New York dispatch. [volume], November 14, 1886, Image 1

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
r Ini I I ( §1 1\ M
fHW i - hilt 1 r fWIMIfr nf
wW I JOb’ W feJMlt< 'f JW w3y LUkMHfelUj»
v —-'.< ''-’®l i ;s£« ! - fc . (MZMZM ; Btf
FMSM BY A. J. WILLIAMSON’S MS.
v<rLr"xLri7““S()7”sr'
Entered at the Post Office at New York,
K. Y., as Second Class Matter.
THE iNENV YORK DISPATCH,
PUBLISHED AT
HO. 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 000 "
ALL MAIL SUBSCRIPTIONS MUST BE PAID IN AD
VANCE. POSTAGE PAID EVERYWHERE BY THE
DISPATCH OFFICE.
Address NEW YORK DISPATCH,
Post Office Box No. 1 7 75#
HE3tSEE!HHSE’KBnE3SES3EE2SHEHBBS2I
PLAYS ANDTIAYEK.
LORDLY LOVERS.
The Titled Mashers of the English Stage—
Mandt ville’s Rose—Lord Hinton—The
Slim and the Soubrette—Bottled
Blue Blood—Dysart—Sugden,
Etc., Etc.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
Measly marquises, lascivious lords, bucolic
barons and elusive earls are among the nuisances
•which are not found hovering about the stage
doors, loafing in lobbies, or leering from the
private boxes of American theatres.
The soil is too good hereabout for such a crop. Of
course in every theatre in every land there must
be in one guise or another, titled or untitled, a con
tingent of mashers; of fellows who regard all the
pretty women who earn their living upon the stage
as their natural jrey and whoso sole use as
women, in the economy of creation, is in being
panders to a common passion.
The American men about town who indulge, ag i
► •'*'*“7 ♦ _*■*•• ■ .‘T-' ~V- •■-
among their most enjoyable pastimes, in the nunt
for their game in the presence of comic opera and
at times poach upon the domain of the regular
dramatic stage for a higher prey, have wealth or
" cheek” in lieu of titles, as their distinguishing
trade-mark.
Not infrequently their chief ammunition is
cheek.
Otherwise brazen, unblushing effrontery ; the
very quintessence of "gdl.” With those requisites
properly managed, one of these sportsmen will en
snare more gamoin a single season than could halt
a dozen lords and earls. There is
NOTHING WHICH WILL CAPTURE A WOMAN’S
FANCY
so quickly for a man as his adroit use of impu
dence. There is nothing platitudinous in his work.
He may, so far as education or even refinement is
concerned, be an ass; he may be vulgar and loud in
his dress—but possessing all these drawbacks—give
him a passably expressive face, a glib tongue and
consummate impudence, and he will harvest in
unto himself the admiration and smiles of your
pretty chorister or handsome principal where the
wealthy rival would utterly fail.
lam cognizant of a case in this regard, which
occurred not long since at a theatre in which comic
opera at times through the season finds a brief,
though not always profitable, exposition.
Young and pretty, bright, vivacious, and, to all
appearances, ••fly” to the ways of the world was
this young lady. She had more than a usual share
of refinement, was an excellent singer and attracted
notable attention by the grace of her presence and
the symmetry of her limbs in the groupings on the
stage.
She was, when she came to this theatre, the
fiancee of a manly young fellow, the very soul of
honor and the pink of propriety, who, having in
herited a small fortune, limited his personal ex
penses to its interest and left the principal severely
alone.
He became acquainted with the girl before she
joined the chorus. I have no doubt she loved him
—or thought she did—and with a young woman
just beginning to feel the cravings of her nature,
the thought of love, when centered upon a healthy
sample of the male sex—is as good as the real war
ranted-never to.wear-out thing itself.
A Lord Lonsdale or an Earl of Gumboil, or a Ger
man prince could not have beguiled her in this in
stance.
BUT ALONG CAME A CHAP
piping through the lobby and roystering about the
playhouse; a hail fellow well met with everybody
that was anybody in the hotel cafes of the town.
Dressed well, impressive but not luxuriant mus
tache, very winning ways, no money except such
as he picked up the Lord knows what way, in pool
rooms, little quiet games, and lucky wagers.
Flush yesterday, “broke” to-day—to the devil with
to-morrow—were the tenets of his fortune and his
faith. He fixed his eye upon this chorister; through
a male member of the company he obtained an in
troduction, and—lo, the resu t.
Within one little month, or ere his shoes—he had
but one pair-had grown old, she had forgotten all
about her fiancee—dropped him, and lived only in
the light ot her dear ontrancer’s glance. His glib
tongue, flow of taffy, and brazen and indomitable
impudence molded her to his liking, as if she had
been a lump of putty in the fingers of a glass-put-in
tramp. Where is she and where is her first lover—
eh? Well, she is off she stage, and “out” with the
beguiling all-around chap, and the first lover in
desperation went out West, and is healing his
lacerated heart with the salve of a newer and bettor
love—that of the daughter of a manufacturer of
bull-grease-otherwise, oleomargarine butter.
The all-arouud-chap is “in” at present with a
Sixth avenue milliner—who is a young widow with
two unmarried sisters—a weird old step-father and
a shop doing a good business.
No doubt my gay sport of the cafes and coulisses
will go through the entire family before he finishes
his speculative career in that locality.
Verily, cheek is more than gold.
I met a young cad up at the Casino the other
night—his father is a retired old cove—rich enough
to keep his son in pocket money sufficient to com
pensate for the youth’s lack of brains. This cad
very airily informed me that he had
“A DEAD SURE THING”
on a charming little lady—a soubrette who was j ust
then conversing upon a matter of professional busi
ness near the box office with Ed. Aronson.
I smiled the smile of the incredulous. That sou
brette of talent, with the brightest of prospects,
possessing a sufficient share of common sense and
thoroughly posted as to the perils which surround
the everyday life of the women of the stage—crave
the society of such a specimen of the native cad as
this ?
But when she had finished her business with
Aronson she tripped toward the slim, and tapping
his shoulder playfully with her little parasol said,
"Now Charley, I’m ready.”
And he, grinning like a happy chimpanzee, trotted
Along out at her side.
“What dy’e think of that—for an affinity?”
quoth Ed. with one of his sweet and suggestive
smiles.
“ I think she’s as great a fool as he is. I have
given that little woman the credit of being sensi
ble.”
" That’s been going on for the past four months,
John.”
•• Where’s her husband?”
"He? Oh, he s out now. He was only an ordi
nary fellow, had no style, nothing but brains—a
worker —didn’t keep his weather eye open. When
she made that hit, you remember, it sent her to the
iroiit— flattery and flowers djj tjje rest. That young
cad ’d marry her to-morrow if she was free; and
she’d take him, for his style and social status.'*
And there you are—and stay there my deir aspir
ing soubrette. But if I were your husband I’d do
just as your work-a-day husband is doing—let you
trip on down your self selected golden stairway to
Sheol, as yon please.
