Evening Star Newspaper, April 21, 1894, Page 20

a ree or maT rag reper te eeererreeeeereeeegren erent eee I’m sure. You wouldn’t speak to me for! “Tt may be jolly eno A JAP LIVING IN JAPAN How the Fall of Silver Affects the Country and the People. ANES WHAT IT COSTS FOREIGNERS ‘The Queer Fire Departments and Fire Insurance Novelties. THE POLICE AND DETECTIVES pecial Correspondence of The Evening Star. TOKIO, Japan, March 6, 1894. APAN IS DOING all she can to keep silver in the air. She has to pay for the goods she imports from America in gold, and the silver question is a far more important one here than it has ever been in the United States. The country is now on a silver basis, and there is sure to be a general rise in the prices of everything. At the Present writing the exchange is going up every day and a gold dollar in Tokyo looks as big as the cover of a Japanese umbrella. Buch foreigners as are here who get their fmcomes from America are rich through the fall of silver, and they now get two dol- jars for every one that is sent out to them from home. I made out a draft of one Bundred dollars on my New York letter of credit at the bank this morning and got two hundred and eight dollars for it and the money I have brought with me has doubled in value. This makes traveling comparatively cheap, and though I have ‘been paying four dollars a day at the Grand Hotel in Yokohama it really costs me only ‘two. Clothing here is wonderfully cheap, end all English goods can be bought for the same prices they bring in London. The treaties with Japan prohibit her from charging more than five per cent duty, and labor is worth so little that one could ome across the Pacific and save the ex- enses of the trip by laying in a stock of clothing for himself and his family. The tailors are Chinese, but they give you good euts and you do not need to pay if the @lothes do not fit you. You can get a good ‘Dusiness suit of English goods made to order for about ten American dollars. Pat- ent leather shoes made to order cost two dollars and a half, and a fur-lined over- goat with beaver collar and cuffs can be Dought for about thirty dollars in gold. You could not buy the cloth, to say nothing of the fur linings, for that amount in Ameri- ca. Ladies’ are equally cheap and you get wonderfully embroidered gowns ef silk crepe for less than the ordinary Street dress costs you in the United States. Low Prices. ‘This reduction in silver makes a won- @erful profit for our missionaries and diplo- mats. A missionary who ts getting a thou- sand dollars a year has now two thousand @ollars to spend. The American minister to Japan, who receives, if my memory serves me, twelve thousand dollars annual- ly, gets at least twenty-four thousand dol- ars’ worth of value out of it, and the sal- @ries of our consuls are practically doubled by the change. An American family liv- 4mg on a fixed income at home could now ‘come to Japan and have twice the comforts for half the money, and I am surprised at the swonderful cheapness of ail sorts of food and , rink from cabbage to champagne. I took @n interpreter with me to the market this morning and spent some hours in finding out the prices of the necessaries of life. I found the articles sold fully as good and im most cases superior to those you find fm America, and the prices were from one- take the case of meats. These are very high, as the Japanese do not use them, and they are chiefly demanded by foreigners. I found that fine rib roasts of beef cost eight cents a pound, and was shown veal and bacon at ten cents. Chickens are worth from seven to twenty cents apiece. You buy teal ducks for eight cents each, and Japanese Types. | lag worth from six to ten cents a Quail cost from six to seven cents. — birds, sixteen cents a dozen, and snipe cents each. Think of it! A good snipe @ nickel. There are no better vegetables the world than those you find here and fish of Japan are far superior to those ef America. All fish are sold when they gre alive or still kicking. Lobsters run from a half a cent to five cents apiece. @ fresh mackerel bring from one to cents, and sole from two to ten. You an get perch as low as two cents each, and tai fish, the best fish in Japan, at from five cents to fifty cents, according to size. Oysters are worth twelve cents a gallon, and eels bring ten cents a pound. As to Wegetables, they are sold in most cases by the pound, ranging from half a cent up- wards. Cabbages bring from one to three cents each. Lettuce about a quarter of a gent a bunch, and radishes about the same. ‘You get a fine cauliflower for from eight @o ten cents, and fresh mushrooms cost cents a -pound. Soft coal costs three dollars a ton, and firewood sold in little bundles about as large as a bundle of kindling for from one to three cents each. These figures, as well as those