The Saint Paul globe., October 30, 1898, Page 14, Image 14

About The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
14
li OF IB Oil
Wini-red Black in tho New York Journal.
The brown earth lies in a smooth
mound on the grave of George D. Sax
ton. The grass has not begun to grow
alx ye him— yet there is no human be
ing who says tint tho world is lone
lier since he is gone. It is not a pretty
Bt< ry. the story of this dead man's
life: but it is tru^, and it is full of
a.;-.: l he ar.d men like him call "in
teresting episodes." H ■ was born in
Canton. O. His father was one of the
rich men of the city. He had two sis
t is. One of them fas now a Mrs. Mary
A- Baker. One is Mrs. William Mc-
Kinley.
When he was a young fellow, just put
of his ten ns, he fell in love with a Miss
Alice Schaeffer, sister of Mrs. William
11. Day, whose husband was recently
uiry of state. There was some
of quarrel, and Alice Schaeffer
sickened and died. Jilted, the gossips
said, by "nor first sweetheart, the man
who wits murdered Last wee* in Oan-
The next week he began paying
marked attentions to a pretty little
apple-cheeked girl in a little village
not far from Canton. Her name was
Lulu Russell. She was the daughter
rich and well known man. Her
friends teased her about the devotion
of her Canton sweetheart, and she
Mushed and showed them
taint little ring with two hearts
speared together with an arrow. One j
she had a long letter from George j
She tore it into little bits.
Then she laughed and pulled the quaint
little ring with the two hearts pierced
with an arrow from her finger— and
in a few weeks she ran away with her
father's coachman.
The neighbors had not ceased to roll
the sweet morsel of this elopement un
der their tongues when there came the
story of a farmer's little schoolgirl
fhter who sinned out of the farm
house to a pond in a field and tried ,
to kill herself because the man she lov
ed and trusted had forsaken her.
ge Saxton was the man. A few i
- fter the schoolgirl episode there !
came one which was not quite so
amusing. Dr. Catfin, a physician well
known and much respected, found that
his neighbors were gossiping about
Sax: tier marked admiration for
his pretty young wife. He bought a
I, and the next time Mr. Saxton
oaPed upon the physician's wife
he was met by the physi
cian, who gave him a very
pointed invitation to take himself and
lis compliments to some house less
antly guarded. George Saxton did
md the pistol episode amusing.
friends did.
When they found that Mr. Saxton
ued his gallantries only under cir
cs under which he was per
ctly safe, they began to
ry a little of his endless tales of
affairs and of the somewhat ego
tistical rehearsing of his successes.
Society began to turn a cold shoulder
to Mr. Saxton. He had been a leader
--he came to be simply" a tolerated
hanger-on. suffering even that license
only for the sake of his family.
Two pretty sisters came to Canton,
to see a winter in town. They were
rosy, black-eyed, light hearted girls,
who could skate and ride and dance—
and they soon had all the available
youth of Canton at their feet. George !
Saxton paid them great attention. One
of them seemed to find him agreeable,
and all Canton was amazed one day to
hear of her sudden maniage with a
jewelry salesman. The salesman's
name was Park. He was a smart, well
dressed, showy young fellow, and Sax
ton's acquaintances joked him un
mercifully about the* success of his
rival. Mr. and Mrs. Park came to New
York to live. They had a little daugh
t -v who is now an unusually beautiful
child.
Mrs. Park was not always happy
Viith her husband. George Saxton
heard of this, and he wrote to her ask
ing her if she remembered the old days
when she was the prettiest girl in Can
and when she broke his heart by
marrying John Park. At first Mrs.
P;rk did not answer the letters George
Saxton wrote. They came often. The." L
were kind and friendly, and they mad* r'
ber think of Vhe days of her care-free
girlhood. No matter how little atten
tion she paid to the le:ters, they kept
coming— cordial and frank and un-
WTO^I^GTOI), V. C.
His Behavior in Two Emergencies.
(1) ON THE FIELD.
A pitch-black night in a rocky val
i y of Afghanistan; a few stars in the
heavy, black moonless sky oniy inten
sifying the almost palpable darkness.
A mile or two southward, where the
rocky valley swelled into rocky heights,
little flashes of light recurring at in
tervals, followed by sharp little cracks,
showed where the late skirmish and re
- treat was fighting itself out around
about the camp.
Where one of the innumerable broken
s that seamed the valley mad&a
darker wall across the darkness two
figures were dimly discernible (when
you knew where to look for them), the
one i-prr.i-icc-umbent, propped against
a boulder, the other tall and straight
beside him.
"Clear out, Warrington — please go,
sir,*' the voice came faintly from the
recumbent figure. "You can get back
to camp and send 'em for me."
