Newspaper Page Text
Ealfild Be Mer
COME TO THE,
EARLY JUNE PEAS. FANCY
SWEET CORN, BARTLETTE
PEARS, CALIFORNIA PEACH ES
All kinds ot Flavorings. Candist
Crackers of all kinds, and fresAh.
Catsups, Pickles. Alince .Meat, ver
choice Apples in quart caus, Ta pioea
Vermicelii. Postum Cereal, Cigar:
Theo abet. of Groceries, and Vegeta
bles oic every variety.
The finest grades of Tea and Coffee
Housekeepers. give mne a trial ani
I will please you.
P. B. MOUZON.
Ge8,1 Hacker &So
Doors, Sash, Blinds,
Moulding and Building
CHARLESTON, S. C.
Sash Weights and Cords
Hrdware and Paints.
Window and Fancy Glass a Specialty
Do You Wani
THEN COME OR SEND TO US.
We have the best equipped Tailor
ing Establishment in the State.
High Art Clothing
solelv and we carry the best line o
Hats and Gent's Furnishings in the
Astk your most prominent men wh<
we are, and they will commend yoi
J, L DA VID & BRO,
Cor. King & Wentworth Sts.,
CHARLESTON, - S. C
THOUSANIDS SAVED BY -
This wonderful medicine posi
tively cures Consumption, Coughs
Colds, Bronchitis, Asthma, Pneu
monia, Hay Fever, Pleurisy, La
Grippe, Hoarseness, Sore Throat,
Croup and Whooping Cough.
Every bottle guaranteed. No
Cure. No Pay. Price 50.&$l.
Tri bottle free.
The R. B. Loryea Drug Store,
We promptly obtain U. S. and Foreign
-jOpposite U. S. Patent Office
a ASINTN D.C
DR. J. FRANK GEIGER,
MANNING, S. C.
'Phone No. 6.
MANNING, S. C.
. 5. sos. w. c. DUaAsT
WILSON &% DURANT,
Attorney and Counselors at Laie,
MANNING, S. C.
GIVE US A TRIAL.
MONEY TO L.OAN
1 am prepa:-ed to negotiate loan
on good real estate security, on Crel
R. 0. PURDY,
Sumter. S. C.
Bring ur Job Work to The Times offici
~,Auibo of "ntisSteps,""Robertirdy' Sennfl
Copyjrigh1401, by Cha&crles ZM. $he d
E sen aQ1Icro
t a m i
By andL M. MaSHEhDN,
a white apron came 1
up and, standing I
S- directly in front of
them, said, "What 3
'1l you have?" f
"Cigars for three," said the officer. C
And as the- man slowly moved away I
after giving the three visitors a sharp
look the officer said In answer to the I
question from Mr. Marsh: "Oh, the t
show's free. So's the lunch. But ev- c
erybody is expected to take something. (
The saloons ain't doing this for their
health nor for the love of the people, I
not if they know it." t
"What If we refuseI to buy " either E
cigars or beerH" Gordon asked, for he
had never entered one of the vaude. I
vile balls but once before and had s
then gone in to hunt for one of the
young men who had been attending I
the night classes at Hope House. His 3
knowledge of the character of the en
tertainment was gained from Ford, the
university resident. -
The officer shrugged his shoulders.
"They'd make it mighty uncBforta- C
ble for you before you got out or got i
in again. The saloon may be a social e
necessity to the poor devils in the
double deckers, but It don't furnish
social amusements withiout getting E
mighty well paid for it. It's free, but
it's expensive," said Officer Roberts.
As he f enished speaking, the bar
tender came back with the cigars and a
tray loaded with beer and whisky. The
liquor was distributed around on little
tables at which the boys and men in
the audience were mostly seated. As
the curtain went up to the music ofS
the orchestra there were about 150 in
the room and a stream of newcomers
noisily entering. Before the first song
was finished, the hail was flled to suf
As the entertainment, if It could be(
called such, went on, John Gordon's soul
was stirred deep with a red blooded l
indignation. After the first two or 1
three vulgar songs, which were fol-.
lowed by some suggestive dances, he<
sat there practically hearing and see-'
ing nothing on tphe stage. The audi
ence had become the absorbing study
for him. The people! There they were!i
His choice! To serve and to love! But
was it worth while?
The majority of the company was
composed of young men between eight-1
een and twdnty-five years of age. They
were as a type pale, listless and as
tonishingly dull of expressicn. John
Gordon was irresistibly drawn to im
agine the exact appearance .of the
rooms that these young men probably
called home. He then began to raise a1
host of questions concerning their par-1
entage, their occupations, their wages,
the amount they probably spent on the
saloon and the places they went to on
Sunday. The absolute absence of any
thing interesting or elevating in their
lives impressed him with tremendous
reality. All the churches in the city
were on the fine streets miles away.
