New York dispatch. [volume], December 26, 1886, Image 1

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

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PIIMB BY A. J. WILLIAMSON’S SONS.
VOL,. XLII.-NO. 11.
Entered at the Office at New York, ’
N. Y., as Second Class Matter.
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playFalWyers.
CSRISTMAS AT HART’S COMIQUE.
<sol. Morton’s Dilemma.—’The Council of
■War—A Holiday Attraction—The Mes
senger Boy’s Great Walk-Saved
at Last—Miss Genevieve Ward
—Cold-Pressed Art,-E .c.
BY JOHN CARBOY.
Manager Hart, up there in Harlem in his cosy
Comique, evidently believes in seasonable
sattractions. In making up his book of engage
ments fnr the cu- rent year, I can fancy that early
' last Fall he called into his magnificently furnished
■ managerial office his beauteous and eloquent aid,
■'-files achates—not to say hia alter ego, Col. Morton.
And Hart then and there Baid unto him,
•• Kernel 1”
•• Sire, what wouldst thou with the most devoted
• of yours faithfully ?” queried the dashing Colonel
with his usual salaam of respect, and seating him
self at the table, whereon he daily absorbed his
wind and ink in the production of manifold mes
sages to the dramatic Editors of the press through-
■ out the world.
"Kernel, the fact is that this is the month of Sep
tember !”
"Your Majesty is always right. It is September—
the month, sire, in which the falling leaves of
Autumn cover the ground with golden memories of
the dead Summer 1 1”-sighed the poetic Colonel as he
gazed sadly at the masticated end of his nearly-fin
ished cigar.
“The fact that it is September, Kernel, need not
interfere with the casual utterance at this precise
moment of a prophecy to the effect that "Christ
mas is coming ?”
"Sire, undoubtedly, even though we may in
the interim pass to that bourne whence no
back numbers , return, the prophecy will be ful
filled. Christmas is coming. Ergo, Christmas will
come. Since the sooths ayer’s mule first kicked in
the traces, in old Jerusalem, Christmas has come
with a punctuality and an avoidance of being be
hind time in its arrival to which I can find no par
allel save in the promptitude of an actor’s appear
ance in front of the box-office on salary day. But
wherefore; ob, sire, allude in a prophetic spirit to
the Inevitable?”
"Christmas being inevitable—we must prepare
1 for its advent!”
"Yes, sire!” replied the colonel as in momen
tary forgetfulness he threw his lead pencil into the
■ porcel i n cuspidor and endeavored to place a cigar
he ha l-just lighted, behind his ear,thereby causing
»the odor of burnt hair and the sound of a particu
larly profane and emphatic "godelmity ” to fill the
air.
-<FOR CHRISTMAS WEEK
•• we must have-something appropriate in the dra
matic lineman attraction which will arouse Harlem
. and,make the -apocryphal Santa Claus shiver in his
boots. Now, what shall it be?”
*’ Star or combination,- sire ?”
" Either—what would you suggest ?”
••Sire, how would the • Sea of Ice ’ catch on ?”
••I don’t see it—'for a cent. ’’
■ “Suppose we make: that date with 'Siberia,'
.eb? ’
-Wade>no; further. It isn’t cold enough. What
■vve want is something frigid—artistically cold.”
"High art in acting is always cold—icicular in
■ the polished severity'of.its lines. High art acting
Without a chill as its backbone is ot no account. If
;you,want,.an artistic-refrigerator as a Christmas at
traction, we must .”
•• WE !” interrupted >.his majesty, •• what page
•Id Welde’scourt grammar made you a plural, lam
rtbeWel Proceed, Kernel.”
" Sire, suppose you negotiate with Genevieve
VWard. She is all high art. ”
■••:Kernel—your hand! You’re a brick—hard-
Jlbaked—Philadelphia pressed. Ward it shall be.
(Riog up the<telephone, ring in the telegraph mes
sengers—set to work all the mighty enginery of
anauagerial,power and make sure of the Ward.”
••■But suppose she should have ,” ventured
ihe Colonel.
"d’ll knothk Suppose or any other snpe out on the
firstronnd. Now Kernel, get in with your fine
work. It’s the Ward for Christmas week.”
“ And if I fail, sire ?”
• rf :lf'yo.u fail—off goes your head.”
As September waned to its close, the Colonel
began-to bavea wearied look. His mustache lost
its fierce and impressive curl and drooped over his
lips like a limp bunch of sea weed over the crevice
of a rock.at low tide. The Ward was not yet within
his And with Christmas hardly three months
away!
" Great’Csesar—what can I do to save my head ?”
Pale of face, with shrunken eye, shriveled mus
tache, tremulous and withered of lip, with limbs
attenuated and the massive head bent forward and
the back once so upright curved into a high stoop —
the once proud and poetic ideal of vitalized and
majestic ambition .fattened upon the spoils of .great
conquests—became in the gloomy moon of Novem
ber’s birth—a sorrier sight than was Macbeth’s
dexter digits when he had carved up the kingly dia
phragm of the a ; ged J)uncan.
Hart daily and nightly glared at him—and -ever
repeated, "How stands the Ward !”
And as often the pallid lips beneath the tangled
writ of mustache parted and emitted the same
feeble refrain, " No Ward !”
One day there came to 4he theatre a messenger
boy from the Western District Union branch office,
,<only three blocks away. It was then four o’clock,
r!P. M. The boy had started from the branch office
a direct line for the theatre at sharp nine, A. M.
&Ie rushed in breathlessly and
FELL IN A DEAD FAINT,
ib&i&g made the distance in the remarkably brief
iiwe,-3f seven hours—all the more remarkable when
it is.efiisidered that he was detained en route by a
4jaxae.£'f hop scotch, a six round pugilistic encoun
ter with a go-as-you-please-newsboy, a critical in
vestigaties* of the contents of a toy-nbop window,
sampling a cigarette, watching a dog fight to its
bitter Ciii-l/jWJd twenty minutes for refreshments at
an apple : e.tap>d.
Mortou feebly clutched the message, tore<i£ open,
and— lo J—he was saved. Hart entered
and found him dancing a wild and maniacal can
can around the prostrate form of the messengor.
•‘Christmas week—Ward !”
“You’ve got her ?”.cried Hart.
-"She’s our’n—-and-Christmas is her’n !” 1
jfho luessenger-fccy was tenderly lifted from the !
floor, brought to eocacio.wiess by a hyperdermic 1
fnjectiso of mince pie, and sent to his office, via
wheelbarrow express. Mortoiji jyas once more him
seif, and a$ glowing and fragrant as a hot whisky,
and Hart was once more—the man .of smiles.
And on Christmas week—beginning on Monday
last— camo Miss Q&»evieve "Forget-me-Ward.”
,1 went ut? IQ ter ©pre; pnee
again realize in her presence how cold-cut Art can
defy the wrinkling progress of age; how it is a pre
servative of those who adhere to its formulas as a
regular prescription.
