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payable to bearer.
BY MARIOS HILL
f ro m the California Illustrated Magazine.
It was at the St. Jamei theater. London,
ibis present year of our Lord, and the
r tam having fallen after the first act, the
jndienco awaited the customary burst of
jjosicfrom the orchestra; but among the
ousiciaus there was a quiet dispute under
headway. They,were endeavoring to ex
tiisin tomething to the violinist, a gaunt,
man who was making
iseering responses in a tone which, as his
serge rose, became more and more audi le.
* f[j e audience, not yet alive to the de
lightful probability of a row, buzzed oou
lentedlT-
jo put au end to the insubordination,
ihe leader of the orchestra tapped thrice
his baton and started
the select! n. The discord which ensued
barbarous, as well it might be.siuce the
Tiolinie* with devilish sang froid scam
ped tar iu advance of the other instru
ments. The dismayed orchestra read iy
diieyed the signal for silence. The violinist
Hupped, too, and remarked with a oertaia
triumph:
• If you won’t keep up with me, then fall
behind, and be to you.”
Tbe leader, by this time purple with
(pleen, commanded kim to leave the thea-
Jgf,
“Leave the theater! Not a toe; and
while I stav, I play, too; so we are likely to
have a lively time,”
Such a resolute look accompanied his
words, that his viotim was momentarily
nonplussed. Then, recovering decision and
presence of mind, he ordered two burly
musicians to remove the belligerent, and
in the same second reawoke to melodious
activity his crippled but by this time unan
imous orchestra.
•‘Take me out? That suits me," mur
mured the violinist, and he immediately re
laxed his muscles so as to render himself a
dead weight to his captors. The only resist
ance he offered was to convulse them by
delivering, all reoumbentlv, bits of profuse
and profane advice. By the time his
6babby shoes bad been carried the way of
La shabby body, the excited public had re
sumed their seats and the disturbance was
at an end. Iu due lime tbe music reached a
peaceful and natural eud, and ouce more
the curtain rose.
Among those who had been near enough
to bear as well as te see the disgraceful
scene, was a man of military aspect, wno
sat in the first row of seats. He now
leaned forward and tapped the nearest
musician on the shoulder, 6aying:
" Beg pardun—the man who was carried
out just now—bis name! Do you know
him?”
The man stopped blowing noiselessly into
hie cornet, and t urned his eyes (so goggled
as to be almost on movable stalks like crabs)
toward his questioner. '‘Know him? Every
body knows him. Huh!”
•‘But lam a stranger in the city. What
is bis name?”
"Him? Vlance. Harold Vlance."
The questioner made a swift swoop for
his bat, and strode vigorously up the aisle
and out of the theater, quite oblivious to
tbe outraged glances that were thrown in
his wake,
Once outside, he turned down a side
street, and proceeded directly to the back
door of the theater —rather a remarkable
achievement for a strauger. Opening it he
walked along the dimly lit passage—dimly
lit yet odorous with a prodigal escape of gas
—to where two men, seated on boxes, were
playing cards upon a barrel bead.
"I want Harold Vlance, if he is here; if
not, tell me where be has gone, quickly!
quickly!”
One of the players never stirred, exoept
to cut the card; the other shuffled and dealt
methodically, casting but one glance at the
speaker to impress him with the folly of
baste. Tbe gas-jet flared drunkenly in the
draught. Tue doorkeeper arranged his
cards in 6ults and murmured “Your play,”
then, keeping au eye upon the board, be con
descended to reply:
‘Arold Vlance, sir, ’e went bout, sir,
cussing iremeujous, not ’art a minute ago.
Went to' the Big Sun Flower, hopposite
corner, haf I don’t mistake, sir,”
“Sake yer bloomin’ time for playin’,”
come in a morose growl from the other; so
the seeker after Harold Vlance dashed Impa
tiently into tbe street again and made for
the indicated saloon.
As be attempted to enter, Harold Vlanoe
himself came out, almost stepping into the
arms of the other, who said with a choke in
his throat: “Vlance, old fellow, is it you?”
Harold Vlance unceremoniously seized his
interlocutor by both shoulders, and swung
him into tbe light of a near lamp, under
whoso rayß he proceeded to examine him,
apostrophizing moan while:
“Before committing ourself, let us first
be sure of your identity. If you are a credi
tor, a brazen Bill Dunn, receive our courte
ous assurance that wo are not we. If you
are—”
Here he recoilingly loosened bis hold
and muttered:
“1 wish you fellows were dead! all of
you 1”
“Do you really wish that of me, Vlance?
Do you know me?"
Bowing suavely, Harold Vlance replied
witli recovered indifference;
“Of course I know you. Once plain
Hugh Hains, esteemed co-worker and fel
low student; now, Maj. Hains, in her maj
esty’s service.”
“Col. Hains,” was the correction too au
tomatically delivered to be charged to van
ity.