following ‘this,are on the gold and not the silver basis. Cost of Luxuries. All sorts of luxuries are cheap. You can ‘uy Mum’s extra dry champagne for less than a dollar and a half a quart, anu good Manilla cigars cost from one to three cents each. Cigarettes, which are now being tm- Ported by the million from the United States, and which are being introduced in large quantities among both the men and women of Japan, are far cheaper than at home, and what we pay five cents and ten gents a package for sells here for from one to three cents a package. Servants are very cheap and very good. The foreign housewife has nothing to do and she lives @ @ queen. The Japanese cooks are far better than ours, and twenty dollars a month will pay the board and salaries of the help of an eight-room house. I have @ friend who lives as well here as many a millionaire does in the United States, and he does not expend more than this amount. He pays his cook five dollars a month. His butler gets two dollars and a half, and his Gardener and second girl get about the E TANDEM, | same, These servants all board themselves and the cook does the marketing. His rent costs him less than twenty dollars a month, though he lives in one of the best ports of Five Cents a Day. Japan, and he could have a coachman at five dollars more. He has no trouble about getting good servants, and he tells me they watch after his interests and see that he is not cheated by anyone else but them- selves. It is far easier to live well here than in America, and I predict that the time will come when many American fami- Hes with fixed but comparatively limited incomes will come to Japan, instead of going to Europe as they are now doing. As to the table, they can nowhere find better eating. In some cases the cooks take con- tracts to do all the marketing, cook the meals and supply the table at a fixed price per day. A weil-to-do family of Kobe lives in this way, and for three yen, or about $1.50 per day, they have their meals fur- nished by the cook. Remember, they pay nothing more than this, and there are six in the family. Their ordinary every day bills of fare are as follows: The breakfast, served when they rise, consists of fruit, Porridge, fish, a fry or grill of mutton or beef, and warm bread or cakes. At noon they have a lunch or “tiffin,” which is served in courses, and embraces soup, fish, @ warm entree, cold meats, a salad of po- tatoes, sweets and coffee. Then there is a tea served at 4 p.m., and at 7 o'clock there is a dinner, the menu of which consists of @ soup, a fish, a roast, some game, pota- toes and two vegetables, with a coffee, eheese and nuts. How the Natives Live. As to the living of the Japanese, they pay still less and these forty millions of people could exist well on what America wastes. Only a few of the middle classes have more than one servant, and among the poorer classes the wife does the cooking and the entire work of the household. Some fam- ilies have a woman to cook and do general housework, and such women are paid from one to two dollars a month and are lodged and fed. They generally receive a present of a dress from their mistress at New Year and in midsummer, each costi from a dollar and a half to two dollars, and they expect to get a cent two or three times a week for bath money. Every Japanese takes a hot bath from two to twelve times @ week, and where the family ts too poor to own @ bath room they go to the public A Nurse. bath houses. The richer people have more servants, and a well-to-do family will gen- erally have a man in addition to the women. They pay their men twice as much as the women. Nurses are very cheap in Japan, and the common people keep the smaller children and the old men of the family busy in taking care of the babies. A child of six often has her baby brother tied to her back, and children from nine to sixteen go about with babies so fastened upon them taking care of them. Such girls, when em- ployed outside of their own families, get their board and clothing and a present now and then. They are often poor relatives of the family, and a woman who works in a tea factory will often pay a cent a day to have her baby thus cared for. In the Country. Out in the country the wages are even lower and there are parts of Japan where the women do not get more than ten cents in silver a day, or about a nickel of our money. All members of a poor family work, and a men and his wife will often labor side by side in the same field. Women dig up the ground with long spade-like mat- tocks, and I visited a tea-firing establish- ment yesterday where I saw about 100 girls bending over hot oven-like pans and rub- bing the green leaves of the tea around in them, while the perspiration rolled down their cheeks and now and then dropped into the dainty mixture, which was bet prepared for American