Evening Star Newspaper, March 10, 1894, Page 12

12 EXECUTIVE HORSES The Presidents Generally Not Good Judges of Them. WASHINGTON AND GRANT EXCEPTIONS Gen. Harrison Had the Handsomest Carriage Team. fHE WHITE HOUSE STABLES Written for The Evening Star. S A _ GENERAL Av” the Presidents of the United States have not been noted as being first-class Judges of horseflesh. Washington, Jackson and Grant were,how- ever, exceptions in the long line of men that have occupied the White lious President Washing- | ton, always a strict| economist in house-| nold matters and in the management of his vast landed interests, expended large sums for the times in which he lived for hors3 which drew his coach and for those which | he used under the saddle. His coach horses | were all half bred; his saddle horses were usually three-quarters or full bred, and were carefully selected from winning | strains in this country and in Eaglaad. No man in his time did more to improve | the blood of the American horse than | Washington. Through his influence and advice a number of importations of repre-| sentatives of the best racing families in | England were made. It was through his Personal solicitation that “Light Horse Harry” Lee purchased the famous Liadsey | Arabian, conceded to be the best entire horse of Arabian blood ever introduced to American soil, which Gen. Washington | subsequently took to Westmoreland county, | Va. This horse stood in the latter part of the last century at Lynn, Conn. One whoie company of Connecticut cavalry in the! Continental army was mounted on the| sons and daughters of this great sire, and| by reason of their endurance, high courage, | tractability and spirit attracted his favor-! able attention. The horse Gen. Putnam rode when he made his famous escape down the rocks from the British was a son of the Lindsey Arabian, and it is said that Washington's white war charger was by him, as well as the dam of the Justin Morgan. President Washington’s coach teams com- prised eight horses. His coach was usually @rawn by four white horses on state occa- sions, with a black postilion on each nigh | horse. The remaining number of his coach | horses was equally divided between bays} and chestnuts. His saddle horses were} white and bay. Only on special oceastons | @id the first President ride in his coach. | The Virginia gentle: of colonial days, and even later, usually surrendered the ve- | hicles to the ladies of the family, while he followed near by on horseback. Some Succeeding Presidents. | Presitent Jefferson was a fair judge of | horseflesh. His coach teams were of stout build, and noted more for strength and do- | eflity rather than for finish and speed. The mountainous country in which he lived re- quired the qualities mentioned. When he| became President the streets of Washing- ton were mudholes in winter and spring. | and even at their best were not easy to travel over with the cumbe vehicles of early days. In the matter saddle | horses the author of the Dec of In-| dependence was particluar. Sir Archy, the | son of imported Dismed, and the progenitor of what is known in da some of our day as the Bos- ton and Lexing milies, was in his prime | and stood in the ty of M icetto. | President Jefferson always rode a son or grandson of Sir A who was the great- | est saddle horse sir i as of his day, the sire of the greate Boston's sire, The two Adams and Quincy Adams, rect, cared iittle for horseflesh of any kind. | Racing in their day was not tolerated in polite society in New England, hence there was little thoroughbred biood in New Eng- | land previous and subsequent to the revolu- tion. The Adamses, however, required that | their horses should be of good size and that | they should also look sleek and fat. E that point they were not critical. President Monroe was a Virginian and | was reared among the best horses the colony | and the state possessed. Nevertheless it is | said that while he knew a horse from a| mule he did not bother himself about blood lines. All h® exacted was that his coach | horses should be weil padded with flesh and | stout enough to draw his carriage. Like | all well-bred Virginians, he was particular as to his mounts and liked in them plenty | of thoroughbred blood of the stout strains | of his day. President Madison was nearsighted and @ student in politics. The former made him timid of horses and the latter trait was so intensified that he had little time to pay to anything except statecraft. Mrs. Madi- son on the other hand was a good judge of horses. Horses and carriages were pur- chased under her direction alone and she| visited the fine brick stables, still stand- ing in the rear of “Montpelier” in Orange county, Va., frequently when at home and } inspected the grooming of her coach team in | person. When she and her husband be-| came occupants of the White House she | exercised the same vigilance over her pets | that she did when in private life, with the} result that President Madiso turnouts | were the finest since the days of the first President. A Breeder of Thoroughbreds. | President Jackson was a breeder of thor- oughbreds and raced his horses not only en his private track at “Clover Bottom,” | Tenn, now owned by Representative An- | drew Price of Louisiana breeding | as a farm, but he matched them torun on cther courses. His coach team, as well as his / coach, were constructed on an enduring | basis, strength rather than siyle being the | controlling motive. His mo mts were in-| variably pure thoroughbreds, whether as general, private citizen or President. Entire horses were his favorites for the saddle, espectally in war, he holding chat the horse in his natura: state was move courageous, | enduring, spirited and intelligent than the gelding and mare. He held to the theory that the mare or gelding wi badly wounded le the muster enough < sth to carry his master | out of danger. | Presidents Van Buren, Harrison (Will- | fam Henry) and Polk only possessed fairly | good equipages anz horses to iraw them | While occupying the presidential chair. | Harrison and Polk, how r, like all| southern-born gentlemen, kept for their ersonal use a saddle horse of good breed- | on ing, and resorted official occasions. Pres r other hand, was not so particular about his coaches as he was about the horses that drew them. When he came to Washington to take his seat as President he brought with him four well bred and stylish couch | horses, and “Old Whitey is_ war-horse. In addition to the latter,’ who had b. somewhat superannuated } aon of a and arduous service, he also brought w him for the saddle a bay thoroughbred s-al- Mon that he rode occasionally previous to his death. A Connoisseur ia Horseflesh. President Pierce was a connois r in horseflesh. He was at one time the owner of Cassius M. Clay, the well-known trotting | Stallion, and while President was noted for | the elegance of his coaches and the style| and breeding of his kor A span of lofty | bays and a span of high-stepping biacks constituted his President | P ce Was 2estrian, ond on horseback pr with his han tsome | face and soldicriy a striking appear- ance. Preside ase the elegance of his s. | His beautiful and accomplished nie Fiet L: Who superintended his he @elected both horses a aches, an! was rigid in her exactions that the horses be of fine action, weil kept, and that the paint | nd uphoisterin of equipages be aiso Kept in a good stam of repair. Chestauts | streets. | Vermont, | the landau; jonly duty about the s THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MARCH 10, 1894—TWENTY PAGES. POND’S Piles, Catarrh, Rheumatism, Neuralgia, Inflamed Eyes, oothache, A Typical Astringent. A Powerful Sty, _ A Thorough Antiseptic. Sores ESTABLISHED FIFTY YEARS EX INVALUABLE FOR So RACT re Throat, Wounds, Bruises, Scalds, Burns,’ and ALL PAIN. | SOLD ONLY IN BOTTLES WITH BUFF WRAPPERS, BY ALL DRUGGISTS. REFUSE SUBSTITUTES, PROBABLY WORTHLESS. SEND FOR OUR BOOK (Mailed Free. IT WILL TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT. PONDS EXTRAGT COMPANY, 76 FIFTH AVE. NEW YOR Tt_is UNSAFE TO USE ANY PREPARATION except the GENUINE with OUR DIRECTIONS. K. | and bays prevailed in the Buchanan men-| hitched to the several vehicles. age. President Lincoln liked a well-bred horse. carriages were a barouche and a rockaway. His team was purchased near Canandaisua, Ontario county, N. Y., and were dark bays. In spite of the troubious days ‘n which he lived and the exactions made upon his time, he was frequently scen driving on the pub- lie streets of Washington on summer even- ings, especiaily during the heated term. President Johnson rode in what is — | t | was not particularly stylish. His team were in our day as an extension top wagon. medium sized blacks, with a good deal of cold blood in their veins. Gen. Grant's Stables. President Grant brought with him to Washington a larger number of horses than any President since the foundation of the | Among the number was “Old | government. Cincinnatus,” his war horse; Jeff Davis, a favorite saddle horse that he also rode while in active service, and which was captured from Joe Davis’ plantation in Mississipp! during the Vicksburg campaign; a team of ponies for his daughter Nellie, and two pairs of very stylish bay carriage horses. During his two terms of office he purchased some trotters which he drove to a one-man road wagon. He was an inveterate road rider; was frequently seen brushing with the “boys” on the road. and never took anyone's dust if he could prevent it. One of his favorite road horses was Butcher Boy. One day, while out on the 7th street | road, then a favorite speedway, with the horse, the “boys” got him in a “pocket.” The President would occasionally see a gap and make for it, when the “boys” would close in on him and shut him out. This style of business continued quite a little distance. Suddenly the hero of a hundred battlefields ana the man who had never known defeat was seen to pull his slouched hat over his eyes, grasp the stump of his cigar between his teeth with a firmer clutch, take a fresh hold of the reins and lift the whip from its socket. Swish! it came down on Butcher Boy’s back. The frightened beast sprang forward at the un- expected punishment, and the men com- prising the “pocket” wheeled aside just in time to prevent being cut down. President Hayes never cared to put on style. His carriage was a landau and the dinary gray geldings. President Garfield, | when stricken down by the hand of the as-| sassin, had not settled upon a team fit for | a man to own occupying his exalted posi- tion. He brought with him to Washington his family team, a pair of bays of no par- ticular breeding. President Arthur, his suc- cessor, on the other hand, supplied himself with a number of horses, as well as a num- ber of fashionable carriages, light traps, ete. Wagons and harnesses were of the best mate, and of the mest elaborate finish, and while his horses put on a great deal of style, there was not a sound one in the lot. President Cleveland purchased early in his first administration a pair of seal browns. They were a stylish teim of geldings, car- ried their heads naturally well up when in action and were never, while he owned them, subjected to the check rein. Their manes and tails were never mutilated. Sub- sequent to his marriage he purchased for Mrs. Clevelan@’s use a spider phaeton and @ span of golden sorrels, which she fre- quently drove with skill about the public The Cleveland family carriage was a victoria. The Handsomest Carringe Team. President Harrison, his successor, brought with him to Washington the handsomest carriage team that had been seen en tie streets of Washington many years. They were blood ba: ‘The near horse was 16 1-2 | hands high, weight, 1,200 pounds; the off | horse 17 hands high, weight, 1,400 pounds. | They were inbred Hambletonians; bred in Kentucky, and to pole moved as one horse. | Sither horse could show a mile better than ). Th? team were up-headed and in mo- tion wer exceedingly stylish. The clipper was never permitted to touch their manes, | or the shears or knife their tails. The Har- rison carriage was a landau of Indiana make, and the several harnesses of Mr. Harrison were also of Indiana manu ture. The President was foni of road driv ing and it was very bad weather that kept him from his daily outing, which, in sum- mer, was generally taken in the evening, when the sun was well dow: President Harrison was an excellent whip. His light driving team was a span of bay Morgans, selected by Secretary of War Proctor in the home of the Morgans. The President did not care for fast driving, but he wanted to know that he possessed a team that could give people his dust if he feit inclined to give his horses free rein. The Present Executive Equipment. President Cleveland on his return to the White House on March 4 last brought with him five horses, four blood bays and a brown. There have been handsomer and more valuable horses in the White House {stables than the President has instailed | | there at present. Three of the horses (bays) are used for the family carriage, the odd horse being on hand to fill a gap when one of the carriage team is indisposed or needs shoeing. The two other horses, a bay and | brown, are used by Mrs. Cleveland for her | own driving to the spider phaeton. All of the horses are of good size and sound. The off horse in the carriage team is in- clined to be vicious in his stall. His ears go back and his heels go up at the approach of strangers and his nose is incased in a leathern muffler to keep him from tearing iis blanket. This horse has shown a trial mile in 2:40, and in spite of their ordinary appearance the heavy carriage team can, when hitched light, make the best road teams in Washington go some. The Pres!