The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on March 2, 1892 · Page 6
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 6

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, March 2, 1892
Page 6
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THE KKPUBLICAN, rarer even than modttty By FERQUS W '"Dear papa," cried Madga as sha entered tftUtdly, and threw her ftrma around his neck, "what hava you been doing here all day of returned her father laoonicallyi •ft IMS gently removed her arms. "Why, 1 thought you were 111," «h« an- Hftted, looking at him apprehensively. M No, dear," he replied, quietly. "Not III, tat worried." ••1 knew that drendf ul man who came latt night had told you something to worry you. •Who was he»" «_~.iu ••Oh I » friend of mine," answered Frettlby, with hesitation. "What— Hoger Morelandr Her father stared. "How do you know it was Roger More- in doing so, she struck who was still ,. Awakened suddenly, with ..... ""--T* — nis ears, ne opwwd hi* *y* Wide, pot <wt feeble Ifends, aa if to keep something back, and with a strangled cry fell dead on the floor beside his daughter. Bal, horror rtraek, did not lose her presence of mind, but, •natch* ing the papers off the table, she thrust them into her pocket, and then shrieked aloud for the servants. But they, already attracted by Madge's wild dry, came hurrying in, to tod Mar* Pretttby, the millionaire, lytag deed, and his daughter lying In a faint bedde her father's corpse. •, but ftawdwit ;h« of hl« darling be could do noth' "Oh! Brian recognized bun as he went out. Mark Frettlby hesitated for a few moments, and then busied himself with the para* on his desk, as he replied in a low voieet "•You are right—it was Roger Moreland— he te very hard up, and as he was a frlond oi poor Whyte's, asked me to assist him, which 1 did." He hated to hear himself U-llinp such n deliberate falsehood, but there was no heir for it—Madge must never know the truth as long as he could conceal it. "Just like you," said Madge, kissing him lightly with filial pride. "The best and kind eat of men." He shivered slightly as he felt her caress, and thought how she would recoil from him did she know all. "After all," says some cynical writer, "the illusions of youth are mostly due to the want of experience. Madge, ignorant in a great measure of the world, cherished her pleasant illusions, though many of them had been destroyed by (the tHals of the past year, and her father longed to keep her in this frame of mind. "Now go down to dinner, my .dear," he •aid, leading her to the door. "1 will follow . "Don't be long," replied his daughter, "or 1 shall come up again," and she ran down stairs, her heart feeling strangely light. Her father looked after her until she vanished, then heaving a regretful sigh, returned to his study, and taking out the scattered papers fastened them together, and indorsed them, "My Confession." He then placed them in an envelope, sealed it, and put it back in the desk. "If all that is in that packet were known," he said aloud, as he left the room, "what would the world sayr That night he was singularly brilliant at the dinner table. Generally a very reticent and grave man, «n this night he laughed and talked so gaylythat the very servants noticed the change. The fact was that he felt a sense of relief at having unburdened his mind, and felt as though by writing out that confession he had laid the specter which had haunted him for so long. His daughter was delighted at the change in his spirits, but the old Scotch nurse, who had been in the house since Madge was a baby, shook her head. "He's fey," she said gravely. "Hes no lang for the warlcl." Of course she was CHAPTER HUSH MONST. As soon as Brian received the telegram which announced the death of Mark Prettlby he put on his hat, stepped into Cotton's trap, and drove along to the St. Kilda station, in Flinders street, with that gentleman. Tb*re Calton dismissed hi trap, sending a note to his clerk with the groom, and went down to at. Kilda with Fitzgerald. On arrival they lound the whole house perfectly quiet and orderly, owing to the excellent management of Sal Rawlins. Shu bad taken tbe command in everything, and although the servants, knowing her antecedents, -were disposed to reseut het doing so, yet such were her administrative powers and strong will that they obeyed her implicitly. Mark Frettlby's body had been token up to his bedroom, Madge had been put to. bed, and Dr. Chinston and Brian sent for. When they arrived they could not help expressing their admiration at the capital way in which Sal Rawlins had managed things. "She's a clever girl, that," whispered Calton