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mil. J. PERRY FAULKNER halted
his machine where Broad street
ends and Nassau street begins.
He turned to Jenn-rUng, his
Xriend:
"Now, vou wild and woolly Westerner."
he remarked, “this is Wall street. That
Is the Sub-Treasury. And, Jennerling,” he
added, his voice sinking to a confidential
Whisper, "who is the big fellow stanu.ng
out in front?"
Jennerling smiled. "1 know, he an
swered.
"Bet you don’t," returned his host.
•‘Firtrt In war. first in peace," ventured
bis guest.
“Naroo him by his name, then," persisted
Faulkner.
"George Washington there," laughed
Jennerling.
"Right. Go up head,” said Faulkner. He
tapped the Westerner on the shoulder.
"You look George over from head to foot,
Jennerling—literally from head to foot—
and tell me if you no tic” anything
peculiar.”
Jenueiiihg looked and shook I 'e head.
“He’s right a = a trivet and sound as a
dollar, so far as i can see?" returned his
friend. Bu he gasped suddenly and
slightly and caught Faulkner by tne arm:
'ins—legs!” he exclaimed.
"Ah," returned ji aulsner, "now you've
struck it. the merer with ms
legs?”
Jenner..ng rubbed his eyes. Funny,” he
remarked, "he’s all dull and velvety with
age and weather —all but his legs. They’re
shiny as the dickens. xney’re polished.
Are they made of different stuff?"
Faulkner shook his head and dragged
fils friend out of the motor car, and up
to the Sub-Treasury steps, immediately un
derneath the heroic figure of the father of
his country. Washington stands on a
pedestal, high above the heads of passers
by, gazing imperturably, inscrutably down
the jengtn of Broau street and out
through the Narrows toward the ocean, as
though In the dim vista he could still dis
tinguish the form of his old enemy, George
the Third, as though still casting a chal
lenge in the monarch’s teeth. From the
front the statue is inaccessible. But Faulk
ner and his friend, swarming up the steps,
found at the top a platform of stone that
led them out upon the statue’s base. Pig
mies in size, intellect, action and purpose,
they stood by the side of Washington for
one Instant following his gaze. Then Jen
nerling stooped down and felt of His Ex
cellency’s legs. Their surface was like
glass. The remainder was of a powdery
gray. The legs were black, almost.
"Funny," said Jennerling, "he’s polished
from his toes up to Just a little above his
knees." He turned to Faulkner. “Why?”
he asked.
Still Faulkner shook his head. He
shaded (his mouth with his hand, and
shouted to the crowd that surged up and
down the street below. He beckoned to
an infinitesimal specimen of humanity.
"Oh. Cutty,” he commanded. Cutty was
a very small boy with a very large number
of newspapers under his arm. Cutty nod
ded, drew out Faulkner’s favorite paper,
bunked .us eyes and came toward them on
the run. “Gee," whispered Cutty softly to
himself, as he clambered up the steps, ”ls
It ain’t Perry Faulkner —sober—an’ it’s J
Vclock p. m."
.city iv.uiiner tossed him a quarter,
took two papers, and told hi to keep the
change. “Cutty,” said Perry, "this is my
' J ' >
DORINDA as she was—Dorinda
as she Is!
Between the two estates
lies the tragedy of a woman's
decadence, and the saddest part of
all is that Dorinda herself is com
pletely unaware of the pit into
which she has descended. She does
not perceive It. She has no shame in it,
no remorse for it. She is not even con
scious of t.
There is this excuse to be mad" for
her: She did not, of her own will, let go
of the finer things of life. She is simply
one of those hapless beings who are vic
tims of malign Influences, and who are
led unresistingly and unknowingly, as it
they were hypnotised, along the down
ward path.
And Dorlnda's evil genius is her ibaby,
Thomas Augustus.
I must say that Thomas Augustus does
not look the part of the conscienceless vil
lain. In appearance he is a mere, ordinary,
roly-poly Infant of some eighteen months
of age, with a rudimentary nose, invisible
hair and eyebrows, innocent, pale blue onbs
and an expression as Innocuous as a cream
cheese. In reality he is a consumate Doc
tor Jekyl and Mr. Hyde—a corrupter of
morals, a despoiler of manners, even a
breaker of homes and an alienator of
friends.