Miss Ward has taken so kindly to the prescrip
tion that it has become a second nature; it has its
eternal chili —but, like an iceberg, it has its beauty;
it is impressive, and it has a certain majesty.
There is nothing homeopathic in her Art. It is a
dose which—in whatever she plays—permeates its
entire system, and its operation proves her diagno
sis of its condition to have been perfect.
Mnggin’s liver pills are nothing in effect as com
pared with Miss Ward’s Art—in the matter of
sending
A COLD SHIVER
up the spinal verterbrae, and purging from the
alleys and conduits of the body all the biliary
emotion and acidulous sentiment there are in it.
Yet I have a frosty delight in sitting out her per
formance of the Duchess of Marlborough, in
“The Queen's Favorite.”
As if she were a figure that had but just stepped
out of its place in some old piece of medieval
tapestry, in which was woven the historic story of
the loves, the intrigues, the manners and fashions
of an almost forgotten time, she comes forward up.
on the stage as the Duchess of Marlborough, with
the cold and courtly precision in gesture and ex
pression befitting the high-born dame of the En
glish court in the most romantic era of English
history.
The comedy is one of dialogue, in which wit,
sarcastic repartee and brilliant phase are the domi
nant characteristics. Action and incident are subor*
dinate factors in the work. It is an artistic and
intellectual mosaic. It is a bore to those who de
light in the antics of Dixey. or worship the methods
of Mansfield. It demands thought and understand
ing of the better trees -of the English language
for the appreciation of this species of dramatic
composition.
As in Stephanie, in “Forget-Me-Not,” so in
the Duchess, in " The Queen’s Favorite,” does
Miss Ward's Art find place for its subtlest and most
perfect revelation.
But in these efforts—-coldly perfect as they are in
an artistic sense; brilliant as is her treatment of
the subject she portrays, there is absent the one
essential to make it supreme in its beauty and give
it warmth and vitality; and that essential is—
heart. In her acting'there is
NOT THE SLIGHTEST TRACE OF FEELING.
It is as cold and pulseless as a block of marble in a
frozen sea. It is the quality of Art that, while it
compels admiration, at the same time chills enthu
siasm and forbids sympathy.
It is this sort of art, as the attribute of Miss
Ward’s acting, which has made her the great inter
preter that she is of Stephanie and the Duchess of
Marlborough; women of the heartless, unsympa
thetic type.
It is condensed Art on ice, ready for use and war
ranted to keep in any climate.
It is the Art which can portray the diabolic na
ture of a cold-blooded lago, the cruelty of a Mar
chioness de Brinvilliers, with a fidelity to detail and
a perfection of treatment and the precision and
firmness with -which a skilled surgeon performs an
autopsy on a dead body.
It is—cold—ice cold.
Thaw it out, melt it in the warmth of humanly
life; mingle with it something of the loveable quali
ty of woman s nature; something of the brighter
and more cheerful moods of humanity—and the
Art of which Miss Ward is the mistress and expo
nent, would be an almost useless factor in her work.
She once tried it, ice cold and frigid as it is—in
the impersonation of Jane Shore, but the fire and
intensity of the character melted her art and made
it ineffective and she failed.
And being thus limited in her sphere of stage
effort, Miss Ward’s acting will never hold a place in
the sympathy of her audiences, however much
they may admire her talent. And this limit in
which she moves and in which she has achieved the
only great successes of her professional career sug
gests the idea of ranking her as a " specialty ar
tiste,” and one who is as firmly held in the ten
ure of her frozen art as an ice-bound craft in the
polar regions.
I sometimes wonder if Miss Ward, when she
takes an afternoon promenade, in Broadway for
instance, as she passes on with an artistic pre
cision of step and her glance of cold hauteur, does
not
LOWER THE TEMPERATURE OF THE ATMOS
PHERE
and make the mercury in the exposed thermometers
in the street shrivel down into the bulb to warm
up—as it were?
Or if at a reception or a quiet little dinner party’
she should give the society swell opposite her at
table one of her cold pressed art glances—of the
Stephanie sort—whether he would not shrivel and
twist up into the appearance of a frozen carrot?
I think Colonel Morton avoided meet ing her dur
ing her engagement up there in Harle m. I fancy
he took pains to absent himself upon the plea of
arranging the ” press work” for the holiday week.
When he was, on one occasion, obliged to come
within the atmosphere of her artistic presence, be
prepared himself to undergo the sudden change of
climate. He encased himself in a superabundance
ot flannel underwear, and with arctics on his feet
and an immense ulster—specially constructed for
the occasion from the skins of polar bears and
lined with three-ply all-wool carpet—enveloping
his form, he passed through the ordeal with a
shivering sense of safety.
When, at the close of the interview, he sought the
seclusion of the managerial office and had enjoyed
the genial glow of a-seat upon the top of the red
hot stove plate for half an hour, he had entirely
recovered.
"How about next'Christmas, most noble sire?”
quoth the colonel.
“ Well, no more art on ice. We’ll give ’em ‘Mid
summer Night’s Dream/ or—or—
" Something still warmer.”
•' What’s that ?”
“ Undressed .comic opera.”
A. I*jrofessloiial.
HE GOT NOTHING AT WORK, BUT THE COURT
GAVE HIM A YEAR.
Thomas Lang, a respectable looking young man,
was charged with assault with intent to steal as
a pickpocket.
Officer Titus, of the Central Office, said: On the
16th inst. he saw the prisoner on Broadway. He
lollowed him from Duane to Fulton street. There,
at the crossing, prisoner placed his hand on a lady
who was with a gentleman, near the bank. This
was four o’clock in the afternoon. The officer went
and brought him back and asked the lady if she had
lost anything. She said no. He had observed the
prisoner half an hour.
At one point ?” asked the Court.
"No; I followed him from one place to another.”
"Did you see him place his hands on others ?”
" His companion got into several pushes in the
crowd.”
"The officer accuses me wrong,” said the prison
er. “At the corner of Fulton and Broadway, going
to No. 77 Nassau street, the envelope company. I
happened to place my band ou the lady’s sack. The
fact is I don’t know whether I did or not. In a
crowd you can’t help touching a person. The of
ficer caught me six feet from the lady, and said
to her, ■ Did you lose anything ?’ She said, *No.’
• Did you have a pocketbook ?’ he asked. She said
she didn’t have anything but a handkerchief. I
may have passed my hand on the sack, but that
corner ia always.crowded, trucks passing and peo
ple sto|iped.”
" Where do you work ?”
" I keep & news stood at Jefferson and Monroe
streets.”
•• What did you do before that ?”
" I was a tinsmith for two years, but I was sick
and laid up three months Ln Bellevue Hospital.”
"Heis a professional thie£/' Ba id the officer.
" Do you know me ?” OBk&d the prisoner.
“ Yes, sir.”
" Have you any one to tea&fy for you ?” asked
Justice Kilbreth.