Harold Vlance bowed lower still. In iron
ical abasement, but some of his heart’s
agouy pierced through his bravado and
spoke in his whiteniDg lips.
“You are coming home with me?” cried
the colonel vehemently,
“Lie number one,” was the response.
“Then you are going to take me home
with you!”
“I’ll see you—well, anywhere you like, first,
“I’ll follow you, then; I must speak with
you! I will not leave you!”
The other considered a moment.
"Well, do as you like; you’ll live louger.
Pride of place was never a failing of
mine, so come on.”
With this he led the way, and the colonei
accompanied him.
“1 was at tbe theater, the St. James,”
volunteered tbe latter.
Harold Vlanoe emitted a chuokle.
“You were famous for that in the old
days at college,” continued his friend in
vague retrospect.
“Famous tor what? Playing the violin,
or tire devil?”
“The violin," answered the colonel,
gently.
“Um, yes. That was something I could
do, and play out of time I will not; no, not
tor Orpheus himself."
“1 heard of your marriage," began the
colonel again.
“Did you? And my wife’s death?"
“Dead? No, no, dear friend, 1 ”
“Pray don’t condole. My ioss occurred
several years ago, and I am slowly recover
ing.” The tone of this rejoinder perfectly
conveyed the idea that be had soareoly re
garded bis wife’s death as a loss. He con
tinued;
“I have a little daughter. You will see
her to-night. Sbe always sits up for me.
tihe is an owlet, 1 am an owl aud we
car',use together, in the night season, she on
book*, lon morphine—in a word, wo are
disreputable?”
"Harold!”
"Gospel truth. That, is, wo take our pleas
nres in our own way, which constitutes
dFreputabillty, I believe. Being poor, we
'eject ihe cheapest style of orgie that tbe
hmrket affords; and morphine is cheap,
when you know how to handle your apo
thecary.”
. “You cannot, with your random talk,
impose upon one who knows you well of
°‘d." said Hains, in wbat was, never he
**J*- * - rot: hied voice.
‘i solve years; it is twelve, is it not, Har
°‘d, since we left coliogoand went our ways,
681 h promising to bunt the other out occa
?'' "ally! Twelve years since wo snook
r, ®uds in parting aud we have never met
again till now 1” The speaker’s voice trem
bled a little with heartfelt emotion.
"And what a joyous meeting it is!” re
sponded the other, with flippant ease.
It has been written that a difference of
tas.es iu jokes strains friendship; so does a
difference ia pathetics. The colonel suffered
natural chagrin. He restrained bis foot
steps and said with grave dignity:
“God knows I have no wish to force a re
newal of our friendship. Is it to be good
by?”
Harold turned upon him fiercely,
"Go. and I’ll curse youl Do you want
me to twine about you like a woman! Would
you have me slobber like a child ! Is it ioet,
then, that intuition with which you used to
fit your mood to mine? If it be, than
the sooner you take yourself off, the bet
ter!”
These coarse words appearsd to oomfort
the colonel exceedingly, for he slipped his
arm through his friend’s and drew him for
ward; aud if he pressed that arm almost
with a woman’s fondness,neither you know
it, nor I.
They soon reached that unsavory pro
duct of old Soho known as Happing court:
ana before one of its hopeless tenements
Harold Vlance stopped. By glowering per
severlugly into the dark beyond of the door
way, one could faintly perceive the murk
outlines of apparently endless stairs.
“Brother, 1 trust thy feet are Bhod with
tbe preparation of the gospel of peace.’’
warned Harold Vlance, as telling fragments
of a brawl floated downward to their ears.
He then commenced to ascend with the grim
quotation of, ‘‘/foe opus , hie labor est."
After three flights had been climbed and
tbe disturbance left behind, Vlance struck
out boldly through the darkness, and ar
rived at a door from beneath which stole a
feeble grin of light.
"Here we are," he announced, opening his
portal with a strong kick, less an excess of
animal spirits than a necessity since the
door lacked its handle.
A littie girl who sat at a wooden table,
blinding herself with a book, glmioed up at
ber visitors, then gravely measured tbe
candle, and remarked positively:
* ‘Harold, you are early.”
"And have all your lessons in deportment
been for naught? Don’t you know your
duty toward your neighbor yet, Cheviot?"
The child quickly slipped from her chair
and put her fingers into the astonished
Colonel’s.
“A friend of Harold’s. I hope? Friends
are scarce but welcome.” Sbe sighed and
looked at ber father with the request. "In
troduce us,”
"This gentleman is Col. Hains,” pro
ceeded Harold politely. “Jlay he never
want a bottle, nor a friend to give it, too.
Colonel, my daughter, Cheviot—so called be
cause sue was born among those ancient
bills, and because her mother wished her to
be called something else.
Cheviot withdrew her hand and crept
back to her t ook, and Hains sat down and
stared blankly about him, while Vlance
poised himself on the table's edge and
smiled satirically.
