awful + possibilities of a disclosure.” + </p> + <p> + “Every great invention has its risks,” said Lambelle firmly. + “Nothing would induce me to forego the fruits of my life-work. It is + too much to ask of any man.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said the Minister. “Then let us be sure of + our facts. I want to see the effects of the explosive on the quarry.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall,” said Lambelle, as he departed. + </p> + <p> + “I will wait for you here,” said the Minister, “and + smoke a cigarette.” + </p> + <p> + When the inventor approached the quarry, leading the dog behind him, the + Minister’s hand trembled so that he was hardly able to hold the + field-glass to his eye. Lambelle disappeared down the path. The next + instant the ground trembled even where the Minister sat, and a haze of + dust arose above the ruined quarry. + </p> + <p> + Some moments after the pallid Minister looked over the work of + destruction, but no trace of humanity was there except himself. + </p> + <p> + “I could not do otherwise,” he murmured, “It was too + great a risk to run.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE GREAT PEGRAM MYSTERY. + </h2> + <p> + (<i>With apologies to Dr. Conan Doyle, and our mutual and lamented friend + the late Sherlock Holmes</i>.) + </p> + <p> + I dropped in on my friend, Sherlaw Kombs, to hear what he had to say about + the Pegram mystery, as it had come to be called in the newspapers. I found + him playing the violin with a look of sweet peace and serenity on his + face, which I never noticed on the countenances of those within hearing + distance. I knew this expression of seraphic calm indicated that Kombs had + been deeply annoyed about something. Such, indeed, proved to be the case, + for one of the morning papers had contained an article, eulogizing the + alertness and general competence of Scotland Yard. So great was Sherlaw + Kombs’s contempt for Scotland Yard that he never would visit + Scotland during his vacations, nor would he ever admit that a Scotchman + was fit for anything but export. + </p> + <p> + He generously put away his violin, for he had a sincere liking for me, and + greeted me with his usual kindness. + </p> + <p> + “I have come,” I began, plunging at once into the matter on my + mind, “to hear what you think of the great Pegram mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t heard of it,” he said quietly, just as if all + London were not talking of that very thing. Kombs was curiously ignorant + on some subjects, and abnormally learned on others. I found, for instance, + that political discussion with him was impossible, because he did not know + who Salisbury and Gladstone were. This made his friendship a great boon. + </p> + <p> + “The Pegram mystery has baffled even Gregory, of Scotland Yard.” + </p> + <p> + “I can well believe it,” said my friend, calmly. “Perpetual + motion, or squaring the circle, would baffle Gregory. He’s an + infant, is Gregory.” + </p> + <p> + This was one of the things I always liked about Kombs. There was no + professional jealousy in him, such as characterizes so many other men. + </p> + <p> + He filled his pipe, threw himself into his deep-seated arm-chair, placed + his feet on the mantel, and clasped his hands behind his head. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it,” he said simply. + </p> + <p> + “Old Barrie Kipson,” I began, “was a stockbroker in the + City. He lived in Pegram, and it was his custom to——” + </p> + <p> + “COME IN!” shouted Kombs, without changing his position, but + with a suddenness that startled me. I had heard no knock. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” said my friend, laughing, “my invitation to + enter was a trifle premature. I was really so interested in your recital + that I spoke before I thought, which a detective should never do. The fact + is, a man will be here in a moment who will tell me all about this crime, + and so you will be spared further effort in that line.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have an appointment. In that case I will not intrude,” + I said, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down; I have no appointment. I did not know until I spoke that + he was coming.” + </p> + <p> + I gazed at him in amazement. Accustomed as I was to his extraordinary + talents, the man was a perpetual surprise to me. He continued to smoke + quietly, but evidently enjoyed my consternation. + </p> + <p> + “I see you are surprised. It is really too simple to talk about, + but, from my position opposite the mirror, I can see the reflection of + objects in the street. A man stopped, looked at one of my cards, and then + glanced across the street. I recognized my card, because, as you know, + they are all in scarlet. If, as you say, London is talking of this + mystery, it naturally follows that <i>he</i> will talk of it, and the + chances are he wished to consult me about it. Anyone can see that, besides + there is always—<i>Come</i> in!” + </p> + <p> + There was a rap at the door this time. + </p> + <p> + A stranger entered. Sherlaw Kombs did not change his lounging attitude. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to see Mr. Sherlaw Kombs, the detective,” said the + stranger, coming within the range of the smoker’s vision. + </p> + <p> + “This is Mr. Kombs,” I remarked at last, as my friend smoked + quietly, and seemed half-asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to introduce myself,” continued the stranger, + fumbling for a card. + </p> + <p> + “There is no need. You are a journalist,” said Kombs. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the stranger, somewhat taken aback, “you know + me, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Never saw or heard of you in my life before.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how in the world——” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing simpler. You write for an evening paper. You have written + an article slating the book of a friend. He will feel badly about it, and + you will condole with him. He will never know who stabbed him unless I + tell him.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil!” cried the journalist, sinking into a chair and + mopping his brow, while his face became livid. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” drawled Kombs, “it is a devil of a shame that + such things are done. But what would you? as we say in France.” + </p> + <p> + When the journalist had recovered his second wind he pulled himself + together somewhat. “Would you object to telling me how you know + these particulars about a man you say you have never seen?” + </p> + <p> + “I rarely talk about these things,” said Kombs with great + composure. “But as the cultivation of the habit of observation may + help you in your profession, and thus in a remote degree benefit me by + making your paper less deadly dull, I will tell you. Your first and second + fingers are smeared with ink, which shows that you write a great deal. + This smeared class embraces two sub-classes, clerks or accountants, and + journalists. Clerks have to be neat in their work. The ink-smear is slight + in their case. Your fingers are badly and carelessly smeared; therefore, + you are a journalist. You have an evening paper in your pocket. Anyone + might have any evening paper, but yours is a Special Edition, which will + not be on the streets for half-an-hour yet. You must have obtained it + before you left the office, and to do this you must be on the staff. A + book notice is marked with a blue pencil. A journalist always despises + every article in his own paper not written by himself; therefore, you + wrote the article you have marked, and doubtless are about to send it to + the author of the book referred to. Your paper makes a specialty of + abusing all books not written by some member of its own staff. That the + author is a friend of yours, I merely surmised. It is all a trivial + example of ordinary observation.” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Mr. Kombs, you are the most wonderful man on earth. You are + the equal of Gregory, by Jove, you are.” + </p> + <p> + A frown marred the brow of my friend as he placed his pipe on the + sideboard and drew his self-cocking six-shooter. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to insult me, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not—I—I assure you. You are fit to take charge of + Scotland Yard to-morrow——. I am in earnest, indeed I am, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Heaven help you,” cried Kombs, slowly raising his right + arm. + </p> + <p> + I sprang between them. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shoot!” I cried. “You will spoil the + carpet. Besides, Sherlaw, don’t you see the man means well. He + actually thinks it is a compliment!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are right,” remarked the detective, flinging his + revolver carelessly beside his pipe, much to the relief of the third + party. Then, turning to the journalist, he said, with his customary bland + courtesy— + </p> + <p> + “You wanted to see me, I think you said. What can I do for you, Mr. + Wilber Scribbings?” + </p> + <p> + The journalist started. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know my name?” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + Kombs waved his hand impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Look inside your hat if you doubt your own name?” + </p> + <p> + I then noticed for the first time that the name was plainly to be seen + inside the top-hat Scribbings held upside down in his hands. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard, of course, of the Pegram mystery——“. + </p> + <p> + “Tush,” cried the detective; “do not, I beg of you, call + it a mystery. There is no such thing. Life would become more tolerable if + there ever <i>was</i> a mystery. Nothing is original. Everything has been + done before. What about the Pegram affair?” + </p> + <p> + “The Pegram—ah—case has baffled everyone. The <i>Evening + Blade</i> wishes you to investigate, so that it may publish the result. It + will pay you well. Will you accept the commission?” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly. Tell me about the case.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought everybody knew the particulars. Mr. Barrie Kipson lived + at Pegram. He carried a first-class season ticket between the terminus and + that station. It was his custom to leave for Pegram on the 5.30 train each + evening. Some weeks ago, Mr. Kipson was brought down by the influenza. On + his first visit to the City after his recovery, he drew something like + £300 in notes, and left the office at his usual hour to catch the 5.30. He + was never seen again alive, as far as the public have been able to learn. + He was found at Brewster in a first-class compartment on the Scotch + Express, which does not stop between London and Brewster. There was a + bullet in his head, and his money was gone, pointing plainly to murder and + robbery.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is the mystery, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “There are several unexplainable things about the case. First, how + came he on the Scotch Express, which leaves at six, and does not stop at + Pegram? Second, the ticket examiners at the terminus would have turned him + out if he showed his season ticket; and all the tickets sold for the + Scotch Express on the 21st are accounted for. Third, how could the + murderer have escaped? Fourth, the passengers in the two compartments on + each side of the one where the body was found heard no scuffle and no shot + fired.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure the Scotch Express on the 21st did not stop between + London and Brewster?” + </p> + <p> + “Now that you mention the fact, it did. It was stopped by signal + just outside of Pegram. There was a few moments’ pause, when the + line was reported clear, and it went on again. This frequently happens, as + there is a branch line beyond Pegram.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherlaw Kombs pondered for a few moments, smoking his pipe silently. + </p> + <p> + “I presume you wish the solution in time for to-morrow’s + paper?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul, no. The editor thought if you evolved a theory in a + month you would do well.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, I do not deal with theories, but with facts. If you + can make it convenient to call here to-morrow at 8 a.m. I will give you + the full particulars early enough for the first edition. There is no sense + in taking up much time over so simple an affair as the Pegram case. Good + afternoon, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Scribbings was too much astonished to return the greeting. He left in + a speechless condition, and I saw him go up the street with his hat still + in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Sherlaw Kombs relapsed into his old lounging attitude, with his hands + clasped behind his head. The smoke came from his lips in quick puffs at + first, then at longer intervals. I saw he was coming to a conclusion, so I + said nothing. + </p> + <p> + Finally he spoke in his most dreamy manner. “I do not wish to seem + to be rushing things at all, Whatson, but I am going out to-night on the + Scotch Express. Would you care to accompany me?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!” I cried, glancing at the clock, “you haven’t + time, it is after five now.” + </p> + <p> + “Ample time, Whatson—ample,” he murmured, without + changing his position. “I give myself a minute and a half to change + slippers and dressing gown for boots and coat, three seconds for hat, + twenty-five seconds to the street, forty-two seconds waiting for a hansom, + and then seven at the terminus before the express starts. I shall be glad + of your company.” + </p> + <p> + I was only too happy to have the privilege of going with him. It was most + interesting to watch the workings of so inscrutable a mind. As we drove + under the lofty iron roof of the terminus I noticed a look of annoyance + pass over his face. + </p> + <p> + “We are fifteen seconds ahead of our time,” he remarked, + looking at the big clock. “I dislike having a miscalculation of that + sort occur.” + </p> + <p> + The great Scotch Express stood ready for its long journey. The detective + tapped one of the guards on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard of the so-called Pegram mystery, I presume?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir. It happened on this very train, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Really? Is the same carriage still on the train?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, sir, it is,” replied the guard, lowering his + voice, “but of course, sir, we have to keep very quiet about it. + People wouldn’t travel in it, else, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless. Do you happen to know if anybody occupies the + compartment in which the body was found?” + </p> + <p> + “A lady and gentleman, sir; I put ‘em in myself, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you further oblige me,” said the detective, deftly + slipping half-a-sovereign into the hand of the guard, “by going to + the window and informing them in an offhand casual sort of way that the + tragedy took place in that compartment?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir.” + </p> + <p> + We followed the guard, and the moment he had imparted his news there was a + suppressed scream in the carriage. Instantly a lady came out, followed by + a florid-faced gentleman, who scowled at the guard. We entered the now + empty compartment, and Kombs said: “We would like to be alone here + until we reach Brewster.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll see to that, sir,” answered the guard, locking the + door. + </p> + <p> + When the official moved away, I asked my friend what he expected to find + in the carriage that would cast any light on the case. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” was his brief reply. + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely to corroborate the conclusions I have already arrived at.” + </p> + <p> + “And may I ask what those conclusions are?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied the detective, with a touch of lassitude + in his voice. “I beg to call your attention, first, to the fact that + this train stands between two platforms, and can be entered from either + side. Any man familiar with the station for years would be aware of that + fact. This shows how Mr. Kipson entered the train just before it started.” + </p> + <p> + “But the door on this side is locked,” I objected, trying it. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. But every season ticket-holder carries a key. This + accounts for the guard not seeing him, and for the absence of a ticket. + Now let me give you some information about the influenza. The patient’s + temperature rises several degrees above normal, and he has a fever. When + the malady has run its course, the temperature falls to three- quarters of + a degree below normal. These, facts are unknown to you, I imagine, because + you are a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + I admitted such was the case. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the consequence of this fall in temperature is that the + convalescent’s mind turns toward thoughts of suicide. Then is the + time he should be watched by his friends. Then was the time Mr. Barrie + Kipson’s friends did <i>not</i> watch him. You remember the 21st, of + course. No? It was a most depressing day. Fog all around and mud under + foot. Very good. He resolves on suicide. He wishes to be unidentified, if + possible but forgets his season ticket. My experience is that a man about + to commit a crime always forgets something.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you account for the disappearance of the money?” + </p> + <p> + “The money has nothing to do with the matter. If he was a deep man, + and knew the stupidness of Scotland Yard, he probably sent the notes to an + enemy. If not, they may have been given to a friend. Nothing is more + calculated to prepare the mind for self-destruction than the prospect of a + night ride on the Scotch Express, and the view from the windows of the + train as it passes through the northern part of London is particularly + conducive to thoughts of annihilation.” + </p> + <p> + “What became of the weapon?” + </p> + <p> + “That is just the point on which I wish to satisfy myself. Excuse me + for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sherlaw Kombs drew down the window on the right hand side, and + examined the top of the casing minutely with a magnifying glass. Presently + he heaved a sigh of relief, and drew up the sash. + </p> + <p> + “Just as I expected,” he remarked, speaking more to himself + than to me. “There is a slight dent on the top of the window-frame. + It is of such a nature as to be made only by the trigger of a pistol + falling from the nerveless hand of a suicide. He intended to throw the + weapon far out of the window, but had not the strength. It might have + fallen into the carriage. As a matter of fact, it bounced away from the + line and lies among the grass about ten feet six inches from the outside + rail. The only question that now remains is where the deed was committed, + and the exact present position of the pistol reckoned in miles from + London, but that, fortunately, is too simple to even need explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “Great heavens, Sherlaw!” I cried. “How can you call + that simple? It seems to me impossible to compute.” + </p> + <p> + We were now flying over Northern London, and the great detective leaned + back with every sign of <i>ennui</i>, closing his eyes. At last he spoke + wearily: + </p> + <p> + “It is really too elementary, Whatson, but I am always willing to + oblige a friend. I shall be relieved, however, when you are able to work + out the A B C of detection for yourself, although I shall never object to + helping you with the words of more than three syllables. Having made up + his mind to commit suicide, Kipson naturally intended to do it before he + reached Brewster, because tickets are again examined at that point. When + the train began to stop at the signal near Pegram, he came to the false + conclusion that it was stopping at Brewster. The fact that the shot was + not heard is accounted for by the screech of the air- brake, added to the + noise of the train. Probably the whistle was also sounding at the same + moment. The train being a fast express would stop as near the signal as + possible. The air-brake will stop a train in twice its own length. Call it + three times in this case. Very well. At three times the length of this + train from the signalpost towards London, deducting half the length of the + train, as this carriage is in the middle, you will find the pistol.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Commonplace,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the whistle sounded shrilly, and we felt the grind of the + air-brakes. + </p> + <p> + “The Pegram signal again,” cried Kombs, with something almost + like enthusiasm. “This is indeed luck. We will get out here, + Whatson, and test the matter.” + </p> + <p> + As the train stopped, we got out on the right-hand side of the line. The + engine stood panting impatiently under the red light, which changed to + green as I looked at it. As the train moved on with increasing speed, the + detective counted the carriages, and noted down the number. It was now + dark, with the thin crescent of the moon hanging in the western sky + throwing a weird half-light on the shining metals. The rear lamps of the + train disappeared around a curve, and the signal stood at baleful red + again. The black magic of the lonesome night in that strange place + impressed me, but the detective was a most practical man. He placed his + back against the signal-post, and paced up the line with even strides, + counting his steps. I walked along the permanent way beside him silently. + At last he stopped, and took a tapeline from his pocket. He ran it out + until the ten feet six inches were unrolled, scanning the figures in the + wan light of the new moon. Giving me the end, he placed his knuckles on + the metals, motioning me to proceed down the embankment. I stretched out + the line, and then sank my hand in the damp grass to mark the spot. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” I cried, aghast, “what is this?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the pistol,” said Kombs quietly. + </p> + <p> + It was!! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Journalistic London will not soon forget the sensation that was caused by + the record of the investigations of Sherlaw Kombs, as printed at length in + the next day’s <i>Evening Blade</i>. Would that my story ended here. + Alas! Kombs contemptuously turned over the pistol to Scotland Yard. The + meddlesome officials, actuated, as I always hold, by jealousy, found the + name of the seller upon it. They investigated. The seller testified that + it had never been in the possession of Mr. Kipson, as far as he knew. It + was sold to a man whose description tallied with that of a criminal long + watched by the police. He was arrested, and turned Queen’s evidence + in the hope of hanging his pal. It seemed that Mr. Kipson, who was a + gloomy, taciturn man, and usually came home in a compartment by himself, + thus escaping observation, had been murdered in the lane leading to his + house. After robbing him, the miscreants turned their thoughts towards the + disposal of the body—a subject that always occupies a first-class + criminal mind before the deed is done. They agreed to place it on the + line, and have it mangled by the Scotch Express, then nearly due. Before + they got the body half- way up the embankment the express came along and + stopped. The guard got out and walked along the other side to speak with + the engineer. The thought of putting the body into an empty first-class + carriage instantly occurred to the murderers. They opened the door with + the deceased’s key. It is supposed that the pistol dropped when they + were hoisting the body in the carriage. + </p> + <p> + The Queen’s evidence dodge didn’t work, and Scotland Yard + ignobly insulted my friend Sherlaw Kombs by sending him a pass to see the + villains hanged. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DEATH COMETH SOON OR LATE. + </h2> + <p> + It was Alick Robbins who named the invalid the Living Skeleton, and + probably remorse for having thus given him a title so descriptively + accurate, caused him to make friends with the Living Skeleton, a man who + seemed to have no friends. + </p> + <p> + Robbins never forgot their first conversation. It happened in this way. It + was the habit of the Living Skeleton to leave his hotel every morning + promptly at ten o’clock, if the sun was shining, and to shuffle + rather than walk down the gravel street to the avenue of palms. There, + picking out a seat on which the sun shone, the Living Skeleton would sit + down and seem to wait patiently for someone who never came. He wore a + shawl around his neck and a soft cloth cap on his skull. Every bone in his + face stood out against the skin, for there seemed to be no flesh, and his + clothes hung as loosely upon him as they would have upon a skeleton. It + required no second glance at the Living Skeleton to know that the + remainder of his life was numbered by days or hours, and not by weeks or + months. He didn’t seem to have energy enough even to read, and so it + was that Robbins sat down one day on the bench beside him, and said + sympathetically:— + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are feeling better to-day.” + </p> + <p> + The Skeleton turned towards him, laughed a low, noiseless, mirthless laugh + for a moment, and then said, in a hollow, far-away voice that had no lungs + behind it: “I am done with feeling either better or worse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I trust it is not so bad as that,” said Robbins; “the + climate is doing you good down here, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + Again the Skeleton laughed silently, and Robbins began to feel uneasy. The + Skeleton’s eyes were large and bright, and they fastened themselves + upon Robbins in a way that increased that gentleman’s uneasiness, + and made him think that perhaps the Skeleton knew he had so named him. + </p> + <p> + “I have no more interest in climate,” said the Skeleton. + “I merely seem to live because I have been in the habit of living + for some years; I presume that is it, because my lungs are entirely gone. + Why I can talk or why I can breathe is a mystery to me. You are perfectly + certain you can hear me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hear you quite distinctly,” said Robbins. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it wasn’t that people tell me that they can hear me, + I wouldn’t believe I was really speaking, because, you see, I have + nothing to speak with. Isn’t it Shakespeare who says something about + when the brains are out the man is dead? Well, I have seen some men who + make me think Shakespeare was wrong in his diagnosis, but it is generally + supposed that when the lungs are gone a man is dead. To tell the truth, I + <i>am</i> dead, practically. You know the old American story about the man + who walked around to save funeral expenses; well, it isn’t quite + that way with me, but I can appreciate how the man felt. Still I take a + keen interest in life, although you might not think so. You see, I haven’t + much time left; I am going to die at eight o’clock on the 30th of + April. Eight o’clock at night, not in the morning, just after <i>table + d’hôte</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to <i>what</i>!” cried Robbins in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to die that day. You see I have got things to such + a fine point, that I can die any time I want to. I could die right here, + now, if I wished. If you have any mortal interest in the matter I’ll + do it, and show you what I say is true. I don’t mind much, you know, + although I had fixed April the 30th as the limit. It wouldn’t matter + a bit for me to go off now, if it would be of any interest to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg you,” said Robbins, very much alarmed, “not to + try any experiments on my account. I am quite willing to believe anything + you say about the matter—of course you ought to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do know.” answered the Living Skeleton sadly. “Of + course I have had my struggle with hope and fear, but that is all past + now, as you may well understand. The reason that I have fixed the date for + April 30th is this: you see I have only a certain amount of money—I + do not know why I should make any secret of it. I have exactly 240 francs + today, over and above another 100 francs which I have set aside for + another purpose. I am paying 8 francs a day at the Golden Dragon; that + will keep me just thirty days, and then I intend to die.” + </p> + <p> + The Skeleton laughed again, without sound, and Robbins moved uneasily on + the seat. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see,” he said finally, “what there is to + laugh about in that condition of affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t suppose there is very much; but there is something + else that I consider very laughable, and that I will tell you if you will + keep it a secret. You see, the Golden Dragon himself—I always call + our innkeeper the Golden Dragon, just as you call me, the Living Skeleton.