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About Schley County news. (Ellaville, Ga.) 1889-1939 | View Entire Issue (March 8, 1894)
Slugiug of Lood Times. Let*« still - of the happy times—thehappy times to be, iu music jnc the rivers, streaming on to the sea: know not why— As sing the birds -they -s'l ,-"-time days bugin; ■ ] . t ; i'g the sad time out, and sing [tho glad times in! Let- s f-tai -in" of the happy times; though in the wintry frost The sweetest roses of the world are withered now and lost; gome time they 11 bloom for us again—and all their sweets wo’ll win ; Let’s sing tho withered roses out, aud sing the new ones in! -IF. L. S. The Fortescue Diamonds. T, rvace Park place is tho aristocratic name that a shrewd real-estate man has given to a row ox suburban resi deuces he has put up for rent. Terrace Park place consists of thir teen dwellings. These dwellings were constructed by contract and are all alike. friend, jack Atherton, my best with his wife, lives in 7 Terrace Park place. I was there in the morning after the i great Fortescue diamond robbery. The papers had given much space under the largest and most sensational head lines to the robbery and I had read it through in all its details. A house had been mysteriously entered ; no o n£ of the inmates had heard a sound; diamonds variously estimated at from $50,000 to 8100,000 had been taken; nothing else had been touched. My mind was full of this affair when 1 called on Jack. “I bought a new ring yesterday,” said inv friend, and proceeded to tell me why. “I never wear much jew elry,” he said, “but I like to own a little as an investment. This one cost me 850, and it is certainly worth $150. You must see it and admire it.” And he produced a casket. 1 could not help seeing something of the other contents of Jack’s box, aud I at once took him to task for his carelessness in keeping so much prop erty of that sort in his house, espe cially Vhen it was not worn and used. Jack laughed at me. “The whole boxful wouldn’t sell for $ 1 , 000 ,” he said, “and the risk of taking and dis posing of it is too great to make the speculation a paying one. I am always at home at night; I sleep with a revol ver where I can put my hand on it; I am alight sleeper; my jewels are as safe on my dressing table as they Avould be in any bank vault in • the city. I tell you, Dick, they can’t play the Fortescue game on me!” “Pshaw!” said I, “anyone could come in here, without the slightest difficulty, and take everything you’ve got.” “I'll bet you $500 on it,” said Jack. “I’ll take it,” replied I. And then we both laughed. “How long shall the time be?” he queried. “Three months,” said I. He agreed. I was younger than I am now, and correspondingly less wise, and stopped to consider neither the danger nor the possible consequences. I was going to rob Atherton’s house, as a friendly proof of tho truth of my opinion. Ibat was all there was to that, l 1 thought it likely that Jack Would be watchful for a few nights. That wager of $500 would have a tendency in that direction. He might even have a suspicion. So I waited a week. Hie night I selected wasthe darkest one I had ever known. The rain fell in torrents. I had purchased, from time to time, and in various places, an outfit that seemed to include all that was necessary. At about midnight I climbed over the alley fence and proceeded to light my dark lantern—or rather proceeded to try. To my intense disgust every match I had Avas so thoroughly water soaked that ignition proved absolutely impossible. i threw away the dark lantern ; I had to. I moved carefully onward towards the house and stepped and stumbled onto and over every imaginable sort of ■rubbish and debris. J found a basement window unfas * ene< ^—absolutely unfastened. I hadn’t bought of a thing like that. The circumstances almost took my breath away. 1 wondered, rather resentfully, if Jack had left it so on purpose—if this meant a task of some sort for me. It was really unfortunate to ha\'e the Avork made so easy for me. I had some $8 or $10 dollars’ worth of tools, all needless now, in one of my jiockets. I took them out, threw them aside and opened the window. I slipped in and let myself down as far as I could, while holding on with my hands. I swung my leg around searchmgly but carefully. A fellow wouldn’t want to drop inio a tut* of water or onto a sleeping dog, even if his best friend was sleeping upstairs and had an easy wav of believing all he heard and l’or giyiug ftU ho BuffePed . Then I went upstairs. 