'■* No,” replied the prisoner.
“ Guilty,” said Justice Kilbreth, Do you know
anything about the prisoner?”
" Yes, sir; I know him to be a profdfctfonal,” said
the officer. ”He has been run inu? |.he office
several times, and has a number of aliases: JJe was
working with a professional thief that dav, man
named Carr.”
” Ous year/' the court.
NEW~YORK."sUNDAY, DECEMBER 26, 1886.
MOKS. DOJJffIX’S BLMOER.
Dropping the Evidence of Crime
into the Wrong Cab.
The Thief Strangely Confronted
at the Prefecture.
THE DRIVER AND THE PORTRAIT.
How the Reckless Adventurers of Paris
Remove Objectionable Witnesses.
A strange thing had taken place in Paris and the
police authorities were greatly exercised over it.
Monsieur Jules Floreffe, a young and wealthy
merchant, in excellent social standing, went to the
opera on the evening of December 6, 1873. The
cab which he occupied was slowly approaching the
entrance as other vehicles passed away, when a
man, in a slouch hat, bearded, and wearing a heavy
military cloak, approached the door of the cab just
as the window was lowered. Laying his hand upon
the door, he looked inside, and eaid :
♦‘ Are you Monsieur Du Chalies ?”
“I have not that honor,” was the reply, and the
man withdrew with an apology.
Monsieur Floreffe dismissed the cab, and, as he
had engaged to go home with a friend, did not
direct the driver to return.
The next morning, December 7th, the proprietor
of the cab, one Traipon, called at the Prefecture of
Police, and, exhibiting a small jewel case, about
three inches square, said that one of his drivers
had found it in a cab which was in use the previous
evening. It bore upon the top the initials E. F. A.
"Now,” said Traipon, “I don t know that I
should have troubled you about this, if it had
not been for the fact that I saw this advertise
ment.”
Here he drew forth a morning newspaper and
pointed out an advertisement, offering a reward of
5,000 francs to any one who should return to
Gobain, the jeweler of the rue Royale, a valuable
diamond brooch, contained in a case similar to that
produced by Traipon, bearing the initials E. F. A.
A ROBBERY ANNOUNCED.
Scarcely had Traipon given this explanation when
a gentleman sent in his card and requested to see
the chief. The chief begged Traipon to excuse him
and Traipon retired to an inner room.
Then entered a young gentleman, showily dressed
and with an air of some importance.
" Monsieur Floreffe, I presume,” said the chief,
looking at the card which he still held in his hand.
" That is my name, monsieur,” was the reply;
•‘and my business is this: I reside at No. — Rue de
Neuilly. Yesterday afternoon, during my absence,
some very valuable diamonds were stolen from my
dressing room, They consisted of two solitaire
rings, a scarf pin with a large centre diamond set
round with rubies, and a brooch of rare value. The
rings and pin were upon my dressing table and the
brooch was in a square box, marked with the letters
E. F. A.”
“ That is singular,” said the chief.
GROWING MORE SERIOUS.
"By the way,” said Monsieur Floreffe. “at the
same time the jewelry was taken, over 180,000 francs
in notes of the Bank of France were also stolen.”
" This is a very serious affair,” said the chief;
'• what are the particulars ?”
“My mother, whose name is now Aubrais, came
to Paris,” was the answer. •• from Beaufort, in An
jou, where she resides, and was staying with me in
my apartments. The jewels belonged to her. She
had just sold out some stocks and had very foolish
ly insisted ou receiving the money and keeping it
in her possession.”
••Isee,” said the chief. " Where was she at the
time of the robbery ?”
"She was in the apartments,” he answered.
" You see, I gave her up my rooms and went to
stay with a friend. That is to say, I spent my days
with my mother and retired to my friend’s at
night.”
“Were there any domestics about?” the chief
asked.
“ My mother brought with her an aged domestic,
and my servant was there part of the time,” was
the answer. "At the time of the robbery, however,
my servant was at my friend’s. I have advertised
are ward for the diamonds.”
Monsieur Floreffe gave the chief particulars as to
the location of the rooms,etc. Then the chief intro
duced Traipon, who produced the jewel case and
described how it was found.
"This is very remarkable,” said Monsieur Flo
reffe; " this is the case without doubt.”
"The driver,” said Traipon, "whose name is
Mettray, says that he took up his last fare near the
Hotel St. James.”
" Does he know who his fare was ?” asked Mon
sier Floreffe.
"No,” was the reply, "but he is sure he could
identify him if he saw him.”
After some further talk, it was arranged that two
experienced detectives should be at Monsieur Flo
reffe s apartment that alternoon at a given hour,
and the same officers were to see Mettray, the
driver.
A PLEASANT CHAT.
Monsieur Floreffe, as soon as he was clear of the
prefecture, went to the Hotel St. James, in the Rue
St. Honore. On reaching bis friend’s apartments,
he found there a gentleman taking bis ease with a
cigar and a bottle of wine.
" You cursed fool!” were the first words Floreffe
used.
"What’s the matter now, my angel?” asked the
gentleman.
" Donjeux,” he said, •• you have made the nicest
mess of this thing. Do you know what you have
done ?”
“No, my sweet pet,” replied the individual ad
dressed.
" Stop your fooling,” exclaimed Floreffe. " What
did you do with the jewel case which 1 told you to
dispose ot ?”
•‘ Do with it ?” said Donjeux, •• why, I walked up
to a cab as it was slowly approaching the opera, put
my hand over the door—the sash was up—and
asked whether the occupant was Monsieur Du
Chalies. Then I dropped the box into the cab. Of
course it wasn’t Monsieur Du Chalies, for the reason
that he is not in this country just at present, owing
to circumstances which occurred quite recently.”
•• No, you idiot,” said Floreffe; •• it was I myself
who was in that cab, but I never recognized you.”
" You!” exclaimed Donjeux; " my God, You 1”
" Yes, as sure as you live,” was the reply; " and
the catse was found in the cab immediately after I
had discharged it, and the driver says he can
identify me. Isn't that a nice mess, as I said ? *
READY TO BE A VICTIM.
“ Shoot me, poniard me, do what you please with
mo,” said Donjeux; "call me all tire foul names you
can think of. I am. a fool, an idiot, a dolt. Still,
there is some consolation in the fact that I disguised
myself so thoroughly that even you didn’t know
me.”
"Well, the mischief is done,” said Floreffe, "and
now to remedy it. Suppose I am identified. The
jewel case was found in the cab I had just used.
What is the inference ? That I am the thief and
that I have robbed my own mother!”
"Don’t weep,” said Donjeux, soothingly. "It
would certainly be too bad to accuse you of rob
bing your own mother. Still the world is full of
wickedness and the law is severe, damnably severe.
Who is the driver? ’
"Aman named Mettray,” replied Floreffe; "he
seems a shrewd fellow from what I have seen of
him. I tell you. that if a suspicion is directed
toward me, it is all up.”