There was not a religious institution,
with the possible exception of Hope
House, tha-t had any influence in the
lives of these apathetic, coarsened, dis
sipated young men. The vaudeville
and the saloon touched their lives, but
the church never did. Yet it was the
sinner that Jesus came to save. Was
the church realizing her responsibility
to neglect this awful swarm of youth
that bred like disease in the tenement,
and cursed God and died in the Im
pre atmosphere of these polluted
walls? God have mercy on them! Are
they more sinned against than sinning?
Can a boy or girl grow up pure in tene
ments like these we have here in this
greed smitten city? And the one social
institution that comes forward to min
ister to the social instincts is the sa
loon! It says to the tired workingman
who has no place worthy to be called
a home, "Come, enjoy a 'social glass in
a handsome, well lighted, cheerful
room!" It says to the men whose appe-I
tite Is never satisfied with ill prepared
food: "Come, enjoy a free lunch! Only
of course you will want beer or whisky
to wash it down." And without saying.
this to the man, only to itself, the sa
looni, with devilish foresight, reckons
on getting back by means of the free
lunch 100 per cent in the actual sale of
drinks. Truly Officer Roberts is right
when he says, "Its free, but it's expen
It says to the young man who has
no healthy outlet for physical life be
cause he Is borni without playgrounds
and without home pleasures: "-Come!
In the vaudeville I will' amuse you.
The songs and the dances will be sug
gestive, and the young women who
-furnish the amusement are fallen, but
vice is a necessity to civilization, and
we stand ready to furnish what the
church and other religious organiza
tions will never give you!"
"Surely," John Gor-don meditated,
"the saloon in its day and generation
5is wiser than the eiiildren of light.
- The devil must dance In glee over the
sight of the tenement and slum dis
tricts in the city as he sees his finest
agents occupying the tield of sociaLl:
panderers to a human necessity, while
the solemn, empty stone edifices called,
--churches stand stately and still up on,
th . -nd boulevards and open their
ocrs- once or twice-ht week 'to receive
roud men and women, clothed in pur
de and fine linen, who fare sumptu
usly every day, who enjoy their reli
ion, but do not enjoy practicing it
mong sinners - at least not among
iuners like those who are born in ten
ments and get their nourishment in
aloon and vaudeville. Surely the sa
on is giving the churches pointers on
ow to reach the masses. Will the
hurches take the broad hint and act
n it, or will they still allow the sa
>on to pre-empt the corner lots and
nder the hypocritical guise of cater
ig to a social c aving damn with phys
cal and moral damnation lives that
ave never :nown any other gospel
ut the gospel of beer and free lunches
s long as they are able to pay for
His meditation was going deeper,
nd he was beginning to philosophize
ot bitterly, but with genuine sadness,
hen he saw Mr. Marsh suddenly
rise and clutch his arm hard.
"I can't bear any more of this," he
aid as Gordon glanced up at him.
'I'm going out. It's too revolting.
ve seen all I care to."
"And when you've seen one of 'em
ou've seen all of 'em," said Officer
oberts with a shrug. Gordon looked
>ward the stage. A dance that was
mply revolting in its indecency was
eing performed. A roar of brutal
xughter rose from the audience. It
-as like a picture taken from some
cene of the "Inferno." Gordon's spirit
amed up in holy wrath at the sight
f it, but he got up and went out with
[arsh and the officer.
Once outside, even in the tainted,
eer poisoned air that floated out of
e saloon, all three of the men breathed
asier. Officer Roberts looked toward
ordon with an air of resignation.
"Does your friend wish to continue?
may be allowed to say the show is
he same one place as another-same
ongs, same dances"
"No more for me," Mr. Marsh Inter
pted quickly. "Gordon, I'm simply
Ick of it all. Let us go back to Hope
louse. I should like to meet Miss An
rews before going home. You thought
he would be back after supper?"
"Yes, but I want you to see Bowen
treet by nignt; just two or three
locks, and I'll not ask any more."
"Very well." Mr. Marsh reluctantly
onsented. He was evidently laboring
nder great stress of feeling. His sen
itive nature had suffered In ways that
rere very unusual.
"It won't be necessary for you to go
long, Roberts," Gordon said as the
ficer stood waiting.
"Much obliged, sir," Roberts an
wered with a look of relief. "I'm at
our service of course. Miss Andrews
ae special orders to me to be of any
.elp to you that I can."
"t will not be necessary, Roberts.
uch obliged. We'll simply walk
rough the street and not attempt any
aside work tonight."
"All right, sir." The officer turned
ack to Hope House playground, which
e had overseen ever since it had be
me an important institution, and
~ordon, taking Mdr. Marsh's armn,
alked down Bowen street for three
locks, then turned and came back on
e opposite sidewalk.
