Newspaper Page Text
i
THE FLOWERS Cl ’
VOLUME XLJINUMBER FORTY-EIGHT.
Mtlanta, Ga., Week Ending January 28, 1905,
50c PER YEAR—SINGLE COPY 5 c
Y2&
The Grant Street Murder Mystery
Rivals $
Sry May McK.exnzie
0
By WARY E. BRYAN.
Written for the Household Edition.
jgp i ■ im»—ij( HE September day was
u near its close. The town
clock “had struck 6; the
lamps were lighted the
stores shut up.
instead of hurrying
homeward, many of the
men had gathered In
knots at the street cor
ners, where they seemed
to be waiting for some
thing to transpire. An un
usual excitement was in
the air.
A crowd of newsboys lounged in front
of the publishing office of the daily
paper, waiting for the “extras” that
were being thrown off by the clattering
presses within. Occasionally they vent
ed their impatience at the delay by
whistling, stamping and uttering cat
calls. When at last the big armfuls of
damp sheets were hrougni. out for dis
tribution, the hoys pressed forward
eagerly, and each, on receiving his pile
of i apers, darted off, crying at the top
of his voice:
' Extra! Extra! All about the murder
of Mrs. John Burton!”
The extras went like hot cakes. The
men in the corner groups were soon In
possession of the latest news concerning
tlie murder, which hud been committed
that afternoon on the principal business
street of their city—a murder so bold
and atrocious that it had created a wide
spread sensation.
Mrs. John Burton, a woman prominent
in society, the wife of one of the best
esteemed men in the town, had been
fatally shot, as sue was reentering her
carriage in front of her husband’s office.
There were several strange circum-
ni tNi* • ■ ■ flai« - ffe«r«r scelwai
no motive for its commission. Mrs. Bur
ton, a discreet, politic woman, had no
lover, and no known enemy. She was
not handsome enough to inspire a mad
passion, and not rich enough to excite
L'ne spleen of an anarchist crank.
Then, the murderer was unknown to
any of those who saw him, and he had
disappeared in the most unaccountable
irnnner. Though the alarm had been
instantly given, and pursuit and search
had begun almost at once, he had not
been found.
The extras were disappointing. They
told nothing new concerning the
tragedy, save that Mrs. Burton was
dead. Having been shot through the
head, she bad dic-d witnout regaining
consciousness. The police had been un
able to find the murderer or any clew
to his identity, or his motive. The
search for him would be. vigorously pros
ecuted through the night, intimation was
given that there would probably be ’im
portant developments at the inquest to
morrow.”
The inquest took place the following
morning at the home of Mr. Ward—
Mrs. Burton’s father, to which the dying
woman had been taken as nearer the
scene of the murder than tier own home.
The coroner and his jurymen were
shown into the library. In the adjoining
front room lay the body of the murder
ed woman. It was her father himself—
Old Cyrus Ward who led the men up
to the black covered bier in the middle
of this room, and drew away the white
covering from his daughter’s face, show
ing her head, with the purple bullet hole
in ! he temple, resting on a pillow' of
white roses.
TTie hand .'hook; his eyes were dry,
but they h i” .'■■d !n their hollow sockets
with a stango fire. The dead woman
MARY E BRYAN, the Popular Authoress, Who Has Built Up the Most Original
“Household Department’’ in the South.
was his only child—the last of his line.
Ail night he had sat alone by her side,
refusing to let anyone take his place.
The door opened noiselessly and John
Burton entered. His refined, thin face
was without color, and his eyes looked
as if he had not slept. He had passed
the night in his now desolate home,
*tn i -~ : staye
breathed her last.
Tie came’ softly to the foot of the
bier. The medical expert, straightening
up after examining the wound, saw him
Burton."
first and said: ‘‘Good morning. Mr.
On hearing his son in law’s name, old
Cyrus Ward raised his bowed head and
looked at him. Such a look as it was!
A flame of hate leaped from the oid
man’s sunken eyes; his hand gripped
the chair back on which it rested: his
lips wreathed, but he did not sneak.
The lookers-on were astonished
The relation between John Burton and
his father in law had always seemed
to be most friendly. Outwardly Burton
took no notice of the strange look which
had fixed itself upon him.