to Fitzgerald. "Curious thing she should have taken up her proper position in her father's house. Pate is a deal cleverer than we mortals think her." Brian was about to reply when Dr. Chin ston entered the room. His face was very laughed at— people who believe in presentiments generally are— but. nevertheless, she held firmly to her opinion. Mr Prettlby went to bed early that night, as the excitement of the last few days and the gayety in which he had lately indulged proved too strong for him. No sooner hod he laid his head on his pillow than he dropped off to sleep at once, and forgot in plaeid slumber the troubles and worries of his waking hours. It was only 9 o'clock, and Madge by herself in the great drawing room began to long for some one to talk to, and, ringing the bell, ordered Sal to be sent in. The two girls had become great friends, and Madge, though two years younger than the other, assumed the rolo of mentor, and under her guidance Sal was rapidly improving. It was a strange irony of fate which brought together these two children of the same father, each with such different histories— the one reared in luxury and affluence, never having known want; the other dragged up in the gutter, all un- sered and besmirched by tbe life she hod led. "The whirligig of time brings in its revenges," and it was the lost thing in the world Jlark Frettlby would have thought of seeing: Rosanna Moore's child, whom he fancied dead, under the same roof as his daughter Madga On receiving Madge's message Sal came to the drawing room, and the two were soon chatting amicably together. The drawing room was almost in darkness, only one lamp being lighted. They had been talking together for some time, when Sal's quick ear caught a footfall on the soft carpet, and, turning rapidly, she «iw a tall figure advancing down the room. Madre saw it too, and started up in surprise on recognizing her father. He was clothed in his dressing gown and carried somepaperi In his band. "Why, pupa," said Madge, m surprise, ••4-pi _ "Hush!" whispered Sal, grasping her arms. "He's asleep.'' And so he was. In accordance witn tne nictates of tbe excited brain, the weary body had risen from the bed and wandered about the house. The two girls, drawing bock into the shadow, watched him with bated breath as he came slowly down the room. In a few moments he was within the circle of light, and, moving noiselessly along, he laid the papers he carried on the table. They were in a large bluu envelope, uiucli worn, with writing in rqd ink on it. Bal recognized it at once as the one she had seen tbe dead woman with, and with an instinctive feeling that there was something wrong, tried to draw Madge back as she watched her fathers notion with au intensity of feeling which held her spellbound. Prettlby opened the envelope and toolj therefrom a yellow, frayed piece of paper, which he spread out on the table. Madge bent forward to see it, but Sal, with sudden terror, drew her back. grave, and Fitzgerald looked at bun in alarm. "Madge—Mis» Frettlby," he faltered "Is very ill," replied the doctor: has au attack of brain fever. I can't answer for the consequence? yet" Brian sat down on the sofa and stared at the doctor in a dazed sort of way Madgg dangerously ill—perhaps dying. What if •be did die, and be lost the true hearted woman who stood so nobly by him in hi* trouble? "Cheer up," said Chinston, patting him on the shoulder; "while there's life there's hope, and whatever human aid can do to save her will be dona.' 1 Brian grasped the doctor's hand in silence, his heart being too full to speak. "How did Frettlby die!" asked Calton., "Heart disease." said Chinston. "Hisheart was very much affected, as 1 discovered « week or so ago. it appears he was walking in his sleep, and entering the drawing room he alarmed Miss Frettlby, who screamed and must have touched him. He awoke suddenly, and the natural consequences followed—b* dropped down dead." "What alarmed Miss Frettlby r asked Brian in a low voice, covering his face with his hand. "The sight of her father walking In his sleep, 1 suppose," said Chinston, buttoning his glove, "and the shock of his death, which took place indirectly through her, accounts for the brain fever." "Madge Frettlby is not the woman to and waken a somnambulist," scream Calton, decidedly, "knowing as she did the danger. There must be some other reason." "This young woman will teil you all about It," said Chinston, nodding toward Sal, who entered the room at this moment. "She was p»esent, and since then has managed things admirably;-and now I must go," he said, shaking hands with Calton and Fitzgerald. "Keep up your heart, my boy; I'll