Speaking of the lords and earls and the rest of
THE TITULAR REPROBATES
over there, in London and on the continent, who
are afflicted with an uncontrollable hankering for
the actresses of their locale, they are and have been
in time past a nice lot.
Very nice; especially for a small after perform
ance party.
A week or so ago the Marquis of Ailcsbury, in
London, gave up the mortal ghost, entered into the
joys of an everlasting roast, or otherwise, and was
laid away to mingle his aristocratic dust with that
of his moro or less—considerably more, I fancy—
illustrious ancestors. He was a good sort himself—
was so very deaf that he couldn’t hear himself die
and was one of those brilliant talkers whose chief
staple in conversation was "Eh?”—“Ab,” and
“What?” Well, bis son, Lord Savernake, is now
the Marquis of Ailesbury, whose varied range, in
tense earnestness and prolific frequency in the
science of prompt cursing and general profanity
and unlimited use of slang has long endeared him
to the habitues and sports of the race course.
It is recorded that it was only a few days since
that, at the Epsom Meeting, being asked a civil
question by an American gentleman who happened
to be standing next him, he gave him the cheerful
reply, “Who spoke to you, you son of a female
canine?” Some years ago he appeared at the clubs
and other high-toned swell resorts, in a London
costermonger’s suit—a cutaway flash coat, pearl
buttons, corduroy breeches, and small peaked cap.
NOW THIS VULGAR THING,
with nothing to recommend him as a social dead
head except his title, haunted the lobbies and stage
doors of theatres and concert dives of the town and
played the part of a rake with considerable success,
and finally crowned his magnificent exploits by
marrying Molly Tester, who was one of the chief
attractions at the stage door of John Hollingshead’s
Gayety. She is now the Marchioness of Ailesbury,
and he is ?
Answer—Still on the professional warpath.
What an ornament he is to the peerage. A com
panion picture to the Lord Lonsdale.
Nice samples and transmitters of the old-fashion
ed. highly created, a thousand year-in-the-bottle
blue blood ! The old style of lord or marquis is nol
known in England now, but the semblance of him
crops up now and then in the form of a drunken
lout of a lordling, who toys with some man’s wife
without having the pluck to carry her off.
Sir Charles Dilke and his little play with Mrs.
Crawford, is a bright and shining as well as familiar
illustration of English blue blooded morality. Sir
Charles had years ago his gay round as a hanger-on
around the stage doors of .the London theatres.
There was Earl Poulet, who married Lavinia Ne
wman, the handsome and bright-eyed daughter of a
Landport pilot, in June 1849, which union was, in
the following December,
BLESSED BY THE BIRTH OF A SON AND HEIR,
who, bearing the title of Lord Hinton, is now, in
his thirty-sixth year, in durance vile for swindling
gun-makers. According to the peerage point of
view this suckling earl may have “ wedded beneath
his station” in the alliance which he contracted
with Mi.-s Lydia Sheppey, while ho was filling the
highly entertaining role of clown at the Surrey
Theatre.
I think in this case it was the actress who stooped,
and very low at that.
Talk about your aristocracy when you come
over here—oh, ye English cads, snobs and swells of
the London clubs 1
The English peerage swarms with mesalliances.
There is the wife of the late Sir William Verner
whom be first met when she was engaged as a
chorus-girl in the notorious “Vert Vert” at the St.
James Theatre and known as Rose Wilson. She
was also at one time very “ thick” with Sir Wil
liam’s neighbor in Armagh, Lord Mandeville, for a
time, and assumed the name of Rose Mandeville,
under which name she used to sing nightly in the
Surrey pantomime, “ Boys, Pass the Bottle.” This
is the same Mandeville who married the heiress,
Miss Yznaga, of this country.
When “ Rose” married Sir William she was very
nearly old enough to be his mother.
It seems to have become the rule rather than the
exception for these lovely specimens of the nobility
to search for their matrimonial biiss (?) among the
women of the stage and not a sprig of them has
thought it worth his while to marry—or attempt to
seek as a wife—a decent actress.
In all probability—of late years—it is because no
decent actress will stoop to listen to their ad
dresses.
Reputable American actresses have not infre
quently made
UNFORTUNATE MARRIAGES
and suffered untold misery through their mistake,
but I have yet to hear of one who, bolding any
notable position, either artistically or socially, has
over fallen so low or so far forgotten her pride as to
marry one of these lordly scamps—either for love or
ior the sake of his fortune and title.
The third son of the late Earl of Foversbam and
brother of tho present earl, married Miss Nelly
Learner, of the “Learner Sisters ” music hall com
bination. She is a Jewess and her real name is
Lewis. Her uncle sells coal in the streets from a
wheelbarrow, and is known as “Cokey Lewis.”
Then not long ago camo something of a change in
this sie. eof the stage doors. In this instance it
was the Countess of Dysart who eloped with Mr.
Charles Sugden, a brother of Henry Neville—Mr.
Sugden being an actor “up on top of the stage.”
Lord Dysart is a snub-nosed little man who writes
stupid novels and contributes twaddle to Vanibj
Fair. His literary drivel is always accepted be
cause it is the work of a lord.
The late Countess of Dysart, now Mrs. Sugden,
was lately sued in the County Court for a set of
false teeth by the dentist, and Mr. Sugden was the
primal cause—so report hath it—of the row between
Lydia Thompson’s husband, Alexander Henderson,
and his chere amie, Miss Elfrida Nunn.
Now comes the case of the present Earl of Euston
and heir to the Duke of Grafton, who married Kate
Cook—but he “ skipped the tra la loo” with another
charmer, and sought “fresh fields and pastures
new ” in Australia, where he now resides. The
deserted “peeress” and ex-Kate Cook still signs
herself “Euston.” and is on very intimate terms of
“friendship” with George Norton, the noted sport
and bookmaker.
Isn’t it a blessing io our stage that Lords and
Earls are a scarce article in the social element of
our American theatric guild ?
We ought to be content with our Slims and
Dudes, Mashers and men about town.
The London stage raust have its Lords, Earls and
Marquises. They coma high, but it can’t get along
without them. We don’t want them at any price.
Sleet ion SJight.
HOW IT WAS OBSERVED IN THE
SIXTH WARD.
Antonio Franke keeps a barber’s shop at No.
Baxter street. In front of his establishment he has
a moderately sized barber’s pole. After the polls
closed, Antonio tired of lathering, stropping and
shaving, went up stairs to bed. He jumped out
suddenly when told his barber’s pole was«ablaze in
the middle of the street. The youngsters had got a
lot of barrels and planted his nicely painted pole in
the centre of a blazing pile and yelled out
this: Dis vos d’ statoo of liberty.” When he
looked out of the window and saw bis pole like tho
statue ot liberty, abl'aze, he ran out, b.re footed,
just as he was in his shirt, and grasped a blazing
wood stave, and used it as a weapon of offence to
save his pole. It was really a “ brand plucked from
the burning,” and it scattered the urchins.
