Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, September 10, 1921, Page 8

The Romance By RICHARD HARDING DAVIS Copyright, 1981, by Thx Whecler Newspaper Syndicate, H godlike figure in a frock-coat. ing been born on the East were learning to walk about alone. This fact had been demonstrated only by accident, but was vouched for by| tbose who had.seen him at the age of ‘thrée jump ont of his father’s arms over the railing of an excursion- boat, and paddle around in the water sntil dragged out of it at the end of a boat-hook. . At the age of twenty-five he was making small sums of money by backing himself to win in swimmirg races, and had been given numerous medals for saving Mfe. This latter recreation he regarded only as a livertisement. He did not make a business of it, and it was not to him a matter of serious moment, like the winning of long-distance champion-| ships. But neither of these perform- ances made him wealthy, and it was most necessary that he should become so in order that to might marry Miss Mary Casey, the daughter of the janitor of the Mount Blanc Flats. Hefty was very much in love with her, and had urged her to marry him and live on the little money he could earn, hut Miss Casey was a thought- ful young person and thoroughly ap- preciated her own value. She wished tim to show his love by appreciating it also. It is sometimes difficult to the magnitude of one’s love e's wages, and Hefty found this but Miss Casey saw no excuse They had been engaged for over a year. But while it was difficult for him to earn money, it was as easy for him to drag a drowning man from death to the pler-head as for you to guide a blind man from one sidewalk to the other, or a girl across a ballroom; and his manner in doing the one thing was as matter-of-fact, and as Uttle self-conscioys, as yours would probably be in performing the other. There was not, accordingly, the! least hesitation in the movements of/ Mr. Burke when the daughter of Senor Juan Alvarez failed to place her foot on the lower rung of the| accommodation-ladder, and sank be- true, in ft, oFTY BURKE was a young man of honest countenance and god- like figure, who had been born by some rmischance in the Fourth Ward, instead of fn a more exclusive neighborhood, where he would later in life have been able to show off the Hay- River front, he had followed the river for a lvelfhood ever since, and could swim when other children of his age had opened her eyes before he had }left the boat, and had smiled up at her father; so there was absolutely no reason for his returning. Still, he argued, her father had asked him |to do so—had, Indeed, entreated him |to let them see him again. Perhaps it was only his excitable Southern manner and meant nothing. They were very glad to see him. and he felt satisfied that he had come, and so expressed himself, ani his pleasure in finding that the young \girl was not at all the rse in health for her journey under the water. She ;éaia nothing to this, but smiled upon him'frem -benesth the long lashes with dark, sleepy eyes. Her father seemed to be a very pleasant little jman for a “foreigner”, with a great | deal of manner, which compared | favorably with that of the Frenchman | who taught all the fashionable dances/ for fifty cents an hour, and for noth-| ing to those who formed classes of six or over, at Sorley’s Terrace Gar- den. Mr. Burke could not remember {having met with such pleasant people before. They ate in the captain's cabin in company with two of the ship’s mates, who were men of doubt- ful nationality, and who said but little, but who regarded Mr. Burke closeiy, and drank frequently from The “Liver- pool,” so they informed him, was an English tramp steamer, chartered to carry sewing-machin: and other manufactured articles to a port in Colombia, a South American repub- lic, as they further explained. Senor Alvarez was the owner of the cargo, ‘and his daughter accompanied him} for hit better compan:-nship and iv. a sight of the great city o1 New York. Mr. Burke, in turn, told them proudly jof some of its wonders, and volun- teered to show them its “sights.” He| |thought they should certainly see} Central Park before they left, and} “take in” a dance at the Terrace) Garden. He would also be pleased) to get them seats for the play then running at Niblo’s, which was, so he understood, a ‘‘plece’’ worth, seeing. His advances were received with | polite consideration, but the senor) Tegretted, in bad English but with) perfect grace, their immediate de- parture. They had been lying for the past fortnight at the pier-head, and | had but that morning anchored in the basin, to be in readiness to start with the tide nt midnight. Mr. Burke received