pull her through yet." After the doctor had gone, Calton turned sharply to Sal Rawlins, who stood waiting to be addressed. "Well," he said briskly, "can you tell us what startled Miss Frettlbyr "1 can, sir," she answered, .quietly. "I was in the drawing room when Mr. Frettlby died —but—we had better go up to the study." "Why*" asked Calton, in surprise, as he and Fitzgerald followed her up stairs. "Because, sir," she said, when they had entered the study and she had locked the door. "1 don't wont any one but yourselves to know what I tell you." "More mystery," muttered Calton, as he glanced at Brian, and took his seat at the escritoire. "Mr. Frettlby went to bed early last night," said Sal, calmly, "and Miss Madge and 1 were talking together in the drawing room, when be entered, walking in his sleep, carrying some papers" Both Calton and Fitzgerald started, and the latter grew pale, "He came down the room and spread out a paper on the table where the lamp was. Miss Madge bent forward to see what it was. I tried to stop her, but it was too late. She gave a scream and fell on the floor. In doing so she happened to touch her father. He awoke, and fell down dead." "And the papers*" asked Calton, uneasily. Sal did not answer, but producing them from her pocket, laid them in his hands, Brian bent forward as Calton opened the envelope in silence, but both gave vent to an exclamation of horror at seeing the certificate of marriage which they knew Rosanna Moore had given to Whyte. Their worst suspicions were confirmed, and Brian turned away his head, afraid to meet the barrister's eye. The latter folded up the papers thoughtfully and put them in bis pocket "You know what these are!" he asked Bal, eyeing her keenly. "1 could hardly help knowing," she answered. "It proves that Rosanna Moore was Mr. Frettlby's wife, and" She hesi- te "Go on," said Brian, in a harsh tone, look Fittferold made no Of the window, and t lying sick unto death, Ingtoiawher. "Well," laid Calton, sharply, "Oh, 1 beg your, pardon." *ald . _. turning in confution. "1 suppose the will must be read, and all that sort of thing." "Yes," answered the barristei't "lam otwof ine executors." "Andtheotherat" . "Yourself and dhlnston.^answered Calton; "to 1 suppose," turning to thu desk, "we can look at 'hi* papers, and see that all is straight*' "Yes, I suppose so," replied Brian, mechanically, hi* thoughts far away, and then he turned again to the window. Suddenly Calton gave vent to an exclamation of surprise, and, turning hastily, Brian «aw him holding a thick roll of papers in his bond, which he had taken out of the drawer. "Look here, Fitzgerald," he said, greatly excited, "hew to Frettlby's confession—look I" and he held It up. Brian sprang toward In astonishment, So »t last the hansom cab mystery was to b* I eared up. These sheets, no doubt, contained tue whole narration of th« crime and bow it was committed. "We will read it, of course," h« said, hert- totinR. half hoping that Calton would propose tc destroy it at once, "Yes," answered Calton, "the three executors must read it, and then—we will burn it." "That will b» the better way," answered Brian, gloomily. "Frettlby is dead, and th* law can do nothing in the matter, so it would be best to avoid the scandal of publicity. But why tell Chinston f "We must," said Calton, decidedly. "He will be sure to gather tbe truth from Madge's ravings, and may as well know all. He is quite safe, and will be silent at tbe grave. But 1 am more sorry to tell Kilsip.'? "The detectivel Good God, Calton. surely you will not do sol" "1 must," replied tbe barrister, quietly. "Kilsip is firmly persuaded that Moreland committed the crime, and 1 have the same dread of his pertinacity as you had of mino. He may find nut all." "What must be, must be," said Fitzgerald, clenching his hands. "But 1 hope no one else,.will find out this miserable story. There's Moreland, for instance." "Ah, truel" said Calton, thoughtfully. "Ha called and saw Frettlby the other night, you say!" "Yes. 1 wonder what forr "There is only one answer," said the barrister, slowly "He must have seen Frettlby following Whyte when he left the hotel, and wanted hush money." "1 wonder if he got it," observed Fitzgerald. "Oh, I'll soon flnd that out," answered Calton, opening the drawer again, and taking out the dead man's check book. "Let me see what checks have been drawn lately." Most of the blocks were filled up with small amounts, and one or two for a hundred or so. Calton could flnd no large sum such as Moreland would have demanded, when, at the very end of the book, he found a check torn off, leaving the block slip quite blank. "There you are," he said, triumphantly, holding out tbe book to Fitzgerald. "He wasntsuch a fool as to write in the amount onftbe block, but tore the check out, and wrote in the sum required." "And what's to be done about it!" • "Let bun keep it, of course," answered Calton, shrugging his shoulders. "It's the only way to secure his silence." "I expect he cashed it yesterday, and is off by this time," said Brian, after a moment's HIS FlftSt ACdUAINtANCe WITH CHICAGO'S. CLASSIC POET, i ' Scenes at Ann Atbo* and a Meeting with a Strangely Beautiful Creator* with a Bang—*h* Story of A tt«ma*kafcle Shot. ICoprri^ht, 1888, by Edgar W.Ny*.j EH PASSANT, February.