- dent rides less during his present adminis- tration and walks still less than he did in his previous one. He has never been seen holding the reins over a team of horses, which has subjected him to the suspicion that he does not know how to pilot a team. This, however, is not true. There are four carriages in the White House stables that are Mr. Cleveland's property, viz: A landau, victoria, spider phaeton, and a surrey. it would be hard to erect a more substantial vehicle than in fact, It is strong enough to carry jumbo if he were alive. This car- riage is upholstered in the most elaborate manner and {s in every way worthy to car- ry the President of a great nation of free pecple. The remaining vehicles are of the latest designs in carriage architecture and fine examples of the carriage builders’ craft. Of the harnesses there are as many sets as there are teams. Whatever belongs to the modern trappings of the carriage horse are to be seen In the harness room, and eve! | thing thereunto belonging looks spickspan and new. Four men are employed about the | White House stables, all colored. It is one man’s duty to keep the stables clean, an- other to clean the horses and harness and hitch them up, one man, whose duty it is to wash the exterior and dust the interior jof the carriages and keep the harness in| first-class order, and a coachman, whose ables is, when the horses are ready to go out, to mount the box and drive. The White Ho e Stables. The White House stables are located’ about eighty rods southwest of the historic | edifice. They are built of brick, and are al story in height, with a mansard roof a tachment. They were constructed during the first term of President Grant, and are | extensive enough to contain twenty-five | | horses and twelve vehicles. The stalls are | constructed in the eastern end of the build- | ing. Included among the stalls are six roomy boxes, which President Grant had | constructed to accommodate his trotters The southern of the building i voted to the Partition-d fom | the carriage D ¥Y is a commodtou: office for the coachman. and adjoining this on the west Is an equally commodions hur- ness room. In the center of the builling, Ighted by a glass roof ytime, is an ex- tensive court, in which the horses are| | team that drew it was a span of very or- | | younges: The Pres- ident’s horses earn their oats. If the men about the stables tell the truth, they are on | He was Kentuckian enough for that. His the go night and day. Certainly the horses look as if life was not for them one con- tinual round of pleasure. In addition to the President's horses there are in the White House stables four other horses, which be- |long to the government and are used by Private Secretary Thurber and }ixecutive Clerk Pruden. President Cleveland pays from his own pocket for the oats, bran, corn and hay that his horses eat, and he is a liberal feeder. When his term expires be will, doubtless, place the horses in his pos- session under the hammer. Horaes that pound the asphalt that covers the principal Streets of Washington for four years ond remain sound at the end of that yerlod must have the best of feet and legs. All of Mr. Cleveland’s horses and carriages, with the exception of Mrs. Cleveland's per- sonal property, went to the highest bidder | when he retired from office in the svring of 1889, and sold for high prices, as anything belonging to a President has an especial value for some peopie. see THE MAN WHO CAUGHT EVANS. Also the Wife of the Man Who Did That Perilous Detective Job. From the San Francisco Examiner. J. Brighton, the man who captured Chris Evans, is a person with a record for just such nervy exploits. It seems very re- markable tnat any man should be able to win the confidence of such a bandit as Chris Evans, but after looking at and talking with Rrighton the wonde- ceases. He is the most unsophisticated-looking chap alive. A man of medium height, with a roly-poly sham twang to his voice that sounds, like a down-east Yankee’s, @ | slouchy hand-in-his-pockets and scrape-his- feet-on-the-ground galt, threadbare sult of clothes, large hands, ungainly feet shod in muddy brogans, and the most innocent- looking blue eyes—such is Brighton. His wife looks like a fit mate for a hardy moun- tainee>, just the sort of a woman who could lasso a horse in the field, saddle It herself, or jump on its back without a sad- dle if ‘need be and ride forty miles to a country dance. Yet this man is a profes- sional detective, one of the shrewdest in America, and his wife is his able assistant. “There goes a man I'm going to treat toa * said Brighton to a friend one day. that is Paddy Ryan, the ex-prize said his friend. “I know it,” said Brightot did me a good turn, ut he once and I’ want him to know thet I don't forget it. I was in prison in Missourt once with Frank James and some of his ng. Ryan passed throngh the jail as a visito>, and he had quite a talk with me. Finally he said that I didn’t Icok like a train robber and murderer, and that I appeared to be a better man than my fel- low prisoners. Then he gave me a dollar and went awa: Of coucse he did not know that I w: detective and was in prison for a purpose, but I have always thought that a man who acted as he did must have @ warm heart, and such things are mighty scarce in human breasts these days. For months Brighton was a member of the gang of outlaws led by Frank andgesse Jam He was in the employ of the rail- roads that had suffered from the depreda- tions of the bandits, and