The Saint Paul globe., July 18, 1897, Page 18, Image 20

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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.
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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.