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New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899, June 27, 1886, Image 1

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PUBLISHED BY A. J. WILLIAMSON’S 808
VOL? XLI.-NO. 37.
Entered at the Post Office at New York,
N. Y., as Second Class Matter.
THE
PUBLISHED AT
NO. 11 FRANKFORT STREET.
The NEW YORK DISPATCH is a Journal of light, agree
able and sparkling Literature and News. One page is de
voted to Masonic Matters, and careful attention is given
to Music and the Drama.
The Dispatch is sold by all News Agents of the city and
suburbs, at FIVE CENTS A COPY.
TERMS FOR MAIL SUBSCRIBERS:
SINGLE SUBSCRIPTIONS $2 50 a year
TWO SUBSCRIBERS 400 “
FIVE SUBSCRIBERS eOO “
ALL MAIL SUBSCRIPTIONS MUST BE PAID IN AD
VANCE. POSTAGE PAID EVERYWHERE BY THE
DISPATCH OFFICE.
ACOress NEW YORK DISPATCH,
Post Office Box No. 177*5.
playslndllayers.
A BLACKSMITH’S SKIT.
Concerning Imitators—From tlie Forge to
the Playhouse-How to Run a Theatre
—A Box-Office Count—A “Packed Au
dience ” for Nine Dollars—A Dime
Museum Doorkeeper, Etc-, Etc.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
Imitation may be the sincerest flattery, but it is,
in a matter of legitimate business, very often dis
honest in motive and as annoying to the imitated
as it is disreputable to the imitator.
An imitation of another man’s methods—origi
nal with himself in business—is, as a rule, prompt
ed by a desire to overreach him, to rob him of his
patronage, and stands in evidence that his imitative
rivals have little character or talent of their own
to recommend them.
And in the end the imitated, if he be honest and
straightforward in his dealings, has the satis
faction of witnessing the discomfiture of his imi
tators, and of gaining a firm place in the confidence
Of those whom it is his business as well as profit to
serve.
Rivalry in business, if it is honest rivalry, is not
Imitative; it is a contest of men in the same line of
endeavor, each of whom relies upon his own
originality, knowledge and business methods to
secure the greater share of patronage.
Mr. Rosenthal Dixey can imitate Irving's Ham
let, and perfectly reproduce his peculiarities of
speech, action, facial expression and make-up, but
he can’t play Hamlet, nor has he any more compre
hension of the character and the subtleties of the
text than a pig has of the pentateuch.
Nat Goodwin’s imitation of Booth as Richelieu is
wonderfully effective, but I fancy the clever come
dian would present a sorry figure as a rival of Booth
in tragedy.
Fancy the pair of them, simply because they are
both actors and can so capitally imitate Irving
and Booth, and inspired by a spirit of envy and
greed, abandoning their proper line of work and
announcing themselves as the only real genuine
REPRESENTATIVES OF SHAKESPEAREAN CHAR
ACTERS.
A man who is a good blacksmith and has made
hard work it was for him too—a snug “ rainy day ”
sum and banked it—stands in the door of his shop,
gazing meditatively upon the pictorial blazonry of
a theatre’s attractions, which ornaments the dead
wall on the opposite side of the street.
Behind him flash the sparks that fly from beneath
strokes of the journeymen Vulcan’s hammers; the
fire of the forge glows like the eye of wide awake
prosperity and—certainly this man, brother and
blacksmith ought to be happy.
But he isn’t. Does he want the earth? He has
expressed no such desire, but be has the look of it.
It is not the first time he has gazed contempla
tively at those highly colored posters on that board
fence over the way. Nor is it the first time he has
thought of things theatrical with a serious inclin
ing.
Year in and year out, from early morn—the milk
men and early worm’s hour—to dewy eve the diurnal
period when the sun sets and hatches into life
myriads of gas lights and other illuminative com
forts—he has hammered at the anvil, nursed equine
feet between his knees and pared hoofs and fitted
the iron shoes. In his avocation he has made
reputation, friends and—sorrowful fact—felt grow
ing within his mind a yearning for a quicker and
easier method of gathering in lawful shekels.
Two or three of his customers were theatrical
manager^—She was the lessee of a theatre-then
open in the city,
All these magnates had horses and carriages of
their own; they were clad in fine and fashionable
raiment and—as far as he could see through the
film of envy which had gathered over his visuals—
fared sumptuously every day.
They were also apparently well supplied with
financial resources and had the smiling faces and
jollity of mien which betoken a life free from care
and filled with happiness.
These customers with their show of content and
gay and debonaire manners—diverted his mind
from hoof hoisting and the homely monotony of
hammering red-hot iron into the cold blackness of
horse-shoes.
So day after day he gazed upon the board fence
posters; and night after night made himself visible
at the theatres. He
CULTIVATED THE ACQUAINTANCE OF ACTORS,
business managers and managers absolute. And he
envied them. There was no more music for him in
the ringing of the shop hammers upon the anvil,
and the glow of the fire of his forgo paled in the
brightness of the footlights.
And the blowing of the bellows was windless com
pared with the blowing of the managers and actors
in their favorite haunts.
Then—Greed and Envy dethroned Common sense,
which had ruled him so long, and he became their
willing tool.
•‘Why can’t I run a theatre as well as that man.
He isn’t any smarter than I and he is just coining
money. He gathers in hundreds of dollars night
after night, plays the gentleman all day, drives a
fast team, lives on the fat of the land, is puffed and
praised by the newspapers—while I am wasting my
time earning the chance dollars that come to me
grudgingly in that grimy, dark hole I call my shop.
D n the shop, and give me the stage."
So one fine Autumn morning he shut up his shop
and, presto—Vulcan lost a votary and the black
smith became a manager—a rival of his patron, the
lessee.
He rented a theatre, and began diminishing with
liberal rapidity the amount of his “rainy day”
•avings. “ Let me alone. I know a thing or two—
I’ll make it hot for these old time experienced man
agers ; I’ll run ’em out of the business before the
season’s half over. When I get in somebody’s got
to get out.**
His most successful rival —who had earned the
right to success by years of experience in the busi
ness-had won popular favor by the presentation of
comic opera.
The Blacksmith at once grasped comic opera by
the neck and thrust the lyric victim upon his stage.
He went into it with a rush ; a Boun
derby who did not have a G^adgrind as his adviser.
He had watched closely the methods of his rival—
and he imitated them as best he could.
Being an imitator, he began disparaging the im
itated; sought to undermine him ; offered people in
his rival's employ larger salaries to induce them to
leave him, and adopted all the petty devices his
envy and small cunning could invent to attract the
patronage to his own theatre and deceive the pub.