this information dumbly. He could not tell why, but he felt tween the port side of the tramp/ steamer “Liverpool” and the ‘‘Liver- | pool's’ long-boat. Mr. Burke was at this moment} tacking around the stern of the steamer in a cat-boat. . There was}. mo time to go about and chase the} broad white hat that rose for an in-) stant at the foot of the ladder, so}, when he heard the father scream he dropped his sheet and tiller and dived over the boat's rafl to leeward, leav-| tng her reeling and careening im- potently in tie wind. And when down below him he saw, turning and twisting in the sharp undercurrent, a/ slim white figure, he dived for it and brought it up firmly under his arm, | and struck out confidently for the/ anchor chain that stretched above his head a few rods farther back, quiver-| mg in the current. He reached: it with a few quick strokes, and threw his arm over it and hung there, breathing heavily, and shaking the damp hair from his eyes. He saw the men of the “Liverpool” tumbling into the long-boat, and three tugs making towards him with fierce shrieks of their whistles, and the passengers on « lumbering ferryboat crowded at the rail and pointing him out. It is al- most as difficult to drown in the up- per bay as in Madison Square, and Mr. Burke, knowing this, concerned himself not at all with the approach- ing aid, but turned his eyes with care- less interest to the face beside his own. It was a different face from any which Mr. Burke had known. He would have classed its owner, had he been asked to give a guess at her nationality, as a foreigner, and more particularly as “Hyetalian” Tho lashes were longer than any he had ever seen, the lips smaller, and tne skin a warmer, browner tint, which made the clinched teeth under the parted lips more white by contrast. It reminded &im of a picture he knew in the cathedral, but he could Sot re- call just then waere he had seen it. The face was so delicate and beauti- ful that-he instinctively moved his own away from it, and relaxed his hold round the girl's body, and as her head sank back on his shoulder he gave a sbort laugh, and wondered with a grim smile what Mary Casey would say if she could see him then. One of the men in the long-boat lifted her up gently, and her father seized “her and caressed her and roaned ahd wept over her, chatter- ing in a soft unknown tongue. The captain of one of the three tugs leaned_oyer the low rail and recog- nized Hefty with a wave of his hand. “i bet.on it It was you,” he said. And then added, looking down at his shoulder with languishing smile, “Who's your friend?” Mr. Burke reddened fiercely at this, and did not answer; but whether he had blushed from anger or em- barrassment he could not tell. He still felt the touch of the girl's face against his own, and as he became conscious of this, he rubbed his cheek hastily with the back of his hand, as ~ tribute of fidelity to Miss Casey, it. Might have been her mother from the way he took on.” Then he said “Foreigners,” briefly, as though thet explained it all, and went up to the tenement to change his wet clothes. ‘There was really no necessityfor his sailing out to the “Liverpool” again. He knew that quite well as he beat » law. “and he certainly did take on about |are afraid—" She stopped and closed | beautiful girl, who treated him as a strangely hurt at their so soon going away. It was as if they had not only rejected him, but his rising feelings of friendliness and hospitality. But then, he answered himself, it could mean nothing to him whether théy gvent or came. And yet when the din- ner was over he was loath to go. Hé stood on the deck and pointed with his hand to the statue of Liberty on Bedloes Island. “That's something youse ought’r see,’ he said, “but I guess you've been over it. No?. It’s a great bit of work inside, with stairs ‘all the way up. You wouldn't think how big it is from here. Why, mor’n a dozen men ean stand on the ledge} round the hand. f you like,” he added; consciously, “I'll sail you over | there.” He locked at the senorita as he spoke, and she gianced at her father, and he looked doubtfully at Burke, at which the young man red- dened, and then the Spaniard, seeing this, told his daughter that she! should go, of course, that it was most | courteous of the brave gentleman who had risked his life for her. himself could not attend them, as! there were clearing-papers to sign/ and a crew to choose. ‘The sun was sinking over the Jer- sey flats when they turned and headed back to the steamer. The girl sat silently im the cross-seat amidships, with one hand trailing in the water and with the other shading her eyes. The places and things of which she spoke were so widely different