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a-ML- W [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED] THE QUEEN OFHEfIRTS." By Elizabeth Phipps Train, jj Author of "A Social Highwayman," "Madam of tho fries," "A Maritai | Liability," "The Autobiography of a Professional Beauty," eta ! a II _ _ = . 4L^ CHAPTER XIIT. Lisa lias never known to what ex tent I have sacrificed myself to her rigidly-inculcated views. She has never suspected that those clearly enunciat ('l opinions of hers bore any special stress upon my life. She never dreamt that in upholding her side of the argu- n i . i>t against Allan she was clipping all the fair buds of promise from my of happiness. 1 might have sought to combat her scruples; I might have ETonized her principles; I might have held my peace until she and Al lan were safely married, and then, when her protest could have availed nothing, 1 might have carried out my plans and so have secured my own sat ■ ion. V« s, I might have done any of those things, it is true: or no, not I — some other woman and mother, less guilty of past misconduct towards her child, might have given her own peace of mind pre-eminence over that of her daughter, perhaps. As for me, I was burdened with a weight of offence against Lisa, the child I had in infancy deserted, and I could not afford in honor to indulge myself further at her expense. Rather, I should gladly seize upon any opportunity of self-sacrifice which would tend to off-set my obli gation. And so I gave no hint of what I suf fered. Jeannle knew. Xo efforts of mine, however great, could mislead her intuitions where lam concerned. The instinct of the ferret for his prey is no surer or keener than are her per ceptions of my inmost feelings. And she has that rare faculty of disinte grating the mysterious or perplexing and reducing It to a simple fact, which amounts almost to divination. Her tenderness to me in those first dreary days when I was trying to grow accustomed to the changed aspect of my life, and endeavoring to over come the hideousness of a blank fu ture by painting upon its stripped and naked surface bright and glowing prospects from another's experience — her consideration for me in those dark hours was surpassing. She divined. I am sure, the Instant her practised eye fell upon me after that harrowing or deal, that trouble had befallen me, and though it was her custom to watch my physical welfare as if I had been an infant and she my nurse, yet, when I sat throughout that whole night be fore the fire on my hearth, watching with my dead hopes, she urged no re monstrance, nor troubled me with word oi any kind. Only, from time to time, f the hours wore on, a little flannel draped form would steal like a grey shadow through the dorway, and qui etly and in silence replenish the wan- Ing fire. Once she threw a soft shawl about my knees, and I felt as If the mother I had never known had mutely comforted me. She spared me all attempts to probe my misery, but received those occa sional hints of sore distress which be fore- her alone I felt free .to give way to, without question or remark. As the days passed and Richard came no more, she made no comment upon his absence, nor speculated upon the cause defection. She took all things for granted, calmly, considerately and Impersonally. She was of such price ilue to me that, had I rendered her twenty times the benefits for which she held herself bound to me, in black hours of my despair she would have amply requited me by her loving ministrations. It was Lisa who, in her utter uncon- Bciousness, .kept adding fresh thorns !>• chaplet. She had conceived - liking and warm admiration foi Mian's father, and resented and ■ly deplored the fact that his vis its to us had ceased. "Why do you think he doesn't come J . more, mother dear?" she would Fay "He used to seem so happy with us all. Why don't you write and tell him how much we miss him?" Or ag-ain: "Mother. Allan asked his father yes terday why he doesn't come to see us any more." To which, some sig-n of Interest on my part being obviously expected, I managed to say, composed ly enough: "Ah! and he replied ?" "He askod If we spoke of his absence, and if you had expressed a wish to see him again. Why don't you send him a message? It used to be so pleas ant having the four of us together." And I would make shift to put her off with some reasonable subterfuge which would satisfy her without awaking her suspicions. For I knew that if ever she should discover the fact that love existed between me and a man whose wife yet lived, that Blowly-convalescing filial regard and affection of hers would perish in an Instant. Deeply and passionately as I loved her. there were in the child many of those traits which, in the father, had so repelled me. While we adored each other, and still continue to do so, we can never be wholly sympa thetic and congenial. She is principle, I am temperament. While we might supplement each other's natures, wo could never make a harmonious in terchange of characteristics. Emotion comes after Intellect with her; it well nigh rules me. I think that Allan had an Idea of how matters stood between Richard and me. and that he was grateful for the cessation of his father's visits. The gulf between himself and his mother had grown very wide, too wide, I think, ever again to be bridged, and I ■was aware that he had left home and had established himself in bachelor's apartments. Sometimes I imagined that this step on his part had driven his mohter to throw off that thin veil of decency in which she had hihterto sufficiently shrouded her conduct to permit of its passing muster among a not very exacting set, and that now, acknowledging no reason for further clothing her tendencies