11c. He •* worked” the press, as far as bombastic
and extensive advertising could warrant flattering
notices and puffing in the critical columns.
many-colored posters covered the board fences
and dead walls, and the name of the obscure black
smith was displayed at the head of all as “ Lessee
and Manager.'*
He. came forth in purple and fine linen, and fared
sumptuously every day.
He also had his blooded team, and
WAS HE NOT ALREADY A GREAT MAN ?
The supes gazed at him with awe; the choristers
smiled sweetly upon his magnificence, and the
principals of his company gave his greatness and
authority respectful homage. Such is the glory of
the manager when salaries are promptly paid.
How about his rival ? The man of “ that other
theatre”—did he suffer?
Certainiy, for a while. The Blacksmith’s methods
worried him. When he got out a new advertising
device, or introduced new features into his per
formance, out came the blacksmith with his imita
tion and proclaimed himself the deeply injured
Imitated. But, nevertheless, his theatre was not
deserted. He had served the public faithfully in
past seasons; he had fulfilled his promises and had
paid his bills with honest punctuality. H'is busi
ness, despite the opnositioa, paid expenses and left
him a margin of profit. But few—and these were
the least valued—of the members of his company
had made pretext for breaking their contracts and
gone over to the enemy.
The ex-Blacksmith was playing a version of the
same opera, which he loudly boasted was the origi.
nal, direct from the author—all of which be knew
was a lie. He packed his theatre every night—with
deadheads—put out the “standing room only”sign
at each performance, and—still imitative, you see—
he gave souvenirs—cheap photographs of the act
resses, bouquets of flowers, flashily paper-covered
books of the opera and other catchpenny trifles—at
each matinee “to every lady purchaser of an or
chestra seat.*'
His version of the opera and its performance,
how were they—good, bad or indifferent ?
Well, his version was little else than a mangled
exhibit, the outcome of engaging an ordinary hack
writer to do a playwright's work—the topical verses
were the vilest of doggerel, held together by a string
of slang.
The performance was as fairly respectable as
could be given by a comt any engaged by a manager
who had no more knowledge of management, or idea
of what he wanted to make the cast effective, than
a North Sea whale has of Wagner’s music.
There is, as the ex-Blacksmith eventually discov
ered. a wide difference in the cast of a play and the
casting of a shoe.
All this time, with the hullabalos and beating of
his managerial tom-tom, and amid the excitement
attendant upon his new position, the ex-Blacksmith
has omitted to notice one very serious fact.
This fact concerned the relative condition of re
ceipts and expenditures. The treasurer was all
right, the count of the house was always correct
nothing wrong in this regard. But what had really
escaped the attention of the ex-Blacksmith’s mana
gerial mind was that almost from the time he leased
the theatre, he had been drawing his “rainy-day”-
savings-bank account—down, down, week by week,
until there wasn't a dollar of it left. Well, where
were the receipts ?
Oh, they were all right; certainly what there was
of them. But after the novelty of the opening
week of his control of the theatre, the receipts
dropped and continued to drop, until on the occa
sion of the house being one night crowded with an
unusually enthusiastic audience, this ex-Blacksmith
was shown a slip—of which this is a copy—by the
treasurer, of the receipts :
“ Orchestra, $11.50.
Balcony, $7.00.
Family circle, $3.75.
General admissions, $2.00.
Making the magnificent and cheerful return of
twenty-four dollars and twenty-five cents to cover
the night’s expenses of nearly four hundred dollars.
Suddenly he forgot all about his dignity as a
manager.
He went into the managerial office, sat him down
and began figuring up. He worried himself into
the cash accounts which, until then, he had left en
tirely to his treasurerand business-manager, and
only condescending to consider or think of
SUCH TRIFLES AS RECEIPTS AND EXPENSES
when the treasurer asked him for a check where
with to make up the constantly increasing defi
ciencies.
“ Great Scott! what d—d fool was it that told me
that every deadhead was sure to bring two pay.
ing people with him, and to paper the house would
advertise the business into a big success?”
Then here came the imitation of his rival again—
he came to this resolve:
• “Other managers borrow money—that lessee
‘ oyer the way ’—does it. I’ll do it too, Never say
die.”
Well, he did borrow a few hundreds once, and
then again—and then he sold—on the quiet, his
blooded team (bought out of his “ shop ” savings)—
reduced his chorus, discharged half his ushers,
and-
One fine morning—succeeding a night upon which
the receipts were' nine dollars and seventy-five
cents and the theatre comparatively empty, owing
to the fact that the deadhead element were tired of
the monotony of a show that grew gradually worse
in every respect—the ex-blacksmith was missing.
He had vanished from the scene of his triumphs
and was seen no more.
And his company mourned in vain for the salaries
they never would get, and the treasurer and busi
ness-manager gazed and smiled sweetly upon the
unpaid bills which respectfully and tenderly they
had placed in a pile—pigeonholed, as it were—in the
box-office.
The Imitator was gone, and the Imitated—where
was he ?
Going right on with his business as a manager;
his theatre still open, and doing well with the long
run of the opera.
The ex-Blacksmith’s career was simply that of
every man whose ambition or desire to make money
rapidly prompts him to abandon the calling for
which nature fitted him, and embark in a business
of which he has no knowledge, and for which he is
totally unfitted.
He is simply an Imitator.
All he has to do, he imagines, is to imitate some
successful man’s business methods, and at once
reap a harvest of success.
And he gets left every time.
This Blacksmith, whose career I have cited as an
example, was, during the latter part of the past sea
son, humbly earning his bread and beer as the door
keeper of a dime museum in Cincinnati.
What 1 return to his original occupation—that of
a blacksmith ? Oh, no I In his ignominous failure,
and within the shadow of poverty, he still retains,
as a memento of his downfall—his Pride. And a
miserable pride it is to which men cling.
He is still in “The Show Business,” you see.
And of all the freaks and curios of the establish
ment of which he is the doorkeeper, he can be said
to have but one duplicate of himself on exhibition.
And that is the most natural imitator of the two—
the monkey.
Hb Ate Humble Pie. —When Mary
J. McGregory came up to the bar without a scratch,
George went on the witness stand with one side of
his face as if it had rubbed against a cutler’s grind,
stone.
“And you want to let her go?” said Justice
Smith.
“Yes; but bind her over to keep the peace.”
“What he would like to say isn't true,” said the
woman, with a pursed mouth.
