Newspaper Page Text
MARCH 18' i 908
THE SUNNY SOUTH
NINTH PAGE
'ians
By Will N Harden
Author of 4E>
“Abner Daniel/* “The
Substitute/' 44 Wester*
felt,” Etc.
ou don't think the fellow's thought ma w
a * rau<i . do you. Uncle m y house an’ hi!" 1 *! ° kin was or| could hear the less insistent tones of
me awful but t am aslles ’ 11 rattled] Vaughn in reply, but could not catch his
conductor „ “ir, say nothin'. The! words. Besides, Mrs. Vaughn w r as speak-
I slid o - ent , ofe pokin' fer me, an’j ing.
’im hi l wife ’ an ' told] "Sit down," she cried; "I want to talk
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Abner?”
“I’ll tell
you what I
think some other time."
Daniel evaded the q ue s-
hoy. I ha<1
th»t k vr • stacks o> fun ° n
that trip. What
think? i rot my fare
down to half price from
New Orleans clean to
Denison. ••
“Vou don’t mean it!”
“How was that?"
Scalpers ticket. I never done 8 ech a
to nL m° r e bUt y ° U Said ^ was goin
° pay my expenses, an' i determined to , , . — —
’save all I could. I was green on the 1 b ack ’ was to he had.
subject, an' jest happened t 0 meet two! °’. papeKs 1,1
".d friends o' mine Sid Mavhew n «* hi- 1 ! 116 eneine begun
vlfe In Men, 5 "ew an his brakes lii-^
nito, in New Orleans. They told me
h ? y , ™ on the way t 0 Texas, an' w™
t .oin to buy half-price scalper's tickets
n axed mo to come on with 'em to the
eilors office. Down thar the scalper,
a sllck a0rt o' °hap. got out the tickets
an explained to us that they was all
right. Tie said they’d been issued “ n Q
other parties, who had been required to' U, ' der
sign the’r names on
Eric la ughed.
my
mlirhi,, .1*1. scarea ssifl i
me, fer in r° a* ** h * 3 * K> ° ts ’ but he told! over this thing,” she went on, as they
ef I was a “Oh 6 , n °t to let on. An’1 took chairs. "Nearly all my friends have
him an’ hi not to 8a y I knowed; stopped visiting me, and my brothers
handler! to ’ No said I mought he have written, urging me to leave my
want ti i ^ forgery, an’ he wouldn 11 husband. They can see no reason or
“T , ify aein me - justice in Mr. Vaughn’s giving away all
the * " ac k an’ tuck my seat, about his means in this way.”
count,-?, S disturbed man in any o’ the! “I don’t think it’s treatin' you ’n’ Eric
p t J we was a whizzin' through, j right,” Daniel observed.
,, y s ° on fhe conductor come along] “The thing has its amusing side, too,”
.’ an to d me he'd been through his Mrs. Vaughn said, with a soft little
whole crew to see ef thar was
amongst 'em. hut
Ca te, say in’ he was sorry not to see me
an invitin’ me to stop with ’im nn m*
way back. Ef I hadn't been
ould. even ef I was kicked off’n the I that’s C doin’ wrong wu/alway
'd a 1 , The ^aybewsj W ust. an’ look fer It whar It
id a soft snap. The r tickets was made Eric ^
, .. . 'be backs of ’em.
but. said ha. ’’not one conductor in a
hundred will even look at the signature-
. owsomever, ef one was to happen to
nx JOU to write the name to show it’s
vore’n. why, it ud be a good idea fer you
to sorter practise a little 'fore you start.’
bV!l, gid an his wife decided to resk
i., an T thought ef a woman could I
could,
tra
had a sort snap. The’r tickets was made
• it to Mr. James Smith an’ Mrs. James
Smith. Almost anybody could pass under
them names; but mine was different.
Mine must ’a’ belonged to some Jew
drummer, fer it was signed r. Einsteain.
Tt was the only one the scalper had to
Denison. I felt weak-kneed, but I plank
ed up my money with the balance, an’
we all set to work, while waiting fer the
train, to copvin’ our new names. My
man wrote the derndest fist on earth, an'
I felt like I never was goin’ to write a
decent hand ag'in, but I kept at it till
train time. We got In our seats an'
started. I confess, fer one o’ the chosen
race, I felt as little like I deserved spe
cial distinction as a man could. We was
a whizzin’ along when the new Mrs.
Smith, sottin’ right behind me, leant
vor an’ said: ‘Hooky hero. Uncle I key,
T never seed a.s green a-lookin‘ Israelite
is you are In all my life; you'd better, ef
the conductor looks surprised, tell 'im
>"u are an Einstein only by adoption.*
"Well, Eric. I’m here to tell you I felt
iiar when I seed the conductor come in
nt the front door an’ begin to take up
tickets. Whenever he’d strike a long
green un like mine he’d draw out a pencil
an’ a pad an* shove it under the passen
ger’s nose. I never felt as much like a
convict in my life; but I was in the
gn me. When he got to me, I give a
sorter sleepy yawn as T forked over my
ticket, an’ axed 'im what time we was
due in Denison. He didn't say nothin’.
He turned the ticket over an’ seed the.
i.nine on it, an’ then he looked me up an’
down an’ laughed.