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I—I—beg your pardon,” stammered Robbins, + “I——.” + </p> + <p> + “It really doesn’t matter at all. You are perfectly right, and + I think it a very apt term. Well, the old Golden Dragon makes a great deal + of his money by robbing the dead. You didn’t know that, did you? You + thought it was the living who supported him, and goodness knows he robs <i>them</i> + when he has a chance. Well, you are very much mistaken. When a man dies in + the Golden Dragon, he, or his friends rather, have to pay very sweetly for + it. The Dragon charges them for re-furnishing the room. Every stick of + furniture is charged for, all the wall-paper, and so on. I suppose it is + perfectly right to charge something, but the Dragon is not content with + what is right. He knows he has finally lost a customer, and so he makes + all he can out of him. The furniture so paid for, is not re-placed, and + the walls are not papered again, but the Dragon doesn’t abate a + penny of his bill on that account. Now, I have inquired of the furnishing + man, on the street back of the hotel, and he has written on his card just + the cost of mattress, sheets, pillows, and all that sort of thing, and the + amount comes to about 50 francs. I have put in an envelope a 50-franc + note, and with it the card of the furniture man. I have written a letter + to the hotel-keeper, telling him just what the things will cost that he + needs, and have referred the Dragon to the card of the furniture man who + has given me the figures. This envelope I have addressed to the Dragon, + and he will find it when I am dead. This is the joke that old man Death + and myself have put up on our host, and my only regret is that I shall not + be able to enjoy a look at the Dragon’s countenance as he reads my + last letter to him. Another sum of money I have put away, in good hands + where he won’t have a chance to get it, for my funeral expenses, and + then you see I am through with the world. I have nobody to leave that I + need worry about, or who would either take care of me or feel sorry for me + if I needed care or sympathy, which I do not. So that is why I laugh, and + that is why I come down and sit upon this bench, in the sunshine, and + enjoy the posthumous joke.” + </p> + <p> + Robbins did not appear to see the humor of the situation quite as strongly + as the Living Skeleton did. At different times after, when they met he had + offered the Skeleton more money if he wanted it, so that he might prolong + his life a little, but the Skeleton always refused. + </p> + <p> + A sort of friendship sprang up between Robbins and the Living Skeleton, at + least, as much of a friendship as can exist between the living and the + dead, for Robbins was a muscular young fellow who did not need to live at + the Riviera on account of his health, but merely because he detested an + English winter. Besides this, it may be added, although it really is + nobody’s business, that a Nice Girl and her parents lived in this + particular part of the South of France. + </p> + <p> + One day Robbins took a little excursion in a carriage to Toulon. He had + invited the Nice Girl to go with him, but on that particular day she could + not go. There was some big charity function on hand, and one necessary + part of the affair was the wheedling of money out of people’s + pockets, so the Nice Girl had undertaken to do part of the wheedling. + </p> + <p> + She was very good at it, and she rather prided herself upon it, but then + she was a very nice girl, pretty as well, and so people found it difficult + to refuse her. On the evening of the day there was to be a ball at the + principal hotel of the place, also in connection with this very desirable + charity. Robbins had reluctantly gone to Toulon alone, but you may depend + upon it he was back in time for the ball. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said to the Nice Girl when he met her, “what + luck collecting, to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the greatest luck,” she replied enthusiastically, “and + whom do you think I got the most money from?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I haven’t the slightest idea—that old English + Duke, he certainly has money enough.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not from him at all; the very last person you would expect it + from—your friend, the Living Skeleton.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Robbins, in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I found him on the bench where he usually sits, in the avenue + of the palms. I told him all about the charity and how useful it was, and + how necessary, and how we all ought to give as much as we could towards + it, and he smiled and smiled at me in that curious way of his. ‘Yes,’ + he said in a whisper, ‘I believe the charity should be supported by + everyone; I will give you eighty francs.’ Now, wasn’t that + very generous of him? Eighty francs, that was ten times what the Duke + gave, and as he handed me the money he looked up at me and said in that + awful whisper of his: ‘Count this over carefully when you get home + and see if you can find out what else I have given you. There is more than + eighty francs there.’ Then, after I got home, I——” + </p> + <p> + But here the Nice Girl paused, when she looked at the face of Robbins, to + whom she was talking. That face was ghastly pale and his eyes were staring + at her but not seeing her. + </p> + <p> + “Eighty francs,” he was whispering to himself, and he seemed + to be making a mental calculation. Then noticing the Nice Girl’s + amazed look at him, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Did you take the money?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I took it,” she said, “why shouldn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “Great Heavens!” gasped Robbins, and without a word he turned + and fled, leaving the Nice Girl transfixed with astonishment and staring + after him with a frown on her pretty brow. + </p> + <p> + “What does he mean by such conduct?” she asked herself. But + Robbins disappeared from the gathering throng in the large room of the + hotel, dashed down the steps, and hurried along the narrow pavements + toward the “Golden Dragon.” The proprietor was standing in the + hallway with his hands behind him, a usual attitude with the Dragon. + </p> + <p> + “Where,” gasped Robbins, “is Mr.—Mr.——” + and then he remembered he didn’t know the name. “Where is the + Living Skeleton?” + </p> + <p> + “He has gone to his room,” answered the Dragon, “he went + early to- night, he wasn’t feeling well, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the number of his room?” + </p> + <p> + “No. 40,” and the proprietor rang a loud, jangling bell, + whereupon one of the chambermaids appeared. “Show this gentleman to + No. 40.” + </p> + <p> + The girl preceded Robbins up the stairs. Once she looked over her + shoulder, and said in a whisper, “Is he worse?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” answered Robbins, “that’s + what I have come to see.” + </p> + <p> + At No. 40 the girl paused, and rapped lightly on the door panel. There was + no response. She rapped again, this time louder. There was still no + response. + </p> + <p> + “Try the door,” said Robbins. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid to,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he said if he were asleep the door would be locked, and if + he were dead the door would be open.” + </p> + <p> + “When did he say that?” + </p> + <p> + “He said it several times, sir; about a week ago the last time.” + </p> + <p> + Robbins turned the handle of the door; it was not locked. A dim light was + in the room, but a screen before the door hid it from sight. When he + passed round the screen he saw, upon the square marble-topped arrangement + at the head of the bed, a candle burning, and its light shone on the dead + face of the Skeleton, which had a grim smile on its thin lips, while in + its clenched hand was a letter addressed to the proprietor of the hotel. + </p> + <p> + The Living Skeleton had given more than the eighty francs to that + deserving charity. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HIGH STAKES. + </h2> + <p> + The snow was gently sifting down through the white glare of the electric + light when Pony Rowell buttoned his overcoat around him and left the + Metropolitan Hotel, which was his home. He was a young man, not more than + thirty, and his face was a striking one. It was clean cut and clean + shaven. It might have been the face of an actor or the face of a + statesman. An actor’s face has a certain mobility of expression + resulting from the habit of assuming characters differing widely. Rowell’s + face, when you came to look at it closely, showed that it had been + accustomed to repress expression rather than to show emotion of any kind. + A casual look at Pony Rowell made you think his face would tell you + something; a closer scrutiny showed you that it would tell you nothing. + His eyes were of a piercing steely gray that seemed to read the thoughts + of others, while they effectually concealed his own. Pony Rowell was known + as a man who never went back on his word. He was a professional gambler. + </p> + <p> + On this particular evening he strolled up the avenue with the easy + carriage of a man of infinite leisure. He hesitated for a moment at an + illy-lighted passage-way in the middle of a large building on a side + street, then went in and mounted a stair. He rapped lightly at a door. A + slide was shoved back and a man inside peered out at him for a moment. + Instantly the door was opened, for Pony’s face was good for + admittance at any of the gambling rooms in the city. There was still + another guarded door to pass, for an honest gambling-house keeper can + never tell what streak of sudden morality may strike the police, and it is + well to have a few moments’ time in which to conceal the + paraphernalia of the business. Of course, Mellish’s gambling rooms + were as well known to the police as to Pony Rowell, but unless some fuss + was made by the public, Mellish knew he would be free from molestation. + </p> + <p> + Mellish was a careful man, and a visitor had to be well vouched for, + before he gained admission. There never was any trouble in Mellish’s + rooms. He was often known to advise a player to quit when he knew the + young gambler could not afford to lose, and instances were cited where he + had been the banker of some man in despair. Everybody liked Mellish, for + his generosity was unbounded, and he told a good story well. + </p> + <p> + Inside the room that Pony Rowell had penetrated, a roulette table was at + its whirling work and faro was going on in another spot. At small tables + various visitors were enjoying the game of poker. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Pony,” cried Bert Ragstock, “are you going to + give me my revenge to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m always willing to give anyone his revenge.” + answered Pony imperturbably, lighting a fresh cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “All right then; come and sit down here.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to play just yet. I want to look on for a + while.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense. I’ve been waiting for you ever so long already. Sit + down.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know by this time, Bert, that when I say a thing I + mean it. I won’t touch a card till the clock begins to strike 12. + Then I’m wid ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw, Pony, you ought to be above that sort of thing. That’s + superstition, Rowell. You’re too cool a man to mind when you touch a + card. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right. At midnight, I said to myself, and at + midnight it shall be or not at all.” + </p> + <p> + The old gamblers in the place nodded approval of this resolution. It was + all right enough for Bert Ragstock to sneer at superstition, because he + was not a real gambler. He merely came to Mellish’s rooms in the + evening because the Stock Exchange did not keep open all night. Strange to + say Ragstock was a good business man as well as a cool gambler. He + bemoaned the fate that made him so rich that gambling had not the + exhilarating effect on him which it would have had if he had been playing + in desperation. + </p> + <p> + When the clock began to chime midnight Pony Rowell took up the pack and + began to shuffle. + </p> + <p> + “Now, old man,” he said, “I’m going in to win. I’m + after big game to- night.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are.” cried Bert, with enthusiasm. “I’ll + stand by you as long as the spots stay on the cards.” + </p> + <p> + In the gray morning, when most of the others had left and even Mellish + himself was yawning, they were still at it. The professional gambler had + won a large sum of money; the largest sum he ever possessed. Yet there was + no gleam of triumph in his keen eyes. Bert might have been winning for all + the emotion his face showed. They were a well matched pair, and they + enjoyed playing with each other. + </p> + <p> + “There,” cried Pony at last, “haven’t you had + enough? Luck’s against you. I wouldn’t run my head any longer + against a brick wall, if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Pony, how often have I told you there is no such thing as + luck. But to tell the truth I’m tired and I’m going home. The + revenge is postponed. When do I meet the enemy again?” + </p> + <p> + Pony Rowell shuffled the cards idly for a few moments without replying or + raising his eyes. At last he said: + </p> + <p> + “The next time I play you, Bert, it will be for high stakes.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, aren’t you satisfied with the stakes we played + for to- night?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I want to play you for a stake that will make even your hair + stand on end. Will you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. When?” + </p> + <p> + “That I can’t tell just yet. I have a big scheme on hand. I am + to see a man to-day about it. All I want to know is that you promise to + play.” + </p> + <p> + “Pony, this is mysterious. I guess you’re not afraid I will + flunk out. I’m ready to meet you on any terms and for any stake.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough said. I’ll let you know some of the particulars as + soon as I find out all I want myself. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night to you, rather,” said Bert, as Mellish helped him + on with his overcoat. “You’ve won the pile: robbing a poor man + of his hard- earned gains!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the poor man does not need the money as badly as I do. Besides, + I’m going to give you a chance to win it all back again and more.” + </p> + <p> + When Ragstock had left, Pony still sat by the table absent-mindedly + shuffling the cards. + </p> + <p> + “If I were you,” said Mellish, laying his hand on his + shoulder, “I would put that pile in the bank and quit.” + </p> + <p> + “The faro bank?” asked Pony, looking up with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’d quit the business altogether if I were you. I’m + going to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we all know that. You’ve been going to quit for the last + twenty years. Well, I’m going to quit, too, but not just yet. That’s + what they all say, of course, but I mean it.” + </p> + <p> + In the early and crisp winter air Pony Rowell walked to the Metropolitan + Hotel and to bed. At 3 that afternoon the man he had an appointment with, + called to see him. + </p> + <p> + “You wanted to see me about an Insurance policy,” the visitor + began. An agent is always ready to talk of business. “Now, were you + thinking of an endowment scheme or have you looked into our new bond + system of insurance? The twenty-pay-life style of thing seems to be very + popular.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask you a few questions,” said Pony. “If I + were to insure my life in your company and were to commit suicide would + that invalidate the policy?” + </p> + <p> + “Not after two years. After two years, in our company, the policy is + incontestable.” + </p> + <p> + “Two years? That won’t do for me. Can’t you make it one + year?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what I will do,” said the agent, lowering + his voice, “I can ante-date the policy, so that the two years will + end just when you like, say a year from now.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. If you can legally fix it so that the two years come to + an end about this date next year I will insure in your company for + $100,000.” + </p> + <p> + The agent opened his eyes when the amount was mentioned. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want endowments or bonds, but the cheapest form of + life insurance you have, and——” + </p> + <p> + “Straight life is what you want.” + </p> + <p> + “Straight life it is, then, and I will pay you for the two years or + say, to make it sure, for two years and a half down, when you bring me the + papers.” + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that with part of the money he had won, Pony Rowell insured + his life for $100,000, and with another part he paid his board and lodging + for a year ahead at the Metropolitan Hotel. + </p> + <p> + The remainder he kept to speculate on. + </p> + <p> + During the year that followed he steadily refused to play with Bert + Ragstock, and once or twice they nearly had a quarrel about it—that + is as near as Pony could come to having a row with anybody, for + quarrelling was not in his line. If he had lived in a less civilized part + of the community Pony might have shot, but as it was quarrels never came + to anything, therefore he did not indulge in any. + </p> + <p> + “A year from the date of our last game? What nonsense it is waiting + all that time. You play with others, why not with me? Think of the chances + we are losing,” complained Bert. + </p> + <p> + “We will have a game then that will make up for all the waiting,” + answered Rowell. + </p> + <p> + At last the anniversary came and when the hour struck that ushered it in + Pony Rowell and Bert Ragstock sat facing each other, prepared to resume + business on the old stand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Bert, rubbing his hands, “it feels good to + get opposite you once more. Pony, you’re a crank. We might have had + a hundred games like this during the past year, if there wasn’t so + much superstition about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite like this. This is to be the last game I play, win or + lose. I tell you that now, so that there won’t be any talk of + revenge if I win.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean it! I’ve heard talk like that before.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I’ve warned you. Now I propose that this be a game + of pure luck. We get a new pack of cards, shuffle them, cut, then you pull + one card and I another. Ace high. The highest takes the pot. Best two out + of three. Do you agree?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. How much is the pile to be?” + </p> + <p> + “One hundred thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Thunder! You never <i>saw</i> $100,000.” + </p> + <p> + “You will get the money if I lose.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Pony, that’s coming it a little strong. One hundred + thousand dollars! Heavens and earth! How many business men in this whole + city would expect their bare word to be taken for $100,000?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not a business man. I’m a gambler.” + </p> + <p> + “True, true. Is the money in sight?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but you’ll be paid. Your money is not in sight. I trust + you. Can’t you trust me? + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t quite the same thing, Pony. I’ll trust you for + three times the money you have in sight, but when you talk about $100,000 + you are talking of a lot of cash.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can convince Mellish here that you will get your money, will + you play?” + </p> + <p> + “You can convince me just as easily as you can Mellish. What’s + the use of dragging him in?” + </p> + <p> + “I could convince you in a minute, but you might still refuse to + play. Now I’m bound to play this game and I can’t take any + risks. If my word and Mellish’s isn’t good enough for you, + why, say so.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” cried Bert. “If you can convince Mellish + that you will pay if you lose I’ll play you.” + </p> + <p> + Rowell and Mellish retired into an inner room and after a few minutes + reappeared again. + </p> + <p> + Mellish’s face was red when he went in. He was now a trifle pale. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like this, Bert,” Mellish said, “and I + think this game had better stop right here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not convinced that I am sure of my money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am, but——” + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough for me. Get out your new pack.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve given your word, Mellish,” said Pony, seeing the + keeper of the house was about to speak. “Don’t say any more.” + </p> + <p> + “For such a sum two out of three is too sudden. Make it five out of + nine,” put in Bert. + </p> + <p> + “I’m willing.” + </p> + <p> + The new pack of cards was brought and the wrappings torn off. + </p> + <p> + “You shuffle first; I’ll cut,” said Rowell. His lips + seemed parched and he moistened them now and then, which was unusual for + so cool a gambler. Mellish fidgeted around with lowered brow. Bert + shuffled the cards as nonchalantly as if he had merely a $5 bill on the + result. When each had taken a card, Bert held an ace and Pony a king. Pony + shuffled and the turn up was a spot in Pony’s hand and queen in that + of his opponent. Bert smiled and drops began to show on Pony’s + forehead in spite of his efforts at self-control. No word was spoken by + either players or onlookers. After the next deal Pony again lost. His + imperturbability seemed to be leaving him. He swept the cards from the + table with an oath. “Bring another pack,” he said hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + Bert smiled at him across the table. He thought, of course, that they were + playing for even stakes. + </p> + <p> + Mellish couldn’t stand it any longer. He retired to one of the inner + rooms. The first deal with the new pack turned in Pony’s favor and + he seemed to feel that his luck had changed, but the next deal went + against him and also the one following. + </p> + <p> + “It’s your shuffle,” said Rowell, pushing the cards + towards his opponent. Bert did not touch the cards, but smiled across at + the gambler. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter with you? Why don’t you shuffle?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t have to,” said Bert, quietly, “I’ve + won five.” + </p> + <p> + Rowell drew his hand across his perspiring brow and stared at the man + across the table. Then he seemed to pull himself together. + </p> + <p> + “So you have,” he said, “I hadn’t noticed it. + Excuse me. I guess I’ll go now.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit where you are and let us have a game for something more modest. + I don’t care about these splurges myself and I don’t suppose + you do— now.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, no. I told you this was my last game. As to the splurge, if + I had the money I would willingly try it again. So long.” + </p> + <p> + When Mellish came in and saw that the game was over he asked where Pony + was. + </p> + <p> + “He knew when he had enough, I guess,” answered Bert. “He’s + gone home.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in here, Bert. I want to speak with you,” said Mellish. + </p> + <p> + When they were alone Mellish turned to him. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Pony didn’t tell you where the money is to come + from?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he told you. That was enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s no reason why you should not know now. I + promised silence till the game was finished. He’s insured his life + for $100,000 and is going to commit suicide so that you may be paid.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried Bert, aghast. “Why did you let the game + go on?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to stop it, but I had given my word and you——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t let us stand chattering here. He’s at the + Metropolitan, isn’t he? Then come along. Hurry into your coat.” + </p> + <p> + Mellish knew the number of Rowell’s room and so no time was lost in + the hotel office with inquiries. He tried the door, but, as he expected, + it was locked. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s that?” cried a voice within. + </p> + <p> + “It’s me—Mellish. I want to speak with you a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Bert wants to say something. It’s important. Let us in.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t let you in. Go away and don’t make a fuss. It + will do no good. You can get in ten minutes from now.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Pony, you open that door at once, or I’ll kick it + in. You hear me? I want to see you a minute, and then you can do what you + like,” said Bert, in a voice that meant business. + </p> + <p> + After a moment’s hesitation Rowell opened the door and the two + stepped in. Half of the carpet had been taken up and the bare floor was + covered with old newspapers. A revolver lay on the table, also writing + materials and a half-finished letter. Pony was in his shirt sleeves and he + did not seem pleased at the interruption. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” he asked shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Pony,” said Bert, “I have confessed to + Mellish and I’ve come to confess to you. I want you to be easy with + me and hush the thing up. I cheated. I stocked the cards.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a liar,” said Rowell, looking him straight in + the eye. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that again,” cried Ragstock, with his fingers + twitching. “There’s mighty few men I would take that from.” + </p> + <p> + “You stocked the cards on me? I’d like to see the man that + could do it!” + </p> + <p> + “You were excited and didn’t notice it.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re not only a liar, but you’re an awkward liar. I + have lost the money and I’ll pay it. It would have been ready for + you now, only I had a letter to write. Mellish has told you about the + insurance policy and my will attached to it. Here they are. They’re + yours. I’m no kicker. I know when a game’s played fair.” + </p> + <p> + Bert took the policy and evidently intended to tear it in pieces, while + Mellish, with a wink at him, edged around to get at the revolver. Ragstock’s + eye caught the name in big letters at the head of the policy, beautifully + engraved. His eyes opened wide, then he sank into a chair and roared with + laughter. Both the other men looked at him in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” asked Mellish. + </p> + <p> + “Matter? Why, this would have been a joke on Pony. It would do both + of you some good to know a little about business as well as of gambling. + The Hardfast Life Insurance Company went smash six months ago. It’s + the truth this time, Pony, even if I didn’t stock the cards. Better + make some inquiries in business circles before you try to collect any + money from this institution. Now, Pony, order up the drinks, if anything + can be had at this untimely hour. We are your guests so you are expected + to be hospitable. I’ve had all the excitement I want for one night. + We’ll call it square and begin over again.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + “WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS.” + </h2> + <p> + The splendid steamship Adamant, of the celebrated Cross Bow line, left New + York on her February trip under favorable auspices. There had just been a + storm on the ocean, so there was every chance that she would reach + Liverpool before the next one was due. + </p> + <p> + Capt. Rice had a little social problem to solve at the outset, but he + smoothed that out with the tact which is characteristic of him. Two + Washington ladies—official ladies—were on board, and the + captain, old British sea-dog that he was, always had trouble in the matter + of precedence with Washington ladies. Capt. Rice never had any bother with + the British aristocracy, because precedence is all set down in the bulky + volume of “Burke’s Peerage,” which the captain kept in + his cabin, and so there was no difficulty. But a republican country is + supposed not to meddle with precedence. It wouldn’t, either, if it + weren’t for the women. + </p> + <p> + So it happened that Mrs. Assistant-Attorney-to-the-Senate Brownrig came to + the steward and said that, ranking all others on board, she must sit at + the right hand of the captain. Afterwards Mrs. Second-Adjutant-to- + the-War-Department Digby came to the same perplexed official and said she + must sit at the captain’s right hand because in Washington she took + precedence over everyone else on board. The bewildered steward confided + his woes to the captain, and the captain said he would attend to the + matter. So he put Mrs. War-Department on his right hand and then walked + down the deck with Mrs. Assistant-Attorney and said to her: + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask a favor, Mrs. Brownrig. Unfortunately I am a little + deaf in the right ear, caused, I presume, by listening so much with that + ear to the fog horn year in and year out. Now, I always place the lady + whose conversation I wish most to enjoy on my left hand at table. Would + you oblige me by taking that seat this voyage? I have heard of you, you + see, Mrs. Brownrig, although you have never crossed with me before.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly, captain,” replied Mrs. Brownrig; “I + feel especially complimented.” + </p> + <p> + “And I assure you, madam,” said the polite captain, “that + I would not for the world miss a single word that,” etc. + </p> + <p> + And thus it was amicably arranged between the two ladies. All this has + nothing whatever to do with the story. It is merely an incident given to + show what a born diplomat Capt. Rice was and is to this day. I don’t + know any captain more popular with the ladies than he, and besides he is + as good a sailor as crosses the ocean. + </p> + <p> + Day by day the good ship ploughed her way toward the east, and the + passengers were unanimous in saying that they never had a pleasanter + voyage for that time of the year. It was so warm on deck that many steamer + chairs were out, and below it was so mild that a person might think he was + journeying in the tropics. Yet they had left New York in a snow storm with + the thermometer away below zero. + </p> + <p> + “Such,” said young Spinner, who knew everything, “such + is the influence of the Gulf Stream.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless when Capt. Rice came down to lunch the fourth day out his + face was haggard and his look furtive and anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Why, captain,” cried Mrs. Assistant-Attorney, you look as if + you hadn’t slept a wink last night.” + </p> + <p> + “I slept very well, thank you, madam.” replied the captain. + “I always do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope your room was more comfortable than mine. It seemed to + me too hot for anything. Didn’t you find it so, Mrs. Digby?