Newspaper Page Text
c#'' EDVARD MARSHALL with photographs
FROM TO PLAY CF GEORGE M.COMJS f roi H,SS. C
SYNOPSIS.
Jackson Jones, nicknamed "Broadway”
(because of his continual glorification of
New York’s great thoroughfare, is anx
ious to get away from his home town of
Jonesville. Abner Jones, his uncle, is
very angry because Broadway refuses to
settle down and take a place in the gum
factory in which he succeeded to his
father’s interest. Judge Spotswood in
forms Broadway that $250,000 left him by
his father is at his disposal. Broadway
makes record time in heading for his
favorite street in New York.
CHAPTER lll.—Continued.
A year passed. Broadway carried
three bank accounts, two of them not
very large and seldom checked upon.
The third was in New York's all-night
bank. He kept busy. “I feel as if I
ought to see the sun rise often,’’ he
explained. “Sunrises are so beauti
ful.”
He seldom heard from Jonesville in
these days. Judge Spotswood some
times wrote to him, his uncle never.
For a time he had endeavored to keep
up a correspondence with the girls,
but this had languished through his
own exceeding occupation at more
pressing matters and Josie Richards’
sorrowful conviction that he did not
tell her, in his brief, infrequent let
ters, about all the girls whom he was
meeting in New York.
His first shock came when the All-
Night bank w r rote him a letter, asking
his to call and talk of his account, and
this did not occur until four years
had vanished in the haze of Broad
way’s lights. It made him sit straight
in his chair and blink as a cold dash
from a seltzer bottle sometimes had
when he had needed it. Rankin, en
tering, asked him if he had a pain.
“You bee I have,” said he. “And
I’m afraid it’s serious.”
“Shall I call a doctor, sir?”
“No, call a banker.”
’ Rankin, puzzled, withdrew carefully.
He had learned to step with catlike
tread when he discovered that his
master was in serious mood. He had
no ■wish to anger him. No butler in
the history of butling had ever had
a place so utterly ideal. Pickings
plentiful; work trivial; all life had
been congenial for Rankin since he
had encountered Broadway Jones.
The day of the bank’s letter was the
first after he had reached New York
when Broadway did not go about his
gay and simple routine of up Broad
way in the afternoon and down Broad
way at night, with movements so
timed that they made long pauses near
the Circle and near Forty-second
street seem natural. He went home
before five.
When Rankin ventured to express
surprise at his return to the apart
ment at that hour, he snarled at him
“Go to the devil, Rankin!” he sug
gested when he lingered.
“Yes, sir; thank you, sir,” said Ran
kin and withdrew.
He reached the kitchen with a face
so troubled that the Japanese boy, who
had sought domestic service here with
(judging from his wages) the com
mendable intention of patriotically
sending home, each year, enough
American money to build a warship
for his nation’s navy, showed interest.
“W’at iss matturr, Ranekeen?” the
sympathetic 0:'-' fill queried.
“I know' mWa’. sajil Rankin, “and if
I didn’t know that Mr. Jones is really
a millionaire —made it out of chewing
gum, his family, I’m told —I should say
he was hard up.”
The Japanese boy stared politely;
he did not understand at all.
“Of course he’s not hard up,” Ran
kin continued. “No hard-up man could
have sworn at me as he did just now.
It can’t be money, so it must be
women."
“Limmin,” said the Japanese, who
had not mastered w’s.
“Lemons,” Rankin granted. "You’re
almost right. I never saw a man
more popular. He spends his money
like he didn’t care for it, and does it
well because that is the fact. He
doesn’t care for it. I never saw a
bed, I had a chance to see his arm.
Quite muscular it is—just as it felt
when he w r as joking with me.”
The next day, by chance, while visit
ing the kitchen, Rankin had a sudden
inspiration. “I wonder if he is in
love?” he pondered. “That Mr. Hen
riot that I attended just before he
married that grass widow was as ab
sent-minded —oh, quite absent-minded,
quite! Now, which one —”
Rankin suddenly came to a stand in
horror. Even to the small and very
yellow cook it was plain that tragic
thoughts had flashed into his mind.