“ ‘What's yore name?’ he asked, sud
den like.
"‘Einstein,’ said I; *what mought be
yore’n ?’
" ‘Clark.’ said he, sorter tuck hack, hut
‘-till lookin’ fust at me an’ then at the
name.
■’ ‘I’m glad to make yore acquaintance,
Mr. Clark,' said I; ‘you didn't tell me
what time we wag due in DenLson.’
“He didn't answer, but he got out his
pad an’ pencil an’ stuck ’em at me.
•• ’i’ll have to ax you to write yore
name here,’ he said.
”1 dashed it off jn a hurry, an’ handed
It up to ’Iin. ‘I could beat that all hol
ler.’ I said, ‘ef your dern train wasn’t
a-wigglln’ at seoh a rate.’
"He grinned sorter dubious as he com
pared the two wrltin’s, an’ then he passed
on to my friends. They got through all
right. In fact, he didn’t ax ’em to write
at all. Looked like he thought ef a
specimen like me could sail under a
Mosaic title like mine, an Albino could
pass as a full-blooded African. But he
was suspicious, an’ the dern fool seemed
to be enjoyin’ it ns a big joke. I seed
’iir» teilln’ the news-butch’ about it. an’
after he’d tuck up all the tickets he
come back to me an’ axed me ef I was
in the clothin’ business. I thought I'd
give Mm as good as he sent, an’ I told
Mm no, that I was a Methodist preacher,
an’ he went off. an’ him an’ the news-
butch’ had a hearty laugh. About a hour
after that we struck a little town whar
a old friend o' mine. Judge Cate, lived,
an’ I went out on the car-steps to look
about, when who should I see on the
platform but the judge liisse’f, a-comin’
towards me. He seed me, too. an’ I act
ually broke an’ run back Into the train,
fer the conductor was nigh me, an’ I
was afeared the Judge would call me by
name before Mm. The train started
while my friend was tryin' to climb in
to whar I was, an* I felt thankful to see
•1m left behind. I went hack in the
train an’ set down. I was earnin’ t’other
half o’ that faro about as List as I ever
made money in iny life; an’ I wouldn’t
’a’ missed seeln’ Judge Cate fer anything.
About two hours later 1 seed the con
ductor cornin’ In the car with a bunch
o’ papers in his hand, an’ a yaller tele
gram. He wasc stoppin’ an' axin’ ever’
man thar some question, an’ they was all
fihakln' th’r heads. He come on to me.
“ 1 cayn't understand this. Mr. Ein
stein,’ said he. ‘I’ve got a telegram here
fer some feller by name o’ Abner Daniel.
I’ve been from end to end o’ my ti’aln,
an’ cayn’t find no seeh individual,’
“Gee whiz! he had me. I knowed
’twasn’t no trap, beca’se he couldn’t ’a’
had my rail name, an' I seed ‘Abner
Daniel’ in plain wrltin’ on the envelope.
Hell was to play, I thought. I 'lowed
maybe you’d got track o' Wilson, in
some other direction, an’ then ag’in I
narry one, white or
He still helt his
his hand, an’ when
to whistle down
like tile devil givln’ a war-
v hoop, he laid the bundle down on the
seat by m e an’ run ahead to look out
"I a window; an’ while he was a-peepin’
out at a cow that was lopin’ ’long the
track, I noticed the flap of’ the tele
graph envelope was jest barely stuck
down, an’ quick as a flash I slid my
it. an’ had it open. It
wasn’t but a line, but I read it. I put
the sheet back, give the gum a swipe
across my tongue, an’ sealed ’er tight. I
nas tyin’ my shoe under the seat when
lie coine back an’ tuck his bundle. It
wasn’t nothin’ but a line from Jud^o
Daniel j laugh. “You know my cousin Toby Lin-
^ay back. Ef I hadn't been guilty I’d
° thought o’ him at fust; but a man
i fear the
_ hain’t.”
Eric laughed, highly pleased to see his
old friend in such a good humor.
“iou certainly were in a tight place, to
get out as well as you did,” he sam.
“I was that, but I had my fun. I
thought once I’d bet the conductor ten
dollars that I could tell what was in tile
telegram, but Sid wouldn’t let me.”
Abner had been trying to cut a rather
tough piece of steak on his plate, and he
suddenly ceased, and, holding ms knife
bry the handle, he beckoned with it to thi
negro waiter.
“Say, gutta-percha,” he said, when the
servant leaned over him. ‘‘Will you
please take this steak back an’ fetch me
a piece that Ml bend? This ox seems to
’a’ been petrified.”
As they were going out into the hotel
office a few minutes later, Erie asked
him if he had engaged a room.
“No, I’m going to spend the night at
yore pa’s,’’ Abner answered. “I prom
ised yore ma ef I ever stayed ih town
ag’in I’d go thar. Besides, my boy, I
want to git another look at that feller
Bowman. He's knowed better out in
Texas 'an he is here!”
XXIV.
When Abner arrived at the Vaughns’,
he met Mrs. Vaughn on the walk just
inside the gate. As they shook hands she
noticed his valise.
“I hear you’ve been to New York.”
she said. “How did you find your kins-
people?”
“About as common,” he made answer;
“they seem to like it purts' well up
thar.”
They walked on to the veranda, and
Abner put his valise down on the step.