This statement will sound strong, but
remember I knew his mother before she
fell under his baneful influence, and I
saw her but yesterday—so sadly altered
—that one could scarcely recognize In her
the ghost of the flaming spirit and the
beautiful body that had made her an Ideal
of young womanhood.
I have known and loved Dorinda all her
life, and it has always seemed-to me that
there was one word, above all ether words,
that had been coined to express in brief
her every quality. T"r>- was ex
quisite.
She was exquisite in form and feature,
lithe, slim, fair, with a flower face that al-
Excellencylf Le c yj' A Wmßmmxmom
friend, Mr. Jennerling, from the other side
of the Great Divide —his first trip east.
He’is stuck on George’s legs. But he
doesn’t understand them. He appreciates
the fact that it is quite proper for the
father of his country to keep his shoes
and bucnies bright, but he doesn’t think
the bootblack ought to get the blacking
all the way up to his knee breeches. He
wants to know why?’
Cutty -ucked the quarter away in the
Inmost recesses of his clothes and grinned.
“Ah. quit your kiddin ,” he complained.
Jennerling seized him by the collar.
"Wait a bit. Cutty," he pleaded; "tell me
why? Won’t you tell me why?" He pro
duced his quarter in his turn.
“Sure," began Cutty, glibly, also stow
ing that. “Why, it’s just like ABC.
It’s because —a.r-h-h-h.” he snarled. He
had to snarl. For Just on the eve of his
disclosure. J. Perry Faulkner had placed
a hand over Cutty’s mouth and stopped
him. Then he passed Cutty a half dollar.
"Cutty,’’ he said, "look here. We won’t
tell him. will we?"
"Cutty will,” said Jennerling, flashing a
dollar bill.
"Put your coin away," said Faulkner,
holdln Cutty firmly from temptation.
“Cutty," he went on severely, “we won’t
tell him. Not a bit of it. I’ll tell you
what we’ll do. We’ll show him. How’ll
that do?”
Well, they did show him. after all;
merely exhibited to him what any Manhat
tan Borougher may see at will. It was 3
o’clock when Cutty had swarmed up the
Sub-Treasury steps. It was ten minutes
later when he departed, and when Perry
Faulkner and Jennerling—the latter’s curi
osity still unsatisfied—disappeared and
went their way. Four o’clock came and
went, 5 arrived and passed, and with it
crowds, crowds, crowds, bound east, west,
north, south—but all bound for home.
How many of them passed the Polished
Legs with reverence? How many won
dered where they’d be if it had not been
for Washington? How many looked at
him? How many thought of him?—no
matter. On they went. Six o’clock, the
crowds thinned, only stragglers were left
—bank clerks kept late over a difference;
6:30 passed into history. Seven—the street
deserted. The dusk slowly settled down,
inch by inch; 7:15 came. Then, suddenly,
pandemonium. From every skyscraper
came shouts, from every entrance, from
every cellar, from every alleyway Issued
the Crowd—the Gang—the Clique. All the
livelong day Wall Street had been a work
place—men had sweat blood tnere, hour
after hour. Now it became a playground.
The children of Wall Street were abroad
the children of the Janitors, the caretak
ers, the watchmen—the offspring of the
skyscrapers were let loose. And with a
whoop they swarmed up the steps of the
and descended upon—whom?
The Father of his Country—with Cutty
Wortman in the lead.
"Whoop,” yelled Cutty Wortman, embrac
ing both His Excellency’s legs, "the dear
old pal. Dear Gawge." Suddenly he
turned himself into a human snake, as
sumed the appearance of a figure eight,
and rapidiy wound his small, lithe body
in and out—in and out the stalwart under
pinnings of the General. "Whoop!’’ he
yelled.
”1 kin do that, too,” came frojn. a dozen
throats. They were right., Thfey could.
But they couldn’t do it with the grace
that Cutty did it—it was ‘ hat'd, clumsy
work for them. Suddenly Gutty clutched
two of them by the hair. "Hey, kids,” he
yelled, "look who’s here. The Hon. Perry
Faulkner, an’,’’ he whispered, “an’ he’s full.
Full as a tick.”
He was quite right. The Hon. Perry,
being one of the richest young men in
New York, with nothing to do save spend
his money, kept himself busy tossing coin
into the lap of pleasure—riotous living
had beckoned to him long ago: he had
followed, followed on, reckless as to con
sequences, plunging into the vortex to be
whirled he knew not whither, and—cared
less. Now his face was well flushed; his
mechanic had charge of the machine, and
Perry’s arm lay across the shoulders of
his friend.