The inquest showed that the all night
work of the police had resulted in noth
ing. The town had been sifted: Us
outlets closely watched, but nothing had
been seen or heard of the murderer.
Iso one claimed to have seen him
after he fired the fatal shot anil ran
around the corner of Grant avenue into
Craig street—the corner on which the
Burton building was located.
The high plank wall, which enclosed
the building on the Craig street side,
would have hidden him from the sight
of those in front hut how was it that
he had been seen by no one on Craig
street? I-Te would have been surely no
ticed even had he not been running.
Ills appearance was peculiar. He was
described by the witnesses to his deed
a- a large !>uilt man. with a black
moustache wearing a gray coat and a
slouched bat.
Mr. Burton’s secretary told the story
of what had taken place Just before the
murder. “Mrs. Burton.” he said, “drove
to her husband’s offk e about half past 3
in the afternoon. She came into the
front room, where I was at work, ex
pecting to find her husband there. I told
her he was in his private office, tho ad
joining room in the rear, and he w is
probably busy. Has he got. tip
Written for the Household Edition.
grswvcsBarajji IT is the belle; there Is no
denying that fact, though
there Is a look of her Pad
dy grandfather in her
face.”
Thus spoke Miss Cather
ine Ktlgarriff’s Cousin Eou
to her companion, matron
ly Mrs. Vanderytter, as
they sat gossiping upon the
hotel piazza anent last
night's hop. the latest ar
rived male flirt and the
dinner menu.
"Kit Is the belle, and she knows it.
Catch a girl with Irish blood in her
veins who doesn’t."
"She is.” asserted Mrs. Vanderytter,
whose own rosebuds were, not as .vet suf
ficiently blown to be remarkable; hence
ail charity sounded through this sibilant
confirmation: “I believe it is because
she is a natural born coquette like her
mother before her." went on Cousin Lou.
“Certainly she is not a beauty—hardly
pretty.”
“Well, she is very attractive,” observ
ed her listener. “Shi. is animated, and
her animation is not all on the outside—
it is bottled up, as It were. She doesn’t
exhaust It in gushes, as many pretty-
girls do.”
“There she is corning in from a walk.
Speak of an angel, you know—and who
In the world has she in tow now? Some
oddity. Lord knows who, for I don’t,”
, ud the lady peered forward and pucker-
. d her brows with more vulgarity than
was seemly-.
Oiilit.y or otherwise, Miss Catherine
was evidently enjoying her company,
vhich consisted of two gallants—one on
^-jjther j:de of her. To one of these no
by his V ife until Ob'. - - r*. sh, w’- - vr uiinu r. A, - t m/ ' ■ • v~
enough to see.' I looked over the parti- ^ iiu mts-i. n
tion wall (it does not reach to the ceil
ing) and told her the screen was up
around Mr. Burton’s desk, which meant
that he was busy-, and did not wish to he
seen by any one coming in. She said 'I’ll
speak to him anyway, he promised to
drive with me this afternoon.’ She went
out and down the passage to Mr. Bur
ton's hack office. I heard him unlock
and open tho door for her. and heard him
tell her that some irregularities in the
books had come to light, which com
pelled him to be busy over them this
afternoon. She was in his room but a
short time. I heard them exchange good
byes. On her way out to the street she
stopped at the front, office room a few
minutes to give me some letters Mr.
Burton wished me to answer, and some
instructions about them. She left me
smiling, and 1 had just got down to
work when I heard her scream and the
pistol shot. I jumped up and called out
'Something has happened’ over the pur-
iiiion to Mr. Burton, but he did not lift
his eyes from his work (the screen was
Pulled aside, and I saw he had not heard
me—he has been under the treatment .
for his hearing ever since he had the
p ; >P- T ran out to the carriage and
helped lift Mrs. Burton from the ground,
then hurried back to tell her husband. I
met him coming out. 1 did not see the
man who fired the shot.”
Two other employees of Mr. Burton told
practically the same story. They had
known of Mrs. Burton’s visit to her hus
band. as they were at. work in a room
across tho passage from his private office
—they had heard her when she went out,
and about five minutes later had heard
the pistol report and the scream. When
they ran out they had seen Mr. Burton
at work at his desk. They- knew of bus
recent defect in hearing, but did not stop
CONTINUED ON LAST PAGE.