In saving his barber's pole he was pelted with
every sort of missile, and Bertha Silverstien, who
was in the neighborhood of the buruing street
pile, was hit by a raw potato. She swore tho barber
cut her with a knife. He proved that It was a
potato sent at him. and sh« caught it on tho jaw.
Antonio was acquitted. Court believed no
razor had touched her chin,
NEW YORK. SUNDAY, NO VeQeR TX
.4 TRBJIMDOI'S CHANCE.
How Monsieur Helevy Availed
Himself Of It.
The Robbery in the Rue de
Clery, Paris.
The Spendthrift who Outwitted
the Expert Criminals.
The Master Spirits in Crime in the
French Metropolis.
Monsieur Simon Helevy was a financier, with his
place of business in the Rue de Clery, Paris. He
had been plodding along< for years, and in 1878
began to see his way to fortune. Ono day in Sep
tember of that year, two gentlemen visited him.
They gave their names as Pasquier & Charmoy.
They said that they thought of negotiating for the
adjoining premises, .and asked his opinion as to
whether the neighborhood was favorable for the
prosecution of a stockbroker’s business. Monsieur
Helevy said that for many years he had carried on
such a business there, and saw no reason why it
should not be just as good as any other locality,
although it was not so near to the Bourse as many
similar places of business were.
The gentlemen, a t r a pleasant talk, bade him
good day. They went to a hotel on the Boulevard
del Sebastopol. In the course of ten days the
premises adjoining Monsier Helevy’s were under
going repairs, and that gentleman learned that they
had been sold.
In due time Monsieurs Pasquier and Charmoy
took possession of them, and soon seemed to be
doing a thriving business. They had many visitors,
and carriages were coming and going all the time.
In the month of November, a pale, smooth-faced
young men, applied to the new firm as a tenant for
the floor above their offices. His name, he said,
was Lemoine, and his business that of a worker in
fancy woods. He presented an excellent recom
mendation, and the floor was rented to him. He
moved in, and sqqjj appeared to be actively en
gaged iu hia profession.
The new firm and Monsieur Halevy often ex
changed visits, and when the latter remarked that
he never saw them on 'Change, the reply was that
the real moneyed man of the firm was a renowned
financier whose name they could not divulge, and
who did all their entire business for them, as his
ijjfareata weio so Jcvvge that would entrust them
to iue cai’e of no on£else.
“You see him, or his agents, every day,” said
Monsieur Pasquier, “aud if wo were at liberty to
mention his name, you would be surprised. There
are few if any like him in Paris, and not many in
the world.”
This was said with a mysterious and solemn air,
and Monsieur Helevy received the impression that
it was intended to bo mado
“A TREMENDOUS CHANCE.”
After a time,the communications from the new firm
became more confidential and they expressed re
gret that th“oy could not put Monsieur Helevy on
the track of a big thing by which they were certain
to realize largely. And when a sudden stir in tho
rentes occurred, the firm stid to Monsieur Helevy:
“There! That is what we expected. Our firm
has made a million and a quarter.”
This went on until 1b79. In February, that year,
the firm intimated that a tremendous chance to
realize a largo fortune was soon to appear. What
was it? Well, they would see whether their chief
was willing that so good a man as Monsieur Helevy
should profit by it.
In a few days Monsieur Helevy was tol-d that tho
tremendous chance was rapidly approaching. It
might be there in a fortnight, but probably it
would be a month. Monsieur Helevy’s appetite
was whetted. Ho began to lie awake at nights
thinking about it. Perhaps for a consideration they
would give him a chance for the chance. Ho would
probo them on the subject and see. He did probe
them, and they almost indignantly rejected the
idea of their selling a knowledge of a good thing to
a friend like Monsieur Helevy.
Finally, after more delay, they told him that they
had got permission to give him a hint that would
put him on the track. He was delighted.
“But, understand,” said Monsieur Pasquier,
“it will take a large amount of ready money. You
must havo tho cash on hand. You must bo pre
pared for the chance when it comes. It will be like
an earthquake. It will como and shake things up,
and then it will pass away, and unless you aro
ready with tho money in your grip, the chance will
bo flown forever. That is whore we are strong. Our
chief has immense resources. He has millions at
his command when the chanco comes, and he seizes
it with gold—with gold, mind you. Promises and
pledges are no good. It is the ready money at the
moment that secures the prize.”
“ I am afraid then I cannot profit by the chance,”
said Monsieur Helovy, “for I am not a million
aire.”
“Just so,” said Monsieur Pasquier, “but if you
have a quarter of a million yon may make it a mil
lion. Now, what I would do would ba to realize at
once— at once, mind you, tor the chance is rapidly
drawing near—to realize at once all that you can.
Turn all that you have into cash; have it by you.
Then you are ready when the chance comes, and,
presto ! your one Iranc is changed into five, into
ten, perhaps into twenty !”
GETTING BEADY FOR IT.
Monsieur Helevey thought over the matter. On
Change the next day he saw Monsieur Pasquier.
and he watched him. Could he believe his eyes !
Why, lie was speaking familiarly with Baron R ,
the greatest of financiers. Tho sesret was out.
This wonderful man was the mysterious partner,
the chief of tho new firm, tho adept in all great
schemes of wealth. Monsieur Helevey’s mind was
mado up. Ho began at once to soli out his securi
ties. The market was firm and he would lose noth
ing anyhow. And so in less than a week ho had
“ realized,” and informed his neighbors of what he
had done.
“ Not a bit too soon, ” was the i^ply; “ for proba
bly the day after to-morrow tho chance will come.
Get your money in a heap. Ah, I havo it! We can
work together. On that day we shall have in our
safe over—let mo whisper it—over ten millions ot
francs—all ready to use, and we shall make it fifty
millions I”
“ I see,” said Monsieur Helevy, and forthwith he
wont to work and transferred his million francs and
more to his safe—a good old-fashioned safe, buil-t
into the wall and secure, and Messieurs tPasquier
and Charmoy went to work also. In fact they had
been doing preparatory work for somo time, but
now they began to put on the fine edge, so to speak.
At one side, that next to Monsieur Helevy’s, a
private office bad been constructed which no one
was ever supposed to enter except the firm and a
few very intimate friends. If any one not inter
ested in the firm had entered that room and ex
amined things carefully, ho would probably have
been greatly surprised, for sundry reasons.
MORE PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHANCE.