—We visited Ann Arbor not long ago. The town is like all college towns. The citizens are solemn and reserved, with an apprehensive air, as if they were watching to See what the students would do next. The college 1 believe to be one of the most progressive and ready to seize upon the pompadour topknot of Time and be the first on the ground of any in our counlry. The students are handsome specimens of young American manhood, and the law department has long stood well up at the top in the judgment of able jurists, not counting myself. ._._. ft «NMfe>| Wlflkm Wt^J^gf jj oofle to die a 04* 'tufty. wiie *$ j^ffi 1 *!!* • &Vj£t2ff&lxS tul death, greatly _ by all who know me* casttftgf a gteat Wg doom ovef ottr quiet little community and generally, mttttfned on account of my cha&ng qualities both of nikd and heart. Eastern papets please copy/ 1 Then the conversation gradually drifted into other channels, and a man who of handles trusses fo* the northwest got to talking about hunting. He could shoot With unerring accuracy, he said, and loVed dearly to shoot all kinds of large game. He preferred elephants, I judged from his talk, and when he scared up a covey of these little feathered songsters it was very seldom that any of them got ttWftV ' He was shooting the Rocky mountain sheep last year in Montana, he said, and had bagged two or three at about 8 in the afternoon. He was just eating hia frugal lunch of hot terrapin, cooked over an alcohol stove which he always carried with him, when a bighorn weighing at least 600 pounds sprang past him and stood about 000 yards from him on a ledge across a deep gorge in less time than it requires to ejaculate the word "scat!" Seizing his trusty rifle and placing it to his shoulder it was but the work of a moment to aim for the magnificent beast, as he had one eye already closed by a gentleman whom he had thoughtlessly charged with falsehood while east. He had not time to pull the trigger, however, before the alert animal had bounded up the face of the cliff, which was at an angle of 45 degs. at least, and toil 24 all o tehed nailing another political Field welcomed me heartily to Denand taking his foot out ofia hole "in" the" wall" which he had with his heel-a fashion he has yetwWld engaged in thottght-he rose to his feet and catching apprehensively at the waistband of his trousers ere it was too late he put his suspender back over his shoulder again with a sigh of relief and grasped me heartily by the hand. While at work Mr. Field removes a great deal of his clothing. Sometimes when a, poetess calls on him suddenly while at work he only has time to stick his limbs into the drawers of his desk and run his head through a vile contemporary, allowing it to droop down over his shorn* ders, before some great warbler from the tall grass of the literary field enters the room. . Ho asked me to be seated, pointing to the only chair in his office, barring his own. I began to remove the exchanges, of which there were a great number, but he said: ' 'Never mind the this, that and the other papers. Sit down on them. Everybody else does." So I sat down on them. I can remember it yet. There was no seat to the chair, and so I passed on rapidly till I struck the floor said THE BANG. We visited the D. K. E ; headquarters for a couple of hours in the evening, where we were made welcome with college song and salad and marmalade. I shall long remember our evening there among the future judges and physicians and governors of the Union; the young men in whose hands Mr. Elaine and 1 will soon have to place the welfare of our common country. On the train we saw a student with the most phenomenal chrysanthemum bang that 1 ever met. His hair elsewhere was short, and he wore the slightest little silk skull cap that fitted him like a bald head, but over his brow this wild and storm tossed bang boiled up in the most wonderful profusion and swayed to and fro like a bunch of straw colored asparagus gone to seed. After looking him over I decided not to put the welfare of our