“If she bothers mo any more ?” said the McGreg
ory, feeling the sore side o/ his cheeks,
“ Have her arrested,” saftl the Court.
“I have witnesses; he is afraid to face them,”
said the woman.
The Court ordered him to sign hie withdrawal.
When that was done she marched out, the Mc-
Gregory hissing in her ear :
“When 1 get you home, you fool, won’t I fix you
off.” *
Mr. McGregory feels sorry by this time that he
leave the case to the Court. She wants a
cooling off in the Workhouse.
NEW "YORK? 'sUNDAYr
A SOCIALISTS_VENGEANCE.
The Terrible Explosion that Shat
tered the Peloubets’ Silk
Manufactory.
OPENING A HUSBAND’S EYES.
A BOTTLE TO BE HANDLED WITH CARE.
HENRI’S FATAL SIGNALS.
DEADLY SERVICE OF A THREAD.
ANNIHILATION OF A GUILTY COUPLE.
On October 27th, 1857, at 3:15 P. M., a terrific ex
plosion in an instant converted to a mass of shat
tered ruins the office wing of the handsome and
largo silk manufactory of Peloubet etfils, of Lyons.
Fire followed close upon the explosion, but was
quickly extinguished. In the ruins were fouqd
here and there fragments of charred flesh, but
nothing even of sufficient size to denote to what
portion of a body it had belonged, and consequent
ly nothing identifiable as the remains of any indi
vidual. It was known, however, that M. Peloubet,
pere, had perished in the explosion, and as, after
that event, a woman named Jeanne Desclausas,
wife of an operative in the factory, was do more to
be found anywhere, it was conjectured that frag
ments of her were among the chunks of flosh found
in the ruins.
The cause of the explosion was a profound mys
tery. It was positively affirmed by the son of the
destroyed manufacturer—who was hastily, sum
moned from Paris, where he had been sent on busi
ness by his father—that not an atom of anything of
an explosive nature was in the office of the firm or
anywhere else in the establishment. The steam
boilers were intact, and there had not been even a
steam pipe in the wrecked portion of the building.
Nothing could have been thrown Into the office
from the putside to cause the explosion, for a tall
iron fence, at some distance from the building,
would have prevented anybody getting close enough'
to throw anything into the window, which was
guarded by a rather close iron railing.
Detectives nosed about the place for days, scien*
tists speculated over the affair for weeks, the pub
lic made itself dizzy with guesswork. Nobody—
excepting two men—had the remotest suspicion
that the frightful catastrophe was
A HUSBAND’S VENGEANCE
upon an unfaithful wife and her paramour, con
ceivdd and executed with almost devilish ingenuity
and effectiveness.
The affair would still be enveloped in mystery,
but for the publication, in a recent number of La
Main Rouge, of a thrilling story illustrative of tbe
secrecy and certainty with which the high explos
ives may be employed in revolutionary or other
kindred work of destruction.
La Main Rouge, it should be said, is one of the
most violent of the many obscure organs of the
Socialists and Anarchists of Europe. It is only ob
scare in the sense that it is seldom seen by any
others than those in sympathy with its murdarou*
theories. Unhappily, these are so numerous that
it is believed to have quite a large circulation.
In the story to which allusion has been made
names were carefully avoided, but so detailed were
all its statements that it has been easy to fix the
exact locale of the tragic event it narrates and to
supply the omitted names, with but a single excep
tion. and that a comparatively unimportant one.
That one is, however, strongly believed to be the
name of Henri Murdtfeldt, a factory operative,
whose supposed connection with the affair will
presently be seen.
The skeleton story of La Main Rouge, being thus
filled out, presents the following narration of facts :
Auguste Desclauses was a skilled weaver in the
manufactory of Peloubet et Ills, and bad been, prior
to the explosion, employed there for some ten or
twelve years.
A little more than two years before the occur
rence that left him a widower, Auguste married
Jeanne Salizet, the daughter of a widow who kept a
small shop. They had no children. Jeanne was a
very pretty girl, with wavy hair black as jet and
glossy as satin, large, bold, black eyes, rosy cheeks
and carmine lips. She had a plump, voluptuous
figure, covered with a white and deliciously velvety
skin, and her hands and feet were such as a duchess
might have envied. Altogether, she deemed herself
justified, after mature reflection, in deciding that
she was much
TOO PRETTY TO BE A POOR MAN’S WIFE.
Francois Peloubet, the head of the firm, was a
stout, red-faced voluptuary, nearly fifty years of
age, but still vigorous and far from, being sate.l
with the carnal pleasures of life. He was credited,
and justly, with having ruined many girls who had
been his employees, and was known as one who
hesitated at nothing for the gratification of his licen
tious passions.
His conquest of Jeanne Desclausas was an easy
oue. She was flattered by his admiration, con
quered by the handsome presents he made to her,
though most of them she had to conceal for fear her
husband might suspect how she procured things of
such value, and within much less than a year from
the date when she became the wife of Auguste she
was also the mistress of his employer.
She was accustomed to visit him in his office, iu
the afternoons. I’his private office, in which their
meetings took place, was on the ground floor, at the
back Of the bffi! ”fig afid oo connection direct,
ly with the main office in which were the bookkeep
ers and clerks. It was, in fact, intentionally sepa
rated from that office by a large stock room, ot
which M. Peloubet himself kept the key, and was
entered from a main corridor that ran through the
centre of the building, or from another corridor,
which was private—at right angles with the former
—and in which a person was little likely to be ob
served or to meet anybody. It was through tbe
latter that Jeanne always pissed. Still she lal not
wholly escaped observation. There were always
watchful and perhaps jealous, eyes to note who en
tered that private corridor, tbe use of which was
known to not a few persons about the factory.
THE FIRST SUSPICION
of the unfaithfulness of his wife that WAS awakened
m Auguste Desclauses’s mind, was from overhear
ing a quarrel between her and one of her neigh
bors, a vixenish blonde girl who, it was said, used
to go to M. Peloubet’s office, but did so no more.
“You put on airs with me, do you? you cat I”
she Raid, addressing Jeanne; “ because you dress
better than 1 do. But I know who pays for your
dresses. It isn’t your stupid husband. What would
he say if he knew what you do to get them ? I have
a mind to tell him.”
J But Jeanne prudently made peace with her and
if the blonde girl ever bad any such “mind” she
had ceased to have it when Auguste questionedjher.
Women are likely to stand together when a man is
to be deceived, even though they bate each other.
Lisette would tell him nothing, even declared that
she only spoke in anger and without any ground
for her words.