•‘ Well,” said Donjeux, calmly, as he leaned back
and put the tips of his fingers together, "we must
get rid of Mettray. That is all.”
“ What the devil do you mean ?” asked Floreffe.
" 'Get rid of,' said Donjeux; “ put out of the way;
dispatch; remove Eh, what did you say ?”
“ I said nothing," was the answer.
••Ob, I beg a thousand pardons Monsieur Fltreffe,”
said Donjeux; "I thought I heard you suggest an
other synonym. Well, there is another you know
and it is a very strong one—shall I whisper it ?’•
******
•' I’m a detective,” said a tall, neatly-dressed man,
with a full brown beard and a plentiful head of hair
and wearing a water-proof, who called at Traipon’s
livery stables and asked for the driver. Mettray.
“I’m a detective, and my name is—well, never
mind my name; your presence is required. Mon
sieur Mettray, at a certain place to identify a man
whom you drove to the opera in a cab last night.”
"Ab, yes, monsieur. 1 understand,” replied Met
tray; ”an officer was here this afternoon ”
"Just so,” said the visitor, "and now I am come
and you will please go with me, and you’ll lose
nothing by it, of course.”
GOT RID OF.
Mettray put on his coat and hat and started off
with the stranger. It was now ten o’clock, and the
night was stormy. Snow and sleet were blown
about by a piercing wind, and the two men hurried
on—into the Rue St. Honore, into the Rue de Ri
voli and down the Rue de Louvre to the Pont des
Arts. Nobody was on the bridge, and the storm
howled disagreeably. At the centre of the bridge
the detective suddenly turned upon Mettray and
grasped him by the throat with the left hand; at
the same moment, with the right hand he stabbed
him in the region of the heart. Mettray struggled,
and the detective drew forth the knife and repeated
the thrust. Mettray reeled, and his assailant lifted
him bodily to the parapet and pushed him over.
There was a splash, and the detective passed over
rapidly to the Place de I’lndustrie. Hastening into
the Rae de Seine, he found a cab waiting. Some
oue within opened the door and the vehicle was
driven
THE PORTRAIT.
Mons eur Mettray spoke the truth when he said
that an officer bad been to see him that afternoon,
DeUcliy.ee and Marmont were com mis-
sm’kss art
sioned to inquire into the robbery at Monsieur Flo
reffe’e apartments. While Marmont went on to the
rue de Neuilly, Joigny went to Traipon’s livery sta
bles and saw Mettray. After a talk with him, Joigny
said :
•• Come with to the rue de Neuilly and see my as
sociate Marmont.”
Thither they went, and found Marmont busy
looking around, making a diagram, taking notes,
and occasionally going into Madame Aubray’s sit
tind-room to speak with her. While the detectives
were talking together, Mettray’s gaze was intently
fixed upon an almost life-size photograph of Mon
sieur Floreffe, which adorned the wall of one of the
apartments. Presently he startled the officer by
exclaiming :
"I could swear that is the portrait of the man
whom I drove to the opera last night.”
The officers looked at each other, and took no
notice of the man’s rem-rk; nevertheless, a new
train of thought arose in the minds of each at the
same moment. The result of this was that Joigny
resolved to watch Monsieur Florette.
SPOTTED.
That evening, about nine o’clock, Floreffe left the
St. James Hotel, and, calling a cab, was driven
across the Pont Notre Dame, thence to the rue St.
Andre, to the rue de Seine, where he entered a wine
shop.
Half an hour later he was driven down toward
the Place de I’lndustrie. On reaching the corner of
the ruo Mazarine, where it curves into the rue de
Seine, the cab stopped. Ten minutes later, a man,
clad in a waterproof, came from the direction of the
river and got into the cab, which then returned by
the way which it had come. Detective Joigny it
need not be said was on the track all the way in an
other vehicle, whose cautious driver knew the busi
ness in which his fare was engaged.
When the cab reached the rue St. Honore and the
rue d’Alger, it stopped, and the man in the water
proof alighted. Detective Joigny could have taken
his oath that, when he entered the cab on the rue de
Seine, he wore a heavy beard; and yet, when he
quitted it as stated, he appeared to be clean
shaved. The man turned down the rue d’Alger,
and the cab was driven to the Hotel St. James.
Thither Joigny followed it, and saw Monsieur
Floreffe enter the hotel. Ten minutes later, the
man already described, came walking leisurely
along the rue St. Honore, with the waterproof over
his arm. He also entered the hotel.
THE CRIME BROUGHT HOME.
The next day the body of Mettray was found in
the Seine near the Pont d’Jena. It was speedily
identified, and the police had little difficulty in as
sociating the murder with the two men who had
used the cab the night before, especially as the de
scription of the alleged detective who had called lor
Mettray, answered that of the man with the water
proof.
Floreffe and Donjeux were arrested. Donjeux, who
was not known to the police, committed suicide as
speedily as possible. Floreffe tried it, but was too
late. Then he confessed, admitting that he had
lost heavily at the gaming table and that he had
arranged with Donjeux to rob his mother. This
was how it was done: Floreffe and Donjeux entered
together by the conservatory, of the private door of
which Floreffe had a key. Donjeux concealed him
self in the conservatory and Floreffe left as he
came. Then he went to the front door and entered
in the usual way. This was at five o’clock in the
afternoon, and already dark. Floreffe went to his
mother’s private apartment, where she was rest
ting. The jewels and money were on the dressing
table.
HOW IT WAS DONE.
After a while Floreffe said; "Come, let us go into
the parlor, where we can sit by the fire and have a
chat.”-
They went thither, the son directing his mother’s
attention to the fact that her jewels and money
were on the tabte.
The son stayed for twenty minutes. At his de
parture he went from the parlor to the hall, saying
to his mother: “ Won’t you see me to the door ?’’
She did so, and then returned to the parlor.
Not until three hours had elapsed did she miss
her property. No suspicion ever dwelt in her mind
as to her son, her impression being that a thief
must have been concealed on the premises. And
she was right.
As for the porter, it was impossible to suspect
him, for he was an immense man, weighing over
three hundred pounds, whose tread would have
been distinctly heard, for the doors between the
parlor and the sleeping room had designedly been
left open by Floreffe to allay any fear of thieves in
the mind of his mother.
When there was a very close chance of the crime’s
being brought home to Floreffe and Donjeux, the
latter, according to Floreffe, suggested the removal
of Mettray and the method of it.
On this confession Floreffe was sentenced to penal
servitude for twenty-five years. Influence was
speedily at work to secure his release, but all was
unavailing until recently. His mother died on Oc
tober 17tb last, and permission was given to the
convict, whose conduct had been exemplary, to at
tend the funeral under proper surveillance. ' He did
so, and immediately after the ceremony was offici
ally informed that be was pardoned.
A Sfew Weather Prophet.
