Evening Star Newspaper, March 7, 1891, Page 7

TOTS Oe ee GERALDINE. A ROMANCE OF A FEMALE DETECTIVE. (Copyrighted. } CHAPTER L NE DECEMBER AFTERNOON A GEN- fleman stood at a door on which was small brass plato engraved, “George Marsden, private detective office.” To open this outer door and enter the passage and office was the work of a moment, and the clerk ‘be- hind the railed desk looked up with a start asa ‘wusical voice, with a clear, crisp accent, said: “Isr. “No, sir, but bis chief agent is,” was the re- “That will do,” said the stranger. He was a tall, handsome fellow about thirty, with a dark mustache and thick wavy hair a trifle longer than men usually wear it, but was perfectly in keeping with the man’s fine face and whole appearance. ‘The elerk conducted the gentleman to a back room of good size, weil furnished and warmed by asplendid fire. The visitor put his hat and gloves on a side table and went at once to the fireside. The entrance of some one made him tarn and start with surprise and a quick look of admiration as a lady eame forward—s tall, slen- der woman, young—perhaps four-and-twenty, graceful, with face at once handsome and in- teresting. “What a picture!” flashed unbidden across the artist, and perhaps something else deeper still across the man. The woman fuet his look with one straight, fearless, but in no way bold or unwomanly, as she said in a mellow contralto that somehow he aad expected: “What can I defor you, sir—you wished to see me?” “I beg pardon, madam—tI was told that Mr. Maraden’s chief agent—" i “Yes—that is right. Iam his chief agent, Geraldine Laval.” said the other quietly, sent- ing herself at the desk. and the visitor took one at the side of it. teral the vi a started back in the surprise of a recognition. At your service,” she answered, without a quiver of voice or lip and plainly declining to dmit that she remembered him. It can't be that you have forgotten me,” ow he became reserved in his turn. “Our hip—our intimacy—our——" Pray do not say our love,” the calm young wounn interposed. “You said yourself, when we parted in Russia, that I did not love you, and you convinced me fully that you di love ine. Let us not talk about anythin than the business upon which you have ik yo he said simply brief as possible. My busine: an, ie she did not start nor move a muscle, as many women might have done. She lifted those pene- trating, secretive gray eyes to his and said iy: “Perfectly; and you are the artist, Mr. fred Romaine. “Lam—on whom,” he said bitterly, “wise official and public’ suspicion rested and stil rests, and doubtless amongst others, in your id, No,” said the detective, in the self-possesse4, resolute way that seemed ‘habitual to her, both by nature and training, “I read all the evidence and I never for a moment thought yon guilty.” ‘Two months prior to Wilfred Komaine’s visit to the detective office the city was horrified by mysterious murder ata villa on the river's bank. A widow lady named Komaine was the vietim and her body had been found in the river with a handkerchief tied tight over the mouth. The terrible discovery had been made by the vietimn’s own stepson. Wilfred Romaine. A valaable diamond ring was gone from the lady's tinger and the murderer apparently been disturbed before he could rifle watch or urse or get into the house by the open window the drawing room. Two or three days later, the inquest, more particulurs came out. It appeared that the stepson himself wus the on! person who benefited by Mrs. Romaine’s death, since his father, who had died some year or more back, had left 4,000 « year to his for life and 1,000 to his ‘son. Tho widow's death would make the son master of the whole invested capital. The son was by profession an artist, was eight and twenty, and n leaving college’ had goue to Italy to study ther and travel. His parents had been most and he had more 1 red above — dis- position of the property. He was deeply attached to his stepmother; he said she was like an elder sister. She rented the villa for this autumn. He had returned home late— about 11, missed her from the drawing room and gone up to her dressing room to ask if he should elose the shutters below. The servants had just retired. Whilst upstairs he thought he beard a faint cry from down the lawn,close to the river, and ran down stairs out to the garden calling “Margaret!” It was ten minutes vefore he discovered the body, submerged and caught in the rooteand weeds off the bank be- Jow the boundaries of the garden. No help was near. He had got the body out and carried it back, called, the “household up aud seut for doctor and police. He had not heard or seen any one. No, he had never seen the handker- chief before.’ It was not his. It was a white imaudkerehief with no mark,except a tiny patch of a faded pale pinky Hue sewn on in one cor- ner, doubtless a mere rough ““laundress mark. An unmistakable bent of suspicion was evident throughout against Wilfred Romaine. But for ail that the verdict couid scarcely be other than “wilful murder by person or persons un- known,” with a kind of rider, “there uot being sufficient evidence to incriminate any i: vidual,” all of which left the general impres- sion in and outside the coroner's court that the guilt lay close to the stepson. You wish Mr. Marsden to undertake the case?” said Geraldine Lavai. wish you personally to take it in hand,” returned Komaine, decisively, “if you possibly can. e half smiled. cannot dictate to my employer, but your wish will have weight. As he is Just now much ed, I should most probai is case. What are the police abou ‘Ob. I believe following some trace of a dia- mond ring apparently like the one my step- mother wore, but it matters little. I shall my own course now independent of them. I have had the lawn searched, the banks and the Fiver bed, too, for the ring, but uselesaly, so I suppose it must have been arobber. My mother,” bis lips quivered, “must have strolled out in the gardens to look for my coming and been attacked. ‘There seems no other possible motive. She had no enemies,” be said with an auguish that went to the woman's heart. After a pause she said slowly d yet a robber or burglar would scarcely have wasted time and risked a murder, when he could have surely easily escaped with’ the ring before help | came to his victim's ery, nor would he have de- | layed to use that handkerchief with a red mark | dangerous identification in my opinion. To | my mind, Mr. Romaine, the balance is against the mere robbery theory—the ring was taken | to throw the police on” the wrong scent, and was probably hurled into the river to tell no tales. Murder was the crime intended, not rob- bery, and the mot 5 !” Wilfred broke in passionately, do net suspect or suggest that my rgaret—— : .”