1 think I was fully an hour in get ting to the door in which I expected to find Jack’s box. And I hadn’t found a locked door anywhere. I had, however, found more furniture, in the dark, than I should have sup posed was needed in the entire thir teen houses in the row. Tho door was not even closed; it stood wide open. And inside I could hear the slow, rhythmical breathing of the sleeping individual against whom the night attack was planned. There were several reasons for being glad that Jack’s wife was absent at the seashore, and not the least important one was the fact I feared I should break down and surrender before I had finished the job I had in hand. I thought of the revolver Jack had men tioned, and my blood ran cold. I sank noiselessly down upon my hands and knees and began a voyage of dis covery. I discovered a chair with my head ! I hurt my shoulder on a table. Jack had evidently been extravagant in the way of getting new furniture and eccentric in the matter of placing it. After a time, however, I reached the dressing table ; I got my hand on the big square box. Just then the man turned over. He breathed as a man never did when asleep. Then he seemed listening in tently. I heard him raise himself up on his elbows. A movement he made was dreadfully suggestive of the steal thy withdrawal of a weapon from be neath a pillow. I remained standing, and in a most unpleasant posture, for so long a time that I Wondered vaguely if the cur tains were not so thick as to utterly exclude the light of day—making ex istence there one protracted night. At last the man sank slowly down upon his bed again. He stretched himself and grunted luxuriously. Oh, how tired I was! He gradually raised the key and increased the volume of his breath. He was sound asleep again. 1 crawled painfully out of the room, tiptoed cautiously downstairs, climbed out of the window, which 1 easily opened from the outside and got away from the vicinity of Terrace Park place, while the rain still roared and the darkness was unbroken. When I reached my batchelor quarters I put the precious box on my bureau. I un dressed hurriedly and plunged into bed. It was almost noon when I awoke. I came back to my senses very gradually. When I looked about me there was the box, Jack’s box—only— only—it—seemed—larger—different— and— I sprang out of bed. I rushed o\ r er to AA'here the thing stood. It—it Avas different. It AAasn’t Jack’s at all. My limbs shook. My hands trembled A-ioleutly. I almost fell doAvn under the excitement of the moment. I got out a heavy screwdriver, one of the tools I had bought for my burglarizing exploit, and then decided not to take, and I pried the box open. Diamonds! Diamonds! Great gems in the most exquisite settings. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, brooches, earrings! What a glory of flashing beauty! And I lifted out tray after tray, only to find the tray more and more emphatic the deeper I Avent. I had to sit down for a few minutes to get my breath and steady my nerves. I tumbled the diamonds into the trays; I bundled the trays into the box; I put the box into a bureau drawer, carelessly scattering a pile of clothing—handkerchiefs, stockings, gloA-es, ties, and so on—over it; I locked the draAver and dressed as fast ns I could. I—I must get downstairs. I must get down soon. Perhaps every one I met would read my secret in my face; no matter, I must take that risk. There was not the slightest allusion in the newspapers to the theft of Avhich I had been guilty—not a single line. I was disappointed, in much the same way a man sentenced to be hanged would be if they postponed his execution for a day or two and neglected to SCHEY COUNTY NEWS. speak to him about it. The mail con tained an urgent invitation from Jack to come and lunch with him. I must see Jack; I must look into his eyes; could it bo that ho had bought or bor rowed those gems? I arrived at Atherton’s five minutes before the time he had named. One look into his face convinced me of one tiling—ho didn’t suspect me of being in tho house the night before; ho knew nothing of what I had done. He asked mo up to his room. I went readily—eagerly—but like a man in a dream. The box lie had brought down to show me still stood on his dressing-case. He laid his hand on it and called my attention to it. “And I was out of tho city last night,” he said, “and thieves might have had their own way with it.” There was only one solution, De ceived by the night, the storm, the ap pearance of the buildings at the back. I had failed to enter No. 7. I had robbed one of Jack’s neighbors. I couldn’t give a reasonable choice be tween No. 9 and No. 8 . I managed to get an excuse for go ing into a new room and looking out into Atherton’s back yard. I had, from that point of vantage, a good view of the back yards of his two next door neighbors. They had no revela tions to make. One was full of the sort of rubbish which had impeded my progress and handicapped my move ments ; so was the other. Both gates in the tight board fences at the rear were arranged to open- easily from the inside. I could get no view at all from either one of the windows that corresponded with the boarel one in Jack Atherton’s domain. The whole business constituted a most madden ing puzzle. Within a week I had found a man who knew a man who knew' Lawrence, who lived in 6 