“Now, Jen, old boy,” said Faulkner, point
ing toward the Legs, "I said I wouldn’t
tell you. and I didn’t. Cutty said he
wouldn’t tell you, and he didn’t. We said
we’d show you. And now we do. Look,
and doubt no more."
The Decadence of Dorinda— By Dorothy Dix
wavs madfl vnn thfnlr nf nn n m r\ r. r* • -
ways made you think of anemones in
Spring.
She was quite exquisite In dress. She
revealed in chiffons and laces, md soft
filmy fabrics in pale pinks, and grays, and
violet tints. She was not one of the
women who think of nothing but clothes,
and whose ibrains are cut on the bias, and
shirred in the middle, but her daintiness
and beauty of attire were a part of her
charm lust as was the faint perfume that
she seemed to breathe forth as she moved.
She was exquisite in mind. All beau
tiful thoughts and aspirations and appreci
ations were hers. Nothing that was high
and noble in music, or art. or literature
but struck an answering chord in her.
I have seen her tense with sheer Joy be
fore a great picture. I have seen her throb
with every note of a musician's bow. I
have seen her touched to tear, by a
heroic poem or story. What was best,
truest, finest, she divined with a quick in
tuition and understanding that made it a
privilege to go with her to see a play,
or to read a book with her.
She was exquisite in character, gentle,
generous, with the nicest sense of the in
dividual rights of others, and with a sym
pathy so acute it was almost clairvoyant.
Incapable of the grossness of flattery,
she possessed a subtle tact that made
every one who fell within the radius of
her influence feel that they were at their
best, so that the mere having of her for
a listener inspired one to a new eloquence,
and dowered one with a fresher and keener
humor.
Such was Dorinda of three years ago.
Then came the catastrophe of her marriage.
Not that we recognized it as a catastrophe
at the time. On the contrary, Dorinda had
married a charming young fellow, well
bred, well off, and we thought that she had
done uncommonly well for herself. But,
of course, nobody could have foreseen
Thomas Augustus, and the baleful effect
he was to have upon her.
During the interval, while this transfor
Jennerling looked and laughed. "Well,
I’ll be Jiggered,” he remarked; "it was the
bare feet of children that wore away the
Corlseum stones in Rome. It’s the chil
dren here that keep the legs of George
Washington well burnished—and look at
that kid perform—what the dickens is his
name."
"That’s Cutty Wortman," returned
Faulkner. "You’ve heard of horizontal
bars, Jen, old boy?” Jennerling felt of
his biceps.
“Rather,” he returned.
"Well.” said Faulkner, "those legs of
George’s are the only perpendicular bars in
the City of New York.”
Cutty .inished his performance, folded
his arms and stood at ease against one of
the legs. Upon him was the air of the
Champeen of the Street. Two or three of
his cronies poked him in the back.
“Them blokes in the machine’ll shell out.
Cutty,” they whispered, "if you’ll go down
and hold out your hat.”
‘‘Not on your life,” said Cutty. "I never
take coin oifn anybody th- ’s lit up. I
c’d a been rich if I’d took all that drunk’s’d
give me. I ain’t that kind, that’s all.”
Later that night, when darkness had com
pletely settled down, the children of
the street wended their way, with lag
ging steps, to their respective homes—
some of them lived in the clouds at
the top of skyscrapers; some unconsciously
occupied quarters that were worth $lO a
square foot in rent, as Wall -eet goes;
some of them crept into ceJlars. But they
all went—all but Cutty He waited until
all had left him. He
stood for an instant,
still with folded
arms, gazing ns His
Excellency gazed, in
scrutably into space.
Then he tapped the
Father of His Coun
try tenderly on the
knee and gazed up
into his face. “I
wonder,” he remark
ed, half sadly, “what
you’re thinking
about, old pal. I
kind o’ wish I knew
all about you and
what you’ve done.
I’ve heard a lot
about you, an’ I’d
like to know more.”
He drew his hand
across his forehead.
‘‘l wonder,” he said
wistfully, ‘‘if I kin
ever be like youse.”