* interposed the woman pity- | ingly, “and it grieves me to pain you with questions which you may misconstrae, but Imayso ask and probe I am hand- Forgive me,” he said, turning aside a mt, “it is all such bitter misery that— I feel bait sometimes. Ques- an o8 Nill, Mise Laval.” i th “Yes, and Geraldine takoed § i ret Carr, She was the orp! rural village, where he had died some two years before her marriage. But Margaret had never spoken much of her earlier life, as it had not been . She had never opt any lovers that ough ight than she had spoken of to himself. “A girl so lovely must have had admirers, said the agent, resting her pretty chin on her —_ and looking at “however poor was.” “She was no coquette, you see. to boast of conquests,” he added, with a fond, proud mem- ory of Lis dead.“ loved my father and eared for no other adoration.” “But others may have cared for her, and since no clue is visible in the present I shall go back to her youth and try that trail.” “Thank you; itis now quite in your hands, but you must have plenty ‘of money,” laying & r6ll of notes before her. ‘ She counted them, smiled alittle and said, “Half that was plenty at present,” but Romaine answered decisively that she must not be hampered. “You like your own way, I see, Mr. Romaine, Geraldine said, smiling again as she wrote out a receipt; “this will be accounted for to you, of rae. 8 you please,” he said carelessly, but bit- ing hia lip as he rose and began refastening his ulster. “I wish Mr. Marsden were here, and I would tell him myself that I want you to do ‘The agent laughed and pointed to the door which she, facing it, had seen open while Wil- fred said the last words, and he turned quickly to see a fine-looking, brown-bearded man quite forty or five-and-forty, with an erect and a di- rect, shrewd gaze that went straight to the we be he said, bowing. “I was _ don, sir,” he said, bowing. “1 not pha bam one was with my agent, but I heard your wishes and you shall certainly be obliged, as Miss Laval is just disengaged and I myself, as a find the executive post as chief fills my hands.” “;Certainly; thank you, Mr. Marsden. Then I shall consider that settled, for this Indy seems vusiness. Sh to #0 exactly understand It was too much pain to him to repeat story needlessly. and Geraldine felt that as he shook hands with her exactly as he would with any other lady in her own drawing room, or rather not like “‘any other,” for no other touch had ever made his pulses throb as this woman’ did, no other face so haunted his vivid imagina- tion and soul as this onc. What cruel reversal of fate bad thang her into uch a lite as this? le longed to question: who him to the street door, bat of ocurse cosld not, for naturally such questions might be miscon- strued. He must wait for chance's favor and meanwhile paint her. Memory would serve the facile hand. jood evening, Mr. Marsden,” he said, pass- ing ont. ‘ood evening, si Marsden went fireside. k to the warm room snd “By jove, that’s « handsome fellow.” said he, bending to hold his hands to the fire, ‘but looks troubled. Who is he—what's. hiv case? A runaway wife to frace, m heir or— “Murder,” said the girl, with a quick frown — somehow the usual careless, professional tone jarred out of tune on her this time—“the Romaine murder.” Marsden swung round and faced her with a long “Whew—w,” then striking on the other in eager gladness. “By the Lord, what luck for us to got such case. Unravel that horrible mystery and the repute of this office is made. “And that was Romaine?” Geraldine shivered. “Yes,” she said, looking down into the fire, “poor fellow, it is such # tangle. We must not hope too much, nor you—clever even as you consider me, and experienced as I am.” 'm too old a bird, my dear, to expect mira- cles.” returned her chief, half Ipughing. “On my word, it's too bad for you to have the luck of such a piece of work a3 this. Don't think Td have promised it so easily if I had known— only really my own hands are full,” meditatively into the blaze. “So — well, you ve got the weather side of luci, my deat, anyhow, nd, of course, if you do falter hefe Iam to with: Iv isin your baxds new and you must do your best not to fail. Are you going home now?” for she moved to take up a fur jacket. “Yes, Ihave some packing todo. Iam off early in the morning to make a start.” “Ha, ha! Smart work. Where to? I won't bother you for details now. “I go to where Mrs. Romaine came from. Do you know the place?” Not at all, my dear; do you?” “I — no; ‘how should I whea I've lived abroad—kuocked about, Ihad better say—till T came to your service three yearsago. Good- bye. "They shook hands and the agent went out. CHAPTER II. If you don’t want any particular thing or per- son, that very thing or person will intrude upon you atevery turn, but the moment you want them they vanish by magic. So in a small country town it is standing aphorism that everybody knows everybody—and so they do when you don't care about their knowledge of their neighbors; but try to find out any one in- dividual, and the particular native you address has never heard of or seen such a person. When cl y of fate is added the lapse of twelve or more yeats, during which death, marriage, removal and other changes havi taken place, it is easily seen that the difficul- ties of the detective’s research are immeasure- fe 4 increased. Geraldine Laval knew her task. Lawyer Carr had been dead twelve years and memories had waned. With skill and tireless patience the detective pursued her inquiries; often baflled, weary and disheartened, but never giving up; stimulated iy. uncon- sciously by the ever-present