“I wonder,” he soliloquized if it
could possibly be that terrible Gerard
old woman. She’s had her eye on him
ever since the first night that she got
a glimpse of him ”
As he spoke his master, as request
ed, was talking with the first vice-pres
ident of the bank. The man seemed
father serious-minded, although on
that previous occasion when he had
marked the beginning of their ac
quaintance, when Broadway had gone
to open his account with just two
hundred thousand dollars, he had been
geniality itself.
“I merely wished to have a little
talk with you—er—Mr. Jones,” said he.
“You know your balance Is —er run
ning rather low.”
“Is what?” said Broadway, in amaze
ment.
“Ib running rather low.”
“You don’t mean that I’ve —”
“You’ve drawn rather heavily
against it.”
“But it was strong enough to stand
a terrible strain.”
“Not quite strong enough to stand
without a protest the strain to which
you have subjected it, Mr. Jones. It’s
not exhausted, but it’s —”
“Getting tired?” Broadway himself
supplied the words.
“About that. You have not been
having it written up, you know; I
thought perhaps you didn’t realize the
figures. I’ve had them all made out
for you.”
Broadway took one swift look at
them, then sank back in his chair and
took a longer look at them. “Well, I’ll
be !” he ventured.
“I was afraid you’d feel that way.
I only thought you ought to have a
hint of just how things are running.
Young men lose track of things some
times. I’ve known it to occur before."
Jackson scarcely saw Broadway
when he went out of the gray build
ing, and it was the first time he had
ever trodden Broadway without see
ing and admiring it.
“Hello, Broadway!” cried a merry
voice from just beyond the curb. It
was a blonde voice, and issued from a
natty little motor car with a sedan
chair top. Broadway had bought that
motor car and given it to the blonde
voice. “Let me put you down some
where?”
‘l’m not feeling very lit. You might
take me to the morgue.”
“Jump in; we’ll make it the Knick
erbocker.”
But the Knickerbocker had no
charms for Broadway at that mo
ment. He- made his stay as brief as
possible in the bright restaurant.
“Dollie, darling,” he said gloomily.
“I don't need a restaurant, today; I
need a hospital. How would you like
me, Dollie, honestly, if I was broke?”
“You? Broke?” She laughed.
“No; seriously. How would you like
me?”
“It’s nonsense; hut you know r what
Shanley does to broken dishes.”
“The ash can. Eh?"
“It wouldn’t be. for you, of course;
but —what’s the use of being Mr.
Grump? Brace up? Come on up to
Churchill’s and we’ll drinky-drink it
outy-out.”
But Broadway would have none of
such a plan as that.- He went to his
apartment, and, rummaging in every
drawer and pocket,* collected every
bill which he could find. There were
a hundred of them, ranging in all
sorts of figures and for all sorts of
articles, from diamonds to gasoline,
Robert Wallace.
from charity to faro. The arrival of
the sympathetic Rankin, who believed
his master had a headache, with a
note from Mrs. Gerard, interrupted the
bookkeeping which, for the first time
in his life, Broadway had begun. It
had not been encouraging, as far as
he had gone.
He read the note and found it to be
an invitation. Deciding to accept it,
he decided, also, that it must be the
last one of the sort he must accept.
It had become intensely plain to him
that now had come the time when he
must cease his gaieties and finu more
money.
He was. a gloomy figure at the feast
that night, and his gloom grew with
every aged smile which Mrs. Gerard
cast in his direction. It was plain
enough to him, to everyone, that this
exceedingly rich lady, of uncertain age.
regarded him with very friendly eyes.
She even sometimes called him “Jack
son.” After the dinner he took Robert
Wallace downtown with him lri his
sixty horsepower touring car
, COFFEE, COUNTY; PRQGRE^-LAS, qEpftG^.
“Mrs. Gerard,” he ventured, “seems
a well-preserved old —er—l mean that
she seems well preserved.”
“Well canned, you mean,” said Wal
lace. “But too much chemical preserv
ative in females is as dangerous as
it is in food. How did we happen to
go there tonight? You roped me into
that, Broadway. You didn’t tell me
where you meant to take me. You
merely said we’d go to dinner with
some friends of yours.”