“I suppose you are not thinking of
leaving the South?" the old lady said,
tentatively.
“Not by a long jump,” Abner said, em
phatically. “God’s country’s good enough 1
fer me. Thepi streets was hot enough, j
while I was thar, to fry a paneaae. Is|
Henry at home?”
“Yes, in the sitting room with Mr.
Bowman."
“Still buildin’ that college?”
“Yes, getting ready for it. I had hoped
when Eric went out to his place and set
to work, as he has, that it would touch
his father’s sympathies; but he says it is
a trick. Mr. Bowman put that idea into
his head.”
“Thar hain’t no trick about Eric’s
work. Mrs. Vaughn,” Abner said, warm
ly. “You kin count on that—the boy has
coin, the town clerk. He is full of mis
chief, and is always ready for a practical
joke. Well, the other day a young negro
came to town from some Northern
school; he was dressed liner than any
young white man I have seen in many a
day. He had on a silk hat and kiu
gloves, and told Toby he was looking for
employment. Toby took him back in his
office before a lot of by-standers, and
told him that he had got to Darley at
the most opportune moment. He in
formed the negro that Mr. Vaughn was
looking for a private secretary, hut that
he was a most peculiar man; that he was
building the negro college here, and that,
while Mr- Vaughn wanted an educated
colored man, he wanted one that would
not be imposed on by the whites, and
one that worn- insist on social equality
on all occasions. ‘Now,’ said Toby,
’when you go up to his house, don’t go
around to the back door like other ne
groes; If you do, you will not stand a
ghost of a chance to get the position.
You must walk right up to the front
door, and ring. Then, when the girl
comes, tell her you want to see Mr.
Vaughn, and walk right into the parlor,
on the left hand side of the hall, and taxe
a seat in the middle of the room.”
“Gee whiz!” Abner laughed, ‘that’s line
Toby—nobody else would ever have
thought of it!”
’Toby went on to tell the negro that if
Mr. Vaughn ordered him out, he must
e stand his ground, and retuse to move.
Toby said that several applicants had
failed to get the situation on account of
their lack of self-respect. Toby told him
he was a Union man himself. Think of
Toby Lincoln being for the North!”
“With an open wound in his hip, packed
full o’ fresh cotton everyday!” Abner
threw in, with a laugh. “The feller that
wanted the legislature to change his
name jest after the war, an’ then decided
that ef any name was changed, it ud
have to be the President’s.”
“Well, it created a storm here at the
house,” Mrs. Vaughn went on. “My hus
band was in the sitting room looking over
some papers, when Lucy ran in and said
that a negro had pushed her out of his
*.vay, and gone in the parlor and sat
down in a rocking chair, and was fanning
himself with one of my fans. Mr. Vaughn
-sprang up with an impatient grunt and
went to see about it. We heard him
thundering out questions, and the negro
telling him he’d come to be hi#* private
secretary, and would not be imposed on
by white people, and I don’t know what
all. Then the furniture began flying
around the room, and through the win
dow we saw the caller picking himself up
at the bottom a t the veranda steps, and
running away as fast as he could. He
broke one of the gate hinges and tore
the latch off In getting out. Mr. Vaughn
came in the room as white as a sheet,
and was so mad he couldn’t speak for
an hour afterwards.”
“Huh! takin' some o’ Ills own medi
cine!” Abner grunted. “Blood's thicker
'an water, Mrs. Vaughn, an’ Henry hain’t
half as anxious to lift the black race to
his own level as ‘lie is to the level o’
other folks.”
XXV.
Presently Mrs. Vaughn rose, saying that
she was going up to see that Abner’s
room was put in readiness, and he fol
lowed to ascertain its location.
“I don’t want to make a mistake an’
run in on Bowman,” he said, as he stood
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simply started in to run that place right, j j n ttie (j oor way of his room a moment
and he'll do It. encouragement or no , „,,, , ... . .
encouragement. I predict that he’ll make later ’ „ 1 d as 30011 sleep wlth a dead
it more ’n pay expenses.” i catfish.
“Uncle Lewis told me about liim,” Mrs.] ’’This is liis room, and the best in the
Vaughn sighed, “and nothing has ever] house,” the old lady remarked, as she
led
wrung my heart as that did. Do you
know”—she lowered her voice, half-] chamber,
covered her lips with her thin, white
hand, and glanced furtively towards the
window of the lighted sitting room—“when
I heard how lonely the poor boy was
over there, and how he often came home
at night so tired that he fell asleep in
his chair on the veranda while Lewis was
preparing his supper—when Lewis told
me that, Mr. Daniel, I packed up‘some
things and started over there to spend a
week; but Mr. Vaughn almost had a
spasm, he was so furious. He told me
If I went that he'd leave mo for good,
and ho meant it."
"The old scamp!” Abner ejaculated.
••j gave in to him,” Mrs. Vaughn con
tinued. plaintively- “Nobody alive can
turn him from his purpose, and it would
have caused a scandal, and hdve hurt
Eric more than being alone. I suppose
I love my husband as much as T ever
did—love never seems the same to old
people as to the young and hopeful—but
If I had to give up one of them, I’d
take my child every time, and not regret
the choice.”