and actions, she allowed them to stand forth in all their revolting nakedness for what they were, the libertinage of a natural courtesan. That she had loved the lad as dear ly as she was capable of loving any thing, I was certain. I am equally convinced that a mother's love, once kindled, never dies. I felt that the boy's voluntary withdrawal from her would hurt her keenly, and I could understand that the loss of his respect and affection would sweep away the last shred of her self-restraint. I missed my vocation now terrlblv During those first weeks after Lisa came to me, I was too joyously en grrossed to feel the loss of that occupa tion to which I had so long been ap prenticed. Now I coveted Its absorb ing: demands, and craved the diversion and distraction if furnished. The selfishness of lovers, even of the most considerate of the species, is proverbial. Absorbed In each other Lisa and Allan had little thought or time to devote to consideration of me. And I was. devoutly thankful that it was so. The role of farceuse I was bent upon maintaining' was thus rendered far less difficult than it otherwise would have been. I could sit for long hours In their society, with my back considerately turned upon them, ru minating' upon my own affairs, and they would pay no heed to my silence, nor protest agrainst my abstraction. It was a strange experience for me to play gooseberry in a trio, to form an unobserved and unimportant mem ber of a group. My solitude was pure ly a result of my own inclinations. My popularity, notwithstanding the fact of my retirement, was in no de gree on the wane. I was still a salient feature of the life of the metropolis, my renown had by no means grown stale; my name was yet a word to conjure with. Had I so listed, I might have thrown my doors wide, to have my entrance crowded by an eager throng. Nor did I lack opportunity to change my estate. Admirers had never been wanting to me, and I could long ago have secured an hon orable and even distinguished position among New York matrons, had my ambition run In such channels. Hut men, as men. had never greatly Influenced me. I liked them as com rades, as an amusing element in lift':, as their homage catered to my vanity. Otherwise they had little effected ny?. While I had been in a sense depend ent upon them (for they entertained and diverted me far more than women did), yet, until I met Richard Quin tard, my liking for them had been purely impersonal and general. Often the question had been put to me: "Madame, why do you not mar ry?" To which I had ever one re sponse, a sincere, if laughing, one: "Because I have yet to see the one man for whom I would exchange the companionship of the many." No longer could I truthfully return this answer. I had seen the one man, but, alas! he was denied me, and the society of the multitude had lost the power to charm. Ah, me! is not my case a hard one, ye white; and silent sharers of my ruminations? It was towards the latter part of May that Allan came to me one day, with his important errand discovering itself in every line and feature of hid glowing face. I had taken a place for the summer at Southampton, and we were in the midst of preparations for our flitting. Everything was more or less in confusion, but Allan was now a member of the family, and came and went at his own discretion. The trying spring weather and the crisis through which I was passing had told largely upon my physical strength, and, for the first time in my life, I felt what it was to have the blood trickle feebly through my veins, instead of rushing turbulently and invigoratingly from my heart to my throbing pulses. I was content to do nothing, which, in one of my active temperament, was most significant of the paralysis of my will. All my usual restlessness, vivac ity, zest for pleasure, seemed to have been drained from me; the native in stinct for amusement and excitement had died in my breast. That solitude which had ever been most irksome an 1 distasteful to my social nature ap peared now the most welcome boon the world could grant me. I was impa tient of its interruption, and as I sat, that wawn spring morning, reclining in a Iqw chair which had been drawn into the embrasure of a bay-window, whose casement stood wide to ndmit the mild summer breeze, I inwardly resented Allan's intrusion upon my brooding melancholy. I welcomed him hospitably, however, and, as he gazed down upon me, act ually beholding me perhaps for he first time, in many weeks — for the eyes of a lover, unless purposely constrained, see but one object distinctly upon their field of vision — he started, and looked shocked and troubled. I stretched out a hand to hi:r\ a hand on which the rings hung loose nowadays, and be held it in silence a minute, still with the expression of con cern deeping in his dark eyes. Then he drew forward a chair close to mine, and seating himself on it, addressed me in a grave, hushed, almost appalled tone we use towards the sick and dy ing. "What is this, dear madame?" he asked; "what has happened to change you so?" I forced a smile and tried to assume my former gay and light-hearted man ner. But, now that the lad's percep tions was awakened, I could no longer impose upon them with false appear ance. He discovered the effort and repudiated it. "Ah," I replied to the question, "this comes of having a foil in one's own household. Until Lisa came you never thought to notice that I was growing old. fading, as the term is. But com parisons are naturally instituted be tween youth and age, between spring and autumn, and naturally to the dis advantage of the naturer seasons." His face never lightened. It was plain my words had made no impres sion upon his solicitude. Ke continued to regard