THE KEOKUK (IOWA) GATE CITY
PROCURES A WEATHER SEER
AT ENOIiMOUSEXPENSE.
Foster, Wiggins, Mansill, et al., are about to be
shorn of their laurels, for a new weather prophet
has entered the field of meteorological science, hav
ing been employed by the Gate City at a salary of
$40,000 a year. The following is the first install
ment of predictions which he furnishes for publi
cation:
My predictions are based on the well-known in
fluences of the signs of the zodiac and positions of
planets, stars, sun, moon, comets and the milky
way, and is carefully collected from all the patent
medicine almanacs that can be secured free, and is
absolutely reliable. In using these predictions it
must be remembered that unforeseen causes some
times retard or accelerate events predicted, and
therefore they may occur any time within seven
days before or after the date named, and if so we
shall claim our prediction fulfilled. The calcula
tions being made for Keokuk, the events foretold
will occur in that vicinity—i. e.. within a circle of a
radius of 3.000 miles, having Keokuk as its centre.
My predictions for 1887 are:
Jan. 10.—The moon passing Aquarius will cause
quite an extensive thaw, sloppy weather, followed
by heavy snow.
Jan. 17.—Jupiter hunting a pedigree. This will
cause one of the heaviest snow-storms of the Win
ter; a blizzard will develop near Charleston, S. C.,
and follow a course northwest by east, half-sweep’-
ing over the entire country, causing a sudden rise
in the price of ooal, and will reach the Mississippi
river by the Santa Fe route on or about the 28tb.
Feb. 2.—Sun is the sign of the ground-hog. As
every one is perfectly familiar with the sign.it is
useless to publish any forecast and the usual
weather will follow,
Feb. 14.—Cupid and Virgo in conjunction. Mag
netic forces will affect the different post-offices and
will be discharged in snow or rain, according to the
temperature, from these centres on this date.
March I—Blowhard in opposition to Leo. This
will cause high winds; occasional light snow, which
will continue until March 17, when the Star ol
Erin will appear above Taurus, and show bright
green above the red of Taurus. This will cause the
last snow-storm ol the season, followed by warmer
weather, sunshine and shower.
April I—Mars, the original fool-killer, at its great
est distance from the earth. This being weather
prophet’s especial day, we make no predictions,
and leave this date to be filled up by our confreres’
April 9—Venue and Virgo will be in opposition.
Warm Spring weather begins, and the hired help’s
cousin’s aunt will be sick and need her attentions
house.cleaning will be done by the family. Profes
sional weather prophets will please not use this
date.
That the public may not be in ignorance, we will
state the name of our weather prophet is Patsy
Boliver. All communications addressed to him,
care of the Gate City Weather Bureau, will receive
prompt and immediate attention.
The Ideal Home.
WHAT THE “JOURNAL OF DECO
RATIVE ART” THINKS.
The ideal home beautiful is attained rather by
avoiding errors of taste than by the adoption of
special dogmas of art. For my own part, if I have
any dogmas to preach, they may fairly be con.
densed into the one rule: '• Avoid sham and affecta
tions of all kinds.”
Don’t mistake mere prettiness for beauty. Milli
nery, for instance, is out of place in the home
beautiful.
Don’t attach to your chairs and sofa cushions
meaningless bows of ribbon which tie nothing.
Don’t dress up your toilet tables in muslin petti
coats stiffened with crinoline or colored calico.
Don’t display on your wall china plates and
dishes. They were never meant to go there. An
exception may be now and then in favor of a
piece of fine color to help to light up the room, or
where a delicate china painting is worthy of exam
ination. But hang up ordinary domestic china!
Don’t!
Don’t hang small pictures so that their beauty is
lost to any one under seven feet high. If a picture
is not seen from the same position that the artist
saw it when he painted it, the drawing will appear
foreshortened, and the general effect consequentlv
falsified.
A Sensitive Bohemian. — Wengel
Karowtoiff, a Bohemian, was charged with assault
ing his wife Mary. She had two very black eyes
but she wanted to withdraw the complaint. Neither
could speak English. She told interpreter St. Albe,
he struck her in the face and kicked her in the eye.
He said he lost his tooth brush, and looking for it
he inquired of her where it was. Bhe said look lor
it, and he gave her a slap.
It was a Bohemian slap that broke the nose and
gave her two black eyes.
£he was allowed to withdraw ter complaint.
“REMEMBERTHE ALASO!”
Is There an Irrepressible Conflict
Abroad Yet ?
An Inci lent of the Gallant Struggle
For Texan Independence.
liKA VK POLI.Y GRAYSOX.
Being in Texas not long since, when a war-cloud
seemed hovering over her Mexican frontier, I took
much interest in ascertaining the popular feeling
on the subject of a conflict with Mexico, and found
it pretty well voiced in the words of and old but
staunph veteran, who claimed to have been, when
little more than a boy, oue of the gallant band who
fought under Sam Houston’s leadership for the in
dependance of the “ Lone Star ’’ State.
“ Texas and Mexico,” he said, "can never be
peaceable neighbors. Texans are white men, and
•greasers’ain’t; and there’s nothing in common
between them but a yearning to gun for each other.
It is not only that all the ideas of the two peoples
are antagonistic, and that it is our natural interest
to keep our property, and their natural desire to
steal it, but there is something else that keeps the
shooting irons ready on each side—an old grudge.
We have not forgotten the Alamo, and they remem
ber San Jacinto. Those names are not simply
m morles of the old among us, but traditions that
thrill the blood of the young. I met a lad only a
bit ago that was fresh home from an Eastern college,
who has been away for fivo years and was only a
boy when he left Home, but he is just as eager for a
hack at the * greasers ’ as I am mysell, and be
wouldn’t be
•• POLLY GRAYSON'S GRANDSON
"if he wasn’t. • Who was Polly Grayson ?’ Well,
I’ll tell you about her and that story will give you
some idea why we remember the Alamo.”
Jedediah Parmlee came out here with Stephen F.
Austin’s colony of American settlers, in 1821, from
some place in Connecticut, Hartford, 1 think, and
took up land on the Brazos. His family consisted
of a wife and two children, a girl four or five years
old that they called Pauline and a boy, a year older,
with the queer name of Melchisedek.
A few years after, Mrs. Parmlee was killed and
scalped by the Indians, who were put up by the
sneaking, treacherous Mexicans to attack the set
tlers. But Parmlee stuck to his place, and though
he, like all the rest, had a mighty hard tussle to get
along for a few years, he managed to raise his chil
dren, and I tell you they were worth raising. Mel,
as we called the boy, for short, was as fine a young
chap as you ever saw, and Polly one of the prettiest
girls that even Texas could produce, by the time we
were driven to declare our independence of Mexico,
in 1836. Only a month or two before that great
event in our history, Polly married a young man
named Fred. Grayson, a farmer, who lived near
Parmlee’s place. I call her Polly, although her
name was Pauline, you understand, because we
were neighbors and friends, and there was a good
deal more familiarity than style among us in those
days, s habit that sort of sticks to me yet.