If the street had been full during the
Lay, it was running over at night.
Che stoops were literally packed with
~eople. The child of the tenements,
vith her little sister in her arms, was
here, bending over the armful, sitting
in the steps in various degrees of dis
~omfort and unconscious misery, but
:heerful, resigned and apparently born
The night was breathless, and yet
iut on the wide boulevard it was not
tifling. Down here, however, not a
igle sigh of fresh air came. The
~arbage boxes rotted visibly. On the
~overs of those few boxes that still re
aned covers were lying men and boys,
rying in the midst of the unnatural,
~eversh noises peculiar to tenement
listricts to get a little rest On the
tones and mud and offal of the street
tself scores of people were lying, some
n a few rags thrown down 1g soak up
:he liquid filth, others with no covering
etween their horrible clothing and the
oul street. Twice they had to stop
nd pick their way between the figures
hat lay in the street, panting for a
reath of air, wearily, but with the
ndifference of years of accustomed
liscomfort, counting the time when the
lark sleeping rooms inside should be
ome a little less unbearable.
During the entire walk neither Gor
on nor Marsh said anything but once,
vhen Mr. Marsh asked a guestion:
"Some of these children seem far
etter dressed end cleaner, more at.
ractive than others. Are these some
)f the Hope House converts?"
"No," replied John Gordon dryly,
'Those are saloon keeper's children."
Mr. Marsh did not ask any more
uestions until they were going into
ope House entrance. Then he turned
:o his companion and said:
"I have seen things today I never
ould believe if I had been told. It is
ll too horrible, too horrible. I shall
ream of it tonight Why have you
nade me look at it?"
They paused a moment under the
"Would God, Mr. Marsh, that every
jusiness man in this city could see
ivhat you have seen, and what you have
;een Is nothing compared with the hor
'ors you will never even dream about."
'It has sickened me," Mr. Marsh re
eated irritably, and John Gordon
:ould see by his manner that he was
erously affected by the day's expe
~ience. Before he could say anything
dlss Andrews came in through the
"I understand you have been looking
tout today. Come into the library
nd tell me about it."
She had greeted Gordon in her usual
uiet, calm but delightful manner as
t introduced Mr. Marsh.
When they were seated at the great
enter table, Gordon briefly recited the
nain incidents of the day's experience.
radualy Mr. Marsh lost his irrita
:ion. There was something profoundly
inpressive in the face and manner of
:his woman. She was the first woman
e had ever met who made him feel
at she was deeply and exactly in.
ormed on city life. He had met other
vomen who were brilliant, witty, well
ducated, cultured, but never one who
~vidently knew humanity like this one,
full liossesioof -llh ilactsof Mr.
Marsh's ownership of the property and
his exact attitude in every particular
toward the scenes he had witnessed.
The talk had not proceeded ten min
utes before she said with the utmost
"Mr. Marsh, I am sure you will tear
down No. 01 and put up the right kind
of a building in its place. Of course,
you are convinced now that the struc
ture is a mistake in every particular."
"I-I-don't know. I certainly did
Lot know what sort of a building it
was-it would prove to be," Mr. Marsh
"Then of course your judgment and
humanity together will prompt you to
put up a safe, sanitary, comfortable
building," Miss Andrews continued
"I-I-will have to give the matter
ah - considerable consideration," Mr.
Marsh replied, with caution. "It will
be very expensive to tear it down."
"It costs lives. Are they not of more
value, Mr. Marsh, than money?"
She said it calmly, but the repressed
passion of a lifetime of patient endur
ance for the love of the people pulsed
through every syllable. A. voice of
tenderest eloquence could not have
been more definitely emphatic.
"1 shall have to consider it," the man
The events of the strange day had
produced a curious result in him. He
was not certain that he could trust his
impulses. At the same time he felt
moved to action of some kind.
Miss Andrews quietly began to talk
of something else. John Gordon, who
had leaned over the table, intensely in
terested in what he supposed was go
ing to be an appeal on Miss Andrews'
part, gradually relaxed his attitude
into.one of disappointed surprise. Miss
Andrews was still talking easily, and
Mr. Marsh was listening intently, when
one of the residents came in and called
John Gordon out to answer a summons
at the telephone.
Gordon came back soon and said his
friend Barton had sent for him, and
that he might not return that night.
Mr. Marsh rose and said, "l'll go
along with you, Gordon, as far as you
go my way."