“The old bull-headed scamp!” was all
that Abner could say. They were now
on the veranda, and heard footsteps in
the house. The next moment Vaughn
appeared in the doorway, followed by
Bowman. Vaughn raised hi s heavy
brows in surprise, held out his hand in
a perfunctory manner, and grasped Ab
ner’s in a cold, careless clasp
do?” he said. Been
off
the way across the hall to another
“We used to keep it only for
special occasions, such as the visit of
the bishop, or some one of special note,
but Mr. Vaughn gave it to Mr. Bowman,
and he has had exclusive use of it for
the last six months.” *
-.oner went into the big room with its
capacious, lace-curtained bay-window^
and its fine old steel engravings on the
white plastered walls, and looked about
him in the light of the shaded lamp on a
center table.
"Don't look a bit like it’s bein’ used,”
he said, reflectively. Then his eyes rest
ed on a closely packed traveling bag on
the floor, and a strapped and locked
trunk. Abner, to the mild wonderment
of his hostess, went to the old-fashioned
wardrobe, and opened it. It was per
fectly bare. He uttered a soft exclama
tion of surprise, and going to the bureau
in a corner, he opened the three drawers,
one after another. They were all empty.
“He’s goin’ away.” Abner said, a pecu
liar gleam in his shrewd eyes, ”1 had
no Idea that' was his Intention, Mrs.
Vaughn.”
“Oh, it’s only for a couple of days,”
Mrs. Vaughn iinformed him, with a sigh.
“He’s going to Atlanta early in the morn-
“Howdy
some’r’s hain’t you?” *
•Conn'd about generally,” Abner an-
8 Bowman came forward with an elusive
smile, and held out his hand.
"How’s Brother Daniel? ho asKea.
lightly But Abner pretended not to
se g o the movement of his ha^ or heai
the erecting. He stooped and lifted bis
vahse from the step to a place on the
V But Bownmn was undaunted; ^ equan
imity was a thing he always had with
11 1 ™- -r bear Brother
“Been to New York, l near, ^
Daniel,” he pursued.
“Yes, to New York.” Abners tone was,
almost that of open contempt.
A servant came to the door, and ’
Vaughn ordered her to take Abner,
valise to a room upstairs. It ga^ e
man and Vaughn an opportunity—if t ie\
needed any—to move along to the far
end of the veranda.
“Who cares what a lot of sore-headea,
spiteful Rebels say about the location?
Abner heard Bowman saying, warmly.
“If a lot of stuck-up paupers are too good
to join land with the campus of as fine
aii institute as that, they can move out
of town.”
“Only for two days!” Abner stared
steadily. “I reckon it’s longer *n that,
Mrs. Vaughn. He’s evidently ready to
stay awhile. You see he's packed ever’
scrap an’ dud he’s got.”
“He did say he’d need his trunk down
there,’’ Mrs. Vaughn remembered. “He
said it contained a lot of drawings and
papers pertaining to the new building.
He’s only going to Atlanta to make the
first advance payment' to the contractors
for work and material.”
Abner's glance did not waver as it still
rented on the old lady’s face, but his
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Mrs. Vaughn cautiously led her guest to, finc0 C ureJ thousand- it wili cure you. Writs to-
the other end of the veranda. Abner j July. CaptT W- Ceilings,Boz 7X7, Watertown Jt, Y
eyelids contracted slightly, as If he were
peering at an Impalpable something be
fore him.
“The fust payment!” he repeated.
“Then he’s takin’ some money with ’im?”
”1 don't know—yes, I heard him telling
Mr. Vaughn, just after dinner, today,
that he’d prefer to have some checks
cashed here at Darley, as that would not
necessitate his being identified In Atlanta.
Mr. Vaughn wanted him to take a check,
but Mr. Bowman refused; they went
down to the bank together, after dinner,
and I suppose they arranged it.”
"I reckon it must ’a’ been a purty big
amount?” Abner was standing near the
lamp on the tabic, and he idly toyed with
the base of it.
“I think it was ten thousand dollars.”
“Ten thousand! Wias that all?” Abner
repeated the words indifferently.
”1 thought It was considerable,” the
old lady remarked. “I know Mr. Vaughn
was arguing that It wag too much for
any one to take even such a short dis
tance. but Mr. Bow/ian finally gained
his point, if that’s what they went to
the bank for.”
“I reckon that's what they went
about,” Abner replied, still carelessly.
Suddenly he stooped and picked up a
very small envelop with printed words on
both sides of it.
“Do you know what’ this is?” he asked,
his eyes sparkling with subtle interest.
“Why, no; what is it?” Mrs. Vaughn
asked, wondering at his earnestness of
tone and manner, and looking at the ob
ject In question.
“That’s a enevlope, Mrs Vaughn, that
they put a ticket of a certain sort in at
the ticket office of the L. & N.,’’ Daniel
informed her, with studied deliberation.
"When you are goin’ down to Atlanta, or
any nigh p'Int, for instance, they jest
hand you out a little piece o’ stiff card
about two inches long. I know, beca'se
I've traveled a good deal, an’ I’m jest
back from a considerable ja'nt over the
country. When you buy a long-distance
coupon ticket they stamp it about ten
times in different places, an’ fold It up
an’ stick It in an envelope like this un.
Bowman’’—Abner was eyeing Mrs.