• • •
Cutty read the ad
vertised announce
ment with just a bit
more concern and
interest perhaps than
anybody else in the
city of New York,
lie memorized it,
every word:
SIO,OOO REWARD
for information
leading to the dis
covery, alive or
dead, of
J. perry
FAULKNER,
Missing for three
months. Description
and latest photo
graph below.
Cutty dwelt upon
the likeness of the
missing man wlth
genuine regret
he .V,*;
“he certainly Wa3
good to me. h«
even now. to have him h *' Ve B flV6r -
Perry was 'hut / hlm back - Good looker
-he hlT he certa >n‘y travelled fast
ne nit the pace O. K.”
harWiu Weeks had passed since Faulkner
out of had°h had passod
but. it had been difficult to tell
P.unsed ZZt h ‘ m USt ' ° r He had
the^ae,str;r 0 o r ;Tayety° ne the CVen,n f
fu r hl?vl ‘ OL sayety—the usual thing
naeserl an ?. the seethin S waters had
hfm th!r r S head ’ and cloßPd upon
WaS aIL He had " evo ' H*en to
the surface. Dead or alive, they sought
him, were still seeking. All New York
mation of her personality and character
was in progress. I had not seen Dorinda.
and so it was with a light and Joyous
heart that I accepted an invitation to
spend a couple of weeks with her this
ummer. 1- or the visit I made elaborate
preparations.
I bought myself a wardrobe that I hum
bly hoped would not look too frowsy beside
Dorlnda’s daintiness. I had lived In New
York and she had spent her married life
in a small town In the Middle West, and
bo I took her as a little gift a beautiful
portfolio of pictures such as she was not
likely to find in her home town, and I
gathered together a number of new books,
poetry, romance, sociological problems that
I might have the dear delight of readlng
with her and talking over. Above all 1
went primed with the latest gossip of
studio, and dressing room, and writing
shop, little stories of famous people that
I knew and she didn't, the bonmots of
wits—the things that are too intimate ever
to be published.
When 1 arrived at her home Dorinda
greeted me with ail her old affection of
words, but there was a wandering look in
her eyes that passed over my head until
they rested on a pink and dirty infant,
placidly sucking the paint off a woodea
animal In the corner of the room. It was
Thomas Augustus, and after his mother
had parted him with howls from his un
savory lunch, she came back and resumed
her Interrupted welcome to me.
“I was so sorry not to meet you at the
train,” she said, “and I had on my hat
ready to start when Thomas Augustus saw
me and began to cry. He’s so clever,
wonderfully precocious for his age, he Just
simply shrieks every time he sees me put
on my hat, so shat the only way I can
ever get to go on an errand is to hide my
hat on the porch, or in the kitchen and
put it On after I get out of the house.”
I murmured something to the effect that
Thomas Augustus was marvelous, and that
I didn‘t mind coming up by myself at alb
(Copyright. 1909, by American-Examiner. Great Britain Rights Reserved.)
“‘Did you see anybody go by here?’ queried the pursuers.”
knew' him—all New York was on the look
out for him. Time and again some hanger
on In a public place would catch the arm
of some other hanger-on and point toward
a stranger 4 , in rags or riches, “Gee—that
looks like the missin’ Faulkner.” But it
wasn’t. Even Cutty Wortman had fooled
himself a dozen times with fancied like
nesses upon the street, but always was
mistaken. “Gee,” he would keep on sfgh
ing, “I hope they find him —I hope he’s alive
somewheres. He was awful good to me, he
was.” He looked up into the face of
George Washington. ”1 wonder If you
know' where he is, old pal,” he said.
A year rolled round, rolled Into sultry
Summer weather. Wall street broiled its
denizens by day and afforded but little
relief to its residents by night But the
gang was still stanch, still clung to the
legs far into the darkness, still kept the
gloss upon those silken stockings. It w'as
one night, very late and very hot. Half
the crow'd had gone home—mostly girls.
Cutty and a few of the stalwart 3 still re
mained. boasting of individual prow'oss,
exhibiting biceps, feeling of muscles—when
suddenly Cutty held up his hand.
“What’s this. Bo!” ho exclaimed to the
boy next to him, and pointed tow'ard the
river. His friend looked. The streets
were silent and deserted, save for Just one
thing—a man !n shirt and trousers, who
ran desperately up the street. Nearer he
came, nearer. He was barefooted; his hair
was long, dishevelled; his face was white,
tie made no sound other than 'iis deep
gasps lor breath. lie ran, ran. ran—as the
hare runs with the hounds behind her.