In the first place, a part of the wall, fully six feet
square had been carefully removed, and then an
other wall about a foot thick which belonged to
Monsieur Helevy’s domain, had been removed like
wise; so that all that interposed between any
gentleman, who might happen to be in Pasquier &
Co.'s private office, and the contents of Monsieur
Helevy’s old-lashioned safe built into the wall, was
a comparatively thin sheet of iron. The stones
bricks, lime, and so forth which had been removed,
were packed against the wall near by with admira
ble skill.
But it must not be supposed that no care had
been taken to prevent any unforeseen accident
which might introduce the gaze of strangers into
the apartment. Over the hole in the wall hung an
immence map of the city of Paris. Over the top
and at the sides of the pile of rubbish appeared the
woodwork of shelves for books, aud hanging from
the top and covering the front was a curtain. On
the carpet not a speck of dirt or dust was to be
seen that could possibly excite suspicion. In a
large secretary lay concealed the tools which had
done the work and which were designed to
complete the splendid job. In a closet were
deposited the clothes, dark lanterns. and
sundry other articles necessary under tho circum
stances. For at the proper moment, Monsieur
Helevy’s safe was to be robbed of its valuable con
tents, which were to be transferred to the pockets
of Messieurs Pasquier and Charmoy, and the gentle
men associated with them in the enterprise.
AND MORE PREPARATIONS FOR THE CHANCE.
While things were thus preparing in the apart
ments below. Monsieur Lemoine, the pa’.e-faced
youth, who rented the floor above, was not idle. He
was also interested in Monsieur Helevy and his
friends and neighbors, who had introduced him to
the tremendous chance. Monsieur Lemoine had
done some work quietly on his own account. For in
stance:
He had bored a hole through the ceiling, and thus
furnished himself with an opening, through which
he could see wbat was going on below.
He had carefully removed the floor of a closet in
his apartment, and by chisel and Raw prepared bim
telf away by which to descend to the rooms below,
ween ho felt like it.
He had thoughtfully prepared a disguise for him
self, to be used when his mission was ended, if nec
essary.
And so Monsieur Helevy sold out his stocks and
securities, and drew in the money from every
available source, and deposited the notes in his safe,
and went home and slept, dreaming of tho morrow
and Tho Chance, and satisfied that Gingelom, the
watchman, would Keep an eye on things until day
light came once more.
art
As.soon as Monsieur Helevy had quitted bis office
for the day, Pasquier gave Gingolow, the watchman,
five francs and told him to drink his health, as it
was his birthday and he was going homo to keep it.
Giugolow went off straightway, and thereupon Pas
quier .and Charmoy drew forth some elegant tools
and went to work on the third sheeting of iron. The
centre-bit worked admirably, and the labor wras not
hard, for they had no need to do moro than remove
their coals.
All this time the pale-faced young man was
watching thorn from above. Then tho young man
went to his front window and made a sign to a man
on the opposite side of tho street. He was a heavy
bearded, micldle-agen man, with very closely cut
hair, lie was dressed in sleek black and wore no
gloves and carried no stick. He walked slowly,
with his hands behind him, and looked around as
though be was expecting something or somebody.
After he got the signal, he crossed the atreet and iu
a few’ minutes was standing opposite the office of
Pasquier & Charmoy. Ho looked in at tho windows,
but tho blinds were down. He did the same at
Monsieur Helevy ’s office. Then he tried the door
and shook it so that it rattled, and the sound reach
ed the ears of the firm of Pasquier & Co., as they
were at work drilling the safe.
THERE WAS SOMETHING UP.
"It is the porter,” said Pasquier; “we must stop
for an hour or two till he goes.”
So they put on their coats, and Charmoy looked
out at the window, carefully handling the blind
Presently he called Pasquier to observe a man with
a heavy beard, who was dressed in black, an< stood
staring right, first at Monsieur Helevy’s place, and
then at tho premises ocfupied by Pasquier & Co.
“There is something up," said Pasquier.
“ I think so myself," sail Charmoy.
Presently the man walked away. Pasquier and
Charmoy put on their coats vnd quitted the place
with great caution, locking*after them the door
which led into the liall from which stairs ascended
to Lemoine’s apartments. The door to the street
was open. They went in the opposite direction
taken by the suspicious looking man.
Soon after they left, the man camo back and
stood right in front of the building watching the
windows. Only a stray passenger appeared now
and again. Presently a slight man came along and
walked right up into Monsieur Lemoine’s apart
ments, Monsieur Lemoine was there, though he
had told tho janitor he would not be at business
all that day. But he had come early and lain still,
and his absence was hailed by Pasquier & Co. as a
very excellent omen-
THE CHANCE COMES—AND GOES.
Lemoine and his visitor descended through the
hole in the floor of tho closet to the rooms below.
Then they went into the private room, lighted a
dark lantern and speedily finished the job which
Pasquier and Charmoy had begun. They were in
side the safe of Monsieur Helevy, and in five min
utes had possession of all the bank-notes which
he had collected to meet the Tremendous Chance
when it came. First Lemoine and then his assist
ant ascended through the closet to Lemoine’s
apartment, taking the money with them. It was put
into a Yfllfsg and the men came down stairs. He
of the heavy beard waite'3 ftt tbs door and handed
Lemoine aud his friend into ft close carriage
which had driven up three minutes before. Then
the bearded man got inside also and away Wchi
the horses. As the vehicle turned in the Rue
d’Aboukir, it stopped at a signal from the bearded
man, who hailed a messenger, and, giving him a
letter, directed him to carry it at once in all haste to
the Prefecture of Police. The vehicle rolled on and
the messenger went off.
Two hours later Pasquier and Charmoy returned
to their offices by different routes. They met at
the junction of the Rue du Petit Careau and the
Rue de Clery. The street up to their place was clear
and they walked up together and entered.
They had slipped off their coats and placed the
bull’s-eye so as to give them the proper light be
fore they discovered that some one had finished tho
work for them. They were stricken with amaze
ment if not affright. Then there was a heavy
crash and a sound of yielding bolts and splitting
wood, and tho next moment four officers were upon
them.
Their explanations were not satisfactory. They
solemnly averred that they had not broken into the
safe. They were not believed. Monsieur Helevy
was sent for. roused up, aud brought iu baste to
his office, only to find that his money was gone,
that Pasquier and Charmoy were rogues, and that,
though they were caught, not a vestige of the
money could be found.
Next day the hole through into Monsieur Le
moine’s apartments was discovered and the im
pression was that Lemoine was an accomplice of
Pasquier and Charmoy, and that the whole thing
was a well-con-ceived scheme of robbery, which, by
some unaccountable means, had miscarried, so far
as two of the confederates were concerned.
THEY TELL THEIR STORY.
Pasquier and Charmoy had a story to tell which
is worth relating here. Who were they ? Weil,
they had had experience, they admitted, in a great
many ways as criminals, but had never been cap
tured before. They had been chiefly occupied as
professional gamblers. At one of their places of
resort, they met a young man named Berthaud.
