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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-