eventually he led them into a trap that resulted in the ex- te-mination of the This was after the killing of Jesse 4 by Bob Ford. Brighton was in -Vi when Evans and | Sontag were playing hide-and-seek with the sheriffs in the mount the intimates of the wife and children of | the outlaw. As a modest man of all work, | with a wife willing to do anything to help out a living, Brighton made his advent in | Visalia. He went to live near Evans’ house, and, as women will, Mrs. Brighton and Mrs. Evans became quite neighborly. They beth worked hard at anything they could get to do around town, and by so doing they @ picto Brighton to pe: | armed an: that may have ari | When Mrs. ask | form a smal!l service for her husband he readily consented, and thus entered the wedge that enabled him to work into the confidence of the family. After a time Bzighton came to be regard- ed as a safe man to trust by Evans, but he did not establish that status until it was too late for him to figure as a factor in the last act of that tragedy. He knew, how- ever, that Evans and Sontag were about to make that journey at the half-way post of which Evans lost an eye and an arm and Sontag his life. On that occasion Brighton had warned the authorities, and while Evans was battling with Marshal Gard at Stone Corral his home was surrounded by armed men prepa-ed to give him and his partner a hot reception. When the bandit was safe in ‘ail the rail road wanted to dispense with Brighton's services, but he advised them to let him continue his role of supposed friend, by do- ing which he could keep the prosecution in- formed of every move contemplated by the defense. This program was carried cut, | and Brighton rendered invaluable services. | Then, after the conviction of Evans, the de- | tective reminded his employers of the possi- bility of the bandit’s escape and was al- lowed to continue in his wofk. Mrs. Evans went on the road with her theatrical company, leaving t htons in possession of the Visalia house and the young children. Then came tne escape. was Brighton who kept the authorities from being deceived by the storles that Ev and Morrell had gone to Mexico. yarns were manufactured by Evans" for the purpose of deceiving the officers, in most of the cases Brighton was upon to set them afloat. This he did, sus but he was always careful to let the officers know the truth. Whenever the posses were close to the bandits in the mountains it was because Brighton had informed them where 19 go. All this time the bandit never suspected him. Often the detective went to see Evans in his retreats, and it was on one of these excursions that he coa the bandits into visiting Evans’ house. To do this the de- tective worked upon Evans’ feelinzs as a | father. | He told him that one ef his children, the wes sick, un] that if he car Yee it alive he should visit his Lome. was considerably worked up and proaiscd to make the trip. He kept his wort and jell into the trap that means strives a d stone walls for the term of his natural life. —+e0—____ d to Evans “There's that confounded at last. I'll give him a good rs ring fer Salvation Oil beals scalds and Ui 1» See ns, and was ene of) Octave Thanet in McClure's Magazine. WERY BREEZE that blew waved and {rflated and tossed the white flag with the red map of Ar- cadia addition to the town of Bloward, which hung over the center of the main street; nor did it any g the less flutter and Interlace the red rib- bons decking four white horses and eight brown, bay or sorrel horses. The white four drew a band wagon wherein sat the band glorious in red cloth and gold braid; the two darker fours drew similar wagons, filled with those who figure in the rear of processions as ‘“‘citi- zens and others.” Posstbly the “others” are women—at any rate they seemed to be of that sex here. It was a crowd more than good-ratured—hilarious. Jokes, having the peculiar twang of western humor, were bandied about, so that a constant din of laughter blended with the ring of trowels from elther side of the street. Turn how one would, he could see brick wails rising. “The boom's struck Bloward, an’ don't you forgit it!" said the president of the Ar- cadia street railway, proudly waving his umbrella at arches, gables, renaissance tur- rets, early English buttresses, and a motley company of terra cotta bedizenments, friezes, parapets and finials on the new facades, which looked, amid the cheap wooden shops and dry-goods-box archttec- ture of a former day, as If they had strayed into the town and did not know the way out. “How's that for bullding?* he cried, lunging his umbrella enthusiastically into the eye of a passer-by. “Beg pardon,ma’am, Oh, Mrs. Crowe! Going out? Oh, plenty of time. Now, there's a woman's made most $15,000 in real estate this last year. Jest @ woman. Old Ruife’s made thirty Curwin an’ Bragg as much again; an’ T. J. Wheelan—why there's no counting his | profits. Great Scott! you cayn’t stake out |the lots fast enough. Children ery for ‘em. Why, look at the situation—six railroads and ‘strong indications of natural gas, There ain't a question ‘bout it; we're bound to double up here inside five years. Going out? ‘The man to whom he spoke hesitated. He | was a slight, modest-looking man,the youth- |fulmeas of whose fresh skin and confiding | smile were rather belied by a high brow from which his hat had worn the hair too soon, and a few wrinkles above the bridge of his nose. His coat had been deftly re- bound with new braid, but a suspicious Bloss shone on the sides, and his boots were patched. “II wasn't thinking of it, wife Is rather expecting me “Supprise with a town lot—ah, there,you!" The busy man was away amid the crow waving his umbrella. Now, Augustus Plaintiff knew perfectly well that a clerk in a hardware store, with a salary of fifteen hundred a year and a wife and two children, has no busin: spec- | ulating in town lots. But there was a hun- dred dollars in the savings bank, and, some- how—it seemed to Gus, without conscious volition of his own—the crowd pressed him forward, and the next that he knew he was in the wagon, jammed between Mrs. Crowe and Mr, T. J. Wheelan, whose »rofits there was no counting. Gus glanced sidewise at him; this man during a few months had said he; “my whole life. Yet he had been saving, hard working, honest, faithful. lean acres in the Vermont farm where he was born; of the unending drudgery in heat or cold. Then he thought of his wife