He stopped for an Instant and looked be
hind him. The gang watched him with
Interest. “It’s a yeggman," whispered one
of the crowd; “he’s been breakln' some
bank, an’ the cops Is after him.”
But Cutty only clutched the arm of the
boy next him the tighter. "Listen, 1 " he
whispered They could hear the steady
and then I was silent In sheer amazement.
I could scarcely 'believe what I saw.
Was thin untidy house Dorlnda’s? Was
this barrack-looking place the kind of
a home Dorinda had made? Was this Ill
dressed, almost slovenly woman Dorinda
herself?
"Dorinda,” I cried, “what have you done
to yourself? Where are all your pretty
clothes? Why do you slick your hair hack
that way? You haven't joined the Rational
Dress League, have you? ” 1 demanded
wJth fear in my voice.
‘Not at all,” she beamed at me cheerfully,
"it’s Just Thomas Augustus. He takes up
so much of my time that I don’t spend a
minute on my hair, just grab It up any
old way. I’ve quit wearing all my Jewelry
because he pulled at it so, and as for the
pink, and blue fripperies 1 used to affect.
Just think what lie would do to a chiffon,
or lace Why, he wouldn’t leave a rag of
it because he loves to tear things.”
“But your house” I began.
"Oh, the house is run for the benefit of
Thomas Augustus,” she answered blithely.
"I don't have any curtains because he
swings on to them. and. besides, the doc
tor says that the sunshine is good for
him. Of course, I’ve got lots of fine
bric-a-brac, but 1 put it all away because
he Ukes to pull the things down to hear
them smash, and I Just don't try to keep
things clean because he likes to 'bring
his toys where everybody is sitting. Rut
it’s Just marvelous to see what use he's
got of his hands. Why, yesterday he got
hold of a hammer someway and he broke
great chips off of a mahogany china cab
inet.”
At dinner we ate our m*al in silence be
cause nobody could make themselves heard
above the din that Thomas Augustus made
beating upon his silver cup with his spoon,
and the howls he emitted whenever a dish
was passed that appealed to his fancy.
Dorinda explained apologetically that us
ually Thomas Augustus did not make so
much noise because when they had no com
trot, trot of men toward the river—men
wttli well-shod feet—the pursuers of this
fugitive. And the fugitive, with a wall of
despair, started on again. Suddenly he
stopped; suddenly he looked up at the
statue of Washington, suddenly saw the
gang -then, without faltering, he bounded
up the steps, reached the platform and
crept out upon It in their midst before
they could scatter.
"Save me!" gasped the fugitive, sinking
down, exhausted, in the deep shadow cast tiy
His Excellency. "Help me!” The gang, un
accustomed to scarecrows of this character,
fell away In fear—all but Cutty. For one
brief Instant he stooped down and looked
closely at the fugitive. Then he shook hi,
nst in the faces of the gang.
•Close In—doso In. youse!” he com
manded Its Perry Faulkner. I don’t care
If an the cops in the hull country’s after
hm, they aim a-goln to get him. See’"
The gang closed In. And up the „ r ,. e t
from the river came the steady clomp
clomp of the pursuers. And ,he'pursuer,
came Into view. They . "rsuers
They were big, rough! hlvy
They stopped under a iigi/t mPn '
saw that they whispered* 1,,,. 10 Ka "*
hear what they sald- not a n C "" ld " ot
in But Cutty had cre m J " ,hnt
shadow, and heard the whispered convert
tlon.
fiM
mi
to crawl about In strange lands with
broken bones and battered faces, victims
of cruelty; sometimes to creep home to die.
He knew, lie eyed the gang sternly. ' You
keep him here,” he commanded, "and don't
let nobody git him. If they come back
yon know —Jlu Jllsu 'em. And .Ihtut you
wait for me." lie darted round the corner
of Nassau street and disappeared.
At the corner of Malden Lane ho picked
up an officer. At the corner of Fulton he
enoounlerrd another one. To fheHe two he
whispered his story. “You Come with me,'
he said.
For full twenty minutes the gang waited.
pany she only had such things carved a»
were suitable to his Infantile digestion.