SANTA ANNA,
the Mexican President, as soon as he learned that we
would not quietly submit to be robbed and kicked
out of the country that we had made valuable by
fifteen years of toil and hardships, which was what
he intended to do from tho time he got into power,
came at us with a great big army, fully purposing
to wipe us off the surface of the earth. It was a
dusky prospect for Texas. Pretty much every man
and boy we had that was able to carry a gun turned
out for the common defense; but withjall we could
muster, Santa Anna had four times as many, and if
his forces had been men instead of'• greasers,” I
don’t suppose any of us would have been left alive.
Chance split up Polly’s men folks so that her
father was with the heroic Lieut.-Col. Travis; her
husband was serving in the " Mustangs,” under
Capt. Duval, who was in Col. Fannin’s ill-fated
command, while her brother Mel., who happened to
be away from home when the trouble began, in
some way got among Col. Ward’s Georgia volun
teers and, concluding that that was as good a place
to shoot from as any other, staid with them.
Col. Travis, with bis 150 men, was besieged in the
little fort at Bejas by 5,000 Mexicans and fought
them from the 23d of February to the 6th of March.
Then the Texans’ ammunition was exhausted and
the Mexicans
TOOK THE FORT BY AN ASSAULT.
The greasers had lost a thousand of their num
ber in the siege and the final assault, and when they
got in they only found one man of the gallant de
fenders alive and he was wounded. That man was
Jedediah Parmlee. and the greasers deliberately put
a musket to his gray head, as he lay helpless on the
ground, and blew his brains out.
Col. Ward’s Georgia battalion, 100 strong, with
Mel. Parmlee in the ranks, were shut up in the
Mission Refugio by 1,000 Mexicans and had one
whole day of desperate and continuous fighting, in
which they killed 400 Mexicans, without one of
their number having been killed, and only three
were so badly wounded that they could not be taken
along when the little garrison abandoned the place
and made good their escape under cover of the
night. Those three, by the way, were left on the
Mission floor in the confident expectation that they
would receive from their captors the consideration
accorded among civilized people to wounded pris
oners of war. Tho fact was, that as soon as the
greasers rushed in tho next morning, they blew out
the br tins of tho three wounded men, one of whom
was dying at tho time they entered.
THE GEORGIA BATTALION
were captured by an overwhelming Mexican force
on the road between Victoria and Demill's Point
and were march i as prisoners to La Bahia, of the
Commandancy of-the Alamo, where the survivors of
Col. Fannin’s 400 men, who had been captured a lew
days before, were already held.
Col. Fannin had been attacked on the march by a
force of 1,500 Mexicans, well supplied with artillery
and cavalry, and after a gallant defence, at great
disadvantages, in the open prairie, when their am
munition was exhausted,Rurrnendered to Gen. Urea,
the commandant of that wing of the Mexican army.
According to the terms of the capitulation, the
treatment of prisoners of war, according to the
usages of civilized nations, was specifically pledged
to the Texans.
They were kept under close guard, and brutally
treated, for eight days, until Santa Anna’s orders
were received as to what disposition should be
made of them, without regard to the stipulations of
their surrender. Then, on the morning of Palm
Sunday, March 27th, 1836. they were marched out
of their prison by companies; each company of the
unarmed prisoners surrounded by a hollow square
of Mexicans armed with carbines and broadswords,
and there they were
RUTHLESSLY BUTCHERED.
Four hundred and twelve Americans were shot
down and hewed to pieces in that Palm Sunday
massacre. Only six escaped, one—Capt. B. H. Hol
land—by a desperate flight and the others by feign
ing death and lying motionless among the corpses
of their comrades until night, when they managed
to crawl away, even while the Mexicans were drag
ging the bodies together and piling them on brush
and log heaps to burn them—the only sepulture
they received.
You may imagine the horror, grief and despair
that was felt throughout Texas, when of
that atrocious massacre spread over the country.
Poor Polly Grayson was one of those who suffered
most keenly from the sorrows of bereavement, for
all that was known of her husband, father and
brother was that they had been among the butch
ered ones and no hope could be cherished that any
one ol them had escaped.
It did seem at first that we had been utterly
crushed, and were entirely at Santa Anna’s mercy,
the quality of which we now well knew, and be
was so confident that he preclaimed his purpose of
A GENERAL MASSACRE
of us as fast as his army could get hold of us. But
we were a plucky people—a character of which, I
think, we have more than a streak left yet—and
readily concluded that if we had to die, we might
as well die fighting.
That determination was all right, but all we could
muster to do the fighting was 783 to meet Santa
Anna’s 1,598 •• greasers,” flushed with triumph, and
ten times better armed than we were. To get those
783 we had almost robbed the cradle and the grave.
I was not quite fifteen years old, and I know there
were not a few boys younger than I. And there
were women in our ranks, desparate, heart-broken
women, who only wanted to kill Mexicans in re
venge for the massacre of their loved ones, and
then to die. Among those women was Polly Gray
son. She was a good-sized, muscular woman, with
gray eyes, as keen as those of a hawk, and few men
could handle a rifle better than she. When she
came out to fight, she cut her hair short, put on a
suit of her brother’s clothes and would have ap
peared a good-looking boy, not to be remarked
where boys were so plenty, but for the cold, set
light of
FEROCITY IN HER EYES.
It was at San Jacinto, under brave Sam Houston’s
command, that we met the Mexicans, If Santa
Anna had thought it worth while to concentrate
the other wings of his army upon us, things might
have turned out differently, but he fancied that he
was strong enough with his own column.
When we got tho order to "charge,” a yell rose
up all along our line of
"REMEMBER THE ALAMO!”
and we went at them like famished tigers at sheep.
We could not wait to do much shooting, but rushed
upon them with our guns clubbed and beat in their
skulls. There seemed to be more satisfaction in
killing them that way, and I doubt if one of us
thought of being hurt, even whilo ho was at the
job. Polly Grayson was near m-i at first, when we
got into the thick of the fight, and she fought like a
OFW, NO. Il FRANKFORT BT.
demon, shrieking, every time she mashed a greas
er, our battle cry of " Remember the Alamo!”
A panic seemed to possess tho Mexicans, and
surely Providence, punishing their abominable
treachery and fiendish cruelty, protected us in
meting out His judgment upon them. The fight
lasted only eighteen minutes, but in that incredi
bly sjaorLspace of time we managed to kill 630 of
our hated enemies, wounded badly 208 more, and
took 760 prisoners—Santa Anna himself among
them—while we had only two killed and twenty
three wounded.
There is not another such achievement in the
history of the world, I wae only a boy then, as I
said, and could not understand why Santa Anna
was not hanged as soon as ho was caught, for or
dering the massacre of the Alamo. And what is
more, although I am an old man now, I still think
that is what should have been done with him.