from what he knew, and appeared, as she told of them, as though they much be so much richer and fuller and more plentiful. A/ land where it was always noon, with trees and flowers and clear skies, and where no one worked; where the) earth furnished food freely, and all day but sit and smoke in the open squares; where the nights were filled with music and danctmg, and every one sat out-of-doors while the band Played on the plaza. #1 “Yes, said Burke, breathing heavily, and staring down with a troubled look at the dark eyes of the girl stretched on the seat below him. “It sounds as if I'd like it. It ain't like this, is it?” he said, with a waye| of his hand as a great flat scow, laden | with freigh cars, pushed past them with a panting tug at her side. “Ah, yes; but, however,” said the girl, slowly, ‘“‘you have that.” She raised her arm from her side aud stretched it out, with her long slim fingers pointing at the great bronze statue which stood out black against the red glow of the sunset. “How?” said Bu’ “have wot? I don’t understand. The girl rested her chin on her hand, and looked past him at the Her lids closed heavily, so ¥ e could hardly see her eyes. She shook her head. “You have Uberty,” she said, as though she were speaking to herself, ind. freedom; you have it all. You have no tyrants jin your country. It is all free and open and noble. With us there is no We are afraid to speak—we her lips as though to compel herself | to silence, “Wot do you mean?” he asked, softly. ‘Who's hurting you in Colombia?" “We do not live tn Colombia,” she seid. ‘Oh yes, the boat goes there, but our own home—the bome I spoke of to you—is in Ecuador. There is uncertainiy about in the wind. He knew the girl had recovered, for she —— aT a ——— TER Se a aS Rs — = ZAR NE SSSA SSS oe PE peace in Colombia; but now with us there is War and revdlution, and men %, SS son a Soo SA SNES. NOES, He | said. where the men seemed to do nothing | ni; \ Senor Alvarez received them at the StS § | are shot in the streets because they will not suffer to be robbed.” She st again, and held her hands |before her face. |_ “Shot in the street, eh?” said, Mr. Burke, gravely. “Wot! police stop ‘em?” impatiently. “My people have been struggling for many years against op- Ecuador, but now because Gonzales |has the army with him my uncle can- not jike his place, but hides in the |mountains without @ home. They jhunt him Uke a turned hts house“into a barracks for Gonzales’ soldiers. I myself saw their tents and horses in the gardens where I have walked many times. It {s all confiscate—you understand?” “Yes,” said Burke, shaking his head solemnly. “I read it in tho papers. I read there was fighting going on down there; but I didn’t take no notice of {t, it’s so far away,” he added, apogetically. “So far away!” the girl repeated, with quick offence. ‘Do not men love their homes everywhere they may be? And love their free life, and to—be masters? I and my people have had no home for years; my uncle, chosen of the people, is driven from the city by a paid mil!- tary; by a man who robs the rich and taxes the poor—takes the salt they eat.” Mr... Burke reddened “Hoh!” he sald, fiercely. “He does, hey? Well, wot are all your men doing all this time?” The girl gave him a quick look of approva!. She leaned forward, with her eyes fixed on h: “They do the best they can,” she said, slowly. “They are poor, but not so poor, but when they cet the guns and the can- nons and-the powder, like all that Gonzales has, they will not be poor no more.” She opened her clasped rms, and threw her hands out with quick, impulsive gesture. “Then slowly. \< Told -Him,” She “I Have Told Him Much, and He Guesses tho Test” “T Ha the brother of my dear father,” she whispered, ‘‘will come back at the head of the army to the people who have chosen him, and those inside will open the gates, and he will march in and drive Gonzales away, and Gonzales will die, and there will be peace again and freedom, and no more taxes, nor stealing, nor assass!