Auguste, however, was not satisfied, and, without
sayipg anything to his wife, he began investigating
for himself. He soon found that frequently, in the
afternoons, when he supposed her at home while he
was at work, that she was away for hours.
Then he took an opportunity one Sunday, when
she was at her mother’s, to open her trunk with a
false key and examine its contents. He found
pieces of silk and jewelry that he knew she could
not have bought out of the money he gave her for
housekeeping and that she did not have when they
were married. Of that latter fact he was perfectly
assured, for one silk dress pattern was of a new de
sign. woven by himself within a couple of mouths.
More criminating than aught else, be found a scrap
of paper bearing the words, without address or
signature: “Come Thursday, instead of Wednes
day.” It was a man’s writing. He could not recog
nize it, but he believed it to be that of his em
ployer.
In his distress Auguste went to a friend for coun
sel. That fr.end is the only individual referred to
in the story whose personality is not certainiy es
tablished, but he is believed to have been Henri
Murdtfeldt, a fellow-operative in Peloubet’s factory.
Both he aud Auguste were members of a
SECRET SOCIALISTIC CLUB
in which all were sworn to brotherhood. Henri
heird his friend through and replied, sadly, but
without hesitation :
“You are right. I have for some time believed
that a guilty intimacy existed between your wife
and M. Peloubet. and have again and again doubted
if my fraternal obligations did not demand that I
should intorm you of it. One thought—an unjust
and unworthy one, as I now know and for which I
beg your forgiven -ss—restrained me. One does not
know in these days how often husbands willingly
close their eyes when a very rich man, like M.
Peloubet, is in question. The rich, you see, must
be made happy and can well afford to pay for it.”
Auguste utterod a cry of rage and a malediction,
but Henri restrained him, and went on :
" Let that bad thought of mine pass. What we
have now to do is to catch and punish that Satyr.”
••And the wanton who wears my name.”
“Yes; we can perhaps strike both at once.
Listen! The first thing to be done is to be certain
that we are right. I, as you know, work in the
right wing of the building, on the second floor.
The window near me commands a view of the win
dows of the private office, but I cannot see very far
in there, as the background of the office is dark
when tbe windows are closed. But I have seen
Jeanne in there a number of times, and have seen
whut it wouid only pain you to have me tell.
Always, in a few minutes after she entered, she
would put her bonnet on the ledge of the back
window and draw down the blind, while M. Pelou
bet would
antr suhynihnt
PULL DOWN THE BLIND
of the other window, which is nearest to his desk.
You, in the meantime. I could see at work at your
loom, directly above their heads, with only a floor
between you aud them.”
Auguste again burst forth in a fury of denuncia
tion and curses. But for the influence of his friend
he would have gone to work at once, in a blind and
blundering way, to exterminate the guilty pair,
and in all probability would have attained but half
success, if even so much.
“No,” said Henri. “But remember wbat you
have been taught in the club, to strike only
when you can do so effectively. Do yoij remember
what we have recently been told about Nobel’s new
explosive ?”
“That nitro-glycerine?”
“ Yes.”
“ Well, what of that now ?”
“I have an idea—a grand one.”
What that idea was later events will show. The
two men consulted together long and earnestly.
When Auguste went home, he gave no sign of the
rage that was in his heart. He even chatted gayly
with his wife, and kissed her, whereupon she no
doubt laughed to herself at having for a husband
one over whose eyes wool could so well be drawn.
Five days went by, during which neither of the
two friends lost eight of the purpose in view or
delayed in taking the preliminary steps necessary
for Its accomplishment. A code of signals was
between them, by which Henri, from
his post of observation, could keep Augusto in
fofffiM pf pDyth’Sg important that passed below
his feet in the office.
One day, when he was thus informed that M.
Peloubet had gone out to his lunch, Auguste, by
means of a fine fcimlet, bored a very small hole
through the floor, at a carefully determined point.
Another day, upon a like favorable occasion, he
slipped down stairs and took an impression of the
lock of M. Peloubet’s door. The next opportunity
he tried in the lock
A FALSE KEY
that Henri had procured made for him. Next he
carefully wound upon a smooth round bottle, many
yards of a stout silk thread, tbe inner end of which
he left dangling a foot or more, and having so fixed
it, hid it away. Then he made last, by means of a
nail, one end of a short silk thread, the other end of
which he poked through the small hole in the
floor.
Two days later he received from Auguste a bottle
containing over a pound of nitro-glycerine, with the
injunction to handle it with exceeding care and
gentleness, as a shake or jolt might cause it to ex
plode and blow him to atoms.
As soon as M. Peloubet went out to his daily
lunch, Auguste slipped down stairs, carrying the
terrible explosive, and, by means of his false key,
entered the private office, the door of which he
locked behind him. The office was not ceiled. The
heavy double floor above was laid upon huge
beams and*to tho lower sides of these beams were
nailed boards, that made shelves, upon which M.
Peloubet kept a great number of bottles, vials and
packages, containing samples of chemicals used as
dyes. Those shelves were at a higbt of fully twelve
feet from the polished hard wood floor.
Mounting a small table that he moved out into
the centre of the floor for the purpose, and then a
chair placed upon it, Auguste reached one of the
shelves and upon it deposited his bottle of nitro
glycerine. Around its neck he tied firmly the end
of the short thread that he had poked through the
floor. Then he sprang lightly down, put the table
and chair in place and looked up. The thread was
of the same color as the wood above it and could
not be seen. The bottle was certain of not being
noticed. Hie
DEATH TRAP
was complete, but he could not help misgivings as
to its efficiency. Tbe pale straw-tinted fluid in the
bottle looked so innocent. Nevertheless, he had
faith in what Henri had told him about it and,
locking the office door again behind him, went
back to his work to wait for the final act of the
tragedy, now in full motion.
The very next afternoon, at a little past three
o'clock, Heori signalled to him:
“ Your wife has entered the office. They kiss
each other. She has taken off her hat. They have
pulled down the blinds.”
Hurriedly, with trembling fingers, Auguste
brought the thread-wound bottle from its place of
concealment, cut loose the fastened end of the short
thread that ran through the floor and knotted it to
the dangling eud of the thread on the bottle. Then
he pushed the thread from the bottle aud laid it,
in smooth and even coils on the floor, with its free
end uppermost. He felt sure that it would not
entaugle while being drawn off. Such was his ex
citement that the blood surging up into his brain
made a roaring in his ears and the floor seemed to
undulate beneath his feet. Again the doubt arose,
would the nitro-glycoriue do what was expected of
it? Well, he made up his mind, if it did not, he
would go down, open the door with his false key
and finish both Jeanne and M. iPeloubet with his
kniie. But, he would try Henri’s plan first. Taking
up the free end ot thread, he threw it over a rapidly
revolving shaft at the end of his loom, saw it catch
and commence drawing up the coils from the floor
at such speed as promised very soon to drag the
bottle from the shelf below, break the thread and
then .