Polly Grayson fought her way into the very heart
of the Mexican ranks as a mower cuts a swath into
a meadow of standing grass, and there were so many
of them around her that they turned on her like
cornered rats, and began striking at her with guns
and swords from all sides, until, in the thick of the
melee, she got
A CLIP ON THE HEAD
that knocked her down, senseless. B fore they
could finish her, however, the tide of our boys
swept ovea them and rescued her. When she came
to her senses the fight was over and she was in her
husband’s arms. He had joined us the night before
and had no idea he would find her there until he
recognized her on the field, just as she was knocked,
down. At first, when her eyes opened on his face,
she seemed flightly, and fancied that both he and
she were dead; but directly, when the dizziness
caused by tho blow had left her and she realized
that she was alive, she wanted to pitch in again
and kill some more I never, in all my
born days, saw a woman so full of fight as Polly
Grayson was that day.
By and by they got her quieted down a bit, and
then her tender woman’s heart surged up and she
FELL TO CRYING, SOBBING
for joy that Fred, had turned up alive, and for grief
that Mel hadn’t, when, all of a sudden, who should
tnrp up. with cry of, "Why, it’s our Polly!”
Lui
'lhe bair-breadth escapes of those two ffiSn were
nothing shott Of just miraculous. Fred, had been
shot down in the Alamo massacre, but the bullet
that struck him had glanced on his skull and trav
eled half way round bis head before it went out.
When he came to himself ho laid still among tho
corpses until dark and then crawled off, making his
way to the hut of a friendly Indian, who nursed
him until his head was all right and also a bad
wound in his right leg that he had not noticed at
first. As soon as he was able to travel he made haste
to get into the San Jacinto fight, with the result I
have told. As for Mei, he had run away at the time
Col. Ward’s band were captured by the Mexicans,
and boy-like had stayed out nearly a month, haunt
ing the river timber near where the Mexicans wore,
and popping off greasers whenever he could get the
chance, just as a sort of private pleasure party of
his own. Again and again they came near to catch
ing him but his fool-luck carried him through safe
ly until he accidentally heard that the Texan forces
were concentrating at San Jacinto for a decisive
battle, when he hastened to take a hand in.
Polly Grayson lived to see her grandchildren, one
of whom is the boy I mentioned and I’m sure
neither'she nor any of her blood ever learned to like
Mexicans any better than she did when she was
smashing their skulls like egg shells at San Jacinto,
with her clubbed rifle.
The Modern IToung Woman.
NOT UNJUSTLY THE TARGET FOR
SHAFTS OF WIT.
The newspaper wit aims his shafts of humor at
no object with such keen pleasure and delight, as
when be directs them at the modern young woman,
her caprices and tendencies. And it must be ac
knowledged that he does so. not without cause, in
many instances. While there are thousands of
young women who represent what is best and
highest in young womanhood, whose purposes in
life extend beyond the frivolities of dress and out
ward adornments, there is, on the other hand, a
large percentage that look upon life “as a joke
that’s just begun,” to borrow an expression from a
popular opera.
These young women live under the delusion that
social distinction, beauty of person and richness of
apparel, make the woman. They are slaves to cus
tom and fashion, and revel in external attractions.
They accept the glitter for the gold, heraldry and
trapping of the world for the priceless essence of
woman's worth, which exists within the mind.
Their highest attainment is not the possession of
a true womanhood, but that their position in socie
ty may be a conspicuous one, and thereto they
bend all their energies. Hours are spent over the
latest fashion plates, while days are given over to
the making and perfecting of new apparel. They
forget that a true woman exists independent of
outward embelishments, that dress is regarded by
many as only the ivy that encircles the oak, and is
never mistaken for the thing it adorns.
It is not tho queen of fashion that sways the
sceptre of influence or authority over men. It is
in the hand of the true, noble, sensible and virtu
ous woman that authority is placed, and where
she dwells there may refinement, culture, intelli
gence and moral power be found. The influence of
such a young woman upon society is that of tho
most salutary kind.
But what is that of the reigning society belle?
Men may admire her for the moment, when, in
brilliantly lighted parlors, her beauty and charms
dazzle the eye; but what are tho after conclusions ?
“ Silly creature, wrapped up in herself and the
world,” was the comment of an apparent admirer
upon a young belle after an eventful social occa
sion in New York only a few weeks since. Fashion
and folly never gained an ounce of respect worth
the possession, and never will. Young women,
alas ’ too often mistake adulation for respect, only
to find at the end that it was but follow mokery
and, like a pyrotechnic display, prepared for the oc
casion.
A true young woman’s ambitions stretch beyond
the ball room and the milliner's establishment. She
strives to mate her life grand in womanly virtue,
and by her example inspires others to secure the
same priceless crown of womanhood. This is the
woman that commands the respect and admiration
of the world,not temporarily, but permanently. In
her friends .recognize a rich store of practical good
sense and a beautiful harmony about her ch .racter
that at once inspires sincere respect, which soon
warms into love.
Stage " Make-Ups.”
SOMETHING ABOUT THE VARI
OUS PROCESSES AND MA
TERIALS EMPLOYED.
(From the Indianapolis News,)
A News reporter, with more curiosity than discre
tion, perhaps, invaded the dressing-rooms of one of
our theatres the other night, and spent some time
in investigating the mysteries of “ making up” the
faces which stage people find so necessary. Of
course, all actors and actresses use powder and
rouge on their faces, to counteract the effect of tho
footlights, which otherwise would give them a
ghastly appearance. It is currently believed that
some professional people never “make up,” but go
on the stage with their faces all natural. It isn’t
true, just the same. Frequently an artist is em
ployed in theatres to make up the faces of those
who are not proficient in it.
Actresses have to follow simple and quick meth
ods to make up for a stage appearance. When care
fully done, the process is about as follows : First,
she washes her lace in water, and then in bay rum’
Oriental cream, or a whitening liquid, is then ap
plied with a soft sponge, and when the face is dry,
it is powdered with the softest of chamois skin.’
When the background is ready, the carmine or
rouge is put on with a fine velvet sponge, wherever
it is needed, and the lips are then similarly, but
more deeply, reddened.
All this is done by an expert, very quickly, and
then the artistic part of the work begins. A small
camel’s hair brush is moistened with India ink, and
the eyebrows darkened, and a delicate line is also
drawn under the lashes of the lower lid. This
makes tho eyes appear large and brilliant, and in
this way the actress is prepared for the stage, if she
desires to look young and "pretty.” If she is to per
sonate an older or “character” part, other methods
are resorted to, and she uses cosmetics and paints
to produce wrinkles and the necessary age appear
ance.
The enameling process, which originated in
France, Is very, rarely resorted to now, on account
of its injurious effect on the skin.
Some actresses and nearly all actors use “ grease
paint,” a composition which covers the face, and
on which the rest of the make-up is founded, and
this is easily removed and all traces of it disappear.
There is high art in making up as well as in acting.