"Not likely, young 'un," observed the
other. "What says the great R. X:
When you're wounded and left on Afghani
stan plains,
And the woman came out— to cut up what re
miins — Just"
"Don't," said the wounded man, and
almost succeeded in stopping a groan
between his clenched teeth.
"Poor oid Vicary," said Warrington,
bending over him. "Let me undo your
belt, * * * Now grab yourself with
both hands."
"Fellows in books," said the weak
voice Sr-owKi-ly, "never get hit in the
tummy. * * * Always — head in a
bandage — or — arm in sling * * •
Those Johnnies that write books — ought
to come out with us."
There was silence for a time; the far
off flashes grew more rare. The wound
ed man shifted himself a little and
spoke again.
"You're a brick, Warrington!" he
said.
"Slightly different from Piccadilly
and the Strand this— eh, Vie?"
"I wish the mater could see us now,"
said Vicary; "she's going to bye-bye
just about now. She'd stick you pretty
high up in her prayers if she knew."
"The next time you start talking non
sense," said Warrington, "I shall con
sider you delirious and past hope; and
I shall turn tail and make tracks for
camp."
A long silence.
"It's getting beastly cold," said Vic
ary, with a shiver; "I shall never pull
through tonight."
"Cheer up, lad." said Warrington,
and pulled at his mustache and glared
at the darkness; "only a few hours till
daybreak. * * * Pity you're six foot
four in you^r boots and solid in propor
tion. I'm not equal to two miles with
you on my back, my dainty midget."
"Can't see how you got me this far
* * * Why don't you sheer oif nov>
and get back, and — O God! No! W,ar
rington * * * You're not going?"
"Another word like that, my son, and
I leave you for Mr. and Mrs. Pathan
and all the little Pathans to play
•with."
"All right— all right, I won't. •' * *
affected. One day she found that her
husband had deceived her. She was
stunned and bewildered, and she did
not know which way to turn. A letter
came from George Saxton. She an
swered it. Last August she secured
a di voice from her husband.
She had do money, ami e_M w. Nt to
work as cashier in a fashionable up
town note.. Her hours of Work were
long, and she was not accustomed to
fighting her way in the world; but she
was never sad or discouraged. The
letters kept coming- from Canton. Tiiey
were full of affection now, and of plans
for the future. The little woman who
w ae working so hard to support herself
and her little girl would not live to
Work long", the letters said. As soon as
the divorce deer.c was o'd enough Sax
ton would come and carry her back
to Canton with him to his beautiful
hi me.
Back to youth and love and happi
ness again. He had not the faintest
intention of marrying the woman he
hounded into a divorce, for his sake.
He did not care one penny Off « ne pen
ny's worth for her or her foolish hopes.
He did care to be able to say to him
self and to the i'e\v cr< a'ei left to him
that the girl who jilted him once was
in love with him. and had given up
her home and all her hopes of happi
ness in life to please him. Geofge Sax
ton was delighted with the conquest
of his old flame, not because he cared
for her, but because she cared for
him. She was engaged to be married
to him when he died, a few days ago.
He had a dozen serious love affairs
since the lit tl black-eyed Franz girl had
astounded him by marrying a man who
was willing to buy her affection with a
wedding ring. Serious to the women in
the case, not to him. The pursuit ol
women was to him the one great pas
time of his life. He did not acknowl
edge this, even to the men who shared
his tastes. He was very sorry for the
women — -but -really — women so Impul
sive and so easily won were to him, as
to others of his kind, worth not on_
second's thought.
One woman there was in George Sax
ton's life who was worth one second
thought to him. She was an innocent,
eyed little countiy woman the first time
he saw her. She wore a queer little
home-made gown that didn't fit, and
she was freckled and tanned, and her
plump little hands were as brown as a
berry. She was the wife of a village
carpenter, and she had never been in a
city as big as Canton in her life. Her
husband came there to open a shop,
and she came and went to work as a
dressmaker to help him out. She had
two brown, round-faced little boys, who
"went bare foot," and came running
into the kitchen to help her cook, and
teased her for bread and butter and
sugar on it, after the manner of young
sters of their kind.
The woman's name was George — An
na George. Her husband was called
"Samp" George. She wanted her boys
to grow up and "be somebody," sha
said. So she and her husband took
rooms in the Saxton block and she put
up a modest little sign of "Dressmak
ing, Cutting and Fitting," and lay
awake nights in a terror of anxiety
lest a real customer should come and
find her lacking in skill. One da>
George Saxton met her in the hallway
of the business block where she and
her little family lived. He followed hei
to her rooms and toid he that he was
the landlord, and that he hoped the
rooms were quite to her liking. Mrs.
George was almost frightened to death.
She couldn't think of anything to say,
so she got a chair for the landlord and
told h.im that "He" would be home
soon. After that the landlprd came of
ten to the quiet little rooms up in the
business block. He became very
friendly with '"Samp" George, who
walked on air at the attention paid him
by one of the rich men he'd read about
In his village paper. "Samp" George
had all the work he could do. Mrs.
