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A MARTYR OF TODAY *
Continued from first page
By Lollie C Bell
'IJvill begin at the beginning/' he said softly, "and tell the story I have to tell you just as it comes”
trial of my life. He was but a boy when
lie i-rossod my path, with a face as deli
cate and lovely as a woman. This at
tracted me at first anc I grow to watch
ing hfim and wondering about him. as
people will who lvave no especial interest
or happiness in their >v n existence. But
my study did not tend in tile lad s favor,
for in spite of his delicate appearance and
girlish face, he was wild and reckless. I
found that most of his earnings passed
over the green table In a Bumbling den.
I had never been to one of the places
until I followed him there, but when I
saw my little -friend, as I had learned to
call him, was going to the bad so fast,
somehow 1 felt that the time was coming
when he would net d help. So 1 followed
him night after night. The end came
even sooner than I expected. One night
I was late in reaching the don ho fre-
' quented most, and on entering the door
I found him already deep in the game,
betting with more recklessness than
usual. His cheeks were flushed and his
blue eyes shone with excitement and pas
sion. But he.lost heavily until every oer.*
he had was gone. He even put tip his
■watch and an old-fashioned ring which
I had noticed h’ always wore; but fate
was going more and more against him,
and they went with the rest. He rose
from tire table then and staggered out
Into the night. I silently followed him,
and well for him 1 did so; for, desperate
over his losses and the ruin he saw star
ing him in the face, he meant to end his
life. Overcome by the sympathy I showed
I felt for him, l:e sobbed out the story of
the terrible straits into which his pas
sion for cards had brought him. It
transpired that over a hundred dollars
of the money he had lost be tinged to his
employer, and that he saw m way to
get it back. That be would lose Ills place,
or, worse, perhaps he arrested for steal
ing. And then he told me of his widowed,
mother, who was always sick, and of his
sister, and of how he knew it would
break their hearts.
"Pitying the penitent, guilty boy and
the innocent women who would have to
suffer with him, I loaned him the money
to put in the place of that he had taken
and to start on the upward read again.
I had not meant for them to know, nor
did I ever think of seeing them; but in
his fit of penitence Noel told them all,
and -they overwhelmed me with kindness
and gratitude. X went to their home often
after that. They were almost as lonely
and friemyess as myself. I was not with
the mother long until I saw she was fail
ing fast, and I knew that her life must
soon go out. She was but the beautiful
shadow of a woman when I first saw her,
and I had witnessed the coming of death
too many times before not to realize Its
nearness to her frail life.
"I loved Hilary from the day of our
meeting, but I l»id never dared believe
that my love would be returned. She
was young, beautiful, high-spirited and
full of fife; while I was middle-aged and
quiet—utterly different from the kind of
man to win a girl's fancy. When I
thought of that, and of how unsuited we
were, my heart would sink. Xo, I knew
full well she could never care for me.
But again when she would meet me with
a smile on her lips and the light of wel
come shining from her soft, dark eyes,
new life would come to me and I would
fee! that my devotion must win some
thing in return. At last I could endure
the suspense no longer. X told her of my
love and asked her to 1*? my wife. She
was very much surprised, for she had
never thought of me as a lover; but I
had been kind to her and to her mother
and had saved her brother, her darling
Noel, who was dearer to her than life
itself. I read the thoughts that were
passing through hpr brain, and I was
very calm and quiet as I waited for my
answer; but she little guessed at the
passionate fires that were burning be
it
from.
Hilary,
but
the
love
cannot be
dec<
lived.
soon
foun
d out
the
truth.
gifte
■d and
lovable.
yet
utterly
neath that calm exterior nor the stern
control I exercised to hold them down.
"At last she spoke.
“ '1 had not thought of this before,’ she
said softly, ‘i never dreamed that you
loved me. But you have been so good to
all of os, and you saved Xoel—Oh, what
would we have done if you had not?
Perhaps 1 do not love yc u In the way
that you love me, but if you w:sh 1 \ViTt
be your wife, and it you tcel ali you said
1< r me, X will love you—love you well!'
