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His Heart's Desire
By SIR WALTER BESANT
He took it out of his pocket — thick
leather not« book, stuffed full of the
notes which he had tunde during his resi
dence in the —nnd began to rend:
"'I, Da rid Lalghan, farmer, of the
parish of ChallacomtM '"
"Halloo!" I cried, "I know that Ban.
There is only one David Lciglwn, mid
only one Challacotnb*."
"'Jin* he kept his promise and coma
"Yes. lie cnine home three montKt
"So. lie is doubtless tuuigcd !>y this
'•Why RhouM ha he h.-inued?"
"For the murder which he confessed
In this document. He was to give him
self up to the police, and confess and
take the consequences.'-'
"But he has not murdered any one
at least, be has not confessed."
"lie murdered his uncle, one Daniel
Leighan. of the same parish. If he has
not confessed, I must put these papers
in th« lih'Vln of justice."
"Why. his un^chj is still alive! What
could he mean by confessing?"
"'Then David must have been mad. Ih
.which case, it seems a pit/ that I took
To much trouble to save him from the
Btewp.ius. But here is his confession.
and if it is a work of fiction, all I can
■ay Is that David is master of that art"
"May I read the confession?"
He handed me the note book and f
read It through. You, gentle reader,
have already had that advantage.
' When I had read the paper through
I understood everything. I understood
why he came to the church yard In order
to see the grave of his victim; why he
was so careless about his rags; why he
was seized with that queer hysterical lit:
why he was so moody and sullen; what
It was that he took out of the hiding
place at Grimapound; what he was doing
with the old man. Everything became
clear; and one thing clearer than Buy
pther that his uncle must be saved from
"Herr Baron," I said, "I must take
you, if you please, oil the way from
London to Challacombe. You must stand
before David with this document in your
baud, and prove that he is a murderer in
Intent and a robber in fact."
When the harvest was over and the
Bruin was ingathered, and the work of
the year completed, George began to
make his arrangements. He had receiv
ed the formal notice and a six months'
grace in which to find the money. There
was no longer any doubt possible that
he must leave Sidcote. He had now
made it all out In his own mind. There
■would be enough money from the harvest
to pay the half-years' interest; the land
would be foreclosed. And the sale of his
farm Implements, furniture and every
thing would leave him with a few hun
dred to begin the world again. He would
go to Tasmania, where a man might buy
a small farm and live upon the fruit of
his own labor.
"Let us," said Mary, "make one last
appeal to my uncle. We will go togeth
er, George. Perhaps he may relent even
at the last"
They made that appeal at an unfor
tunate time. To begin with, it was in the
morning, when David was still with his
uncle; and in the second place, it was
a morning when David had been abusing
bis position. The redemption value of
the coupons, in fact, was at a preposter
ous figure, and the poor old man, torn by
the desire to get buck liis property and
by rnge at the terrible ransom Imposed
upon It, was rapidly arriving at the con
dition in which his nephew loved to see
him, when he lost his self-command, and
in turns groveled, wept, protested, im
plored, cursed and tried to bribe his
When they opened the door they found
the old man trembling and shaking with
the passions of impotence and rage. Hit
faco, livid «nd distorted, with hazard
eyes, was turned upward in an agony of
entreaty, to meet David's. There iras
no passion in that fact, nor any emotion
except a calm and sober satisfaction,
Which might even have been holy grati
tude, for David's heavy face was hard
to read. He stood over his uncle's chair,
dominating him, with a bundle of papers
in his hand, regardless alike of prayers
"Wait a minute, Georgp," he said.
"We have just finished our. business, and
■ mggipleasant half hour we hare spent,
to bet«ure. Now, uncle, steady, I say, or
you will have a Ht — now, is it a deal, or
shall 1 put this little packet into the ftrei
Quick: Tnk« it or leave iv That's my
"Til take It—oh! I'll take It'"
I>-ivid laid th« paper on the table In
stantly and made a note in a pocketbood.
"Pity," he said, "that you would not
conic to terms sooner. You'd have spared
yourself a great deal of trouble and time.