“Well, she's a friend of mine.”
Broadway defended rather hotly. An
idea, so terrible that it was fascinat
ing, had occurred to him.
“She might have gone to school with
your grandmother. It makes me sick
to see her ogle you. I think she wants
to marry you.”
Broadway burst into a laugh which
he was well aware was quite too loud,
too cackly and too hollow; he feared
acutely that his friend would recognize
its falseness.
“To marry me! Ho, ho!” Instantly
his manner changed. “But I don’t like
the way you speak about her, Bob.
Remember —we have just enjoyed her
hospitality!”
“Enjoyed it! Speak for yourself, old
man! If I had known where you were
going, do you suppose I would have
gone with you? I can meet grand
mother’s schoolmates at the Old La
dies' home. I don’t have to go to din
ner with them.”
“Now, Bob!”
Wallace burst into a laugh. “I be
lieve it is pure charity,” he guessed.
“You are trying to make others happy.
You smile on her as you would throw
a dollar into a Salvation Army cash
pot around Christmas time.”
"Bob, I’m thinking about getting
married.”
His friend sat straight and looked at
him in dumb amazement for. a second.
“Married? And is grandma in some
w r ay related to the bride who may be?”
“Bob, I need —”
He stopped. Almost he had told his
friend he needed money; but he had
not the courage. To confess poverty
on Broadway is like confessing mur
der in a church.
“Need what?”
“A rest. I’m going to —er—tak&
some sort of a vacation. Don't know
what. Maybe back to the old home.
Anyway, you won’t see me around for
quite a little while.”
“Never mind, old chap! I’ll tell
them all that you have had to go
away on business. Go somewhere and
get straightened out. You need it.
There’s something wrong with you, or
you would never have gone to that
dinner where that ancient mariness
could ogle you the way she did.
“Well, you won’t see me for a week
or two.”
“Drop me a line if you wrnnt any
thing.”
Jackson Jones went ayay early on
the following morning. As ignorant of
business and of business methods as
a baby, yet he tried to scheme some
way by means of which he might re
coup liis staggering finances. Wild
ideas, all unpractical, whirled through
his brain.
He must have money, that w r as cer
tain. He had not the least idea of
just how he had accomplished it, but
he had spent his patrimony —spent it
all and more than all of it. If he had
paid up the debts he owed —which all
the world seemed glad to have him
owe —that was the hard part of it;
everyone seemed anxious to have him
go in debt to them—he would have far
less than nothing left.
For days he stewed above his fig
ures in a room of which he kept close
guard upon the key. He told Rankin,
who was curious, that he planned to
write a book.
“Indeed, sir? Fiction, sir?”
“Fiction? Gad, no! Fact.”
“A book of travel, sir? I’ve traveled
quite a bit. Perhaps—”
“No. Or yes. Of travel up and down
Broadway.”
“Splendid, sir, if I may be excused
for taking such a liberty. I’m sure no
gentleman in all New York is more
familiar with the subject, sir. I shall
be glad to read it, sir. I’m sure it
will be quite a revelation!”
“Rankin,” said Broadway earnestly,
“if I wrote what I really know about
Broadway it would be a revelation.”
He grew very serious, for him. “It
would put some men on pedestals, and
they would not be those who now
stand highest. It would put some men
behind the bars, and among them are
some men who now are free to come
and go, with welcomes when they
come and invitations when they leave,
in every place where people gather in
this town.”
He burst into a sudden laugh. "Great
stuff, eh, Rankin? When you say
Broadway’ you stir me up. I love it,
hate it; it always fascinates me.
There’s no street like it in the world.”
“If your book is like that, sir, it
will be a big success,” commented
Rankin, spellbound. It’s going to be
a fine book, Mr. Jones.”
“It won’t interest Broadway. There’s
only one kind of book that Broadway
cares about.”
“And what is that, sir?”
“Check books, Rankin. Now I’m go
ing into —into —” He did not know
just what to call the room which he
kept locked.
“Your study, sir?”
“Thanks, Rankin. Yes; I'm going to
my study. Don’t let me be disturbed.”
'Til not, sir.”