He had come into, a large estate, but had squan
dered all except a house on tho Rue de Clery, and
on that he had recently raised money. They and
Berthaud became friends. They thought over
many schemes, and at last the idea struck Ber
thaud of robbing Monsieur Helevy. The premises
occupied by him were originally owned by Ber
thaud, who had had the safe repaired for Helevy,
and knew all about it.'
At length, as the result of many consultations, it
was decided that Berthaud should release the house
to Pasquier and Charmoy, which names they sub
stituted for tho real ones of Pacque and Chabrol.
A partition was to be put up so as to cover the
operations which were to follow. Friends of the
firm and of Berthaud, ignorant, of course, of their
real object, wore induced to visit them at their
offices. Pasquier got an introduction through Ber
thaud and his friends to financiers of repute, and
was actually seen by Helevy in conversation with
the celebrated Baron R , on Change. The
“ tremendous chance" was ably conceived and ad
mirably used to entice Helevy into converting his
securities into cash. The exact part of the safe
where money was deposited was known to Ber
thaud, and the operations were conducted with a
view to bore right into the spot.
How about Monsieur Lemoine ? That was a mys
tery. He came highly recommended, but by whom
they could not remember.
MONSIEUR BERTHAUD.
Monsieur Berthaud was wanted immediately
after this revelation, but he could not be found.
Be had not been seen since early on the morning
after the robbery, when he departed with a stout
man dressed in black, with a clean-shaven face.
Monsieur Berthaud’s small residence on tho rue
des Meaux was searched, and in the attic, bound
and gagged and tied to the bed, was found Mon
sieur Lemoine. He was released more dead than
alive, and fie fiad a story to tell, whiefij was briefly
this:
Lemoine was tho son of Berthaud’s cook and
housekeeper, and was suffered to live on the prem
ises after his mother’s death. He had been twice
in prison lor housebreaking in the suburbs, but
had latterly worked at his business and been hon
est. Berthaud proposed to him to aid him in balk
ing Pasquier and Cbarmoy’s scheme to rob Helevy,
and got for him a recommendatiea, on the strength
of which tho firm leased him their second floor.
Tho man who assisted him in drilling the safe, was
none other than Berthaud himself.
Is it needful to go further with the narrative ?
Berthaud got away out of th® country, and is sup
posed to have come to this country. Lemoine was
believed to have been his dupe and to have acted
under tho impression that ho was aiding tho cause
of justice. Who the other man was with whom
Berthaud absconded, no one knew. Ha was evi
dently the same person who was taken for a detect
ive and scared Pasquier and Charmoy from their
work, and after those worthies were sent to the
Bagnio for six years each, they received a commu
nication from abroad informing them that the un
known man was ono Legendre, whom they had
ruthlessly fleeced in a gambling den, and who had
managed to get even with them.
A Socialistic Disciple.
FROM SOCIALISM TO NIGGERS,
AND ROBBED.
Lottie McAllister, a Scotch negress, was charged
with keeping a disorderly house, at No. 225 West
Twenty-ninth street. Tifo complainant was Officer
Strang, of the Twentieth Precinct. The woman
kept apartments in the rear.
“What do you know about the character of the
heuse ?’’ asked Justice Smith.
“ I was called into tho house to investigate a case
of robbery. I found McAllister there with two
other women. Tho man said he was taken in by
the two women. I had seen the women before,
they are street-walkers. I have only seen them take
men in for about a week. That is all I know about
the place.”
James Alexander said he resided at the Fifth Ave
nue Hotel. On the 25th he went to a Henry George
meeting, aud, after listening to a speech from Mr.
George, he left the meeting. Going home he met
prisoner and a white woman, and at their solicita
tion he accompanied them home. He was ta*ken
into a back room, and he found a colored man
there.
“What took place in the back room?” asked
Justice Smith.
“They demanded some money from me?” said
Mr. Alexander.
“For what purpose?” asked the Court.
“O, just to have a time, you know," replied the
witness.
“ With these two women, white and black ?”
Mr. Alexander nodded, and said they wanted
money to get beer. Ho gave them twenty-five
cents for that, and they had beers all round. Then
they coaxed seventy-five cents out of him, and
when the women left the room he found two dia
mond studs gone and ten dollars in cash. When
be commenced to growl about his loss, the nigger
told him if he didn’t get, he would kick him out.
Mrs. McAllister said she didn’t keep the house;
she was there as a visitor. Her friend told him to
get out before her husband came home.
Mrs. McAllister was sent to the Island for three
{months.
THE SMLOIUmi.
A Typical American Whom
History Will Remember.
“ TOM ROBINSON, OF BOSTON.”
The Man Who Has Made Great
Artists Famous.
A LIFE OF ADVENTUBES.
Seeking Art Treasures at the
Peril of His Life.
A CITIZEN OF THE WORLD.
The sensation of tho week, in polite society, has
been tho exhibition of the collection of pictures
made by Thomas Robinson, of Boston. In Moore’s
Galleries, on Fifth avenue near Thirtieth street, the
collection is being shown, and the sale is to com
mence next Tuesday, and to last three nights. In
that time the finest collection of French paintings
ever gathered in America, will be disposed by the
hammer of tho auctioneer.
It is not, however, the splendor and value of the
collection alone, that make it a sensation. The per
sonality of the owner has still more to do with the
interest society takes in it. For years Tom. Robin
son has been such a character as to be quite as
noteworthy as his pictures, in thejniblic eye. Bis
reputation as an artist is high, and as a buyer of
pictures for our rich men, higher still. While as an
authority on the subject of the fine arts, and an
original and eccentric man, he is even more of a
fine personal type.
THE SAILOR ARTIST.
If you happen in at the gallery, your attention
will inevitably be attracted to a sturdily built man
of the medium bight, clad with the comfortable
looseness of a person who follows the sea for a liv
ing. Nor is his blue suit the only salt water sug
gestion about him. His handsome face, framed in
a picturesque board, is tanned by sun and wind,
and his strong hands are veined and brown. His
blue eyes have a keen and searching expression, as
if trained to sweep the horizon and to pierce the
distance without a telescope. He has the bold, bluff
manner of a captain on his own deck, and tho com*
inanddng air of one born to speak and be obeyed,
Ho would be the last man to pass muster as an
artist and an art connoisseur. Yet he is both. He
was born ip Nova Scotia, fifty years ago, and was a
daring sailor before ho turned his hand from the
oar to the brush. He came of a family of sea dogs,
and from his babyhood was as famiHar with the
wild and angry waters of our Northern coast as
with tho cold and sterile shore. Ho took to paint
ing by instinct, fought his way up in tho facs of
countloig and some thirty yoars ago
went to Paris, then, as now, tho Mecca of tho aspir
ing art student. Bis chief capital was a stout
heart and plenty of confidence in himself. For the
rest he was still the sailor boy of Nova Scotia, hard
ened by tempests and made strong by many perils
met and overcome.