It is seldom that one is ashamed of being
well dressed; but at tbe moment the colonel
would have oheerfully forfeited a month’s
pay to exchange bis faultless evening suit
aud bis light overcoat for articles of ap
parel that would have held up his friend’s
attire in less embarrassing aud cruel con
trast. HU auining hat insulted the wooden
table; his burnished boots shed scorn over
the uuoarpeied boards. Of the two the
colonel was tbe man abashed.
The man of poverty quoted dryly:
‘“Boor and content is rich aud rich
enough.’”
Hugh barely repressed a groau, and asked
almost angrily, "How did you come to it?
You promised brighter things in those old
days. You never gambled, never drank—"
‘ ’No, never was beastly drunk in my life.
Not an irremediable disgrace, though.
Might attempt eomethiug in that Hue yet.”
Hains mads an impatient gesture.
"We are not back on the old footing and
the fault, Harold, is yours, not miue. There
used to be confidence between us; now we
are speaking across a chasm.”
"Meaning, 1 suppose, that I do not rattle
off engagingly the various occurrences of
the past twelve years, with philosophical
analysis of the main causes which have led
to these very palpable results. Can’t do it,
Hugh. A man never acknowledges be is
falling until he strikes bottom with a
thump. Expect no more from me than tbe
admission that 1 am in perfeot condition 'to
point a mortal or adorn a tale.’ ”
He flashed a suggestive glanoe over his
bare surroundings, and again smiled at his
friend’s perturbation.
“Reparation, O!"
Cheviot marred the silence by turning a
page.
"How old is she?” asked the colonal.
"Nearly 13.”
"Impossible you—"
“Exactly, I was married before I took
my degree."
“But no one knew of it!”
“Naturally enough. It was nothing of
which to be proud. In fact, it was an aos of
reparation."
“Yes. I followed the noble impulse of
the soul that old Kuggo used to preach to
us fellows, and the result was ns disastrous
aud almost as prompt as if I had blown out
my brains; there’s a bitch in ethics for
you.”
His voice was melody itself, but his
eyes burned with a firce light as
they looked back over a wasted, embittered
life. Had the colonel seen that hot and
hunted look he would have withheld, I
know, his next words.
"You seem to forget,” he began slowly
"that bad no wrong been done in the begin!
niug—”
"Don.tyou suppose,” insinuated Harold’
"that my wife used frequently to present to
me that view of the matter?”
In the voice was so dangerous a smooth
ness that tbe colonel looked at the speaker,
aud was see on his young face
a look of such utte^agony, that he rose im
pulsively and sat beside him upon the little
table, putting his arm around his neck and
laying a hand upon his shoulder, recalling
to both those far-off but well remembered
days in which they had so often read and
taUed together in just that familiar atu-,
tude.
"You have suffered, Harold—how much
how loug, 1 will uot ask, since you have uo
wish to tell; but lam in a position, thank
God, to help you, If you will let me.
On your side there must not bo hesitation.
You know the claim you have upon
me. You seemed to think that,
after you had succeeded in drag
ging me out of the water and bring
ing me up again into blessed sunshine, each
mention of it from me was a personal af
front. You forbade the topic; but the fact
remains that my life belongs to you. You
save it in the face of fearful dangers, at
your own life's risk,”
“Do you forgot that you gave me your
ote for the amount of the debt!"
"I remember nothing but the friendship
of thoso old days,” quickly interposed the
colonel, speaking with au intensity of emo
tion, and yearning to electrify his old com
rade out of wuat was apparently callous
apathy—“those days when your arm used
to be arouod me as mine is around you
now 1”
“What fools we must haye looked!” was
the sympathetic response. The colonel’s
arm turned to lead and fell to his side.
Vlanoe with oynical carelessness took up the
catechism in his turn:
"You, I thought, were in India accepting
promotions as fast as they offered t .ein
seives. How csrne you to he in London?”
"My 0 lUiin died a few months ago, un
married ” answered Hains, fee.lag baliied
and wearv hearted. "I inherited tbe prop
erty and my presoncehere was imperative.’’
"Done with your liver disease aud your
bungalows, then? And do you propoeo to
set mo ou rav legs agaia with some of your
new wealth!”
"Yes I" cried the colonel eagerly.
"Sol” was the stern response, while the
man’s eyes glittered with somber pride “if
you have philanthropic ideas in regard to
me put them at once out of your thoughts.
Fiiiig vour monev, if you like, to London’s
despicable poor, but don’t dare offer it to
' liero Cheviot stirred unconsicously, aud
nth men turned their eyes upon her.
Every one to familiar with the invigorating
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, MARCH 26, 1893-SIXTEEN PAGES.
and noble growth whioh a potato puts forth
in dark places. Her slim weakness was of
the same pitiable order.