When he left that “study” he avoid
ed Rankin. His fingers were ink
stained from calculations, his hair was
quite disheveled, his eyes were wide
and rolling. He could see no hope
ahead.
He wrote a letter to his uncle ex
plaining that investments had gone
wrong and that he needed a small loan
of fifty thousand dollars for three
months. He was sure that if he got
this he would be enabled to find some
way out. By return of mail he had
an answer in an envelope which
strangely bulged. He opened it with
trembling fingers and a package of
Jones' Pepsin Gum fell out.
“Chew this and forget it,” said the
cheerful note which Uncle Abner had
wrapped round it. It said further:
“I'm going to Europe for five years.
Don’t bother me again. You've made
you bed, now lie on It.”
That was the last straw. Without
the least idea of what he wished to
do, the frantic Broadway started out
to find some work by which, at least,
he could earn honestly his board and
keep.
Wall street offered nothing, for when
he went down to see his friends there
his courage failed entirely and instead
of asking them to find a place for him
he bought them, one by one, expensive
luncheons.
He went to neighboring cities, hop
ing there to find some means of get
ting food to eat without getting it on
credit, and there he had some strange
experiences which lasted several days.
But, while he just escaped the uniform
of the Salvation Army, he did not find
work and wandered back to Broadway,
the apartment and more debt.
He had no profession, knew no
trade. Half crazed with the obsession
that he must no longer run in debt,
he decided to sell out the flat, dis
charge the servants and do menial
labor. Running through the list of
his abilities he decided, with frank
self-contempt, that about the best
which he could do was help in a hotel
as bellboy. He knew too little about
mathematics to keep books; he never
would succeed as desk-clerk. But he
could not bring himself to try to get
a job of that sort—-it would too often
bring him into contact with the folk
he knew.
One afternoon, while wandering in
an aimless funk upon a side street, he
saw a card in front of an apartment
house announcing that an elevator boy
was wanted. He rushed in with alac
rity and determination—and at the
very threshold met Mrs. Gerard, who
had been calling on a friend there. In
stead of asking for the job he took
a drive with her.
It was while this drive progressed
that the sordid, vicious tempter defi
nitely seized him in his toils. The an
cient but vivacious dame was very
affable—most agreeable indeed. She
was not motherly; she was flirtatious.
And she accompanied her coquetry by
a shrewd exposition of the magnitude
of her unquestionably enormous
wealth. It staggered him.
If he had not at the moment had a
simple little Josie Richards’ letter in
his pocket he might have been swept
under. A thousand times he had dis
covered the necessity of assuring him
self, as he traveled up and down
Broadway, that he did not care for
Josie Richards. She was not the sort
of girl who captivated one who knew
life as he knew it; she was dear, but
she was simple, unsophisticated and
w-hat he most admired w r as wide so
phistication; he thought as little of
her as he could, but now she popped
into his mind and made him edge away
from the aged, wealthy widow.
When he went back to the fiat he
STEAM HEAT CAUSES COLDS
Druggist Has Noted Effects at the Be
ginning of Winter —Busy Season
for Medicines.
“Here, doctor,” said a man as he hur
ried into a drug store, “give me some
thing for a cold quick. Give me the
best remedy you have in stock and 1
promise you that in future steam radi
ators and I will keep far apart. The
radiator was the cause of my present
trouble.”
The druggist gave him the remedy
and the man hurried off.
“That’s strange,” remarked the drug
gist to another customer who was wait
ing for a prescription. “Would you be
lieve it if I told you he was the fourth
person who came in here today buy
ing medicine for a hold in the head?
The peculiar part of the matter is that
all of them complained that steam
heat was the cause of their colds.
“On reflection, however, that
shouldn’t strike me as strange, for we
have the same thing happen every
year. Our busy season for cold medi
cines begins at the time when the
steam heat is turned on.
“Persons susceptible to colds—a
found awaiting him new sheafs of
bills, none pressing him —mere state
ments. The rumor had not started
that he was not good pay. Broadway
still delighted in him, still endeavored
to induce him to accept its credit. This
gave him new distress; he knew him
self —he knew he would go out that
night and run more debts.