Vaughin significantly—“he tuck his ticket
out an’ throwed this away ”
“What are you talking about, Mr. Oan-
lel?” Mrs. Vaughn asked, with a puzzled
smile. “Is this one of your jokes?”
“Well, you are a case,” the lady said,
and she went into Daniel's room, while
he descended to the men on the veranda.
“So you’ve been to New York,” Vaughn
greeted him, with an attempt at levity;
“an’ I reckon when you seed that throng
on Broadway you thought it was court
week in town, like that other Georgia
greenhorn you’ve heard about.”
“Yes, It certainly looked like that, or a
circus day,” Abner returned, with his
usual imperviousness to any joke at his
expense.
“Mr. Daniel won't show greenness any
where." Bowman said, with a touch of
sarcasm; “he seems to be at home wher
ever he hangs up his hat.”
“Anywhar except jail,” Abner repu-a.
“I draw the line thar.”
At this juncture Vaughn went down the
steps and turned round the house in the
direction of his barn. Bowman, still
leaning against the railing of the banis
ters, drew out a couple of cigars. He
lighted one and carelessly offered the
other to Abner.
“Have a cigar?” he said. “They are
the best this poky old town can supply.”
Abner, standing directly in front of
him, his hands in his pockets, shook his
head.
"Can’t afford it.” was his short re
ply.
“I was asking you to have one with
me.” said Bowman, slightly mystified.
“An’ I said I couldn’t afford it. Can’t
afford to eat, drink, smoke, chaw, nor
joke with folks I hain’t on friendly terms
with.”
“I see.” cowman puffed. “Well, I’m
no more anxious to be friendly with you
than you are with me, Daniel. In fact,
to be frank, I have disliked you cordially
ever since that conversation we had here
after dinner that day. For an uneducated
person, you have more self-assertion than
any one I ever met. How can a college
man reason with a farmer, a man who
only knows how to plant seed in the
ground and watch for them to sprout?
Candidly, if I had not met you here at
Vaughn’s and seen tnat you were an old
friend of the family, and that sort of
thing, do you think I'd have stood up
and argued with you, and let you say
what you did to me that day—you, a
mountain clodhopper, who can’t speak a
dozen words correctly?”
“Oh, us mountain men hain’t the lowest
order!” Abner said, with a soft laugh.
“Besides, I’ve got other business besides
farmin’.”
’A sort of side line,” sneered Bowman.
“May I ask what it is?”
“I’m a detective,” said Abner. He took
a piece of tobacco from his pocket and
broke off a chew and put it into his
mouth.
“Well!” There was no affectation about
Bowman’s laugh, he was really amused.
“I’ve heard you say many absurd things,
but that certainly ia ahead of them all.”
“ ‘Tain’t half as funny as it will sound
In about two minutes,” said Abner.
“Some o’ my jokes has to soak awhile.
Purty soon you’ll split yore sides a-laugh-
ln’ at that un.”
“One of Pinkerton’s men, I presume,”
smiled the Tennesseean. He really
thought Abner was indirectly boasting
of some work he had done In giving
Revenue officials information regarding
illicit distilling of whisky in the moun
tains.
“No, Pink an' me couldn’t work to
gether,’’ Abner answered, slowly chew
ing. He leaned to one side of Bowman
and spat over the veranda railing. “In
fact, I jest take a .private job now an’
then, when I want to help out a friend, or
a sufferin’ community.”
“Oh. that’s it!” Bowman’s tone indi
cated a certain amount of preoccupation
if not weariness.
“Yes, I got a job on now—mought be
called a big case of its sort. It certainly
Involves about the biggest rascal unhung
—a feller that worked every pore, ignor
ant nigger in the State o’ South Carolina,
with a gigantic swindle in the way of a
burial-outfit Insurance company. Initia
tion fee ten dollars in advance, nigger
buried O. K. ef he died on the spot. The
skunk raked in some’n’ like five thousand
before the scheme bu’sted an' he
skipped.”
Bowman’s cigar had started towards
his mouth, but It paused, a red spot on
a level with hla chin. Abner saw it
quiver. He could no’t gee ,the smoker’s
face In the dim starlight, but he felt a
pair of bewildered eyes fixed steadily
on his as he went on:
“The feller seemed to be, with all his
education, a sort o’ one-idead man. He
worked the nigger racket, in some form
or other, wharever he went. His next
business wa* to sell a lot o’ colored fluid
to the niggers through Texas, purportin’
to take the kink out o’ the original Af
rican wool. He touched a wholesale drug
gist in Dallas fer three thousand; made
the tool believe he had a list o* fifty thou-
DR HATHAWAY
Recoonlzed as the Old
est Es ablished and
Host Reliable Specialist
extinguished. Vaughn stood in the door
way. He did not advance farther. “It’s
all right,” he said, deep down in his
throat. “It’s all thar, Ab—all thar, Ab
ner, old friend; I went over it twice ”
Bowman moved away unsteadily, still
smoking. Without a. word he stepped
down to the walk, slowly moved to the
gate, and went out. As he disappeared
down the sidewalk, Vaughn came reluc
tantly and stood by Abner’s side.