me with deep anxiety. "How could they have been going on, and I not have observed it?" he ejacu lated, as If thinking aloud, and his unmistakable concern warmed my heart. But I could not accept : t "Foolish boy!" I cried, 'laughing aloud in pretended derision of his sym pathy, "there is nothing the matter but this intolerable weather. The sea breezes " "Sea breezes!" he reiterated contemp tuously: "it is fresh wind of Destiny not of Nature, that you need to brin~ you back to your gearings." He rose quickly and pushed back his chair. "I am not blind, madame.," he continu ed rapidly, and as if fired by a sudJen resolve. "I am not blind, though ever since I outgrew my boyhood it has been my policy to shut my eyes to many things. But I have seen enough Heaven knows, between my closed lids I am not a brilliant fellow, it is tme yet neither am I a wholly dull one' especially concerning those whom I love. My father's domestic discomfort, for instance, has never escaped my notice; it was scarcely likely to, in deed, since I shared it until it became unbearable." He broke off, and plung ing his hands in his pockets took a few hasty turns up and down the room as feeling the necessity of conquering the emotion that was almost master ing him. I had never seen him so agitated before, not even when he had had that short angry scene with his father in this very room. Then, his temper had been aroused; now his most sacred feelings were touched Presently he again approached me and sat down. ,■ h --if 1 shaking slowly and shamefacedly, as If confessing some culpability of his own. "I have during the last five years, been grad ually realising the worst disillusion ment which can come to a fellow. You know, anyoms In New York would know, what I mean. I don't want to enlarge on the subject; It is bad en ough, heaven knows, to be obliged to hint at it. But, had it not been for you and your daughter, I should have been a pretty miserable fellow today What yourhome has been to me, even before Lisa came to it, I can never describe to you." Again he paused slightly, and dropped his eyes from my fav>e to the ground. When he raised them again I could read embarrass- THE SAINT PAUL GLOBE: SUNDAY, JULY 18, 1897. ment and some confusion In their clear depths. But he went resolutely on. "I am going to be quite frank with ycu, dear madame," he continued, "and therefore I confess that I made your acquaintance in a desperate moment, when I had grown disgusted with the dishonesty of the so-called respectable society to which my mother had in troduced me, and hailed with satisfac tion an opportunity to enter that which was confessedly Bohemian. I was whol ly unprepared, I acknowledge, for the purer atmosphere that I found in your home. That it was congenial to me I need hardly say. But I was not alone In my appie.iation of it. madame. Th?re was another who found comfort and happiness here. It is not necessary for me to name him. You are well aware who it was that likewise found your society a solace, your home an ark of refuge." My heart beat violently, my throat throbbed, and there were tears in my eyes, though I would not let them fall. The moment was too solemn, even for weeping. I bowed, and clasped my hands together to still their nervous trembling. "You have been kinder to me than to him," Allan procedeed, gently. "You have ever held your door wide open to me, and have encouraged me to ask for the dearest gift in your possession; but you have forbidden him even the privilege of acquaintanceship. Madame, why is it?" Did he not know, or was he trying to force me to confess my resolve in or der to combat it? It was impossible for me to make open avowal of my love for the father to the son, and besides, I believed it quite unnecessary that I should do so. I cast a swift glance at him, and then turned aside my eyes. The hot color flooded my cheeks as I replied to him. "It is a needless Question, Allen," I whispered. "You know why I can no longer receive your father as I do you." "I do," he returned, leaning forward and taking one of my hands in his. "But that reason can be set aside, and it shall be. Who can be a more im partial judge between parents than a child that grows up with equal love for each in his heart? I tell you. madame, though God knows I hate to say it, that my father has every right to break his marriage tie; that his wife has herself annulled their union; that in the sight of God and man he stands justified in setting aside a wom an who has forfeited her claim upon him, and in putting in her place one whom he can honor and respect as well as love. Madame, if I, my father's son, bid my father divorce her and marry you, who else has a right to interfere?" There was some one besides ourselves in the room. Had we not been so viial ly occupied with one supieme consider ation we might have heard her enter. Now, attracted by the sound of a quickly indrawn breath, we turned tiim ltare:u?ly to discover Lisa ad.snc ing swiftly toward us. "I have been listening," she cried, violently, for her. "I had no thought of eavesdropping, but I have heard your words, Allan, your sinful words and wicked advice. You ask who has a right to interfere In the abominable project you counsel, to stand between my mother and a horrible union that could never be a true marriage? Let me tell you, then, that I have this right. If you are your father's son, I am like wise my mother's daughter, and equal ly concerned with you in a matter which has to do with her marriage to a man who is not even yet divorced. It is hideous — monstrous!" she contin ued excitedly — "trls cisiussion of yours, and I do not believe it has any frame work whatever. My mother in love with a married man. contemplating a project for