republic in bis hands. stood entirely protected by an immense overhanging rock. Here was a problem. He could not cross the gorge. The animal was no doubt safely there. He could calculate exactly where he stood beneath the big and beetling cliff, though entirely out of his range of vision. Making a few rapid geometrical calculations—for he admits that he is a fine mathematician and billiard player—he aimed for a certain point on the angle of the rock and then fired. For a moment' the report seemed to deafen him, then there fell on the sloping rock at least a half bushel of warm vitals and mutton tallow, and he knew | that his aim had been true. It took two days to get the animal by a roundabout wcy, and then he found that the flattened bullet, with an edge like a razor, had completely disemboweled the animal, these organs having been neatly cut out and dropped down the gorge. The heart and liver had been carefully preserved, while the bullet had in its flight also cut off the limb of a sagebush and inserted it in the rift of the carcass so as to prop it open and cool off the mutton in the pure, crisp air of the mountain. pause. "So much the better for us," said Calton grimly. "But 1 don't think he's off, or Kil- sip would have let me know We must tell him, or he'll get everything out of Moreland, and the consequences would be that all Melbourne will know the story; whereas, by showing him the confession, we get him to leave Moreland alone, and thus secure silence in both cases." "I suppose we must see Chlnstonr "Yes, of course. 1 will telegraph to him and Kilsip to come up to my office this afternoon at 3 o'clock, and then we will settle the whole matter." "And Sal Rawlinsr "Oh I 1 quite forgot about her," said Calton, in a perplexed voice. "She knows nothing about her parents, and, of course, Mark Frettlby died in the belief that she was dead." "Me must tell Madge," said Brian, gloomily. "There is no help for it Sal is by rights tbe heiress to the money of her dead father." "That depends upon the will," replied Calton, dryly. "If It specifies that the money bent forward to see "For God's sake, no," she cried. But it was too late; Madge had caught the names o» the ppef- Moc*e-Mark F»tttby"- ing up. ,, "And they were the papers she gave mr. Whyte." "Well?" Sal was silent for a moment, and then looked up with a flush. "You needn't think I'm going to split," she said, indignantly, recurring to her Bourke street slang in the excitement of the moment. "I know what you know, but e'elp me o I'll be as silent as the grave." "Thank you," said Brian, fervently, taking her hand; "1 know you love her too well to betray this terrible secret." "I would be a nice un', I would," said Bal, with scorn, "after her lifting me out of the gutter, to round on her—a poor girl like me, without a friend or a relative, now Gran's dead." - , • Calton looked up quickly. It was plain Bal was quite ignorant that Rosanna Moore was be* mother. Bo much the better; they would keep her in ignorance, perhaps not altogether, but it would be folly to undeceive ber at present f'l'mgoin' to Miss Madge now," she said, Ming to the door, "and I won't see you again; she's getting lightheaded, and might r» . . ^.t. .„. n0 j. is left to'my daughter, Margaret Frettlby, 1 Sal Rawlins can have no claim; and if such is the case, it will be no good telling her who she is." "And what's to be donor "Sal Rawlins," went on the barrister, without noticing the interruption, "has evidently never given a thought to her father or mother, as tbe old hag, no doubt, swore they were dead. Bo I think it will be best to keep silent—that is, if no money is left to her, and, as her father thought her dead, I don't think there will be any. In that case, it would be best to settle an income on her. You can easily find a pretext, and let the matter rest." "But suppose, in accordance with tbe wording of the will, she is entitled to all tbe raoneyP' "In that case," said Calton, gravely, "there is only one course open—she must be told everything, and the dividing of the money left to her generosity. But I dont think you need be alarmed; I'm pretty sure Madge is tho heiress." "It's not the money I think about," said Brian, hastily. "I'd take Madge without a penny." "My boy," said the barrister, placing bis hand kindly on Brian's shoulder, "when you marry Madge Frettlby, you will get what is better than money—a heart of gold." CHAPTER XXXIL DE UOBTUIS ML NISI Dr. Chinston bad received Cotton's telegram, and was considerably astonished thereat. He was still more so when, on arriving at the office at tbe time appointed, he found Calton and Fitzgerald were not alone, but a third man