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it very nice,” replied the lady at the captain’s + right, who generally found it necessary to take an opposite view from the + lady at the left. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the captain, “we have many delicate + women and children on board and it is necessary to keep up the + temperature. Still, perhaps the man who attends to the steam rather + overdoes it. I will speak him.” + </p> + <p> + Then the captain pushed from him his untasted food and went up on the + bridge, casting his eye aloft at the signal waving from the masthead, + silently calling for help to all the empty horizon. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing in sight, Johnson?” said the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Not a speck, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The captain swept the circular line of sea and sky with his glasses, then + laid them down with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to raise something this afternoon, sir,” said + Johnson; “we are right in their track, sir. The Fulda ought to be + somewhere about.” + </p> + <p> + “We are too far north for the Fulda, I am afraid,” answered + the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, we should see the Vulcan before night, sir. She’s + had good weather from Queenstown.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Keep a sharp lookout, Johnson.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The captain moodily paced the bridge with his head down. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have turned back to New York,” he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + Then he went down to his own room, avoiding the passengers as much as he + could, and had the steward bring him some beef-tea. Even a captain cannot + live on anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Steamer off the port bow, sir,” rang out the voice of the + lookout at the prow. The man had sharp eyes, for a landsman could have + seen nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Run and tell the captain,” cried Johnson to the sailor at his + elbow, but as the sailor turned the captain’s head appeared up the + stairway. He seized the glass and looked long at a single point in the + horizon. + </p> + <p> + “It must be the Vulcan,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “I think so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Turn your wheel a few points to port and bear down on her.” + </p> + <p> + Johnson gave the necessary order and the great ship veered around. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” cried Spinner, on deck. “Here’s a + steamer. I found her. She’s mine.” + </p> + <p> + Then there was a rush to the side of the ship. “A steamer in sight!” + was the cry, and all books and magazines at once lost interest. Even the + placid, dignified Englishman who was so uncommunicative, rose from his + chair and sent his servant for his binocular. Children were held up and + told to be careful, while they tried to see the dim line of smoke so far + ahead. + </p> + <p> + “Talk about lane routes at sea,” cried young Spinner, the + knowing. “Bosh, I say. See! we’re going directly for her. + Think what it might be in a fog! Lane routes! Pure luck, I call it.” + </p> + <p> + “Will we signal to her, Mr. Spinner?” gently asked the young + lady from Boston. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly,” answered young Spinner. “See there’s + our signal flying from the masthead now. That shows them what line we + belong to.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, how interesting,” said the young lady. “You + have crossed many times, I suppose, Mr. Spinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know my way about,” answered the modest Spinner. + </p> + <p> + The captain kept the glasses glued to his eyes. Suddenly he almost let + them drop. + </p> + <p> + “My God! Johnson,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>She’s</i> flying a signal of distress, <i>too</i>!” + </p> + <p> + The two steamers slowly approached each other and, when nearly alongside + and about a mile apart, the bell of the Adamant rang to stop. + </p> + <p> + “There, you see,” said young Spinner to the Boston girl, + “she is flying the same flag at her masthead that we are.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she belongs to the same line as this boat?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly,” answered Mr. Cock-Sure Spinner. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look! look! look!” cried the enthusiastic Indianapolis + girl who was going to take music in Germany. + </p> + <p> + Everyone looked aloft and saw running up to the masthead a long line of + fluttering, many-colored flags. They remained in place for a few moments + and then fluttered down again, only to give place to a different string. + The same thing was going on on the other steamer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this is too interesting for anything,” said Mrs. + Assistant. “I am just dying to know what it all means. I have read + of it so often but never saw it before. I wonder when the captain will + come down. What does it all mean?” she asked the deck steward. + </p> + <p> + “They are signalling to each other, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know <i>that</i>. But what <i>are</i> they signalling?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, see! see!” cried the Indianapolis girl, clapping her + hands with delight. “The other steamer is turning round.” + </p> + <p> + It was indeed so. The great ship was thrashing the water with her screw, + and gradually the masts came in line and then her prow faced the east + again. When this had been slowly accomplished the bell on the Adamant rang + full speed ahead, and then the captain came slowly down the ladder that + led from the bridge. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, captain, what does it all mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Is she going back, captain? Nothing wrong, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “What ship is it, captain?” + </p> + <p> + “She belongs to our line, doesn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “Why is she going back?” + </p> + <p> + “The ship,” said the captain slowly, “is the Vulcan, of + the Black Bowling Line, that left Queenstown shortly after we left New + York. She has met with an accident. Ran into some wreckage, it is thought, + from the recent storm. Anyhow there is a hole in her, and whether she sees + Queenstown or not will depend a great deal on what weather we have and + whether her bulkheads hold out. We will stand by her till we reach + Queenstown.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there many on board, do you think, captain?” + </p> + <p> + “There are thirty-seven in the cabin and over 800 steerage + passengers,” answered the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you take them on board, out of danger, captain?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, madam, there is no need to do that. It would delay us, and time + is everything in a case like this. Besides, they will have ample warning + if she is going down and they will have time to get everybody in the + boats. We will stand by them, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the poor creatures,” cried the sympathetic Mrs. + Second-Adjutant. “Think of their awful position. May be engulfed at + any moment. I suppose they are all on their knees in the cabin. How + thankful they must have been to see the Adamant.” + </p> + <p> + On all sides there was the profoundest sympathy for the unfortunate + passengers of the Vulcan. Cheeks paled at the very thought of the + catastrophe that might take place at any moment within sight of the sister + ship. It was a realistic object lesson on the ever-present dangers of the + sea. While those on deck looked with new interest at the steamship + plunging along within a mile of them, the captain slipped away to his + room. As he sat there there was a tap at his door. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” shouted the captain. + </p> + <p> + The silent Englishman slowly entered. + </p> + <p> + “What’s wrong, captain,” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the Vulcan has had a hole stove in her and I signalled——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know all that, of course, but what’s wrong <i>with us</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “With us?” echoed the captain blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, with the Adamant? What has been amiss for the last two or + three days? I’m not a talker, nor am I afraid any more than you are, + but I want to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said the captain. “Please shut the door, + Sir John.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile there was a lively row on board the Vulcan. In the saloon Capt. + Flint was standing at bay with his knuckles on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Now what the devil’s the meaning of all this?” cried + Adam K. Vincent, member of Congress. + </p> + <p> + A crowd of frightened women were standing around, many on the verge of + hysterics. Children clung, with pale faces, to their mother’s + skirts, fearing they knew not what. Men were grouped with anxious faces, + and the bluff old captain fronted them all. + </p> + <p> + “The meaning of all <i>what</i>, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You know very well. What is the meaning of our turning-round?” + </p> + <p> + “It means, sir, that the Adamant has eighty-five saloon passengers + and nearly 500 intermediate and steerage passengers who are in the most + deadly danger. The cotton in the hold is on fire, and they have been + fighting it night and day. A conflagration may break out at any moment. It + means, then, sir, that the Vulcan is going to stand by the Adamant.” + </p> + <p> + A wail of anguish burst from the frightened women at the awful fate that + might be in store for so many human beings so near to them, and they clung + closer to their children and thanked God that no such danger threatened + them and those dear to them. + </p> + <p> + “And dammit, sir,” cried the Congressman, “do you mean + to tell us that we have to go against our will—without even being + consulted—back to Queenstown?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to tell you so, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, by the gods, that’s an outrage, and I won’t stand + it, sir. I must be in New York by the 27th. I won’t stand it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry, sir, that anybody should be delayed.” + </p> + <p> + “Delayed? Hang it all, why don’t you take the people on board + and take 'em to New York? I protest against this. I’ll bring a + lawsuit against the company, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Vincent,” said the captain sternly, “permit me to + remind you that <i>I</i> am captain of this ship. Good afternoon, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The Congressman departed from the saloon exceeding wroth, breathing dire + threats of legal proceedings against the line and the captain personally, + but most of the passengers agreed that it would be an inhuman thing to + leave the Adamant alone in mid-ocean in such terrible straits. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t they turn back, Captain Flint?” asked Mrs. + General Weller. + </p> + <p> + “Because, madam, every moment is of value in such a case, and we are + nearer Queenstown than New York.” + </p> + <p> + And so the two steamships, side by side, worried their way toward the + east, always within sight of each other by day, and with the rows of + lights in each visible at night to the sympathetic souls on the other. The + sweltering men poured water into the hold of the one and the pounding + pumps poured water out of the hold of the other, and thus they reached + Queenstown. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On board the tender that took the passengers ashore at Queenstown from + both steamers two astonished women met each other. + </p> + <p> + “Why! <i>Mrs.—General</i>—WELLER!!! You don’t mean + to say you were on board that unfortunate Vulcan!” + </p> + <p> + “For the land’s sake, Mrs. Assistant Brownrig! Is that really + <i>you</i>? Will wonders never cease? Unfortunate, did you say? Mightily + fortunate for you, I think. Why! weren’t you just frightened to + death?” + </p> + <p> + “I was, but I had no idea anyone I knew was on board.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you were on board yourself. That would have been enough to + have killed me.” + </p> + <p> + “On board myself? Why, what <i>do</i> you mean? I wasn’t on + board the Vulcan. Did you get any sleep at all after you knew you might go + down at any moment?” + </p> + <p> + “My sakes, Jane, what <i>are</i> you talking about? <i>Down</i> at + any moment? It was you that might have gone down at any moment or, worse + still, have been burnt to death if the fire had got ahead. You don’t + mean to say you didn’t know the Adamant was on fire most of the way + across?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mrs.—General—Weller!!</i> There’s some <i>horrible</i> + mistake. It was the Vulcan. Everything depended on her bulkheads, the + captain said. There was a hole as big as a barn door in the Vulcan. The + pumps were going night and day.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. General looked at Mrs. Assistant as the light began to dawn on both + of them. + </p> + <p> + “Then it wasn’t the engines, but the pumps,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And it wasn’t the steam, but the fire,” screamed Mrs. + Assistant. “Oh, dear, how that captain lied, and I thought him such + a nice man, too. Oh, I shall go into hysterics, I know I shall.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t if I were you,” said the sensible Mrs. + General, who was a strong-minded woman; “besides, it is too late. We’re + all safe now. I think both captains were pretty sensible men. Evidently + married, both of ‘em.” + </p> + <p> + Which was quite true. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DEPARTURE OF CUB MCLEAN. + </h2> + <p> + Of course no one will believe me when I say that Mellish was in every + respect, except one, an exemplary citizen and a good-hearted man. He was + generous to a fault and he gave many a young fellow a start in life where + a little money or a few encouraging words were needed. He drank, of + course, but he was a connoisseur in liquors, and a connoisseur never goes + in for excess. Few could tell a humorous story as well as Mellish, and he + seldom dealt in chestnuts. No man can be wholly bad who never inflicts an + old story on his friends, locating it on some acquaintance of his, and + alleging that it occurred the day before. + </p> + <p> + If I wished to write a heart-rending article on the evils of gambling, + Mellish would be the man I would go to for my facts and for the moral of + the tale. He spent his life persuading people not to gamble. He never + gambled himself, he said. But if no attention was paid to his advice, why + then he furnished gamblers with the most secluded and luxurious gambling + rooms in the city. It was supposed that Mellish stood in with the police, + which was, of course, a libel. The idea of the guardians of the city + standing in with a gambler or a gambling house! The statement was absurd + on the face of it. If you asked any policeman in the city where Mellish’s + gambling rooms were, you would speedily learn that not one of them had + ever even heard of the place. All this goes to show how scandalously + people will talk, and if Mellish’s rooms were free from raids, it + was merely Mellish’s good luck, that was all. Anyhow, in Mellish’s + rooms you could have a quiet, gentlemanly game for stakes about as high as + you cared to go, and you were reasonably sure there would be no fuss and + that your name would not appear in the papers next morning. + </p> + <p> + One night as Mellish cast his eye around his well-filled main room he + noticed a stranger sitting at the roulette table. Mellish had a keen eye + for strangers and in an unobtrusive way generally managed to find out + something about them. A stranger in a gambling room brings in with him a + certain sense of danger to the habitués. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that boy?” whispered Mellish to his bartender, + generally known as Sotty, an ex-prize fighter and a dangerous man to + handle if it came to trouble. It rarely came to trouble there, but Sotty + was, in a measure, the silent symbol of physical force, backing the + well-known mild morality of Mellish. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know him,” answered Sotty. + </p> + <p> + “Whom did he come in with?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t see him come in. Hadn’t noticed him till now.” + </p> + <p> + Mellish looked at the boy for a few minutes. He had the fresh, healthy, + smooth face of a lad from the country, and he seemed strangely out of + place in the heated atmosphere of that room, under the glare of the gas. + Mellish sighed as he looked at him, then he turned to Sotty and said: + </p> + <p> + “Just get him away quietly and bring him to the small poker room. I + want to have a few words with him.” + </p> + <p> + Sotty, who had the utmost contempt for the humanitarian feelings of his + boss, said nothing, but a look of disdain swept over his florid features + as he went on his mission. If he had his way, he would not throw even a + sprat out of the net. Many a time he had known Mellish to persuade a + youngster with more money than brains to go home, giving orders at the + double doors that he was not to be admitted again. + </p> + <p> + The young man rose with a look of something like consternation on his face + and followed Sotty. The thing was done quietly, and all those around the + tables were too much absorbed in the game to pay much attention. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, my boy,” said Mellish, when they were alone, + “who brought you to this place?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said the lad, with an expression of resentment, + “I’m old enough to go where I like without being brought.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly, certainly,” said Mellish, diplomatically, + knowing how much very young men dislike being accused of youth, “but + I like to know all visitors here. You couldn’t get in unless you + came with someone known at the door. Who vouched for you?” + </p> + <p> + “See here, Mr. Mellish,” said the youth angrily, “what + are you driving at? If your doorkeepers don’t know their own + business why don’t you speak to them about it? Are you going to have + me turned out?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort,” said Mellish, soothingly, putting his + hand in a fatherly manner on the young fellow’s shoulder. “Don’t + mistake my meaning. The fact that you are here shows that you have a right + to be here. We’ll say no more about that. But you take my advice and + quit the business here and now. I was a gambler before you were born, + although I don’t gamble any more. Take the advice of a man who + knows. It doesn’t pay.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to have paid you reasonably well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t complain. It has its ups and downs like all + businesses. Still, it doesn’t pay me nearly as well as perhaps you + think, and you can take my word that in the long run it won’t pay + you at all. How much money have you got?” + </p> + <p> + “Enough to pay if I lose,” said the boy impudently; then + seeing the look of pain that passed over Mellish’s face, he added + more civilly: + </p> + <p> + “I have three or four hundred dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take my advice and go home. You’ll be just that much + better off in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Don’t you play a square game here?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we play a square game here,” answered Mellish with + indignation. “Do you think I am a card-sharper?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem so cock-sure I’ll lose my money that I was just + wondering. Now, I can afford to lose all the money I’ve got and not + feel it. Are you going to allow me to play, or are you going to chuck me + out?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you can play if you want to. But don’t come whining to me + when you lose. I’ve warned you.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not a whiner,” said the young fellow; “I take + my medicine like a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are,” said Mellish with a sigh. He realized that + this fellow, young as he looked, was probably deeper in vice than his + appearance indicated and he knew the uselessness of counsel in such a + case. They went into the main room together and the boy, abandoning + roulette, began to play at one of the card tables for ever-increasing + stakes. Mellish kept an eye on him for a time. The boy was having the luck + of most beginners. He played a reckless game and won hand over fist. As + one man had enough and rose from the table another eagerly took his place, + but there was no break in the boy’s winnings. + </p> + <p> + Pony Rowell was always late in arriving at the gambling rooms. On this + occasion he entered, irreproachably dressed, and with the quiet, + gentlemanly demeanor habitual with him. The professional gambler was never + known to lose his temper. When displeased he became quieter, if possible, + than before. The only sign of inward anger was a mark like an old scar + which extended from his right temple, beginning over the eye and + disappearing in his closely-cropped hair behind the ear. This line became + an angry red that stood out against the general pallor of his face when + things were going in a way that did not please him. He spoke in a low tone + to Mellish. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the excitement down at the other end of the room? + Every one seems congregated there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” answered Mellish, “it’s a boy—a + stranger—who is having the devil’s own luck at the start. It + will be the ruin of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he playing high?” + </p> + <p> + “High? I should say so. He’s perfectly reckless. He’ll + be brought up with a sharp turn and will borrow money from me to get out + of town. I’ve seen a flutter like that before.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said Pony tranquilly, “I must have a go + at him. I like to tackle a youngster in the first flush of success, + especially if he is plunging.” + </p> + <p> + “You will soon have a chance,” answered Mellish, “for + even Ragstock knows when he has enough. He will get up in a moment. I know + the signs.” + </p> + <p> + With the air of a gentleman of leisure, somewhat tired of the frivolities + of this world, Rowell made his way slowly to the group. As he looked over + their shoulders at the boy a curious glitter came into his piercing eyes, + and his lips, usually so well under control, tightened. The red mark began + to come out as his face paled. It was evident that he did not intend to + speak and that he was about to move away again, but the magnetism of his + keen glance seemed to disturb the player, who suddenly looked up over the + head of his opponent and met the stern gaze of Rowell. + </p> + <p> + The boy did three things. He placed his cards face downward on the table, + put his right hand over the pile of money, and moved his chair back. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” cried Ragstock. + </p> + <p> + The youth ignored the question, still keeping his eyes on Rowell. + </p> + <p> + “Do you squeal?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I squeal,” said Pony, whatever the question and answer might + mean. Then Rowell cried, slightly raising his voice so that all might + hear: + </p> + <p> + “This man is Cub McLean, the most notorious card-sharper, thief, and + murderer in the west. He couldn’t play straight if he tried.” + </p> + <p> + McLean laughed. “Yes,” he said; “and if you want to see + my trademark look at the side of Greggs’ face.” + </p> + <p> + Every man looked at Pony, learning for the first time that he had gone + under a different name at some period of his life. + </p> + <p> + During the momentary distraction McLean swept the money off the table and + put it in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” cried Ragstock, seemingly not quite understanding + the situation. “You haven’t won that yet.” + </p> + <p> + Again McLean laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It would have been the same in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up, scattering the crowd behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Look to the doors,” cried Pony. “Don’t let this + man out.” + </p> + <p> + McLean had his back to the wall. From under his coat he whipped two + revolvers which he held out, one in each hand. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know me better than that, Greggs,” he said, + “do you want me to have another shot at you? I won’t miss this + time. Drop that.” + </p> + <p> + The last command was given in a ringing voice that attracted every one’s + attention to Sotty. He had picked up a revolver from somewhere behind the + bar and had come out with it in his hand. McLean’s eye seemed to + take in every motion in the room and he instantly covered the bartender + with one of the pistols as he gave the command. + </p> + <p> + “Drop it,” said Mellish. “There must be no shooting. You + may go quietly. No one will interfere with you.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet your sweet life they won’t,” said McLean with a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” continued Mellish, “the house will stand + the loss. If I allow a swindler in my rooms it is but right that I alone + should suffer. Now you put up your guns and walk out.” + </p> + <p> + “Good old Mellish,” sneered McLean, “you ought to be + running a Sunday- school.” + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding the permission to depart McLean did not relax his + precautions for a moment. His shoulders scraped their way along the wall + as he gradually worked towards the door. He kept Pony covered with his + left hand while the polished barrel of the revolver in his right seemed to + have a roving commission all over the room, to the nervous dread of many + respectable persons who cowered within range. When he reached the door he + said to Pony: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you’ll excuse me, Greggs, but this is too good an + opportunity to miss. I’m going to kill you in your tracks.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s about your size,” said Pony putting his hands + behind him and standing in his place, while those near him edged away. + “I’m unarmed, so it is perfectly safe. You will insure your + arrest so blaze away.” + </p> + <p> + “Dodge under the table, then, and I will spare you.” + </p> + <p> + Pony invited him to take up his abode in tropical futurity. + </p> + <p> + Cub laughed once more good naturedly, and lowered the muzzle of his + revolver. As he shoved back his soft felt hat, Mellish, who stood nearest + him, saw that the hair on his temples was grey. Lines of anxiety had come + into his apparently youthful face as he had scraped his way along the + wall. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, all,” he shouted back from the stairway. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OLD NUMBER EIGHTY-SIX. + </h2> + <p> + John Saggart stood in a dark corner of the terminus, out of the rays of + the glittering arc lamps, and watched engine Number Eighty-six. The + engineer was oiling her, and the fireman, as he opened the furnace-door + and shovelled in the coal, stood out like a red Rembrandt picture in the + cab against the darkness beyond. As the engineer with his oil can went + carefully around Number Eighty-six, John Saggart drew his sleeve across + his eyes, and a gulp came up his throat. He knew every joint and bolt in + that contrary old engine—the most cantankerous iron brute on the + road—and yet, if rightly managed, one of the swiftest and most + powerful machines the company had, notwithstanding the many improvements + that had been put upon locomotives since old Eighty-six had left the + foundry. + </p> + <p> + Saggart, as he stood there, thought of the seven years he had spent on the + foot-board of old Eighty-six, and of the many tricks she had played him + during that period. If, as the poet says, the very chains and the prisoner + become friends through long association, it may be imagined how much of a + man’s affection goes out to a machine that he thoroughly understands + and likes—a machine that is his daily companion for years, in danger + and out of it. Number Eighty-six and John had been in many a close pinch + together, and at this moment the man seemed to have forgotten that often + the pinch was caused by the pure cussedness of Eighty-six herself, and he + remembered only that she had bravely done her part several times when the + situation was exceedingly serious. + </p> + <p> + The cry “All aboard” rang out and was echoed down from the + high-arched roof of the great terminus, and John with a sigh turned from + his contemplation of the engine, and went to take his seat in the car. It + was a long train with many sleeping-cars at the end of it. The engineer + had put away his oil-can, and had taken his place on the engine, standing + ready to begin the long journey at the moment the signal was given. + </p> + <p> + John Saggart climbed into the smoking-carriage at the front part of the + train. He found a place in one of the forward seats, and sank down into it + with a vague feeling of uneasiness at being inside the coach instead of on + the engine. He gazed out of the window and saw the glittering electric + lights slide slowly behind, then, more quickly, the red, green, and white + lights of the signal lamps, and finally there flickered swiftly past the + brilliant constellation of city windows, showing that the town had not yet + gone to bed. At last the flying train plunged into the country, and + Saggart pressed his face against the cold glass of the window, unable to + shake off his feeling of responsibility, although he knew there was + another man at the throttle. + </p> + <p> + He was aroused from his reverie by a touch on the shoulder, and a curt + request, “Tickets, please.