setting aside that man's wife! Oh, no; such a thing could never be; you are crazy, Allan." She was exceedingly beautiful in her passionate excitement, but \ cry stern and rigidly uncompromising, as she stood facing us in her righteous indig nation. It was upon him that she con centrated her whole attention, as if wishing to force him to contradict his own proposition. But he remained mute. "Tell me it is a concoction of your own, this idta, Allan," she urged; "that my mother has nothing to do with it." Still he held his place. Then, after a slight interval, she re marked slowly and very deliberate-ly: "You know, of course, that I would never marry you if such an evil thing were to take place." At that the lad cried out her name entreatingly, protestingly, but without avail, and I knew, being aware of the adamant of which her principles, the principles of James Mavis' daughter, were formed, that he might have fallen dead before her without affecting her resolution. I rose from my seat and collected all my energy for the fabrication and ut terance of the falsehood I was about to speak. Ah! what it is to be an actress by profession! The long tute lage of feature and faculty stood me in good stead now. Even Allan gaped in astonishment at my performance, so perfect and finished it was; while with Lisa, herself the most open and candid of creatures, it wholy prevailed over doubt and suspicion. As I drew myself erect, I stretched my arms languidly above my head and yawned, deliberately and lazily. Then, while Lisa stood gazing at me as if 1 had gone mad. I looked mischievously at Allan and burst out laughing. "It is really too funny," I exclaim ed, "but it is rather too *ad, too. How ever, if we've teased her, Allan, she seems to have frightened you out of your wits. You didn't think that any thing in the world could be allowed to come between you two, I suppose. "Well, you have heard that there might be obstacles even in the pathway of your love, my dear boy." And I shook my head forebodingly at him, while Lisa came close to me, with interrogation written In every line of her face, and gravity weighing heavily upon her perplexed spirit. "What did it mean, mother?" she GAVE THE SXAP AWAY. -'"- J '->- • •/■■'' - . ff'vC'vi-i u^jL^SBHWKi^^B BtPWy^PiSßsStoiiQtiaß (^1 "» \&jtZl/,*, 111 Teacher— Tommy, spell cat. Tommy — C-A- Tommy Wbat d ° We drink asked, in a low, constrained tone, "that which Allan was saying to you as I came in? What did it mean?" Again I laughed, outright and heart ily. "It meant," I said, "that you are a suspicious little goose, and conjured up all sorts of ridiculous notions out of nothing. It meant that poor Allan was trying to entertain me by quoting part of a play he saw the other night in Philadelphia, and I was really quite carried away with it, and forgot how hungry I was and that it must be luncheon time. Ring the bell, there's a good boy, Allan, and find out if Stone means to give us anything to eat today. I am actually starved." As her lover, dazed and speechless, left us to do my bidding, Lisa brought her lips close to my ear. "Mother," she whispered, "do you love any man better than you do me?" I placed my hands firmly on her shoulders and loked her full in the eyes. "My darling," I replied, "I love no one in the world, either man or wo man, better than I i,, YeV c you"— which was indeed God's truth. "And you have really no thought of marrying?" she pursued. "I have indeed sober and earnest thoughts," I answered. Her face grew troubled again. '•Oh, I cannot tell whether you are joking or nut," she complained. "No joke about it," I said. "I have every intention of marrying, and thac before long." She drew a little away from me, re covering her somewhat stiff attitude. May I know whom it is your pur pose to marry?" she asked. I smiled. "Who has a better right to know, my dear?" She waited a moment. "Who is it?" she then inquired. I drew her forcibly into my arms. •\\ ny you and Allan, you silly child," said I. "Have he and I not spent the morning exhausting the sub ject of your marriage, until even he grew a little weary of the endless dis cussion, and wandered to another topic? By the way, Allan, I must see that play, some day. Who did you say plays the heroine?" The boy was regarding me very gravely, as if he were watching some one lift a weight that was too heavy for him. A woman whose name I have for gotten, he replie-d, "but I have never seen her equal upon any stage." "Be careful of my professional van ity, 1 cautioned him lightly. "You know how I have always ad rrnred you, madame." he returned. "But the demands of this role were fear fully exacting, and I shall carry to my grave a memory of the noble manner in which that woman fulfilled them." (EDITOR'S POSTSCRIPT.) f,^ e Ji c » ei Ju the mem oirs. The manuscript failed at this point, leaving no conclusion to the narrative excepting that furnished by the contents of a newspaper clipping, which I dis covered thrust in among the loose sheets, it bore a date three months later than that which appeared upon the «rst page of the journal, and I regard the accident or intention which preserved the printed slip among the leaves of the unflnit-Jied romance as most for tunate, for it assures those who have followed the brilliant but unsatisfying career of our Queen of Hearts that the domestic happiness which was denied her youth was assured her age. THE CLIPPING. "Last nig-ht Vaubin's French restaurant, cm place, was. the scene of a tragic occur rence, which had a fatal and most unhappy ending. This bohemian place of entertainment has of late been much frequented by certain of the ultra-fashionable set, who are not above seeking diversion in even the hedges and byways of metropolitan