George had a sudden vogue as a dress
maker among the people Mr. Saxton
knew. The little home up in the top
of the Women's building began to look
comfortable and cozy.
"And it's all Saxton's doing," said
"Samp" George. "I tell you, a man's
?ucky to have such a friend as he is.
'Taint every plain carpenter that can
get 'em." It never occurred to him
that the woman who cooked and mend
ed- and patched for him and his chil-
Let me hold you boot — I can hardly
see you. Oh, Warry, what a funk I
am; all the bit of pluck I had's run out
of the leak in my tunic — and I am
beastly cold."
Warrington knelt beside him and
cursed beneath his breath, and felt his
head and hands. The former was verji
cold and damp, the latter were very
wet and warm.
"I must let them know they're want
ed, Vie!" he muttered.
The latter did not hear him.
"It'll be in tomorrow's dispatches,"
he murmured: "Missing: Lieut. Bever
ley Warrington and Second Lieut.
Vicary, of ihe What's up, Warry?"
His companion had touched his fore
head lightly with his lips, risen to his
feet, and, with his arm raised above
his head, had emptied his revolver into
the silence of the night.
"They'll know there's a British of
ficer where that revolver is," he said,
cheerily.
"But — but, you fool — you dear old sil
ly fool — so will those brown devils!"
"Can't help that!" said Warrington
with a little laugh, "it's too chilly to
stop out late tonight." Then in a low
er tone, "For the sake of auld lang
syne, Vie, my boy."
He reloaded his revolver. 'When tht
echoes had rattled away into deeper
silence they heard the distant shots
suddenly recommence, and distant
shouts and howls came to them like
whispers. From the invisible hills
facing them came din and confused
scuffling and scraping sounds as of
cats scrambling down rooks. A moving
white blur appeared somewhere in the
thick darkness, then another, and an
other; and a suggestion of low-toned
guttural conversation reached War
rington's straining ears. He shifted
his revolver to his left hand and gently
drew his sword. Then from over them
where he knew the camp lay six re
volver shots in quick succession.
"That's* Welby!" he said to himrelf.
Vicary's hand had been grasping the
heel of his foot tightly. Now he fplt
tbe grip relax; and in a moment mora
the wounded subaltern slipped a little
with a slight tinkle of steel on rock
and groaned.
In another moment a dozen howling
hill men were blazing away at random
toward the spot whence the groan seem
ed to have come. They aimed low and
erratically, and Warrington held his
fire for a few interminable seconds.
Then they closed in, and one e tumbled
over Vicary's outstretched legs before
they could realize that two British
officers were wi'thirt a yard of them.
Warrington felt the man grab him as
he fell, and fired with the barrel of his
revolver touching bare skin. After
that he fired and slashed very much at
random, and the darkness around him
shrieked and howled and spat fire, and
long, graceful knives suggested them
selves to the Imagination of the man
who had seen them at work before. *
* * For ten long minutes Warrington
was busy — wondering all the time what
Vicary was doing down there between
THE ST. PAUL GLOBS— -SUNDAY OCTOBER 30, 1393.
MAN OF WEALTH WHO SPENT
ALL H3B~TME~CRUSHINa THE
HEARTS^ OF WOMEN~ AND WAS
FINALLY" KILLED "~~ BY ONE OF
THEM.
dren, and worked late into the night
Bowing to make a little extra money
for the thrifty little savings bank ac
count, could possibly be attractive to
any one. She was his wife, and that
settled it. Mrs. George had never
heard of such a thing as a flirtation
between an honest married woman and
any man. She knew there were wicked
women in the world. Her husband
pointed one out to her one Sunday,
when they were sitting in the park with
the children, and she colored and look
ed away and wished he • would not
speak to her of such things.
She worked very hard. She was of
ten tired, and when the boys were in
bed and "Samp" was at some corner
grocery talking politics she felt a littla
sad. (George Saxton saw all this and
he let her know that he saw it. When
he had been the friend of the family
for a year she found herself one dread
ful day ashamed to look into the eyes
of her brown little boys. Ashamed to
speak to her silly, indifferent husband,
ashamed to live, and praying for death
to come and wipe out the disgrace that
had been forced upon her.
She foibade Saxton to speak to her
again. She threatened him with in
stant exposure If he dared come into
her presence anywhere. She defied him
to despise her for her awful humilia
tion, and when he would not keep
away from her she packed the little
trunk she had brought from the coun
try and went away. When she came
back, as she was obliged to come by
her husband's will, Saxton found her
alone, and she cried out all her sorrow
and her agony of remorse and self
hatred, and he begged her, and prom
ised her, and besought her to forget,
and pleaded for forgiveness, and lied
and lied and lied until the poor, scared,
humbled little country woman pitied
him, and ended by loving him. Saxton
begged her to get a divorce. He could
not bear to see her thrown away upon
such a clod, he said.