But there, you always would have your
W»jr, and you enjoy beating a man down,
don't you?" lIU uncle did not look ex
actly as if he had enjoyed the last at
tempt. "Now, I've done, George."
Although he had finlshej his business,
David did not retire, but took a seat
Mary's seat—in the window, prepared to
listen, and with the appearance of one
Interested In what was coming.
"What do you want, George 1?" Mr.
Fisighii asked, Impatiently. "Why do
you come here while I am busy, Mar.r?
I'm not so strong as I was, and David
made me angry. Wait a moment. l>u
vid said something that angered me.
Walt a momeut. lie doesn't mean to an
ger me—no —no —but he does, some
He covered his face with his hands.
Presently the trembling left him and he
"Now," he said, with a show of brisk
ness, "I am better again. What Is It
Gwrg.l If it I, bnsln.ta, have you
•on* to propo^ anything! You hare
** r°» legal notice, I beller.? Ye..
w~*'* *w know tin conditions of tb«
!v, which I didn't make. It is the sam<
me aa for you. I'ay me auy othei
y and keep your land. If no Othei
y, I shall havo your land. Is thai
"c. or in it not?"
'Hard common sense," said George.
'So it is," said David. "It's always
■d common sense when he takes an
er man's land."
I nm sorry for you, George," the old
v went on; yet his face expressed a
tain satisfaction. "Nobody will blame
i, I'm sure; or me either, for that
rii.'itlpr; and when your poor father bor
rowed the money the land was worth
three times us much as it Is now, so
that nobody will hlnme him. I don't ex
]'<■'■' ever to (f«'t the vulue of my money
bark. So we're all losers by the hard
times. I shall want a tenant, Qtorge,"
the old man went on, "uud we will not
quarrel about the rent. Easy terms you
shull have, and when you've got your
head well al>ove wator again, wo will
consider about you and Mary. Don't
think I •hall be hard upon you."
"No," said George; "I am going to
"To foreign lands, George? Hm it
come to that? Dear—dear!"
"I am going to Tasmania."
"Tut, tut; this is very bad. To f»r
oi£n lands! David went to foreign lands,
and* sea how he came home. George,
you had better stay at Sldrote and be my
>sN'o," George said, shortly. "Well, the
long and the short of it is that we are
here today—Mary and I—to ask your
consent to our marriage."
"No, (Jeorge; I shall not consent.
What! let Mary marry a man *ho ha*
lost his own land and is going to foreign
lands? Certainly not! not on any ac
"When your sister left Mary all her
"It was mine by rights. I made It
" —She put ia the clause about yom
consent to protect her. You know, as
well as 1, flint »he herself would never
objnet to me for Mary's husband."
"She began with a thousand pounds.
By my advice she made It into six thon-
snnd pounds. Do you mean to tell me
that 1 am to have no voice in the dis-
posal of all this money?"
"This kind of talk will not help any
body. Well, 1 have had my answer, I
suppose. Mary, dear, it Is for you to
choose between your uncle and me."
"I have chosen, (ieorge, you know
well. Uncle, you will have to give that
money to David or to me. Here is Da
vid, and here am 1. To which of us
will you give it?"
"Suppose, Mary," David interposed—
"suppose there was a secret arrange
ment —I don't say there is, but suppose
there was—between your uncle and me.
Suppose that I was to sell my chance
for so much down, and he was to keep
"Uncle! you would rfot —you could not
—do such a thing!" Mary cried.
"Suppose, I say"—David went on—
"that arrangement was to exist. Then,
you §c«, George and Mary"—David put
the thing in his slow and elaborate man
ner, so as to bring out the full meaning
of the transaction—"you see that if you
don't marry without his consent, he will
lose the money he's got to pay me; but if
he does not pay mo that money before
you get married, he will have to pay me
the whole afterwnrd. Therefore he nat
urally wants you to marry without his
consent. You are going to play his game
At this unexpected blow Daniel was
covered with confusion. When two peo
ple make such a treaty, secrecy is the
very essence of it; and for one of the par
ties concerned to blurt out the truth is.
in a sense, a breach of contract. The
old man actually turned red—at seventy
he had still the grace to blush—and hung
his head, but he could not speak.