Terrace Park. A se ries of “progressive introductions” made me acquainted with him. When bis family came home he invited me to ■dinner. I accepted, went, had a thor oughly enjoyable time, and found Miss Adele Vinton, Mrs. Lawrence’s sister, the most charming woman I had ever met. It took longer to get acquainted with Mr. Kingdom There were more men in the chair, consisting of the “man who knew the man who knew the man,” Ac., in his case. On the whole, however, I liked him better. He was genial, openhearted, witty, quick at repartee. I became almost as frequent a caller at his house as at Jack Atherton’s. I entertain him fre quently at my club or at some hotel. Strangely enough. I never invited Lawrence to my boarding house. Possibly I was becoming dissatisfied with boarding house life—since I met Adele Vinton. Yes, I was at Lawrence’s more fre quently than at Kingdon’s. But Lawrence was not the chief attraction. He was a gentleman, to be sure, but reserved—almost haughty, very pre cise and matter of fact in his lan guage and of great gravity and un bending dignity. I didn’t like him; though I got into a frame of mind such that the dearest Avish of my heart Avas to have him for a brother-in-law. Kingdon took me to his place of business in the city— a cosy little office in Avhich he loaned money, bought and sold real estate, Arc. Luav rence Avas evidently a gentleman of leisure. I found out nothing about the dia monds—nothing, Kingdon’s Avife came hoipe from her summer absence. X made her acquaintance. Indeed, I became one of her most intimate friends. She went away south for the Aviuter. The Lawrences were talking of going, Avaitmg so 1 dared think— on Adele Vinton’s account ; waiting until a slow fellow should make up his mind to speak. And not a word had been spoken, in either family, that gave me a hint at any possible solution of my dreadful problem. And you know I couldn’t very w'ell ask outright—or even hint very strongly. Well, one night in early AA-inter, when the double difficulties of my position had kept me aAA*ake until vei’y late, I was awakened from my first midnight slumber by hearing some body iu the room. The man turned to my bureau. My heart seemed pressed almost to burst ing. I grew hot and cold by turns. And still, coerced by some power I could not resist, I waited—waited. He opened drawer after drawer, tossing my belongings about in a tnan ner that was offensive atpl cxasiwut ing. Then suddenly he caught sight of the box of diamonds. H> caught at it frantic, illy. He opened u u' ui ziodly. Ho gloated over the \v.:.tlth it contained. “.'die Fortescue diamonds again! he said. “They tiro miuo again! in take care they don’t get into the hands of some other of tho midnight fruter nity after this. I’d quite as soon tho Fortoscuo woman should have them back again as to have to admit thero are thieves more skilful than I am.” Ho spoke guardedly, he spoke low; he muttered his words rather than ar ticulated them. But 1 knew his voice. I shut my eyes entirely. I let the rus cal go unharmed and unchallenged. But in the morning I wrote a line or two on my typewriter. I addressed it by means of the same machine to the chief of police. I mailed it myself in a letter-box, far from my own place of abode or any other locality connected with the affair. It was an anonymous letter, and afforded no clue to the sender. But it told where the Fortes cue diamonds could probably be re covered. The police acted on the hint. The man, a professional criminal, was taken at a disadvantage. Never theless, he made a brave fight and the officers had to shoot—shot him dead. He had orxe hand on the box of dia monels when he went down, his own weapon empty, with a half-dozen bul let-holes through him. His wife, a greater criminal than he, if that was possible, was more fortunate; killed one of the officers w'ho at tempted her arrest; she had the satis faction of killing herself! i The Lawrences! By no means. The Kingdons were the criminals. And Adele writes her last name Dantan instead of Vinton, And if she ever heard of the Fortescue dia monds at all, a thing I sometimes think is exceedingly unlikely, since the police had little to say regarding their recovery at 6 Terrace Park place, after the tragic death of the tenant, she doesn’t suspect that they were stolen three times, and that she mar ried the man who was guilty once.