“Hull!” he grunted; “huh!” He seemed
undecided for a few minutes, then ho
Homeward
sand bona-fide black subscribers all over
the South at a dollar a head. The drug
gist tried it on his cook, after he’d put
liia money in it, an’ ever’ mornin’ at
breakfast he’d ax 'er how she come on.
One day she told ’Im she had a sort of
eruption o’ the scalp, an* was afeard what
wool she had was a-drappin’ Into the
family gravy. But the inventor of the
concoction had skipped.”
Bowman's hand, which held the cigar,
sank to his side, and hung there limply.
He seemed incapable of response.
“Then he’s a regular Don Jew-ann,”
Abner laughed, as he went on. ‘‘He
married ’im a wife by the name o’ Sum
mers in Tennessee, in ’81, an’ a farmer’s
daughter in Texas, in '83, an’ left ’em
both high an’ dry—one with a baby. But
he’s a good man all right; he was tryin’
in South Carolina to bury all the dead
niggers, an' here in Georgia he’s tryin’
to lift the live ones to a high plane.”
"I don’t know what you—you mean!”
Bowman managed to ejaculate, using the
words thousands of men who are sudden
ly confronted with guilt utter in sheer
desperation.
“I hain’t got yore sort o’ education,”
said Abner, with sudden sternness, “but
I hain't a fool; you’ve got ten thousand
dollars o’ Henry Vaughn’s money in yore
pocket right now, an’ a long ticket away
from this town.”
“I haven’t a cent,” Bowman gasped.
“Well, 1 know you have; but thar’s a
good witness.” Old Vaughn had sudden
ly emerged into view from behind the
house, and Abner suddenly called out to
him:
“Say, Henry, come here a minute, an’
listen to me!”
"What do you want?” Vaughn asked,
impatiently, as he turned towards the
steps.
“I want to know how much money
you've advanced to this here sliek-
tongued thief.” Abner hurled at him, sud
denly.
Vaughn stared in blank astonishment
for a moment, then he slowly dragged
his feet up the steps and approached'
them. |
“What the thunder do you mean? Do
you dare to—”
“I jest axed you how much money
you've turned over to this bunco shyster,”
Abner repeated, calmly. “What's got in
you, Henry? can’t you. talk? That’s a
simple enough question.”
Vaughn stood like a man of stone; they
heard him drawing quick, alarmed
breaths. He fastened his gaze on Ilow-
rtjan’s shrinking face.
‘Are you goin’ to stand thar, Bowman,
an’ let a man accuse you—you—” but he
could not finish.
“He'll let me call ’Im anything I want
to," said Abner. "I’m here to save you
the loss o’ ten thousand clean dollars,
Henry Vaughn. I heard you say once
that you never heard me make a state
ment that I couldn't prove. Well, be
lieve it or not, but that man’s wanted
fer fraud an’ bigamy in two separate
States, an' had no more idea o’ buildin' j
a nigger college here ’n I have. All he 1
wanted was to work you fer what ready i
cash he could muster, an’ he was doin’ I
it to a queen's taste.”
“Is he tellin’ the truth?" Vaughn de
manded, in rising fury.
A desperate denial was struggling to!
Bowman’s lips, when Abner held up hi-T
hand and stopped him. Shaking his fore-i
finger steadily jn Bowman’s eyes, he said
firmly: “Don't you dare dispute my j who spoke before held her up.
word. I’m the only man on earth that sudden shock a email, thin aim peeped
kin keep you out o’ jail, an’ 1 may de-!out ef the ragged bundle,
cide to give you a chance. In lieu o’ the 1 “Now, boys, we must make a little
disgrace an ridicule exposure would. room; the poor thing can not stand all
fetch down on this family, but, by God!;! 06 time," said the old man in a loud
ef you dispute my word, i’ll put you in > voice to his fellow-travelers,
limb'o as shore as you stand thar.” “Let them make room on the other
Bowman shrank as if he had been! side.” struck in his neighbor, but no-
struck in the face, and was silent, i body moved. She was hanging on to
Vaughn stood convinced. He shook as; the lad n luggage-net, and stumbling at
with palsy; a groan escaped him. He| every shake.
was completely undone. j “You are all thin ones over there,
“Now, plank out that money!” Abner he" continued, winking idiotically at the
demanded of the accused. “Plank It up,; unwieldy paunch of the man near him,
or”—he was deliberately lying, with his j who was snoring.
right hand on his hip—“I’ve got a six- 1 “Dare say, wuen you’ve nothing to
shooter in my hind pocket, an’ 1 11 march i cat,’’ answered two or three, and some
you straight down o the marshal, an’ scanned each other’s faces in silent
ef you start to run I’ll turn over a piece taunt.
o’ meat to the coroner, a s full o’ holes as | “Now then, let s squeezze up a bit,
a sifter.” j and make her a little room,” spoke at
Bowman hesitated. “I—I—” lie was, j as [ an 0 j ( j woman compassionately,
stammering when Vaughn ran to him, “We shall be all the warmer 9 ” she
and clutched him by the lapels of bis i ac »tied, with a good natured smile. Then
coat. ”G1’ me my money!” he panted, I they aii moved to the left, except the
shaking him with the fury of a maddened ma n in the corner, who would not give
beast. ’ Gi me my money, I sa> ! : u p| ace , and shrank nearer to the
“All right, you shall have It,” Bowman wln( j ow
gave in, suddenly. “That is, Mr. Daniel, ^ The ^ oman faintly said, “Thank you!”