“Have you no thought of her?” asked the
childless mao. "Can you imagine what
her condition would be were you to die!”
“Very easily,” replied the father with an
inexplicable smile. At the same moment
that the smile played over his blue lips, a
dewy moisture broke out upon bis brow. It
was naturally invisible to a casual observer.
The man’s nerve was superb in spite of its
display being so highly unnecessary. “No,
don’t think of reforming mo. I decline to
sparkle as a jewel in your heavenly crown.
Besides, by this time, leapectable London
is too hot to bold me; not, of course, speak
ing climatically, out morally.’'
His brilliant and smiling eyes hinted at a
new story of debt or shame. The colonel
not only felt but looked as hopeless as a mau
who is trying to Datter down au iron door
with his fists.
The younger mau laughed —laughed, for
his sex is not the one which weeps.
He continued: “Don’t look so
down iu the mouth, Hugh.
I may not long incumber the ground, you
know. Since you take an Interest in my
death, 1 will tell you that exactly nine
months ago I was given but three to live. I
have a devilish bad kimok of disappointing
expectations. Just recall for a moment
the various honors which you chaps used to
prognosticate for me. You see, experience
teaohes us to expect nothing from fellows
who go off like rockets from the roof of
alma mater; they are never heard of again.
The scrubs— meutal scrubs, you understand
—go promptly to work to Invent a disease,
or find a worm, or write a book, aud get
famous in a night. Study over the theorem
and favor me with your deductions.”
But the colonel studied instead the wasted
physique of his friend, and said:
"I never beard of your being ill.”
“I am not surprised. No one ever seems
to have heard about me, somehow, and yet
the world, the flash, the devil, aud I have
railed several pleasing excitements. I have
disgraced myself in every gentlemanly way
known to the century. No, there I wrong
myself. I have never runaway with mv
friend's wife; but moralists would be pained
to know that my sole excuse for tbe defec
tion is that I never had a friend.”
"Hush! Cheviot—she will hear."
“She will hear sound, not sense,” said her
father, with dogged pride. “Bhe is au ex
periment of mine. She has had no mother
to ruin her morals with nagging platitudes,
so I have been aide to bring ber up properly.
Women make wrong-doing beautiful to
children by religiously warning them away
from it; Dow, Cheviot has no conception of
anything that is not good—she has never
heard evil explained—consequently to her
mlud the world is good, life is good, man is
good. The word sm suggests to her a mere
physical discomfort like tic doloroux or
measles. My way of bringing up would be
a failure with a bov, I admit. But a girl
uever asks embarrassing questions—either
from inborn delicacy or from weakness of
intellect, take your ohoice; to her life is a
varied picture; to a boy it is a puzzle which
he begins early enough to pick to
pieces. Cheviot knows only what is good.
You ought to bear her explain some pol
luted passages of Fielding iu tbe light of
her childish and pure understanding. She’ll
hold you spell-bound. I’ll set her at it.
Cheviot!”
"God!’’ cried the colonel, shuddering and
gripping Vlance’s arm. “Harold, you are
mail!”
Indeed, the supposition was not far from
being correct. A tumult of repressed ex
citement, with bitter reoolleotions and hot
shame, is apt to madden a naturally erratic
brain into dangerous activity. Moreover,
tbe faultlessly dressed and irreproaohably
correct colonel was an unconscious factor
in the disturbance. Of tenor than one thinks
does a shining example lead an erring
brother into acts of desperation, rather than
into those of emulation.
Cheviot bad come in response to her
father’s call, and divining that between the
two men trouble was brewing, she wist
fully askod:
“Don’t you think, Harold, that it would
calm your nerves If you were to play the
violin for our guest?”
“Not if Rousseau was right when he said,
‘count all tune lost that might hare been
better employed,’" answered her father.
Nevertheless she brought the instrument
and placed it in his hands. Then shetwiaed
her fingers into those of Hugh aud drew
him down into a chair to listen, leaning
against him with the pathetic trustfulness
of childhood.
From the moment Vlance’s fingers closed
around the slender neck of the violin, bis
degradation aud wildne s fell away from
him like a garment. He straightened up.
With a rapid and masterful touch he tuned
the instrument until it satisfied his abso
lutely correct ear; then belaid a caressing
cheek upon it and asked a singular ques
tion:
"What is the theme, Cheviot?"
She gave herself a moment’s thought be
fore reciting quaintly, " ‘Break, break,
break, on thy cold gray stones, O seal’l
have just been reading it, Harold.”
“Very good indeed, O daughter of a
musician,” said Vlaace.
He mentally revio wed the poem, repeating
aloud the lines which appealed to him.
"Very good. ‘X would that my tongue
could utter the thoughts that arise in me.’
Strange that wa never took this before,
young lady.” His bright eyes seemed burn
ingly to pierce the squalid walls aud to see
the restless ocean pioture. “The tender
grace of a day that is dead,” he said dream
ily; and then commenced to play.