She would leave him. When she waa
free he would marry her and give her
and the boys a home which would be
come her grace and beauty, for she
had beauty of an unusual sort, and
she gained grace and dignity with
every year of her life in town. She
went to Dakota and brought suit for
divorce on the ground of persistent and
wilful neglect. She procured the di
vorce. A few days after she received
her divorce George Saxton quarreled
with her about the lawyer's fee.
Then he said he was ill, and must go
away. Pis letters grew cold and per
functory. She had no money, and he
sent her none. She went to work in a
Cleveland shop. She wrote him that
she grew very tired standing all day.
He answered that he was very sorry,
but that she would become accustomed
to the work in time. One day she ask
ed him timidly about their wedding.
He threw back his head and laughed.
The whole world turned black to Anna
George. "Samp" George brought suit
against Saxton for $20,000 for alienat
ing Ms wife's affections. He had a
letter of confession which the con
science-stricken woman had written
him, acknowledging her fault.
Saxton compromised the suit and
paid the injured husband a round sum
of money. On Oot. 7 the woman George
Saxton had deserted heard that he was
engaged to be married to a Mrs. Alt
house.
On the afternoon of the same day
she found that "Samp" George had
been married a year to a nice little
blonde girl who would not sit in the
fame car with a. "wicked woman," as
she called Anna George. That night
George Saxton was shot and killed as
he was going to call on Mrs. Althouse.
Anna George was arrested and charg
ed with the murder. She is in Canton
jail, and women who have not spoken
to her since she left her husband are
sending her flowers now.
She does not seem to care for the
flowers. The two little brown boys
are growing tall now, but they have
not been to the jail to see the mother
who was so anxious for them to "be
somebody" when they were barefooted
little country boys. George Saxton?
Dead— dead and buried. Gone out of
the gay, pleasure-seeking life he loved.
"The way of the transgressor is hard."
Is it ?Does a man like that pay in
the one brief instant of his death agony
for the heart-crushing misery he has
caused?
his legs, and how he liked it, and which
of them would die first.
Then suddenly in a lull he heard
faintly a sound that sent the blood to
his head with a rush— the scraping of
many boots over rocks hundreds of
yards away, and the dim echo of a
word of command. He shouted and fir
ed his last cartridge above his head
that they might see the flash, and flung
the empty weapon at a white eyeball
that was too near to be pleasant, and
cut and pointed and slashed away with
renewed vigor. Down the valley antt
over the rocks came a hoarse, breath
less cheer and pith helmets gleamed
faintly in the near distance. He an
swered the cheer with a croak, and
went on carving and hacking as though
his foes still confronted him. But they
did not wait to meet his friends. They
left. All but five, to whom even Brit
ish troops were a matter of indifference
now, as they stayed behind, huddled
into a grim semi-circle around Lieut.
Warrington and Second Lieut. Vicary.
When his men came up to him they
found him with Vicary in his arms
leaning against the wall of rock, "look
ing," as Private Billimore said, "as
though 'ed 'ad a nasty messy accident
with red paint."
Vicary opened his eyes as he entered
the camp feet foremost.
"Warrington, V. C," he said, and
tried to cheer. But the others did it
for him.
(2) AT HOME.
An afternoon in early November a
cosey room, bright fire, big armchairs,
piano, pipes, photographs and decan
ters; a male figure extended to enor
mous length in one armchair, with f et
stretched out on the hearthrug; an
other male figure with back turned to
ward the room, gazing out of window
at the unceasing rain. Thick clouds
of tobacco smoke and silence.
"Of all the brutal, filthy, miserably
depressing days!" said tihe man at the
window, suddenly.
"Weather seems to worry you, old
man," said the man by the fire, set
tling down a little deeper into th- 3
depths of his arm chair. "Third time
in twenty minutes you've got up to
look at it — and talk about it."
"Sorry, Vie," said the other, and,
turning, he came slowly toward the
fire. "I must be lively company to
j day; but this weather seems to upset
otip altogether."
"Not me," said Vicary, blowing a
cl. ud. "I'm pretty comfy, thanks. I
prefer rain in St. James' to starlight
in Chukundra."
The other did not answer, but stood
nervously opening and shutting his
hands over the cheerful blaze.
"By George!" said Vicary, medita
tively, "it seems almost like a dream
now — all but the souvenirs we carry—
eh, Warry?"
Warrington's mind went up to the
livid band that ran across forehead,
nose and cheek, and almost bisected
his strong face.
"One comfort," Vicary went on,
"mine donit show. Not but what that
has Its drawbacks." He added, with a
chuckle, "no one seems to believe they
touched me— think I got sick leave on
the bounce. And I can't continually
strip to prove lt."
