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ROBBER OF ORPHANS NOW AN EXILE! ISLE IN
MID-OCEAN HIS LIVING TOMB
Denver, Aug. 16. Is Island of Ta
hiti in the wastes of the Pacific his
The scorn of the woman for whom
he sacrificed honor and liberty his
(A most vivid memory!
Fear of the madness that comes of
solitude and despair his constant
companion, and the echo of a wom
an's mocking laugh and cruel jeer
as she sailed away and left him in
exile, haunting him always!
. That's the retribution fate demands
of Ellis Thrush, man of many oppor
tunities, trusted official, keeper of or
phans' funds, husband of a worthy
woman and plaything and victim of
The wages Ellis Thrush is paying
for'his sins out there on the island of
Tahiti is heavier and more horrible
than death itself. A living death, his
life has been since on a sunny day
last April he sailed into Papeete, a
Tahitian port, well dressed, wads of
money in his belt, a gay companion
by his side, looking forward to a joy
ous "honeymoon" in the tropics until
that "trouble about the missing or
phans' funds blew over."
The dream lasted four days. Love
died. Retribution was born. Thrush
began to collect the wages of evil
His devotion to a Tahitian belle
caused the rift in love's lute. On the
fourth day of the "honeymoon" the
man who robbed the orphans and
"rolled" his friends for money to
gratify the whims of a vampire was
fe deserted in Papeete.
A shrieking, raving madman, he
stood on the shore, shaking his fists
at the Talume, sailing away to Aus
tralia with the laughing, jeering
woman for whom he had sold his
The black men cared for him with
black women he may have found
solace for his lost love, his blighted
A few weeks ago the same ship
sailed back past Papeete; the vampire
was aboard, she hid in her lair as the
steamer touched Papeete; she feared
for her life if Thrush saw her.
Through the half-open portholes sne
saw him her former lover and slave
as he paced, more dead than alive,
along the pier.
"Yes, I saw him there on the dock,"
she says. "I hid away as we came
into port, but through the portholes I
could see him watching for me, hop
ing, perhaps, that I would return to
him. He's just a shell of a man now,
with eyes on fire, with a light I had
never seen there the light of hun
ger, despair and longing.
"Thrush would give his hope of sal
vation for a chance to leave that 'liv
ing tomb' of his for a chance to make
good again in Denver."
But to go back to the first turn of
the road that led Ellis Thrush, man
Jf affairs and manager of the Clayton
Orphans' trust fund, into the port of
broken men, the harbor of dead
It was in 1906 that he turned from
the straight road and it was Helen
Faust, known to the police of many
cities, who showed him the way.
Helen was beautiful, Thrush was
vain; she played on his vanity; ha
borrowed money, he stole money, he
sold a life insurance policy of $20,
000, he sold stock bought with his
wife's money, and he flung the gold
into the lap of his mistress.
Finally Denver began to mak'fe
uncomfortable for Thrush aHtfs
openly acknowledged "affinity.
Frantically he sought a hiding
place for himself and his companion;
his love for adventure, almost as
strong as his love for wine and wom
en, pointed the way to the mid-Pacific
to Tahiti, 3,600 miles from San
"So we sailed for Tahiti," .she said.
"Thrush had a. belt fun of gold, At