•jga oe raised. IP- w
nice yoiih'g :*an. ' 1 b L -‘ otva
was a sunbrowned man of anywhere be
tween twenty-five and thirty ye us, broad
shouldered and rather tall than short.
He appeared somewhat conspicuously dif
ferent -from the gentlemen strolling
through the wooded aisles about the ho
tel. and his irregular garb, which was
his principal certificate to oddity-, was
widely dissimilar to the conventionalized
dem.’-toilet of the boating and fishing
fashionables who thronged the river
shores conveniently adjacent to the ho
tel.
‘ Can he be a country parson?” ven
tured Mrs. Vanderytter.
The otiier lady laughed.
"Like as not,” she replied. “But, no;
no country parson ever walked with the
swing that man does. The long tails of
that misfit rustic ccoat would suggest a
perambulating poker, if worn by the av
erage backwoods preacher. There Is a
flap about those coat tails which smacks
of outdoor exercises—don’t you perceive
it. my dear?”
Added to the badly tailored coat, the
personage discussed had crowned his
glossy- brown curly- >riir (only half
groomed, according to fashion's dictum)
with a hat that had seen much service,
but which had once been a very respect
able Panama.
As the two ladies upon the veranda
gazed upon this unfashionable individual,
lo! the hotel proprietor was seen greeting
him with a hearty handshake; then the
two strolled away together towards the
river.
"Now, Kit, who’s this [ast conquest?"
asked her cousin, as. at last, that young
lady sauntered upon the piazza.
Catherine smiled teazingiy into the face
of her questioner, which was brimming
over with curiosity.
“A terrible tiger hunter from upeoun-
try. You see the forests about here arc
filled with fierce and rapacious wild
beasts—wild cats and bears and such,
and the government has to employ sturdy
hunters to prevent them from Invading
the surrounding villages and devouring
the innocent inhabitants.”
“Why. you don’t mean to—” began
Mrs Vanderytter with mouth agape.
“My dear friend.” said her companion,
“are you going to let Kit frighten you
into believing that we are in the midst
of an African jungle? What do you
think your mother will say to you
picking up such shabby looking, mighty
hunters by- the way. Miss Kit?"
“What she always says, I suppose,”
with a nonchalant shrug of her small
shoulders. The truth was Miss Cath
erine ICiigarriff had her own say and
way, as a rule, Kilgariff mere had
long since resigned herself a victim to
her eldest daughter’s waywardness. Her
only remaining hope where the even-
recurring objectionable party was con
cerned lay in ignominious retreat before
the invading foe.
Miss Kit was bidden to ‘move on."
with scant ceremony, when she asserted
her independence in choice of company;
but she generally succeeded in having her
tiirtation before the retreat had been
effected.
At tho dinner table that evening the
landlord made a suggestion f r the benefit
of his guests, which was unanimously- re
gard with favor.
“Camp on Sorgum Ridge for a week!
Delightful!" exclaimed every- one but the
mothers with babies.
“Where Is Sorgum Ridge?” asked Mrs.
Kitgari iff faintly.
"Up country, isn't it, Kit?" said Cousin
• , a Cl- V-dc"- : glance a* her o.iu-
s : n. wno turned upon her one 'jl inuse *
looks of mute appeal which usually si
lenced her tormentors. She lowered her
tones and whispered: “Where do you
expect to go when you die, wicked girl,
that y-ou lead all these unsuspecting peo
ple into a forest of wild beasts, in order
that you may- break the heart of that
mighty hunter?"
’•‘To be sure. Who else?” You never can
rest unless you have some poor fellow
on a string."
“Oh, say now. Louise, y-ou never heard,
did y-.ou. that the paternal or maternal
grandparent of Lady Clara Vere de Vere
or Circe, was a fine old Irish gentleman,
who made his money selling rum?" Then
•she added confidingly and with character
istic assurance: “Come, Cousin Louise,
just give mother a hint, now that you'll
have an eye on me, and she won’t go.
"Faith, there’ll be little peace for me
if she does, and she’s that unwell I think
she’l be persuaded to stay- at home.”