Suddenly he knew what to do. It
came to him without an effort of the
brain. It was a tragic inspiration.
Without a word to Rankin, stealthily
and secretly, he went forth into the
afternoon in his smart runabout, still
driven by the taxi-cabman, who now
regarded him with something akin to
worship, and sought a gunshop and a
chemist’s
In the former he made purchase of a
large, grim, blued-steel automatic pis
tol of the largest caliber they had in
stock, and secured one box of cart
ridges. It seemed a waste of money,
which by rights was definitely the
property of creditors, to buy so many
cartridges, for he should need but one!
However, he feared that to ask for one
would pin attention to him and frus
trate what he had in mind, so he put
the heavy box into his pocket. It
made it sag outrageously, which very
much annoyed him. No man on
Broadway was more careful of his
clothes. But what, after all, did a
sagged pocket matter now?
At the chemist’s he secured an ounce
of bichloride of mercury, which had
been fashionable of late among smart
suicides. He . had no difficulty in ob
taining it. This eased him and a fur
tber satisfaction grew out of the fact
that though it held potentialities as
deadly as the automatic gun and cart
ridges could hold it made a little pack
age, not heavy in the least, and so
did not sag the other pocket, where he
placed it very carefully.
As he whirled uptow-n in the run
about he frequently felt of the deadly
things.
He liked the feel of neither of them.
The revolver w-as so hard and busi
ness-like, the pill bottle was so slip
pery, so cold and heartless! What an
end was this for Broadw*ay Jones!
Again seated in the little study, he
solemnly reviewed his life. He saw no
points at which he had made very
great mistakes, save the important one
of thinking that a quarter of a million
is a lot of money in New York.
“I’ve been nothing but a piker,” he
reflected, “and I’ve acted like the
trade-marked article. I ought to get
it in the neck and I am going to get it
; in the neck.”
This unpleasantly reminded him and
he caressed the neck wherein he was
to get it. Never, in the past, when
| he had used that slang expression had
it really suggested his own neck to
him or any other actual neck. Now
it made his flesh creep and his blood
run cold behind his collar.
“Well, here goes!” he whispered,
and took out a pill, afterwards arrang
ing the revolver, which was already
loaded.
He held the pill between the fingers
of a tremulous left hand; gripped in
his faltering right he held the w r eapon.
“Here goes!” he said again—and
Rankin rapped upon the door.
Hastily he hid the dreadful evi
dences of his dire intention.
“Come in!” he feebly called.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
In Praise of Poverty.
It seems a matter of universal desire
that poverty should be abolished. We
should be quite walling to abolish lux
ury, but to abolish honest, industrious,
self-denying poverty wmuld be to de
stroy the soil upon w'hich mankind pro*
duces the virtues which enable our
race to reach a still higher civilization
than it now possesses.—Andrew Car
negie.
great many are —are affected by the
heat and before they realize it they
are sneezing and coughing. The steam
heated atmosphere is too much for
them. They sit in rooms altogether
too warm, although sometimes per
sons are unawmre of this condition be
cause the radiators do the heating
slow r ly, and when they come out in
he open the sudden change causes
them to take cold.”
To Make a Bird Bathe.
If for some reason or other known
only to his stubborn little self your
canary refuses to take a bath, try this
remedy:
Don’t give him any iettuce or other
green for a week. Then put a small
leaf of fresh, green lettuce in the bot
tom of his bath, half fill it with mod
erately cool water and put the bath
j in the cage.
The bird’s desire for the lettuce w'iU
almost always cause him to go into
! the water before very long, and once
in, he will find it so pleasant that he
will doubtless take a bath regularly.
If he still refuses to bathe, repeat
’ the same treatment until he learns to
like his bath as much as he likes let
tuce.
His Vow Came to an Anti-Climax.
A much-bearded man rambled into a
barber shop and submitted to a shave,
a haircut, a shampoo, a sjngij, a mas
sage’ and everything else thfc barber
could think of, at the same time listen
ing with keenest enjoyment to the
tonsorialist's remark! about all things
on earth and in the waters under the
earth. So long before that he had for
gotten the gentleman’s name and
what office he was running for the old
man had vowed never to be shaved or
shorn until So-and-So was elected.