picture of that artist face that would not be banished, or the thought that his name being absolutely cleared hung on her success. But Christmas and New Year passed and at iast, step by step. she found gat a very old man who could teli her more. Bat out of a lot of garrulous nothings Geral- dine gathered a <listinct clue to follow, and seemingly, too, in the line of her own tions. “Yes, Miss Carr was that preti she didn't eare for nobody, only one, when she was ‘bont twenty. for when he was 'ostler at Pyke's Tavern, he'd seen her talk with a gentle- man what lodged at the inn a good while and then he went away. Law, old Pyke died five ears back and the widder went to Plymouth, hearn tell.” ‘The detective at once went on to Plymouth and in two daysshe found Mrs. Pyke. raldine’s soft manners and adroit questions she got the good woman into full flow of talk. “Margaret Carr was the beautifulest girl, and heli herself high. Well, then one autumn Mrs. Pyke had a lodger, a gentleman from the city. Leastways, ma'am, he was handsome and gen- tleman-like, but not, as you might say, a real gentleman, do you see—inost nice to me always, and I used to do for him, and when he bought A set of hand ae he a would I mark *em,” said she, ming to a) man'am, in any'wayT'd keow hos.” Gerebaies looked up quickly and drew in a breadth. “I'm the worst needie-woman. so I cuts a dozen tiny squares off of an old red handkerchief of Pyke's and sewed ‘em on Leopold Langton’s a it te curious mark where initials should bandkerchief,” said the agent at length, “‘is a man’s, but not of fine enough fabric for a gentleman's, and this little square here has once been red. cut. I should say, from some eid red handkerchief and sewn on by-—evi- dently—a very bad neediew: must keep this, please; I consider it an important clue and evidence, especially on my si theory. mark ¥, ebiet with bave been. “The it,” putting the handkerchief back and into her pocket. “Now, ikeness of rs. Romaine.” Silently, with sorrowful reverence, Wilfred drew forth an oval morocco case and laid it in ‘shand. She started a little as she photo case and an exclamation ment —told him he was a coward and scam, nd ought to marry only that poor girl as be’ - pad, “The se told his father more | wa: ill | news for me?” he take | control and readily coverin MRR 1 Oe Ry RO ES oe ‘e <3 THE EVENING STAR: -WASHINGTON, D.C, SATURDA “There,” said she, triumy Sroplace Sad toe a ant ¥ its it'll give you the Hea. Faded—yes, as cheap woman, looki her forehead, ntly. “I found throwd into the awful faded, but hotos do: but the down on it, put her hand to tts wo do when some tely to take formand sentence. When this one seemed. dimly ts seit Mere ae one remit cet slight, handsome young man with the smiling mouth and drooping mustache, under whose baler pee there dwelt such a devil—where— ™ netddenly it felt to the woman en © very flesh began to creep with » vague horror ‘that each second gained in strength and shape—that took slow form as each dim remi- niscence grew into recollection—and every drop of blood stole from cheek and lips down— down with a deadly coldness like half frozen wat Goa.” she w and stood still for seconds. she uietly round and said in a business-like way: “Do you know anything more about this Langton—who be was, whence he came, where he went?” “Lord, ma'am, only what he said, and that wasn't much—only that he had been in the gov- ernment service in Russia and when he left he said he should go back there for awhile. “Russia—you are sure of that?” “<Biess you, ma'am, yes.” “Another ‘lie of his, muttered the alond she said then,” other between her teeth; then 4 % irs, Pyke. I-will make it worth your while™ Three days after that Wilfred Romaine, stand- ing absorbed before that memory picture he had worked at all these anxious weeks of sus- pense, scarcely heard his servant at the door announce a Visitor, but perhaps some subtle sense of the presence that wns never absent from his heart made him turn suddenly to see the living original of his wrapt thought. The light sprang to his cyes, to his whole face, and with a resistless impulse he almost caught her hand in a close “You,” he said, under his breath, “you—at last! forgive my ‘impetuosity—you have some added, instantly regaining his words as the woman's cheek flushed and her hand trembled in his. Her heart throbbed up into her throat and unnerved her for a moment. Love was not for her, it never had been in all her miserable, perish life. And this gleam that picture be- \d—no, no, it was an artist's wild and fanci- ful romance. ow, with this man no cyni- cal suspicions touched her, and after the slight- est pause to master hereeif she could quickly take up his saving clause. “Yes, Ihave news at-last, Mr. Romaine; my the truth.""he started—“your stepmother’s murderer had once been her lover—e: to her.” ‘Thenahe told him the story, he listening with one hand shading his eyes, silent, still, with the be Lome of every fiber. “When the faded photo,” the detective went on, ‘ ted to my memory » face I had known [brought this Mrs. Pyke with me un- known to anybody. I would not even report myself until Twas sure of success. ‘To assure that last, I yesterday took my witness—I being disguised—to a restanrant where I knew the man I suspected usually dined, and presently he did come in amongst some three or four others. I saw Mrs. Pyke's eyes go from one to the other then fasten on him, watch him from our corner and then she gripped my hand under the table and muttered in my ear: ‘That's him over there facing the window.’ Then I took her away back to our lodgings and early this morning fectly T wont to a certain laundress, who housekeeper, re e = Had she had it to wash?~ Yes, sh the faded red mark;it had amused her so much; {the old handkerchief had been black with ust some litt! ite sticking to it. She had sent it back amonger the rest of the gentloma ket handkerchiefs. It had come last Octol ‘Never read papers or heard any news?’ I asked carelessly. ‘Lor’, no, ma'am,’ sho said; ‘I wasn’t able to.” Again’ this red mark ism strong link in my chain of evi- dence. Tou soe, th of (ane individuality, and shot ‘as I shall yet further) that hand- Tto has the kerchief to have been in sing "Twi ta suspect and in his bureau fore the murder on fatal you on the way to the police headquarters what man is. Cau you come, for you should make the charge? I have to swear information “Can I come?” Romaine began; then biting his lips added: “I should not dream of lettin; you go alone. Heaven! it is all so hard—if could but spare you He turned sharply aside, then came back. “Forgive me—but this work—for you, young, well-bred, retined—a lady, it is too terrible.” She looked at him a second with # passionate pain in her eyes, about her lips, but answored with a stern, ‘bitter endurance under the quietness. “I was younger when we parted in Russia. Did you then think me too well bred or refined for—well, for worse employmen: than detec- tive work for an innocent man accused? You suspected me because my father, although a Kussian count, was a professional gambler. You knew nothing else against me. jor did I accuse you of anything else. It was you who turned ine away. Why you did it Inever knew. It was not a dismissal ont- right, but you avoided me, repelled me, chilled the love I had for you. “I did all that, but it was when Ihad the evidence that you loved another. No more of that. You were deploring my present em- ployment.” am used to it—for years. Ihave to live, and it is better than ‘the foreign gambling houses of my father's lifetime—here, there and everywhere. My playthings wero ‘cards and dice, the men and women about me—God knows how I was kept from the worst, I don't. Shall we start, Mr. Romaine? ‘The arrest_must be arranged and made today. When I have sworn the information we must go on and. pre- vent any escape while the warrant is being made out: the two officers will follow and wait till T call them in. I will arrange with them.” Romaine bowed in silence and they went out together on their grim errand. CHAPTER IIL “Yes, come in.” said Mr. Marsden, busy over some note books, then rising quickly as the door opened. “What. yon at last, Geraldine! Ah, and you, too, Mr. Romaine?” as he saw the tall figure which followed his agent. “We met on the step,” she said easily. “Mr. Romaine was coming for some news, not liking my long silence. Stureden laughed a little. “Ab, these are slow work genera seat, sir—but [hope my turn does not mean failure.” “N-o, I think not ou see y—-take a leaning back easily in but stay, my dear gitl, this is surely painful for Mr. to hear? Per- ine yot would prefec to wait in the office “No—I will stay and hear,” said Romaine, itood leaning aguinst the mantel- ing, ‘was deadl; but his were tell covertiy kept thels watch, df j Hit ay! Hi I ue iF r i Ht clever assistant’s re- | in maile at Pye shen ge there were have an ou ofall people! rit ating in Lenn ast of the morning to wait (es, Iknow ately, “but for all. house at all between 12 o'clock and portance to the business see you that night. Ieame on policeman saw me go to this he was not barred up as when you for Lentered with icy ry looked into; I knocked loud at your chamber door-—" sleep sound,” sai n, sitting down, and with an evil mile. You were absen:. 8, reckoning you would surely be home then. You were not, and I left to get some food and rest. I came’to you, as you truly said, before 8, but I nevei my knowledge of your Inte absence—it is best sometimes not to know too much.” Z “Very considerate of you," interposed Mars- den, with a eres snser,” “but. such a story would look respectable for you if I—— ‘ou devil, be silent !” suid Romaine between his teeth, with sch fierce ion that the Girl interposed quickly, her check flushing: “Hush! What matter? lost in the world’s ever; T have simply fo doand speak. Now, Mr. Maraden, f em going tofetch inthe police and Mr. Romaine wil guard you until we return.” ‘The ‘prisoner glowered at her, then said sud- deniy: “Stop! tell_me the eviccnee you bring For all you have hurled is none— it? “There is no time to waste on words; but this mueh I will tell you—the most fatal, if lent, witness which links Leopold Langton With George Marsden and George Marsden with Mrs. Romaine’s murder is the handkerchief with the faded rod mark.” The man leaned back in his chair as she moved to the door. “You d——d tr 1" he said savage never spoke or stirred again till she came back with the two police officers to make the arrest: then pointing to Geraldine Laval he said, with rough brutality, gloating over the wound he inflicted so vengefully: “It is » base conspiracy ‘on, my agent, and your lover there, who has bought you to screen his guilt at my expense.” She only turned haughtily away then, while Wilfred sot his teeth, but when the prisoner and his captors were gone the girl broke down —only a miserable, suffering woman now, ter- Hibly overstrained, cruclly stabbed. “My poor child, my own Geraldine,” a deep, soft volce whispered tenderly, and » strong arm stole round the quivering form; “you let Wilfred be indeed {Your true lover and try to win you for happier days?” “That you cannot do,” responded. “Geraldine,” said he suddenly, and caught her hand—the pretty white hand that hun; loosely by her side. “Let me spenk to you. know—I can guess all you would say. We let ‘ourselves be separated that time in Russia, but it seems to me today that there was never any time when you w i i haps Tought not to speak now—so soon after you ve made me your heavy debtor. to Nor Fou should not,”"said ahe, in a choked ne, “Yet why, why?” asked he ardently, impa- tiently. “Ol said she, her beautiful lips curl- iftg. ler! I would have you forget me and consider—others,” She had not had the courage to make the last word less than plural. “It seems to me that there is no one to con- sider in this world but just you and me,” said he. He still held her unwilling hand, but had learned that it was unwilli “At the risk of making myself still more hateful to you,” said he slowly, “I tell you that I-—* She broke away from him and put up. both hands asif to ward him off. “Oh, no!” she cried in a sharp, agonized tone. “Leave m something. some thought of you that I can dwel! upon. Teil me nothing.” “I must,” said he almost coldly. “It has fone too tar now: reject me if you will, but at let me say that 