life. One this oc casion one of the tables was tenanted by a party composed of no less distinguished per f.ons than Mrs. Richard Owen (more famil iarly called 'Mrs. Dicky') Quintard, Mrs. Jer ry Van Saltine, Belmont Cooper and Converse Appleton. Near them sat a solitary diner, apparently a foreigner, who suddenly made a violent and most unexpected assault upon Mrs. Quintard. "It appears that the ?ady had been express ing herself in audible tones and unmeasured terms concerning a celebrated actress, now retired from the stage, who,.. not long since, succeeded in marrying Tier daughter to the sole heir of the Quintard millions. As she was in the full tide of her denunciation of this lady, the man at the next table sprang from his seat, and, coming close to her, threatened her with word and gesture. He was immediately collared by one of the gen tlemen of the party, and upon Mrs. Quintard's remarking that ahe recognized him as a former servant of her own he grew even yet more violent, repudiating her statement, and claiming to be the father of the actress in question, whose picture he drew from his pocket in substantiation of his relationship. "It then became apparent that he belonged to thai class of generally harmless cranks whose feeble wits go mad over the charms, of professional stars, and without more ado he was ejected from the pla'-e. It was doubtless owing to the desire of the proprietor to shied his restaurant from notoriety that the fel'ow was not delivered over to the police, obviously the proper method of doling with him. Had the gentlemen who formed Mrs. Quintard's escort but insisted uj>on this, a sad and dreadful catastrophe might have been averted. "Not long after the party emerged from the restaurant, and as they were about entering their cabs they were again accosted by thei. late assailant, who began again to revile Mrs Quintard in low and ribald language Her escort, Mr. Cooper ordered the fellow off and banged the carriage door in his face. It is supposed that that so exasperated the frenzied man that he lost all self-control, for as the driver gathered up hi?, nins to start, he saw a figure dash into the street before him and throw himself in front of the horses, clutching f\ v? eir ., brid:es - The sudden onslaught frightened the animals. They reared for an instant, came heavily down upon the poor mad creature, and then tore wildly up town At the corner of th street and Sixth ave nue they overset the swaying carriage upon the sidewalk. The occupants, Mrs. Quintard and Mr. Cooper, were thrown out upon the ground, the lady striking her head heavily upon the curbstone and sustaining mortal in juries, from which she died a few hours !ater. Mr. Cooper escaped with trifling bruises. The unfortunate Frechman, who was found with his brains dashed out by a blow from the horses' hoofs, was this morning identified as an unfortunate musician who had formerly been a member of some of our theater orchestras, and who, later, did indeed serve in a menial capacity in the Quintard household." (The End.) ? Cljat Witt Hetty Greei). The World's Richest Business Woman Talks About Herself. (Copyrighted, 1897, by Prank 0. Carpenter.) NEW YORK CITY, July 15.— Mrs. Hetty Green was in her office in the Chemical National bank when I called upon her one day this week. Hetty Green Is said to be the richest woman in the world. Her wealth is estimated at from $40,000,000 to $50,000,000. At o per cent her income must be over $5,000 a day, or more than $3 a minute, day and night, year In and year out. Her property is of many kinds and her Investments stand out like great freckles on the face of the Unit.-d States. With the grip of an octopus her mortgages embrace some of the most valuable properties of our big gest cities between Boston and Saa Francisco, and the dollars roll in to her from every part of the country between Maine and Texas. In railroads and steamboats, in mines of gold, coal and iron, her stocks cover all kinds of prop erty and almost every variety of in dustry. The greater part of this vast wealth is due to her own talents and she manages it all herself. She had been at work for more than an hour before she could get rid of the men who were present with business mat ters by previous appointments before she could see me. WHERE SHE DOES BUSINESS. During part of this time I waited for her in her private office in the bank. It is not easy to get access to this office, for it is a part of the bank itself. It is merely one corner of the big room in which the cashiers, tellers and clerks, penned up in gilded cages, carry on one of the biggest banking businesses of the United States. Hetty Green's corner is lighted from the roof. At one side she is fenced off by a long walnut desk, such as bankers use for sorting bank notes or papers, and on the opposite side is the wall. It is not as wide as the ordinary alley and all the furniture in it would not bring $15 at auction. There are two little walnut desks in the office. One of these has a flat top. It Is here that Mrs. Green's stenographer and type writer, a pretty young woman of about eighteen years of age, sits. The other desk is Hetty Green's. It is a small roller top affair with a set of drawers running on one side from the table to the floor. The desk is, I judge, about three feet wide, and the pigeon holes within it are stuffed with papers. Upon the top lies Mrs. Green's bonnet and cape Just as she has thrown them there, on coming into the office, and upon the desk is the steel pen with which if she wishes she can sign checks for millions. There is little sign of comfort or luxury about this little office. Were Mrs. Green and her secretary not present you would not imagine that it belonged to a woman. There