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled out of his pocket a pass, and turned to hand it to the conductor + who stood there with a glittering, plated, and crystal lantern on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, John, is this you?” cried the conductor, as soon as he + saw the face. “Hang it, man, you didn’t need a pass in + travelling with me.” + </p> + <p> + “They gave it to me to take me home,” said Saggart, a touch of + sadness in his voice, “and I may as well use it as not. I don’t + want to get you into trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’d risk the trouble,” said the conductor, placing + the lantern on the floor and taking his seat beside the engineer. “I + heard about your worry to-day. It’s too bad. If a man had got drunk + at his post, as you and I have known ‘em to do, it wouldn’t + have seemed so hard; but at its worst your case was only an error of + judgment, and then nothing really happened. Old Eighty-six seems to have + the habit of pulling herself through. I suppose you and she have been in + worse fixes than that, with not a word said about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said John, “we’ve been in many a tight + place together, but we won’t be any more. It’s rough, as you + say. I’ve been fifteen years with the company, and seven on old + Eighty-six, and at first it comes mighty hard. But I suppose I’ll + get used to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, John,” said the conductor, lowering his voice to a + confidential tone, “the president of the road is with us to-night; + his private car is the last but one on the train. How would it do to speak + to him? If you are afraid to tackle him, I’ll put in a word for you + in a minute, and tell him your side of the story.” + </p> + <p> + John Saggart shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t do,” he said; “he wouldn’t + overrule what one of his subordinates had done, unless there was serious + injustice in the case. It’s the new manager, you know. There’s + always trouble with a new manager. He sweeps clean. And I suppose that he + thinks by ‘bouncing’ one of the oldest engineers on the road, + he will scare the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t think much of him between ourselves,” + said the conductor. “What do you think he has done to-night? He’s + put a new man on Eighty-six. A man from one of the branch lines who doesn’t + know the road. I doubt if he’s ever been over the main line before. + Now, it’s an anxious enough time for me anyhow with a heavy train to + take through, with the thermometer at zero, and the rails like glass, and + I like to have a man in front that I can depend on.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s bad enough not to know the road,” said John + gloomily, “but it’s worse not to know old Eighty-six. She’s + a brute if she takes a notion.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t suppose there is another engine that could draw this + train and keep her time,” said the conductor. + </p> + <p> + “No! She’ll do her work all right if you’ll only humor + her,” admitted Saggart, who could not conceal his love for the + engine even while he blamed her. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the conductor, rising and picking up his lantern, + “the man in front may be all right, but I would feel safer if you + were further ahead than the smoker. I’m sorry I can’t offer + you a berth to-night, John, but we’re full clear through to the rear + lights. There isn’t even a vacant upper on the train.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Saggart. “I couldn’t + sleep, anyhow. I’d rather sit here and look out of the window.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so long,” said the conductor. “I’ll drop in + and see you as the night passes on.” + </p> + <p> + Saggart lit his pipe and gazed out into darkness. He knew every inch of + the road—all the up grades and the down grades and the levels. He + knew it even better in the murkiest night than in the clearest day. Now + and then the black bulk of a barn or a clump of trees showed for one + moment against the sky, and Saggart would say to himself, “Now he + should shut off an inch of steam,” or, “Now he should throw + her wide open.” The train made few stops, but he saw that they were + losing time. Eighty-six was sulking, very likely. Thinking of the engine + turned his mind to his own fate. No man was of very much use in the world, + after all, for the moment he steps down another is ready to stand in his + place. The wise men in the city who had listened to his defence knew so + well that an engine was merely a combination of iron and steel and brass, + and that a given number of pounds of steam would get it over a given + number of miles in a given number of hours, and they had smiled + incredulously when he told them that an engine had her tantrums, and + informed them that sometimes she had to be coddled up like any other + female. Even when a man did his best there were occasions when nothing he + could do would mollify her, and then there was sure to be trouble, + although, he added, in his desire to be fair, she was always sorry for it + afterward. Which remark, to his confusion, had turned the smile into a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + He wondered what Eighty-six thought of the new man. Not much, evidently, + for she was losing time, which she had no business to do on that section + of the road. Still it might be the fault of the new man not knowing when + to push her for all she was worth and when to ease up. All these things go + to the making of time. But it was more than probable that old Eighty-six, + like Gilpin’s horse, was wondering more and more what thing upon her + back had got. “He’ll have trouble,” muttered John to + himself, “when she finds out.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor came in again and sat down beside the engineer. He said + nothing, but sat there sorting his tickets, while Saggart gazed out of the + window. Suddenly the engineer sprang to his feet with his eyes wide open. + The train was swaying from side to side and going at great speed. + </p> + <p> + The conductor looked up with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Old Eighty-six,” he said, “is evidently going to make + up for lost time.” + </p> + <p> + “She should be slowing down for crossing the G. & M. line,” + replied the engineer. “Good heavens!” he cried a moment after, + “we’ve gone across the G. & M. track on the keen jump.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor sprang to his feet. He knew the seriousness of such a thing. + Even the fastest expresses must stop dead before crossing on the level the + line of another railway. It is the law. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t that fool in front know enough to stop at a crossing?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t that.” said Saggart. “He knows all + right. Even the train boys know that. Old Eighty-six has taken the bit + between her teeth. He can’t stop her. Where do you pass No. 6 + to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “At Pointsville.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s only six miles ahead,” said the engineer; + “and in five minutes at this rate we will be running on her time and + on her rails. She’s always late, and won’t be on the side + track. I must get to Eighty-six.” + </p> + <p> + Saggart quickly made his way through the baggage-coach, climbed on the + express car, and jumped on the coal of the tender. He cast his eye up the + track and saw glimmering in the distance, like a faint wavering star, the + headlight of No. 6. Looking down into the cab he realized the situation in + a glance. The engineer, with fear in his face and beads of perspiration on + his brow, was throwing his whole weight on the lever, the fireman helping + him. Saggart leaped down to the floor of the cab. + </p> + <p> + “Stand aside,” he shouted; and there was such a ring of + confident command in his voice that both men instantly obeyed. + </p> + <p> + Saggart grasped the lever, and instead of trying to shut off steam flung + it wide open. Number Eighty-six gave a quiver and a jump forward. “You + old fiend!” muttered John between his teeth. Then he pushed the + lever home, and it slid into place as if there had never been any + impediment. The steam was shut off, but the lights of Pointsville flashed + past them with the empty side-track on the left, and they were now flying + along the single line of rails with the headlight of No. 6 growing + brighter and brighter in front of them. + </p> + <p> + “Reverse her, reverse her!” cried the other engineer, with + fear in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Reverse nothing,” said Saggart. “She’ll slide ten + miles if you do. Jump, if you’re afraid.” + </p> + <p> + The man from the branch line promptly jumped. + </p> + <p> + “Save yourself,” said Saggart to the stoker; “there’s + bound to be a smash.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll stick by you, Mr. Saggart,” said the fireman, who + knew him. But his hand trembled. + </p> + <p> + The air-brake was grinding the long train and sending a shiver of fear + through every timber, but the rails were slippery with frost, and the + speed of the train seemed as great as ever. At the right moment Saggart + reversed the engine, and the sparks flew up from her great drivers like + catharine wheels. + </p> + <p> + “Brace yourself,” cried Saggart. “No. 6 is backing up, + thank God!” + </p> + <p> + Next instant the crash came. Two headlights and two cow-catchers went to + flinders, and the two trains stood there with horns locked, but no great + damage done, except a shaking up for a lot of panic-stricken passengers. + </p> + <p> + The burly engineer of No. 6 jumped down and came forward, his mouth full + of oaths. + </p> + <p> + “What the h—l do you mean by running in on our time like this? + Hello, is that you, Saggart? I thought there was a new man on to-night. I + didn’t expect this from <i>you</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right, Billy. It wasn’t the new man’s + fault. He’s back in the ditch with a broken leg, I should say, from + the way he jumped. Old Eighty-six is to blame. She got on the rampage. + Took advantage of the greenhorn.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor came running up. + </p> + <p> + “How is it?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right. Number Eighty-six got her nose broke, and + served her right, that’s all. Tell the passengers there’s no + danger, and get ‘em on board. We’re going to back up to + Pointsville. Better send the brakesmen to pick up the other engineer. The + ground’s hard tonight, and he may be hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going back to talk to the president,” said the + conductor emphatically. “He’s in a condition of mind to listen + to reason, judging from the glimpse I got of his face at the door of his + car a moment ago. Either he re-instates you or I go gathering tickets on a + street-car. This kind of thing is too exciting for my nerves.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor’s interview with the president of the road was + apparently satisfactory, for old Number Eighty-six is trying to lead a + better life under the guidance of John Saggart. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PLAYING WITH MARKED CARDS. + </h2> + <p> + “I’m bothered about that young fellow,” said Mellish + early one morning, to the professional gambler, Pony Rowell. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “He comes here night after night, and he loses more than he can + afford, I imagine. He has no income, so far as I can find out, except what + he gets as salary, and it takes a mighty sight bigger salary than his to + stand the strain he’s putting on it.” + </p> + <p> + “What is his business?” + </p> + <p> + “He is cashier in the Ninth National Bank. I don’t know how + much he gets, but it can’t be enough to permit this sort of thing to + go on.” + </p> + <p> + Pony Rowell shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I would let it trouble me, if I were you, + Mellish.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless it does. I have advised him to quit, but it is no use. + If I tell the doorkeeper not to let him in here, he will merely go + somewhere else where they are not so particular.” + </p> + <p> + “I must confess I don’t quite understand you, Mellish, long as + I have known you. In your place, now, I would either give up keeping a + gambling saloon or I would give up the moral reformation line of business. + I wouldn’t try to ride two horses of such different tempers at the + same time.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never tried to reform you, Pony,” said Mellish, + with reproach in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “No; I will give you credit for that much sense.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right with old stagers like you and me, Pony, but + with a boy just beginning life, it is different. Now it struck me that you + might be able to help me in this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I thought that was what you were leading up to,” said + Rowell, thrusting his hands deep in his trousers’ pockets. “I’m + no missionary, remember. What did you want me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted you to give him a sharp lesson. Couldn’t you mark a + pack of cards and get him to play high? Then, when you have taken all his + ready money and landed him in debt to you so that he can’t move, + give him back his cash if he promises not to gamble again.” + </p> + <p> + Rowell looked across at the subject of their conversation. “I don’t + think I would flatter him so much as to even stock the cards on him. I’ll + clean him out if you like. But it won’t do any good, Mellish. Look + at his eyes. The insanity of gambling is in them. I used to think if I had + $100,000, I would quit. I’m old enough now to know that I wouldn’t. + I’d gamble if I had a million.” + </p> + <p> + “I stopped after I was your age.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Mellish, you are the virtuous exception that proves the + rule. You quit gambling the way the old woman kept tavern,” and + Rowell cast a glance over the busy room. + </p> + <p> + Mellish smiled somewhat grimly, then he sighed. “I wish I was out of + it,” he said. “But, anyhow, you think over what I’ve + been talking about, and if you can see your way to giving him a sharp + lesson I wish you would.” + </p> + <p> + “All right I will, but merely to ease your tender conscience, + Mellish. It’s no use, I tell you. When the snake has bitten, the + victim is doomed. Gambling isn’t a simple thing like the opium + habit.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Reggie Forme, the bank cashier, rose at last from the roulette table. He + was flushed with success, for there was a considerable addition to the sum + he had in his pockets when he sat down. He flattered himself that the + result was due to the system he had elaborately studied out. + </p> + <p> + Nothing lures a man to destruction quicker than a system that can be + mathematically demonstrated. It gives an air of business to gambling which + is soothing to the conscience of a person brought up on statistics. The + system generally works beautifully at first; then a cog slips and you are + mangled in the machinery before you know where you are. As young Forme + left the table he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looking around, met the + impassive gaze of Pony Rowell. + </p> + <p> + “You’re young at the business, I see,” remarked the + professional quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you think that?” asked the youngster, coloring, for + one likes to be taken for a veteran, especially when one is an amateur. + </p> + <p> + “Because you fool away your time at roulette. That is a game for + boys and women. Have you nerve enough to play a real game?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you call a real game?” + </p> + <p> + “A game with cards in a private room for something bigger than half- + dollar points.” + </p> + <p> + “How big?” + </p> + <p> + “Depends on what capital you have. How much capital can you command?” + </p> + <p> + The cashier hesitated for a moment and his eyes fell from the steady light + of Rowell’s, which seemed to have an uncomfortable habit of looking + into one’s inmost soul. + </p> + <p> + “I can bring $1,000 here on Saturday night.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. That will do as a starter. Is it an appointment then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you like. What time?” + </p> + <p> + “I generally get here pretty late, but I can make an exception in + your case. What do you say to 10 o’clock?” + </p> + <p> + “That will suit me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Don’t fool away any of your money or nerve + until I come. You will need all you have of both.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The professional gambler and the amateur began their series of games a few + minutes after ten in a little private room. The young man became more and + more excited as the play went on. As for Pony, he was cool under any + circumstances. Before an hour had passed the $1,000 was transferred from + the possession of Forme into the pockets of the professional, and by + midnight the younger man was another $1,000 in Rowell’s debt. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t my practice,” said Rowell slowly, “to + play with a man unless he has the money in sight. I’ve made an + exception in your case, as luck was against you, but I think this has gone + far enough. You may bring me the $1,000 you owe any day next week. No + particular hurry, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow appeared to be dazed. He drew his hand across his brow + and then said mechanically, as if he had just heard his opponent’s + remark: + </p> + <p> + “No hurry? All right. Next week. Certainly. I guess I’ll go + home now.” + </p> + <p> + Forme went out, leaving Rowell idly shuffling the cards at the small + table. The moment the young man had disappeared all Rowell’s + indolence vanished. He sprang up and put on his overcoat, then slipped out + by the rear exit into the alley. He had made up his mind what Forme would + do. Mentally he tracked him from the gambling rooms to the river and he + even went so far as to believe he would take certain streets on his way + thither. A gambler is nothing if not superstitious and so Rowell was not + in the least surprised when he saw the young man emerge from the dark + stairway, hesitate for a moment between the two directions open to him, + and finally choose the one that the gambler expected him to take. The cold + streets were deserted and so Rowell had more difficulty in following his + late victim unperceived than he would have had earlier in the evening. + Several times the older man thought the pursued had become aware of the + pursuit, for Forme stopped and looked around him; once coming back and + taking another street as if trying to double on the man who was following + him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Rowell began to realize the difficulty of the task he had set for himself, + and as he had never had any faith in it anyhow, he began to feel + uncomfortable and to curse the tender heart of Mellish. If the youngster + got the idea into his head that he was followed he might succeed in giving + his pursuer the slip, and then Rowell would find himself with the fool’s + death on his conscience, and what was to him infinitely worse, with a + thousand dollars in his pocket that had been unfairly won. This thought + made him curse Mellish afresh. It had been entirely against his own will + that he had played with marked cards, but Mellish had insisted that they + should take no chances, and the veteran knew too well the uncertainties of + playing a fair game where a great object lesson was to be taught. It would + make them look like two fools, Mellish had said, if Forme won the money. + In answer to this Rowell had remarked that they were two fools anyhow, but + he had finally succumbed to Mellish as the whole scheme was Mellish’s. + As Rowell thought bitterly of these things his attention was diverted from + the very matter he had in hand. Few men can pursue a course of thought and + a fellow-creature at the same time. He suddenly realized that young Forme + had escaped him. Rowell stood alone in the dimly-lighted silent street and + poured unuttered maledictions on his own stupidity. Suddenly a voice rang + out from a dark doorway. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you following me for?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re there, are you?” said Pony calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I’m here. Now what do you want of me? Aren’t you + satisfied with what you have done to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally not, or I wouldn’t be fool-chasing at such an hour + as this.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you admit you have been following me?” + </p> + <p> + “I never denied it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want of me? Do I belong to myself or do you think I + belong to you, because I owe you some money?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know, I am sure, to whom you belong,” said Rowell + with his slow drawl. “I suspect, however, that the city police, who + seem to be scarce at this hour, have the first claim upon you. What do I + want of you? I want to ask you a question. Where did you get the money you + played with to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s none of your business.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume not. But as there are no witnesses to this interesting + conversation I will venture an opinion that you robbed the bank.” + </p> + <p> + The young man took a step forward, but Pony stood his ground, using the + interval to light another cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “I will also venture an opinion, Mr. Rowell, and say that the money + came as honestly into my pocket as it did into yours.” + </p> + <p> + “That wouldn’t be saying much for it. I have the advantage of + you, however, because the nine points are in my favor. I have possession.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you following me for? To give me up?” + </p> + <p> + “You admit the robbery, then.” + </p> + <p> + “I admit nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “It won’t be used against you. As I told you, there are no + witnesses. It will pay you to be frank. Where did you get the money?” + </p> + <p> + “Where many another man gets it. Out of the bank.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. Now, Forme, you are not such a fool as you look—or + act. You know where all that sort of thing leads to. You haven’t any + chance. All the rules of the game are against you. You have no more show + than you had against me to-night. Why not chuck it, before it is too late?” + </p> + <p> + “It is easy for you to talk like that when you have my money in your + pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “But that simply is another rule of the game. The money of a thief + is bound to go into someone else’s pocket. Whoever enjoys the cash + ultimately, he never does. Now if you had the money in your pocket what + would you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I would go back to Mellish’s and have another try.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” said Rowell with, for the first time, some + cordiality in his voice. He recognized a kindred spirit in this young man. + “Nevertheless it would be a foolish thing to do. You have two + chances before you. You can become a sport as I am and spend your life in + gambling rooms. Or you can become what is called a respectable business + man. But you can’t be both. In a very short time you will not have + the choice. You will be found out and then you can only be what I am— + probably not as successful as I have been. If you add bank robbery to your + other accomplishments then you will go to prison or, what is perhaps + worse, to Canada. Which career are you going to choose?” + </p> + <p> + “Come down to plain facts. What do you mean by all this talk? If I + say I’ll quit gambling do you mean that you will return to me the + thousand dollars and call the other thousand square?” + </p> + <p> + “If you give me your word of honor that you will quit.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I don’t, what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Then on Monday I will hand over this money to the bank and advise + them to look into your accounts.” + </p> + <p> + “And suppose my accounts prove to be all right, what then?” + </p> + <p> + Rowell shrugged his shoulders. “In that remote possibility I will + give the thousand dollars to you and play you another game for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Which means that you cheated to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “If you like to put it that way.” + </p> + <p> + “And what if I denounced you as a self-confessed cheat?” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t matter to me. I wouldn’t take the trouble + to deny it. Nobody would believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a cool hand, Pony, I admire your cheek. Still, you’ve + got some silly elements in you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you mean my trying to reform you? Don’t make any mistake + about that. It is Mellish’s idea, not mine. I don’t believe in + you for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + The young man laughed. He reflected for a few seconds, then said: “I’ll + take your offer. You give me back the money and I will promise never to + gamble again in any shape or form.” + </p> + <p> + “You will return the cash to the bank, if you took it from there?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. I will put it back the first thing on Monday morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Then here is your pile,” said Rowell, handing him the roll of + bills. + </p> + <p> + Forme took it eagerly and, standing where the light struck down upon him, + counted the bills, while Rowell looked on silently with a cynical smile on + his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the young man, “you’re a good + fellow, Rowell.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m obliged for your good opinion. I hope you found the money + correct?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” said Forme, flushing a little. “I hope + you did not mind my counting it. Merely a business habit, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, stick to business habits, Mr. Forme. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Rowell walked briskly back to Mellish’s. Forme walked toward the + railway station and found that there was a train for Chicago at 4 in the + morning. He had one clear day and part of another before he was missed, + and as it turned out all trace of him was lost in the big city. The bank + found about $6,000 missing. Two years after, news came that Forme had been + shot dead in a gambling hall in Southern Texas. + </p> + <p> + “We are two first-class fools,” said Rowell to Mellish, + “and I for one don’t feel proud of the episode, so we’ll + say nothing more about it. The gambling mania was in his blood. Gambling + is not a vice; it is a disease, latent in all of us.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BRUISER’S COURTSHIP. + </h2> + <p> + While the Northern Bruiser sat in the chair in his corner and was being + fanned he resolved to finish the fight at the next round. The superior + skill of his opponent was telling upon him, and although the Bruiser was a + young man of immense strength, yet, up to that time, the alertness and + dexterity of the Yorkshire Chicken had baffled him, and prevented him from + landing one of his tremendous shoulder thrusts. But even though skill had + checkmated strength up to this point, the Chicken had not entirely + succeeded in defending himself, and was in a condition described by the + yelling crowd as “groggy.” + </p> + <p> + When time was called the Bruiser was speedily on his feet. His face did + not present the repulsive appearance so visible on the countenance of his + opponent, but the Bruiser had experience enough to know that the body + blows received in this fight had had their effect on his wind and staying + powers; and that although the Chicken presented an appalling appearance + with his swollen lips and cheeks, and his eyes nearly closed, yet he was + in better trim for continuing the battle than the Bruiser. + </p> + <p> + The Chicken came up to the mark less promptly than his big antagonist, but + whether it was from weakness or lack of sight, he seemed uncertain in his + movements, and the hearts of his backers sank as they saw him stagger + rather than walk to his place. + </p> + <p> + Before the Chicken, as it were, fully waked up to the situation, the + Bruiser lunged forward and planted a blow on his temple that would have + broken the guard of a man who was in better condition than the Chicken. + The Yorkshireman fell like a log, and lay where he fell. Then the Bruiser + got a lesson which terrified him. A sickly ashen hue came over the purple + face of the man on the ground. The Bruiser had expected some defence, and + the terrible blow had been even more powerful than he intended. A + shivering whisper went round the crowd, “He is killed,” and + instantly the silenced mob quietly scattered. It was every man for himself + before the authorities took a hand in the game. + </p> + <p> + The Bruiser stood there swaying from side to side, his gaze fixed upon the + prostrate man. He saw himself indicted and hanged for murder, and he swore + that if the Chicken recovered he would never again enter the ring. This + was a phase of prize-fighting that he had never before had experience of. + On different occasions he had, it is true, knocked out his various + opponents, and once or twice he had been knocked out himself; but the + Chicken had fought so pluckily up to the last round that the Bruiser had + put forth more of his tremendous strength than he had bargained for, and + now the man’s life hung on a thread. + </p> + <p> + The unconscious pugilist was carried to an adjoining room. Two physicians + were in attendance upon him, and at first the reports were most gloomy, + but towards daylight the Bruiser learned with relief that the chances were + in favor of his opponent. + </p> + <p> + The Bruiser had been urged to fly, but he was a man of strong common + sense, and he thoroughly understood the futility of flight. His face and + his form were too well known all around the country. It would have been + impossible for him to escape, even if he had tried to do so. + </p> + <p> + When the Yorkshire Chicken recovered, the Bruiser’s friends laughed + at his resolve to quit the ring, but they could not shake it. The money he + had won in his last fight, together with what he had accumulated before—for + he was a frugal man—was enough to keep him for the rest of his days, + and he resolved to return to the Border town where he was born, and where + doubtless his fame had preceded him. + </p> + <p> + He buckled his guineas in a belt around him, and with a stout stick in his + hand he left London for the North. He was a strong and healthy young man, + and had not given way to dissipation, as so many prizefighters had done + before, and will again. He had a horror of a cramped and confined, seat in + a stage coach. He loved the free air of the heights and the quiet + stillness of the valleys. + </p> + <p> + It was in the days of highwaymen, and travelling by coach was not + considered any too safe. The Bruiser was afraid of no man that lived, if + he met him in the open with a stick in his hand, or with nature’s + weapons, but he feared the muzzle of a pistol held at his head in the dark + by a man with a mask over his face. So he buckled his belt around him with + all his worldly gear in gold, took his own almost forgotten name, Abel + Trenchon, set his back to the sun and his face to the north wind, and + journeyed on foot along the king’s highway. He stopped at night in + the wayside inns, taking up his quarters before the sun had set, and + leaving them when it was broad daylight in the morning. He disputed his + reckonings like a man who must needs count the pennies, and no one + suspected the sturdy wayfarer of carrying a fortune around his body. + </p> + <p> + As his face turned toward the North his thought went to the Border town + where he had spent his childhood. His father and mother were dead, and he + doubted now if anyone there remembered him, or would have a welcome for + him. Nevertheless no other spot on earth was so dear to him, and it had + always been his intention, when he settled down and took a wife, to retire + to the quiet little town. + </p> + <p> + The weather, at least, gave him a surly welcome. On the last day’s + tramp the wind howled and the rain beat in gusts against him, but he was a + man who cared little for the tempest, and he bent his body to the blast, + trudging sturdily on. It was evening when he began to recognize familiar + objects by the wayside, and he was surprised to see how little change + there had been in all the years he was away. He stopped at an inn for + supper, and, having refreshed himself, resolved to break the rule he had + made for himself throughout the journey. He would push on through the + night, and sleep in his native village. + </p> + <p> + The storm became more pitiless as he proceeded, and he found himself + sympathizing with those poor creatures who were compelled to be out in it, + but he never gave a thought to himself. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly midnight when he saw the square church tower standing + blackly out against the dark sky; and when he began to descend the valley, + on the other side of which the town stood, a thrill of fear came over him, + as he remembered what he had so long forgotten—that the valley was + haunted, and was a particularly dangerous place about the hour of + midnight. To divert his thoughts he then began to wonder who the woman was + he would marry. She was doubtless now sleeping calmly in the village on + the hill, quite unconscious of the approach of her lover and her husband. + He could not conceal from himself the fact that he would be reckoned a + good match when his wealth was known, for, excepting the Squire, he would + probably be the richest man in the place. However, he resolved to be + silent about his riches, so that the girl he married would little dream of + the good fortune that awaited her. He laughed aloud as he thought of the + pleasure he would have in telling his wife of her luck, but the laugh died + on his lips as he saw, or thought he saw, something moving stealthily + along the hedge. + </p> + <p> + He was now in the depth of the valley in a most lonesome and eerie spot. + The huge trees on each side formed an arch over the roadway and partially + sheltered it from the rain. + </p> + <p> + He stood in his tracks, grasped his stick with firmer hold, and shouted + valiantly, “Who goes there?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, but in the silence which followed he thought he heard + a woman’s sob. + </p> + <p> + “Come out into the road,” he cried, “or I shall fire.” + </p> + <p> + His own fear of pistols was so great that he expected everyone else to be + terrorized by the threat of using them; and yet he had never possessed nor + carried a pistol in his life. + </p> + <p> + “Please—please don’t fire,” cried a trembling + voice, from out the darkness. “I will do as you tell me.” And + so saying the figure moved out upon the road. + </p> + <p> + Trenchon peered at her through the darkness, but whether she was old or + young he could not tell. Her voice seemed to indicate that she was young. + </p> + <p> + “Why, lass,” said Trenchon, kindly, “what dost thou here + at such an hour and in such a night?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” she cried, weeping; “my father turned me out, as + he has often done before, but to-night is a bitter night, and I had + nowhere to go, so I came here to be sheltered from the rain. He will be + asleep ere long, and he sleeps soundly. I may perhaps steal in by a + window, although sometimes he fastens them down.” + </p> + <p> + “God’s truth!” cried Trenchon, angrily. “Who is + thy brute of a father?” + </p> + <p> + The girl hesitated, and then spoke as if to excuse him, but again Trenchon + demanded his name. + </p> + <p> + “He is the blacksmith of the village, and Cameron is his name.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember him,” said Trenchon. “Is thy mother, then, + dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the girl, weeping afresh. “She has been + dead these five years.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew her when I was a boy,” said Trenchon. “Thy + father also, and many a grudge I owe him, although I had forgotten about + them. Still, I doubt not but as a boy I was as much in fault as he, + although he was harsh to all of us, and now it seems he is harsh to thee. + My name is Trenchon. I doubt if any in the village now remember me, + although, perhaps, they may have heard of me from London,” he said, + with some pride, and a hope that the girl would confirm his thoughts. But + she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I have never heard thy name,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Trenchon sighed. This, then, was fame! + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well!” he cried, “that matters not; they shall hear + more of me later. I will go with thee to thy father’s house and + demand for thee admittance and decent usage.” + </p> + <p> + But the girl shrank back. “Oh, no, no!” she cried; “that + will never do. My father is a hard man to cross. There are none in the + village who dare contend with him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is as it may be,” said Trenchon, with easy confidence. + “I, for one, fear him not. Come, lass, with me, and see if I cannot, + after all these years, pick out thy father’s dwelling. Come, I say, + thou must not longer tarry here; the rain is coming on afresh, and these + trees, thick as they are, form scant protection. It is outrageous that + thou should wander in this storm, while thy brutal father lies in shelter. + Nay, do not fear harm for either thee or me; and as for him, he shall not + suffer if thou but wish it so.” And, drawing the girl’s hand + through his arm, he took her reluctantly with him, and without direction + from her soon stood before the blacksmith’s house. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said, triumphantly, “I knew the place, and + yet I have not seen the town for years.” + </p> + <p> + Trenchon rapped soundly on the oaken door with his heavy stick, and the + blows re-echoed through the silent house. The girl shrank timidly behind + him, and would have fled, but that he held her firmly by the wrist. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” he said: “believe me there is naught to + fear. I will see that thou art not ill-used.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the window above was thrown up, and a string of fearful oaths + greeted the two, whereat the girl once more tried to release her + imprisoned wrist, but Trenchon held it lightly, though with a grip like + steel. + </p> + <p> + The stout old man thrust his head through the open window. + </p> + <p> + “God’s blight on thee!” he cried, “thou pair of + fools who wish to wed so much that ye venture out in such a night as this. + Well, have your way, and let me have my rest. In the name of the law of + Scotland I pronounce ye man and wife. There, that will bind two fools + together as strongly as if the Archbishop spoke the words. Place thou the + money on the steps. I warrant none will venture to touch it when it + belongs to me.” And with that he closed the window. + </p> + <p> + “Is he raving mad or drunk?” cried Trenchon. + </p> + <p> + The girl gave a wailing cry. “Alas! alas!” she said; “he + is neither. He is so used to marrying folk who come from England across + the Border that he thinks not it his daughter who came with thee, but two + who wished to wed. They come at all hours of the night and day, and he has + married us. I am thy wife.” + </p> + <p> + The astonished man dropped her wrist, and she put her hands before her + eyes and wept. + </p> + <p> + “Married!” cried Trenchon. “We two married!” + </p> + <p> + He looked with interest at the girl, but in the darkness could see nothing + of her. The unheeded rain pelted on them both. + </p> + <p> + “Hast thou”—he hesitated—“hast thou some + other lover, since you weep?” + </p> + <p> + The girl shook her head. “No one,” she said, “comes near + us. They fear my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if this be true, why dost thou weep? I am not considered so + bad a fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I weep not for myself, but for thee, who through the kindness of + thy heart hast been led into this trap. Believe me, it was not my + intention.” + </p> + <p> + “Judging from thy voice, my girl, and if thou favorest thy mother, + as I think, whom I remember well, this is a trap that I shall make little + effort to get my foot out of. But thou art dripping, and I stand + chattering here. Once more I will arouse my father-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he stoutly rapped again with his stick upon the door. + </p> + <p> + Once more the window was pushed up, and again the angry head appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Get you gone!” cried the maddened blacksmith, but before he + could say anything further Trenchon cried out: + </p> + <p> + “It is thy daughter here who waits. Open the door, thou limb of + hell, or I will burst it in and cast thee out as thou hast done thy + daughter.” + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith, who had never in his life been spoken to in tones or words + like these, was so amazed that he could neither speak nor act, but one + stout kick against the door so shook the fabric that he speedily saw + another such would break into his domicile; so, leaving the window open + that his curses might the better reach them, the blacksmith came down and + threw the barrier from the door, flinging it open and standing on the + threshold so as to bar all ingress. + </p> + <p> + “Out of the way,” cried Trenchon, roughly placing his hand on + the other’s breast with apparent lightness, but with a push that + sent him staggering into the room. + </p> + <p> + The young man pulled the girl in after him and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “Thou knowest the way,” he whispered. “Strike thou a + light.” + </p> + <p> + The trembling girl lit a candle, and as it shone upon her face Trenchon + gave a deep sigh of happiness and relief. No girl in the village could be + more fair. + </p> + <p> + The blacksmith stood, his fingers clenched with rage; but he looked with + hesitation and respect upon the burly form of the prizefighter. Yet the + old man did not flinch. + </p> + <p> + “Throw aside thy stick,” he cried, “or wait until I can + get me another.” + </p> + <p> + Trenchon flung his stick into the corner. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh!” cried the girl, clasping her hands. “You must + not fight.” But she appealed to her husband and not to her father, + which caused a glow of satisfaction to rise from the heart of the young + man. + </p> + <p> + “Get thee out of this house,” cried her father, fiercely, + turning upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Talk not thus to my wife,” said Trenchon, advancing upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Thy wife?” cried the blacksmith, in amaze. + </p> + <p> + “My wife,” repeated the young man with emphasis. “They + tell me, blacksmith, that thou art strong. That thou art brutal I know, + but thy strength I doubt. Come to me and test it.” + </p> + <p> + The old man sprang upon him, and the Bruiser caught him by the elbows and + held him helpless as a child. He pressed him up against the wall, pushed + his wrists together, and clasped them both in his one gigantic hand. Then, + placing the other on the blacksmith’s shoulder, he put his weight + upon him, and the blacksmith, cursing but helpless, sank upon his knees. + </p> + <p> + “Now, thou hardened sinner,” cried the Bruiser, bending over + him. “Beg from thy daughter on thy knees for a night’s shelter + in this house. Beg, or I will thrust thy craven face against the floor.” + </p> + <p> + The girl clung to her newly-found husband, and entreated him not to hurt + her father. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not hurt him if he do but speak. If he has naught but + curses on his lips, why then those lips must kiss the flags that are + beneath him. Speak out, blacksmith: what hast thou to say?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg for shelter,” said the conquered man. + </p> + <p> + Instantly the Bruiser released him. + </p> + <p> + “Get thee to bed,” he said, and the old man slunk away. + </p> + <p> + “Wife,” said Abel Trenchon, opening his arms, “I have + come all the way from London for thee. I knew not then what drew me north, + but now I know that One wiser than me led my steps hither. As far as + erring man may promise I do promise thee that thou shalt ne’er + regret being cast out this night into the storm.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RAID ON MELLISH. + </h2> + <p> + Some newspapers differ from others. One peculiarity about the Argus was + the frequency with which it changed its men. Managing editors came who + were going to revolutionize the world and incidentally the Argus, but they + were in the habit of disappearing to give place to others who also + disappeared. Newspaper men in that part of the country never considered + themselves full-fledged unless they had had a turn at managing the Argus. + If you asked who was at the head of the Argus the answer would very likely + be: “Well, So-and-so was managing it this morning. I don’t + know who is running it this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the most weird period in the history of the Argus was when the + owners imported a crank from Pittsburg and put him in as local editor, + over the heads of the city staff. His name was McCrasky, christened Angus + or Archie, I forget which, at this period of time. In fact, his Christian + name was always a moot point; some of the reporters saying it was Angus + and others Archie, no one having the courage to ask him. Anyhow, he signed + himself A. McCrasky. He was a good man, which was rather an oddity on the + staff, and puzzled the reporters not a little. Most of his predecessors + had differed much from each other, but they were all alike in one thing, + and that was profanity. They expressed disapproval in language that made + the hardened printers’ towel in the composing room shrink. + </p> + <p> + McCrasky’s great point was that the local pages of the paper should + have a strong moral influence on the community. He knocked the sporting + editor speechless by telling him that they would have no more reports of + prize-fights. Poor Murren went back to the local room, sat down at his + table and buried his head in his hands. Every man on a local staff + naturally thinks the paper is published mainly to give his department a + show, and Murren considered a fight to a finish as being of more real + importance to the world than a presidential election. The rest of the boys + tried to cheer him up. “A fine state of things,” said Murren + bitterly. “Think of the scrap next week between the California + Duffer and Pigeon Billy and no report of it in the Argus! Imagine the + walk- over for the other papers. What in thunder does he think people want + to read?” + </p> + <p> + But there was another surprise in store for the boys. McCrasky assembled + them all in his room and held forth to them. He suddenly sprung a question + on the criminal reporter—so suddenly that Thompson, taken unawares, + almost spoke the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know of any gambling houses in this city?” + </p> + <p> + Thompson caught his breath and glanced quickly at Murren. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said at last. “I don’t, but perhaps the + religious editor does. Better ask him.” + </p> + <p> + The religious editor smiled and removed his corn-cob pipe. + </p> + <p> + “There aren’t any,” he said. “Didn’t you + know it was against the law to keep a gambling house in this state? Yes, + sir!” Then he put his corn- cob pipe back in its place. + </p> + <p> + McCrasky was pleased to see that his young men knew so little of the + wickedness of a great city; nevertheless he was there to give them some + information, so he said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Certainly it is against the law; but many things that are against + the law flourish in a city like this. Now I want you to find out before + the week is past how many gambling houses there are and where they are + located. When you are sure of your facts we will organize a raid and the + news will very likely be exclusive, for it will be late at night and the + other papers may not hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” said the religious editor, with a twinkle in his + eye, as he again removed his corn-cob, “that—assuming such + places to exist—you found some representatives of the other papers + there? They are a bad lot, the fellows on the other papers.” + </p> + <p> + “If they are there,” said the local editor, “they will + go to prison.” + </p> + <p> + “They won’t mind that, if they can write something about it,” + said Murren gloomily. In his opinion the Argus was going to the dogs. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Thompson,” said McCrasky, “you as criminal + reporter must know a lot of men who can give you particulars for a + first-rate article on the evils of gambling. Get it ready for Saturday’s + paper—a column and a half, with scare heads. We must work up public + opinion.” + </p> + <p> + When the boys got back into the local room again, Murren sat with his head + in his hands, while Thompson leaned back in his chair and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Work up public opinion,” he said. “Mac had better work + up his own knowledge of the city streets, and not put Bolder avenue in the + East End, as he did this morning.” + </p> + <p> + The religious editor was helping himself to tobacco from Murren’s + drawer. “Are you going to put Mellish on his guard?” he asked + Thompson. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t just know what I’m going to do,” said + Thompson; “are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll think about it,” replied the R. E. “Beastly + poor tobacco, this of yours, Murren. Why don’t you buy cut plug?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re not compelled to smoke it,” said the sporting + editor, without raising his head. + </p> + <p> + “I am when mine is out, and the other fellows keep their drawers + locked.” + </p> + <p> + Thompson dropped in on Mellish, the keeper of the swell gambling rooms, to + consult with him on the article for Saturday’s paper. Mellish took a + great interest in it, and thought it would do good. He willingly gave + Thompson several instances where the vice had led to ruin of promising + young men. + </p> + <p> + “All men gamble in some way or another,” said Mellish + meditatively. “Some take it one way and some another. It is inherent + in human nature, like original sin. The beginning of every business is a + gamble. If I had $30,000 I would rather run my chance of doubling it at + these tables here than I would, for instance, by starting a new newspaper + or putting it on wheat or in railway stocks. Take a land boom, for + instance, such as there was in California or at Winnipeg—the + difference between putting your money in a thing like that or going in for + legitimate gambling is that, in the one case, you are sure to lose your + cash, while in the other you have a chance of winning some. I hold that + all kinds of gambling are bad, unless a man can easily afford to lose what + he stakes. The trouble is that gambling affects some people like liquor. I + knew a man once who——” but you can read the whole + article if you turn up the back numbers of the Argus. + </p> + <p> + Thompson told Mellish about McCrasky. Mellish was much interested, and + said he would like to meet the local editor. He thought the papers should + take more interest in the suppression of gambling dens than they did, and + for his part he said he would like to see them all stopped, his own + included. “Of course,” he added, “I could shut up my + shop, but it would simply mean that someone else would open another, and I + don’t think any man ever ran such a place fairer than I do.” + </p> + <p> + McCrasky called on the chief of police, and introduced himself as the + local editor of the Argus. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the chief, “has Gorman gone, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about Gorman,” said McCrasky; “the + man I succeeded was Finnigan. I believe he is in Cincinnati now.” + </p> + <p> + When the chief learned the purport of the local editor’s visit he + became very official and somewhat taciturn. He presumed that there were + gambling houses in the city. If there were, they were very quiet and no + complaints ever reached his ears. There were many things, he said, that it + was impossible to suppress, and the result of attempted suppression was to + drive the evil deeper down. He seemed to be in favor rather of regulating, + than of attempting the impossible; still, if McCrasky brought him + undoubted evidence that a gambling house was in operation, he would + consider it his duty to make a raid on it. He advised McCrasky to go very + cautiously about it, as the gamblers had doubtless many friends who would + give a tip and so frustrate a raid, perhaps letting somebody in for + damages. McCrasky said he would be careful. + </p> + <p> + Chance played into the hands of McCrasky and “blew in” on him + a man who little recked what he was doing when he entered the local editor’s + room. Gus Hammerly, sport and man-about-town, dropped into the Argus + office late one night to bring news of an “event” to the + sporting editor. He knew his way about in the office, and, finding Murren + was not in, he left the item on his table. Then he wandered into the local + editor’s room. The newspaper boys all liked Hammerly, and many a + good item they got from him. They never gave him away, and he saw that + they never got left, as the vernacular is. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening. You’re the new local editor, I take it. I’ve + just left a little item for Murren, I suppose he’s not in from the + wrestle yet. My name’s Hammerly. All the boys know me and I’ve + known in my time fourteen of your predecessors, so I may as well know you. + You’re from Pittsburg, I hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Sit down, Mr. Hammerly. Do you know Pittsburg at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. Borden, who keeps the gambling den on X street, is an old + friend of mine. Do you happen to know how old Borden’s getting + along?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, his place was raided and closed up by the police.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just the old man’s luck. Same thing in Kansas + City.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Mr. Hammerly, do you know of any gambling houses in + this city?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless you, haven’t the boys taken you round yet? Well, + now, that’s inhospitable. Mellish’s is the best place in town. + I’m going up there now. If you come along with me I’ll give + you the knock-down at the door and you’ll have no trouble after + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go with you,” said McCrasky, reaching for his hat, + and so the innocent Hammerly led the lamb into the lion’s den. + </p> + <p> + McCrasky, unaccustomed to the sight, was somewhat bewildered with the + rapidity of the play. There was a sort of semicircular table, around the + outside rim of which were sitting as many men as could be comfortably + placed there. A man at the inside of the table handled the cards. He + flicked out one to each player, face downward, with an expertness and + speed that dazzled McCrasky. Next he dealt out one to each player face + upward and people put sums of money on the table beside their cards, after + looking at them. There was another deal and so on, but the stranger found + it impossible to understand or follow the game. He saw money being raked + in and paid out rapidly and over the whole affair was a solemn decorum + that he had not been prepared for. He had expected fierce oaths and the + drawing of revolvers. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Mellish,” said the innocent Hammerly, “let me + introduce you to the new local editor of the Argus. I didn’t catch + your name,” he said in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “My name’s McCrasky.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. McCrasky; Mr. Mellish. Mellish is proprietor here and you’ll + find him a first-rate fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I am pleased to meet you,” said Mellish quietly; “any + friend of Hammerly’s is welcome. Make yourself at home.” + </p> + <p> + Edging away from the two, Mellish said in a quick whisper to Sotty, the + bartender: “Go and tell the doorkeeper to warn Thompson, or any of + the rest of the Argus boys, that their boss is in here.” + </p> + <p> + At 12 o’clock that night the local editor sat in his room. “Is + that you, Thompson?” he shouted, as he heard a step. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir;” answered Thompson, coming into the presence. + </p> + <p> + “Shut the door, Thompson. Now I have a big thing on for to-night, + but it must be done quietly. I’ve unearthed a gambling den in full + blast. It will be raided to-night at 2 o’clock. I want you to be on + the ground with Murren; will you need anybody else?” + </p> + <p> + “Depends on how much you wish to make of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to make it the feature of to-morrow’s paper. I think + we three can manage, but bring some of the rest if you like. The place is + run by a man named Mellish. Now, if you boys kept your eyes open you would + know more of what is going on in your own city than you do.” + </p> + <p> + “We haven’t all had the advantage of metropolitan training,” + said Thompson humbly. + </p> + <p> + “I will go there with the police. You and Murren had better be on + the ground, but don’t go too soon, and don’t make yourselves + conspicuous or they might take alarm. Here is the address. You had better + take it down.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll find the place all——” Then + Thompson thought a moment and pulled himself together. “Thanks,” + he said, carefully noting down the street and number. + </p> + <p> + The detachment of police drew up in front of the place a few minutes + before 2 o’clock. The streets were deserted, and so silent were the + blue coats that the footsteps of a belated wayfarer sounded sharply in the + night air from the stone pavement of a distant avenue. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure,” said McCrasky to the man in charge of the + police, “that there is not a private entrance somewhere?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly there is,” was the impatient reply: “Sergeant + McCollum and four men are stationed in the alley behind. We know our + business, sir.” + </p> + <p> + McCrasky thought this was a snub, and he was right. He looked around in + the darkness for his reporters. He found them standing together in a + doorway on the opposite side of the street. + </p> + <p> + “Been here long?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Murren was gloomy and did not answer. The religious editor removed his + corn-cob and said briefly; “About ten minutes, sir.” Thompson + was gazing with interest at the dark building across the way. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve seen nobody come out?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody. On the contrary, about half a dozen have gone up that + stairway.