He had no time to lose if he would-escapes Step
ping quickly out of the room where ho worked
alone, he ran along the corridor toward the front of
the building. Before he had gone fifty feet
AN APPALLING EXPLOSION
took place behind him ; the house seemed shaken,
as if by an earthquake, and, looking back, he saw
the whole rear portion of that part of the factory
sink down, a crumbling mass of walls, floors and
machinery, enveloped in a cloud of dust and smoke,
through which red flames quickly darted. The
flames were speedily subdued and search among tbe
ruins for the victims of the catastrophe was com
menced. What the results of that search were has
already been told. With seemingly miraculous
good fortune, not a single person—excepting who
ever was in the private office —was in the slightest
degree harmed. It was regarded as a special inter
position of Providence in Auguste's behalf that he
should have gone, but a moment before the explo
sion, to request the foreman to look at some of the
machinery of his loom that was slightly out of
fifdeF.
What became of Augusto Desclausas and his
friend is not known, but it is probable that both
are, if still alive, secure from prosecution, else La
Main Rouge would not, even at this late date, hay©
told tbe story.
an attßpteFmurder.
THE MYSTERY WHICH SURROUNDED IT,
A Woman in Man’s Clothes.
ELUCIDATION OF THE MYSTERY.
There was not a more prosperous man in the
whole town of C in Indiana, in 1851, than
James Braganz. He was the “mine host” of tho
principal inn of the place which had a reputation
second to none in the State, owing to the excellent
manner in which it was conducted.
Braganz, while thoroughly understanding his
business, was very close in money matters, and
always ready to take advantage of hiving the cash.
Hence, while he paid his debts, it was remarked
that he got more work for less money out of his help
than any man thereabout. At the time spoken of
above, Braganz was about forty-nine years of age, a
widower, and his family consisted of one daughter,
Alice, nineteen years old. She was a beautiful girl,
both in form aud feature, and mentally as full of
graces as she was beautiful. She was a thorough
housekeeper, and it was as much to her skill as to
anything else that made the inn so popular. Her
aunt, a maiden lady of uncertain years, assisted her
in the household duties, and with the experience
of the older lady and the energy of the younger,
combined with the business tact of the landlord,
the inn enjoyed a rare season of prosperity.
One evening in the year before mentioned, as Bra
ganz stood at his door,
A YOUNG-LOOKING. DELICATE MAN
approached him, and asked for employment. The
stranger's appearance indicated poverty and weari
ness, and as there was a vacancy in tbe dining
room, Braganz seized tbe opportunity, and engaged
the stranger as waiter at a low salary, took him in,
ted bim and after giving him instruction as to his
duties, sent him off to bed.
This new waiter proved to be a treasure, and
attended to bis duties faithfully, winning praise
right along, until three weeks had passed. About
two o’clock on the morning of Sunday, the first of
the fourth week of the waiter's time at the inn,
wild, piercing screams were heard coming from the
room where Alice slept, aud all were soon gath
ered there. Then it was found that Alice had been
brutally beaten and assaulted, and was almost dead.
Restoratives were applied, and at last the girl was
brought back to consciousness sufficiently to say
that her assailant was none other than
THE NEW WAITER,
and this was further corroborated by the aunt, who
said that when aroused by Alice’s sereams, she had
rushed toward the room, and saw the waiter dash
out of the room and down the stairs, and positively
said she was not mistaken.
A dash was at once made by all present for the
waiter’s room, but when the door was knocked in,
it was empty, the bird had flown. Then began a
search for the waiter, and it was plain from the re
marks made by the searchers that Judge Lynch
would preside when they had caught their man.
About twelve o'clock on the day of tbe search,
loud shouting proclaimed something unusual, and
tbe mob quickly learned that tbe waiter had been
caught. Quickly securing a rope, the crowd made
for the woods, dragging tbe balf-fainting waiter
along with them.
In a jiffy tbe leader bad a noose around the neck
of the victim, and while arranging it, he stopped.
then suddenly turned to the howling mob, cried,
pointing to the waiter:
“ BOYS-THIS IS A WOMAN ”
then took the rope from around the waiter’s neck.
For an instant there was a painful silence, and
then enough of an investigation was made to prove
that such was the case. Back then went the
wondering crowd, taking the waiter with them, who
all this time had not said one word—and quickly
brought her into the presence of Alice. Upon flee
ing the waiter Alice began to scream, “ Take him
away,’ and the crowd were fairly paralyzed and
did not know what to do. When Alice was in
formed of the sex of her supposed assailant, she
could only say it was beyond her comprehension,
as the waiter was the one who had assaulted her.
To all inquiries the waiter, now clothed in the garb
of her own flex, would answer, “I do not know, 1
do not know.”
P aßßo<J > Alice recovered and the mystery
fltill surrounded the affair. The waiter continued
to perform her duties, and so two years passed
away. Around the fire on Winter’s nights, and on
th<B porch in Summer, the gossips held this story as
their stock in trade, whereon unending discussion
was provoked, and strangers stopping at the inn
were told of this strange mystery, and all would
gaze in silence on this quiet waiter; and as time
ran on, the mystery grew, and yet there was only
speculation as regarded its cause.
The second year had gone, when one day this
strange, quiet waiter-girl
Received a letter,
and when she read it she fell down in a swoon, and
then cried as though her heart would break. The
letter, it was learned, was from her brother’s law
yer, and in it she was informed of his trial and sen
tence to death for murder, and bidding her come if
she wanted to see him before he died. This she
decided to do; but insisted on Alice going also; giv
ing no reason, but urging that it be done. To this
Alice finally consented, and then they started.
After a tedious journey the ladies reached their
destination and proceeded at onoe to the jail. In
forming the turnkey who they were, they were
ushered into the presence of the condemned mur
derer, and, as Alice looked at him, she started back
in horror; for there was the very counterpart in
size, looks and appearance, of her assailant. The
brother and sister were the image of one another.
The mystery was now cleared up, and the silsnee of
the waiter-girl accounted for. The brother had
accidentally came across his sister while she was
dressing as a man, and had recognized her, and he
had assisted her. He had been a hard character
and made up his mind to rob the inn. In search
ing Alice’s rosm for booty she had suddenly awak
ened. and he then assaulted her. This was his sto
ry. It cleared up the mystery, and in due time the
murderer paid the penalty for his crime.