whom he had never seen was with them. This latter Calton introduced to him as Mr. Kilsip, of the detective office, a fact which began to make the wortny doctor uneasy, as be could not divine the meaning of the presence of a detective. However, he made no remark, but took tue seat handed to him by Mr. Calton aud prepared to listen. Calton locked the door of the office, and then *ent back to bis desk, having tbe other three seated before him ia a kiud of semicircle. "In tbe first place," said Calton to fcba doctor "I have to inform you that yojj we oj» of the executor? under thewilj oj 8» lftf» Mr- FretUby, and that is why comeuere today. The other My. FiteB9RM4 and myself." Several gentlemen in the smoker were telling how they had sworn off from certain things the other day. "I have sworn off in the matter of 'wet pool, said a traveling man. "And what is wet pool?" the student with the bang and a chaperon was heard to inquire. "It is pool at the end of each game of which," said the bagman, as we call them in England, "the loser has to stand the grog." "And what made you swear off? came the birdlike voice of the boy with the noiseless bang, "Well, last Thanksgiving I was sort of practicing with the pool balls when a tall, thin man strolled up to the table and asked if I'd like to play. I said yes, and we played one game, which was on him. and he drummed on the floor with the butt of his cue and asked me what it would be. I told him, and we had the order filled. So it went on till we had played twenty-seven games of wet pool. 1 did not sell anymore goods that week, and when I got ready to go at it again I found out at the hotel office that my tall, thin adversary had been three days in his grave. "When I play now it is for the natural exhilaration pf the game, and the most arid pool there is is the pool I prefer." "I have sworn off from drinking in a drug store any more," said a large, powerful man, who handles millinery goods on the kerosene circuit iu Kansas. "I have to make Kansas twice a year, and you know of course that there the prescription business runs largely to vini galici, tonics and the f rumenti side of the pharmacopoeia. One evening we gathered in the back room of a drug store, three of us—Ellis, who handles overalls; Bascom, selling grain elevators and union depots by sample, carrying three trunks with street numbers on them instead of names, and myself. We took port wine three times around. I skipped the last round, because 1 had promised my wife before I left home that I would not touch liquor of any kind—unless I wanted to very much indeed. "Ellis went home with me and Bascom went to another hotel at the station. Ellis snored so in his sleep that I tried to wake him up, but couldn't, so I got mad and emptied the ico water all over his head. Then I, poured the contents of the big pitcher on him and got him on his feet. 1 gave him everything 1 had in my valise, including a package of common baking soda and a mustard plaster that was a Christmas present from my wife. Just as I got him so that 1 could walk him around the room and knew that he had given me a general idea of what his diet had been for a day or two, there was a big racket iu the hall and a pounding on the door. A big doctor rushed in, and with him a sobbing drug clerk. The doctor rummaged around among Ellis' vitals with a stomach pump, and finding that, barring a few foliates and, tbe everyday coat of his stomaphj b§ empty,he got I" I ran across Eugene Field once more the other day in Chicago. The gathering years have dealt very generously with Gene, and he is growing to resemble me. , "Yes," he said, in that neb, deep, melodious voice of his, a voice that would win the chick-a-dee-dees down from the bushes—"yes," he said, coloring up with boyish delight, "several people have spoken of it. You do not mind it, do you?" . "Oh, no," 1 said. "Anything that gives you pleasure pleases and delights me almost to death." It was quite a good many years ago that Field and I met in Denver. I had some pelts to market one spring, the winter having been very severe on my stock, killing two out of my herd of three cattle by its severity. Fearing to trust the arduous task to other hands, I took the pelts myself, together with an article on "How to Write on an Empty Stomach Without Pain." I went to The Tribune, which has since been swallowed up by The Bepub- lican. It was edited by O. H. Rothacker, since dead, and had Charlie Raymond at the counter, Field where he could be drawn on at a moment's notice for anything from a poem on "Thought" with much feeling. I never saw any one feel sadder than Field did over that, for he never could bear to give