The St. Charles herald. [volume], September 15, 1917, Image 5

About The St. Charles herald. [volume] (Hahnville, La.) 1873-1993

Image provided by: Louisiana State University; Baton Rouge, LA

                
The Protector of Finance
laies of Resilius Marvel, Guardian of Bank Treasure
By WELDON J. COBB
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Copyright, W. G. Chap
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I AWAITKD tho opening of a door in
Ufsilius Marvel's private office
with a pood deal of interest. Upon
iliuf action liinpod something im
portant, und I knew it. Here was a
place "here srnuli things counted—a
strange room, a strange man its mas
ter; only the unusual happened here.
Besides that, beyond the door of this,
the headquarters office of the United
Bankers' Protective association, there
were strange sounds. They were im
pelling and then deterrent ; a shrill
cackle, more eerie than human, as of
some hunted animal in mortal terror—
a voice calling distressfully into the
bleak stormy night, like that of a vic
tim from the outer world being rcsist
lngly dragged over the threshold of a
new and uncertain one.
To the inner circle of tinancial men
Kt ven to good comradeship in exclu
sive club circles, the mention of the
name of Resilius Marvel would bring
a tender glow to heart and brain. It
would suggest a quaint tale told so
evenly and entrancingly that the mem
ory of the tranquil, musical tones
would be like the echo of golden beads
dropped into a crystal dish. In one
mood steeped in the ichors of Thalia,
cf Calliope, of Euterpe, of Erato, in
the next following some sloping fancy
£own a fairy trail of thought sweet
*.nd refreshing as a field of daisies,
one of the Marvel reminiscent hours
would mean a transformation of lazy
rising rings of rich Havana smoke into
filmy lace pictures formed of cobwebs
and starshine. His sayings were chaste
as a Tiffany gem, his mind a palace,
making men forget for the nonce that
he held the destinies of the great
banks as an egg shell in the palm of a
giant, lulling them with this necro
mancy of tone and professional expert
ness into the security of a Vision
house.
I had not spoken since I entered the
rooms, for I saw that Resilius Marvel
was in one of his dark moods. So
well did I know him that I at once dis
cerned that he was struggling with
some great case where the dead blank
wall of "No Clue" faced him grimly.
He stood at the window looking out at
the rain-blurred lights of a glowing
thoroughfare, just now remindful of
some woeful Bagdad. Out of that
world of shadow's a lone bird beat its
wings against the window. Into its
secret recesses Marvel seemed boring
his way through obscure labyrinths,
»aeking that which he must find. Fitly
training the picture was a wall cov
ered with duplicates of famous forged
checks, portraits of the great counter
feiters, cabinet sections containing
odd trophies of his career. Here was
a stamped brick from Assyria four
thousand years old—"the Book of the
Dead"—one line of the hieroglyphics
of which had solved an international
mystery. Next was a rude seal from
the Beloki Congo, wrested from the
possession of a native chief who had
flooded the country with "phoney"
government scrip until Resilius Mar
vel had lound him. Next was an ivory
fan from Turkestan with a sanguinary
streak that was the blood of a princ
ess, a fragment from a dynamited
American steel pillar of Hindia that
could have told a racy tale of a smooth
contractor. And a bulging scrap book,
clasped and locked like a bank code
ledger, containing his private person
al notes on the new generation of bank
criminals, modern in educaticu as in
an appreciation of the value at the
graver's tool, "the drag," the raised
check manipulator, the automobile as
assets to crime against obsolete police
methods.
Always there was an air of complete
stillness in this inner room. At the
disturbing sound without Resilius Mar
vel turned—distracted, and therefore
annoyed. His eye fell upon Loti, his
servitor, who, velvet-shod, noiselessly
opened the door and closed it after him.
The man had a face like one of those
you see on old Roman medals, an ac
quaintance with the moods and ways
of his master that enabled him to ques
tion intelligently and to respond
^through a look, a hand movement, a
mere expression of the lips. Loti was
of three generations who had given
their entire lives to the production of
four famous statues—one at the ceme
tery of Genoa, three at the beautiful
Pere le Chaise at Paris. He was a
theorist as to the sense of smell, bold
ing that he could analyze a man by
scenting hie favorite dish. At him now
In sharp silent challenge Marvel
looked.