"She held cut her hand to me with a
frank gesture of acceptance, and 1 Iff w
the was my own; but mingled with the
sweetness of my joy was u sharp thrill
of pain, for I realized that it was grati
tude and love for Xotl that influenced
her, and I ielt that it would be wrong
for me to take her at In r word. But 1
had net the strength to put happiness
irom me, and two weeks from the day
of our bethrcthal we were married by
her mother's dying bed. When we had
put her mother away, Hilarj was very
sad and clung to Noel w:_tk a deeper love
than ever. She was always sweet and
gentle with me, but she yielded to my
caresses passively, and day by day the
knowledge came to me that she would
never love me.
“When the first wild grief after his
mother's death was over, Noei went back
to liis old ways. I tried to keep
eyes of
and she
Bright,
weak, he
seemed to have no power to control the
evil tendencies of his nature. But with
all there was nothing that could chill liis
sister’s love, and she seemed to have a
deeper tenderness for him than ever. His
evil conduct pi eyed upon her though, anti
never strong, her liealtlh began to fail,
and not finite three years from the day
we were married, when our little daugh
ter was born, she died. She was perfect
ly conscious, and in death as in life her
last thought was for her brother. She
spoke lovingly of her baby, and thanked
me again and again for my love that had
never faltered nor failed; but ‘Noel’ was
Ihe last word on Iter lips. ‘Ronald,’ she
said, ‘in all the time we have spent to
gether you have never refused me any
thing; and now when I am dying I want
you to make me a promise. Jf you make
it I know it will r ever be broken, for I
trust in you as I do in leaven. Promise
me, Ronald, that, no matter what he
does, you will never desert Xoel. Even
my love for him dees not hide his pitiful
weakness frr.m me; and though he has
been doing better, I have no faith in him,
and I know he will fall again. But don't
desert him, Ronald; save the boy from
himself!’
"Taking her cold hand in mine, I gave
her the promise she desired, and swore
that no harm should come to Xoel that
it was in human power to prevent. An
expression of peace covered her fnyo then,
and she seemed ready to go. That was
at sunset, and just before midnight she
fell asleep to wake nc- more or earth.
"For more than a year a r ter she ieft
us, the memory of her death kept Xoel
true to his better self, and I begat! to
believe that my darling had not died in
vain. The firm where I was employed
gave him work, and he seemed changed
and thoroughly penitent. But the most
merciless devil that tempts man to fall,
the gambler's devil, crept back to him
again; and as in the other days he fol
lowed it. Stupified with the grief that
Tiad come to me with Hilary's death, l
did not watch and help him as I should
and in the frenzy of his passion for gam
ing he wrought his ruin and my own.
The knowledge of it came with crush
ing force when I was arrested for forgin-
checks he had written in my name. At
first I was stunned and amazed. I
thought I must be crazed or dreaming;
is soon as I saw Noel's face when
but
he came to mv cell the day after, the
truth flashed upon me in an instant. lie
was the guilty one. He told me in a
broken voice, snd said lie had come to
confess and take my place. I waited until
lie had finished, and then told him quietly
I had known before he spoke, and that
he must say nothing until I gave him
leave; and above all not to admit his
guilt to a human soul, Perhaps I could
find some way to save us both. Poor boy,
lie sobbed like liis heart was broken, but
a stronger will than liis own had always
ruled him and he did my bidding. T sent
him away, and then X fought the hardest
battle of my life. What should I do?
\\ hait could I do? Keep my vow to Hilary
nnd hear the disgrace, or put it upon the
boy she loved better than life? All night
long I tossed on my hard cot in the coun
ty jail trying to see my way out. Just at
• lay 1 fell into an uneasy sleep and
dreamed that Hilary came and stood
looking down upon me with sad. beseech
ing eyes. She was holding out her hands
to me in mute appeal; Tint when X sought
to touch her she floated away. So dis
tinct was the dream that it seemed al
most a vision, and when I awoke I felt
the magic of her presence still. That
decided me. Even if death had be-’a the
penalty I would have kept mv faith with
her.