Cousin Lou only half liked this re
sponsibility, but she liked Catherine, so
she consented. Sure enough, scarcely-
had they pitched their tents and entered
into the play at camping, than the
so-styled hunter made his appearance.
But how great the metamorphasis! Ho
had doffed his unfashionable garments,
and wore a rough, woolen mountain suit,
the short, jaunty coat over the dark
striped shirt being decidedly becoming,
while he had further rendered his ap
pearance acceptable by- the adoption of a
fresh, new sombrero lor the occasion.
"He might be one of those adventur
ous Englishmen who com' over here
and buy up ranches in the wild west."
said Cousin Louise. as her eye again fell
upon the sturdy figure she had been ready
to ridicule.
Mr. Fordykc Chalmers was splendid
company, too; his frank, hearty laugh
was a pleasant thing to he ir, and his
animal spirits contagious. Ho was In
vited to join the dinner party upon their
return to the hotel, after which there was
to lie a hop.
“Do you dan e?” asked Kit on their
homeward ride, during which she found
liorself by- the side of this knight of the
hills.
“Occasionally—money musk, and that
you know,” with a michievous glance.
“Kit, who is that young man in the
tweed suit, and who has such handsome
hair?” asked Mrs. Kilgariff, fingering her
lorgnette, as se seated herself at the
table. “I declare—I believe—why-, Kate,
is not that Lord Ruthven, whom we met
at the springs?"
"Hush, mamma, he’ll hear you. I guess
it is. Any way, ho is rich they say-.”
“But have it: your—’’ began Mrs. KlI-
garriff. Then she found herself talking to
Catherine's back, that fertile. wicteJ
young lady having turned to whisper
to Mrs. Lou, who was seated t'he other
.side of her.
“Mamma thinks Chalmers is Lord
Ruthven. For heaven’s sake don't ceil
who he is!”
Mrs. KilgarrifC had read and heard of
all the titled English lords married to
wealthy American girls who were known
to history, and she could see no reason
why- Kit's substantial “dot” should not
make her a lady some day.
“You don't know whether he has a
title, you say, Louise?” she asked.
As she saw Kit whisking away- on the
arm of the debatable party, who proved
to be one of tho finest waltzers in the
• , - . .• ;
"Well, poor man. 1 suppose tie rfa-
knowledges to some sort of one—mod
every man does, you know-,” answered
the besieged, falling back upon flip
pancy as a refuge from prevarication.
“And do you really live away- up there,
back of that ridge, and all alone?” Mis*
Kit was asking her partner, as they
sauntered the big piazza, gazing each
pause between at the pretty moonlit
river glistening through the vista of
foliage.
"Why not? I held a position in the city
until my grandfather’s death. I inherited
a vast amount of timber land that needs
to be cleared and turned to account. Be
sides, I like my life.”
"It must lie great sport.” said Kit.
"You can have hunting parties, you
know.”
"Yes-in time. But there has been an
immense amount to see to, you see—"
“Catherine!” sounded a voice—a lady
like little voice at the young lady’s el
bow; and Hrs. Ivalgnj-riff appeared sud
denly beside them from an open window.
“Catherine, what in the world arc you
doing out here in this night air? Come
in; I wish to speak to you.” The girl did
not need to glance on her mother’s face
to 1 earn that the secret was out.
"Is it not just like you,” she said as
she led her captive away, ’’to flirt and
waltz the evening through with a boor—
a regular clad-hopper?”
"Why, mamma, you were admiring the
gentleman at dinner!”
"Gentleman! Admire him! I simply
CONTINUED ON PAGE EIGHT.
til
O ■••• »-O ••• tjj
••• • 9 ••• • i •«•••«• • *••#*•- • •
Professor Vang'o
A Series of Humorous Stories by Gelett Burgess and Will Irwin
^^OFFEE JOHN looked the
thin, black-eyed stranger
over calmly and judicially.
“You'll bo one as lives by
his wits, and yet more from
the lack of ’em, fn other
people, especially femyles.”
the proprietor declared-
“Yer one of ten tharsand
in this tarn as picks up
easy money. If so he they’s
no questions arsked. But
If I ain't mistook, yerve
come a cropper, an' yer
ain’t much used to sweatin’ for yer sal
ary. But that don’t explync w'y yer 'ad
to tumble into this plyce like the devil
was drivln’ yer, an’ put darn a swig o’
'ot coffee to drarn yer conscience, like.