He did a little painting Under the brother of
Rosa Bonheur, and one day walked into the studio
of Courbet, the most original, talented and eccen
tric of the French painters of tho time. Courbet,
like himself, was a man of the people, brainy and
eccentric, fearless in speech and manner, and with
a strong leaning toward politics of the violently
advanced order. He found a congenial spirit in the
young American, and they painted and wandered
about together like brothers, sharing the same bot
tle of wino and the same loaf of bread, studying
side by side among the mountains and in the
fields, tracking France north, south, east and west
in search of subjects for their brushes, and living
everywhere in tho most gypsy-like and Bohemian
fashion possible. When tho Winter put an end to
their wanderings, Robinson either worked by Cour
bet’s side, in his studio, or painted copies of the
pictures in the Luxembourg and the Louvre for
practice and sale.
AN ANGEL OF THE STUDIOS.
It was a curious life, full of oddities and contra
dictions. The greatest modern painters of France
wore then slowly winning their way to fame. None
were over flush, and roost of them were very poor.
Jean Francois Millet, the great painter of peasants,
himself a peasant’s son, was toiling in such abject
poverty that when young Robinson took to his stu
dio a gentleman from Boston who paid him SSOO for
a picture, the artist sobbed like a child at the sight
of so lunch money. Yet this picture, bought for
SSOO, has since been sold for $30,000.
Robinson became a very useful friend to the
toilers of the studios. He had no money to buy
pictures himself, but his frank manner and jovial
temperament made him very popular among the
rich Americans traveling in Europe, and they soon
got to repose great confidence in him as a selector
of pictures for their galleries. He spent half his
time guiding them to the studios, buying a Meilet
here, a Corot there, a Courbet somewhere else,
always at handsome prices in the artist’s eyes, and
very poor ones considering the real merit of their
pictures. But it is always safe to buy the works of
genius, for'when fame finds them out, their prices
go up. So, one after another, as Tom. Robinson’s
obscure painter friends won renown, his rich
friends found themselves in possession of pictures
worth fortunes and which had cost them next to
nothing. Consequently Robinson’s fame as a judge
grew, and the confidence of the collectors grew
with it.
His own pictures also began to sell. The rich
men he knew paid good prices for them, and the
public recognized their merit. So, in time, he be
came a prosperous man. and while he still kept on
purchasing for collectors he also bought for him
self and laid the foundation of the collection that
has made him more {famous than his own abundant
talent and ability have done.
ROMANTIC LIFE IN PARIS.
Among the artists he lived as a boon companion
welcome everywhere and a friend to every man.
He knew all the men of note, and sought out all the
obscure and struggling talents in their Paris garrets,
bringing them everywhere encouragement and aid.
He was quite as much a public character as the
emperor himself, and all Paris knew the American
artist, who this morning took breakfast with Millet
in his attic, and to-night dined with American mil
lionaires at the most splendid cafes of the boule
vards. His immense store of information about
French art and French artists made him an im
portant figure in the world of pictures and letters,
and he was constantly called upon to provide ma
terial for reports and articles on his pet subject.
Thanks to his intimacy with Courbet, he ach
ieved a decided political importance, too. Although
be took no part in his friend's conspiracies, he was
well acquainted with the .associates of his turbu
lent and passionate career. They reposed such im
plicit confidence in him that he learned many of
their secrets, but the confidences were safe with
him. . On more than one occasion his foresight
saved his reckless friend from plunging headlong
into revolution and ruin,
Courbet’s doom came during the reign of the
Commune in Paris. While his conservative friend
was in America, Fleur, as the head ef tho Commun
istic bureau of fine arts, the great, mad painter
caused the historic memorial to the first Napoleon,
the column in the Place Vendome, to be pulled
down. When the government drove the Commun
ists out of Paris he was sentenced to pay for re
erecting the public trophy ho had demolished. This
ruined him absolutely. It absorbed all his property
and he died working and in debt still. 8o great
was the public respect for his genius that he was
not sent to a penal colony, like so many of his as
sociates, but allowed to retire to Switzerland,where
his last days were spent in poverty and despair.
He died with the name of his friend Tom Robin
son on his lips.
ADVENTURES OF A COLLECTOR.
Long before Courbet’s luckless politieal outbreak,
his friend had made him famous in America. Dur
ing his occasional trips to the United States, and
finally when he settled here, Robinson had steadily
preached the gospel of French art. As early as 1861
he got Cadart, tho publisher, to come to this coun
try with a collection of pictures, and the first Cour
bets, Corots, Millets, and other works of the same
school that were sold here, were out of this collec
tion. From time to time Robinson would return
to Europe, making purchases for rich men and for
himself. He thus, after years of diligent search,
got together the gallery which now bears his name.
These pictures were gathered from all sources.
Some were picked up at sales, others bought from
the artists themselves, others still obtained in out
of-the-way corners of France, often buying in
country houses and queer provincial households,
where the artists had left them on their travels.
In his quest for them, Robinson explored every
holo and corner of France, and p eked up an end
less s-tore of rarities of all sorts, just as enthusiastic
collectors of books will ransack the country gather
ing treasures from farm-house garrets and the
dusty shelves of country book-stores.
The adventures and perils of the collector in the
course of these journeyings would fill a volume.
He was compelled to carry considerable money with
him. and often to travel on foot or horseback in
desolate and dangerous parts. He has been way
laid on the common highway and left for dead, has
had to fight for his life in robbers’ inns, and been
under arrest as a spy in places where the suspicious
rural officials could not understand how any for
eigner could have a legitimate bus ness. But he
has a hard head and a strong arm. He was capable
of defending himself, and did it. The police of
Paris speak with admiration of him lor his prowess.
He is the only foreigner that ever dared to explore
the rookeries of the Quartier de la Rcvolto after
dark and ocme out unscathed.
OFFICE, NO. 11 IMPORT ST.
THE ARTIST AT HOME.
In 1876 the name of Thomas Robinson first be
came famous as a painter in America, so far as the
general public was concerned, though all the con
noiseurs and collectors of the country knew him.
His pictures at the Centennial Exposition, in Phila
delphia, won him immediate renown. He makes
a specialty of dogs and animals, but paints land
scapes and figures with equal facility and force.
In 1878 he held a very successful sale of his own
pictures in Boston. Since then, except for bis ab
sences in Europe, he has resided in Boston, or in
Providence, R. 1., where he has a fine studio.