—{ [Chicago News. A Fortune From Tarpaulins. Samuel E. Brook, better known as “Sam Brook,the Tarpaulin Man,’’who died recently in New Orleans, proved the value of the faculty of “keeping one’s eyes open, ” “Sam” landed at New Orleans about forty years ago, a young sailor “before the mast.” The ship he was on discharged a portion of her cargo on the pier, and before the uncovered goods could be removed, a shower seriously damaged them. “Sam” saw his opportunity, aud grasped it. He obtained his discharge from the ship, and with his Avuges bought a lot of second-hand canvas and oil. Then he set to work, and in short time had a stock of “tarpaulins” on hand, Avhich he rented to ship masters, who used them to cover their inward or outward cargoes Avhile on the Avharves. Business Avas good, and “Sam” stuck to it for forty years, accumulat ing the snug fortune of $400,000. This property will go to his relath’es iu England, of which country he was a native. No mention of charitable in stitutions or bequests of a public na ture Avere found in his will. There is hardly a shipmaster who has visited Ncav Orleans within Ithe last forty years ivlio has not had dealings Avith “Sam Brook,” and approved his bills for the use of his sheltering tarpaulins. [New York Tribune. The Whistling Tree. A species of acacia, which grows very abundantly in Nubia and Soudan, is also called the “whistling tree” by the natives. Its shoots are frequently, by the agencies of the larvae of insects, distorted in shape and SAvoIlen into a globular bladder from one to two inches in diameter. After the insect has emerged from a circular hole in the side of this swelling, the opening, played upon by the Avind, becomes a musical instrument, nearly’ equal in sound to a sAveet-toned flute.—Chicago Herald. Massachusetts has more incorpo rated cities of more than 10,000 in habitants than any other State in the Union. The Lily. A Illy said to a threatening cloud, Which in.sternestgarb arrayed him* V>u h.M' tak»iuu> lord tlmsmi .iwaj, So it folded its leaves and trembled sore, As the hours of darkness passed It. lSut at morn, like a bird in bounty shone, For with pearls the dew had dressed it. Then it felt ashamed of its fretful thought AnJ faIu in the dust would hide it. For the night of weeping had jewels lineiyhi Which the pride of tho day dented it. \.il,io>tn ((i.i .) 1 . - . HUMOROUS. Foul language—Chicken talk. Consolidation of business iuteroti is usually a capital idea. Mies Bndd—“What hind of a mat do you like?” Miss Sereleaf—“A rea jive one.” A Brooklyn man calls his employe* a revenue cutter because ho is r due ing salaries. “Why does Henpectcall his wife an anarchist?” “Because she is constantly blowing him up.” It argues no lack of ability in a boy that he doesn’t make an opening for himself by going skating on toothin' ice. “Life,” exclaimed the man w ho en joys being a misanthrope, “is nothing but one long struggle for a chunk of ice or a lump of coal.” Ada—“Why does Clara speak oi George as ‘her intended’? Are they engaged?” Alice—“No, but she in tenets that they shall be. Tommy—“Which is right—stuffin’ or dressin’?” Jimmy—“It’s dressin’ when it’s on the plate, and stuffin’ af ter you have swallered it.” “I don’t belive those yarns abon* Flinders striking his wife, do you?” i 4 Not a bit. He hasn’t courage enough even to strike an attitude.” “My friend,” said a doctor to his Irish patient, “be composed; we must all die once.” » V An’ it’s that vexes me,” replied Pat. “If it were more than oust, sure I’d Vie aisy enough.” Professor—“What is the circum ference of the earth?” Student— “Twenty-four thousand miles.” Pro fessor—“How do. you find this dis tance?” Student—“I find it immense.’ “Why is Miss Antique so anxious to meet Bilkins? He is poor and has no standing. ” “Yes, but she un that he couldn’t talk five without giving himself away. ” The man who thinks before he speaks, Discovers with dismay That some one else has said the thing He had in mind to say. Medical Examiner- Have there ever been any symptoms of insanity in your family? Applicant for Insur nuce—Yes—er—that is, my sister tmce refused a man worth half a mil lion. “I suppose uoav that you will be going home to your mother in the morning?” “I just won’t. I have tried that, and it doesn’t seem to do any good. I am going to bring mother here this time.” “There rs one point,” said Miss No cash, looking up from theladiea’ paper, “in which I am always strictly fash ionable.” “What’s that?” asked her mother. “I absolutely never wear diamonds in the morning.” Music teacher—“From your daugh ter’s voice, madam, I cannot promise that she will be great.prima donna.” Mine. Oammes—“Oh, I am so sorry.” Music teacher—“But do not despair, madam ; I observe that she has a fear ful temper.” Aunt Jane—“Rob, dear, Avon’t you try to be a real good boy today?” Rob—“I will, auntv, for a quarter.” Aunt Jane—“Why, Rob! you wish pay for being good?” Rob—“Well, aunty, dear, you wouldn’t have me good for nothing, would you? Interviewer — “I asked Assembly man Seveneights this afternoon whom he thought the greatest men in this* country.” Editor — “What did he say?” Interviewer—“That that Avas *a matter upon Avhich his constituents were more competent to speak than himself.” Y’oiing Mr. Fitts—“That pie you gave to the Commercial Club for the poor has been one of the most success ful contributions of the year. ” Young Mrs. Fitts—“Indeed?” 4 4 Yes, indeed. It has been present ed to no less than seA r en poor families so far.”