and the two boys—Gus, nine, and Sammy, three (there was a little grave out in Vermont— she came between Gus and Sammy); and he thought of the hundred dollars in the sav- ings bank. To think how hard it came; how Lizzie had scrimped and — the house- hold expenses—no meat today, no milk yes- terday, a dyed gown, darnings innumerable, hours filched from sleep to iron and clean and mend for Mrs. Crowe, “the second-hand woman," so the boys called her, who had rooms next to theirs—good heavens! how did the woman manage, anyho He thought what a sweet, rosy face Lizzie had when they went to school together. He re- membered that he used to picture how, after they were married,he would buy her a black silk gown and a gold watch. She should have a lace collar and a coral pin. Those days her lips were red as coral, and her brown hair had a glint of gold in the curve of its waves, and her violet eyes sparkled so bright—so bright in the twilight. Well, now she was his wife. Her best gown was the dyed black woolen, five years old that spring, and the only watch in the family Was the silver Waterbury which somehow Lizzie had earned enough to buy for him. He thought (with a lump in his throat) how cheerful and loving and patient she had been. This hundred dollars in the bank had an object. The Plaintiffs lived above Mrs. Crowe's Blue Front Renovating [1 porium. (‘‘For,” said Mrs. Crowe, “I ain't goin’ to spend my time cleanin’ up clothes an’ things, an’ then fault ’em as- second hand.”) They had a room for a parlor, but they had no furniture. There had been a fire and sickness and doctors’ bills east and railway tickets and furniture bills west, un- til the Plaintiffs’ purse was far too lank for parlor furniture. But now the money was saved and this dearest delight of Lizzie's heart could be gratified. Time and again the two had planned the furnishing—only two new chairs, for the red wicker rocker was good still, and a cheap table, adorned with the scarf Lizzie had embroidered, and the black horse-hair sofa, which had been Mother Plaintiff's, and ‘an ingrain ruz (Gus after hours, could paint a border on the floor), and perhaps curtains—curtains on a gold rod. This afternoon being a half holl- day, Gus was to have gone with Lizzie to actually buy the articles, which they had “looked at” half a dozen times. Instead, fairy gold. Every sale made somebody rich. There was to be a canni cadia addition; a Chicago firm was to build a vast pork-packing house on the east half, an eastern syndicate wanted to buy ‘the land; natural gas had been discovered in the southeast corner. Money seemed to float in the air for any one’s elutchin| The jovial buyers told stories of recent investments. A sharp fellow had made twenty thousand on a single deal. A timid fellow had edged away with hundreds, which his successor, of harder metal, had turned into tho s. “What you need Is to Keep your grip,” said the street car ma; nate. Over Gus’ head dangled a placard. Lots would be sold at prices ranging from five hundred dollars upward. — “One-fifth cash, remainder in two years, six per cent interest.” Why, he could buy a lot himself, He glanced from Wheelan, who had ap- parently gone to sleep, to Mrs. Crowe, a wooden sort of a woman, whose nose was too long for her face, as her body was for j her legs. Sitting, she looked like a tall wo. |man, but when she rose she |surdly short. Her figure she wa | Gescribe herself as “all of a bigne: lit- jerally, it was all of a thinness, and its | straight Mnes were not disguised by any |vain curves of drapery. “Got too many |knobs and corners to ketch on fur furbe- lows,” said Martha Crowe. Her black skirt hung in plain folds; there were no orna ments on her black coat; her black straw hat had @ band of crape upon it like a TOWN LOT NO. 13C3, made more money than he had made in his | He thought of the/ here sat Gus, greedily listening to taies of | ig factory on Ar-) man’s. She wore her iron-gray hair short, saying: “Ain't never had ‘nuff to waste hairpins on.” She rarely smiled, even behind a bargain; but a kind of sardonic irony gave her talk an edge. She had not a visible creature in the world belonging to her, except an apoplectic old dog. Rumor explained her black garb as mourning for the departed Crowe; but, as it was known that he beat her until she pitted the red hot poker against his iist, and drove him out of the house, this explanation was not excepted gencrally. Furthermore, Mrs. Crowe had an open grudge against the sex, which she gratified noi only in words, but by lending money at an unconscionable rate of inter- est. Yet Lizzie Plaint!ff always maintained to Gus, who had a great dislike for the woman, that Mrs. Crowe had her good points. “She always pays promptly, and she pays fair wages; and I don't believe a cleaner woman ever lived. The house is |kept in repair better than any piace I know.” All the more, Lizzie wondered over Mrs. Crowe's business. “How can you stand all these dreadful old duds?” she said jto her once, and Mrs. Crowe had answered, in her grim way: “You kin stan’ dirt on dollar bills. It pays. But—well, ‘tis bad, she owned. “'Tain’t so much the clothes; the furnichure is what beats me.” She gave Mrs. Plaintiff a glance of awful sig- nificance. “I dream of ’em night: said she. “For the land's sake,” gasped poor Mrs. Plaintiff, ‘you don’t think they can walk up stairs?” “Bless you, no. You ain’t no call to fret. I got a solution that ‘ud kill the wanderin’ Jew. You kin buy every blessed thing I've got safely, an’ that’s more'n you kin say of some of these big furnichure stores, too. I could just make your hair raise your bun- nit, Mrs. Plaintiff; mother’s, too. Some folks say they cayn’t be killed. I kin kill ‘em. They’s secrets in all trades, as a fool man I knowed used to say—but the only thing he ever did say warn’t a lie. Guess your husband's middling clever to ye?” “Indeed, he is,” cried Lizzie; “he is the best husband in the world.” “I came from your town,” Mrs. Crowe went on calmly; “his father kinder kept comp'’ny with me onct. Guess neither him nor his son would set the river afire. But he looks clever. I wouldn't go without my | meat for dinner to save it wp for his sup- per, though, if I was you. You kin cut off your right hand fur a man, an’ then like's not he'll grumble ‘cause you're left-nanded. Oh, I know ‘em! I've summered ’em an’ wintered ‘em. You eat your meat.” Unfortunately, Gus, having come home half an hour