The women both returned to the inn, and became
inseparable friends. Alice married happiiy a few
years later, and, with the secret off her mind, the
waiter-girl regained her cheerfulness, and Braganz
married her.
BBRUBDATTHrSTIKE.
WHIPPED WITH HAIR SAWS.
‘‘White Men Wouldn't Burn Up Valu
able Property.”
An Appeal to Not Resort to Bru
tality.
A Scene of Horror which has Haunted a
Man for Twenty-five Years.
Lexington, Ga.
In a conversation with Uncle Jerry Thomas, an
old and esteemed resident of this place, he said:
“I was reading, recently, the particulars of the
burning of a negro rapist alive, in Alabama, with all
the fiendish torture imaginable. It vividly brought
to mv mind aa affair that I witnessed right here in
this county a quarter of a century ago, the recol
lection of which still haunts my memory. One of
the best citizens in Oglethorpe was brutally mur
deren in a most treacherous manner by a negro.
The murderer escaped, but as soon as the news of
the deed reached the ears of the neighbors, hun
dreds of excited men were on his trail. The fellow
was found in a skunk pen and dragged forth from
his place of concealment. At that time there lived
in our couuty several cruel aud desperate men, who
had plenty of money and feared neither God nor
devil. Into their hands, unfortunately, this negro
fell. For three days he was kept chained in an old
outhouse, and the most horrible tortures inflicted
upon him. He was even
“WHIPPED WITH HAIR SAWS,
“and it is said that his tormentors poured spirits
of turpentine on his wounds to add to his suffer
ing. The negro was very stubborn and courageous
and was insolent to the end. It seemed impossible
to break his spirit, and this fact only enraged his
captors the more. The most horrible stories were
told of the cruelties inflicted upon the negro, but of
them I knew nothing, until the nows spread over
the surrounding country like wildfire, that on an
appointed day the murderer would be burned
alive.
“ (There is always a mysterious attraction in such
horrors for the masses, and when I reached the
scene of the murder, I found the highway filled
with men going to witness the death of a human
being by fire—the most painful and horrible of all
methods of death. But all of these parties did not
come to satiate their thirst for the horrible, but
their motives were of a higher order, and their mis
sion was to try aud persuade the mob to let the
law take its course. The late Hou. Zach. Clark was
the leader among this law-abiding class. But it
was like beating straws against a cyclone to try and
stay the vengeance of the vigilantes. The mur
dered man was one of Oglethorpe's most honored
and popular citizens, and even those who would not
take a hand >u th© burning, lolt no disposition to
iuierfere.
•• The sable prisoher was chained in the yard, and
while his lace bore evidence of much
“SUFFERING AND TORTURE
“ through which he had passed, there was a reso
lute, defiant look on his face that showed he was
not cowed. This lost the negro much sympathy.
A half dozen men had taken upon themselves the
management of the entire matter, and they were
cold-blooded and merciless. At the appointed time
the leader walked up to the negro, unloosened him
from a tree to which he was chained, and an
nounced that the sentence passed upon the prison
er was that be should be burned alive at the stake,
and they were about now to put the sentence into
execution. Throwing one end of the chain over his
shoulder, the judge walked off, the negro following
behind with a grin upon his black lace. It was af
terward said that he said no white men would burn
good property like him, as he was worth too much
money for that. The fellow thought that after be
ing severely punished he would be run off and sold
in the Mississippi swamps, as was done with all
unconquerable slaves. The crowd followed close
behinp. I secured a place near the prisoner. There
were a number of negroes also in the party, as the
planters thought this a good time aud place to
learn them a lesson. If his race had any sympathy
for the doomed man they did not show it by sign
or word. He was carried down a hill and a clearing
was reached. Near the stream was growing a little
sapling, and at that the crowd halted. The mur
derer was then
“CHAINED TO THE TREE,
‘ • and the spectators asked to gather faggots and pile
them around the human offering on the shrine of re
venge. Only a few lent a helping hand. There
were several little children of the doomed negro
who had followed the procession from the yard.
Thev saw the white men gathering brush and pil
ing it at their father's feet, and innocently set at work.
Up to this time a number of white men present did
not believe that the mob would carry out their
threat, and hurriedly held a consultation. It result
ed in Col. Clark springing upon a stump and beg
ging the mob not to resort to such brutality, but
let the man be tried and executed according to law.
But Col. Clark was ordered to keep his mouth closed
or he would get into trouble himself.
“ At this time a match was struck and tbe funeral
pyre ignited. The fuel being very dry it at once
blazed forth, and for the first time, the murderer
realized his doom. He cast a most appealing look
at his tormenters and exclaimed aloud:
“ ‘Great God, white folks! You ain’t goin’ to barn
a man alive ?’ ”
“ He was answered with jeers from tbe crowd,
and fresh fuel was thrown on the blaze. It was a
“ MOST HORRIBLE SIGHT.
•• I never want to witness such another scene, for it
haunted me for years afterward. While the negro
did not speak again I could see that he was suffer,
ing all the agonies of the damned. The flames
would raise great blisters on his flesh, and these
would soon burst. His body and limbs would
brown and wither. His contortions were horrible.
He tried like a madman to tear himself loose from
the chains, and would squirm and writhe about in
great agony. A sickening odor of burning flesh
floated iu the air. At last all struggles ceased. More
brush was heaped around the now dead body and
finally cremation began. The limbs would burn off
and fall to the ground and the head dropped from
the shoulders. At length a pile of charred flesh was
all that was left of a living human body. This was
raked up in a heap, with sticks and pine-knots and
chunks of wood heaped thereon. At last it was
supposed that every thing was consumed, but it is
said that tbe next day a curious neighbor passed
the spot, and raking Id tbe ashes found
OFFICE, NO. II FRANKFORT ST.
“ THE MURDERER’S HEART,
“shrivelled and dried—but still unburned. He
dug a hole at the root of tho tree and buried it.
This terrible affair certainly had a salutary lesson
on the negroes of our county, for there had lately
been several outrages aud murders, and they at once
ceased. Few, if any, of the better class of citizens
endorsed the burning, and it was a source of deep
regret and mortification to them. To the credit of
old Oglethorpe, 1 will say that not a single man who
had a hand in that outrage is now living in our
county. They are all dead or have moved away,
and it seems that a curse has followed them through
life. They first lost their property, and seemed to
reap nothing but trouble and misery and disap
pointment. The place where this negro was burned
has long borne the reputation of being haunted,
and I have passed it at all hours of the day and
night, and the only thing that haunted me was the
picture of that victim at tbe stake, and that will
never leave my mind. Although I had no hand in
the burning of that poor devil of a negro, I would
give a thousand dollars if I had stayed away. The
murderer belonged to a very smart, but bad family
of negroes, one of whom was hanged, two shot and
killed while resisting arrest, and another, a mere
youth, murdered his father. The family is thinned
out now, but a few of them yet live in this county,
but so far as I know conduct themselves well.”