"Oh! you have speculated on our mar
rylng withouty our consent! Yon have
actually bought David's chance, and now
yoa wunt us to marry, so that you nay
keep the whole to yourself!"
'"Net tho whole," said David. "What
will he left after he lms bought me i .it!"
"Mary," her uncle replied, trading the
question, "why do you want to get :unr
rieJ yet? Stay with me. Let George
stay at Sideote nnd l>e my tenant. Ami
I will consider —I will consider. Be let,
think, Mnry; lam an old man now ( , 1
you will have all my money and a.l my
land when I die."
"Have you bought up David so that
you may keep the money as long as you
please, by always refusing your consent?
Answer that," said George, hotly.
"I shall answer nothing," Daniel re
plied angrily— -"nothing—nothing! You
have come here and asked for my con-
Bent to your marriage. Very well; I re
fuse it. Now you can go."
"Mary," said George, "it is no longer
possible to leave you in this house. Your
uncle has deliberately set himself to rob
you. Gpme with me, dear; my mother
will take care of you till we are mar-
ried." Mary hesitate.l. "tin. Mary, put
on your hat ami come with me. As for
you, Daniel Leighan"— he waited till
Mary had left the room —"we leave you
alone. Nothing worse can happen to you.
When you have no longer Mary to pro
vide beforehand all your wants —when
you are alone all the day and all the
evening, you will remember what you
have thrown away. Oh, you are seventy
years of age, and you are rich already,
and you rob your sister's daughter in or
der for a year or two to call yourself
The old man crouched among his pil
lows and made no answer. Mary was
leaving Urn. But If she stayei he must
give his consent, and then he would lose
the land. Ten minutes later Mary re
turned, carrying a small bag In her hand.
"I have come to «ay good-by, uncle."
Her eye* were full of tears. "I knew
that I muit choose between George and
you. I knew that you would refuse, be
cause George could save his lan I if In
bad my money, and I knew that your
heart was set upon getting his land. But
I did not know—oh! I conld not gnen»—
that you had planned this wicked thing
to tret my fortune as well as George's
land. Everything I have is yours, but I
suppose you will let me have my clothes
ait wages for six years' work, Com«,
"You will go —and leave me—all
"I am her ettffl, uncle," said Dnvid.
"I will come and stay here—l will be
with you al! Jny long nnd every even
ing. Not nlone; you sti'l hnvo me. We
fchall hnve | roaring time now that Mary
i.s gone. We will Dtrgaio nil day long."
The old man looked up nnd saw lus
enemy before him with exulting eyes and
the room empty, save for these two, and
he shrieked aloud with terror. David
With him always!
"MnrjT' ho erird, while yet her soft
footsteps, gone forever, echoed still about
the quiet house. "Mary!" But it was
too late. "Come hack, Mary—don't
leave me—don't leave me —aud you shall
tnarry whom you pleasel Mary! Mary!
I give you my consent! Mary, come
She was gone; and there was no an
swer Then he turned his f:uv into the
pillows and moaned anil wept. Even
David had not the heari to mock him in
this first moment of his self-reproach and
dark foreboding of terror and of trouble
(To be continued.)
IT IS SUPERFLUOUS NOISE.
A Warranted British Criticism of Our
Tendency to "Whoop."
Natioual idiosyncrasies are reflected
not only in serious pursuits, but in na
tional games, says the Philadelphia
Ledger. Baseball is not likely to be
come an international sport in which
there is nny real rivalry, unless the
nations become endowed with Ameri
can zest in the rapid game. The Lon
don Outlook regret! that Britons and
Americans cannot play baseball on
something like equal terms and comes
to the Conclusion that the American
conception of snort te hopelessly an
tagonistic to the British at every point.