"When my lawyers came next day to
arrange a plan for my defense, to their
surprise, after my stout denial of the
day before. I told them I had none to
give. When they left me I wrote your
father. I remembered his promise and
tailed on him at las! for its fulfillment,
lie came to me at once, as you have come
today, although we were hundreds of
miles apart. In spite of the overwhelm
ing evidence against me, and my refusal
to make a defense, he believed in my in
nocence. and though I begged him not,
he fought for me mntil the hour of my
doom was sealed. Then he took my baby,
("•live, and brought her away. I had sent
to him for that—not to help mo. I had
settled my own fate beyond all chang
ing before he left home to come to me.
The rest of Olive's life and.your father's
faithfulness you know far better than I.
He gave my baby a new name, as I
begged, and raised her up as his own. He
proved the beauty of his belief and
friendship by giving her to you—his only
son.
“When the prison walls closed upon mo
and the world was shut out, a lethargy of
despair took hold of my heart, and I
lived under its pall for months and
months. But no matter how deep the
gloom or what the circumstances are, i
suppose an unconquerable desire for lib
erty is in the breast of every captive, and
after I had served six years garbed in
stripes, the chance came to me to escape
and X took it. Then the fickle jade of fate
turned her glass. Chance guided m? to
South America, and there as if to mock
my sufferings, everything I touched
seemed to turn to money. For awhile the
fever of gain possessed me, and I bent
my energy to winning the treasure that
came my way; then that passed and a
wild longing for home took its place. At
last when I could bear it no longer, I
came; but when X reached here for some
strange reason, a great fear that I would
be recaptured came upon mo. I hid my
self like a thief. As i stole around the
old haunts, even the knowledge of how
utterly I had passed from the minds of
men could not reassure me.
“I found that Noel was alive, that he
had married and Tid’d kept from the paths
of sin since I left him. But he was hag
gard and worn, and I knew that though
he had not the courage to undo it, re
morse for what lie had done was wearing
out his life. I thought at first to go to
him and tell him that I was free, but
the Insane, senseless fear of being found
out held me back; so I wrote him instead
and came away. Then a great longing
for a sight of Hilary's child took hold of
me. I came here and bougTit the Cedars.
I hired the same old servants that had
worked here since the days of serfdom,
and as nearly as I could I slipped In the
old master’s place. Unseen and unknown
to you I have watched Olive and thanked
God that all was well wjth you. Day
by day I have seen my wealth multiply,
knowing it was your heritage and Olive's,
and would restore the prosperity of other
days to the home the war had taken
from your father and help pay m,
to him. And as for the rest, the ea ^j l0 last, and the old man's
peace and joy that were taken from breath 1 "came in gasps. Godfrey sought
by an all--#ise will, I am looking t „ lift him up that he might
know again with Hilary when I find h easier, but he motioned
over yonder where I know she is waitings the last fays of the Slia ®^ wo mna, for
for me, when I tell her Noel is saved aiul eau,: '^ u ^ P* ctur< ‘^ f ac 1
that X have been faithful.”
The voice that excitement had given
unnatural strength sank almost to a
and a wave of
his soul went
horn he had sacrificed his life he held
h1s arms toward a
swept over liis face as
1a?yr t he n ci'ie 0 d Wn as the darkness fell,
-y, i am coming! ’
Queer History of the Railroad In George . fhe " Sout h
that the road should pass through Madi
son and Greenesboro. This proposition
was readily acceded to and the road di
verted from Washington and Athens to
Madison and Greenesboro. Then, in order
that Washington and Athens in after
years should come in touch with the rail
road world, branch roads had to he proj
ected from Athens and Washington to
this same road. Up to this <111116 Atlanta
had not even the prospect of a probable
contingency, and in her present splendor
may not relish the soft impeachment,
but I refer the thought to the reader, and
ask him to seriously consider, that had
it not been for the over-conservatism of
Washington and Athens in the thirties
of the last century, might there ever
been an Atlanta?
On the line of road between Buck Head
and Madison lived a well-to-do farmer.