Me remains as he began, however, the sailor ar
tist. His huge accumulation of art knowledge and
of worldly experience render him much sought
after as a companion, but he has not become arti
ficial by pampering, lie is as much at home at the
tabla of the poor artist as at that of-the rich collec
tor, and speaks his mind as freely in the presence
of the one as of the other. He gives with the same
open and liberal hand as of yore, showering favors
right and left, and never dreaming of them once
they are done; and the sale of his masterpieces Is,
beyond question, a result of his own lavish and
generous life, for if he was not forced to it, ho cer
tainly would not part with them. They represent
so great a labor and expenditure of time an i money
and are so unique, that only necessity could force
him to give them up.
To any one interested in the romances of art,
this painter-collector must be a fascinating figure.
He is a living link between our own time and that
of the greatest painters of the century. He has
been the friend and comrade of the most illustrious
artints of Europe and America, and his hair is
hardly gray ; be is a living encyclopedia of the
histories of these men, of the history of art and its
development. And at the same time he has been
and is still the counsellor and friend of real princes
and money kings, and knows Dives, at his laden
board, surrounded by the gems of art, as intimately
as he does Lazarus, gnawing a crust as he makes
the gems in hie neglected garret, starving while ho
waits for tardy Fame to come knocking at his door.
Honor Among Thieves.
None Where There is a Eady in
the Case.
The Matrimonial Venture of Burglar Louis
Van Heesen and a Corv’ct’s Hand
some Young Bride.
Three young mon were arrested in Williamsburg
last week for burglary, but the local papers were
seemingly unaware of tho interesting matrimonial
complications of one of the prisoners, as they made
no mention of the matter. The prisoner referred to
is Louis Van Hoesen, a young man who learned the
printing trade and who lived off and on with his
parents, at South First and Eleventh streets. Louis,
who is now only twenty-two years old, was a way
ward youth and kept vicious company. In sur
prisingly quick time he
DRIFTED INTO WAYS THAT ARE DARK,
and was the crookedcst of his crooked associates,
for he possess id an educational advantage over
them wh ; ch made him the more dangerous.
Ho brought his younger brother, who is now only
seventoon years old, and who was arrested with
him, down with himself, and nearly broke the hearts
of his parents, who are respectable people.
But it is of Louis’s matrimonial ventures that
this article treats. His friend, Joseph Taylor,
years ago married a handsome young girl, who
worked in a shoe factory and made good wages.
Taylor and his bride went to board with his peo
ple, who are respectable, and reside on South Third
strcat, near Seventh.
The brldGg'rdoiu worked for a short while after
his marriage, but the opportunity, as ho regarded
it, presented itself for him to make a big haul with
out scarcely the possibility of discovery, and he
pmbracpd it only to find himself after committing
the theft
IN THE EMBRACES OF A POLICEMAN.
He was tried and sent to the Kings County Peni
tentiary for three years. His wife was in great dis
tress, and amoug those who called on her mother
in-law and herself, to offer consolation and utter
words of encouragement, was Louis Van Hoesen.
Old Mrs. Taylor always made him feel at home in her
house, and her daughter-in-law received him cour
teously. In time the young man and the young
wife met outside, but the old lady suspected noth
ing wrong until the early part of last Summer. The
young wife then explained that Louis’s visits were
only friendly.
Last July old Mrs. Taylor suspected that her
daughter-in-law and Van Hoesen were married, but
both denied it when spoken to about it. The old
lady went to the house of Pastor Strodach, of St.
Paul’s Lutheran Church, at the corner of South
Fiith and Ninth streets, and was informed that
Louis Van Hoesen and Miss Katie Hardman (young
Mrs. Taylor’s maiden name)
WERE MARRIED
the previous afternoon in the parsonage.
•‘When the bride-elect was asked in the usual
form,” said the minister, “if she had been married
before, she gave her bead a toss, danced around and
replied, ‘Do I look like a married woman ?’ 1 ad
mitted that she did not.”
The wedding-ring was described to the old lady,
and she instantly exclaimed:
“It is the same one my sou bought for her and
that was used at his marriage.”
The old lady next day procured a warrant for the
arrest of her daughter-in-law and Louis ou a charge
of bigamy. Detective Short captured the pair in
New York. When the case came on for trial, the
complainant failed to appear, and the prisoners
were discharged, Mrs. Taylor’s reason for not
prosecuting them was, because she wanted her
daughter-in-law, who had great influence over her
first husband, to live with him when he was liber
ated from prison. But Louis and bis bride started
for New York and sot up housekeeping.
A month ago or less, Taylor was liberated from
the Penitentiary, and ho instituted a sorrch for his
wife and Van Hoeson. He found their dovecot, and
while Van Hoesen was absent he again
WOOED AND WON HIS WIFE,
who consented to elope with him. In their flight
they took the furniture which Van Hoesen had pur
chased, with them, and took up their abode in
some secluded nook. Van Hoesen searched for the
runaway pair to no purpose; after which he re
turned to Williamsburg, and, being out of funds,
be put up the job to plunder Dr. Rea’s drug store
at South Second and Eleventh streets. He was
arrested with his brother and another youth.
ETo Satisfaction.
PUT OUT FOB WANTING A KISS.
■ Tho complainant, Fred. Stahr, looked like a jolly
old sea salt, retired on a very liberal pension. He
charged Frank Smith, a youth, with doubling the
size of his nose, which was of the “Romany Rye ”
style. He said he went into the saloon of Mrs.
Rooble, No. 439 West Fortieth street, to have a beer.
He had two after he went in. Coming out he was
assaulted by the prisoner; why, he didn't know.
Mrs. Rooble said Mr. Stahr came into her saloon
in the absence of her husband, about 11 o’clock in
the evening, and asked for a beer. She didn’t care
to give it, but did. He treated, and they touched
glasses across the bar. They drank. Then bo at
tempted to kiss her over tho bar. He couldn’t
reach it. Then he made a cut round the bar to get
near her, and she screamed, and defendant came in
and gently ejected him.
Wh'on he heard that testimony Mr. Stahr gave a
grunt.
George Stearn said he was at No. 439 West For
tieth street, singing with his cousin, the defendant,
when Mrs. Rooble came out and said, “Did you
see that man?” (complainant.) He said “no.” She
said he bad insulted her trying to get a kiss across
the counter. Stahr came back and peeked in at the
window. Witness said to him why don’t you go in ?
Mr. Stahr said to him come in. Ho went. The lady
then said, put him out. They did, very gently,
when they found what ho was up to.
“ Good heavens 1” exclaimed Stahr, when he heard
the witness.
"Acquitted,” said the Court.
“O, meinlGot 1” responded Mr. Stahr; “that is
no sadisfaction.”
AVery Sad Boy.
GIVEN EVERY SHOW, BUT NO
GOOD.
A very little chap, named Bernard Cullen, was
charged with stealing 100 Heralds worth $2, from
his boss, Wm. J. Spreckman. Mr. Spreckman has
a news stand at Seventeenth street and Third
avenue. He employed the boy to deliver papers
and make collections. He went out with the paper#
that morning, sold them, and never came back.