1 love you! She leant back against the table behind her, and # miserable little laugh broke from her. Do you?” said she. “Are yon sure? Was there never 8 momen‘ when ‘you fancied that another woman might be——" A sudden light broke in upon him. “You thought Iwas ih love with niy step- mother. You saw us together in Russia and were jealous. ‘That was why you drove me away. And in resentment you lét me think the worst of your life with your father?” “In one thing I was mistaken. My work in case has convinced me that your only re-~ gard for Mrs. Romaine was because she was your father's wife.” “And I was wrong in harboring for amoment the thought that you were less than a noble wt, ‘The tenderness in his voice overwhelmed her. She covered her face with her hands. petlaps prevented her from knowing that he ad come up to her. It prevented her, indeed, from knowing anything until his arms were round her and she felt her head pressed against his breast. ‘What # sensation that was when late> on that trial of Leopold Langton, alias George Marsden, came on. How step by step the evidence had been traced and fitted into completeness. ‘How strangely that clever, handsome Geraldine Laval, the prisoner's own detective, had found it all out through the fatal handkerchiot with its odd red mark. Mrs. Pyke repeated all her evidence; the laundress ‘stuted how she knew the handkerchief; the houskeoper of Marsden deposed to having put away the pile of hand- kerchiefsas usual in his drawer, “where he must have took the handkerchief from by chance that night,” she thought. He had tor up a lot of old “letters” two weeks before, and she thonght they'd been tied up in the old handkerehie? for years. She had noticed the bundle in a drawer once. Maraden’s false assertion told badiy for him, and Mrs. Pyke's re ion of him as Langton and Geraldine's of the photogaaph as Marsden, clearly linked the two in one, taken with col- lateral evidence and the revengeful oath over- heard by Pyke—an oath too evidently carried out by the murderer, whose defense soon crum- bled. ‘The verdict was foreseen; it could only be guilty. And for a wonder, after condemna- tion no sickly sentimentalists, eager for no- toriety, got up any petitions for the guilty man’s respite. Some in the crowd, however, asked ench other what would become of tha! late agent of his in whose hands the artist Romaine had by a lucky chance placed the ease, Who could say yen? But a little later a good many people knew well enough that Wiifred Honiatue ‘and. his young wife had gone abroad for a couple of Years, to. be received on their return doubt- aly arms. Artists were always ec- she was as good as she was charm- g, and Romaine was well off and a rising ma: Who would ask or caro to recall the sorrowfu! past that bad centered around a little faded ted mark on a handkerchief? my duty sir OF course, too, ————_+o2—_____ *TWAS VALENTINE’S NIGHT. A Gushing Love Scone Under the Soft Texan ‘Skies. * From Texas Siftings. "They were sitting, one on each side of the large open fireplace. Neither had said » word for fifteen minutes. Finally she broke the silence. “Know what day this is, Som?” “Tain’t day; it's night.” “Yes, ‘tis; an’ I got or valentine.” “Sho 1” “Yea, an’ I know who it’s frum.” “Who?” “Ike Peters.” tin ok Tee Retort.” ‘i (Rising to oy Ne sec cldl a asa ‘ou're an’ I'm goin’ ter lick him.” ‘Sho’, Idon'tcaree bit for that lasy Ike “Traly?” cok ‘SCrose my neck, I don't.’ “Yep. See?” what made yor take his valentine?” dic iapireions Would yo take Thave no name to be | lite with some severity. At the same time there is no kind of ment which needs to be more ‘punish- ja ‘ated than that intended sion “youthful offender” in the bill means a boy or girl under sixteen years of age. The measure, 80 far as it affects boy otianders, i based on a knowledge of the great law wi famous schoolmaster threw into the aphorism that the conscience of a lad is 1 in the cuticle of his akin. ir. Matthews toapproach the young offender's better feclings thrt way. In other words, he will allow magistrates to inflict the penalty of whipping where “an: offender”—or, to use the any very naughty boy—"‘shall have com: mitted any offense punishable by the court. There are due safeguards against excessive use of the rod, since the boy is not to have more than a dozen strokes if be is under twelve, or more than eighteen strokes if he is over that ‘age; und the governor of the prison, or some other person having authority, is to be present to sce that the warder or other minister of Justice who wields the birch does not “lay it on” with superfluous energy. Also, the boy's parent may be present if he pleases. No doubt, he will usually desire to as- sist at the ceremony. Apart altogether from any parental emotions which may agitate his breast he have a strong persor interest in the affair, for the bili euacts that the court may fine him any sum not exceeding £1, and may also order him to compensate the person or persons injured by the ‘juvenile offender,” whether boy or girl, tu the extent of £5, always rovided the court is satisfied that there has n ‘neglect or default on the part of the rent” in relation to that offender. This ix inning at the right end, both with the child i the fether. ‘The Intter will have an addi- tional inducement to look after his child bim- self, and his objection to that kind of youthful exuberance which cutmainates damaging e's property and putting other peo- nd fimbe in danger willbe intensi- recollects that he may be asked to contribute townrd the expenses of the frolic. Boys will be boys, but they need not be Yong ruffians or sav: if y show an: Tendency to develop that way, a dozen strok with a tough and wiry birch rod, applied with science? are likely to act as an excellent cor- rective. English public school men who have been brought up in those great seminaries from which the birch and the cane are not yet banished kx that @ flo an ster. wi permanent] that to give a sound whipping to any lad not hopelessly corrupted or depraved is very much better than to infect him with the prison taint by sending him to jail or to break his spirit by keeping him for years in juestion HIS FATHER’S OLD