is not a sofa nor cushion nor a rocking chair in sight. The four chairs which form the only furniture, in addition to the desks and a table, are straight-backed, cane-seated ones, such as are used in other parts of the bank. There is no tatting or crochet work to be seen and the only feminine signs visible are Mrs. Green's bonnet and cape and six pins, each at least two inches long, which are probably to be used for fastening papers together. Upon the table is a box about eighteen inches square and a foot deep of Just about the size of those in which a gro cer keeps soap. This box is of tin, painted black, and as you look you think of the leaden casket of Portia in the "Merchant of Venice." It is Mrs. Green's box for valuable papers, and, though its outside is but homely tin, I doubt not that there are millions in it. CHAT WITH HETTY GREEN. I wish I could show you Mrs. Green as she chatted with me after her busi ! ne;>j callers had gone. She is a far j different woman than the one you | know in the newspapers. She mak<?s ]me think of the good old mothers I whom you will find by the dozen in al i most any country town, a woman who I has brought up a family and done ft j well, and who now, in her sixties, al though her life has been a hard one, is still in sympathy with humanity and i is ready to do battle on to the close. I don't believe a woman can have a face like Hetty Green's and not have a i heart prone to sympathy and love. I Her eyes are blue and friendly. Her j mouth, though determined, has moth erly lines about it, and a strong char acter shines out of every feature. She is still fine looking, and she must have | been a most beautiful girl. During j my chat she showed me some daguer reotyes taken of herself when she wa.3 the daughter of the millionaire Robin son. In an unostentatious way she ! told me something of her simple life before her father died, and how she was forced into business by having to fight the biggest lawyers of the coun try for her estate. Mrs. Green dresses very plainly. The costume she wore yesterday would not have been out of place upon the motherly old lady whom I referred to above. Her dress waist was of some black goods, trimmed with velvet, which was rather rusty than new. The skirt was sateen of black spotted with white, and upon her head she wore a veil, which was twisted about s o as to look like a cap. Al though she speaks four languages, the words she used were plain Anglo-Sax on, and she never hesitated to call a spade a spade. She has a slight Yan kee accent, which comes, I suppose from her having been raised in Ver mont. There was not the slightest af fectation about her. I did not see an atom of the trickiness, hardness, or of the susipicious character usually asso ciated with the descriptions of her. I found her, in fact, rather modest than anything else. WHERE SHE GOT HER TRAINING. One of my first questions was as to when she first discovered that she had business ability. She replied: "I don't know that I have much busi ness ability, but such business ability as I possess has been developed by the necessity of taking care of my fortune. You see, I was not born poor. We have been rich for three generations. The house in which I was born in Ver mont had twenty-two rooms and two bath rooms, and my father, grand father and great-grandfather were rich. The first idea that I ever got of business was from my grandfather. I used to help him in his correspondence and I absorbed some of his business methods. Still, I had nothing really to do with business until my father died." It was then that you began your fight with the lawyers, was it not?" "Yes," replied Mrs. Green. "It was that fight that has made me a business woman. You see, the lawyers tried to swallow up the estate. I let them go along for a time, but I soon saw that I could trust only myself. I was forced into the studying of financial matters and I had to take everything into my own hands. I had to learn step by step, and at the same time to fight my way in the courts. I have been fight ing for the last thirty years, and have not finished yet." INHERITED MONEY. "But I should think you would get tired of It, Mrs. Green? I don't see how any person can use more than the Income from a million dollars. "Why don't you stop and enjoy yourself?" "I don't know," replied the woman of millions. "I look upon my property largely as a trust. I take care of it on much the same principle that you would take care of a valuable animal were it left in your charge. You see, my father had the Idea that the money which on« inherited should be given over undlminished to the next gener ation. He thought that the person who inherited it had the full right to the use of the income, but that he ought not to spend the principal. This is the way I have felt." "Yea, Mrs. Green." said I. "But you have greatly increased the principal. You are said to be the richest woman in America. How did you make so much money? What are the secrets of your success?" "1 do not think I am the richest wo man in America," replied Mrs. Green. "It is true I am rich. I have been blessed in my investments, and that is all. I don't know that my fortune Is due to any fixed principles. I only use common sense. I buy when things are low and no one wants them. I keep them until they go up and people are crazy to get them. That is, I believe, the secret of all successful business." THE BEST INVESTMENT. "Yes, I suppose it is," said I. "But the thing of It is to know when things are cheap. Where would you advise a person to invest just now to get the most out of his investment?" "I would advise him to invest in the other world," was the quick reply. "All the other things that are offered just now are mighty uncertain." "But I don't mean heavenly invest ments," said I "I mean earthly ones. You are said to speculate a great deal in Wall street and to make money there." "That is a mistake," replied Mrs. Green. "I never speculate. I some times buy stocks but I buy them as investments and not as speculations. 