earlier than common, heard levery word of this speech, because he was | in the hall outside. Sitting by Mrs. Crowe's side now, he wriggled in his seat under the prick of those remembered sentences. Mrs. owe turned her pale green eyes on him. ‘Thinkin’ of buying?” said she. I've not decided,” replied Gus, cold! “Well, I wouldn't, then,” Mrs. Crowe Sid, without expression either in face or man- “Better go home.” I guess if you'd followed your own ad. vice you'd have been a good deal poore! said Gus; and when a man opposite laughed he felt a glow of satisfaction. His wits were equal to this old harpy’s. Well,” said Mrs. Crowe, deliberately, that’s different. I've got some money to fool away if I wanter, an’ you ain't. I'm plenty smart enough and plenty mean enough to be a match for the real estate in’ on forever an’ ever, amen. It “Oh, I'll risk it," Gus laughed. rirs. Crowe, after looking at him a s2cond, ‘Well, ‘tain’t none of my busines: was tempted to reply that he agreed with her there; but on consideration that she was a woman he forbore, though he | chafed almost as much over her grim si- jlence as over he> words. To divert his | thoughts he screwed his head around until he could look out on the landscape. Soon the scattering houses were passed. The |muddy road cut a straight black line | through the green sea of prairie. The talk jand the jokes went on; the brass band | played in front: the horses were of good mettle and trotted swiftly; still Gus won- dered if the addition was not rather distant from the town. At last they reached the | stand for the sale, and the beer pavilion, and the flock of little flags standing sentries over the lots. There were no trees and no grass; but pools of water glimmered under the huge dock leaves, and there was a rank growth of plantain and jimson and smart- weed, making the ground quite as green, from a distance, as grass would do. Mr. Wheelan plodded through the mud, and Gus splashed after. The lucky speculator halted before a flag bearing the numbe> 1308. Gus also halted. “I suppose they will build up rapidly,” said Gus. Wheelan made a motion with his ulders, between a shrug and a shiv- er. ou thinking of investing, young man?” “Well, yes. Ain't it a good investment?” “If you can afford to lose the money, young man, then you can afford to specu- late in land, and you may make something if you buy right. But if you can’t afford to lose, you better not touch it. You heard Mrs. Crowe. She's apt to be sound.” So saying, Wheelan walked away. “Tl bet he's just trying to scare me off “cause he wants that lot himself,” was Gus’ instant thought. So readily do we impute deep-laid craft to other people’s motives, and so seldom do we allow them to be swayed by random impulses like our own. Ten minutes later, Gus was the owner of lot 1303, and he returned home with the deed in his pocket. He found Lizzie dis- tracted with anxiety over his long absence, Matters were not greatly helped by the ex- planation. Lizzie grew quite pale. “Gus— then—the parlor’—she stammered, making a pathetic effort at concealing her disap- pointment; “but, of course, we can wait awhile.” If she had reproached him it would have been easier, Gus thought. He kissed her, and called her his precious, brave litle wife, and Lizzie, poor soul, for a minute believed that such words were better than chairs or curtains. He broke into a fervid eulogy of the lots, “directly | on the street-car line—" “Oh, did you go out in the cars, Gus?” “Of course not, the track ain't laid; but it's right on the line. And there's an’ eas- tern syndicate and parties from Chicago”— the magnificent gossip of the wagon was | repeated until Lizzie’s imagination caught | fire, and she reproached herself for her wicked disappointment. Before they went to bed they had made no less than six hundred doll In view of such opulence Lizzie | herself did not consider a beefsteak for sup- | Per extravagant. She even allowed herself | to be helped twice. From thenceforth lot 15038 may be said to | have become one of the family. They talk- j ed of it constantly. Gus and Sammy were taken out to view the family estate; in consequence, Mrs. Plaintiff spent the most of the night removing cockle burrs and mud from their garments. Sammy explain- |ed that in their glee they had “wrastled” and slipped. ‘Say, ain't papa real kinder happy all the time now?” said Gus. “He gives me a nickel ‘most every Sunday.” “Yes, dearie, but I'd save ‘em, if I was you,” said his mother. And for some rea- son she sighed. She asked Mrs. Crowe to give her more work, saying she could find more time. She found it ising earlier. ““An’ how's 1303?” said M rowe; “sold it yet?” : a Gus is offered seven hundred lars; talk of the but but there is stron; canning factory wanting it.” “Tell him to sell it, if it's cash or a good man.” Gus nodded his head wisely over this mes- do! | sage. “I guess I understand the old Crowe's | little game by this time,” he told Lizzie. | Number 1303 was brought in May. Py June, house lots in Bloward were quoted at double their May prices. “Only, | wish, Gus, they would pay the money down,” said Lizzie, “they want to | pay so little down, and give notes or swep property. “You don’t understand business, Lizzie. If we all paid down, there woulda't be money enough to go round.” In July, 1303 was held at fifteen hundred dollars. Two lots adjoining it were actually sold to eastern men for that price, cash. They belonged to Mr. Wheelan. Srowe has sold five lots to the caning factory for a thousand dollars apiece,” Gus re- ported. “I had an offer of twelve hundred —two hundred down, and the rest in two years; but I told him it was fifteen hun- dred or nothing. They’ve found tions of natural gas.” However, I.izzie’s pleadings were so strong that he sought the buyer, no less a personage than the president of the Arcadia railway, and offered to sell. “Hump,” said Mr. Gault (Gault was the great man’s name), “I've bought elsewhere. You're the day after the fair, my Christian friend. But maybe we can fix a trade. Tell you what: I'll give you a thousand in Ar- cadia, selling for one twenty-five on the street now, but I call it par, and my note for four hundred dollars for six mouths. How's that?” Thus it happened that Gus went home with an announcement of the sale of 13203 for one thousand six hundred and fifty dollars. He was buoyantly delighted, mik- ing of the new parlor furniture, and even a watch for