The ocean surged first, with a murmur
ing tide ruuning in, and every now and
thou couiiog up far enough and higa
enough to break upon the crags,
oniy to wash oomplainingly back
again. Next the ear caught a faint melody
—a melody that could scarcely make itself
heard above the water which rippled over
itand tried to drown it out. Again and again
with sad insistence it tried to be heard,and
as persistently the sea broke over it, and
silenced it aud wept at the foot of the
crags.
Vlance’s face was very tender and patient.
Gradually the air gained strength and as
serted itself. It got the mastery. It was
beautiful w.tji triumphant pulsations that
bore the soul to mighty bights, aud yet at
the same time went down into a man’s
depths and brought up great handfuls of
God-born thoughts that had been mud-cov
ered for years. It was a wonderful, throb
bing melody that you felt wts destined to
roll on to a stately end; but before its com
pletion your feared that you heard the sea
again, so quiet in its encroachments, yet so
resistless. The air faltered, and the voice of
the sea spoke louder, "Break, break, break,”
and you knew that tue grand song was
never to bo finished. Wave after wave
rolled ud aud broke sullenly over the stones;
through all the air strained
after the struggling melody.
It had spent Us force and given up. It
was a creeping minor eoho of what
had been, jt was dreadful to hoar tbe
in it; its minor voice cried out change
most humanly and dragged the heart down
with it to be beaten against the jagged
stones, and then washed out, out, out into a
distant, dark, aud sleepless sea. It was
over.
“It is ray life I You have heard my story 1"
gasped Vlance, bis hand on his throat,
choking back the dry sobs that, were burst
ing bis frame.
The sensitiveness of the child answered to
the futlier's mood, and she broke into wild
crying. “Ibis is not to bo encouraged,
Harold,” she wept, “it is bad for our con
stitutions.”
At tho sound of her voice end the
touch c.f her hands, the last vestige of seif
i eslraint gave way. and caliiug out, "O.
my God 1 don’t lisien to me'".Vlanoe dropped
into a chair, aud, oidiug his face, fell to
weeping, in the horrible fashion of a man
who hopes he has forgotten how.
Col. Hair,s induced the frightened child to
gi to her room.andieturningto tbe ftaher,
lie heard (in addition to what he bad guessed
more—much more thau one creature
should hear from and about anoth'-r to
meet him ugai.i naturally. The collapse of
such a nature is proue to bo very complete,
a.d the frenzied confidences of Harold
Y'lanco overleaped the outermost bounds of
conventional good taste.
Duped and handicapped from the start In
the worst possible way. hebal taken his re
venge upon the world by meeting every
man as an enemy and fighting him upon
that ground. Any saue person sees at once
that such a course gains one more knocks
than friends. One inevitably gets worsted,
too. In the unheroic but none the loss des
pairing contest. But thousands are at it at
the present moment; eventually, to be sure,
they will see the folly of attempting to op
pose tbe universe single-handed, and will
learn the wisdom of fawning upon those
who step upon them, and will thus gain flue
opportunities of kicking back. But Vlanoe
approved not of these fine flu de siecle
taotios, and fought it out until he was com
pletely knocked under. Then he was re
duced to the customary but fiend-perverted
and wholly Illogical satisfaction of debasing
himself.
He spared no details of the recital. Not
a page but its blotted Hues were lead to the
compassionate listener. The candle surg
gledand went out; but then it is easiest to
read a blotted page without a candle, espe
cially to read it aloud. The moou lay in
soft patches upon the floor, still further
bridging over the chasm between the men,
until they became as boys again, aid
talked, if not band iu hand, yet closer still
heart to heart. Of all their words we need
but bear the last.
“You will let me pay my debt, than,
Harold? It Is not only my right, it to my
only wish on earth.”
"Do what you like! Pay what you like!
I will take anything from you. You have
promised to lift me up into daylight.”
"Onoe more, good-night, Harold.”
“Good-by! I will sleep without tbe
drug to-night.”
The next morning Cheviot came to the
colonel’s hotel with a note. The oolonel
felt blessedly lappy. A man who has un
dertaken a great and good aim invariable
feels so. The note at fir‘t puzzled him. It
was faded and abused with age. It was.
moreover, iu his own handwriting—bisown,
but strangely unfamiliar; his own of some
fourteen or fifteen years ago. It read:
"London. July 19, 18—
“I hereby promise to pay to Harold
Horace Vlanca the worth of a humau life,
value received.
“Hugh Hains.”
The colonel smiled. He remembered
writing It a few days after Vlaace bad
saved him from drowning. He had written
it as a joke—a boy’s idea of one, certainly,
but still a joke. He wondered that Harold
had kept it so long. Still smiling, be
turned it over. In fresh iuk upon the baok
wos written:
"Bay to bearer,
“Harold Horace Vlanck.”