I know not what telepathic system
bridged the chasm of inquiry and re
sponse, but at once Marvel straight
ened up magically as if touched by a
sharp mental prod. Then he glanced
at me. and I further knew that he had
made some new and important dis
covery in the Paget case.
When I had first entered this room
I felt sure that Marvel was preoccu
pied and that, too, over the case I
have mentioned. In fact I had come
there on that business, being a bank
man and myself interested In its out
come. To Marvel the banks were
something more than clients—they
were as children who went toppling
down the line like tilted cards, once
etarted in panic. It was for this rea
son when the Clearing House after
two recent bank failures feared a gen
eral run on deposits, that Marvel had
exerted all his abilities to smother a
scandal in the case of the Guardian
Trust & Savings bank, of which young
Tyler Paget was president
That official was the son of one of
the oldest financiers in the city. Fa
therly influence, had given the junior a
fine start, in fact business had been so
active that double the original capital
was soon invested. It was trusting a
great deal of responsibility to a very
young and inexperienced man, but
Paget, Jr., was of excellent personal
character and habits, and energetic
and ambitious. However, the minute
a new bank is started there is an im
mediate invasion on the part of crooks,
schemers, "pikers" and delinquents
who have been flagged at the older in
stitutions. Young Paget pretty shrewd
ly evaded most of the pitfalls, but one
day "King" Gundorf walked into the
bank.
It was not as Gundorf that he did
this, but as Bogart Rutledge. He an
nounced that he was about to buy out
the old and established Acme Metals
company, a concern so well known to
Paget that he was at once interested.
Gundorf stated that he was paying
$400,000 for the business, half cash,
now held in escrow, as a receipt
showed. He wished the bank to loan
him $200,000, for which he, as the new
president of the Acme, would put up
the entire $500,000 stocks of that com
pany. The bank had no right to make
a loan in one volume so largely in ex
cess of proportional capital restric
tions, but Gundorf claimed it would be
for only ten days and offered a hand
some bonus, and the deal was made.
In five days the explosion came. To
his dismay Paget learned that the pre
tended Rutledge, in giving the collat
eral note for $200,000, had no authority
to sign, at that time, as president of
the Acme. This fact relieved the cor
poration of all liability and the bann
held a worthless piece of paper and a
non-valid stock transfer receipt. The
next discovery was that Gundorf had
disappeared with the $200,000 received
from the bank, and that the $200,000
in escrow comprised counterfeit notes.
When the escrow funds were exam
ined this was made manifest, and at
this point Resilius Marvel was called
in.
He recognized the culprit from his
earmarks at once. Gundorf had been
sentenced to a long term of Imprison
ment in Brazil a year back. He was
supposed to be out of the way, for
a spell at least. But about six months
since there had appeared on the mar
ket a fifty-dollar counterfeit note,
which, to Marvel's experienced eyes,
was the product of Gundorf's skill.
Before any of them had been recog
nized as dangerous by the banks, Mar
vel had detected the flaws in the Issue.
There were two material variations
from the good notes. As soon as he
sent out this possibility of world-wide
identification, all fifty-dollar notes
were of course scanned closely.
To run down the counterfeits was
Marvel's first purpose; to help out the
Guardian Trust and Savings an added
motive. The Acme people had lost
nothing, as they simply invalidated
the stock contract. Paget, however,
was out $200,000. His father was now
trying to raise this amount so the
bank could continue, or, If necessary,
go out of business honorably. The
banks within the Clearing House were
trying to smother publicity, for fear
of a general run. Paget had been giv
en thirty days by the bank examiners
to clear the situation. He had tech
nically violated the banking laws, and
but for the pending strained financial
situation his bank would have been
closed and himself prosecuted.
The Guardian Trust and Savings
cleared through our bank, Paget was
a personal friend, I held fifty shares
of the stock—that is how I was inter
ested. For two weeks Marvel had
been on the track of Gundorf. He had
his own ideas as to how far catching
him would relieve conditions.
"You are interested," he said, as I
arose to leave the room, fearing I
might be in the way. "Stay where
you are. I have had a man watching
the house where Gundorf lived until
he put over this last deal of his."
"But vacant, I understand you to
say ?"
"Vacant, true, but the rent paid up
for six months, and telephone, gas and
electricity ordered kept ready for use
and paid for ahead. I fancy my man
haB learned something at last, and I
also Imagine he is bringing somebody
with him."