He said good night to Miss Andrews
and the two passed out from under the
archway, and when he and Gordon
parted uptown Mr. Marsh said with a
"Miss Andrews came near making
me a convert. But it would kill me to
ive there and see those things every
day. I don't see how she stands such
Gordon did not reply. He had spoken
hardly a word all the way. The
weight of all the misery that lay on the
people bore him down. In the pres
ence of this oversensitive, cultured,
wealthy man who had it in his power
to right the wrongs that were connect
ed with his own possessions, Gordon
felt a repulsion that he feared would
break out in word or manner. Would
Mr. Marsh do anything? Would he re
build the tenement? Would he correct
any of the abuses? Why did Miss An
drews cease so suddenly to talk about
it? Why did she not plead with him?
She seemed on the point of doing so.
In a moment of impulse he spoke, as
Mr. Marsh was moving away..
"Mr. Marsh, you have It in your
power 'to save the lives of those chil
dren. If Louie dies in that hole, be
fore God, I believe you will be held
part guilty in the sight of God. Are
you going to do anything?"
"I'll dd something," Mr. Marsh re
"Then in God's name do It quick,
"I'll consider it; yes, I'll consider It."
Gordon let him go with that, and with
the weariness of the day bearing down
on his spirit he hastened to Barton's
rooms, fearing bad news, for Barton
had telephoned himself, asking his
friend to come at once.
He found Barton lying on the couch
in the second room.
"Come in, old man!".he said feebly,
but cheerfully. "Excuse me for send
ing for you, but my cough got so wild
this evening about 7 o'clock that I
thought you would like to see the
show. It's a rattling good perform
ance. Three rings and a drove of ele
phans ad atranedautomobile don't
the recumbent figure. The truth was
very apparent to him. The great eyes
that glowed in the face stamped by
death's trademark burned like wast
ing fires. It was evident that the time
was short now. But after all It came
as a sihoek to John Gordon. Hie had
not really been expecting it.
"What have you been Coing? Amuse
me with it. I went down to the office
this morning, but Hanrris sent me back.
I tell you, he's not half bad. And-oh
there's a matter I want to explain.
Have you seen the 'evening edition?
No? There's a copy on the table.
Don't blame me. I kept the business
out as long as I could. Might never
have got in if I hadn't been off duty.
Miss Andrews used her influence and
actually went to see Harris herself.
She dlid miracles in keeping matters
out of all the papers for more than a
week. But Harris got word that the
Review was going to run in a story,
and I suppose he couldn't stand it
so-don't blame me, John. I'm sorry
but I'm not"
He sat up so that his knees touched
his chin and began coughing so terri
bly that John Gordon, on his knees by
the side of the couch, feared that the
end would come then and there. But
the spell did not last as long as he
feared, and Barton said as soon as he
was able to speak:
"She's getting out of gasoline or
something. That spurt she made at
730 wimnded her. There! Let me down
.,a n a :d gia~ that stufP in thA
battle. It-s nb particular good, only it
keeps the cough from thinking of me
all the time, the stuff's so strong and
Gordon gave him the medicine, and
Barton lay back exhausted. After a
moment he whispered:
"Read the story if you want to. But,
if you are going to.swear or anything
at the close and want help, ask Wil
liams to go out into the hall. Give him
a dollar, and he'll pitch into Harris
and the News as long as you want"
John Gordon picked up the paper and
went over by the table. He seldom
saw the News, and he never read it.
His whole refined nature rebelled in
disgust at the monstrosity of yellow
journalism, but his curiosity was
strong enough to make him read what
Barton seemed so genuinely sorrow for.
The headlines were bold and obtru
"Quarrels With His Father! John
Gordon, Son of Rufus Gordon, the
Banker and Stock Manipulator, Goes
to Live at Hope House. A Rich Slum
mer. Breaks With His Fiancee, Miss
Luella Marsh. A Stormy Interview.
Miss Marsh Refuses to Go With Him.
All the Parties Prominent In Business
and Social Circles. Mr. Gordon Re.
pudiates His Son. Miss Marsh Refuses
to Talk. Does Not Deny Interview
With Her Former Lover. John Gordon
to Make a Special Study of Tenement
House Conditions In Bowen Street."
The whole "story" occupied two col
umns,'and directly under the headlines,
which covered two columns in width,
were two cuts, one of John Gordon and
the other of- Luella Marsh. The title
under these cuts read, "Cupid Balks at
John Gordon read the headlines and
glared at the pictures. Then he
crushed the paper between his hands
and flung it on the floor.
"Ring the befl for Williams, John. I
think he's in the pantry. You need his
help to do it justice. Sorry I don't feel
able to chip in with you."
For a moment John Gordon stood
still by the table; then he came over
and sat down by his friend.
"I don't care for myself, but Luella!
David, it's a horrible invasion of all
one's sacred private affairs. I have
never understood how you could believe
in that sort of journalism."