The bearer? Why, that was Cheviot,
surely 1 And uow tue colonel ceased smil
ing. With a creeping fear tightening
•round his heart, he quickly questioned the
child:
"When did your f*fher give you this?”
“Last night, late. Ho came to kiss me
as he always does, and put it under my
pillow, telling me to take it to you this
morning, without waking him, as be would
be asleep.”
"And when yon left him this morning,
was he—was he asleep?”
"Sound. ”
The child’s quaint adjective sank like
lead into ber hearer’s heart.
“Let us go to him.”
He hired a cab to take them, and Cheviot
laughed all tbe time for enjoyment. Cabs
had not been in her line.
Yes, he was sleeping still:on his face the
sternness of a determined purpose, anl iu
one cliucbed hand the drug he had promised
to leave alone. So like Harold Vlance—
uutrußtable, self-torturing, desperate to the
end. The colonel’s heart contracted with
grief and bitterness too dreadful to put
into words. Never to bo resumed—that
friendship. Never to be made good—that
debt. Never to be even commenced—that
noble, unselfish aim. "Payable to bearer”
instead.
The laughiug child took ber father’s arm
and lightly shook it, calling "iiarold! Har
old wake up!”
The colonel snatched her away from the
bedside with a cry.
"What is the matter!” she asked.
"Cheviot, do you think—look awav from
mo—do you think you could love me?”
Instead of answering, the child, in whose
eyes was the darkness of a oomiug knowl
edge, dung to the oolonel’s coat with two
trembling little hands, and cried:
“Wbat did Harold mean? He said last
night that to-morrow I would take the vio
lin aud play ‘Bouny Charlie's Gbauged
Awa’. And to-morrow’s to-day. What
did Harold mean!”
"He meant—put your hands in mine—he
meant —O. for my sake, little daughter,
hide your face in my breast; hide it, hide it!
for he meant that I should tell you some
thing that children with fathers and
mothers living must thank God they have
never heard.”
And in the hour that followed the
oolonel felt that tbe first payment of
his debt was heavier chan he could bear.
MB. CRAWFORD’S OBSERVATIONS.
What the Novelist Thinks About
American Women.
From the New Vo’Afe Tribune .
"What changes in this country have im
pressed me most during my last visit?” re
peated F. Marion Crawford, the novelist, as
he bent over his large trunk which be was
packing for his departure homeward, “I
have noticed so many changes that it is
difficult for me to pat my.l upressions in
shape. When I oamtt here ten years ago
after a long absence in Europe and iu the
east I was most strung by the
remarkable growth of tbe cities that I saw;
but during my present visit I havo been
particuariy impressed by the devel
opment in taste which 1 have noticed among
, the people here. It seems to me that my
brother Americans—you know I am really
an American myself, and a thorougbly
loyal one, in spite of tbe fact that circum
stances have obliged me to speDd most of
my life abroad—have made a great advance
in their knowledge and appreciation of the
arts. This is shown most conspicuously in
the architectural improvamejts in the
variout cities that I have visited.
There are fewer monstrosities iu the way of
buildings now put up, for instance, than
there were a few years ag >; aud among the
new ones there ure some magnificent speci
mens of architecture. The interior of the
houses, too, show a similar improvement,
instead of rooms filled with bric-a-brao of
inferior quality and poor etchings bought
at a fabulous price by misguided collectors.
1 have found loss crowded rooms, but far
more taste displayed in their adornment.
Where formerly the walls would be cov
ered with many poor etchings, I have no
ticed a very few in the best taste.
"Then, too, I have notioodj a marked
obauge in tbe physical appearance of the
people here. Tbe women seem to have de
veloped, and are now hralthier aud finer
looking than the.- were when I last came.
I have observed that the msn carry them
selves batter, walk from tbe waist, so to
speak. I attribute their improvement to
the inoraase in games and physioal exercise
in general in this couotrv. I presume that
this increase is due in part to tbe fact that
American men are now beginning to
have a little leisure id which they they ran
devote themselves to other pursuits "than
those of business. There is much to be hoped
from tbe increase of leisure in this
1 have uo doubt that before many years
Amerioa will have a leisure olass just as
each of the old European countries has.
Indeed. I have already seen signs of its for
mation. There are at the present time
plenty of rich men in New York who have
no business, and who spend most of their
time at their club- and in sports, which are
practically tbe only resources of tho aver
age man of leisure here. At.d speaking
of clubs reminds me of one fact
that has interested me very much: that
is, the decline of dr.uking here. I re
member when I was here before that it was
impossible to go into a club after midnight
without finding three or four men half soas
over. Now It to a rare thing to find even
one men in this condition. There is very
much less drinking, to<’, at dinners. Do I
attribute this to the growth of a sentiment
against wine? Not at all, I think it is due
simply to the moderation of excitement in
American life, and this in turn is due to the
fact that with the growl of v leisure class
and the St -- men! wealth, thi passion for
money-grabbing becom ilia .cm g, a dthe
pressure of busine see ises to sme degree.