Judge John I. McNeil. Judge McNeil eon-
_ . . tracted to build a mile of
Contract „ , ,, ,
for Btxilcl- railroad running through
ing’ Mile his land in twelve months.
Railroad incorporating in the con-
Astounded tract the usual demurrage
Neighbors clause; that is. to pay a
forfeiture of $?•} each day over the stipu
lated time of completion of the mile. His
neighbors hearing of this new departure
of the judge, wont to liim in a body and
earnestly entreated him to give tip the
contract. The idea of a man obligating
himself under a severe monetary for
feiture to build a whole mile of railroad In
twelve months was, to their primitive
minds, preposterous—rash in the extreme.
He persisted, however, and went to work
on his contract. I remember well that
when his neighbors laid by their crops in
June they got up every available negro
man as laborers, and all the hoys as cart
drivers, and carried them over to the
judge, saying to him: “If you make any
thing nut of your contract, pay us for
our negroes; if not, we charge you noth
ing. We give you this help to keep you
out of trouble, hoping that as long as you
live, you will never make such a rash
Continued from fifth page
trade.” The mile of road was completed
within a few days before the expiration
of the twelve months. When the. judge
got his money he paid his neighbors full
hire Tor the help they rendered him. There
was at that time (1S39) more importance
attached to the building or contracting to
build a mile of railroad than today would
be in building 100 or 200 miles.
There were no telegraphs, headlights or
whistles. For several years Madison, 10-1
miles from Augusta, was tbe terminus.
When a train left either end in the morn
ing. nothing was heard from it until it
reached its destination. If by accident
the train was delayed it held up when
night came and finished the trip next
morning. It was a day's run from Au
gusta to Madison.
One of the most attractive inventions
of the age was the engine whistle. A
good old Greene county farmer was so
taken with its usefulness that he walked
all over both towns—Greenesboro and
Madison—to buy a whistle with which to
blow up his hands in the morning on his
plantation. This old man never could seo
for the life of him “why he couldn’t got
one to blow with his mouth like it blowed
on the steam injine.”
A passing of a railroad train was an
event. I have known farmers to quit
work and go 3 or 4 miles to see a train
pass by. Near Ihe Georgia railroad, about
4 miles below Madison, there was an old
field school house. The teacher was a
weak, inefficient old man, and as was
most generally the case In all such
schools, there was a rollicking, irrepres
sible, harmless boy, tall and gangling.
At the very first faint roar of the coming
train this “irrepressible” would throw up
his long arms in delight and make for the
door, bawling at the top of his voice:
"Kyars a cummin', kynrs a cummin',
kyars a cummin',” followed by the whole
schrol, all joining in the hirppy refrain’
"Kyars a cummin'.” The whole school
would run out. mount a neighboring fence
and watch the train till the "kyars had
done gone by,” then go in and resume
duties
Before e ne xt "kyars cum by.”
ill middlq me 0 f railroads all cotton
gustu. Ot e j a W as marketed in Au-
faithful negro man would
Utmos, t intrusted with a six-
X*-tist ->rse team to carry a
Reposed d cf cotton, generally
in Negro it round bags, to mar-
Slaves to some wel1 kn ,WI }
m factor, who would
tage. Then he \v to the best advan-
a sealed package a put the money in
who would faithfullye it to the driver,
master. To make the’g it home to his
eight or ten days. Si\»s uall J' required
and honesty of these of as the fidelity
intrusted that the morS ro men lhus
back to a cent. The iwas brought
T'nited States of Americdent of the
have shown a higher appra:Id never
trust his people reposed In jon of the
cle Jack, my father's old nthan Un
show when, upon his return^ would
stand by and see "Mars Rcu! would
out to tlie last dollar he had brn. count
from old man Harper Bryson, ;V’ ack
warehouseman in Augusta, during^’ 11 ®’
thirties of the last century. late
The farmers along the line of the
gia railroad were very much puzzled 11- "
getting their horses accustomed to lr
passing trains. I have heard them n
cuss by the hour the possibility of buil.
ing horse lots on the roadside ancl othe.
plans to gentle their horses. There was
at that time as much opposition to rail
roads. as an invention of the rich man
to keep the poor man down, or even make
him poorer, as there :s at this time labor
against capital, only the opposition was
not organized or in working order. Then
there were no labor unions, orders
and fraternities under wh.f!o ban
ner the workmen could rally hop
ing for protection, or basin: ss
trusts or other machinations appealing
to the rich man. But the antagonism be
tween the two classes was just as in
grained then as it is now.