A YOUNG GIRL’S PERIL.
THE DANGER OF PERMITTING
GIRLS TO FORM THE AC
QUAINTANCE OF OLDER
FEMALES.
A handsome, well-developed girl of thirteen years,
named Delia Dalton, resided with her married Bis
ter on South Third street, near sixth, Williamsburg.
The girl was satisfied with her home and with the
treatment she received; so, when she suddenly and
mysteriously disappeared, over ten days ago, her
sister was very much surprised and grieved. It
appears that Delia was sent out at one o'clock in
the afternoon to purchase two loaves of bread at a
neighboring store, but failed to return. Diligent
search was made for her and the homes of relatives
and friends were visited, but no trace of her could
be discovered. At last the police of the Fifth Pre
cinct were notified, aud they made an investigation
and a search, with no better result. The case was
certainly mysterious, and the police scarcely knew
what theory on which to work or how to obtain a
clew. It was altogether improbable that anything
had happened her or that she was kidnapped, so it
was reasoned that she had been enticed away by a
male or female companion.
Last Thursday evening a young woman residing
on Scholes street who knew Delia, saw her with a
female companion named Rebecca Carroll, or
Mooney, for the latter is the name of a man with
whom she lives and who is said to be her husband,
and informed the missing girl’s sister. It was then
after ten o’clock. The woman hurried to the Fourth
Street Station House and sergeant Hallett dis
patched officer Smith with her in search of the girl,
who was found alone on Grand street. She wept
bitterly when she was confronted by her sister and
when closely questioned at the station house Delia
said that Rebecca and herself had been friends for
several months past. She admitted that she had
been well treated at home and could give no reason
Jor her strange action. She seemed to be well
posted, judging from the way in which she replied
to questions asked her by the sergeant.
“ I met my friend Rebecca that day,” said the girl,
“ and she said that I could stop with her if I wanted
to. I went to her room with her and remained
there since.”
“Where did you sleep ?”
“ In the same bed with Rebecca and her hus
band?”
“ Was there any other man in the room ?”
“ No man had anything to do with me.”
“ Did you do any work ?”
“I helped Rebecca some.”
“What were you doing on Grand street to
night ?”
“Simply out with Rebecca, shopping.”
“Didn’t Rebecca entice you away from home?”
“No; I went away myselt without any induce
ment.”
Tho girl then departed in company with her
sister. She did not, in any way, criminate herself
so as to leave Rebecca liable.
A Dispatch reporter went to the house on Grand
street, near Third, on the upper floor of which Re
becca and her reputed husband occupy a small
room. Bhe is known in the house by the name of
CarrolL Several women have furnished rooms on
the same floor.
“I guess Rebecca knows her own business,” said
one young woman, who was in her night clothes, to
the Dispatch man. “ Delia lived with her, and that
is all that there is about it. You newspaper people
poke your nose into other people’s business all the
time.”
“ Has Rebecca many male friends who visit her?”
“ lhat is her business.”
“ Ain't you a trifle jealous of her ?”
“No, sir. I can get all the gentlemen friends I
want.”
After uttering the last sentence, she closed tho
door.
Other lodgers were questioned, but they declined
giving any information.
HARD TO DECIDE.
PHYSIOG-
NOMY.
(From the Philadelphia North. American.)
“Did it ever strike you that it's a mighty hard
thing to.judge a man’s occupation by his appear,
ance ?” said John Dash to his friend David Blank
yesterday.
“ Easiest thing in the world, replied Blank with
an air of wisdom. “This fine.looking, portly gen.
tieman coming down the street, for instance, is a
well-to-do grocer, probably retired from business,
but I’ll bet he knows all about sugar and coffee.”
“Dead wrong,” said Dash; “that’s M, Hall
Stanton, banker, gas trustee and politician, JSTo w
tell me how you Would size up this man with the
Napoleonic mustache and chin beard ?’*
“ H’m, well he stumps me,” remarked Blank, his
confidence wavering a little, and then, jocularly,
“ He must be a fire-works manufacturer.”
“That’s a pretty close guess, for while the great
and only James Matlack Scovel, of Camden, is not
exactly a manufacturer of fire- works, he manufac
tures a great deal of physiognomical oratory.”
Emboldened by his success, Blank cast his eagle
eye in the direction of a gentleman whose most
prominent feature was a profuse waist.
“It’s a shoemaker,” he said.
“Sh.” warned Dash. “Why, that’s John Dunn,
one of the managers of the House of Correction and
night Mayor at the Central Station.”
“Nightmare, eh! Well, that’s the first time I
ever mistook the nightmare for a shoemaker. But
this man with the sun-dyed locks is a farmer. Can’t
fool me on farmers.”
“Great Scott! That’s Senator Tom Cooper, the
invincible field marshal of the Republican forces of
Pennsylvania. But look at this man with the smil
ing countenance. Who is he ?”
“A Sunday-school superintendent, perhaps; if
not that, at least a good man with an easy con
science.”
Dash almost went into a fit, and after he recov
ered, said gravely: “ That's Franklin B. Gowen, who
is continually preparing but never completing a
plan for the reconstruction of the Reading railroad.
Blank, as a physiognomist you’re a miserable fail
ure. Good-by.”
HE WENT HOME ILL.
HOW A FEW WORDS CAN DISEN
CHANT A MAN.
She was fair as a lily, a graceful cloud of pale
pink sheen, as she swept around the ball-room, He
was a New York dude of the most inexpressible re
finement. His Manhattan eye was caught by the
vision of beauty. She was dancing with a little ro
tund man with a beaming countenance.
“Who is that tall, resplendent beauty ?”he asked.
“ Who ? That one dancing with Tubby ?”
“ Tubby ! What a horrid name ! I suppose it is
she I mean.”
That’s Miss ”
«* She is the loveliest being I have ever seen, She
is glorious. Will you introduce me ?”
“ Certainly. Come along.”
The dance ended and the New York swell was led
up to the beauty.
“ Miss , this is Mr. Van Slack, of New York.”