any one needless pain. Once he left a hotel in Denver and went elsewhere because, as he said to the proprietor, he had thoughtlessly, while asleep, rolled over on several little creatures in his bed, crushing the life and lights and fragrance out of them, and he would pay his bill, please, and go elsewhere, where he would not give pain to the smallest or smelliest of God's creatures. So he went away to another place, for Field has a tender heart. Mr. Stone, who used to own The News, but who is now a banker and has pleasant relations with dividends and first mortgage bonds and preferred stock, said that three little boys hung around his office once for several days, attracting his attention by their brightness and their pathetic and hungry look, till at last he inquired about them, for they were handsome boys, and yet their poor little blue toes stuck out of their little red and broken shoes, while the blast outside seemed at times almost to out- shriek the blast that Mr. Stone was giving the corrupt city government at that i/imo* j Finally he called the boys to him and asked them whose children they were— if they had any father. One of the lads rubbed his purple foot against the calf of the other leg and said in a pathetic child treble, while his little chin quivered, "We are Mr. Field's little boys." That settled it with Mr. Stone, for he has a kind heart. "Is it possible," he said to himself, "that we are accepting the wonderful work of this wonderful man, yet failing to pay him enough to keep his family from want?" On the following day Gene's salary was doubled, and patting the little boys on the head . • * ^» __X^.J1 4>1*A*«« 4vw • that evening he complimented them on the way they had "created the part," and he gave each of them a nice candy cane over five feet in length. Three years ago, on a professional trip with Mr. Riley, and while my wife was with me bound for the coast, we got word at Kansas City that the children had been attacked simultaneously with scarlet fever, and so it was necessary to give up the California trip. Our manager hated to give up the tour entirely, and in order to make it more impressive wired that I was ill, which was all right for a manager, but would not do for anybody else. He sent the following message, totally unpunotnat- ed, to Field: KANSAS Cmr, April 20,1889. Eugene Field, News, Chicago: Nye very ill west of Missouri what would you, take for sixty nights with, Riley? Eugene did not seem to understand- the telegram. I judge, for he wired back: CHICAGO, April 21, 1889. J. B, Pond, Kansas City: ' I also am sick west of the Missouri, not know what I would WH NYB VISITING GENE. to an obituary of the Ahkoond of Swatt, and Fred Skiff to aid and abet the others; and Tom Dawson, now at Washington and as fat as the thin, piping voice of a passe prima donna, gave dignity to the paper. Mr. Field's room was entirely papered with envelopes, each of which hung on the wall by its flap, like a well merited rebuke on the brow of beauty when administered by mycoworker inthedra- Mr. Field is an erudite scholar and a great collector of antiques. I hare promised him a joke of mine to put with a bookworm which he has in a bottle of alcohol. In his office while at work once he was interrupted by a very raw visitor who wanted to see how he > thought . thoughts. "Do you think the he asked. "Do think them Oh, Tnever know wnen it will attack me," Field said. "This divine racket W liable to catch me at any moment. He then looked far away and his symmetrical limbs began to 3<*k. "Excuse me a moment, he said; "* mustwritea poem." He then put hia feet on the table, with one heel m a ventilator over his head, and wrote that beautiful an* pathetic little thing that has snoken with tenderness and tears i» Sy lands, the story of "Little Boy Blue i " The visitor did not know t«W* Q«ne had already written it in Wa mjn£ and only wanted a little leisure to pRttlt matio field, Colonel John L. Sullivan. This was Gene'a scrapbook. He has since secured letters patent on it, but is kept busy fighting infringements, it consists siwply of a bos of mawlla.en- velopes, each of which, when called into use, contains the scrap with title on outside of envelope. Then the owner, with a dexterous movement tongue, prepares the flap of and deftly stick* it to the Field re(|njj«4 *"*? ot *£** would walk; around the ttoa ittles, till be ewe te on paper just as the visitor came U», CTW it happened so, and now he report^ to h« home in Egypt, Ills., that Mr. FjM»j4 has times when he can no mow W*P writing a poem than a man can avow > feeling of a freshly painted letter bo*«

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