1 never buy on a margin " "When you buy I suppose you use your own judgment do you not?" "Not altogether," was the reply. "I advise with my friends very often. If HETTY GREEN AS A YOUNG LADY. they are all against me, I hesitate a good deal before I go in. I do the same as to my law suits. If my friends and lawyers tell me there is no chance for me, I would rather compromise than take the chance of succeeding by fighting." HOW ONE RICH WOMAN LIVES. The conversation here turned to Mrs. Green's capacity for hard work, and 1 asked her something as to her habits. She replied: "I don't believe there Is anyone who works harder than I do. It takes all of my time to attend to my busi ness. I get up at 8 o'clock in the morn ing and I am at work until late in the evening. I am very careful of my eat ing. I use the best of plain food but avoid knick knacks. I avuid sugar and butter, for I believe they do not agree with me. It is not on the grounds of economy, but of health. Why, I have just come from Chicago. While there I stopped at the best hotels in the city. I could have eaten a ton at each meal and it would not have cost me a cent more, but I confined myself to about three things. You see, my interests are such that I have to travel a great deal. I have my property to look after and every now and then I have a law suit to attend to. I find that thing 3 always go better when I am on the ground." HER QUAKER TRAINING. "You keep very young through it all, Mrs. Green," said I, as I looked at her bright eyes and noted the energy and vivacity with which she talked. "Yes, perhaps I do," was the reply. "You see, I never worry about things. I am always ready to fight for my rights, and I do the best I can every day as I go along. After I have done a thing I let the matter drop. My busi ness seldom keeps me awake at night. I sleep well, and, as I have told you, I eat carefully. I attribute my free dom from worry largely to the fact that I am a Quaker, and that my father brought me up teaching me lo keep myself well in hand. He usei to tell me that if I would know how to manage my brain I would learn how to manage my fortune. I can re member when I was a very small child and father noticed that I was out of sorts about something he would say: 'Hetty, daughter, art thee an gry?' If I replied yes, he would an swer: 'Well, Hetty, thee must not speak for fifteen minutes.' At the end of that time he would ask if I was still angry, and, if I replied yes, he would tell me not to speak for an hour. At the end of the hour I might be toM to keep silent for three hours, and, If I proved still contumacious, I was for bidden to speak until the next morning This taught me self-discipline. T learned to hold myself in check, and the result is that I can now use my brain to the best of advantage. I have had much experience in courts and with lawyers. They can't make mo lose my head, and their cross-ques tioning does not annoy me. HETTY GREEN AND LAWYER CHOATE. "I think the lawyers know that they can't worry me," Mrs. Green continued. "You remember how Choate catechised Russell Sage about the cost of his clothes in court not long ago. He tried to make Sage ridiculous. I would like to have seen him attempt that with me. If he had asked me about my clothes I should have said: 'Now, Mr. Choate, if there Is anything I have on that you think Mrs. Choate wants or needs, I will go into one of the ante rooms here and take it off and let you have it. All that I ask is that you leave me enough so that I can get back home without Anthony Comstock or the po lice getting after me.' I don't believe he would have asked the question twice. I can't see what business it Is of Mr. Choate what I wear or what Mr. Sage wears, and it seems to me that such questions are rather impertinent to say the least." "Your fight with the lawyers has been a long one, Mrs. Green," said I. "Yes it has," was the reply. "I have had an awful time and no one can realize how much I have been persecuted. Why, if I were asked whether I would prefer to have my daughter go through what I have gone through or be burned at the stake over there In front of the city hall, I would say: 'Let her be burned.' There is no place in the world where women can be persecuted as here. America's heir esses have a worse time than the In dian widows. The widows of India can burn themselves on the funeral pyres of their husbands. If they are rich they aught to be happy, for it saves them lots of trouble. As for me, T have been robbed all my life I have had my daughter so injured by the brutality of a lawyer's assist ant, who threw her against a safe door, that she can never recover. X have been misrepresented and abused in the newspapers in the attempts to make me out c-razy, and for thirty years I have had to fight for every inch of my way. You have seen the stories which have been published about me. Many of them are dis seminated by the lawyers. I verily believe they would kill me if they were not afraid of the law. "Take that story of myself and my black bag," Mrs. Green went on "I used to carry a bag with me. you know, when I came down here to the office I brought my papers in it, for I do a great deal of work at my home. The lawyers circulated the reports that I had a great deal of money in that bag. I have no doubt but that they thought some one might assault me in order to get possession of it. At any rate a policeman called at the bank one day and told me that