Clay street wa'n't afire, nor yet in no
dyngcr o' bein’ Hooded, so I'm switched if
I twig yer gyme!”
"Well, I have got a conscience." began
the stranger, “though I’m no worse than
many what make simulations to be better,
and I never give nobody nothin' they
didn’t want, and wasn't willin’ to pay
for, and why shouldn't I get It as well as
any otljer party? Secitfi you don't know
any of the parties, and with the un-
derstandin' that all I say Is in confidence
between friends, professional like. I’ll tell
you the misfortunes that have overcome
me." So he began.
THE STORY OF THE EX-MEDIUM.
I am Professor Vang.), trance, test, busi-
mss, materializin', sympathetic, harmonic,
inspirational and developin’ medium, and
>• 9 -•- 9 9 9 9 ••• 9 • -j- 9 ••• * -*■ 9 ••• • -»■ o e a
9 •••©■*• 9 9
- 9 -• ? .«. e » e 9 O 0 t '*-9C -*-9-«-9-*-9->-9-«-9-*-9-*-9-*'9 9 9 ••• 9 •»• *
• 9-*- 9-** 9 9*i
i ••• 9 9 *i
independent slate writer. Before I with
drew from the profession, them I had
comforted and reunited said that I was
by fax; the best in existence. My tests
was of the sort that gives satisfaction
and convinces even tho most skeptical.
My front parlor was thronged every Sun
day and Tuesday evenin' with ladies,
the most genteel and elegant, and gen
tlemen.
When X really learned my powers I was
a palm and card reader. Madame Au
gust, the psychic card reader and Reno-
Seeress. give me the advice that put me
in communication. She done it after a
joint reactin' we give for the benefit of
the Astra! Seers' Protective Union.
"Vango,” she says—I was usin’ the
name "Vango” already; it struck me as
real tasty—“Vango," she says, “you're
wastin' your talents. These is the days
when men speak by Inspiration. You
got genius; but you ain't no palmist."
"Why ain't I?” I says, knowin’ all the
time that they was somethin’ wrong;
“don’t I talk as good as any?”
“You're a genius," says she, “and you
lead •here others follow; your idea of
tellin’ every woman that she can write
stories If she tries Is one of the best ever
conceived, but If you don't mind me sayin’
it, as_ one professional to another, it's
your face that's wrong."
“My face?" says 1.
"Your face and your hands and your
shape and the balance of your physical-
Ity,” says she. “They want big eyes—
blown is best, but blue will do—and lots
of looks and easy love-makin’ ways that
you can hang a past to, and I’m frank
to say that you ain't got ’em. You
have got platform talents, and you’ll bo
a phenomena where you can't get near
enough to ’em to hold hands. Test
seances is the future of this business.
Take a few developin’ sittin’s and you’ll
see.”
For the time disappointment and cha
grin overcome me. Often and often
since i have said that sorrow is a means
of development for a party. That’s
where i learnt it. Next year I was hold-
ir.' test seances in my own room and
mailin' spirit photographs with my part
ner for ample remuneration. Of course,
I made mistakes, but I can assert with
out fear of successful contradiction that
I brought true communications as often
as any of ’em.
Once I sized up a woman that wore
black before I had asked tho usual ques
tions—which is a risky thing to do, and
no medium that values his reputation will
attempt it—and told her about her hus
band that had passed out and g'vc a
message, and she led me on and wrote
me up for them very papers that I was
advertisin’ in and almost ruined my pros-
pccks. You get such scoffers all the
time, only later on you learn to look
cut and give ’em rebukes from the spir
its. it ain’t no use tryin’ to get ahead
of us, as I used to tell the people at my
seances that thought I was a collusion,
because they’ve only got thoirselves; but
we’ve got ourselves and the spirits be
side.
It wasn't long in the course of eventual
ities before I was ordained by the Spirit
Psychic Truth Society and elected sec
retary of the union, and gettin’ my per
centages from test and trance meetln's
ar Pythian hall. I was popular with
the professionals, which pays, because
mediums as a class is a little nervous,
and—not to speak slanderous of a. pro
fession that contains some of the most
gifted scientists—a set of knockers.