As the door opened on noiseless
hinges Loti ushered into the room two
men. The one who held the other a
prisoner was a powerful, unkempt fel
low, who resembled a tramp who
might have been sleeping in a dog
kennel over night I later found out
that this was literally true—but for
a week, instead of a day.
His companion, cringing, terror
faced, wildly distraught, was a lithe,
wiry man, brown as a berry, with
small, beady eyes. His garb was half
foreign, his actions those of a menial.
He was in a frantic excess of terror,
and trembled as Marvel fixed those
grave, boring eyes upon him.
"1 made the catch on suspicion,"
spoke his captor. "He was ringing at
the door bell of the place we know,
when I showed up. He's an innocent,
and doesn't understand a word of Eng
lish. Held out this card and this pic
ture." and the speaker gave both to
Marvel, who glanced at them and
then passed them to me. The card
bore the address of the house under
surveillance. The photograph was a
duplicate of one he had shown me
more than once—"King" Gundorf.
Marvel nodded to his assistant, who
departed like a man thoroughly train
ed in his profession. The foreigner
stood now nervously pressing his un
steady hands together, the cold sweat
gathering on his face. Once he held
out his hand piteously for the return
of the articles taken from him. Mar
vel never removed his eyes from him.
I saw that he was studying him crit
ically'. He spoke a word to Loti I did
not hear. As for himself, he went
over to a bookcase. Loti went through
the clothing of the man with remark
able rapidity. All he came across, as
1 saw', was a purse containing a small
sum of money. Marvel hastily con
sulted half a dozen hooks, and turnpd
and consulted the man.
"Comprenez vous moi?" he asked.
But he need not have spoken for
all the words conveyed to his
strange guest.
"Wer bist du?"
The foreigner looked puzzled. Then
he jabbered out a hideous jargon in
some obscure tongue. ,
"Quieu es usted?"
No, the man spoke neither French,
German nor Spanish. In some ori
ental patois Marvel made a new try,
followed by one in a South African di
alect.
It was of no avail. Whoever the
man, whatever his purpose in visit
ing the Gundorf house, he could not
be intelligently approached on the
subject I saw Marvel grappling with
this new, baffling problem in a mighty
mental throe. Then he gave Loti an
unspoken instruction and the latter
left the room. Marvel backed to his
desk. 1 saw him place his hands be
hind him, seize a broad topped bottle,
remove the stopper, insert one finger
in it and come again to the stranger.
As if carelessly he touched him on
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HE WAS IN A FRANTIC EXCESS OF TERROR AND TREMB
LING AS MARVEL FIXED THOSE GRAVE, BORING EYES
UPON HIM
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the back with that finger, drew him
about, opened the door and waved
him from the room.
The man sped away at the injunc
tion as though his feet were winged.
Marvel pointed to my hat and over
coat. He briskly arrayed himself for
the street. When we reached it no
one was in sight. As we turned the
corner I saw Loti on one side of the
thoroughfare. On the other, racing
along as though relieved from a vivid
spell of restraint, was a man in the
center of whose back glowed a dull
splotch of phosphorus, an infallible
guide at a distance, and explaining
the manipulation of the bottle from
the desk.
Twice we lost sight of Loti, whose
duty it was to keep sight of the for
eigner. On these occasions my com
panion was not at all perturbed. But
his roving eyes were all the more
watchful. I followed their direction
more than once to observe some white
marks on pavement or building, made,
I knew afterwards, by a chalk crayon
Inserted in the end of the cane which
Loti carried.
I do not think Loti spoke a half
dozen words to his master as we
finally came up with him. but these,
the expression of his face, and some
quick signs, seemed to convey to Mar
vel a world of intelligence. Loti step
ped back, Marvel moved me aside with
a pressure of his palm and pushed
open the street door of one of those
small upper story hotels with which
the city abounds.
The inference was that Loti had I
traced his man to this place. I soon
knevy this for a certainty. I was not ■
at all sure that some sound signal, re
mote and vague, was not conveyed to
my companion—that, or something
telepathic or mystic. At all events,
from an attitude of prim, soldier-like ,
patience, Loti suddenly started like
a manikin unhinged. With a move- !
ment extremely courteous and apolo- ,
getic, as if deprecating that he must j
be in advance, he proceeded up the j
stairs, and I followed him. j
Not for an Instant did he falter or
deviate from a straight course. The
hallway was lighted by lamps, but his
eyes were cast down. Then, at the
second landing I noticed a tiny green
thread of raw silk close to the pro
tecting baseboards alongside the stair
treads, and guessed w ho had unreeled
It. At the end of the third Ix)ti, with
unerring precision, arrived at a door,
the transom of which showed light be
yond. Almost but not quite noiseless
ly, his long, shapely fingers groped
across a panel Again he must have
caught some sound signal in response,
entirely unnoticed by myself. He
turned the knob of the door and we
entered the room.