Englishmen take their pleasures rather
tardy, but the Outlook is not alto
gether astray when it arraigns the
American ball game as offensively
noisy. It generously admits that base
ball is "a really fine game" In essence,
but the fielders are allowed "to yell at
the man with the club in order to rat
tle him;" the spectators are permitted
to make "a diabolical din" for the same
reason; the umpire's decisions, Instead
of being submitted to without a mur
mur, as Englishmen receive a deliver
ance from the lord high chancellor,
are appealed from "by a circle of yell
ing, gesticulating forms clad like acro
It must be confessed that there is
much force in the arraignment. Noise
has become an inseparable Incident of
our national game and it may as veil
be confessed that public interest in
the sport would lapse at once If rro
ceedings were conducted In a perfect
ly tranquil, self-composed and ladylike
Seriously speaking, tne outcry of
our British contemporary against mere
noise as a public grievance deserves
some attention. Noise Is easily mis
interpreted as a sign of vigorous en
terprise in all lines of human activity.
There is a bustle of trade which no
one could suppress. The loudest shout
er is not by any means the most ac
complished and effective orator. The
best work may be done without great
clamor and uproar. Noise is common
ly associated with the faker, who cov
ers the pinchbeck quality of his wares
by stridently proclaiming their virtues.
Much of the noise of the city street Is
entirely unnecessary and could be sup
pressed without injury to any material
A society for the prevention of 4in
would find a fertile field for Its benefi
cent offices. Some years ago the So
ciety for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals In Munich Issued nn order
forbidding the superfluous cracking of
whips, In order to save the nerves of
horses. Humanity deserves similar
consideration. Happily, the tendency
of civilization Is toward the suppres
sion of superfluous noise. In the busi
est quarters of some cities wooden
pavements have been laid to quiet to
some extent the legitimate noise of
traffic. The "still alarm" is a far more
effective agency for the extinction of
a lire than the din of many bells.
lireut 1,u1t." Cargoes.
The first cargo of the new steam
ship BS. H. Gary, the record freighter
of the lakes, exceeds the greatest load
ever before carried on these Island
■eai by nlinost as many tons as any
lake vessel had ever floated twenty-
Bye yean ago, Bays the Cleveland
Leader, It was In ISSI that the
Onoko, a Steamer built and owned in
Cleveland, brought down the first load
which reached the 8,00040n limit.
.Now the record is placed at over 13,
In twenty-four years the increase lv
the largest lake cargo has been nearly
■}<*> per cent. Taking due account of
the time required to handle freight at
dockl and the average speed of heavy
vessels between terminal*, it is iafp
to say that one steamer like the B. 11.
Gary Is equal to six such as the Onoko,
ami the hitter was a famous and Tery
profitable boat for many years. Thi
rate of pfOgNU indicated liy such
facts is little less than revolution in
the business of the lakes. It is a de
velopment rare even in this ays and
American capacity for handling im
mouse traffic Is nowhere more strik
ingly illustrated than it has been In
the trafllc which has been built up
largely by Cleveland men and Cleve
land money on the most remarkable
chain of inland waterway* In the
Economy does not mean sting
but the art of making the most and
best of the meant and materials at
LAST OF THE RUSSIAN AUTOCRATS.
Czar Nicholas, who has signed away h s despotic powers, and the Czare
witch, who is destined to rule over Free Russia—a limited monarchy.
Hussla at last Is free. Nicholas, Emperor of Russia, has signed the death
warrant of the Romanoffs. He gave the empire its civil liberty in the hope
of bringing to an end the revolution spreading through all bis provinces. He
ha 3 proclaimed freedom of the ballot for all. He promised that thw new
Parliament should be supreme in its legislative capacity and that the govern
ment would not interfere either with it or with the elections. He declared
religious liberty throughout Russia, absolute freedom of the press, the right
of meeting and the protection of the courts to the humblest person within
hir domain. The newspapers may say what they will, either of the Emperor
or those who make up his council. No order of the government shall go into
effect abridging the liberty of the people, except with the concurrence of the
Parliament that Is to be created. The act of Nicholas may save his own
life and continue his term as a sovereign, but in St. Petersburg It 13 recog
nized to be a confession by the Czar and the members of his bureaucracy
that despotism in the empire Is at an-end. Hereafter the people are to rule.
CROWE A DARING BANDIT.
Kidnaper of "I'.ddie" Cndnhy Captured
After Five Years' Search.