FRIEND, The Introduction Opened the Young Man's Foolishly Closed Eyes. From the Chicago Times. “The old gentleman played a queer trick on me the other night,” he said, as he lit his cigar after dinner it was rather awkward for me at first, but I guess it was a good thing after all. fou know I used to feel that I had done my- f an injustice if I did not go to the theate: about five or six nightea week. Maybe it wasn’t always the theater, but if it wasn’t that it was a stag party or a poker game. I needn't explain; you've been with me frequently. “Well, you also know how I'm fixed in the line of business. Iwork for my father and J hve to be ut the office at $90 tn the tiorning— just as thé rest o the family are sitting down to breakfast. In consequence I get my break- fast and leave the house before they are up. But I can't complain of that. I'm doing ex- the man who had my place before think I'm evenings. Iused to finish work about 6, get dinner down town and go to the theater or somewhere else. Been doing it for about six months and I swear when I figure back about the only times that I have seen my mother and e been at Sunday dinner. Nothin, unusual in that, of course; the same is true o hundreds of young men in Chicago. “But they haven'tfathers like mine. He came to me one afternoon last week Thad an engagement for that night. “Yeu, I said, ‘I promised to go to the theater with Will Brown.’ low about tomorrow night,” he asked. ‘Haven't figured ahead that ‘far,’ I replied. “Well, I'd like to have you go somewhere with me. “All right,’ I said; ‘where'll I meet you?’ “You see, he leaves the office about an hour before I get thro “He suggested the Tremont House at 7:30, and Iwas there, prepared for the theater and quiet lecture on late hours. He had cor bined the two on several previous occasi But when he appeared he said he wanted me to call on a lady with him, “One I knew quite well when I was a young man,’ he explained. “We went out and started st “She is stopping at the house, T spoke of it, “I thought it strange that he should have made the appointment for the Tremont House under those circumstances, but I said nothing. ‘Well, we went in, and I was introduced wi all due formality to my mother and my sister. “The sitvation. struck me as Indicrous, and 1 glarted to laugh, but the laugh died away. None of the three even smiled. My mother and my sister shook hands with me, and my mother said she remembered me as a boy, but hadn't seen much of me lately. ‘Then she in- vited me to be seated. “My, it wasn’t a bit funny then, although I can laugh over it now. I sat down and she told one or two anecdotes of gay boybood, at which we all laughed a little” Then’ we four layed whist for a while. When I finally re- Tired I was courtecusly invited to call again. “T went upstairs feeling pretty small and doing a ood deal of thinking,» “And then?” asked his companion. “Then I made up my mind that my mother was a most entertaining Indy and my sister a good and brilliant girl." (And wow?” to call axe “Now I'm call again, as we been doing quite ais for the last week. I en- joy their company and propose to cultivate their acquaintance.” ‘And the young man—be was about twenty-two—put om his coat and for his —ns HER ARDUOUS DUTIES, — for home. said, when Servant-Galism Asserts Iteclf in = Mild and ‘Innocent Way. From the Cleveland Piaindealer. i | f i [ i it ‘ i TA Hitt i X° | evoked the shining memory. Lying on stove office my little '* com: elacee brute of the mongrel tween a bulldog and masuff. The poor, conquered brute, upon entering the office, | roceeded in the direction in which his dog rend lay stretched upon the floor and, | going up to him, commenced to sniff at him | from head to foot. Presently the sleeping | dog rose toa sitting position and, at his conquered. friah ‘some ‘tee "or tres | Walle minutes, seemed to take in the situation at once—that his dogship had but lately re- ceived a terrible whipping. After a little more sniffing on the part of the conquered brute both dogs started toward the door. I stepped to the door, opened it and the dogs passed out. Both dogs started in the direction of the depot platform, some 400 er 500 feet south of the hotel, where they espied several dogs, among their number bein, big foundland, the object of their vengeance. Going up to the ‘big Newfoundland ‘bog may — little conquered friend curled up his and commenced to growl, the big Newfoundland do- ing likewise, each dog going round and round in a circuitous route while thus parleying, the big hotel dog in the meantime st hard by watching proceedings. Presently bi hotel dog gave a spring and landed « hold on the jaw of his big opponent. Both dogs reared in the air, the Newfoundland com- ing down the under dog, and the oe received in that fracas { suppose he never for- got, my Ute conquered friend nipping the bij rascal from behind at every chance presenting iteolf. To be candid about it, the hair from the hide of that poor martyred Newfoundland actually filled the air, and a worse whipped dog never slunk from the field of battle. ——_—-+0-— HIS HAND PINNED TO THE TABLE. A Traveler Relates am Incident of Old-Time Etiquette. The custom has not yet entirely been abol- ished in some out of the way hotels, says the New York Herald, of electing some one guest at dinner to carve for the others at table. Forty years ago the practice was the rule rather than @ rarity. It was considered then in the light of a compliment and not as an impo- sition, as it would most certainly be regarded today. At that time men prided themselves on their ability to dissect a joint or a fowl and ac- cepted the task of carving for twenty people most graciously. A prominent hardware merchant in the city. who in early life traveled for the house of which he is now the senior member, bears tes- timony to the trath of the above-stated con: tion of things and relates one of his early e periences in connection with it as follows: “I was traveling from Buffalo to Detroit by steamer, a favorite method of making that trip At dinner time the captain ‘means n rariayin the gee ata ste nee 0. “Siiife earved exceeding we fart in the service of ped himeelf last, the tidbit of the