Once more the foreigner was in evi
dence. He sat, or rather lay crouch
ed back in a ragged arm chair, akin
to the rest of the poor furniture of
that poor room. The old terror lurk
ed in the depths of his shrinking eyes,
and he was hushed and inert as a
person subdued by some deadening in
fluence of power he dared not resist.
Marvel had lifted a satchel to the
rickety table in tin* center of the
room. There was in the apartment ap
parently no other personal possession
of the foreigner.
To my crude mind, crude at least as
compared with the professional work
ings of the mental machinery of a
great man and his equally remarkable
assistant, it was the most natural
thing in the world that Marvel, hav
ing cornered a mysterious quarry,
should seize upon that satchel. Given
a man who could not converse save in
an obscure and unknown tongue, an
investigation of his personal belong
ings might reveal everything—any
thing. Therefore the only sensation
I experienced as Marvel pressed the
catch that held the satchel locked was
curiosity. But as the bending flaps
opened out, to my amazement. Loti,
with slight warning cry, betokening
the most vivid alarm, was at the side
of his master in a swift slide. He
snatched at the satchel, snapped it
shut again, and maintaining a tense
grasp of the lock he stood pallid, his
nostrils dilated, gazing w ith fixed and
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resolute challenge into the face of
Marvel.
"It is—pestilence," he said simply,
and slightly drew the satchel towards
him. His fine mobile face expressed
protection, defense. I noted a tremor
spreading all over his sensitive frame,
and he waved his hand. It made some
what the same gesture that a person
would make in dissipating an annoy
ing cloud of thick smoke.
Marvel returned the daring glance
of his ally. Then those quick thoughts
of his seemed to make a brisk run.
He shrugged his shoulders as if there
was a potentiality to the suggestions
of Loti he could not dispute. He took
out his card case. I was near enough
to him to read the name he scribbled
In pencil—"Dr. Peter Horn."
I knew that he had sent for the most
famous analyst In the city and
I wondered what was coming next.
Marvel was not the man to tell, at
the present juncture. He sat down on
the bed, facing the foreigner. He
leaned his chin on his two hands, these
resting on his knees, and fixed his
eyes upon the cowering wretch as if
he was looking through him and be
yond him.
It must have been fully an hour be
fore Loti showed up. He was follow
ed by the doctor, whom I had seen
before—a big, burly, heavily whisker
ed man, breathing deeply, looking
everywhere—a restless monument of
power and force.
There was a small room with glass
doors connecting with the one we
were in. It seemed to have been used
as a dressing room before the hotel
had sunk to second class, and, being
small, went gratis with the larger
apartment. The doctor barely nodded
to Marvel, who did not speak so much
as a word. He was wont to impress
his friends into service in a profes
sional case. The doctor knew his
ways as I know them. Loti must have
explained what was expected of him.
He proceeded to business at once.
Dr. Horn had brought up from his
a
a
! automobile a large case. He set this
; on the floor, and his first movement
I was to proceed to the glass doors,
thrust them open, survey the space af
forded, and then point to the table.
J "Move it." he said tersely, and 1-ioti
j carried it into the adjoining apartment.
! There was gas there, and the doctor
j lit a jet. Then he carried his case
j into the room, closed the doors, and
j drew from the case a glass head with
I air tubes at the top. He sprinkled
I some deodorizing acid about the room
from a bottle, put on a pair of gloves,
took out a microscope and proceeded
to his strange task.
The foreigner paid no attention to
all this. Marvel did not seem par
ticularly interested. We four were
left in the outer room, but could dis
cern the doctor's activities through
the connecting door. 1 noticed Loti
glide to the side of his master, I
caught the words:
"The man is from a banana rais
ing country."
"Your sixth sense tells you that,
does it?" responded Marvel lightly.