Mutual bows, and then the introducer whispered
to the belle:
“ Look out. He’s a dude of the first water, pure
old blood.”
The beauty's lip curled a little and her eye
twinkled. The New York dude beamed upon her.
He patronized her. He was high-flown and bril
liantly sentimental. No California girl permits that
from a New Yorker, so she waited her chance. She
was dancing with him and as they whirled around,
the little rotund man bumped up again them.
“ Stupid !” he said testily.
•« Oh, don’t mind him. Tubby’s got his keg full,
that's all,” she answered with a haughty curl of tho
lip.
And the sentiment died out of the Now York
dude's nature and he went home sick.
phICE FI ve cents)
NOT GLAD, NOR SAD.
You sang a little song to day,
It was not sad, it was not gay.
The very theme was nigh out-worn.
Two lovers met, as lovers may,
They had not met—since yesterday—
They must not meet again—till morn'
And did they meet again, my dear?
Did morning come and find them here,
To see each other’s eyes again ?
Alas, on that you are not clear,
For hearts will shift as winds will veer,
And Love can veer like any vane I
Ah no, I think some sudden craze.
Some bitter spite befell their days.
What was that plaintive minor for?
No more together lie their ways.
Demote, perhaps, the lover strays,
Perhaps the lady comes no more !
So strange the numbers sob and swell;
No, there’s no guessing what befell;
It is the sweetest song you sing I
Not sad, and yet—l cannot tell—
Not glad, and yet—’tis very well—
Like Love, like Life, like anything I
DORIS'S FDRTM'E,
A Story of London Society.
CHAPTER VIII.
“MEN MKB SOMETHING MORE BOOTING,
Charlie knew perfectly well that argument
with Hilda would result neither in victory to
his superior logic nor in honorable and instruc
tive defeat. It would end in a mere battle of
tongues, in which each would have an inMnitd
deal to say and neither would give in, Until ■
some outer accident, such as the appearance Of!
a third person, would put an end to. the ui»-i
cussion. But then argument with a pretty girl,' j
on the banks of the Thames, during a SUmmen-!
evening, was of itself an undeniable good, an®;
there was a good-natured moon struggling to
get out from a tangle of frowning’olouda to give
just the one touch that was wanting to the
scene. So he led Hilda along the left-hand
path by the evening primroses and larkspurs
and honeysuckles, and babbled gently.
“ We muet have reasons—reasons. The court
cannot admit the expression ‘vampire,’ as ap
plied to a lady, without adequate proof that the
term is not misapplied.'’
“ Well, a vampire is a thing in the shape of a
woman that has charming manners and no
heart, and lives on the blood of human beings.”
“That’s a ghoul, not a vampire,” objected
Charlie, with resignation. “However, ! sup
pose that is near enough for a woman.”
“Quite near enough,” Hilda retorted, un
abashed. “ Well, Mrs. Hodson has manners
which imply that she has the right to dispose of
the body and soul ol every one she meets; and
that is considered irresistible by you men, who
like to be walked upon, I Know.”
“I am afraid I shall have to reject this evi
dence as inadmissible, on account of the evi
dent bias shown by the witness ”
“Nonsense! I suppose you think it quite
right of a married woman to monopolize anoth
er woman’s husband, and to reproach him for
not coming to see her, and to give him her lace
to carry, and to make him run about for her as
his own wife never thought of doing.”
“ Mrs. Hodson makes everybody run about.
She makes me run about when I’ve ’ nothing
better to do.”
“My dear Charlie, she will let you run where
you please for the next few months, you may
be sure. Mrs. Hodson likes the wise men who
bring gifts, and I heard Mr. Glyn promise to
get her a King Charles spaniel; I’ve no doijbt
she asked for it.”
“ Well, and do you think he would mind Do«
ris’s knowing that ?”
“ No; but I think it would be better if Doris
did mind. If I had a husband who gave King
Charles spaniels to other women, I would neyCE
accept a present from him again.”
“And, if all wives thought the same, no httW
band would be without a King Charles spaniel
ready in his pocket. I think Doris is muclj
wiser than you would be, and we need not trou< i
ble our heads about her and David. They are
perfectly matched, and make a much bette#
host and hostess than the Arcadian pair who '
begin by being unable to live out of each
er’s sight and end by being unable to live in it<
I consider them a model product of nineteenth- '
century civilization.”
“They are much too well matched. You don’t
want to sit forever in front of your own pop
trait,” \
“ They did, and they seem to like it.”
“ They don’t. They leave the portrait to ba
admired by other people.”
“This is not evidence,” began Charlie, grave
ly, when the appearance of an odd fi o ure on
the other side of the wall which divided Fair
leigh from Mrs. Bramwell's garden made him
pause, and seemed to supply amodd comm mt
ary to the conversation.
It was the unlucky Gussie, who, anxious for
a chance of apologizing to Doris for his conduct
in a more formal manner than he had yet done,
but ashamed to oome boldly to the door weight
ed by the disadvantage of another Bin’s
clothes, was on the lookout for some happy ac
cident to grant him the interview ho did not
dare to seek more boldly.
“ What are you looking for, Mr. Melton ?”
cried Hilda, in a shrill voice, running toward
the wall to prevent his escape.
“I—l only wanted to—to wish you good
night,” said he, confusedly, preparing to re
treat.
But the appearance of Doris, walking quickly
toward them over the lawn, checked him, and.'
he remained by the wall, sullen, silent, an®
ashamed, wondering whether his longed-for!
opportunity was coming.
“Hilda, you ought not to stay out so late,’’;
said Doris, in her sweet voice. “ Charlie*
don’t you know she has had congestion of tha
lungs?” |
“ Well, you can’t have it twice, you know,”i
said Charlie, whose medical lore was not deep*
and who remembered having heard something
of the kind about measles. i
Coming closer to the group, Doris caught
sight of Gussie on the other side of the wall
bashfully screening himself in his ill-fitting rai
ment behind a lilac bush. I
“ And you, too, Gussie—you ought to be in
doors. It is so easy to take cold after such a>
plunge as you took.” |
“I am all right, thank you,” said he stiffly.
He felt unspeakably humiliated by her easy,
almost affectionate tone, which implied to his
sensitive and irritable mind that his passionate
outbreak had affected her only as a child’s fit of
temper would have done. Some kindly per
ception of his wounded feelings prompted her tot
detain him as he was lor the second time turn
ing away. '
“ Wait a moment,” she said gently, raising
her hand with a gracious gesture of command
common to her, and not without charm. “ Ara
you not going back to the Lawns to-night
Mr. and Mrs, Hodson ?”

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