JOE FIND’S A FRENCH POODLE
Like This Amusing Little Street c Boy, the Dog Has to Work for a Living
By Chas Battell Loomis
|OE DEMPSEY was a street
boy and Tie was a pretty
tough little customer in
many ways, but he had a
love for animals and he
hated to see them cruelly
treated. More than once in
his short life he had ad
dressed such words to
truckmen wlio were abus
ing their horses as had
brought on him a taste of
tbe same whip that had
been used on the animals,
but he never got more than a taste, as
he dodged to a safe place and kept up
his moral lecture, and once he had the
satisfaction of seeing an officer of the S.
P. C. A. arrest a man who was kicking
a horse that ought to have been in bed
instead of drawing a heavy load of junk.
One day he was on Courtiandt street,
near the railroad ferries, looking for a
chance to carry a valise, when he saw
two boys trying to make a French poodle
stand on his head. The poodle was pos
sessed of a good deal of spirit and snap
talking and began to acf and when he
had finished acting the boy was very
much the worse for wear and his com
panion, who was an arrant coward, had
disappeared with the dog. But Joe was
not through with the incident, and he
asked tlm boy whose head he had punch
ed who owned the dog.
"X dunno who owns him. Mickey
foun’ him an’ we was teachin’ him
tricks.”
'‘Well, come an’ help me git him an’
I'll gi’ yer a quarter for him,” said Joe,
and at mention of the money the boy,
whose name was John, piloted Joe through
around the corner where they saw Mickey
and the dog walking leisurely along In
fancied security.
"Soy, Mickey, dis feller wants der mutt,
lie'll gi’ us 10 cents fer it.”
John put It at 10 cents thinking to
‘'divide even” at 5 cents a-pieee, which
would have left him 15 cents That Mickey
knew nothing about, but Joe divined his
game, and. wishing to show him that he
understood it, he said: “No, I’ll give a
quarter for it, but a nickel’s all you'll
get from him because you ran away like
a coward. Why didn't yer wait an’ let
me do yer up?”
"Shoulder Arms!" said be, and Nero shouldered that stick as if he had been in the
army for ten years
ped at the boys, but he was unable to
get away, as he was tied. The boys had
probably seen a picture on a circus pos
ter of a poodle standing on his head, and
having found this poor fellow in an a. ey-
way they intended to make him learn
everything in a poodle’s curriculum.
"It's a won'er vouse wouldn’ quit hurt-
in' dat mutt,” said Joe, after one of the
boys had dealt the poodle a particularly
hard blow.
"It’s a won'ey vouse wo-uldn’ min’ yer
own business,” said the boy with a me
nacing gesture.
It was at this point that Joe stopped
A Woman’s Discovery.
I have discovered a positive care for nil fe
male diseases nnd the piles. It never fails to
cure the piles fron any cause or In either sex,
or any of the diseases pecullir to women, such
as leucorrhoea, displacements, ulceration, gran
ulation, etc. I will gladly mall a free box of
the reiredy to every sufTver. Address MRS.
C. B. MII.B^R. Box 145, Kokomo, Ind.
Mickey seemed to see the humor of the
question, for he grinned, but he said noth
ing.
Joe had just 35 cents in Ids pocket which
he had earned running errands. The dog
was not worth a quarter to him as plain
dog, hut he was willing to pay that for
him in order to have him from the boys.
First he grasped the dog's string and
then he counted out two dimes for Jonn
and a nickel for Mickey, and left with
the dog. When he was half a block away
he looked hack and saw Mickey scrapping
with John for a more even division of the
money. Joe chuckled to himself and then
addressed the dog.
"Well, mutt, what do they call yer?”