"Then it must bo South America."
flow true that instinctive sense of
odor, of which Loti made a theory,
was correct, the examination of the
satchel by the doctor would soon tell
The illustrious savant rapidly pulled
forth its contents. It held nothing
but a few worn garments. Selecting
a skull cap from the litter, upon
this tho doctor focussed his micro
scope. There were flashes of finely
mirrored plates and instruments, the
application of acids, a mixture of the
scrapings of the wool from the cap,
massed in a little lake of chemicals.
Then the doctor closed the satchel,
poured a new bottle of some disinfect
ing agent over it, and replacing his
analytical gear in its case, came out
into the larger room.
"Peru," he said simply to Marvel.
"Southern part. The germs are the
a bacilli, peculiar to that, country
alone. And to the falling sickness
particularly prevalent there. You will
yet come before the great societies,
Loti," he added admiringly. "You di
agnosed it right—a banana country,
and the pestilential taint. The man
should talk Spanish," he supplement
ed. with a keen glance over the for
eigner.
"But he doesn't," responded Marvel
tersely. "1 know what to do now.
Thanks, doctor."
He glanced at Loti and motioned me
to follow him and Dr. Horn. At the
street Marvel dismissed the latter
with a nod, proceeded along briskly,
hailed the first taxi we met, gave a
brief direction, and we were whirl
ed away to a street in the foreign
quarter.
The taxi halted in front of a row of
old buildings. Their occupants were
incongruous. One little store bore a
window full of more varieties of sau
sages than I expected to exist in the
entire world. There was a stor^ given
over to Hungarian wines, a Japanese
restaurant and two curio shops.
These were reminders of world's
fair years, of stranded importations,
and Marvel seemed to know them
like a book. It was not five minutes
before he reappeared from one of
the curio stores. A swarthy man In a
fez was with him. We were again
whirling along to our terminus, the
hotel.
It was all so swift, so silent, so im
pressive—Marvel's resistless rush of
ideas and events, carrying me along
irresistibly—that it reminded me of
the changing scenes of a motion pic
ture film. The curio man was usher
ed into the room where we had left
Loti and the other. He viewed the
foreigner with a measuring glance,
and spoke half a dozen words In a
tongue-twisting dialect.
In an instant the foreigner was
transformed. Eyes, frame and soul
seemed to awake. He uttered a joy
ful cry and flung himself on his knees,
clasping those of the curio man, jab
bering away twixt sobs of delight and
tears of relief.
Marvel softly rolled a cigarette
with those deft hands of his, which
with equal facility could slip a ring
upon the dainty finger of a debutante
or snap a pair of handcuffs around the
brawny wrists of a burglar. I knew
he divined the end of circumstnce
and the beginning of coherency.
There was a rapid colloquy between
the foreigners. Then there was a
whispered conversation carried on by
Marvel and the curio man in a corner
of the room. The latter returned to
the prisoner. Some animated discus
sion ensued. And then the foreigner
did a quite remarkable thing.
He removed his shoes, and for the
first time I noticed how broad and how
thick were the soles. Their owner
looked appealingly at the curio man.
who nodded reassuringly, as though
promising protection. The former
took a shell-like article from his pock
et, stripped back the edge of each sole,
tore them lengthwise, and from those
hiding places produced two oblong
rigid articles cased and encased in
cushions of the softest wool.
I watched Marvel as he received
these, placed them in his pocket, and
made a motion to Loti, who in turn
touched my arm ceremoniously with
the simple words:
"We will go."
"To sum up," Resilius Marvel ad
vised me when I visited hi3 office the
next evening, "the two packages were
these," and he produced from his desk
two steel plates and proofs of the
same.
'The $50 plates," I remarked nat
urally.
"Not at all," was the dissent—"du
plicates of the old plates, with the
flaws I pointed out rectified. The old
issue served their purpose. These peo
ple are shrewd. Cashiers will be on
the lookout for the old flaws only. The
new notes would pass without suspi
cion, at least for a time. I know the
man who has been making these
plates, but I did not know that he wa»
working, secluded in Peru, until last
night. That native was sent with these»
plates, concealed as you have seen. FI»
was instructed in detail what he was
to do. There has been a hitch some
where, at least a change in the plans
of the people at this end of the line,
of Gundorf and his associates. That he
or the} will bo looking out for the Pe
ruvian, however, is so certain that I
shall install myself in the house w hore
we found the native. You may help
me out, and I will tell you how."