tur! that time considered the carver's honorarium. ‘As he was about to take his seat—men stood to carve wild turkeys then—a drunken and quarrelsome gambler, who had caused us great annoyance with his oaths and importunities to lay ever sinco we had left Buffalc From his cat and said: “Excuse me, air, but you late a portion of the turkey of ich Iam very fond. “As he made the remark the blackleg at- tempted to remove the tidbit with his fork The Trojan had not yet surrendered the car utensils, As the gumbler’s hand approac! the morsel the cagver made a sudden jab at it with the heavy fork. The prongs of the latter through the flesh and pinned the gam- ler’s hand to the table. ”’ continued the speaker. | expected that the injured man would resort to his dagger or pistol, but he did not. He sluni away to his stateroom, where the wound was dressed, nor did he venture among the other passengers during the remainder of the entire ti ‘Did not the passengers consider the act ex- cessively brutal” the gentleman was asked by his auditor. Not in the slightest,” was the reply. “On the contrary, every one applauded him for hi courage and quickness of action. It was justi fied by the rude surroundings and the ideas governing the table etiquette of the time and a Manners and Morals. ‘T. W. Higginson in Harper's Bazer. ‘We have to fall back at last for the standard of good manners and good morals not upon the few, but upon the many. ‘The masses of the people are unquestionably more critical as to morality than any exclusive circle; and as to the essentials—not the conventionalities—of good manners, they are to be found more securely among the many than among the few. We have the high authority of Bronson Howard for saying that a Bowery audience i far quicker than a fashionable New York a jence to frown on anythin; ina play. More than one has been forgiven in American for conduct which would have known, to be summarily ejected from a mountain mining camp. Howells, usual penetration, selects a rough as the man who patrols the -appointed prot An ted from th leas ish nobleman rooms him, if Rocky with his Californian Tt was indeed a sight for little girls to remember ail their lives. I think my father had a certain Weakness for dandies, those knights of the broadcloth and shining fronts. Magnificent sometimen, ploriows beingson theis way to te sometimes, to ttndty, but this one ottehsee thers all "Teams upon & description in Lord Lamington's “Book of Dandies” the other dav, ‘which once more Our visitor was Count D'Oreay, of whom Lord Lamington #3 ‘When he ay inthe tion of dress erik alten al a ott Reorge IV), with that expression of self-con- fidence and complacency which the sense of superiority gives, he was the observed of all! In those devs men took great pains with them. selves. They did not slouch and moon thro’ life. Ihave frequently ridden down to Rich- mond with Count D'Orsay; a striking figure be was; his blue coat, thrown well back to show the wide expanse of snowy shirt front, his buff waistcoat, bis light leathers and polished boots, hus well-carled whiskers and handsome counte- nance: 1 wide-brimmed glossy hat and spotless res. Mr. “Richard Doyle, who understood the habits and ways of fairies,and of baman beings, too, used to te) to cali aloud, above the din of voices, ina sort of burst of enthusiasm, “Waiter! bring some melted butter for the flounder of the count.” have read somewhere a curious description of the romantic sarcophagus he tinally devised for himself in a sort of temple, ht of marble leading to a marble shrine, where he was di laid when he died, not long after his return to his own country and to the land of his fathers. He is of that race of men who lived in the be- ming of the century, sinning of the century magnificent performers : f of today, which strikes those who re- ber the more flamboyant generation. Aiea stato DE BRAZZA’S THEODOLITE. An Astronomical Instrument the Means of Procuring Food in Africa. “No one who has ever seen De Brazza on his travels,” said Steckleman in the Geographical Magazine, ‘could fail to recognize that he was born to bean explorer. I shall never forget the time I met him far up the Kwilu river. One day I came to a tribe that seldom saw white men. They were not very hospitable, but finally decided to seli me food. I got on rather friendly terms with them and they allowed me to camp in the village. Suddenly T observed a commotion among the natives. A | few carriers emerged from the forest and with them was a slender, sad-faced, poorly clad white man. He was the governor of the French Congo and he was off on one of his long tramps. De Brazza approached the natives and asked them for food. ; ‘plore: said nothing. He simply or- dered his carriore to lay down their Lande tn the middle of the village. ing their evening meal near vogetables, which had a pot, were ready, and the up gathered around and began to eat. De arose, took « tin plate and spoon, uietiy walked up to. the pot, helped himself liberally without saying a word to anybody, sat down by a tree and regaled Limsclf with na! cookery. Ho knew just what effect his actio: had produced upon the native mind and just what to do. Then he told the villagers his men were bungry and must be fed. The natives gave them all they could eat, for who dare pose a great medicine man who carried wach « remarkable fetich asa theodolite? De Brazza i ight, and next morn- for what they bad departure.” ing he paid the natives w given him and took his From the New York Sun. Representative Elijah Adams Mores of Massa- it.” an incident today to illustrate the point. Some days ago he asked Speaker Reed to recognize him to call upa bill locating a life-saving station on the coast of Massachusetts and the Speaker agrecd to doso. When Mr. Morse arose he produced a photograph of a vessel floating quietly at sea and began. to give an ob- ject lesson to show the needs of the life-saving station. He had shown it to Speaker Reed and told him along story to the effect that this vessel had been wrecked off the very point where he wanted the new station becaase there was no light. He wanted something done before any more vessels went down. really immoral | 4 down