Ul course, even now tue bes ness mau is
always talking about tbe terrible rush of
hia work; but it is really not so terrible as
he would have us beiieve. The business
pressure in London to, in my opinion, far
greater than in New York; ana as for tbe
social whirl. New York doesn’t compare
with Rome. Roman society during the
four months of the season gets practically
no sleep at all. In New York society is far
more inodora'a
“And this brings me to the subject of the
conditions of American life, the most in
teresting of these conditions, in my judg
ment, is the complete at sence of tradition
in the usages here. Of oourse there are
many Americans who like to follow Eu
ropean traditions; they swallow these at a
gulp, and the effect is like that of taking a
pill. Braotically, America must make her
own tradi ion*, and as she has not as
yet had time to do this, the American peo
ple are still untrammeled and cau de
velop themselves in a natural and spon
taneous manner. The complete absence of
traditiou here has struck me superficially
aud yet most forcibly and amusiugly In
Amsrican sooial customs. For example, 1
can’t tell you what a strange sensation I
have had when I have dined at luxurious
American houses where all the appoint
ments have been of the most raagulllcent
description, and where at table 1 have been
confronted with tho speotacle of a butler
wearing a mustache. No one who has not
been brought up abroad amid the iron-clad
rules of society whioh prevail European
countries cau understand the utter incon
gruity of that butler's appearance. Asa
matter of fact, I don't care a rap about
that sort of thing, but nevertheless 1 can’t
help being amused by it. Tbe incident I've
mentioned is only one instance of a large
number of ino mgruitles that I have no
ticed in Amerioan society.
"Tbe lack of tradition in America affeots
even the arts. Every other country has
long established tradition by which Hi whole
artistic life is regulated; but America bus
as yet to develop ita schools of literature,
painting, sculpture and music. We have
not thus far produced one great writer.
Ah, yes. Erne:son, Hawthorne, Lowell aud
tho little group of New England writers of
twenty-five years ago did admirable work;
but judged by the standards of Soph den,
Shakespeare. Dante, Goethe and Schiller,
they must be rated as seooud-class men.
Hawthorne was the greatest writer
that we have evor produced; but he was
ouly on the fringe of tho tirst-ola.-s. Every
country—that, is, every ancient country—
has had its artistic era. Asa rule, it comes
ouly ouce, though iu the case of Rome,
through tbe mingling of foreign blood,
there was a renaissance; but this was only
a conspicuous exception. Our era is yet to
oome, possibly tho next century is to pro
duce it. At present America Is remarkable
chiefly tor her greatly number of seoond
olass writers. YVe are doing work of mag
nificent mediocrity. Tbe great men of the
future will perhaps stand upon our flaws.
“On the whole, my last visit here has
filled me with the highest admiration of
my oountry aud given me the greatest hope
for the future. Ibelievo that we ore pass
ing out of the period of hurry aud worry,
and are coming fast to a time when we
shall be able to give more attention to cult
ure. That Americans are refining is
shown by one foot that struok me as soon
as I lauded here early In tho winter; they
speak far better English now than
they did ten years ago. With the
increase of leisure, society will bring to
gether men and women more than hereto
fore. In this country tbosexes are curiously
divided; men have very little of the oom
pauionshtp of womeD. Tbe result is that
their understanding of their own Bex is de
veloped, but tbe finer side of their nature
suffers. American women pretend that
they can get along very woll without the
society of men by giving themselves up to
the clubs and charitable work, but it Is
natural for woman to see one an
other’s companionship, and I am convinced
that during tbo next few years many of
the conventional barriers between the sexes
will be broken down. In Europe,
women would scorn tbe occu
pations of the women in this
country as altogether to dull to be endured;
they like the companionship of men, and
they have It. The result is beneficial to
both themselves and tho men.”
Mr. Crawford, who sailed for his
borne in Sorrento, Italy, will return to
this country in the fall for a series of lect
ures. His last visit has been so successful
and it has given him so much material for
work, aud so much personal satisfaction
that bo has planned to come here every
year to future.
It Made a Difference.
From the Colorado Sun.
"How muoh will you give me for this re
turn ticket to Omaha?” asked a man iu the
office of an avonuo railroad ticket scalper
this morning, says an exchange.
"I’ll give you $8 for it”
“ Why, tho regular fare is $29, and this
is as good as a now ticket,” expostulated tbe
Omaha man.
“Eight dollars or keep It," replied tho
sonlper sontontiously.
■•Well,” said the Nebraskan with mourn
ful reluctance, “you may have it.”
He pocketed the cash and left the store.
In an hour be rushed breathlessly into tbe
store.
"Say,” he gasped, ‘ ’say, when I sold you
that return ticket a few seconds ago I didn't
expect to go hack to Omaha for a month.