Marvel proceeded to do so. For two
nights in succession I carried food
supplies to my patient and invincible
friend, and messages from him and
to Loti. The third night, as I ap
proached the house by the rear, as I
always did, 1 noticed a strange thing
and halted, looking up sharply.
A man was leaping the space be
tween the two houses. I knew that
he saw me and was startled, for I
watched him peer dow n at me I could
only construe that this person was en
tering the vacant house surrepti
tiously by the roof and scuttle route.
At just that moment a clear sound pro
ceeded from the house I was about to
enter—the sharp, quick jangle of a
telephone bell.
The man aloft must have been sus
picious of my appearance. Perhaps
he caught the sound of footsteps in
the house, those of its solitary occu
pant. At any rate, I heard a sharp
snap, a severed wire whipped down
between the houses, nearly striking
my face, and the man leaped back over
the space and disappeared.
Perhaps two full minutes passed
away, and I was about to enter the
house, when the rear door flew open
and Marvel was upon me.
"No delay!" he spoke quickly, and
seized the food valise 1 carried and
flung it on the step. Then he start
ed on a run, reached the next street,
and hailed a taxicab, and gave tho
quick words:
"Central telephone office."
"What?" I interrogated simply.
"A crash of thunder."
I did not understand, but 1 hoped to,
soon. He left me, his first point of
destination reached. I watched him
rush into the telephone building, then
out of it, with the sharp mandate:
"Signal service bureau," to the chauf
feur—"Bad system in there," to my
self.
"You are ready for a fifty mile run,
double fares?" he inquired of the
chauffeur as he came out from the
weather brueau.
"I'm ready," was the willing re
sponse.
"My wait, at the vacant house," said
Marvel, as he fled down a country
road, "was rewarded by a telephone
call. I was at the receiver promptly.
'Is that you Franklin?' was challenged,
and then—It's King'—and I knew I
was talking with Gundorf. There was
an interruption, and the current
went."
"Yes, the wires on tho roof were
cut—" I began.
"No, a crash of thunder at tho far
end of the line."
I pointed to the blue sky, with all
the stars a-sparkle. Marvel laughed.
"There was no trace at the ex
change of the call," he explained.
"Suburban, that was all. At the weath
er bureau a passing storm cloud re
ported at one station only—at Blox
ton. We are going there."
We reached Bloxton in an hour and
a half. Marvel located the telephone
exchange. He came out bright and
brisk.
"Message sent from the office here
direct by one Colonel Worthington,"
he said to me, after giving a direction
to the chauffeur. "Newcomer. Blind.
Passing cloud, clap of thunder—only
one—struck the wires. My man."
I was standing just behind Marvel
when he entered the library of a se
cluded house at the edge of the town.
A bewhiskered man with big, obscur
ing goggles, was seated in an arm
chair. Marvel approached him, look
ed keenly at him, reached over and—
removed a false ear. This was the
identifying trademark of "King" Gun
dorf, half an ear bitten off by a swin
dler confrere in the years past.
I know not in detail how the case
was adjusted, but Gundorf gave up
nearly all of the $200,000. I think the
bargain was that he should leave tho
country. At all events, the Guardian
Trust & Savings did not go out of
business, and is still within the clear
ing house.
A week later, while in the office of
the United Bankers' Protective as
sociation, Marvel led me with a look
to his desk. He opened a drawer ana
took out the photograph of a lovely
woman. Her name, "Orthello," was
written on the card. He next unrolled
the plana of a wonderful mansion.
With a pencil he drew a line through
its first story.
Then I knew that his exertions in
the Paget case had paid for that much
of his future home, and that he was
that much nearer to the fruition of his
dream of a home—and Orthello.
Ridiculing the Puritans.
It is the fashion of late to speak
condescendingly of the Puritans, as of
a people of narrow views and of men
of sour temperament ; but no descend
ant of theirs, and no later immigrant
who now dwells in the commonwealth
they founded, and enjoys the bless
ings which it bestows upon us, will
fail to glory in being able to trace back
to such forerunners, writes William
Roscoe Thayer in the American Maga
zine. The story of the conditions
which faced the passengers of the
'Mayflower' when they landed at Ply
mouth cap never be too often repeat
ed. To have as founders of our state
men and women who 'had the fear of
God in their hearts, hut feared the
face of no man,' ranks as the initial
glory of Massachusetts