- nations.” The tears came to her eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks, but she did not touch them. “Ah, yes, we have brave men,” she said. rais- ing her head proudly and nodding at im. Burke shifted his hand on ths tiller and looked away. ‘And brave women, I guess," he said. “I wish,’’ he began— “I. wish I could do some- thing,” he concluded, impotently. The girl’ smiled. quickly, and straightened her head and shoulders. “Yes, I did not do wrong to speak to you,” she said, considering him with grave, kind eyes. “You do un- derstand it. You are brave; yes, you are brave, and you now know what it is that we suffer." Mr. Burke made no answer, but looked past and beyond her. She seemed to have forgotten him in the thoughts which her words had brought back to her, and’ sat, with her chin on her hand,’ gazing steadily across the water. It was all new to him, and he Jet himself go for the time, and did not try to shake off the hold the girl had ‘lafd@ upon him. Mary Casey and her yellow hair and proud nose, that was borne in air as the daughter’s of a janitor should be, grew familiar and commonplace; her complainings and upbraidings re- turned to him with .a jar, and he compared, unwillingly enough, het love of the gossip of the tenement envy of other girls more fortunate in richer young men, with this quetr, hero. and whose life seemed mixed up with danger and the making of Presidents. He remembered with fresh regret the lack of appreciation Miss Casey had shown when he helped make a President by acting as window-man at the last election. He was sure this girl would have better understood the importance of that service. andit. They have} mat and of the corner flirtations, and her) |neaa of the accommodai {ne again, ‘you wo \er- . 5 a wouldn't under- d bade Burke make the jt toot nanteeresit I was to tell you.” i: will remain to eat us,” he| “You have seen much,” said the ~ Spaniard, Burke did not argue with himself /than any Don't the this time, but told himself that this| My daughter, she has told you why |them, and her 1 ~ |was for the last time, and that he! we come; you see for yourself why slightly as though Tt is a revolution,” said the girl.|would never again see these strange we come.” His voice rose to 2 sharp had made her tremble. ‘'I am afraid | h people who had come so suddenly climax of excitement end suspicious |of breaking my promise that’s given,” | whined, in a 1 into his lite. Though it was so late, the men were still lowering cases =~! boxes from the main-deck into tha open hatch with the ald of a creaking derrick, and the three stood on the bridge and watched them in silence. A ¢, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, directed them in a low voice and ina strange tongue, and the moonlight gave to the men and their work a strange and unfamiliar |aspect. The derrick swunz short of jthe hatch, and stopped with a jerk, jand the box it had lifted shook free }from the rope about it, and came | down, turning over in the air. There |was a warning cry from th» mate, and a crash as the box struck. It burst into a dozen pieces and there |tumbled out upon the moonlit deck a scattered mass of glittering sabres. Senor Alvarez uttered a quick, for- eign oath, and threw himself in front of Burke, as though to shut the sight }from him; but Burke only turned | towards the girl and smiled In sym- |pathy. The smile, more than any- thing else, seemed to startle the little Spaniard..and he glanced quickly at his daughter for a word of explana- tion. “I have told him,” she said. “I have told him much, and he guesses ythe rest.” “You have guessed? Yes, “said Alvarez, fiercely; “what ha’ you guessed ?"" Burke shrugged Kis shoulders. {r- fresolutely. “It’s no business of |mine,” he said. “I only wish it was.” he added. He turneu away, while | the father and daughter spoke to each other quickly in their own lancuage. |Then the Spaniard turned and sur- veyed Burks with steady deliberation. “You ate a brave young man,” he began, slowly, and speaking with soft intentnéss. ‘You have shown us to- day that-you think of other lives be- fore your.own; {is it not so? You have done very much for me; what will you: do more?” He paused, dramatically, and held out his arms, > Burke regarded him with a troubled countenance. ‘‘What do you mean?” he asked. fard, quickly. “That is what I mean. Come.with us.. My daughter, she has told you what you know. She did wrong to tell you, perhaps. We shail see. Perhaps no; perhaps. she has done well. Come with us, and I will make you a captain. You will have many. meén under your command, and my brother is in the capital again, you will bea man with many titles to ‘honor, and a home for yourself with beautiful gardens about it. We need brave men. You are a brave man. Will you come?” ‘The girl moved slowly to her father, and stood beSide him, with one hand resting on his shoulder, and -looked at Burke from under the shadow of the black mantilla. He could ‘see her eyes shining in the moonlight. They neither invited nor, repelled him, but | questioned him earnestly. There was a moment’s pause, and then Burke shook himself and laughed weakly. He thrust his hands deep into his | pockets and stood slouching, with his \chin thrown out, and smiling bitterly at the great buildings around Bowl- ing Green. ‘Well?’ said the older man, with sharp suspicion in his voice. “You ueedn't think that— can’t understand,” said Burke. You “T am not good at saying things,’ added, impotently. he “Wot I mean is,” “Come with us,” urged the Span-| much of glory and reward, and when| |, slowly. man in this country knows. “You know more fear. “I make no more promises. 