to Mr. Cannon asking him to obj s00n a8 tion was granted. Mr. Morse ent to Mr. Cannon and asked him if this was ue. “T never told any one it was true,” replied c ‘But I ask you, asa man, is this trae?” went Mr. Morse. Packed His Company off to Another Hod Alter an Unpleasant Lactdent, From the St. Lonta Repatiic Mr. E. H. Sothern, now filling an eng ment at the Olympic in “The Maister of Wood- barrow,” is. modest and sensitive man, and his sensibilities have received a rade shock, its enforcement without the exercine of judg- | ment may prove needlessly emba * | shown in the case under co Theet- | riesl managers whose relations with hel | stars were obviously of @ purely business nature | have been known mildly to p | Testrictions which forbade them the moat hasty interview with the actrom under their charge | Bnlest it were obtained through the formality Of a viditing card and the sometimes unneces- | sary delay in the Indy’s descent to the parler, where « conversation is not always free fru interruption. Mr. Sothern's mortifving experience can be explained in a few words. Upon the conclustem of the performance Wednesday night be had | Sccasion to see one of the Indy members of hie | Company, who was also staying at the Soulb- ern. Unconscious of any impro} action the two wat chatting in the room with the door open. A passing waichman reported this | startling condition of affaire to the offiee and ome unpleasant words were exchanged be | tween the actor and the hotel » The | Was that Mr. Sothern and others pany immediately repaired to the Lindell, here = were followed ve camnt epteode, | Set, seats show their sympathy for Mr. rn mn ear tina yoy val of his treatment Bs, the hotel peopte. — ‘ Sothern last evening expressed bimself so painfully emberreased. | “It is such an ordinary thing,” he said, “for Members of « theatrical company to meet after the performance and have an informal talk, and the precaution of the open door was #0 suficient that I may be excused for com- Plaining of the rude treatment received. 1 pe ret it especially on account of the Indy.” THE SCHOOL MA’AM WAS GRIT. She Wanted That Boy and She Was Going to Have Him at Any Cost. From the Philaieiphta Times, I was driving along a highway in Woods county, Ohio, with a man who was selliug farming machines to farmers, and sbout 2 e'clock in the afternoon we came along ta district school house. The school ma'am wind about twenty scholars stood uuder an elm tree, about forty feet high, near the bonse. and im the topmost branches of the tréo wasa boy about fourteen years old “Anything wrong bere?” asked my friewd, as we halted before the door. “Budd Hawkins rays he won't and the teacher says he must!” cried a little girl. The teacher then came forward. She wate looking girl of about twenty, with mouth showing great firmness, aad with some embarrassment be explained: “It's the terror of the school. He refused | to mind, and I started to whip him. He brake ja*ay and ran out andclimbed the tree. I been up about twenty feet, but had to give it up and come down. “Yer can't conquer me!” shouted the boy. ‘Bud, 1 order you to come down. Tove cont fs comes ve sent for an ax and here it . she suid as she turned to us. “He'll come down with the tree, if not before.” We offered to use the ax, but she declined the offer with thanks, and, stepping tothe tree, she swung the implement around end | buried the biade in the wood. Zou daen't!” shouted ‘Budd trom the top it or ” she anes wane (oe it 0 resign, wered, At the end of three minntes the tree ~| to totter and Badd to yell in alarm, anda weconds later it fell with acrash. ‘I | the bor was badly hurt, if not killed, aud was | relieved as the school ma'am forward. | yanked him ont of the branches, and while | @pplying the gad with one hand abe pulled bim | Ante the achool house with the other, ying w, Budd Hawkins, you've got to do sume of the awfullest begging ever heard of in the state of Ohio, or I won't leave enough hide on you for « flea to bite. He was hard at it when we drove on. News, Mr. Kipling finds fault with the slang of America. There is no doubt s great deal of | slang in America. But the one virtue of Amer- ican slang is that it is an effort to find new and | expressive phrases for new objects and new con- | ditions of life. Gur slang here is usually #m- plosed to give a necond and what is supposed | to be a comical naine to something which bas already a well-established and recognized neme of its own. This fact was pointed out and welll illustrated by Bret Harte years and rears ago. We hay deal of slang in England, and, | {udeing by Mr. Kipling’s movels, they ‘ayust | have an immense amount of slang in the Png- lish society of Indian regions. Mr. Kipling'® |latest novel, “The Light That Failed,” is = | story of England and is practically all’ slang. | The men and womer. never for oue sentence, is'a mere jargon which to @ | foreigner not well shilled,in the English verwnc- | ular of daily life would be a hopeless puzzie out | of which no dictionary could help bim. Jt ie all very clever, very spirited, very much Hike the real E: rie mage find the =n Mr. Kipling’s charge about the ov ot | slang in the United Btate | It Mr. Kipling’s dialogues were not true to life in certain Engliah society then Mr. Kipling would be still entitled to find fault with the slang of certain American society. But if Mr. Kipling’s English slang is genuine, and if is, why of America as if it were the one cuwn- try on the fuce of the earth from the lips of whose children, comes forth the laugunge of | slang? Some of the customs which Mr. Kipling describee as still existing in America were exiat- ing, no doubt, in the days of Mortin Chusgle- wit, but from what we have beard, and more, perhaps, from what we have not heard, we should not have been inclined to re- them asexisting now. Still, Mr. ue ‘there, and ought ts ae an who bas bee’ know. It is some coztfort to any one who may have to travel on the other aide of the Atlantic to believe that there are other things in Amer- ica besides pompous hotel clerks and sbrili- voiced women and spittoous. No visitor is c#m- pelled to engage his attention only with these subjects of study.