In due time I presented to Dorinda the
portfolio of pictures that I had brought for
her. .She scarcely looked at them before
she exclaimed to Thomas Augustus:
"Oh, Doodlerns, come and see the pretty
pictures mamma has got for you Look
at the booful lady and see all these Itty,
»bitty lammles,” and then she sat Thomas
Augustus down upon the floor, and, with
sticky and Jam-smeared fingers, he 'began
turning over the pictures, leaving the dirty
Imprint of his hands as he went Later
on he decided to cut out some of the figures,
and he passed a pleasant half hour stab
bing holes through the precious prints for
which I had paid out my good money, while
his mother looked on and applauded his
dexterity with the shears.
In other days Dorinda would have no
more injured another person's property
than she would have stolen a purse, but
Khe looked on without disapprobation when
Thomas Augustus broke my Venetian mir
ror that she had given him to play with,
and she didn't even apologize when he ut
terly ruined my best silk frock by deliber
ately emptying a cup of milk In my lap
Ah for conversation with her. that was
an utter impossibility. There was only one
subject on earth In which she was In
terested, and that was Thomas Augustus,
arid upon that theme she held forth In an
endless monologue. I was at her hou<e
when the news was flashed through the
world that the North Pole had been dis
covered. and 1 rushed to her to Impart
the startling piece of information.
"Dear me, is that true,' she answered
vaguely, and then, with excitement, she
cried: ”Do you know, Alice, that I be
lieve that Thomas Augustus Is about to
cut another tooth? Of course you can t
be certain yet, but 1 feel almost sure that
I discovered a hardening of the gum to
day."
In desperation I got out the books that
I had brought to read with her *»«•♦ a*ban-
‘‘ We to get
'dm back." said one
of the pursuers
If we don’t, an’
he KP,S away, hnng
It—now that we
know who lm |„
•hay’ll hound us
°ff the face of the
eafth. We’re caught
unless we catch
him. that’s all.”
“Garn,” exclaimed
(he other nmn. “that
comes of Maddox
Puttin' Into a big
port like this for
coal. If he’d taken
my advice this
wouldn’t have hap
pened. But, como
on; he’ll git away.”
They, too, saw the
gang by the statue
and hailed It.
“Did you see any
body go by here?”
queried the pursuers.
Cutty, who had
crept back to his
station. answered:
“Sure; went up Nas
sau like a house
afire—a crazy guy
with hair."
“Which Is Nas
sau?" asked the two
And Cutty told
them. Cutty watched
them turn the cor
ner. Then he
stooped down to tho
supine figure on tho
statue’s bnse and
whispered in his ear
“Shanghaied," re
plied the fugitive.
Of all the gang
Cutty was the only
one who understood
the term. He had
heard strange tales
of drunken men be
ing carried on
board tramp
steamers and made
to work like slaves
for weeks, months,
sometimes years;
sometimes to die at
sea; sometimes
•—'• r ■ 1
their hearts in their mouths, the supine fig
ure at their feet breathing deeply with
fatigue and fear. But they obeyed orders.
Not for an instant did they leave their
post; not for an instant could an outsider
have broken through that ring that held
within it. unseen, the vision that they
gun ; <’ed.
‘'Gee," said the gang at length, “he's
back again—hey. Cutty?"
Cutty was back again, with a vengean-e.
Behind him stalked two officers dragging
with them two disreputable characters
"Bring 'em up here, cullies, suggested
Cutty. They brought them up. the gang
parted, and J. Berry Faulkner iay exposed
to view.
"Are these some of 'em?*’ said an officer
to Perry Faulkner. Perry Faulkner smarted
to his feet in terror, then sighed with re
lief and sank weakly against the legs of
Washington.
"That’s—Red Mike!” he gasped, "and
that’s Brass Devine!” Ho broke Into a sud
den fury.* “Ar-h-h-h." he snarled. If you'd
only lot me do the things to them they did
to me!* he cried. He slumped down Into
a dead faint.
“This comes of puttin’ Into this her#
burgh for coal,” sighed Red Mike.
"Ah,” returned Devine, “the only comfort
Is that Maddox and the rest’ll have to do
time along with us. That’s some. I s'pose
they’re nabbed by now."
The officers Jabbed guns Into the ribs of
their captives. "Come on now!” they com
manded. They yelled back over their
shoulders "We’ll send an ambulance/*
they said.
When they reached the station with their
captives, the Sergeant heard tho story,
"Who was the chap they stole?” he queried.