David Barton looked lovingly at John
Gordon. His cynical, whimsical, reck
less manner disappeared for a moment
"I don't believe in it. Never did,
John. It's purely business with me.
I'm awfully sorry for you. What do I
believe anyway? My whole life has
contradicted my creed. But maybe
there's hope for me yet. What do you
think? Am I too bad to repent and be
John Gordon stared at his friend, and
in a moment his own deep, abiding, re
ligious experience reminded him that
here was a soul groping after light
"David," he exclaimed softly, "no
one is too bad to repent and be saved.
Oh, David, Christ makes all life worth
"I believe that," the reply came i a
whisper. "I've never said much, John,
but I've tried to"
The usually cynical voice actually
broke with a sob that cut John Gordon
deep, although in that tense moment
which had come on so swiftly there
was a fierce joy at the confession his
friend had made.
He bent over and put a hand on Bar
ton's, and they sat thus silent for a
gracious moment. It was significant
that neither of them had said a word
about Barton's physical condition and
his hopeless future, so far as physical
life was conc'erned. The stillness in
the room was suddenly interrupted by
a clang out on the street.
Gordon went over to the window and
"The department Is making a fine
run," he said briefly to :Barton.
It was late and the avenue was al
most empty of traffic. A team of pure
white horses on the engine which pre
ceded the hose and ladder wagons
plunged forward with a desperate but
glad abandon that struck fire from the
pavement and whirled the engine along
with a mad but gloricous energy that
made human blood run faster and kept
the pulses beating with sympathy. The
driver- and his assistant leaned for
ward, their bare heads tossing their
free hair behind; the whole scene
flashed by in the night like a bit torn
out of a Roman chariot race of the
dead past, transformed by chance to
the modern municipality, whose streets
are lighted with electricity, and whose
buildings loom up in the smoky air
like crags beside the prairie sea.
The whirling group swept around the
corner at the end of the nextt block,
slacking speed just enough to avoid
turning over. John Gordon came back
to David's side.
"Where is the fire?"
"I didn't notice the alarm. Must have
been a still one."
"Have you ever thought what would
happen, John, if a fire ever got a good
chance around Hope House?"
"Have I-? I think of It every time I
go into the double decker. They are
simply traps. If a fire ever started in
the basement of No. 1)1, it would be a
miracle if anybody got out alive."
"How about Hope House itself?" The
question showed uneasiness.
"Hope House is a dry old shell in
side. It would go like tinder."
"The fire tonight is not down that
"No; the teams turned up Faveill
"Is No. 91 any worse than other num
"No; it's better in some ways. But
there's a bakery in th e basement. They
fry greasy doughnuts over cracked
stoe. One drop of grease catching
fire in the place might sweep a score
of children into eternity."
"They'd be better off in eternity than
in the tenement, wouldn't they? Maybe
the best thing you could do would be to
pray for No. 01 to catch on fire when
the wind's just right."
John Gordon made no answer, and
Barton asked drowsily:
"How about Mr. Marsh? You dropped
me a line about the probability of his
having an Interest in helping Miss An
"Mr. Marsh is the landlord of No.
"Sho! You don't say!" The voice
was awake again. "Then the amount
of his contribution to social settlements
is not yet made public?"
"Mr. Marsh has been with me through
the district today. He saw his own
tenement for the first time."
"That's a good story; tell me about
it." The voice was again drowsy.
"It's too late, David," Gordon remon
"No; it isn't. I'm going to sleep here,
I often do. It starts the cough if I get
up again. I'm comfortable. You'll
stay all night? You know your room.
Do, that's a good fellow. I may want
you to help me harness up the cough
in the morning."
"Yes; I'll stay If you want me to.
Are you comfortable there?"
"Very much so. old man. Go ahead
with Mr. Marsh."
before Barton was asieep,-an-unht
ural slumber, more like- death than
healthy refreshing of wearied powers.
His whole attitude was that of com
plete exhaustion. The seal of death a'
was upon him.
John Gordon stopped talking, and the
tears rolled down his cheeks. David
Barton was the dearest friend he had. t
The two were ten years apart in age,
but from the time when they first met at
they had been instantly drawn to
gether and had begun to love each tl
It was after 11 o'clock, and yet Gor- P(
don hesitated to go to bed. He almost h
feared that Barton would never wake h
up, the pallor of his face, the attitude w
of the body, were so suggestive of the a
He was still sitting there, his cheeks a
still wet with the tears that he did not
try to repress, when Williams came in
softly on tiptoe.
"There's a queer old lady outside, h
Mr. Gordon, says she wants to see Mr.