Still his senior was silent. Vicary
edged round a little to look at his face.
Then his eyes opened and his voice
changed.
"Waiirrington," he said, "d'you re-
member that very first dust up we had
the second day out from Kir Wallah?"
Warrington nodded.
Th^ t J w aa my first taste of the walk
up-and-down-as-a-target business,"
said Vicary, solemnly; "and I was in a
blue funk. Couldn't helo it. Knees all
flabby and face all twitchy when those
bullets began- whispering and patter
ing.
Warrington laughed nervously.
"I gave you the right sort of a dress
ing down,?! he said.
"It pulled me through," said Vicary;
then, leanihg forward, and still more
solemnly, 'I say, What did I look like
—all drawn up and ghastly?"
"A bit." admitted Warrington.
Look in the glass now," said Vicary,
in an aweitrucW voice, for Warrington
was senior officer and brother and
Ajax and Wellington and Lord Roberts
all rolled into one, In the subaltern's
estimation. . £'
Warrington started, and looked not
at the glasaf. buQat Vicary.
"You're right, young 'un," he said
ln a moment, and dropped into the
other armchair. "I'm in an awful funk
at this very moment."
"Oh!" breathed Vicary, and allowed
the amazing fact to sink into his con
sciousness.
"Fact," said Warrington and dragged
at his mustache and gnawed the end.
"In heaven's name," said Ensign Vic
ary, "what are you frightened of?"
"Of one little girl I could pick up
and carry under one arm," said Lieut
Warrington, V. C.
Vicary drew a long breath.
JTou gave me quite a turn," he said,
it s serious, boy," said the other
man. bending his long, gaunt body for
ward, his gray eyes all alight. "I
haven't the pluck to face her."
"Name?" said Vicary, judicially.
'Rivers," said Warrington, with rev
erence, "Catherine Rivers."
«.^ retty Kitt y Rivers," cried Vicary.
Old man, I congratulate you."
' -Don't be a fool," said Warrington,
a "?T y * and walked to the window.
On your good taste, of course," said
Vicary, with a grin. "Is it a bad case?"
I shall— ask her to be my wife,"
said Warrington with a rush, "as soon
as I dare call— which I haven't done
since we've been back— more than a
week."
Vicary whistled, rose and strolled
over to the piano.
"Well, l should advise you to go and
have it out with her," he said, twist
ing himself round on the music stool.
Come back when it's over and sparkle
up a bit."
"Shut up!" "growled his senior.
Vicary shrugged his shoulders and
struck a few aimless notes. This sort
of timidity was strange to him. In
matters relating to the opposite sex his
senior was a child compared with that
gcod-looking boy at the piano.
Suddenly '-Vicary grinned, struck a
chord and broke into a music hall song
accentuating the twang of Cockayne to
exaggeration': J "
O-ownly ow-i gurl— ln the world fer me;
O-ownly one gurl— 'as my sympathee;
She m'yn't' be vairy pritty
"Shaketspeare" between the shoulder
blades cut his efforts short. He twist
ed round, chuckling and rubbing him
self. »i
"Steady on, old chap! What is up?"
"I came here today for your help,"
said Warrington, and stopped short.
"Warry!" said Weary, nervously. He
had never seen him like this before.
"Vie, I'm kmging to see her— to say
it! I've beert longing for months, and
now— l simply daren't call."
"Bulldog— heavy father— comic pa
pers," murmured Vicary, quite uncom
prehending.
Warrington glared.
"If ycu're going to be a drivelling
young idiot," he said, icily.
"No — no! Drive ahead," said Vicary.
"It's just her I'm frightened of," said
Warrington. "I'd rather go through a
week of Ohukundras than speak; but
I'd go through a lifetime of them with
her at the far end."
"But, Warrington," paid Vicary, puz
zled, "she's .not such a Tartar."
"She's the best girl in the world,"
said Warrington -V. C; "and the only
thing in it I'm airaid-to face."
"Why, what would she do?" said
Vicary.
"Do?" said Warrington, with both
hands at his mustache. "Do? Why,
Hotel in Hammond Conveniently Arranged for Guests Who Desire to Make a Quick Trip From Illinois
to Indiana.
The state line tavern in the northwest part
of Hammond enjoys the peculiar distinction
of being half ln Indiana and half in Illinois.
The line that divides- these two states at this
point runs through the building, as shewn in
the accompanying cut. In 1882 the east sec
tion was erected by Mrs. Robert Werley and
rented as a saloon. During 1892 the west
section was added by hsr so as to extend
over into Illinois about twenty-five feet. The
second and third floors are used as a hotel.
There are two entrances to the saloon on the
ground floor, one from the state of Illinois,
the other and front one from Indiana. Plum
mer street runs in front of the tavern. The
location of the structure with reference to
the two states is such that the imiginary
state- line runs diagonally through the build
ing.