“A man named Faulkner, or something
like that,” returned the officers, so quickly
does memory fall in the Borough of Man
hattan. Tho Sergeant leaped from hi#
chair. “You get a move on, blokes!” h#
yelled; “there’s SIO,OOO reward for him,
dead or alive. You get a move oil
Hear!”
They got a move on, but they didn’t tind
.7. Perry Faulkner. J. Perry was reclining
In one of the big leather chairs In his own
Trust Company reception room—his Jani
tor had opened up for him—the news had
drifted In. The watchman stood by with
a stiff glass of grog, ready to pour it down,
Tho gang stood at attention.
“Try this, sir.” said the watchman,
gently lifting the glass to the lips of
Faulkner. But Fnulkner started back.
"Not on your life!” he cried "I said if I
ever got out of that hell, I’d begin to llv#
right, and I’m going to begin right now.”
His eyes lighted on Cutty Wortman, and
he smiled a wan smile. “It was you who
knew me first, Cutty. You who saved me.
You—nervy little chap.”
“You was always good to me.” said
Cutty, shaking the proffered hand with
vigor, "naturally I had to be good to you."
Well, everybody got the reward—lt cam#
to them In bunches. Bed Mike and Brass
Devine and Maddox got their share—up ihe
river. The Sergeant got his; the gang got
its. Everybody was satisfied and every
body rejoiced—all New York threw up its
hat. for. after all, there* never was and
nevor will be but one J. Perry Faulkner;
don’t forget It. either.
Cutty Wortman was the only one who
didn’t get a wad of money. “Cutty." said
J. Perry Faulkner, "maybe you think I'm
stingy, but I'm not. The worst thing In
tho world for you is money—ln a wad. I’m
going to do more than that for you, Cutty.
I’m going to see you through—through
school, college—oh, yes, you’ve got It to
you, boy—through life. I’ll see you through.
And I’ll toll you how I'm going to do It.
Wo’vo both of us got to learn to live,
haven’t we? Well, we’ll learn to live to
gether. Wo’ll see each other through.*
Every once In a while now Cutty Wort
man, with book In hAnd, steals down la
the gleaming to the Sub-Treasury and
watches tho new gang that sprang up to
take the place of the old one, and wait#
till It departs, and strides over and stand#
under the figure of the Father of Hi#
Country and, still a bit wistfully, glances
up Into his face and smiles.
“You’re all right, old pal,” he whisper#,
twining an arm about a leg. “I wonder Iff
some time I’ll be anything like you/'
• • • • •
If you don’t believe this story, go and
look at Ills Excellency*# lege; look and
doubt no more.
doned the unfeasible Idea of
holding her attention with even
the masterpieces of literature.
In the midst of the most thril-
ling passages she would interrupt me t#
say, “Oh. Alice, do look at Thomas Augus
tus. Did you ever see anything as cut#
as the way he is peeking at you through the
chair?” The problems of the universe wer#
as nothing to her before the question of
whether Thomas Augustus's hair would
curl or not —when he got It.
On the last day of my visit I was trying
to tell her of a wonderful visit that I had
paid to Tolstoy, and of how the great
Russian had sat, In his peasant garb, and
propounded to me the theory of a
brotherhood of mankind so wonderful and
humanitarian that we are not yet pre
pared to receive It I thought, at last, that
J had awakened in Dorinda some flash of
the old Dorinda, who would have thrilled
to my story and hung upon Its every word,
and so I turned to her eager for a Dorinda*
like reply whoso intuitions always threw
a new light on rny subject
Dorlnda’s eyes were full of dreamy
speculation. "Alice,” she said, "do you
think you could get me about three yards
of cloth like your shirt waist to make
Thomas Augustus a dress? I think h#
would Just look like an angel In that soft,
thick, white stuff ’’
Then it was that f knew that my Dorinda
was no more. Her decadence was com
plete. Thomas Augustus had done hit
work well.
I could have wept over the rituatlon. but
Dorinda brazenly flaunted her contentment
in it in my face, and when I left she was
cuddling Thomas Augustus in her arms,
and he slept sweetly and peacefully, as if
he did not have the wreck of a woman’s
character upon his guilty little soul.
But 1 am sorry for Dorlnda's husband. It
must be hard to marry a woman becaus#
she Is pretty, and dainty, and entertaining
and then have her become nothing 'but a
nurse maid.