Barton, if it ain't too late. She's a B
mighty queer looking specimen. She
won't go away, and I thought maybe
you'd go and see her." 0
"Barton is asleep now. He can't be la
wakened. Ask the lady to come Into
Gordon went out, drawing the cur
tains between the first room and the
wide hallway, and met in the hall the
visitor, who was promptly ushered in
She was dressed in a remarkably old iy
fashioned style that struck John Gor- I
don aes exceedingly interesting rather
than grotesque. She was very old, at tr
least ninety, but straight and vigor- a
ous. Her keen blue eyes looked search- to
ingly at John Gordon, and she spoke m
in a sharp but remarkably clear voice. y
"Are you Mr. Barton?"
"No, madam. I am his friend, Mr- d<
Gordon. Mr. Barton is asleep and tj
not well. What can I do for you? h
Will you be seated?" ri
"In a moment, sir." She placed up- d
on the floor a faded old carpetbag, tt
took a handkerchief out of her pocket, V
carefully dusted one of the hall 01
seats and then sat down. As she
took Out the handkerchief a delicate %
aroma was wafted to John Gordon.
It reminded him of the fragrance y
he remembered once while visiting the .
East India Marine museum at Salem,
Mass., when the attendant opened an
old sea chest, lined with cedar and
packed with silk shawls.
John Gordon .was now thoroughly
awake. The sharp eyes looked at him
"I am exceedingly sorry to hear that
Mr. Barton is ill. I very much wished
to see him. First I must be pardoned
for calling at this unseasonable hour.
But I had the address and saw the
light and knew that newspaper men
kept queer hours. I have called at
the office of the paper and was told
Mr. Barton was at his apartments. -I
must go on my journey tonight"
John Gordon had not the remotest
inkling as to the old lady's errand. She
was evidently a person of great refine
ment and culture.
"How much of a friend are you to
The question was so direct and frank
that Gordon smiled.
"I am his dearest friend."
"Man or woman?2" the old lady asked,
with a twinkle of the eyes that made
John Gordon smile again.
"My friend has never had any love
affair. He Is a confirmed bachelor."
"Ah, don't deceive yourself, young
man. I am old enough to be your
grandmother, your great-grandmother
almost, and I have seen a great deal of
the world. But, pardon me; I must tell
you what I came for."
She put her hand into a little bag
that hung from a silk cord tlldabout
her wrist As she opened the bag the
same delicate aromagenetrated theb
She handed a card to Gordon. He
took It and read:
"Mrs. Captain George Effingham, Sn
"Well?" Gordon said.
"I am Captain Effingham's widow.
My great-grandson was born on the
day Captain Effingham died. His name
was Clark Effingham. He ran away to
sea when he 'was sixteen. Since then
I have heard nothing of him until a
week ago I had a letter from him
dated Colorado Springs. He was con
sumptive, but Is getting better. I am
on my way to see him."
She paused, and John Gordon, still in ~A
the dark as to the object of her call ons
Barton, said: D
"You said you were Mr. Barton's h
nearest friend? How much of his real
life do you know?"
Gordon was thoroughly surprised. yC
For the first time he looked suspicious
ly and even doubtfully at the old lady. T
"I know him welL. There is not a
kinder, purer, truer soul in this city tc
than David Barton." e
"I believe.you," the old lady nodded la
Ivigorously. "But I know more about 'w
him than you do. Listen! One night m
six months ago a young man, penniless, pi
homeless, alone in this great city, was
waking its streets in a cold, penetrat- w~
ng rain. An east wind blew off the or
water. The young man was proud. He fr
would not write his relatives for help. si
He was afraid to let his aristocratic D
grandmother know that he had drifted
off the sea, into one kind of vagabond re
life after another, until he was on the te
ferge of starvation and crime in a
great, merciless city. l
"Out in the night, that night, this tb
lad stumbled against your friend Mr. B
Barton. He gave him shelter and food.
Then he sent him out to Colorado be- iv
fore it was too late.- Then"-- Gordon
was crying. The old lady had some- B
thing in her sharp eyes that glittered ri
brighter than the eyes.
"Then this lad discovered a secret. ol
The Effinghams always were quick. les
He found out that he was not the only ra
one. Mr. Gordon, do you know that ca
this friend of yours has during the last te;
five years sent a little colony of con- ne
sumptive people to Colorado and'paid
all their expenses there, saving at least C:
a dozen lives? This much my grand- je,
son has discovered. He was the first
one of them to find out his benefactor's pE
name and address. It first came to
him through an accident But your wi
friend Is-and you did not know it? I g
want to thank him. I want to tell him sif
how much my boy owes him. You |
said he was ill I trust it is nothing er
.ohn Gordon let the tears flow down to:
his face. His friend's jealously guard- ny
ed secret was out at last. Now he sa
knew why he had so stubbornly re
fused to go to Colorado himself. He off
knew it was too late and had always as
been. But, knowing it, he had put his
own life aside and had thus saved hit
others. And it was too late for him of)
now. The cynical, careless, great wa
hearted friend suddenly grew Into an ha
image~that would always sit on the to
throne of his memory in the high place inl
of honor. ox
"He is very ill? Tell me. Is it se - s
rious" The old lady for the first time
betrayed uneasiness. .re
John Gordon answered gently. .w
um .toyr Ill. He has consumption.
e cannot live"'
"God bless him!" the old lady ex
aimed, and her tears fell fast After
vhile she said gently:
"Do you think I might see him? I
ould like to look on his face."