you 'Promised not to an <j sank down on the scat next to her
“Yes, you go free, dang you! said km(J cha mpion; then drawing her arm
After 25 years of the closest study in the treatment of the diseases with wliich so
many women are afflicted, I can say posi lively that I can permanently cure any
case of female weakness, prolapsus, leuchorrhea, menstrual
irregularities, womb or ovarian troubles, neuralgia, sick head
ache, nervous break-down, rectal diseases, or any other dis
ease of a chronic nature. 1 have made these diseases a spe
cial study, and there are hundreds and hundreds of women
throughout this country, and even in foreign countries, who
will bear testimony to the fact that my original perfected
method of treatment was the cause of their complete resto
ration to health and happiness. Thousands and thousands
of women suffer on and on in silence, thinking that it Is a
part of their existence, and to these I want to especially ap
peal to. If you suffer from any of the diseases mentioned
above, sit down right this very minute and write me a let
ter stating in a brief manner just how you suffer, and I will
immediately write you just what is your true condition and
just why and how I can prepare for you a treatment that will
result in a complete restoration of your health. Each and
every case is given the most careful examination, and I pre
pare treatment for every case in my own laboratory. No two
cases of this nature are ex-actly alike, hence, they must be
given different treatment.
The average physician cannot be depended upon to success
fully treat these delicate HsWises because he has not had the
necessary experience, and when a case is presented to him the only thing he can
possibly do is to experiment and experiment with his patient until she either di°s
from the shock of an ill-advised operation, or left in a serious condition. I have
had great success in curing just such cases as this, but if the patient had only
come to me at first I could have saved them untold suffering. I offer to place nt
the disposal of every sick woman, no matter In what circumstances she may be,
the knowledge gained by me during all these years, the best years of my life, abso
lutely without charge, and you should immediately take advantage of this offer.
Your family physician wuuld charge you from $1 to S25 for the same service, and,
too. for incompetent medical advice. I will also send a very valuable book, of
which I am the author, free. Be sure to write me today- The address is J.
NEWTON HATHAWAY, M. D., 41 Inman Bldg., Atlanta. Ga.
asked: “Does,” he nodded towards tha
door, “the old lady—does she know about
this—about Bowman?”
“She knows enough to guess the bal
ance, when Bowman don’t turn up to
breakfast,” Abner said; “but she’s all
right; she won’t give you away. She's
more ashamed ’an you are. She’s been
coverin’ up yore foolishness fer the last
forty years.”
“Huh!" Vaughn ejaculated; “huh!” anil
he went into the house and back to his
room. (TO BE CONTINUED.)
By AMELIA ROSELLI.
E are twelve; twelve oz
us! Are we to burst in
this stifling heat?" angri
ly howled an old man.
leaning out of the narrow
carriage door. “Please,
look yourself,” he contin
ued, drawing back to show
the train conductor he was
no l'iar.
“She must get in, all the
same,” the man answered
calmly, and turning to
'somebody behind him, who
nas quite silent, “Quick!” ho said, “up
v.lth you; give me that bundle. t il
held it.”
“No, no, thanks; it’s all right. I can
get up,” murmured the woman anxious
ly She caught hold of the handle with
one hand, held tight to her breast a
shapeless ragged bundle- wi'Ji the other,
got up, and stood waiting ih the middle
or the railway carriage.
The door was shut with a sharp bang;
the- train moved; she staggered and
would have fallen had not the old man
At. fhe
Daniel. “I hain’t a sworn officer o’ the
with infinite care from under the rag
ed bundle, she stretched and moved it,
,-ith a sigh of relief, to release the
law, an’ this family would be the laughin’
stock o’ the whole South ef this was to
ait out A big reward's on yore head, - " , , , .
but I don’t want it. I’ll send yore things | cramped and aching 1 mb. „
to the train tonight. I intend to sleep; ‘Bad job having to navel with bab ,
here an’ I’ll be danged ef I can with: said the old woman, turning to he __
you under the roof!” | “I ^ ™ don 1 Z^i^LT^uth
Bowman drew a cumbersome package j cried out crossly a measly -faced j j
from his breast pocket, and, with tremb-' "Oh, he won't cry, you ncedn t fear,
ling hands, which shone corpselike in the 1 said the mother, with a strange, pa e
light of the rising moon, he extended it j smile,
to its owner. “Here's your money, Mr. “Is he ill?”
Vaughn,” he said. ] “A little,” she answered, after an m-
Vaughn took it eagerly. “Keep ’im here : slant’s hesitation, in a trembling under
till I count it," he said to Daniel, as he ! tone, blushing deeply,
turned into the house;” maybe he’s tuck] “Where do you come from?”
some out.”
"It’s all there, Mr. Vaughn,” Bowman
called after him. “I’ll wait till you look
it over.” His cigar had gone out, and
he scratched a match and lit it. In the
light of the flame his eyes met the twink
ling glance of the gaunt farmer.
“Thar’s one thing I’d like to ax you,”
Abner said, “bein’s you are an educated
man an’ I hain't—what sort of books
would you recommend a feller o’ my sort
to study at odd times. They say it
hain’t never too old to l’am, an’ I’m
powerful slow to ketch on. I’d like to be
a’ educated man like you. Bowman.”