When he at last awoke to a realization
that nobody cared if he never shaved
he concluded to shave just to show ’em
that he didn't care whether they cared
or not. —Kansas City Star.
STOMACH MISERY
GAS. INDIGESTION
‘Tape’s Diapepsin” fixes sick,
sour, gassy stomachs in
five minutes.
Time It! In five minutes all stomach
distress will go. No indigestion, heart
burn, sourness or belching of gas, acid,
or eructations of undigested food, no
dizziness, bloating, or foul breath.
Pape's Diapepsin is noted for its
speed in regulating upset stomachs.
It is the surest, quickest and most cer
tain indigestion remedy in the whoia
world, and besides it is harmless.
Please for your sake, get a largo
fifty-cent case of Pape’s Diapepsin
from any store and put your stomach
right. Don’t keep on being miserable
—life Is too short —you are not here
long, so make your stay agreeable.
Eat what you like and digest it; en
joy it, without dread of rebellion In
the stomach.
Pape’s Diapepsin belongs in your
home anyway. Should one of the fam
ily eat something which don’t agree
with them, or in case of an attack of
i indigestion, dyspepsia, gastritis or
stomach derangement at daytime or
during the night, it is handy to givo
the quickest relief kpown. Adv.
Practical Celebration.
He was idealistic and poetical. She
was practical—a good matrimonial
combination. He came home one eve
ning after a hard day at the office and
said: “Maria, my dear, do you real
ize that tomorrow will be our wooden
wedding? We ought to celebrate the
occasion somehow, don’t you think?"
And she said: “Hank, my darling, I
know it. Been thinking about it all
day and have it all arranged. I have
ordered a big wagon load of kindling
to be delivered tomorrow afternoon,
and you will come home early from
the office and carry it into the cel
lar.”
Hearty Welcome.
Mrs. Clay telephoned to a friend that
she would come down and spend the
day.
“Well, here I am!” she exclaimed
cheerily, as the little daughter of the
hostess opened the door.
“Yes,” replied the child; “I’m glad
to see you; and I know mother will be
glad, too, for this morning when you
phoned she said that she was thankful
she was going to have the visit over
with.” —Lippincott’s Magazine.
Progress.
“How is your Shakespearian club
getting on?”
“Splendidly. We learned two new
steps last week.” —Life.
It sometimes requires a buoyant na
ture to keep up appearances.
ANOTHER COFFEE WRECK
What’s the Use When There’s an Easy
Way Out?
Along with the coffee habit has
grown the prevalent “American Dis
ease”—nervous prostration.
The following letter show's the way
out of the trouble:
“Five years ago I was a great cof
fee drinker and from its use I be
came so nervous I could scarcely
sleep at all nights. My condition grew
worse and worse until finally the phy
sician I consulted declared my trou
bles were due to coffee.
“But being so wedded to the bev
erage I did not see how I could do
without it, especially at breakfast,
as that meal seemed incompleto with
out coffee.
"On a visit, my friends deprived me
of coffee to prove that it was harm
ful. At the end of about eight days
1 was less nervous, but the craving
for coffee was intense, so I went back
to the old habit as soon as I got home
and the old sleepless nights came
near making a wreck of me.
“I heard of Postum and decided to
try it. I did not like it at first, be
cause, as I afterw’ards discovered, it
was not made properly. I found, how
ever, that when made after directions
on the package, it was delicious.
“It had a soothing effect on my
nerves, and none of the bad effects
that coffee had, so I bade farewell to
coffee and have used only Postum
since. The most wonderful account of
the benefit to be derived from
Postum could not exceed my own ex
perience.”
Name given by Postum Co., Battle
Creek, Mich. Write for a copy of “The
Road to Wellville.”
Postum now comes in tw r o forms:
Regular Postum —must be well
boiled.
Instant Postum —is a soluble pow
der. A teaspoonful dissolves quickly
in a cup of hot water and, with cream
and sugar, makes a delicious bever
age instantly. Grocers sell both kinds.
“There’s a Reason" for Postum.