For answer John Gordon rose, parted
e curtains and beckoned. The old
dy followed and soon stood looking
: the wasted face.
She stood a moment silently gazing,
en she putout a hand, which Gor
m had noted before as astonishingly
hite and beautiful for such an aged
son, and softly touched Barton's
!ad. As she straightened up and
epped back, Gordon saw that she
as much agitated. He offered her
sistance to walk back into the hall.
ie accepted with an- old fashioned
knowledgment of his politeness that
uched him deeply.
When they were in the hall she said,
"Will you tell him I came to -see
Gordon was thinking it over. Would
urton care to have his secret known?
"Yes, I will tell him."
"I think it will be better to let him
iow. Yes, it will be better," the old
dy said with approval. "The time
il: not. be long. Will you write me
hen the end comes for him?"
"Yes, madam. I thank you for him
at you came."
"The pilgrimage is brief at the Ion
st," she said with a strong gravity
at was far from gloom. "But sure
your friend has redeemed his tlne.
am glad I saw his face. Yes, glad."
Gordon offered to see her to the
ain, but she firmly refused to be of
iy trouble to any one. "I am able
go alone. A carriage is waiting.for
e. Good night, sir, and God be with
"Good night, madam," replied Gor
)n. Williams appeared and opened
te door. Gordon insisted on seei4i
r down the steps and Into the cai
age. He had shut the door and the
ver. had just started his horse when
te old lady stopped the driver with- a
ord, her fine sharp cut face looking
it of the window.
"Tell your fr-* d I will write. It
Ill not be lorg before we shall meet."
The carriage went on, and Gordon
alked up the steps and into the hall
ith a feeling that he had been dream
"Who are yjou?"
ig. But the perfume of a cedar chest
ist opened after. a long sea..voyage
agered in the hall and followed himr
tto the rooms as he thoughtfully went
tagain and took a look at Barton
In the morning when Gordon came
at of his room he found Barton up
He noticed his friend's apparently
"You had a caller last night after
> fell asleep."
"That so? -Some one from the of
se?" Barton asked carelessly.
"An old lady off an East Indaman
"I'm too tired to guess. Explain.'
"Here is her card." Gordon handed
Mrs. Capta'in George fmgiham,
tem,'"Barton read. Then his cheeks
owed a color in addition to the un
ttural glow there.
Gordon went up and put a hand on
'David, I know now why-why"
"Say, you aren't going to cry, are
"Cry! I've been crying all night
think that you"
"Well, why shouldn't I enjoy trips
Colorado, even If I can't personally
nduct them? Tell me about the old
dy. Efangham said his grandmother
as going on a hundred. Sorry I
issed seeing her. I expect she is a
"A picture! She Is a romance. You
ould have fallen in love with her at
ice. She 'brought into the room the
agrance of cinnamon and cloves and
dce from the Islands of the se.
on't you detect It now?"
"Smells to me like Williams' coffee,"
plied Barton, sniffng critically. "But
l me about her.".
Gordon described the visit as vivid
as possible. When he had finished,
ere was a. suspicion of moisture In
'She wanted me to tell you she would
"First love letter I'll ever get," sighed
arton whimsically. "I expect she's
"No doubt. I can Imagine the square
1 fashioned house she owns in Sa
m-colonial front, fan window ar
ngement over the doors and a stair
se big enough to drive up a double
am. But, .oh, David, why did you
it go out there yourself before"
"Before it was too late? No good.
tse is chronic. Let's change the sub
t. Tell me about Mr. Marsh."
'But how many persons are you sup
trting n Colorado?" -
"Don't remember. Quit it or you
[11 bring on my cough. It always
ts me when inconsiderate friends In
t on talking about It."
So Gordon took up the day's experi
ce with Mr. Marsh while Williams
ought in the coffee and rolls, and Bar
a seemed unusually cheerful and fun
. W~hen Gordon rose to go, Barton
"I think maybe I'll get down to the
ice next week. But come up as often
you can,.old man, won't you?"