The man addressed said nothing; the
Invariable fury of a thwarted criminal,
who is assured of safety, was on him.
He could have murdered Abner without
the slightest compunction of conscience,
and yet he bowed before him as a dog
before its master.
A light flashed up in,the parlor behind
them. Through the window they saw
Vaughn at a table nervously counting
the bills. In few minutes the light was
STOP!!
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“America. I landed this morning.”
Two of her companions who had sailed
v.ith her sighed.
"All alone?”
"My husband * • * remained, down
there,” she sadly answered, looking at
her mourning.
‘"Poor thing! And where are you go
ing now?”
“Home,” naming a small village in the
fever-stricken Maremma.
“Have you made a little m«ney, at
least?”
With an eloquent Italian gesture she
scraped her thumb nail on the edge of
bei teeth; that was the only answer.
Then a wretched slow chorus arose in
that stuffy atmosphere; each resigned
voice telling its brief tragical history.
“I made three hundred francs; it all
vent for medicine and doctors,” so s«<d
the, pale-faced youth, and his paleness
showed how usiless it all had been.
“To go out, I sold my horse and two
fields; all my people died of fever!”
“We come irom rrance,” said an
other, pointing to himself and his neigh
bor. “We had to fly; they wanted to
settle our hash.”
“Here’s my fortune,” sneered another,
holding up a 5-franc piece.
The screech of the whistle seemed to
jeer from time to time at aii that
wretchedness; those useless wails, float
ing from the narrow windows, found no
echo through the vast expanse of the
dumb and Indifferent plains beneath.
Silence, indifferent, even, hostile si
lence, was all that was vouchsafed to
those pitiful tales. But how give pity
when it was like 'hearing one's own
story told over again?
Only the snorer moved uneasily every
now and then, muttering words.
“HoW good that child of jouri is!”
exclaimed the eld women, __
The mother barely smiled.
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A boy,” she answered. -
“How old?”
“Nine months.”
“God bless him!”
Tlie mother shuddered.
“Let me see it” continued the old
woman, curiously, getting nearer.
“No, no,” she cried with sudden agony.
Then she added: “He is .asleep, pour
darling.”
It was midday.
All now were quiet, exhausted by the
hot weather. Some began to eat; they
produced from ragged pockets or from
inside unouuoned snu-ts parcels witn
very dubious-looking contents. The fat
man, roused at last from his sleep,
bought some bread and sausages at a sta
tion. The mother also bit at some dry
bread.
“And that poor child; aren’t you going
to nurse it?” asked the old woman.
“Why, we’ve been here five hour? and
it has not sucked yet.” The mother
started.
“Yes, now. • • • In a moment,” she
faltered faintly, and when her bread
was finished she began very slowly to
unfasten her dress, while the o'd wom
an watched her with a look oif Infinite
tenderness; the look of all women who
behold a mother’s loving, holy care. Sim
scarcely lifted a corner of her shawl,
put her feet up on the opposite seat,
end bending over the baby raised it to
bei breast.
The men made more room for her,
asked her to lean back comfortably, full
of respect for that mother who reminded
them of their own young wives and baby
children, reminded them of all the joys
ar.d sorrows in their distant homes.
“You can’t have much milk,” muttered
the old woman.
“Oh, quite enough; too much, even,”
she replied, with a voice that sounded
like a broken sob.
All the travelers were silent, for tha
heat of those burning hours was dread
ful; a few smoked, two or three slum
bered. Not a breath of wind stiried tha
still and heavy air. The train sped on.
running to its destiny.
“By-by, baby,” softly sang the mother;
“by-oy, baby—’’
The men, soothed, shut their weary
eyes.
* * * * • •
The train drew up; a shout, a name.
The mother started to her feet, hurried
to the door, triqd to open it.
“Wait, I'm coming,’’ growled the con
ductor. With a hurried “Happy jour
ney to all!” the woman jumped down;
the train was off again, but she stopped,
staring at it stonily.
“Well, what are you up to there, likft
a scarecrow?” said some one behind her.
She started in affright and rapidly walk
ed away, hugging the child to her breast.
Out on the station, on the right, ran a
lonely, sunny lane, bordered by thick
glass; she walked steadily on (for a long
time, and when it seemed far enough, sat
down by the side of a diten, and with
her trembling hands began to unroll
very slowly tbe shapeless, ragged bun
dle. It was the small body of a cold,
livid child. Tlie mother watched it in
tently, watched with tenderness and
fear—she dared not touch it; the baby
was dead; he had died two days ago,
while yet at sea. They would havo
plucked him from her and sunk h m in
the bottomless depths. Never! Her
mother’s love found strength to dissem
ble, to play that terrible part. But now
she had saved him! The only boon
those distant, crulel lands had left her!
The sea could not drag him away now.
“Baby, baby, your own mother’s baby!”
she cried, frantically kissing the poor
closed eyes, the little black mouth.
“O’n. dear little baby!” and she trudged
across the smiling fields, rich m the
golden corn, holding forth to the sun
the frozen little body.
Far away, against the pure, blue hori
zon. stood out the village cemetery's
crosses, somber and sad.
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