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the place, sir?” asked Thompson with the lamb-like + innocence of the criminal reporter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, upstairs there.” + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you?” said the religious editor. “Thompson + insisted it was next door.” + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” said McCrasky, “the police are moving at + last.” + </p> + <p> + A big bell in the neighborhood solemnly struck two slow strokes, and all + over the city the hour sounded in various degrees of tone and speed. A + whistle rang out and was distantly answered. The police moved quickly and + quietly up the stairway. + </p> + <p> + “Have you tickets, gentlemen,” asked the man at the door + politely; “this is a private assembly.” + </p> + <p> + “The police,” said the sergeant shortly, “stand aside.” + </p> + <p> + If the police were astonished at the sight which met their gaze, their + faces did not show it. But McCrasky had not such control over his features + and he looked dumbfounded. The room was the same, undoubtedly, but there + was not the vestige of a card to be seen. There were no tables, and even + the bar had disappeared. The chairs were nicely arranged and most of them + were occupied. At the further end of the room Pony Rowell stood on a + platform or on a box or some elevation, and his pale, earnest face was + lighted up with the enthusiasm of the public speaker. He was saying: + “On the purity of the ballot, gentlemen, depends the very life of + the republic. That every man should be permitted, without interference or + intimidation, to cast his vote, and that every vote so cast should be + honestly counted is, I take it, the desire of all who now listen to my + words.” (Great applause, during which Pony took a sip from a glass + that may have contained water.) + </p> + <p> + The police had come in so quietly that no one, apparently, had noticed + their entrance, except that good man Mellish, who hurried forward to + welcome the intruders. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take a seat?” he asked. “We are having a + little political talk from Mr. Rowell, sergeant.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather an unusual hour, Mr. Mellish,” said the sergeant + grimly. + </p> + <p> + “It is a little late,” admitted Mellish, as if the idea had + not occurred to him before. + </p> + <p> + The police who had come in by the back entrance appeared at the other end + of the room and it was evident that Rowell’s oration had come to an + untimely end. Pony looked grieved and hurt, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “We will have to search the premises, Mr. Mellish,” said the + sergeant. + </p> + <p> + Mellish gave them every assistance, but nothing was found. + </p> + <p> + As the four men walked back together to the Argus office, McCrasky was + very indignant. + </p> + <p> + “We will expose the police to-morrow,” he said. “They + evidently gave Mellish the tip.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so,” said Thompson. “We will say + nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget yourself, Mr. Thompson. It rests with me to say what + shall go on the local page. Not with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t forget myself,” answered Thompson sadly; + “I’ve just remembered myself. The Directors of the Argus + appointed me local editor yesterday. Didn’t they tell you about it? + That’s just like them. They forgot to mention the fact to Corbin + that he had been superseded and the manager went off fishing after + appointing Jonsey local editor, so that for a week we had two local + editors, each one countermanding the orders of the other. It was an awful + week. You remember it, Murren?” Murren’s groan seemed to + indicate that his recollection of the exciting time was not a pleasant + memory. + </p> + <p> + “In case of doubt,” murmured the religious editor, this time + without removing his corn-cob, “obey the orders of the new man where + the Argus is concerned. Thompson, old man, I’m wid you. When did the + blow fall?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday afternoon,” said Thompson, almost with a sob; + “I’ll be dismissed within a month, so I am rather sorry. I + liked working on the Argus—as a reporter. I never looked for such + ill luck as promotion. But we all have our troubles, haven’t we, + Mac?” + </p> + <p> + McCrasky did not answer. He is now connected with some paper in Texas. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STRIKING BACK. + </h2> + <p> + George Streeter was in Paris, because he hoped and expected to meet Alfred + Davison there. He knew that Davison was going to be in Paris for at least + a fortnight, and he had a particular reason for wishing to come across him + in the streets of that city rather than in the streets of London. + </p> + <p> + Streeter was a young author who had published several books, and who was + getting along as well as could be expected, until suddenly he met a check. + The check was only a check as far as his own self-esteem was concerned; + for it did not in the least retard the sale of his latest book, but rather + appeared to increase it. The check was unexpected, for where he had looked + for a caress, he received a blow. The blow was so well placed, and so + vigorous, that at first it stunned him. Then he became unreasonably angry. + He resolved to strike back. + </p> + <p> + The review of his book in the Argus was vigorously severe, and perhaps + what maddened him more than anything else was the fact that, in spite of + his self-esteem he realized the truth of the criticism. If his books had + been less successful, or if he had been newer as an author, he might + possibly have set himself out to profit by the keen thrusts given him by + the Argus. He might have remembered that although Tennyson struck back at + Christopher North, calling him rusty, crusty, and musty, yet the poet + eliminated from later editions all blemishes which musty Christopher had + pointed out. + </p> + <p> + Streeter resolved to strike back with something more tangible than a + sarcastic verse. He quite admitted, even to himself, that a critic had + every right to criticise—that was what he was for—but he + claimed that a man who pretended to be an author’s friend and who + praised his books to his face, had no right to go behind his back and pen + a criticism so scathing as that which appeared in the Argus: for Streeter + knew that Alfred Davison had written the criticism in the Argus, and + Davison had posed as his friend; and had pretended as well, that he had a + great admiration for Streeter’s books. + </p> + <p> + As Streeter walked down the Boulevard des Italians, he saw, seated in + front of a café, the man whom he hoped to meet: and furthermore, he was + pleased to see that the man had a friend with him. The recognition of + author and critic was mutual. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Streeter,” cried Davison; “when did you come + over?” + </p> + <p> + “I left London yesterday,” answered Streeter. + </p> + <p> + “Then sit down and have something with us,” said Davison, + cordially. “Streeter, this is my friend Harmon. He is an exile and a + resident in Paris, and, consequently, likes to meet his countrymen.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” said Streeter, “he is probably well + acquainted with the customs of the place?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather!” returned Davison; “he has become so much of a + Frenchman—he has been so contaminated, if I may put it that way—that + I believe quite recently he was either principal or second in a duel. By + the way, which was it, Harmon?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely a second,” answered the other. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe in duelling myself,” continued Davison: + “it seems to me an idiotic custom, and so futile.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t agree with you,” replied Streeter, curtly; + “there is no reason why a duel should be futile, and there seem to + be many reasons why a duel might be fought. There are many things, worse + than crimes, which exist in all countries, and for which there is no + remedy except calling a man out; misdemeanors, if I may so term them, that + the law takes no cognisance of; treachery, for instance;—a person + pretending to be a man’s friend, and then the first chance he gets, + stabbing him in the back.” + </p> + <p> + Harmon nodded his approval of these sentiments, while Davison said + jauntily: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know about that! It seems to me these things, + which I suppose undoubtedly exist, should not be made important by taking + much notice of them. What will you have to drink, Streeter?” + </p> + <p> + “Bring me a liqueur of brandy,” said Streeter to the garçon + who stood ready to take the order. + </p> + <p> + When the waiter returned with a small glass, into which he poured the + brandy with the deftness of a Frenchman, filling it so that not a drop + more could be added, and yet without allowing the glass to overflow, + Streeter pulled out his purse. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Davison; “you are not going to pay for + this—you are drinking with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I pay for my own drinks,” said Streeter, surlily. + </p> + <p> + “Not when I invite you to drink with me,” protested the + critic. “I pay for this brandy.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, take it, then!” said Streeter, picking up the + little glass and dashing the contents in the face of Davison. + </p> + <p> + Davison took out his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil do you mean by that, Streeter?” he asked, as + the color mounted to his brow. + </p> + <p> + Streeter took out his card and pencilled a word or two on the pasteboard. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, “is my Paris address. If you do not + know what I mean by that, ask your friend here; he will inform you.” + </p> + <p> + And with that the novelist arose, bowed to the two, and departed. + </p> + <p> + When he returned to his hotel, after a stroll along the brilliantly- + lighted Boulevards, he found waiting for him Mr. Harmon and a Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea you would come so soon,” said Streeter, “otherwise + I would not have kept you waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not matter,” replied Harmon; “we have not + waited long. Affairs of this kind require prompt action. An insult lasts + but twenty-four hours, and my friend and principal has no desire to put + you to the inconvenience of repeating your action of this evening. We are + taking it for granted that you have a friend prepared to act for you; for + your conduct appeared to be premeditated.” + </p> + <p> + “You are quite right,” answered Streeter; “I have two + friends to whom I shall be pleased to introduce you. Come this way, if you + will be so kind.” + </p> + <p> + The preliminaries were speedily arranged, and the meeting was to take + place next morning at daylight, with pistols. + </p> + <p> + Now that everything was settled, the prospect did not look quite so + pleasant to Streeter as it had done when he left London. Davison had asked + for no explanation; but that, of course, could be accounted for, because + this critical sneak must be well aware of the reason for the insult. + Still, Streeter had rather expected that he would perhaps have simulated + ignorance, and on receiving enlightenment might have avoided a meeting to + apologizing. + </p> + <p> + Anyhow, Streeter resolved to make a night of it. He left his friends to + arrange for a carriage, and see to all that was necessary, while he donned + his war-paint and departed for a gathering to which he had been invited, + and where he was to meet many of his countrymen and countrywomen, in a + fashionable part of Paris. + </p> + <p> + His hostess appeared to be overjoyed at seeing him. + </p> + <p> + “You are so late,” she said, “that I was afraid + something had occurred to keep you from coming altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing could have prevented me from coming,” said Streeter, + gallantly, “where Mrs. Woodford is hostess!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is very nice of you, Mr. Streeter!” answered the + lady; “but I must not stand here talking with you, for I have + promised to introduce you to Miss Neville, who wishes very much to meet + you. She is a great admirer of yours, and has read all your books.” + </p> + <p> + “There are not very many of them,” said Streeter, with a + laugh; “and such as they are, I hope Miss Neville thinks more of + them than I do myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we all know how modest authors are!” replied his hostess, + leading him away to be introduced. + </p> + <p> + Miss Neville was young and pretty, and she was evidently pleased to meet + the rising young author. + </p> + <p> + “I have long wanted to see you,” she said, “to have a + talk with you about your books.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind,” said Streeter, “but perhaps we + might choose something more profitable to talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that. Doubtless you have been accustomed to + hear only the nice things people say about you. That is the misfortune of + many authors.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a misfortune,” answered Streeter. + </p> + <p> + “What a writer needs is somebody to tell him the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Miss Neville, “that is another thing I am not + so sure about. Mrs. Woodford has told you, I suppose, that I have read all + your books? Did she add that I detested them?” + </p> + <p> + Even Streeter was not able to conceal the fact that this remark caused him + some surprise. He laughed uneasily, and said: + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, Mrs. Woodford led me to believe that you had liked + them.” + </p> + <p> + The girl leaned back in her chair, and looked at him with half-closed + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” she said, “Mrs. Woodford does not know. It + is not likely that I would tell her I detested your books while I asked + for an introduction to you. She took it for granted that I meant to say + pleasant things to you, whereas I had made up my mind to do the exact + reverse. No one would be more shocked than Mrs. Woodford—unless, + perhaps, it is yourself—if she knew I was going to speak frankly + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not shocked,” said the young man, seriously; “I + recognize that there are many things in my books that are blemishes.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you don’t mean that,” said the frank young + woman; “because if you did you would not repeat the faults in book + after book.” + </p> + <p> + “A man can but do his best,” said Streeter, getting annoyed in + spite of himself, for no man takes kindly to the candid friend. “A + man can but do his best, as Hubert said, whose grandsire drew a longbow at + Hastings.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” returned Miss Neville, “a man can but do his + best, although we should remember that the man who said that, said it just + before he was defeated. What I feel is that you are not doing your best, + and that you will not do your best until some objectionable person like + myself has a good serious talk with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Begin the serious talk,” said Streeter; “I am ready and + eager to listen.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you read the review of your latest book which appeared in the + Argus?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” said Streeter, somewhat startled—the thought of + the meeting that was so close, which he had forgotten for the moment, + flashing over him. “Yes, I did; and I had the pleasure of meeting + the person who wrote it this evening.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Neville almost jumped in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I did not intend you to know that!” she said. “Who + told you? How did you find out that I wrote reviews for the Argus?” + </p> + <p> + “You!” cried Streeter, astonished in his turn. “Do you + mean to say that you wrote that review?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Neville sank back in her chair with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she said, “my impetuosity has, as the Americans + say, given me away. After all, you did not know I was the writer!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought Davison was the writer. I had it on the very best + authority.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Davison!” said Miss Neville, laughing, “why, he is + one of the best and staunchest friends you have: and so am I, for that + matter— indeed, I am even more your friend than Mr. Davison; for I + think you <i>can</i> do good work, while Mr. Davison is foolish enough to + believe you are doing it.” + </p> + <p> + At this point in the conversation Streeter looked hurriedly at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see,” said Miss Neville; “this conversation is + not to your taste. You are going to plead an appointment—as if + anyone could have an appointment at this hour in the morning!” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” said Streeter, “I have; and I must bid + you good-bye. But I assure you that my eyes have been opened, and that I + have learned a lesson to-night which I will not soon forget. I hope I may + have the pleasure of meeting you again, and continuing this conversation. + Perhaps some time I may tell you why I have to leave.” + </p> + <p> + Streeter found his friends waiting for him. He knew it was no use trying + to see Davison before the meeting. There was a long drive ahead of them, + and it was grey daylight when they reached the ground, where they found + the other party waiting. + </p> + <p> + Each man took his place and the pistol that was handed to him. When the + word “Fire!” was given, Streeter dropped his hand to his side. + Davison stood with his pistol still pointed, but he did not fire. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you shoot, George?” said Davison. + </p> + <p> + Harmon, at this point, rebuked his principal, and said he must have no + communication with the other except through a second. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Davison, impatiently, “I don’t pretend + to know the rules of this idiotic game!” + </p> + <p> + Streeter stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “I merely wished to give you the opportunity of firing at me if you + cared to do so,” he said; “and now I desire to apologize for + my action at the café. I may say that what I did was done under a + misapprehension. Anything that I can do to make reparation I am willing to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all right!” said Davison; “nothing + more need be said. I am perfectly satisfied. Let us get back to the city; + I find it somewhat chilly out here.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Harmon, with a sigh, “Englishmen have + the cheek to talk of the futility of French duels!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CRANDALL’S CHOICE. + </h2> + <p> + John Crandall sat at his office desk and thought the situation over. + Everybody had gone and he was in the office alone. Crandall was rather + tired and a little sleepy, so he was inclined to take a gloomy view of + things. Not that there was anything wrong with his business; in fact, it + was in a first-rate condition so far as it went, but it did not go far + enough; that was what John thought as he brooded over his affairs. He was + making money, of course, but the trouble was that he was not making it + fast enough. + </p> + <p> + As he thought of these things John gradually and imperceptibly went to + sleep, and while he slept he dreamt a dream. It would be quite easy to + pretend that the two persons who came to him in the vision, actually + entered the office and that he thought them regular customers or something + of that sort, while at the end of the story, when everybody was + bewildered, the whole matter might be explained by announcing the fact + that it was all a dream, but this account being a true and honest one, no + such artifice will be used and at the very beginning the admission is made + that John was the victim of a vision. + </p> + <p> + In this dream two very beautiful ladies approached him. One was richly + dressed and wore the most dazzling jewelry. The other was clad in plain + attire. At first, the dreaming Mr. Crandall thought, or dreamt he thought, + that the richly dressed one was the prettier. She was certainly very + attractive, but, as she came closer, John imagined that much of her beauty + was artificial. He said to himself that she painted artistically perhaps, + but at any rate she laid it on rather thick. + </p> + <p> + About the other there was no question. She was a beauty, and what + loveliness she possessed was due to the bounties of Providence and not to + the assistance of the chemist. She was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Crandall,” she said, in the sweetest of voices, “we + have come here together so that you may choose between us. Which one will + you have?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me,” said Crandall, so much surprised at the unblushing + proposal that he nearly awoke himself, “bless me, don’t you + know that I am married?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>that</i> doesn’t matter,” answered the fair + young lady, with the divinest of smiles. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t it?” said Mr. Crandall. “If you had the + pleasure of meeting Mrs. Crandall I think you would find that it did—very + much indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are not mortals; we are spirits.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are you? Well, of course that makes a difference,” + replied Mr. Crandall much relieved, for he began to fear from the turn the + conversation had taken that he was in the presence of two writers of + modern novels. + </p> + <p> + “This lady,” continued the first speaker, “is the spirit + of wealth. If you choose her you will be a very rich man before you die.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ho!” cried Crandall. “Are you sure of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite certain.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then I won’t be long making my choice. I choose her, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don’t know who I am. Perhaps when you know, you may + wish to reverse your decision.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are the spirit of power or of fame or something of + that sort. I am not an ambitious person; money is good enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am the spirit of health. Think well before you make your + choice. Many have rejected me, and afterwards, have offered all their + possessions fruitlessly, hoping to lure me to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Mr. Crandall, with some hesitation. “You are + a very pleasant young person to have around the house. But why cannot I + have both of you? How does <i>that</i> strike you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry, but I am not permitted to give you the choice of + both.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is that? Many people are allowed to choose both.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that; still we must follow our instructions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if that is the case, without wishing to offend you in the + least, I think I will stand by my first choice. I choose wealth.” + </p> + <p> + As he said this the other lady advanced toward him and smiled somewhat + triumphantly as she held out her hand. Crandall grasped it and the first + spirit sighed. Just as the spirit of wealth seemed about to speak, there + was a shake at the office door, and Mr. John Crandall saw the spirits fade + away. He rubbed his eyes and said to himself: “By George! I have + been asleep. What a remarkably vivid dream that was.” + </p> + <p> + As he yawned and stretched his arms above his head, the impatient rattle + at the door told him that at least was not a part of the dream. + </p> + <p> + He arose and unlocked the door. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Mr. Bullion,” he said, as that solid man came in. + “You’re late, aren’t you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, for that matter, so are you. You must have been absorbed in + your accounts or you would have heard me sooner. I thought I would have to + shake the place down.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know, the policeman sometimes tries the door and I + thought at first it was he. Won’t you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks! Don’t care if I do. Busy tonight?” + </p> + <p> + “Just got through.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how are things going?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, slowly as usual. Slowly because we have not facilities enough, + but we’ve got all the work we can do.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it pay you for what work you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. I’m not in this business as a philanthropist, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I didn’t suppose you were. Now, see here, Crandall, I + think you have a good thing of it here and one of the enterprises that if + extended would develop into a big business.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it. But what am I to do? I’ve practically no capital + to enlarge the business, and I don’t care to mortgage what I have + and pay a high rate of interest when, just at the critical moment, we + might have a commercial crisis and I would then lose everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right; quite right, and a safe principle. Well, that’s + what I came to see you about. I have had my eye on you and this factory + for some time. Now, if you want capital I will furnish it on the condition + that an accountant of mine examines the books and finds everything + promising a fair return for enlarging the business. Of course I take your + word for the state of affairs all right enough, but business is business, + you know, and besides I want to get an expert opinion on how much + enlargement it will stand. I suppose you could manage a manufactory ten or + twenty times larger as easily as you do this one.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite,” said Mr. Crandall. + </p> + <p> + “Then what do you say to my coming round to-morrow at 9 with my man?” + </p> + <p> + “That would suit me all right.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. John Crandall walked home a very much elated man that night. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + “Well, doctor,” said the patient in a very weak voice, “what + is the verdict!” + </p> + <p> + “It is just as I said before. You will have to take a rest. You know + I predicted this breakdown.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you give me something that will fix me up temporarily? + It is almost imperative that I should stay on just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is. It has been so for the last five years. You forget + that in that time you have been fixed up temporarily on several occasions. + Now, I will get you ‘round so that you can travel in a few days and + then I insist on a sea voyage or a quiet time somewhere on the continent. + You will have to throw off business cares entirely. There are no ifs or + buts about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, doctor. I don’t see how I am to leave at this + time. I have been as bad as this a dozen times before. <i>You</i> know + that. I’m just a little fagged out and when I go back to the office + I can take things easier. You see, we have a big South American contract + on hand that I am very anxious about. New business, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you could draw your cheque for a pretty large amount, Mr. + Crandall.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can. If money can bridge the thing over, I will arrange it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, money can’t. What I wanted to say was that if, instead + of having a large sum in the bank, you had overdrawn your account about as + much as the bank would stand, would you be surprised if your cheque were + not honored?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I wouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is your state physically. You’ve overdrawn your + vitality account. You’ve got to make a deposit. You must take a + vacation.” + </p> + <p> + “Any other time, doctor. I’ll go sure, as soon as this + contract is off. Upon my word I will. You needn’t shake your head. A + vacation just now would only aggravate the difficulty. I wouldn’t + have a moment’s peace knowing this South American business might be + bungled. I’d worry myself to death.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The funeral of Mr. Crandall was certainly one of the most splendid + spectacles the city had seen for many a day. The papers all spoke highly + of the qualities of the dead manufacturer, whose growth had been typical + of the growth of the city. The eloquent minister spoke of the inscrutable + ways of Providence in cutting off a man in his prime, and in the very + height of his usefulness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FAILURE OF BRADLEY. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The skater lightly laughs and glides, + Unknowing that beneath the ice + On which he carves his fair device + A stiffened corpse in silence glides. + + It glareth upward at his play; + Its cold, blue, rigid fingers steal + Beneath the tracings of his heel. + It floats along and floats away. + + —Unknown Poem. +</pre> + <p> + “If I only had the courage,” said Bradley, as he looked over + the stone parapet of the embankment at the dark waters of the Thames as + they flashed for a moment under the glitter of the gaslight and then + disappeared in the black night to flash again farther down. + </p> + <p> + “Very likely I would struggle to get out again the moment I went + over,” he muttered to himself. “But if no help came it would + all be done with, in a minute. Two minutes perhaps. I’ll warrant + those two minutes would seem an eternity. I would see a hundred ways of + making a living, if I could only get out again. Why can’t I see one + now while I <i>am</i> out. My father committed suicide, why shouldn’t + I? I suppose it runs in the family. There seems to come a time when it is + the only way out. I wonder if he hesitated? I’m a coward, that’s + the trouble.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment’s hesitation the man slowly climbed on the top of the + stone wall and then paused again. He looked with a shudder at the gloomy + river. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll do it,” he cried aloud, and was about to slide + down, when a hand grasped his arm and a voice said: + </p> + <p> + “<i>What</i> will you do?” + </p> + <p> + In the light of the gas-lamp Bradley saw a man whose face seemed familiar + and although he thought rapidly, “Where have I seen that man before?” + he could not place him. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” answered Bradley sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right,” was the answer. “I’d do + nothing of that kind, if I were you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you wouldn’t. You have everything that I haven’t—food, + clothes, shelter. Certainly you wouldn’t. Why should you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you, if it comes to that?” + </p> + <p> + “Because ten shillings stands between me and a job. That’s + why, if you want to know. There’s eight shillings railway fare, a + shilling for something to eat to-night and a shilling for something in the + morning. But I haven’t the ten shillings. So that’s why.” + </p> + <p> + “If I give you the ten shillings what assurance have I that you will + not go and get drunk on it?” + </p> + <p> + “None at all. I have not asked you for ten shillings, nor for one. I + have simply answered your question.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true. I will give you a pound if you will take it, and so + if unfortunately you spent half of it in cheering yourself, you will still + have enough left to get that job. What is the job?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a carpenter.” + </p> + <p> + “You are welcome to the pound.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take it gladly. But, mind you, I am not a beggar. I will + take it if you give me your address, so that I may send it back to you + when I earn it.” + </p> + <p> + By this time Bradley had come down on the pavement. The other man laughed + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot agree to that. You are welcome to the money. More if you + like. I merely doubled the sum you mentioned to provide for anything + unseen.” + </p> + <p> + “Unless you let me return it, I will not take the money.” + </p> + <p> + “I have perfect confidence in your honesty. If I had not, I would + not offer the money. I cannot give you my address, or, rather, I will not. + If you will pay the pound to some charity or will give it to someone who + is in need, I am more than satisfied. If you give it to the right man and + tell him to do the same, the pound will do more good than ever it will in + my pocket or in my usual way of spending it.” + </p> + <p> + “But how are you to know I will do that?” + </p> + <p> + “I am considered rather a good judge of men. I am certain you will + do what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll take the money. I doubt if there is anyone in London + to-night who needs it much worse than I do.” + </p> + <p> + Bradley looked after the disappearing figure of the man who had befriended + him. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen that man somewhere before,” he said to himself. + But in that he was wrong. He hadn’t. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Wealth is most unevenly and most unfairly divided. All of us admit that, + but few of us agree about the remedy. Some of the best minds of the + century have wrestled with this question in vain. “The poor ye have + always with you” is as true to-day as it was 1800 years ago. Where + so many are in doubt, it is perhaps a comfort to meet men who have no + uncertainty as to the cause and the remedy. Such a body of men met in a + back room off Soho Square. + </p> + <p> + “We are waiting for you, Bradley,” said the chairman, as the + carpenter took his place and the doors were locked. He looked better than + he had done a year before on the Thames embankment. + </p> + <p> + “I know I’m late, but I couldn’t help it. They are + rushing things at the exhibition grounds. The time is short now, and they + are beginning to be anxious for fear everything will not be ready in time.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it,” said one of the small group, “we are + slaves and must be late or early as our so-called masters choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there is extra pay,” said Bradley with a smile, as he + took a seat. + </p> + <p> + “Comrades,” said the chairman, rapping on the desk, “we + will now proceed to business. The secret committee has met and made a + resolution. After the lots are drawn it will be my task to inform the man + chosen what the job is. It is desirable that as few as possible, even + among ourselves, should know who the man is, who has drawn the marked + paper. Perhaps it may be my own good fortune to be the chosen man. One of + the papers is marked with a cross. Whoever draws that paper is to + communicate with me at my room within two days. He is to come alone. It is + commanded by the committee that no man is to look at his paper until he + leaves this room and then to examine it in secret. He is bound by his oath + to tell no one at any time whether or not he is the chosen man.” + </p> + <p> + The papers were put into a hat and each man in the room drew one. The + chairman put his in his pocket, as did the others. The doors were unlocked + and each man went to his home, if he had one. + </p> + <p> + Next evening Bradley called at the room of the chairman and said: “There + is the marked paper I drew last night.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The exhibition building was gay with bunting and was sonorous with the + sounds of a band of music. The machinery that would not stop for six + months was still motionless, for it was to be started in an hour’s + time by His Highness. His Highness and suite had not yet arrived but the + building was crowded by a well-dressed throng of invited guests—the + best in the land as far as fame, title or money was concerned. Underneath + the grand stand where His Highness and the distinguished guests were to + make speeches and where the finger of nobility was to press the electric + button, Bradley walked anxiously about, with the same haggard look on his + face that was there the night he thought of slipping into the Thames. The + place underneath was a wilderness of beams and braces. Bradley’s + wooden tool chest stood on the ground against one of the timbers. The + foremen came through and struck a beam or a brace here and there. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is all right,” he said to Bradley. “There + will be no trouble, even if it was put up in a hurry, and in spite of the + strain that will be on it to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Bradley was not so sure of that, but he said nothing. When the foreman + left him alone, he cautiously opened the lid of his tool chest and removed + the carpenter’s apron which covered something in the bottom. This + something was a small box with a clockwork arrangement and a miniature + uplifted hammer that hung like the sword of Damocles over a little copper + cap. He threw the apron over it again, closed the lid of the chest, leaned + against one of the timbers, folded his arms and waited. + </p> + <p> + Presently there was a tremendous cheer and the band struck up. “He + is coming,” said Bradley to himself, closing his lips tighter. + “Carpenter,” cried the policeman putting in his head through + the little wooden door at the foot of the stage, “come here, quick. + You can get a splendid sight of His Highness as he comes up the passage.” + Bradley walked to the opening and gazed at the distinguished procession + coming toward him. Suddenly he grasped the arm of the policeman like a + vice. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that man in the robes—at the head of the procession?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know? That is His Highness.” + </p> + <p> + Bradley gasped for breath. He recognized His Highness as the man he had + met on the embankment. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he said to the policeman, who looked at him + curiously. Then he went under the grand stand among the beams and braces + and leaned against one of the timbers with knitted brows. + </p> + <p> + After a few moments he stepped to his chest, pulled off the apron and + carefully lifted out the machine. With a quick jerk he wrenched off the + little hammer and flung it from him. The machinery inside whirred for a + moment with a soft purr like a clock running down. He opened the box and + shook out into his apron a substance like damp sawdust. He seemed puzzled + for a moment what to do with it. Finally he took it out and scattered it + along the grass-grown slope of a railway cutting. Then he returned to his + tool chest, took out a chisel and grimly felt its edge with his thumb. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + It was admitted on all hands that His Highness never made a better speech + in his life than on the occasion of the opening of that exhibition. He + touched lightly on the country’s unexampled prosperity, of which the + marvelous collection within those walls was an indication. He alluded to + the general contentment that reigned among the classes to whose handiwork + was due the splendid examples of human skill there exhibited. His Highness + was thankful that peace and contentment reigned over the happy land and he + hoped they would long continue so to reign. Then there were a good many + light touches of humor in the discourse— touches that are so + pleasing when they come from people in high places. In fact, the chairman + said at the club afterwards (confidentially, of course) that the man who + wrote His Highness’s speeches had in that case quite outdone + himself. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + The papers had very full accounts of the opening of the exhibition next + morning, and perhaps because these graphic articles occupied so much + space, there was so little room for the announcement about the man who + committed suicide. The papers did not say where the body was found, except + that it was near the exhibition buildings, and His Highness never knew + that he made that excellent speech directly over the body of a dead man. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RINGAMY’S CONVERT. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Johnson Ringamy, the author, sat in his library gazing idly out of the + window. The view was very pleasant, and the early morning sun brought out + in strong relief the fresh greenness of the trees that now had on their + early spring suits of foliage. Mr. Ringamy had been a busy man, but now, + if he cared to take life easy, he might do so, for few books had had the + tremendous success of his latest work. Mr. Ringamy was thinking about + this, when the door opened, and a tall, intellectual-looking young man + entered from the study that communicated with the library. He placed on + the table the bunch of letters he had in his hand, and, drawing up a + chair, opened a blank notebook that had, between the leaves, a lead pencil + sharpened at both ends. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Mr. Scriver,” said the author, also hitching up + his chair towards the table. He sighed as he did so, for the fair spring + prospect from the library window was much more attractive than the task of + answering an extensive correspondence. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a large mail this morning, Scriver?” + </p> + <p> + “A good-sized one, sir. Many of them, however, are notes asking for + your autograph.” + </p> + <p> + “Enclose stamps, do they?” + </p> + <p> + “Most of them, sir; those that did not, I threw in the waste basket.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right. And as to the autographs you might write them this + afternoon, if you have time.” + </p> + <p> + “I have already done so, sir. I flatter myself that even your most + intimate friend could not tell my version of your autograph from your own.” + </p> + <p> + As he said this, the young man shoved towards the author a letter which he + had written, and Mr. Ringamy looked at it critically. + </p> + <p> + “Very good, Scriver, very good indeed. In fact, if I were put in the + witness-box I am not sure that I would be able to swear that this was not + my signature. What’s this you have said in the body of the letter + about sentiment? Not making me write anything sentimental, I hope. Be + careful, my boy, I don’t want the newspapers to get hold of anything + that they could turn into ridicule. They are too apt to do that sort of + thing if they get half a chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think you will find that all right,” said the young + man; “still I thought it best to submit it to you before sending it + off. You see the lady who writes has been getting up a ‘Ringamy Club’ + in Kalamazoo, and she asks you to give her an autographic sentiment which + they will cherish as the motto of the club. So I wrote the sentence, + ‘All classes of labor should have equal compensation.’ If that + won’t do, I can easily change it.’ + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that will do first rate—first rate.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is awful rot, but I thought it would please the + feminine mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Awful <i>what</i> did you say, Mr. Scriver?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, slush—if that expresses it better. Of course, you don’t + believe any such nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Johnson Ringamy frowned as he looked at his secretary. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I understand you,” he said, at last. + </p> + <p> + “Well, look here, Mr. Ringamy, speaking now, not as a paid servant + to his master, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Scriver, I won’t have any talk like that. There is no + master or servant idea between us. There oughtn’t to be between + anybody. All men are free and equal.” + </p> + <p> + “They are in theory, and in my eye, as I might say if I wanted to + make it more expressive.” + </p> + <p> + “Scriver, I cannot congratulate you on your expressive language, if + I may call it so. But we are wandering from the argument. You were going + to say that speaking as——Well, go on.” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to say that, speaking as one reasonably sensible man to + another, without any gammon about it; don’t you think it is rank + nonsense to hold that one class of labor should be as well compensated as + another. Honestly now?” + </p> + <p> + The author sat back in his chair and gazed across the table at his + secretary. Finally, he said: + </p> + <p> + “My dear Scriver, you can’t really mean what you say. You know + that I hold that all classes of labor should have exactly the same + compensation. The miner, the blacksmith, the preacher, the postal clerk, + the author, the publisher, the printer—yes, the man who sweeps out + the office, or who polishes boots, should each share alike, if this world + were what it should be—yes, and what it <i>will</i> be. Why, + Scriver, you surely couldn’t have read my book——” + </p> + <p> + “Read it? why, hang it, I <i>wrote</i> it.” + </p> + <p> + “You wrote it? The deuce you did! I always thought I was the author + of ——” + </p> + <p> + “So you are. But didn’t I take it all down in shorthand, and + didn’t I whack it out on the type-writer, and didn’t I go over + the proof sheets with you. And yet you ask me if I have read it!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, quite right, I see what you mean. Well, if you paid as + much attention to the arguments as you did to the mechanical production of + the book, I should think you would not ask if I really meant what I said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I suppose you meant it all right enough—in a way—in + theory, perhaps, but——” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, allow me to say that a theory which is not practical, + is simply no theory at all. The great success of ‘Gazing Upward,’ + has been due to the fact that it is an eminently practical work. The + nationalization of everything is not a matter of theory. The ideas + advocated in that book, can be seen at work at any time. Look at the Army, + look at the Post Office.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all right, looking at things in bulk. Let us come + down to practical details. Detail is the real test of any scheme. Take + this volume, ‘Gazing Upward.’ Now, may I ask how much this + book has netted you up to date?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know exactly. Somewhere in the neighborhood of + £20,000.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well then. Now let us look for a moment at the method by which + that book was produced. You walked up and down this room with your hands + behind your back, and dictated chapter after chapter, and I sat at this + table taking it all down in shorthand. Then you went out and took the air + while I industriously whacked it out on the type-writer.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn’t say ‘whacked,’ Scriver. That’s + twice you’ve used it.” + </p> + <p> + “All right:—typographical error—For ‘whacked’ + read ‘manipulated.’ Then you looked over the type-written + pages, and I erased and wrote in and finally got out a perfect copy. Now I + worked as hard—probably harder—than you did, yet the success + of that book was entirely due to you, and not to me. Therefore it is quite + right that you should get £20,000 and that I should get two pounds a week. + Come now, isn’t it? Speaking as a man of common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking exactly in that way I say no it is not right. If the world + were properly ruled the compensation of author and secretary would have + been exactly the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, if you go so far as that,” replied the Secretary, + “I have nothing more to say.” + </p> + <p> + The author laughed, and the two men bent their energies to the + correspondence. When the task was finished, Scriver said: + </p> + <p> + “I would like to get a couple of days off, Mr. Ringamy. I have some + private business to attend to.” + </p> + <p> + “When could you get back?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll report to you on Thursday morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then. Not later than Thursday. I think I’ll take a + couple of days off myself.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + On Thursday morning Mr. Johnson Ringamy sat in his library looking out of + the window, but the day was not as pleasant as when he last gazed at the + hills, and the woods, and green fields. A wild spring storm lashed the + landscape, and rattled the raindrops against the pane. Mr. Ringamy waited + for some time and then opened the study door and looked in. The little + room was empty. He rang the bell, and the trim servant-girl appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Scriver come in yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, he haven’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the rain has kept him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Scriver said that when you come back, sir, there was a letter + on the table as was for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, so there is. Thank you, that will do.” + </p> + <p> + The author opened the letter and read as follows: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“MY DEAR MR. RINGAMY,—Your arguments the other day fully convinced me +that you were right, and I was wrong (“Ah! I thought they would,” + murmured the author). I have therefore taken a step toward putting your +theories into practice. The scheme is an old one in commercial life, +but new in its present application, so much so that I fear it will find +no defenders except yourself, and I trust that now when I am far away +(“Dear me, what does this mean!” cried the author) you will show any +doubters that I acted on the principles which will govern the world +when the theories of ‘Gazing Upward’ are put into practice. For fear +that all might not agree with you at present, I have taken the +precaution of going to that undiscovered country, from whose bourne no +extradition treaty forces the traveler to return—sunny Spain. You said +you could not tell my rendition of your signature from your own. +Neither could the bank cashier. My exact mutation of your signature has +enabled me to withdraw £10,000 from your bank account. Half the +profits, you know. You can send future accumulations, for the book will +continue to sell, to the address of + “ADAM SCRIVER. +<i>“Poste Restant, Madrid, Spain”</i> +</pre> + <p> + Mr. Ringamy at once put the case in the hands of the detectives, where it + still remains. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SLIPPERY CUSTOMER. + </h2> + <p> + When John Armstrong stepped off the train at the Union Station, in + Toronto, Canada, and walked outside, a small boy accosted him. + </p> + <p> + “Carry your valise up for you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” said Mr. Armstrong. + </p> + <p> + “Carry it up for ten cents, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Take it up for five cents, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Get out of my way, will you?” + </p> + <p> + The boy got out of the way, and John Armstrong carried the valise himself. + </p> + <p> + There was nearly half a million dollars in it, so Mr. Armstrong thought it + best to be his own porter. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In the bay window of one of the handsomest residences in Rochester, New + York, sat Miss Alma Temple, waiting for her father to come home from the + bank. Mr. Horace Temple was one of the solid men of Rochester, and was + president of the Temple National Bank. Although still early in December, + the winter promised to be one of the most severe for many years, and the + snow lay crisp and hard on the streets, but not enough for sleighing. It + was too cold for snow, the weatherwise said. Suddenly Miss Alma drew back + from the window with a quick flush on her face that certainly was not + caused by the coming of her father. A dapper young man sprang lightly up + the steps, and pressed the electric button at the door. When the young man + entered the room a moment later Miss Alma was sitting demurely by the open + fire. He advanced quickly toward her, and took both her outstretched hands + in his. Then, furtively looking around the room, he greeted her still more + affectionately, in a manner that the chronicler of these incidents, is not + bound to particularize. However, the fact may be mentioned that whatever + resistance the young woman thought fit to offer was of the faintest and + most futile kind, and so it will be understood, at the beginning, that + these two young persons had a very good understanding with each other. + </p> + <p> + “You seem surprised to see me,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Walter, I understood that you left last time with some + energetically expressed resolutions never to darken our doors again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, my dear, I am sometimes a little hasty; and, in + fact, the weather is so dark nowadays, anyhow, that a little extra + darkness does not amount to much, and so I thought I would take the risk + of darkening them once more.” + </p> + <p> + “But I also understood that my father made you promise, or that you + promised voluntarily, not to see me again without his permission?” + </p> + <p> + “Not voluntarily. Far from it. Under compulsion, I assure you. But I + didn’t come to see you at all. That’s where you are mistaken. + The seeing you is merely an accident, which I have done my best to avoid. + Fact! The girl said, ‘Won’t you walk into the drawing-room,’ + and naturally I did so. Never expected to find you here. I thought I saw a + young lady at the window as I came up, but I got such a momentary glimpse + that I might have been mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will leave you and not interrupt——” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. Now I beg of you not to leave on my account, Alma. You + know I would not put you to any trouble for the world.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind, I am sure, Mr. Brown.” + </p> + <p> + “I am indeed, Miss Temple. All my friends admit that. But now that + you are here—by the way, I came to see Mr. Temple. Is he at home?” + </p> + <p> + “I am expecting him every moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, I’m disappointed; but I guess I will bear up for + awhile— until he comes, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought your last interview with him was not so pleasant that you + would so soon seek another.” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, Alma, we both lost our tempers a bit, and no good ever + comes of that. You can’t conduct business in a heat, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then the asking of his daughter’s hand was business—a + mere business proposition, was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I confess he put it that way—very strongly, too. Of + course, with me there would have been pleasure mixed with it if he had—but + he didn’t. See here, Alma—tell me frankly (of course he talked + with you about it) what objection he has to me anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you consider yourself such a desirable young man that it + astonishes you greatly that any person should have any possible objection + to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come now, Alma; don’t hit a fellow when he’s down, + you know. I don’t suppose I have more conceit than the average young + man; but then, on the other hand, I am not such a fool, despite + appearances, as not to know that I am considered by some people as quite + an eligible individual. I am not a pauper exactly, and your father knows + that. I don’t think I have many very bad qualities. I don’t + get drunk; I don’t —oh, I could give quite a list of the + things I don’t do.” + </p> + <p> + “You are certainly frank enough, my eligible young man. Still you + must not forget that my papa is considered quite an eligible + father-in-law, if it comes to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, I admit it. How could it be otherwise when he has + such a charming daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I don’t mean that, Walter. You were speaking of + wealth and so was I. Perhaps we had better change the subject.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way, that reminds me of what I came to see you about. What + do——” + </p> + <p> + “To see me? I thought you came to see my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes—certainly—I did come to see him, of course, but + in case I saw you, I thought I would ask you for further particulars in + the case. I have asked you the question but you have evaded the answer. + You did not tell me why he is so prejudiced against me. Why did he receive + me in such a gruff manner when I spoke to him about it? It is not a + criminal act to ask a man for his daughter. It is not, I assure you. I + looked up the law on the subject, and a young friend of mine, who is a + barrister, says there is no statute in the case made and provided. The law + of the State of New York does not recognize my action as against the peace + and prosperity of the commonwealth. Well, he received me as if I had been + caught robbing the bank. Now I propose to know what the objection is. I am + going to hear——” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Here is papa now.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Alma quickly left the room, and met her father in the hall. Mr. Brown + stood with his hands in his pockets and his back to the fire. He heard the + gruff voice of Mr. Temple say, apparently in answer to some information + given him by his daughter: “Is he? What does he want?” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s pause, and then the same voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I will see him in the library in a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow the courage of young Mr. Brown sank as he heard the banker’s + voice, and the information he had made up his mind to demand with some + hauteur, he thought he would ask, perhaps, in a milder manner. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brown brightened up as the door opened, but it was not Miss Alma who + came in. The servant said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Temple is in the library, sir. Will you come this way!” + </p> + <p> + He followed and found the banker seated at his library table, on which he + had just placed some legal-looking papers, bound together with a thick + rubber band. It was evident that his work did not stop when he left the + bank. Young Brown noticed that Mr. Temple looked careworn and haggard, and + that his manner was very different from what it had been on the occasion + of the last interview. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Mr. Brown. I am glad you called. I was on the point + of writing to you, but the subject of our talk the other night was crowded + from my mind by more important matters.” + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Brown thought bitterly that there ought not to be matters more + important to a father than his daughter’s happiness, but he had the + good sense not to say so. + </p> + <p> + “I spoke to you on that occasion with a—in a manner that was—well, + hardly excusable, and I wish to say that I am sorry I did so. What I had + to state might have been stated with more regard for your feelings.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I hope, Mr. Temple, that you have changed your mind with——” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. What I said then—that is, the substance of what I + said, not the manner of saying it—I still adhere to.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what objection you have to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. I have the same objection that I have to the majority of + the society young men of the present day. If I make inquiries about you, + what do I find? That you are a noted oarsman—that you have no + profession—that your honors at college consisted in being captain of + the football team, and——” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, the baseball club.” + </p> + <p> + “Same thing, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite different, I assure you, Mr. Temple.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is the same to me at any rate. Now, in my time young men + had a harder row to hoe, and they hoed it. I am what they call a self-made + man and probably I have a harsher opinion of the young men of the present + day than I should have. But if I had a son I would endeavor to have him + know how to do something, and then I would see that he did it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am obliged to you for stating your objection, Mr. Temple. I have + taken my degree in Harvard law school, but I have never practiced, + because, as the little boy said, I didn’t have to. Perhaps if some + one had spoken to me as you have done I would have pitched in and gone to + work. It is not too late yet. Will you give me a chance? The position of + cashier in your bank, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + The effect of these apparently innocent words on Mr. Temple was startling. + He sprang to his feet and brought down his clenched fist on the table with + a vehemence that made young Mr. Brown jump. “What do you mean, sir?” + he cried, sternly. “What do you mean by saying such a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I—I—I—mean——” stammered + Brown, but he could get no further. He thought the old man had suddenly + gone crazy. He glared across the library table at Brown as if the next + instant he would spring at his throat. Then the haggard look came into his + face again, he passed his hand across his brow, and sank into his chair + with a groan. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” said Brown, approaching him, “what is the + matter? Is there anything I can——” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, please,” answered the banker, melancholy. “You + will excuse me I hope, I am very much troubled. I did not intend to speak + of it, but some explanation is due to you. A month from now, if you are + the kind of man that most of your fellows are, you will not wish to marry + my daughter. There is every chance that at that time the doors of my bank + will be closed.” + </p> + <p> + “You astonish me, sir. I thought——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and so every one thinks. I have seldom in my life trusted the + wrong man, but this time I have done so, and the one mistake seems likely + to obliterate all that I have succeeded in doing in a life of hard work.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can be of any financial assistance I will be glad to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “How much?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know—50,000 dollars perhaps or——” + </p> + <p> + “I must have 250,000 dollars before the end of this month.” + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred and fifty thousand!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. William L. Staples, the cashier of our bank, is now in + Canada with half a million of the bank funds. No one knows it but myself + and one or two of the directors. It is generally supposed that he has gone + to Washington on a vacation.” + </p> + <p> + “But can’t you put detectives on his track?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Then the theft would be made public at once. The papers + would be full of it. There might be a run on the bank, and we would have + to close the doors the next day. To put the detectives on his track would + merely mean bringing disaster on our own heads. Staples is quite safe, and + he knows it. Thanks to an idiotic international arrangement he is as free + from danger of arrest in Canada as you are here. It is impossible to + extradite him for stealing.” + </p> + <p> + “But I think there is a law against bringing stolen money into + Canada.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps there is. It would not help us at the present moment. We + must compromise with him, if we can find him in time. Of course, even if + the bank closed, we would pay everything when there was time to realize. + But that is not the point. It would mean trouble and disaster, and would + probably result in other failures all through one man’s rascality.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it all resolves itself to this. Staples must be found quietly + and negotiated with. Mr. Temple, let me undertake the finding of him, and + the negotiating, also, if you will trust me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never saw him in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Here is his portrait. He is easily recognized from that. You couldn’t + mistake him. He is probably living at Montreal under an assumed name. He + may have sailed for Europe. You will say nothing of this to anybody?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. I will leave on to-night’s train for Montreal, + or on the first train that goes.” + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Brown slipped the photograph into his pocket and shook hands + with the banker. Somehow his confident, alert bearing inspired the old man + with more hope than he would have cared to admit, for, as a general thing, + he despised the average young man. + </p> + <p> + “How long can you hold out if this does not become public?” + </p> + <p> + “For a month at least; probably for two or three.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t expect to hear from me too soon. I shall not risk + writing. If there is anything to communicate, I will come myself.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very good of you to take my trouble on your shoulders like + this. I am very much obliged to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a philanthropist, Mr. Temple,” replied young Brown. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + When young Mr. Brown stepped off the train at the Central Station in + Toronto, a small boy accosted him. + </p> + <p> + “Carry your valise up for you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Brown, handing it to him. + </p> + <p> + “How much do I owe you?” he asked at the lobby of the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-five cents,” said the boy promptly, and he got it. + </p> + <p> + Brown registered on the books of the hotel as John A. Walker, of Montreal. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Mr. Walter Brown, of Rochester, was never more discouraged in his life + than at the moment he wrote on the register the words, “John A. + Walker, Montreal.” He had searched Montreal from one end to the + other, but had found no trace of the man for whom he was looking. Yet, + strange to say, when he raised his eyes from the register they met the + face of William L. Staples, ex-cashier. It was lucky for Brown that + Staples was looking at the words he had written, and not at himself, or he + would have noticed Brown’s involuntary start of surprise, and flush + of pleasure. It was also rather curious that Mr. Brown had a dozen schemes + in his mind for getting acquainted with Staples when he met him, and yet + that the first advance should be made by Staples himself. + </p> + <p> + “You are from Montreal,” said Mr. Staples, alias John + Armstrong. + </p> + <p> + “That’s my town,” said Mr. Brown. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a place is it in winter? Pretty lively?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. Good deal of a winter city, Montreal is. How do you mean, + business or sport?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, both. Generally where there’s lots of business there’s + lots of fun.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s so,” assented Brown. He did not wish to + prolong the conversation. He had some plans to make, so he followed his + luggage up to his room. It was evident that he would have to act quickly. + Staples was getting tired of Toronto. + </p> + <p> + Two days after Brown had his plans completed. He met Staples one evening + in the smoking-room of the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Think of going to Montreal?” asked Brown. + </p> + <p> + “I did think of it. I don’t know, though. Are you in business + there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If you go, I could give you some letters of introduction to a + lot of fellows who would show you some sport, that is, if you care for + snow-shoeing, toboganning, and the like of that.” + </p> + <p> + “I never went in much for athletics,” said Staples. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care much for exertion myself,” answered Brown. + “I come up here every winter for some ice-yachting. That’s my + idea of sport. I own one of the fastest ice-boats on the bay. Ever been + out?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t. I’ve seen them at it a good deal. Pretty + cold work such weather as we’ve been having, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so. Better come out with me tomorrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t care if I do.” + </p> + <p> + The next day and the next they spun around the bay on the ice-boat. Even + Staples, who seemed to be tired of almost everything, liked the swiftness + and exhilaration of the iceboat. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, Brown walked into the bar of the hotel, where he found + Staples standing. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Armstrong.” he cried, slapping that gentleman on + the shoulder. “Are you in for a bit of sport? It’s a nice + moonlight night, and I’m going to take a spin down to Hamilton to + meet some chaps, and we can come back on the iceboat, or if you think it + too late, you can stay over, and come back on the train.” + </p> + <p> + “Hamilton? That’s up the lake, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, just a nice run from here. Come along—I counted on you.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later they were skimming along the frozen surface of the lake. + </p> + <p> + “Make yourself warm and snug,” said Brown. “That’s + what the buffalo robes are for. I must steer, so I have to keep in the + open. If I were you I’d wrap up in those robes and go to sleep. I’ll + wake you when we’re there.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” answered Staples. “That’s not a bad + idea.” + </p> + <p> + “General George Washington!” said young Brown to himself. + “This is too soft a snap altogether. I’m going to run him + across the lake like a lamb. Before he opens his eyes we’ll have + skimmed across the frozen lake, and he’ll find himself in the States + again when he wakes up. The only thing now to avoid are the air-holes and + ice-hills, and I’m all right.” + </p> + <p> + He had been over the course before and knew pretty well what was ahead of + him. The wind was blowing stiffly straight up the lake and the boat + silently, and swifter than the fastest express, was flying from Canada and + lessening the distance to the American shore. + </p> + <p> + “How are you getting along, Walker,” cried Staples, rousing + himself up. “First rate,” answered Brown. “We’ll + soon be there, Staples.” + </p> + <p> + That unfortunate slip of the tongue almost cost young Mr. Brown his life. + He had been, thinking of the man under his own name, and the name had come + out unconsciously. He did not even notice it himself in time to prepare, + and the next instant the thief flung himself upon him and jammed his head + against the iron rod that guided the rudder, with such a force that the + rudder stayed in its place and the boat flew along the ice without a + swerve. + </p> + <p> + “You scoundrel!” roared the bank-robber. “That’s + your game, is it? By the gods, I’ll teach you a lesson in the + detective business!” + </p> + <p> + Athlete as young Brown was, the suddenness of the attack, and the fact + that Staples clutched both hands round his neck and had his knee on his + breast, left him as powerless as an infant. Even then he did not realize + what had caused the robber to guess his position. + </p> + <p> + “For God’s sake, let me up!” gasped Brown. “We’ll + be into an air-hole and drowned in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll risk it, you dog! till I’ve choked the breath out + of your body.” Brown wriggled his head away from the rudder iron, + hoping that the boat would slew around, but it kept its course. He + realized that if he was to save his life he would have to act promptly. He + seemed to feel his tongue swell in his parched mouth. His strength was + gone and his throat was in an iron vice. He struck out wildly with his + feet and one fortunate kick sent the rudder almost at right angles. + </p> + <p> + Instantly the boat flashed around into the wind. Even if a man is prepared + for such a thing, it takes all his nerve and strength to keep him on an + iceboat. Staples was not prepared. He launched head first into space and + slid for a long distance on the rough ice. Brown was also flung on the ice + and lay for a moment gasping for breath. Then he gathered himself + together, and slipping his hand under his coat, pulled out his revolver. + He thought at first that Staples was shamming, but a closer examination of + him showed that the fall on the ice had knocked him senseless. + </p> + <p> + There was only one thing that young Mr. Brown was very anxious to know. He + wanted to know where the money was. He had played the part of private + detective well in Toronto, after the very best French style, and had + searched the room of Staples in his absence, but he knew the money was not + there nor in his valise. He knew equally well that the funds were in some + safe deposit establishment in the city, but where he could not find out. + He had intended to work on Staples’ fears of imprisonment when once + he had him safe on the other side of the line. But now that the man was + insensible, he argued that it was a good time to find whether or not he + had a record of the place of deposit in his pocket-book. He found no such + book in his pockets. In searching, however, he heard the rustling of paper + apparently in the lining of his coat. Then he noticed how thickly it was + padded. The next moment he had it ripped open, and a glance showed him + that it was lined with bonds. Both coat and vest were padded in this way—the + vest being filled with Bank of England notes, so the chances were that + Staples had meditated a tour in Europe. The robber evidently put no trust + in Safe Deposits nor banks. Brown flung the thief over on his face, after + having unbuttoned coat and vest, doubled back his arms and pulled off + these garments. His own, Brown next discarded, and with some difficulty + got them on the fallen man and then put on the clothes of mammon. + </p> + <p> + “This is what I call rolling in wealth.” said Brown to + himself. He admitted that he felt decidedly better after the change of + clothing, cold as it was. + </p> + <p> + Buttoning his own garments on the prostrate man, Brown put a flask of + liquor to his lips and speedily revived him. Staples sat on the ice in a + dazed manner, and passed his hand across his brow. In the cold gleam of + the moonlight he saw the shining barrel of Brown’s revolver “covering” + him. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all up, Mr. Staples. Get on board the iceboat.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to take me to?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll let you go when we come to the coast if you tell me + where the money is.” + </p> + <p> + “You know you are guilty of the crime of kidnapping,” said Mr. + Staples, apparently with the object of gaining time. “So you are in + some danger of the law yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a question that can be discussed later on. You came + voluntarily, don’t forget that fact. Where’s the money?” + </p> + <p> + “It is on deposit in the Bank of Commerce.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, here’s paper and a stylographic pen, if the ink isn’t + frozen— no, it’s all right—write a cheque quickly for + the amount payable to bearer. Hurry up, or the ink will freeze.” + </p> + <p> + There was a smile of satisfaction on the face of Staples as he wrote the + check. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, with a counterfeited sigh. “That is + the amount.” + </p> + <p> + The check was for 480,000 dollars. + </p> + <p> + When they came under the shadow of the American coast, Brown ordered his + passenger off. + </p> + <p> + “You can easily reach land from here, and the walk will do you good. + I’m going further up the lake.” + </p> + <p> + When Staples was almost at the land he shouted through the clear night + air: “Don’t spend the money recklessly when you get it, + Walker.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll take care of it, Staples,” shouted back young + Brown. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Brown sprang lightly up the steps of the Temple mansion, + Rochester, and pressed the electric button. + </p> + <p> + “Has Mr. Temple gone to the bank yet?” he asked the servant. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; he is in the library.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Don’t trouble. I know the way.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Temple looked around as the young man entered, and, seeing who it was, + sprang to his feet with a look of painful expectancy on his face. “There’s + a little present for you,” said Mr. Brown, placing a package on the + table. “Four hundred and seventy-eight thousand: Bank of England + notes and United States bonds.” The old man grasped his hand, strove + to speak, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + People wondered why young Mr. and Mrs. Brown went to Toronto on their + wedding tour in the depth of winter. It was so very unusual, don’t + you know. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SIXTH BENCH. + </h2> + <p> + She was in earnest; he was not. When that state of things exists anything + may happen. The occurrence may be commonplace, comic, or tragic, depending + on the temperament and experience of the woman. In this instance the + result was merely an appointment—which both of them kept. + </p> + <p> + Hector McLane came to Paris with noble resolutions, a theory of color, and + a small allowance. Paris played havoc with all of these. He was engaged to + a nice girl at home, who believed him destined to become a great painter; + a delusion which McLane shared. + </p> + <p> + He entered with great zest into the life of a Parisian art student, but + somehow the experience did not equal his anticipations. What he had read + in books—poetry and prose—had thrown a halo around the Latin + Quarter, and he was therefore disappointed in finding the halo missing. + The romance was sordid and mercenary, and after a few months of it he + yearned for something better. + </p> + <p> + In Paris you may have nearly everything—except the something better. + It exists, of course, but it rarely falls in the way of the usually + impecunious art student. Yet it happened that, as luck was not against the + young man, he found it when he had abandoned the search for it. + </p> + <p> + McLane’s theory was that art had become too sombre. The world was + running overmuch after the subdued in color. He wanted to be able to paint + things as they are, and was not to be deterred if his pictures were called + gaudy. He obtained permission to set up his easel in the Church of Notre + Dame, and in the dim light there, he endeavored to place on canvas some + semblance of the splendor of color that came through the huge rose window + high above him. He was discouraged to see how opaque the colors in the + canvas were as compared with the translucent hues of the great window. As + he leaned back with a sigh of defeat, his wandering eyes met, for one + brief instant, something more beautiful than the stained glass, as the + handiwork of God must always be more beautiful than the handiwork of man. + The fleeting glimpse was of a melting pair of dark limpid eyes, which, + meeting his, were instantly veiled, and then he had a longer view of the + sweet face they belonged to. It was evident that the young girl had been + admiring his work, which was more than he could hope to have the professor + at Julien’s do. + </p> + <p> + Lack of assurance was never considered, even by his dearest friend, to be + among McLane’s failings. He rose from his painting stool, bowed and + asked her if she would not sit down for a moment; she could see the— + the—painting so much better. The girl did not answer, but turned a + frightened look upon him, and fled under the wing of her kneeling duenna, + who had not yet finished her devotions. It was evident that the prayers of + the girl had been briefer than those of the old woman in whose charge she + was. Where the need is greatest the prayer is often the shortest. McLane + had one more transitory glimpse of those dark eyes as he held open the + swinging door. The unconscious woman and the conscious girl passed out of + the church. + </p> + <p> + This was how it began. + </p> + <p> + The painting of the colored window of Notre Dame now occupied almost all + the time at the disposal of Hector McLane. No great work is ever + accomplished without unwearied perseverance. It was remarkable that the + realization of this truth came upon him just after he had definitely made + up his mind to abandon the task. Before he allowed the swinging door to + close he had resolved to pursue his study in color. It thus happened, + incidentally, that he saw the young girl again, always at the same hour, + and always with the same companion. Once he succeeded, unnoticed by the + elder, in slipping a note into her hand, which he was pleased and + flattered to see she retained and concealed. Another day he had the joy of + having a few whispered words with her in the dim shadow of one of the + gigantic pillars. After that, progress was comparatively easy. + </p> + <p> + Her name was Yvette, he learned, and he was amused to find with what + expert dexterity a perfectly guileless and innocent little creature such + as she was, managed to elude the vigilance of the aged and experienced + woman who had her in charge. The stolen interviews usually took place in + the little park behind Notre Dame. There they sat on the bench facing the + fountain, or walked up and down on the crunching gravel under the trees. + In the afternoons they walked in the secluded part of the park, in the + shadow of the great church. It was her custom to send him dainty little + notes telling him when she expected to be in the park, giving the number + of the bench, for sometimes the duenna could not be eluded, and was seated + there with Yvette. On these occasions McLane had to content himself with + gazing from afar. + </p> + <p> + She was so much in earnest that the particular emotion which occupied the + place of conscience in McLane’s being, was troubled. He thought of + the nice girl at home, and fervently hoped nothing of this would ever + reach her ears. No matter how careful a man is, chance sometimes plays him + a scurvy trick. McLane remembered instances, and regretted the world was + so small. Sometimes a cry of recognition from one on the pavement to a + comrade in the park, shouted through the iron railings, sent a shiver + through McLane. Art students had an uncomfortable habit of roaming + everywhere, and they were boisterous in hailing an acquaintance. Besides, + they talked, and McLane dreaded having his little intrigue the joke of the + school. At any moment an objectionable art student might drop into the + park to sketch the fountain, or the nurses and children, or the back of + the cathedral at one end of the park, or even the low, gloomy, unimposing + front of the Morgue at the other. + </p> + <p> + He was an easy-going young fellow, who hated trouble, and perhaps, knowing + that the inevitable day of reckoning was approaching, this accounted for + the somewhat tardy awakening of his conscience. + </p> + <p> + He sometimes thought it would be best simply to leave Paris without any + explanation, but he remembered that she knew his address, having written + to him often, and that by going to the school she could easily find out + where his home was. So if there was to be a scene it was much better that + it should take place in Paris, rather than where the nice girl lived. + </p> + <p> + He nerved himself up many times to make the explanation and bring down the + avalanche, but when the time came he postponed it. But the inevitable + ultimately arrives. He had some difficulty at first in getting her to + understand the situation clearly, but when he at last succeeded there was + no demonstration. She merely kept her eyes fixed on the gravel and gently + withdrew her hand from his. To his surprise she did not cry, nor even + answer him, but walked silently to and fro with downcast eyes in the + shadow of the church. No one, he said, would ever occupy the place in his + heart that she held. He was engaged to the other girl, but he had not + known what love was until he met Yvette. He was bound to the other girl by + ties he could not break, which was quite true, because the nice girl had a + rich father. He drew such a pathetic picture of the loveless life he must + in the future lead, that a great wave of self-pity surged up within him + and his voice quavered. He felt almost resentful that she should take the + separation in such an unemotional manner. When a man gets what he most + desires he is still unsatisfied. This was exactly the way he had hoped she + would take it. + </p> + <p> + All things come to an end, even explanations. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye, Yvette,” he said, reaching out his hand. She + hesitated an instant, then without looking up, placed her small palm in + his. + </p> + <p> + They stood thus for a moment under the trees, while the fountain beside + them plashed and trickled musically. The shadow of the church was slowly + creeping towards them over the gravel. The park was deserted, except by + themselves. She tried gently to withdraw her hand, which he retained. + </p> + <p> + “Have you nothing to say to me, Yvette?” he asked, with a + touch of reproach in his voice. + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. He held her fingers, which were slipping from his + grasp, and the shadow touched her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Yvette, you will at least kiss me goodbye?” + </p> + <p> + She quickly withdrew her hand from his, shook her head and turned away. He + watched her until she was out of sight, and then walked slowly towards his + rooms on the Boulevard St. Germain. His thoughts were not comfortable. He + was disappointed in Yvette. She was so clever, so witty, that he had at + least expected she would have said something cutting, which he felt he + thoroughly deserved. He had no idea she could be so heartless. Then his + thoughts turned to the nice girl at home. She, too, had elements in her + character that were somewhat bewildering to an honest young man. Her + letters for a long time had been infrequent and unsatisfactory. It couldn’t + be possible that she had heard anything. Still, there is nothing so easy + as point-blank denial, and he would see to that when he reached home. + </p> + <p> + An explanation awaited him at his rooms on the Boulevard. There was a + foreign stamp on the envelope, and it was from the nice girl. There had + been a mistake, she wrote, but happily she had discovered it before it was + too late. She bitterly reproached herself, taking three pages to do it in, + and on the fourth page he gathered that she would be married by the time + he had the letter. There appeared to be no doubt that the nice girl fully + realized how basely she had treated a talented, hard- working, aspiring, + sterling young man, but the realization had not seemingly postponed the + ringing of the wedding-bells to any appreciable extent. + </p> + <p> + Young McLane crushed the letter in his hand and used strong language, as, + indeed, he was perfectly justified in doing. He laughed a hard dry laugh + at the perfidy of woman. Then his thoughts turned towards Yvette. What a + pity it was she was not rich! Like so many other noble, talented men, he + realized he could not marry a poor woman. Suddenly it occurred to him that + Yvette might not be poor. The more he pondered over the matter the more + astonished he was that he had ever taken her poverty for granted. She + dressed richly, and that cost money in Paris. He remembered that she wore + a watch which flashed with jewels on the one occasion when he had seen it + for a moment. He wished he had postponed his explanation for one more day; + still, that was something easily remedied. He would tell her he had thrown + over the other girl for her sake. Like a pang there came to him the + remembrance that he did not know her address, nor even her family name. + Still, she would be sure to visit the little park, and he would haunt it + until she came. The haunting would give additional point to his story of + consuming love. Anyhow, nothing could be done that night. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he was overjoyed to receive a letter from Yvette, and he + was more than pleased when he read its contents. It asked for one more + meeting behind the church. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“I could not tell you to-day,” she wrote, “all I felt. To-morrow you +shall know, if you meet me. Do not fear that I will reproach you. You +will receive this letter in the morning. At twelve o’clock I shall be +waiting for you on the sixth bench on the row south of the fountain— +the sixth bench—the farthest from the church.” + “YVETTE.” + </pre> + <p> + McLane was overjoyed at his good luck. He felt that he hardly merited it. + He was early at the spot, and sat down on the last bench of the row facing + the fountain. Yvette had not yet arrived, but it was still half an hour + before the time. McLane read the morning paper and waited. At last the + bells all around him chimed the hour of twelve. She had not come. This was + unusual, but always possible. She might not have succeeded in getting + away. The quarter and then the half hour passed before McLane began to + suspect that he had been made the victim of a practical joke. He dismissed + the thought; such a thing was so unlike her. He walked around the little + park, hoping he had mistaken the row of benches. She was not there. He + read the letter again. It was plain enough—the sixth bench. He + counted the benches beginning at the church. One—two—three—four—five. + There were only five benches in the row. + </p> + <p> + As he gazed stupidly at the fifth bench a man beside him said—“That + is the bench, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” cried McLane, turning toward him, + astonished at the remark. + </p> + <p> + “It was there that the young girl was found dead this morning— + poisoned, they say.” + </p> + <p> + McLane stared at him—and then he said huskily— + </p> + <p> + “Who—was she?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody knows that—yet. We will soon know, for everybody, as + you see, is going into the Morgue. She’s the only one on the bench + to-day. Better go before the crowd gets greater. I have been twice.” + </p> + <p> + McLane sank on the seat and drew his hand across his forehead. + </p> + <p> + He knew she was waiting for him on the sixth bench—the furthest from + the church! + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FACE AND THE MASK *** + +******* This file should be named 8681-h.htm or 8681-h.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/6/8/8681 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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