After five years' search by the police
In every section of the United States
Pat Crowe, kidnaper and train robber
and one of the most
daring criminals in
the laiid, was placed
under ar re st at
Batte, Mont. Crowe
had been a fugitive
from Justice since
the kidnaping In
I >erember, 1900, of
son of the million
aire packer, Edward
A. Cudahy, Sr., of
Omaha, Neb. The senior Cudahy paid
$25,000 at the time for the release of
his son, and Crowe, lifter the division
of the money with his confederate in
crime, disappeared. Although In the
aggregate $100,000 was offered for his
capture, and notwithstanding that at
Intervals Crowe would show himself In
Borne large center of population, the
police were utterly unable to capture
him until he was taken at Butte.
Immediately after his arrest Crowe
told a highly sensational story relative
to the kidnaping. He says he was a
successful butcher in South Omaha
when Edward A. Cudahy built a pack
ing house there and #rove him out of
business. He then entered Cudaiiy's
employ an(! became acquainted with
the family. It was young Cudahy him
self, Crowe asserts, who suggested the
kidnaping in order that they might
"work the old man" tt,v some money.
Crowe Indorsed the proposition and
selected another man as an aid. Young
Cudahy, he claims, was never a pris
oner and proposed that the father
111K "I'AT CHOWK" HOLtJE,
should be asked to pay $50,000 as a
ransom. This amount was cut to $25,
--000, and when the Utter sura was paid
the money was divided among the
three, young Cudahy getting $0,000 as
his share. The kidnaped boy denies
this story absolutely.
Crowe Is a remarkable clrmlnal.
Murder seems to be the only crime
that has never been laid against him
and that apparently is not his fault.
At the very inception of his career, so
far as It Is known publicly, he shed
human blood, How many persona he
has shot or stabbed no one but himself
can tell, for he worked with only him
•elf for counselor. Like the notorious
Black Bart of the Sierras, and the
more ancient prototype, Jack Shep
pard, Pat Crowe seldom had a con
federate. He wanted all the spoils,
and trusted no pal.
Crowe went to the publics chools In
Chicago and acquired an education
that would hare enabled him to make
a good honest living. He was 20 years
old when, after a series of petty thefts,
he leaped Into criminal tunal* a* a
desperate character In the spring of j
1800, In Chicago. He seized a woman,
<md proceeded to tear her diamonds
from her. She fought desperately and!
screamed. Crowe drew a revolver and
shot her in the arm. Two policemen,
attracted by the shots orul cries ran
up and one of them was wounded; the
other overpowered the young thug. For
tills crime Crowe waa sentenced to I
eight years in the Joliot penitentiary. 1
After serving two years, however, ho
Ills next crime of note was the
snatching of a tray of diamonds from
the window of a jewelry store in Den- i
ver. He was arrested, but a saloon
keeper gave bail for him in $2,500, and
Not long after that, in the latter
part of 1803, he was suspected of the
robbery of the safe of the Chicago and
Northwestern Railroad in Dennison,
lowa. He admitted the robbery, but'
William A. Plnkerton. who visited him
in his cell, said that Crowe confessed
merely to escape being sent to Denver
for trial on the Jewelry robbery charge. !
There was ample evidence against him
in the Denver case, but not enough to
convict on the railroad robbery charge. '
It was decided to send him to Denver, I
but he saved the officers the bother
In 18!>4 several daring train robber>
ies were committed by him in Uie vi
cinity of St Joseph, Mo., but for a
lon;j time he was not suspected, so
carefully did he work.
After the Cudahy kidnaping Crowe
says that he traveled nround the world
and fought with the Boers against
England in South Africa.
All it..- Bad OnttH Sold.
"I want a dozen eKgs," said the
young housekeeper, "If you're surq
"Oh, positive, ma'am," replied th«i
dealer; "we haven't any other kind
to-day. You see, there was an 'Uncle
Tom'l Cabin' show in the opera house,
next door, last night"—Philadelphia
Hope for 111 in.
"But," said the lawyer, "your case
seems hopeless. I don't see what I
can do for you. You admit that you
beat your wife."
"Yew," replied tho defendant, "but
my wife's testimony will discount
that She'd never admit that she was
beaten." —Philadelphia Press.