1 command you. You understand, you Must go with us; you must go. We cannot trust you to leave behind.” Burke's hands came out of Mis pockets with a jerk. “‘Wot!" he growled, savagely. me, can’t you? Why not? you know of wot I've got to do, of wot I'd like to do if I had my way? i'm promized. I've given my word to |¢o something else. I'd like to fight and row with the best of you—for |you and for the lady there. But— but I’m not free. I’ve got my work cut out for me where I am. I've got to stay here.” “You have got to stay here.” re- peated the Spaniard, suspiciouly. “Yet you are a young man. You jeannot have family or much bu: |ness. You take your pleasure swim- jming and sailing in your boat in this ay. |you sidco you were here this morn- ing. All these, people know of you. They say you are very brave, and that you are free. They all sny good of you, but now you know too much an is good for you. You shall come with me.” Burke gave the girl a troubled glance and shook his head. “‘Can’t you understand?" he asked; and then added, straightening himself -=.. try; ing to give an air of importance td what h€ was about to say, “I’m en- gaged.” “Engaged—-what is that?” manded the Spaniard, quickly. ~"I'm engaged to be merried to a young woman. I've got to stay at home and take care of her.” The Spaniard regarded him closely for a moment with evident incred- de- ulity, and then burst into a laugh which mocked him. “Oh,” he said, “it is that, is it? Tt is a young woman. It is always so. You have here honor, money, and much renown, and great good te do, and you remember this young woman. Let me not keep you!” he cried, with a sudden change of man- ner, You are no doubt impatient to be back."” He bowed with exaggerated courtesy, and, with an air of relief and amusement, moved backwards towards the top of the ladder. ‘Let us not keep you,” he said, laughing. Burke observed him with a sick feeling of rage at the injustice of it, and then raised his eyes slowly to those of the girl. She had turned from™them, and was standing erect and motionless, with her bands rest- jing on the polished rail and gazing \steadily’ at the shore. She must surely understand, Burke thought. “Perhaps,” interrupted the mock- ing voice of the father—‘perhaps it is that you do not desire to go for war. Fighting) it is true, is full of dan; He laughed and bowed again, motioning with a wave of the band towards the ladder. Burke turned and looked at him, with his shoulders bent and his head lowered. “It reminded the Spaniard Suddenly of a bull he had seen in the jring after the matadors had tor- mented it, and just before it had plunged forward and hurled.a man lifeless against the Presiden®s box. He stratehtened himself, and fell back a step. “Perhaps,” he said, quickly, “there ts something I do not |comprehend. You will pardon me, but I misunderstaod.” Burke regarded him steadily for some short time, and then turned away without having heard what he had said. He slipped his cap from his head, and moved a step nearer the girl. “It isn’t that I am afraid I have been informed so of| lof the fighting—you know that be \said—“‘but that I am afraid of some- thing else.” He stopped and stood with his eres fixed so earnestly on the girl's face that she seemed to feel shoulders moved the cool night air jhe sald. He waited a moment, but \the girl did not move, or show by any sign that she had heard him. “I lean't do that,” he begged. His voice (wes full of doubt and trouble. “I can’t do that. can I?" The girl stood “You can’t trust!motionless, and then shrugged her three thousand dollars sure. Wot do |shoulders sligs¢ly, and turned ovt the thousand—think of that. palms of her han Burke drew a long breath, and straightened himself resolutely. “Goofy,” said Burke. | She put her han out slowly, and |Darely touched it ‘, his own, and then | walked the short length of the bridge jaway from him, As his boat rounded the bow of the steamer, a row-boat shot out from under her side, and its solitary ocen- pant. pulléd off with short, quick strokes for the sbore. It was the dden sight of ‘Burke's boat and the {1 looming white in the moonlight that had startied him, and Burke, recognizing. this, called him to stop. The oarsman answered with a this head as if to hide his fa¢e from observation. Burke shortened sail, and in a moment drew up at the row- boat’s side. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said. “You” was Mr. “Big” Marks. “Give me your rope,” commanded Mr. Burke. “I'll tow ye in,” The man in the icat sat motion- less. “‘You needn’t mind me, Hefty,” he whined, humbly. “I'm just ro ing about; I can get in by myself.” Mr. Burke regarded him with |Steady scrutiny, ‘You're lying,” he |said; ‘‘give me that rope. Wot was ye doing under the bow of that steamer? and,” he continued, angrily, “wot did you try to get away from me so fast for?” Mr. Marks threw him his painter, and crawled over the side of the cat- boat. “One of my men,” he began, glibly enough, “is on the “Liver- pool’; he’s a Swede that’s a regular customer of mine when he’s In port. I just rowed out to see him off. They get away in an hour or two.” “In an hour,” corrected Burke. Hé looked back at the steamer with heavy eyes, and seemed for moment to have forgotten his sudden animosity towards his prisoner. ing which, Mr, Marks lit a cigar, and smile to Burke. “It's good,"’*he said; seen no custom-house. “I'm not smokin; grimly. “Training again, hey?" asked Mr. Marks, pleasantly. ‘Well, my money is on you this time, and every time. There ain’t none of ‘em as can touch you—that’s what I say.” said Burke, inquiry and with troubled eyes. did not speak again until they had reached the wharf, and then, as Mr. Marks started) away with a hasty him: “Come back here. I want you.” Mr. Marks hesitated, and then turned, and waited with evident un- easiness. “You'll come and take a drink,” said Burke. Mr. Marks fingered the cigar in his hand nervously. “I'd like to, Hefty,” he said, “but another time. I've got to see a man at the place. I've got an appointment with him. Some other night—hey? Got to hurry now.” “IN go with you,” said Burke, steadily. Mr. Marks looked at him for the first time with sharp scrutiny, and laughed a low, comfortless laugh. He was a fat, oily person, with a face reddened by drink and the wind of the river. Burke towered beside him as they walked a2‘ong, his face set and miserable. From one place to an- other and from one street corner-to the next the two men walked and halted. Semetimes to speak to an acquaintance, sometimes to order something to drink, which both left untasted ‘on the bar. As the hour wore on the nervousness of the older man became obvious, and at last, in quickly through a side entrance and |ran into the night. The next moment |Burke was at his side. “Here, you had better not try that on me,” he growled, and dropped into step again. Mr. Marks stopped and drew a long |breath. “Well, you make me tired, | Burke,” he said, desperately. It was his first sign of reLellion, and Burke welcomed it. ‘What are you after, |hey?'' Marks demanded. ‘‘What is it going to be? You're stopping all my fun,” he went on, fiercely, “‘and you don’t seem to be getting anything ou’ )of it yourself. What do yon want of me, anyway, trailing me all over the place?’” : They were at\he end of a pier and quite alone. Burke'looked about him carefully, and then turned towards the water where the “Liverpool” lay, a black, dim silhouetto in the moon- light. The night mist «was rising and it was growing colder. The place Was quite deserted. “Oh,” said Burke, with unaffected careless, “I don't know wot you are ng TU stay by you till I do. all.” Marks regarded him with flerce }Suspicion, and broke the silence at jlast with an angry oath. “I suppose }you want me to divide—hey?” he cried, viciously. He looked at-hi watch, -and snapped the lid with a} |Sharp click. “It's that or letting it jall go,” he sa’ “Curse you for a |meddling fool!’ He stamped his feet | and clinched his fat hands {m-/ potently. “‘I’d ha’ been aboard her i this time if it hadn’t beea tor| Burke raised his eyes slowiy| quicker pull on the oar, and bowel} See- Offered ‘another with a propitiatory | “it’s never | Burke made. no reply to this, but gazed at his companion with stern He night,’’ he called sharply after 2 saloon near the Battery, he slipped is | {towards the steamer. and saw that lthe smoke was coming out of "Liverpool's" funnel {nm a thick bt leloud. It cave his heart a su isharp wrench. and he glanced about him with a look which sobered- his |companion ‘instantly. “See here, Hetty, ac. ar nae |“we've got to work qu! going to stop her. They've got the ‘anchors up now, most like. Here, he exclaimed, with an apparent burst lot generosity, “I'll téll you what I'll do. I'll go halves with you-——that’s It's a for- jtune.”