Lizzie. It was provoking to have Lizzie look so serious when he explained that there wasn’t any ready money cxactiy; she couldn't seem to understand that the stock was just as good. He really had a mind to sell a little, to give her a lesson in finance. e Chuckling over the vision of Lizzie, when he should bring, say six hundred or so dol- lars, and fling the notes in her work-basket, Gus tried to sell his stock. But, somehow, he found no buyers. And, somehow, though outwardly the boom was booming as u; roariously as ever; though the real estate bulletins bristled grandly with figures, and prices were stiff; and brass bands played in front of the real estate offices; and the daily journals waxed eloquent over the town’s Prospects, underneath all this clamor was a sinister timidity. Nobody was buying. Within a month there was a general cau- tious retreat of the speculators. The re- treat became a rout. At last Gus came home one evening, long, long, after supper, and flung his head upon the table and groaned. He believed that Lizzie was in her chamber, but she was there, in the shadow, waiting; and she came forward and lifted his head from the table to hold it against her heart. “Let us bear it to- gether, dear,” said Gus’ wife. Then the man tried to straighten his shoulders and hold up his head with a mis- erable assumption of jauntiness. “Oh, it's nothing. Just yawning. I'm dead beat, chasing ‘round town after the scoundrel. Lizzie, Gault’s gone, sloped.” “Run away? “Exactly. Canada, I guess, leaving a pretty mess behind him. The Arcadia’s busted. Stock isn’t worth a cent; no more than his swindling note. He hasn’t paid a doilar for 1303; ail I could do was to get it back. He would have nailed me to make the payments, and sold it, but I was in time; though Lord knows how I'll raise money for the next payment, next month.” A little pause, during which Lizzie only stroked his hair, before she said, timidly: “Dear, they say the boom is burst. Don’t you think we better—we better let 1303 ¢o, and not try—it will be so hard to raise that money and more in another six months, and it takes so long for a boom to come back, | and there are the taxes and the interest—" A savage laugh stopped her, leaped up, and began pacing the room. “I tell you I cayn’t do it, Lizzfe. I cayn’t bear it. Maybe I'm just flinging good money after bad; but after the way I've worked and hoped and planned, I cayn’t stand it to see that lot slip out of my finge! The property’s bound to come up, you know. But it was one thing to resolve to make the payments, quite another to raise the money. How bitterly did Gus revile his ex- travagance during the season of 1303's ficti- tious prosperity. His smart new clothes, his new hat, his cravat, were odious to him. “You brute!” he accused himself, “while your poor wife did not spend a useless He worked over hours to get . He stinted himself every possible ‘The peaceful evening pipe was sacri- ficed; he ate a dry roll for his luncheon. One morning he brought a bundle to the Emporium. Not only his new clothes and hat, but his watch and Lizzie’s cherished table cover were spread on the counter for Mrs. Crowe's lack-luster eye. “Can you give me fifty dollars for the lot?” Gus asked, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “Your wife know "bout that there kiver Gus was too wretched for retort; he nod- ded. The “second-hand woman” eyed him not keenly, but in her usual expressionless fashion. “She said Gus, clearing his dry throat; “she—she gave me ten dollars; it’s our second payment on the lot 1303. “Guess you wish you'd a follered my ad- Gus, mopping his brow, glittering with anxiety, kind of smile. time,” said he. “Well, why don’t you foller it now? Let them sharks take their darned old weed- patch back.” A quiver ran over the young man’s pale face, while he began to gather up the loose articles. “Quit that. I s'pose you'd go somewhere else if you can’t git what you want. Weil.” She opened the till and took out five ten- dollar bills, saying, “There, I'm a fool, too, and that's a pair of us.” Gus thanked her warmly, but she gave him no answer beyond staring at him through his faltering speech. “Well, ain't I a fool!” he heard her re- mark to herself, as he hurried away. Though he had the money he was a wretched man. It humiliated him to take Lizzie’s hard earnings. Worse than all, there was the insurance money. For years Gus had kept his‘life insured. The thought that if anything happened to him Lizzie would have a little sum to help her face the wolf had comforted him in many a hard experience. Now it would be im- possible for him to raise enough by to- morrow to make the payment. “O) nothing is going to happen to me, Gus, “and I'm bound to stick to 1303!” He was impressed witb the diiferent ap- pearance of the office when he went to pay his note. Dismaliy quiet were the rooms which had been so thronged. The few men lounging about read the bulletin boards, and talked in an undertone, with frowns and significant nods and liftings of the eyebrows. While Gus stood waiting for his receipt and absently gazing out of the win- way. and his eyes forced a sickly “Guess you "bout hit it that | dow the number of signs “To Let” and “For Sale” which met his eye made his heart shrink. At that moment if he covid have got $112 (principal and interest) out of the hands of the affable young man with the diamond pin he would have abandoned 1303 and fled. But the day of grace was passed. He went down the marble steps into the street. The first object to greet him was @ notice of sheriff's sale tacked on to an unfinished building. Yes, the homb had burst. Like an echo of his thought a tu- mult of noises rose behind him. Yells of “Take care!” “Look out!” pierced the clatter of wheels and the mad gallop of hoofs. But he never saw the peril, the heavy wagon, the frenzied horses and pallid driver; they were on him before he could turn his head. The horrified people closed, in the wake of the runaway. over a tram- pled heap of clothes pulled from under the wreck of a wagon. Something like « dripping red blotch, with a black circle jammed over it, meant a man’s head under hi bat. The driver limped up presently. His first inquiry after his horses having been grati- fied by the sight of them with beads bang- ing, knees trembling and standing in a cowed fashion at a little distance, he be- thought him of the heap. Was be hurt much? “Neck broke, that's all,” came the