I've got a telezram • hia minute summoning
me home, i’ll take the ticket back, please.
Here's your SB.”
"The rate of that ticket is $27," replied the
s alper placidly, reaching for tho yellow
slip.
“W-h-a-t!" shrieked the man from
(Jtnaha aghast, staring blankly Into the
scalper’s mobile oounteuaoce. "Great
Mlsiissippl valley of eternal beauty! How
the price of railroad fares has riz! Why,
that's only $2 less than the regular rate for
a single fare. Why can't you give me
back my ticket for the same prloe that I
sold it to you? There it is in your hand.
Let me buy it baok at $1 advance, 'itaat's
good profit for keeping it an hour."
“ Twenty-seven dollars or nothing—see?”
said the scalper with a cold grin that made
the Omaha man figuratively weep.
CORBETB.
Being woven into shape, and seamless,
they attain a perfection which cannot
be secured in a Sev/ed Corset.
Novelty Corset Works,
Now YorYc,
SOLE MANUFACTURES*.
PUBLICATIONS.
THE : NEXT
MORNING NEWS
NOVELETTE
WILL BE ISSUED WITH
The : Sunday : News,
APRIL 9th,
AND IS ENTITLED
A_ FALSE SCENT,
BY MRS. ALEXANDER.
*
FOR SALE BY ALL £gf s NTS
PRY boons.
FOYE & MORRISON
Always Give the Best and the Most for the Money.
GRAND DISPLAY OF EVERY
THING THAT’S NEW
I IN’
Sill, 10l ml Cotton Dress Fairies.
WIE ITT STYLES.
More Novelties Than All the Other
Houses Combined.
We havo outdone ourselves on pretty DIuESS GOODS
this reason, having absolutely everything that ia new and
the styles are our own. What you get from us won’t ha
found in other houses. If you want the pick of our selec
tions, come in this week. Come in and see them anyway,
you will be pleased at the sight. You will be surprised at
our low prices.
< TEMPTING BARGAINS IN EVERY DEPARTMENT.
29a a yard Plain China Hilks, In all the lead
ing colors; worth 50c.
83c. a yard Printed China Silks, polka dots
ana figures aud light and dark grounds, suita
ble for waists or dresses; worth 60c.
45c. a yard. Beautiful Bengaline Silks, over
twenty different shados, for this week only, 45c.
40c. a yard splendid quality Printed India
Bilks, pure dye and all siiir, regular value 75c.;
this week only 49c.
Changeable Surahs. TafTettas. ftangalines,
Roman Htnpes and Tartan Plaids and Trim •
King Bilks in great variety at lowest prices.
6>40. a yard two case* New Spring Ginghams;
regular 10a quality.
A Grand Assortment of Ladles’ and Children’s Shirt
Waists from 15c. Bach Upward.
FOYE & MORRISON.
TAKE* THE FIRST PRIZE.
The Anlieurr-I)urli Brewing Association
Isfe Will Furnish the Ueerfor the
From the Glorc-Dsmot rat. Jan. 12, 1993.
The Anheuser Busch Brewing Association has
Lii&SrFF' been awarded the contract to furnish the beer
* for the Columbian Casino Restaurant at tbe
™ World’s Fair this year. This is not only a great
triumph for the Anheuser Busch Association,
but for St. Louis as woll.
LEATHER CiOOIJS.
CONCORD WOOL COLLARS.
These are the only Collars made in the United States that
will do the work claimed for them. They are the exact shape
of a horse or mule's neck and are intended especially for heavy
work.
We carry an immense stock of Rubber and Leather Belting,
Timber Harness, Harnes and Traces.
NEIDLINGER Sc RABUN,
154 Bt. Julian, 153 Bryan Streets.
TOBACCO ANI) LIQUORS.
LIQUORSAND CIGARS!
Everything desirable for Dinners, Suppers, Weddings and Banquets in fine Im
ported WINES, CORDIALS, Etc.
"ROYAL CLUB" WHISKY $6 per gallon, purity and age guaranteed; $2 per quart
bottle. *
Special attention given to "Jug Trade."
DRYFUS & RICH,
Children Cr# for Pitcher’s Castor la#
BWc. a yard Pretty Striped Outing Flannels;
full value for 100.
Be. a yard Hood White Check Nainsook, satin
finish; worth 7c.
10c. a yard Fine Zephyr Ginghams; as pretty
os French styles.
It’Ho. a yard Heat American Satines, beauti
ful styles, hard to tell from the imported; sold
elsewhere for 20c. L
!2)4e. a yard Beautiful Printed Dimities; will
be sold later at 20c.
10c. a yar 1 Linen Torchon Laces, two to four
inches wide; worth 25c.
sc. each 500 dozen Ladiea’ Jersey Ribbed Un
dervests; duly sc.
ANHEUBKR.BUBCH BEER.
15