I had better give up carrying it, and I have done so. A BUTTON HOLE BOUQUET. "By the way," Mrs. Green continued, "I got a curious present the other day from San Francisco. It was just after my fight with C. P. Huntington down in Texas. I boat him in the courts there and the people of San Francisco were delighted at my suc cess. One of them cent me a box containing a 44-calibcr revolver with a lot of ammunition and a belt, so that I could hang it at my waist. In the letter accompanying the box the writer stated that this was a little button hole bouquet from the citizens of San Fran cisco, and that if I came out there they would meet me at the depot 10,000 strong, and wa would march on together to victory against Huntington and punish him for his outrageous treatment of the people of the Pacific slope." "What do you think about rich men, Mrs. Green? Don't you think they are to a larga extent the cause of the hard times?" "No, I do not," replied Mrs. Green; "I think the chief trouble comes from the men between the rich and the poor. It is tha middle men who are causing the distress. They want to arouse a hatred of the poor against the rich in order to make money out of it. It is. the middle men who organize tha big corporations and water the stock and get rich men to buy it. It is they also who stir up disaffection among the poor." "How about the anarchists?" "I have never found the anarchist very bad," said Mrs. Gr<*en. "I have Just coma from Chfcago, the city of anarchists. Tha trouble with the anarchists is that they ara misled. Most of them will do the right thing when they know what jt is. You may re member that I had a fuss with some of the anarchists a few years ago. It was when my boy, Ned, was just graduating. I am trying to teach him business you know, and I wanted him to learn what It cost to mako a building and what went into it. In that case he would know something of what a mortgage on such a building was worth. I was putting up a block in Chicago, and I told Ned there was a chance to learn all about painting and other work. So I bought a pair of over alls for him, gave him a brusli and a kog of white lead, and hired a man to teach him to paint. He was laying on the stufT, when one of the anarchists came to him and threatened to throw him into the lake for taking tha bread out of the working man's mouth. I reasoned with the man, and showed him that Ned was not getting any money for his work; that the job had already been let out by con tract, and that the painters would get all that there was in it. The result was that ha went away satisfied." HETTY GREEN'S AMBITIONS. "What is your ambition for your son, Mr 9. Green?" I asked. "I have none." replied the woman of millions. "AH that I can ask or hope is that he will make an honorable and upright man. I would like him to be able to manage his property and make the most of himself and it." Mrs. Green next spoke of her daughter, who is an invalid, and whom she spends much time nursing. Mrs. Green is very proud of her abilities to nurse. Said she: "I can take a patient and nurse him quita as well as these trained nurses of the hos pital. I took care of my father during his last illness. He died before we had trained nurses. I remember that I kept a record of his temperatures, the times he received nourishment, and the times I gave him medicine, just as the nurses do now. I have often nursed people In the hotels where I have been stopping, and I don't believe that I have ever had a greater pleasure than seeing them get well under my care. The secret of good nursing is common sense, just as common sense is the secret of money making. "Common sense is worth more than doc | tor's sense. I remember a case I had which ; illustrates this. It was my laundress. Sha | had boon working for me for many years, i and all at once she became sick. She tried I the doctors, but could not get better. She ; thought she had a worm In her stomach j which crawled up at night and ate at her throat, almost choking her. "At last I said I would come and nursa her. I first took her out on the first porch, when the sun was shining, so that I could get a good look at her, and look her over. I made her open her mouth wide, and on looking in I saw that she- had a very long palate, and that her tonsils were quite sore. You see, her palate had dropped down at night, and she though it was a worm. I told her that I thought I could kill the worm, and I sent for some alum and a preparation of iron. I put the alum on a spoon and touched It to her palate. You know how alum acts, it puckers your palate up. I then used the iron preparation for her tonsils. Well, that night the worm did not bother her. I continued the treatment for several days and it made her well. A RICH WOMAN'S PHILOSOPHY. "Now," concluded Mrs. Green, "that cure was accomplished by the use of common sense. Common sense I believe is the most valuable possession any one can have. Such success as I have had in life has been due to it, and to the fact that I was not afraid to use such common sense as God gave me. I believe in the Ten Commandments and obey them as far as I can. I try to treat every one fairly, and I think it Is my duty to defend myself when I am imposed upon. Aa to fashion, I care nothing for it. I live simply, because I like to do so, and becausa I believe It is better for my health. The chief end of my life is not to make a show but to do the work which seems to He bet'ora me just as well as I can." ~Frank Q. Carpenter. Half Fare to Clncinntl, Ohio. On July 20th and 21st, we will sell round tri;> tickets to Cincinnati at one fare, good returning until July 26tii. For particulars call at the City Ticket . Office, Wisconsin Central Lines, N 373 Robert street.