This peculiar feature of the two state-j
she'll drop her eyelashes, or she'll curl
the corners of her mouth, or she'll
glance at me over .her shoulder, with
her chin up, Mid ta_n— and then"—
"And then?" said Vicary, twinkling.
"Then- 1 ehaljl sweat like a coolie, and
stand gaping like ft. stuck pig," said
Warrington, savagely; "and my knees
will go flabby- and my face twitchy, as
you elegantly -put it. Good-bye."
"Eh?" L f
"I'm going Qiere now. I mean to go
there now."
"Yes," said Vicary; "and directly
you're outsidqj you'll stand still for a
quarter of an hour," and then cut off
home and spend the "evening practising
profanity in solitude."
Warrington stood in front of his
junior and dared not contradict.
"Unless" — sa,-d Vrriary, and stopped
and grinned. . .
"Unless," said Warrington, with
painful eagerness.
"Unless," eaid Vicary, coolly, knock
ing the pipe out in the grate, "unless
I come with you."
Warrington drew a long breath.
"Thanks," he said shortly, and
watched Vicary putting on hat and
coat and pulled his mustache violently.
As they left the room he slipped hife
hand through Vicary's arm.
"This is my Kir Wallah," he said,
gravely.
Vicary laughed round at him.
"There's a whacking big balance on
the Chukundra side," he said.
"Needn't say goodbye to the mater,"
he went on. as they descended the
stairs; "you'll come back to dine."
"To be cheered up," said Warrington,
with pathos.
Vicary did not deign to reply to such
an absurd remark. He hailed a
hansom.
"Hadn't we better— er— walk?" said
Warrington, nervously.
"You jump in," said Vicary; "don't
be frightened. I'm coming to hold your
hand."
He gave the address, and they bowl
ed away through the gray wetness.
Warrington was trying to see the whole
of his person at once in a six-inch strip
of looking-glass.
"Now, I ask of you, Vie," he said,
plaintively, "is it likely she'd have an
old object like me?"
"Fishing!" said the subaltern.
"You're not an Adonis, but a V. C.
covers a multitude of sins."
"Pooh! What does a girl care about
that?" said Warrington; and Vicary
laughed aloud at him. To himself he
said: "The girl who gets you will get
the bravest, cleanest, best man that
wears the queen's uniform; and the girl
that will refuse you doesn't exist."
"Why, we're there," said Warrington,
flushing and fidgeting; "how that horse
has been going!"
"Three doors down the square/ said
Vicary to the cabman through the trap.
"Tell him to drive once round first,"
said Warrington, pulling a glove off
and then beginning to put it on again.
"I've got something to say to you" —
"It'll keep," said Vicary. "Out you
get."
"No— l say— half a minute, Vicary!
Is my tie straight? I ought to have
changed my collar. Hang it— all right,
I'm coming. Walt for us, cabby — we
sha'n't be five minutes. Vicary, don't
ring. I— l don't think I'll call today,
after all— it's a bit late, don't you
think? You have rung? Dash lt! I— l
—let me ask." The door was opened.
"Is Mr. Rivers in? Oh, thank you.
It don't matter— l'll call again.
Good"
Vicary caught him as he turned and
held him fast.
"Is Miss Rivers in?" he asked.
"Yessir," said the man. who knew
him well.
"Say Lieut. Beverley Warrington
wishes to see her for a few moments
on most important — coni£ here, you old
idiot— on most important business."
Inside the house Warrington mopped
his face and rehearsed speeches in a
low monotone until the man reappear
ed.
"Will you walk up stairs, sir,
please?"
"Walk up," said Vicary, sternly, and
marched him out of the room. "Right
half face! Quick march! Go on, you
conquering hero, and good luck attend
you."
Warrington did not answer, but
breathed stertorously and fingered the
balustrade.
"Up you go!" said Vicary. "There's
no retreat. She's waiting for you."
"I — I wish you could come, too," said
Warrington in a loud, hoarse whisper.
Vicary grinned, shaking with inter
nal laughter. Warrington glared at
him, groaned, and went slowly up
stairs, where the man stood patiently
waiting to announce him.
Vicary heard him say breathlessly,
"Wait a minute!" but the man pre.
ferred not to hear him, and opened the
door with a most portentous "Lieut.
Beverley Warrington."
Vicary waited ln the library. He
smoked one cigarette, and another, and
another. He tried to read, but he gave
it up. He tried to laugh at the scene
in which he had just taken part, but
gave that up too. After all, he was ia
no laughing mood where Warrington's
happiness was centered.
And at last, when the hands of the
clock showed three-quarters of an hour
gone, Warrington's voice from upstairs
called hoarsely, "Vicary!"
He paused a moment, breathless.