In going into a well-stocked dressing room the ap
purtenances and materials for making up are so
numerous as to create the impression that a drug
store has been dumped in there.
It is next to impossible to enumerate them all,
but here are some of the most important: Glycerine,
India ink, powders, carmine, lead pencils, sponges,’
powder puff, crimpers, frizzes, chamois skin, puffs,
braids, hairpins, tooth paste, bay rum, Florida
water, nail brush, tweezers, cardamon seeds, dyes,
curling-irons, hand glasses and scissors.
A Man of Peculiar Characteristics.
—Judge Cooley, recently appointed to the Wabash
receivership by Judge Gresham surmounted many
difficulties and disappointments to reach a high
legal standing. For a Jong time he divided his at
tention between the law and farming. He is de
scribe I as having a ch-lly bearing, an abstracted
manner and a thin rasping voice, but when speak
in-' he holds his audience by his perfect command
or lire sul j : <t.
"price" ' FiyE~CENT&
CRANDM 0 T H E R,
BY MRS. 0. H. POTTER.
“ Outlived her usefulness ?” Nay, oh, nay I
Never let grandmother even dream
She could better be spared from her borne to-day
Than in days when her hair wore its youthful
gleam.
Nay, though her hands, once so plump and strong.
Grown thin and weak, cannot labor now;
Nay, though the life-battle fought so long
Has left deep scars on her aged brow.
Who so willing, when mamma is weary,
To hush the baby upon her breast
With old-t : me lullabies, quaint and cheery,
Till it lies in peaceful, slumbrous rest ?
Straight to grandma goes wayward Willie,
When rough run the waves of his young life’s sea,
She steers him straightly, “ will he, nill be,”
Into the port where he ought to be. ■
Madcap Nellie sits sweetly serious,
Plying her needle by grand inamm.Vs chair;
Strong indeed is the charm mysterious
Holding the mischief so quietly there.
Ah, grandma’s work can be done by her only I
There’s a niche that only her chair can fill;
There’s a void in the home that is dark and lonely
When grandmamma’s loving voice is still.
Wtf <MagaßE£\ga
lADAfTIARD.
BY A FAVORITE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER XXIX.
“I MAY GO TO THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.”
Of all the miserable mornings I remember
commend me to the morning alter that unlucky
ball. A thaw had taken place in the night, and
the ribs in the lane leading from Chavasse to
Whittlesford wore transformed from bard ridgee
to a mass of soft, black, spongy mud. A cold,
drizzling rain was coming down, too, chilling
me to tho bone as I plodded along. It was
rather late in the afternoon—close on four
o’clock—but the household at Chavasse bad
been sleepy that morning, and, instead of tho
usual nine o’clock breakfast, that meal was
still proceeding in different parts of the house
when I departed. Indeed, I had left Madam
sipping a cup of chocolate in the library and
talking over the previous night with Made
moiselle.
I scarcely need say that I was going to Red
pots, though what I should say to Roger when
I saw him I had not the faintest idea; but see
him I certainly must. His white face and an
gry eyes had haunted me all night —poor old
fellow! —and had banished sleep, tired as I
was. Somehow, I thought desperately, I would
set things right in spite of that mad climax to
which Nat had contrived to bring them. I.
really did believe that she had been little less
than mad when she accepted Fraser Fronde. I
had not seen her since the scene in the con
servatory, when her shriek as she fainted had
brought Madam in at the head of a troop of
soared dancers. Neither had my mother her
self seen her, for Nat’s door was locked against
all comers, and Valla, when she stolidly pre
sented herself, would say nothing but that her
mistress was tired and wanted to sleep. But
lor that great glittering diamond upon her fin
ger on the previous night, I should have been
inclined to think that the whole thing was a
fabrication, spoken in half-hysterical spleen
and anger; but that had been plain and tangi
ble enough—a thing there was no mistaking.
And now I was on my way to Hedpots to add
unwillingly to my friend’s misery with this
crowning stroke.
I was half-way down the High street, trudging
along with my Load down, as much in sheer de
pression as to keep the rain and sleet out of my
eyes, when I ran against some one, and, of
course, halted abruptly, to find that I was just
abreast of Haddon the tailor’s, and that I had
nearly knocked over Raby St. George upon hie
own doorstop.
“You didn’t see me?” he said, laughing
slightly, and holding out his hand.
“ Didn’t, indeed,” I returned, more cordially
than usual, for here was another of the little
damsel’s victims, and I pitied him, although he
was not Roger. “ What vile weather, isn’t it ?”
“ Horrible I” he replied, shivering, although
he was wrapped in his fur-lined coat. “ How
are the ladies ?”
“Pretty well, I think. None of us turned cut
before twelve, though. What can you expect
after keeping up until five o’clock ? It was
quite that when you went, wasn’t it ?”
“ Paet, I think. How is Miss Orme ?”
“That’s more than I can say, for I haven’t
seen her.”
“It was very strange she should faint,” he
said, anxiously.
“ Oh, I don’t know!”—and I turned away
from hi‘3 eyes as they looked straight and
eagerly at me. “She’s a delicate little bit of a
thing after all—and look how she danced IBy
Jove, I couldn’t have done it 1 She ll be right
enough after a good rest. Arc you going to the
Mount ?”
“I was, but now that I have met you perhaps
it is not necessary.”
“ Well, I wouldn’t, if you’ll excuse my saying
so. They’re sure to be done up, you see—in
fact, I wouder they appeared at all. Nat hadn’t
when I came out, and I dare say she won’t.”
“I wanted to see her,” he said, hesitating,
and looking away from me down the muddy
street, with a singularly troubled and worried
expression.
Somehow I began to wish that St. George had
not been on the doorstep at the moment I was
passing it; my head was full of Yorke-too full
to want to be bothered with anything else. But
now he had so obviously something else to say
that I could not, in common politeness, help
stopping to hear what it was.
“ I wanted to see her,” he repeated, now
looking back at me, with a deep color creeping
up under the clear pallor of his dusky skin.
“Perhaps I shall be able to do so to-morrow.”
“ Oh, yes, I should think so 1” I answered*
carelessly. " She’ll be visible then, no doubt,
if it’s anything very important.”
“It is. I received a letter this morning
which renders it necessary for me to decide at
once whether I return to Jamaica or remain in
England. I must see her before answering it.
You understand, I see. Good-by for the pres
ent, then.”
Of course I understood, and I could not help
showing that I did, as I uncomfortably felt
when I confusedly gave him my hand, and
started off toward Hedpots again. Confound
the fellow, I thought, taking me into his confi
dence in such a fashion ! So we were not at
the end of the “pickle ” yet, it appeared. He
was going to complicate matters now a little
more than they were already complicated, bad
luck to him ! I wished St. George at Jericho,
or Jamaica, which would have suited me quite
as well just then. I turned in at the gates of
Hedpots a good deal more miserable and on* <¥