Magazine Publisher— Yes; our new
departMient has about doubled our cir
Casual Visitor —What department is
Magazine Publisher —Our chaperon
department for youn# ladles on vaca
tion. —Louisville Courier-Journal.
A Vulci Transaction.
"George, yon know that mamma
Hfiid you mustn't disturb thosa
"Well, didn't I tako my shoes off
Just so's I wouldn't, disturb 'em."—
Cleveland Plain Denier.
"Public opinion counts for a great
deal," said the earnest citizen.
"Not in a baseball game," answered
A good many people are like little
birds la a nest: When yon praise
them, they lie still with their mouths
wide open for more.
BLUE-RIBBON THEATER QOER.
New Tork T«nn.r Ha. .„ A.tonLhj,,.
Record for Attendance.
George Hahn, a rich tanner, with of
flees at 33 Spruce street, New y ork
City, has been awarded the blue rib
bon for attedance at the theaters dur-
Ing the season just ended. Mr Hahn
is the champion theater-goer of the
year—a committee from the Theatri
cal Treasure™ 1 Association has so de
cided, according to the New York Tel
All previous records for calls at the
box office have been totally eclipsed by
the smiling, good-natured Hahn, whos*
record Is appalling. It shows that ho
has played musical pieces as favorites,
although he has a fondness for the
legitimate, and Is not averse to giving
a fair share of his patronage to Shake
speare. During the season he paid for
400 seats and fifty boxes at Weber's
Music Hall alone. The mo*t careful
research shows that he contributed the
price of more than 300 tickets to Lew
Field's theater and until the Casino was
closed by fire, he was piling U p a big
total at that house.
During the three weeks of the South
ern-Marlowe engagement at the Knick
erbocker Hahn purchased eighteen
pairs of seats and was present himself
on six occasions. "Mrs. Lefflngwell'a
Boots" Hahn saw fourteen times, but
his personal account book shov.s that
he expended $108 for tickets .it rhe
Lyceum Theater during the run of
"Fantana" also has proved f. magnet
to this patron of musical comedy. Ho
| lost track of his attendance after tho
first three months of the run, but be
lieves he had dropped Into the Lyric
at least twenty times within that pe
Halm's right to the championship
belt was discovered after n somewhat
heated argument nt the last regular
meeting of the Press Agents" Associa
tion regarding the attractlvo qualities
of the respective attractions represeut
ed by those present.
The discussion grew warmer and
finally It was decided to leave the
award of the championship to a com
mittee of theater treasurers. Thla com
mittee has completed Its Investigation
and declares that Hnhn's record seems
so overwhelming that they have de
cided to vote him the blue ribbon.
In many Instances Hahn could not
: personally use the tickets purchased by
i him and they were given to friend*
and employes. lie admitted over th»
i telephone to a member of the commit
tee that he hnd been absent from the
I theater only twice during the season.
' and that on those occasions he Wl »
detained elsewhere by pressing but -
THE LOGICAL MAN.
The logical man from Tuhu last eprlng
Got on to a wrinkle he thought Just the
So he put up his heavy coat, needing It
Then bought a lawn mower with the
boodle he got.
Likewise In the autumn, when Bummer
He hie.l himself back to his uncle one*
To put ui> the mower he'd bought in tht
And tnke out his coat, as he needed tb»
"But," Bald the persistent suitor, "If -
I were to prove to you that 1 would '
go to the ends of the earth for
you " i
"First," replied the Boston girl,
"you would have to prove to me that
the earth really lias ends, and that,
you know. Is quite Impossible."—Phil
adelphia Press. * ;
Ascum—How is It your circulation 1:
Is so small? ,
Probably because our sut>- ;
scrlption rate is so high.
Ascum—But why do you keep th»
rate so high?
Editor —Because so few take the P*"
Asserting Her Supremacy.
"Yes, she's ordered all the papsri
made oTer again."
"What was the trouble?"
"Why, her husband, by mlstak*.
signed his name on the top line and;
i B he had to sign under him I"—Clef*
land Plain Dealer.
Sometimes even a fool makes *|
•afer friend than th« man who know*