Then another voice, far clearer and
sweeter, but with just a faint tremor
in lt, repeated, "Vicary!"
And then he flew upstairs as fast as
his wound would allow him.—:Harm_
'worth Magazine.
HOUSE HALF IN EACH STATE.
tavern gives lt a novel precedent net enjoyed
by other places of its character. It is po : nted
out to strangers as one of the sights of in
terest in Hammond. Not a few stop there
while passing just to imbibe a glass of beer
and undergo the sensation incident to the
novelty of the place. At one point in the
saloon a person may stand in Illinois and
drink beer from the counter in Indiana.
This is done every day by hundreds with
gusto and comment.
Another feature cf this bar is the arrange
ment of the slot machines. These money
swallowing devices are placed just over the
Indiana line, where there is no law to stnp
them. In Illinois they are under the bnn
and dare net be operated. To play them ln
Werley's bar. though, one has but to step, out
of Illinois into Indiana.
Again, one who has broken the law of
l#Uc__7 _Be*Gossijped Boirtafte*.
Her Ladyship of Sutherland Again the Heroine of a Sensation.
From the New York Herald.
The dowager Duchess of Sutherland
has once more come before the public
as the heroine of a sensation.
This time, however, she is the vic
tim, not the aggressor. According to
her own story, reported to the chief of
police in Paris, she lost $150,000 worth
of jewels on Oct. 17, while en route
from Paris to London. She had not
gone further than Amiens when she
discovered that the satchel containing
the jewels had disappeared and that
an empty counterfeit had been substi
tuted.
The dowager Duchess of Sutherland,
whose varied nicknames in London so
ciety indicate as many different degrees
of disrespect or absolute contumely, is
at present the wife of Sir Albert Kaye
Rollit, Conservative member of par
liament for the South Islington divi-
"Original Albrecht" V*r
Means "Best Furs." >w^t7
ever since 18S5, and Ji ij
are bearing them •^^^^^v^^->^^>-^N^s^^w^^ v .^> rf s
»- .. *
out more strongly f ~~ < s^ — *
than ever in this
year of 1898.
f\i*
g ,-J^ Vpr Illustration from E. Albrecht & Son's new '98-99 Fur
\i\r Catalogue, which contains 111 illustrations— so pages—
#^o^"^ the best fur catalogue erer gotten out. Scad for it
20 EfIST SEVENTH STREET.
DEWEY'S MASCOT
Sent to a New Jersey Man Who
Wrote to the Admiral.
NEW YORK, Oct. 29.— T. Handy Beam, of
New Brunswick, N. J., wrote to Admiral
Dewey, at Manila, some weeks ago, request
ing some memento of the famous battle
fought there on May 1, preferably the shoes
worn by the admiral. Inclosed in hi 3 letiter
was a coat-of-arms of the United States
cleverly made of 2,000 postage stamps of the
Columbian issue. In reply Beam has recived
the foil-owing letter from Admiral Dewey:
Flagship Olympia, Manila, Philippine
Islands, Sept. 29, 1898.— Mr. T. Handy Beam,
New Brunswick, N. J. — My Dear Sir: I have
the pleasure to acknowledge the receipt of
your note of Aug. 10, and alio the coat of
arms so ingeniously made of postage stamps
by you. I am greatly obliged to ycu for the
great trouble you have taken to give me
pleasure, and thank you most heartily.
I am sorry I cannot send you what you
request, for I have a great many pairs of
shoes and never wear the same pair on two
days in succession, and consequently have
not the slightest idea which pair I wore on
May 1.
I send you a souvenir, however, of that
day. It is a rabbit's foot I have had for
some time, and which brought me luck. May
it bring you as much. Sincerely
— George Dewey.
Illinois may seek immunity from the police
by simply moving his lodging without In
convenience to this tavern, and vice versa,
as to Indiana. In the hotel part of the build
ing a number of the rooms are so arranged
that a person in bed lies with part of his
body in each state. And in the course of his
toilet he crosses and recrosses the state line
frequently. For instance, he shaves in Indi
ana and bathes his face and his hands in
Illinois. Or vice versa. Or where two sleep
in the same bed, ln two of the rooms, one
is in one state and the other in the other.
.lust west of the hotel is Mrs. Werley's
garden. She raises vegetables in Illinois and
consumes and sells them In Indiana. And so
on ad libitum, the Incidents common to both
states might be oljserved every day.
in London, when her husband was not
there, and at Torquay when he was.
And now what so natural as that Mrs.
Blair s>hould take up her residence at
Trenham to cheer the solitude of his
grace ?