an- swer. Gus, feebly creeping out of a roaring blackness into the light and the sense of Teal sounds, heard every word. They were like hammer blows. Life is sweet even to the wretched, but it was not of life Gus thought; {t was of Lizzie and the children ~and the insurance policy which would lapse tomorrow. They heard him try to indica- | and Gus} | whisper. It was a name, second-hand woman.” “Tha for Mrs, “Mrs, Crowe, That was the reason h Crowe's presence at the hospital jDalf an hour later. Wooden as ever, | She stalked up to the cot and seated her- jSelf. The doctor and nurse were too much startled by her inexplicable height When she sat down to notice any change in her face. The patient was uncon: scious; he had not spoken since he pro- |Bcunced her name. Mrs. Crowe, in her j emotionless voice, told them to send for his wife and children; “in a carriage, TM pay,” she said. She indicated Gus with her thumb, looking the doctor in the eye: “Go- in’ to die?” A voice from the bed answered her: es, Mrs. Crowe.” «I didn't ask you,” said Mrs. Crowe; ‘you don’t know nothing about it.” “But I am. I've been mistaken both times I eontradicted you befor he tried to smile with his bruised, stiff lips—“but I }ain’t now. Mrs. Crowe—Lizzie—the best “ee “Give him some y” said Mrs. Crowe. — He gulped the brandy eagerly. His eyes implored her before he had strength enough to say: “They won't have nothing. Will you—give me—enough money to pay the life insurance? It's due tomorrow—I'll give you 1303." Mrs. Crowe was sitting bolt up- right, as one would expect of Mrs. Crow: a hand spread on either knee. She lift these hands to pull her hat down over her eyes, and e frowned. Then she pushed back her hat, revealing lace like a blank wall. “’Gustus Plaintiff,” said she, “I kep” company with your father ‘fore I married | Crowe. He was a fool jes’ like you. But he was clever. I liked him beiter'n he liked me. I'll give you $200 for 1308; so you kin set your mind to rest "bout the im- surance. What ye goin’ to die fur?” “My neck’s broke. God bless you!” mur- mured Gus, somewhat irrelevantly,but with deep feelings. “No “tain't. Couldn't swallow so slick’s you did if your neck was broke. You ain't going to die. That's another mistake of yours. Young woman, lend me your hand- kerchief. My old dog died this mornin’, an’ I feel sorter upset.” With the most entire deliberation | Crowe wiped two tears away and return the handkerchief, nor did the doctor and nurse ever witness any other token of emotion, though she attended Gus with great devotion during his illness. It was tedious, and for a while critical, but hb recovered eventually. Me grew to feel @ queer kind of attachment for Mrs. Crowe. Lizzie made a clean breast of secret help received from the woman of wood. “And she grew kinder and kinder, Gus. She brought every one of those things you sold back, saying she only bought them be- cause she knew you'd scil taem to some- body else. And I thins, Gus, I do think the poor soul was found of your father, and he didn’t treat her just right, and iz soured her. Money and smartness won't make up for some things to a woman. "said Gus, musiagly, @ great deal to her. They have owed much more ince: among other things, the furnishing of thi parlor. It is even whispered that Mri Crowe intends leaving her savings to the One thing shb certainiy will are aware of this; because cn a certain evening, when, as happens cften now, they together, Gus took his courage in both hands and’ asked: “Mother Crowe, what have you done with 1a? The family interest had for so long cluster- ed tenderly about that garden of piaintain and cockie burrs that they all felt a kind of a shock when she repiled: “Oh, 1 bun- died the deed right back to them agents? “Twa'n't wuth the taxes. —oe— ON THE SAME ERRAND. jiana Town Where Dollars Do Not Grow on Bushes. The train had stopped at a measly little town in Indiana, and the drummer got up from the crowd and went out on the platform for a minute or two, says the De- troit Free Pre: When he returned one of the crowd said: “Been out to see some of your relatives here?” “Hardly,” responded the drummer, “but 've been in the town and know it.” ‘How did it happen?” “Well,” he said, reminiscently, “about four years ago I thought I'd make this place on one of my trips and sell a bill of gcods or bust a hamestring. I got in about 10 o'clock in the morning, and 1 worked all day trying to get somebody to buy some- thing, but a more stupid lot of people I never saw. Late in the evening I went back to the tavern thoroughly disgusted, and there I found a man representing a Chicago house. We got to talking, and told me he had got in the day before, but had been taken sick about supper time after a hard day’s work, and had not been able ,. get ~ 4 of bed until one hour be- re I ay § cs “What are you doing here? he inquired me. “f. “Trying to sell goods, of course,’ I re- wre tgnalkce, ola man,” he said, coming over to me. ‘Shake; by thunder, I didn’t know there was another as big a blamed fool as I was in the business,’ and then we entered into a compact not to give each other away, and got out of the place as soon as we could.” —_—_—_+e+_— HINTS TO WISE ONES. Eyes A blue-eyed person never looks so blue- eyed as in a blue dress or white with a blue cravat, whereas the strong blue of the fabric might have been expected to dim the slight blue of the eye. A woman with re- markably red lips clad in dull heliotrope, with amethysts, has all the coral taken from her mouth, which wears instead @ light heliotrope tint, and with this pink the pink of her cheek is also touched. An orm dinary or even sallow cheek never looks #0 beautifully white as over a white which seemed to threaten to darken it. And beautiful as the “aesthetic” colors | were in their day, they quenched and dim- med their wearers to their own tone. This | is not to be easily explained by any known | chromatic rules. Nor can one say why | turquoise blue darkens dark eyes and adds to their brightness. Experiment and veri- fication should be as much valued by the ‘women as by the Comtist philosopher, His New Field. Mrs. O'Tect~>—“Did ye hear about Patrol | min O’Smyte's gettin’ heated ata folre, an’ | losin’ the soight outten bot’ eyes?” | irs. Reagan.—“Hevin, no! Poor feliyg | that’s the last of him, 1 suppose?” |. Mrs. O'Toole —“Indade an’ it hain’t; he’ to be appinted a special, to look @a:nblin’ houses in the Tenderlines” “"* ®?