Gordon promised, with a choking in
s throat as he shook hands, and went
!, carrying with him a memory that
as both sad and inspiring. After he
.d gone out David Barton went.. over
the couch and, kneeling down, sobbed
e a child. He was a gifted man,
Jy forty years old, and life was very
reet to him.
rhe first thing John Gordon did on
aching Hope House was to confer
ith Miss Andrews.
"~oyou think _Mr. Marsh will dlo
anythiiig?" she asked.
"I think so-yes." Bit
ply was not very strong.
"You are in doubt.
impressed. But, if I
the kind of man to d
that means a real
horror of the tenement co
equal to his dread of ul
loss if he tears the double
or remodels it" -
"I'm afraid-yes," Gord
with a sigh.
"But of course," he said
"you have used your
the board of healthand
cials and all other dep
"Yes," Miss Andrews
'"But conditions are
"Ask Tommy Randall."
"The political boss?"
"Of course you know h
on which most of. our ref
"I have never met hime.
you have been to him
"Often. He's the most
man In the city. Heisu
of conscience. I have n
single quality ak-him toqw
appeal. But, if he
move the powers that
ly every wrong inrthe
Gordon was on the
with the Inquiries, for w
heard of Tommy Bandall
surrounded that potentf
.certain human faseinati
Andrews was lled aa
talk was not rentewd
again at dinner.
For a week John Go d
his special investigationwi
university student . e
him into another block-'
one evening from the distrl
by2Xo...9., and the . ht&
commotlon, ere ca
and go in.
friend, Loule, d reproa
for not having gone-to see
inquiries. 'But the ehild e
of hundreds for whom .bis.
beginning to bleed as the
onfy of childhood'st
ments was beginning t6
He went Into the court
staircase and out upon
Several women there
by some recent
"What is it?" he askedof
women, who was cryig.
"' Loule's dead, she.elfd
sumed her crying.
John Gordon stepped
leading IntoJa. Caylo
er met him there.
"May I go in?"Gordon
The woman made no.ely
don went on.- The rooms:-were
with candles. Several we
the room. - A man was
table on which was- a rough
at which he was'lookin.
Ile looked'up as
"Who are you?" was the
"My name Is John Gorda
House!" . -
The man turned suddeny t
the women who stood loodng
missively. "Take the'thng
ing to the coffin, "and4efl
send up somethin~g better or
tion to -Tommy Ran
boss of Hope Houseditc,
Ambitious people must al
appointed people.-"Fame o
The best kind of couirage - -
from a full stomach.2Z"Cap
Love is like honey-it must
by sips. One must not si~
"The Pharaoh and the Priest.
The man who is weakened 3D,
doing by the ingratitude of'ot"
serving God on a salary basis.
Power of Truth." - -
Nine times out of ten a woman
through love, and she must be
by love if she is to be restord'
In Water Street"
Don't call yourself a friend an&
thinking all the time what the o
side of the friendship can do tor o6
-"Aunt Abby's Neighbors."
Philosophy is primarily a matter o
food; secondarily, a matter of ed
it does not concern the head at
"Two Thousand Miles on an Auto
Half the trouble of this tronbl.
world comes from .the fact that 1or
one reason or another, women are not
able to look up to t'h'e en .with w
they have dealings.-"Thes~ultures.
A Couple o'f Inserlptions.
"I was In New York one day an
took a trip down to Coney Island,.
said the agent of a Pittsburg
mill. "I had heard of the slicklfell
down there, and so I left my watch
home and -crried a dummy a
which I pisted a slip of paper
the words, 'Look Inside for a fool.K
hadn't got the salt taste of the
yet when the watch disappeared,
It was three hours later, as I 3at in
booth drinking beer, when I felt'
watch in .a side pocket of my coat.)
pulled it out In amazement, and. t
found my slip of paper repla
one bearing the wdrds, 'Look outsid
for an ass!' It may be that Igot the~
bulge 'on the gang, but somehowIZ
hve always thought that they camen
out a trinle ahead-just a trifle." -
Never confine a patient to one room
if you can obtain the use of two.
Never play the piano to -a siek perso
if you can play on strings or sing.
Never stand and fidget when a sick
person is talking to you. Sit down.
Never complain that you cannot~e'
a feeding cup if there is a teapot to.
had instead. -4
Never resad fast to a sick person
The way to make a story seem short
Is to tell it slowly.
Never judge the condition of your
patient from his appearance dualig a-'
conversation. See how he- looks an
hour afterward. -
Never put a hot water bottle nxi '
the skin. Its pefficiency and the pa.
tieni's safety are both enhancedby
surrounding the bottle with flannek ~
Never allow the patient to take the
temperature himself. Many patients'
are more knowing than nurses where
there is a question of temperature.
Very conservative in all matters are
the Turks, and especially slow to adopt
modern improvements of any kind.
When a man quits smoking and goes
to chewing he is not much of ahe.