Despite the solace of her presence,
the Duke of Sutherland fell very 111 In
the fall of 1885. Mrs. Blair was assid
uous at his bedside. Wife, children and
grandchildren still remained away. At
last the doctor's bulletins announced
that the duke's illness had taken sol
critical a turn that it was doubtful
whether he could live for twenty-four
hours longer. The duchess succumbed
to their entreaties. With her two sons,
her daughter Alexandra, and her
daughter-in-law, Lady Stafford, she
traveled down to Trentham. The crisis
was passed in safety. Then a terrible
scene took place between the injured
wife and her children on th> one hand
and the intruder on the other. The
Intruder strong in the support of the
«°VI L ? ndon - she took as he?
third husband in 1896.
DAUGHTER OF A CLERGYMAN.
This much married and much be
gossiped lady was born about fifty -five
years ago. She is the youngest daugh
ter of the late Rev. Richard Mitchell,
D. D., principal of Hertford college!
London, and was a mere girl When she
married Capt. Arthur Kindersley Blair
who had charge of the Duke of Suther
land's deer forests. She was a woman
of mature charms, however, when her
husband was killed by the accidental
discharge of a gun in the hands of
his grace the duke.
Now it was only natural that his
grace should take a kindly sympathetic
interest in the woman whom he had
thus involuntarily widowed. Perhaps
it was feminine human nature which
prompted his grace's lawful wife to
resent the form in which that interest
expressed itself. At all events she,
with her children and grandchildren,
virtually abandoned Trenham* the
magnificent country seat of the fam
ily in Staffordshire, the duchess mak
ing her headquarters at Stafford house,
duke, won a decisive victory. Wife and
children once more left the duke in her
hands.
VISIT TO AMERICA.
A fortnight later the convalescent
embarked with Mrs. Blair on board the
yacht Sans Peur.
On April 21 the party arrived in New
York. Here and in Philadelphia the
duke was welcomed and entertained by
John Bigelow, Austin Corbin, George
W. Childs and others. But scandal
followed him across the water. The
presence of Mrs. Blair confirmed these
scandals. Perhaps the duke's uncon
ventional moral code might have been
pardoned had he not added the graver
offence of violating the social conven
tionalities by appearing in a pea-jacket
at a fashionable New Tork wedding.
This decided his fate and Mrs. Blair's.
Scciety turned a cold shoulder upon
the pair. They went down" to Florida,
where the duke purchased a fine prop
erty in Tampa and built himself a pal
ace overlooking Butler bay. which he
christened Sutherland Mansion. Here
he learned of the death of his wife on
Nov. 25, ISsST
In less than four months the duke
married Mrs. Blair. There was noth
ing wanting in cordial welcome from
his tenantry when the duke, a year or
two later, returned with his new duch
ess on a visit to his ancestral estates.
In a speech returning thanks for their
spontaneous enthusiasm, his grace de
clared that he valued such friendship
more than all the smiles of royal favor.
The noble couple were not destined to
return to spend their declining years
in their New World paradise. On *Sept
-2, 1592. the Duke breathed hi.s last at
Trentham, afier a short illness. He
wa.s sixty-nine years of age. I
The property owned by the duke was
valued at t2,000.000. or, say $10,000,000.
J t ._ / f ; ' n ; ls:tod largely _pf real estate—
1,1<0,343 acre* in R ■ ,=^-*hire, Scotland
and Staffordshire Bngland. and half a
million acres in the United States. The
bulk of thia property, in so far as it
was not entailed, he left to his widow.
He also bequeathed her the use of the
family diamonds during her lifetime —
the very diamonds which form part of
the stolen jewelry.
The new Duke of Sutherland, stepson
of the Dowager Duch.,-**, contested the
will on the ground that she had pre
judiced her late husband's mind
against his children in order to gain
P7Ssrss!on of his property.
THE DT7CHESS IN JAIL.
During the progress of the trial the
duchess was arrested for burning an
important document which she had re
ceived judicial permission to inspect.
On April IS, 1893, she was condemned
to six weeks' imprisonm-ent in Hollo
way jail for this flagrant contempt of
court.
On June 7, 1894, the long drawn suit
was settled out of court by a com
promise between the plaintiff and de
fendant. This gave the Dowager
Duchess £500.000, besides an annuity of
£ r >,ooo. In consideration of these
amounts she renounced all title to the
residue of the estate in favor of the
duke, who thus came into undisputed
possession of a fortune of £1.500,000.
Globe want ads at reduced rates.
See announcement on want page.
M'CuRD CLASM.
Pernvlan C'onja:re*s Asked to Vote
#10,000 to Pay It.
LIMA, Peru, via Galveston, Tex., Oct.
29.— Tlie Peruvian government has ask
ed congress to vote the sum of $40,000
to pay the claim of Victor H. Mac Cord,
consular agent of the United States at
Arequipa, Peru, in 1895, against the
government for damages sustained by
reason of imprisonment during the rev
olutionary outbreak, in accordance
with the award of the Rt. Hon. Samuel
Henry Strong, president of the supreme
court of Canada,