It was not so much the words as the
tone that told the intelligent poodle that
he had fallen into the first friendly hands
that had touched him since his accidental
separation from his master a week before.
He wagged his plumed tail and almost
smiled out of his beady little eyes, and
when Joe put down has hand he licked it.
“Say, mutt, what's yer name? Is it
Fido?”
The dog made no reply as Fido meant
nothing to him.
“Is it Rover?”
Again no reply except a wagging of the
tail.
“Is it Nero?”
"Yap,” said the dog, and put his fore
paws up on Joe.
"Ohee, hut you know a lot. I’ll try' yer
again ter make sure. Is it Rover or Fi
do?”
“Is it Nero?”
"\gain a yap and a vigorous wagging of
the tail.
“I wasn’t so slow moself. On der third
guess. Well. Nero, you an’ me belongs
to each odder until I have to give you up,
an' I hope dat won’t ever happen. Want
some grub?"
No answer.
“Youso don’t know everything, do you?”
said Joe, rather disappointed. Then he
happened to think of a variation of the
question. “Want some meat?"
"Yap, vap!” barked Nero eagerly.
Joe dug his hand into his trousers pock
et. He had just five pennies. He had in
tended blowing himself off to a dinner
that should cost a little more than usual,
but the quarter paid for the dog had re
duced his funds to 5 cents, and now, if
he bought meat for the dog. it would mean
that he must get along until morning
with nothing to, eat. for it was not likely
that he would get anything to do in the
way of running errands, as the market
had closed.
He went several blocks out of his way
to a butcher's store. The dog was evi
dently hungry, and now that he owned
him he was responsible for him.
Up to this time Joe had thought of Nero
as a useless friend, but the. butcher said;
“Does he do any tricks?”
“Haven’t tried him.” said Joe.
“j used to have a French poodle and
he knew more than I did myself. That’s
honest. He could play soldier. Yes, sir.
play soldier,” said the butcher, looking
intently at the dog, who pricked up his
ears at the word.
The butcher glanced around the shop
and picked up a broken broom handle,
which he bold toward the dog.
“Shoulder arms!” he saiu and Nero
shouldered that stick as if he had been
in the army for ten years.
Joe turned a handspring for sheer joy.
“Mr. Cutts, I won't do a thing but
teach him tricks. Ain’t he great?”
“Tie sure is,” said Mr. Cutts. “You
want to keep a close watch on him or
somebody’ll steal him.”
The dog was evidently g?^d to show off
his tricks to friends, for he played dead,
sang, walked on his forelegs and waltzed
with the broom handle, and then he went
up to the counter, put his paws on it,
and said as plainly as barks could say it:
“Some meat, please.”
Joe hesitated a minute. He could go
to an eating room, and for 5 cents he
could get a piece of chuck steak that was
“all right," and that would satisfy his
hunger: but there would not be enough
for Nero and him. On the other hand,
he could get a big piece of raw meat, but
He had never cultivated a taste for that
article, and he knew that dogs had appe
tites much bigger than their size.
He won the victory in a minute.
“Gi’ me fi’-ccnts’ worth of meat fer the
dog, will yer?" said he.
The answer of Mr. Cutts was delightful.
"That dog has paid for his meat. Kee.p
your 5 cents.”
A minute later two or three customers
came in and Joe departed with a big
chunk of raw meat for Nero in his jack
et pocket and the 5 cents still jingling
in his trousers’ pocket.
“Come, an’ we'll eat together,” said
he, and into the night dog and boy ran
to see which could make the best time
to the place where the 5-cent dinner was
being kept warm for just such fellows as
Joe.
4/
Ralph Stub], a farmer who lives near
Abilene, Kans., has been forced to quit
chewing tobacco on account of the trust.
This man's record as a consumer of to
bacco is a record breaker. He claims to
have chewed 1 pound of plug tobacco a
week for twenty-four years, which means
a grand total of 1,212 pounds. At 50 cents
a pound—and it never costs him less, he
says— it represents a cash outlay of $621.
Since the tobacco trust lias got control of
the manufacture of tobacco the price is
so high that he cannot afford to buy it, so
he swore off on January 1.