Only 1 wasn’t satisfied. I was ambi
tious in them days and I wanted to make
my debut in materialisin’, which takes
a hall of your own and a apparatus and
a special circle for the front row, but
pr. ys heavy on the investment. Try
every way I could, with developin’ cir
cles and private readin’s and palms ex
tra, T could never amass the funds for
one first class spirit and a cabinet, t\ liicb
ought to be enough to start on. Then
one night—it was a grand psychic re
union and reception to our visitin broth
ers from Portland—she come to the circle.
Our publication—I united with my other
functionaries that of assistant editor of
Unseen Hands—stigmatized it afterward
as the grandest demonstration of hidden
forces over seen on this hemisphere, it
was the climax to my career. I was
communicatin' beautiful, and fortune fav
ored my endeavors. When 1 pumped ’em,
they let me see that which they had
concealed, and when I guessed I guessed
with amazin’ accuracy. I told a Sw.de
all about his sweetheart on the other
plane, and the color of her hair, and how
happy she was, and how it was comm’
out all light, and hazarded that her
name was Tina, and guessed right the
first trial. I recollect I was tellin’ him
he was a physic, and didn’t he some-
tiffs feel a intluencc he couldn’t account
for, and hadn't he ever tried to establish
communication with them on the spirit
plane, and all he needed was a few
developin’ sittin’s—doin’' it neat an’ pro
fessional you know, and all of the other
mediums on the platform acquiescin'—
when a woman spoke up from the back
of the room. That was the first time
that ever I seen her.
She was a middle-sized, fairish sort of
a woman, in mournin’, which I hadn't
comprehended, or I’d a’ found the ar
ticle that she sent up for me to test
her influence, long before. As soon as
she spoke. I knew she’d come to be
comforted. She was a tidy sort of a
woman, and her eyes were dark, sort of
between a brown and a black. Her
shape was nice ami neat, and she had
a straightish sort of a nose, with a
curve into it. She was dead easy. T
seen that she had rings on her fingers,
and was dressed real tasty, and right
there it come to me, just like my control
sent it, that a way was openin’ for me
to get my cabinet and a stock of spirits.
“Will you please read my article," she
says. Bein’ against the esthetics of th
profession to let a party guide vou like
that. Mrs. Schreiber, the Egyptian astral
medium, was for rebukin’ her. l super
posed, because I seen my cabinet
growin’.
“I was strongly drawed to the token
in question,” I says,' and then Mrs.
Schreiber, who was there to watch who
sent up what, motioned me to a locket
on the table.
“When I come into the room, I seen
this party with a sweet influence hover
in' over her. Ain't It a little child?"
>* 99 *•* 9 9 *• - 99
Because by that time I had her sized up.
I seen her eyes jump th- way they al
ways do when you’re guided right, and
I knowed I’d touched the achin’ spot.
While I was tellin' her about my con
trol and the beautiful lignt that was
hoverin’ over her, I palmed and opened
the locket. I got the picture out—they're
ali alike, them lockets—and behind !t
was a curl of gold hair and the name
"Lillian.” I got the locket back on the
table, and the spirits guided me to it
for her test. When I told her that the
spirit callin’ for her was happy in that
brighter sphere, and sent her a kiss, and
had golden hair, and was called "Lil
lian" in the flesh plane, she was more
overcame than I ever seen a party at
a seance. I told her she was a medium.
T could tel! it by tho beautiful dreams
she had sometimes.
Right Hero Mrs. Schreiber shook her
head, indicatin’ that I was travelin’ in
a dangerous direction. Developin’ sit-
tin's is saved for parties when you can’t
approach ’em on the departed dear ones.
In cases like the one under considera
tion. the most logical course, you com
prehend. is to give private test sittin’s.
But I knowed what I was doin’. X told
hir I could tool a marvelous power ra
diate from her. and her beautiful dreams
was convincin’ proof. She expressed a
partiality to be developed.
When I got her alone in the sittln’, hold-
in’ her hand and gettin’ her to concen
trate on my eyes, she made manifest her
inmost thoughts. She was a widow run-