Ho (the news dealer) got all sorts of complaints from
Lis subscribers that morning for not getting their
Heralds.
Counsel—He is tho only support of his mother
He is a very good boy.
Complainant—He is a very bad boy. He was
arrested by his own father lor being out at night.
He not only stole my papers, but tried to steal other
men’s papers.
Counsel—His mother says he is a very good boy,
ho goes to noonday prayer meeting.
Complainant—Young as ho is he is in the habit of
going to balls and theatres.
Counsel—Give the bey a show.
complainant—l have given him all the show he
wants.
•• Twenty days City Prison,” said the Court.
PRICE FIVE CENTS.
WHAT IS THE USE.
What is the use of thw impetuous haste?
Tho end is certain. Let us take our time
And hoard the vital forces that we waste
Before our day has reached its golden prime.
What is the use of rushing with spent breath
After old age, its furrows, its white hair?
Why need wo hurry so to welcome Death,
Or go half way, with hands stretched out to Caro J
There is no use. Dear hearts, if we but wait
All things will find us Let us pause, I say.
We cannot go beyond the silent gate
That lies a sKort day’s journey down the way*
So let us take our time in youth’s fair bowers;
The Summer season is so brief at best.
Let us look on the stars and pluck the flower*.
And when oar feet grow weary let us rest.
madamTward.
BY A FAVOBITE AUTHOB.
CHAPTER XI.
“ A BIT OF NEWS RUFFLED THE SERENITY 01
WHITTLESFORD.”
“ Why, my goodness, Ned, you look awfully
seedy, do you know 1” cried Nat.
She was rather fond of giving vent to thia
and similar expressions, a habit tor which Mad
am always avowed that I was responsible; and
that was her greeting when I entered the
breakfast-room the next morning. It had
turned chilly in the night, ana she was kneel
ing on the rug with her hands etretched out to
the fire. It was early yet, and no one else was
down.
“Seedy?” I echoed, surveying my gloomy 1 -
looking visage rather consciously in the pier,
glass. “Doi?” ;
" Worse than that, you wicked boy I I be«
lieve you have beau smoking half the night.
You don't look as though you had had a bit of
sleep,” Natalie affirmed, looking at me wita *
pair of very inquisitive bright eyes.
In truth, I wished heartily that they were npt
quite eo bright, as I made her some evasive an
swer and turned aside to the window.
She was right enough about my looking queer
—I did so, and I felt worse. The business of
the previous night had banished sleep and sent
me down to breakfast feeling uncommonly per
plexed. I did not know what to do or what I
ought to do. If I spoke to Madam, I knew well
what a disturbance there would be. I had a
notion that I should do well to hold my tongue,
since I certainly could not use it intelligibly
without involving Roger Yorke. That was the
consideration which kept me silent. Certainly,
if I had caught anybody else in Whittlesford
holding a nocturnal interview of a mysterious
character with Natalio Orme’s governess, I
should have spoken out quickly enough, re
gardless of consequences. But this was a dif
ferent sort of tiling. I did not care a straw
about mademoiselle one way or the other, but I
certainly did not choose to get old Roger into a
scrape if I knew it. I was awfully upset to
think that he should have a secret from me;
but I did not meau to split on him—not exactly;
that sort of thing did not suit the Chavasse
blood by any means. The conclusion I finally
came to was, that, if I spoke at all about that
interview in the Lady’s Walk, it must be to
Yorke himself. It would turn out a mare’s
nest, as sure as fate, I thought, trying to make
light of the matter as I stood there gloomily
looking out; but I wished with all my heart
that Mademoiselle Valdini had never brought
her ill-omened black eyes to Mount Chavasse.
Madam came in presently, taking her seat
before the urn, and almost immediately ths
door opened softly to admit mademoiselle, in
her plain black dress. I cast a sharp glance at
her as she uttered politely her morning greet
ings to my mother and Nat; but I might well
have spared myself the trouble. Her pale,
composed face told no tales. And by-and-by,
when, in the course of breakfast, Madam casu
ally asked her how she had slept, if she did not
say that she had never rested better in her life t
Evidently Mademoiselle Lucille Valdini was too
much for us Whittlesford tolk.
That was a dismal morning for me, and would
have been so without the load of perplexity
which was weighing me down. I could not get
consolation anywhere. Nat was shut up with
mademoiselle in the room where tho studies
were to go forward, and I steered clear of Mad
am instinctively, knowing I should feel uncom
fortable and guilty under the scrutiny of her
keen eyes.
For once I was glad when the clock showed it
was nearly eleven, and I put on my hat and
strolled off dejectedly to take my usual dismal
dose of the Reverend Titus Poinsett’s wisdom.
Perhaps mathematics and melancholy do not
go well together, for, when the infliction was
over, I turned out into the sunny High street
again—the Roverend Titus had rooms over Bo
vere, the saddler’s—not at all improved in
spirits.
I stood for a minute or two looking about me
idly, and wondering what I should do next. It
was of no ueo to go back to Chavasse—luncheon
would not bo due for another hour and a half,
and I knew that Nat would not be free until
then. It was useless going to the rectory, ior a
message had come in the course of the morning
to the effect that Mrs. Deeping was worse than
usual, and I knew that Alice would be in close
attendance upon her. With a sudden resolu
tion, I decided to hunt up Yorke. I do not
think I had anydefinite idea of broaching the
subject which was filling my mind myself; but
I did feel pretty sure that, if I only could get
hold of Roger quietly by himself, he would tell
me ot his own accord, and eo prove my mare's
nest theory the right one. It wanted half an
hour to the time when lie usually started on bis
rounds, so 1 should be able to catch him.
Ido not know i I have mentioned that, ever
since Yorke had jcined old Dizarte, he had
shared his house, partly, it w s understood, for
the sake ot convenience, and partly because the
old doctor liked las young partner’s compan
ionship. It was a large, rambling old red
brick honee, with a goo I deal of ratio r neglect
ed garden-grouucl lying round it, and it stood
well back from the High street, to which it
hardly seemed to belong. The river run be
hind it, and a road branched o fat right angles
from ite gates, in tho direction of I.oxborough
Chaos. The house was known, for some reason
which none of the inhabitants of Whittlesford—
the doctor included—could explain, as Hedpots,
and was a quaint, old-world, untidy, comfort
able place enough.
To Hedpots I marched off, passing the gates
ot the lodge as I went, and getting a good-hu
mored nod and “ Good morning” from Major
Constable, who stoo 1 there smoking bis cigar,
a very handsome, soldierly-looking figure, with
his empty co.it-sleeve slung across his breast
and his great mastiff lying at his feet.
Arriving at Ifodpots, I met with a check—
only old Dizarte rss in the surgery, attending