* | Burke regarded him with a look lof slow amazement. “Three thou- \Sand dollars.” he said, stupidly. that,” eine yp ee \“"'There’s twelve thousan jollars’ worth of stuff on her altogethe! \counting the Hotchkiss guns and the jammunition. The informer gets half. \That’s law. There’s no getting out of that. It’s law. They've got to give it to you, and it’s honest money, too. What right have them halt- }breeds coming up here involving us | Americans in their d—d revolutions? jIt's against the courtesy of natic—s— that’s what it fs. I read it all up, land I know what I’m givin’ yo. They | “Yes, can't do it. cage, and the “Marry Miller". Levy \got five thousand dollars for giving her away, and I'd ha’ pulled six thop- sand dollars out of this if you'd let me alone. Well, speak up; what do you say?" Burke was leaning forward, with his eyes staring into those of his com- panion, He wes breathing heavily, “Wot are you going to do?” he asked |quietiy. His voice was low and un- certain. | Marks caught him famillarly by the sleeve. ‘‘Do?" he asked, trem— ‘bling with excitemen-—“go to the “Washington”—she’s at her slip |there beyond the fire-boat—and tell |the captain what we know. He can \stop her before she reaches the lower |bay, and he may if he belleves what |we say. And he has got to belle mo, because one of the crew give me \all the figures, and where they t |the stuff, and who pald for it. Alvarez himself, the brother to the |one they run out of the country—hii |as wants to be President. Come!” the cried, frantically, and dancing the|from one foot to the other in his excitement. But Burke stood still, regarding him stupidly. “Three thousand dol- jlars. For “he said. “I don’t understand." “Hully gee!” cried the oth “Don’t I tell you we get half! T! government gets one-half the cargo aad the informer gets the rest. That’s the law. Thin‘ if it—three thousand dollars! W man alive, you cam marry on that; and it’s good |money, too, come by honest for serv- ing your country. Old man Casey will be proud of you, Hefty—and— and Mary, too, hey, she—" “Shut up!” said Burke, savagely. He glanced with a troubled look to ton” lay at the end of the Bar |Ofice dock. It was so very near. stood rigid, breathing quickly, and with only his fingers working at his side. The other Watched him with evil, wide-open eyes. Then Burke gave a short gasp of relief, ans reaching out suddenly, caught Mar! by the sleeve. “Come with me,” he said, steadily. ‘Come over here and sit down.” “Sit down? Like hell!” cried the other fearfully. ‘‘What) ails you? Don’t you fee she’s got steam on |now? _She’ll be out of the river-be- fore—" “You're not going to the ‘‘Wash- ington”, said Burke. ‘You're not going to give nothing away. You ‘are going to stay here with me. There’s—there’s friends of mine on board that boat. They're not hurt- ing you, and you're not going to hurt them, nor interfere with them neither—see? You'll stay right here.” Mr. Marks’s face was black, and the muscles working with excite- ment and the fear of losing what already considered his. ‘I mean," sald Burke, firmly, “that yore going to stay here until that boat gets out of the harbor, till she gets clean off. Do you understand?. That's wot I mean.” “Oh,” said the other, softly, “that's what you mean, is it?’ § He jerked his sleeve away, and his arm rose suddenly in the air, and Burke caught it by the wrist ap@ tripped him up with 2 quick jerk that threw him heavily on his back. | Burke threw himself on his chest and wrenched at the knife in his hand. | “You wonld, would you,” he said, pone his breath. “Give it up—do you hear? Give it up,” ron neakes Pp,” he growled, | The fat little man beneath him |Stoaned and struggled helplessly un- der his weight. “Let me up,’" he |Sasped, “I’m choking—let me up, | Burke tossed the knife into the |river, and settled his fingers carefully round the other's throat. “Lie still," jhe whispered. .“If you yell or noth- |ing I'll choke the life out of you and eae you lying here—” ut even as he uttered this threat |Mr. Burke raised his eyes to the bay, jand gave.a soft low cry. The smoke | Was pouring in a black mass from the |funnel of the “Liverpool,” and as hé (Watched her she started slowty for- ward, as a sled es over the ice, jand. then moyed more and mora )Swiftly until the smoke stood out in & straight line and she grew less and less distinct, until, after passing the base of the great statue of Liberty, shoe disappeared into the mist and out- of his sight forever. Z The man beneath him groaned |feebly and: eursed him.ounder: his, breath, “You can get up,” sald Burke, gently, with his eyes still staring into the mist. “‘Shs's gone now.'t. my Iad,” he | Look at the “Alliance” | |where the revenue-cutter “Washing-_- » 4 , es, Mj Sszior —) Al J ~ 2 Yan) wee) p ZNSa ra XFIT SY © ~ >> SS ray, = = = Ne EK (ZA EF x Be <f IES 52 wi : Bal) ~ y cbs SS Yl SEs Noe RES So 774 1 %, Wy; a & oP 4 7 <= ) oan Swiss = ms ar yaa " POS ST en / FF RQ O SS zi eS SS ee ee ey NY FID oe SSF SSS as a OSS SS ee ES