breakfast tables. asked as to their hours and their wages and I was told that they worked from day- break to sunset, and that they got the enormous wages of from thirty to forty cents a day in silver. I see men every- where I go carrying loads that the ordinary American could not lift, and they do the work of both horses and men. There are few horses used and many of the carts are pushed and pulled by women and men. I Saw a woman breaking stones for the roads this afternoon, and I was told that she got about ten of our cents for twelve hours’ work. She sat bareheaded and barefooted on the stones and pounded away with a hammer breaking the rocks into pleces. AS I watched her, two Japanese men in blue cotton gowns passed by, carrying a stone weighing about 400 pounds, which was tied by a rope to @ pole, which rested on their shoulders, and a third man pushed past them with a load of long on his A Lumber Wagon. There are no such things as stone hoats and lumber wegons in Japan, and human labor takes the place of steam and horses. There are no lumber mills in the country and logs are sawed into boards by hand. A | lumber yard coasists of a lot of boards tled | up into bundles containing about five or six boards six inches wide and half an inch | thick, and usually about twelve feet in | length, and it is of such lumber that the | most of the Japanese houses are made. The heaviest of the rafters of the temples are HE sawed out by hand, and it is by men that they are carried up and put into place. There are many queer things here in the way of building, and I understand: that there are people who make a business of manufacturing roofs for buildings. ;The roof of a Japanese house is put on before the walls are fitted in and there is a big scaffolding made of the height of the pro- posed structure and running all around it before the work of putting up the house 8. This scaffolding is made of bamboo poles tied together with ropes of straw, and the men who put it up have nothing to do with erecting the building itself. ‘Vhere is @ company in Yokohama which does noth- ing else but make scaffolding, and it rents it to the builders at so much per house. Almost all of the Japanese houses are of wood. They are built close together in the towns and cities and a fire sometimes sweeps them away by thousands It is said that Tokyo burns down every seven years, and fires which destroy a thousand houses are not uncommon. There are now steam fire engines in the large cities and all of the smaller places have fire depart- ments and hand engines. The Japanese go wild whenever there is a fire in their neigh- borhood. They turn out en masse, each carrying a paper lantern, upon which Is painted the name of his house or kis busi- ness place, and rush toward it. They have lanterns hung up in their houses ready to run out with them to fires, and it is a matter of etiquette if you have a friend in the neighborhood of the conflagration to call and leave your card, and tell him that you came to help him, thinking the house which was burning was his, and to leave your card with congratulations that he es- caped. The firemen themselves «arry lan- terns and they yell as they run. Each fire company has a leader who carries a lantern fastened to the top of a long pole and orna- mented with streamers of paper. He climbs with this to the roof of the building which is on fire and directs the men, and he is expected to stay at his post until these streamers catch fire. The firemen of Yokohama have blue hats,like butter bowls, and on their backs are the characters which mean Yokohama fire brigade. The country firemen tie handkerchiefs on their heads and are more often barefooted than otherwise. A Fire Company. dessert, | Until lately there was no such thing as a fire insurance company in Japan. Now there are several and they are doing well. There are no foreign companies and the in- surance companies of other countries con- fine their risks here to life. I chatted last night with the manager of a well-known life insurance company for Japan and China. He tells me that this American in- stitution is doing a good business here and that the people are insuring more every day. The highest amount the company insures for in Japan ts $100,000. It has taken out two such policies lately and has written a number of $50,000 and £25,000 policies. The most of its business, however, is in $5,000 risks, and it insures here at the same rates as in America. It does not try to push its business among the Chinese, as there is more danger of fraud from them. When a Chinaman sees that he is about to die he wants to go to his ancestral home. This may be a thousand miles in the in- teriar of China, where there are no for- eigners, and all sorts of trumped up evi- dence could be sent in as to the death. You could buy the testimony ‘of the gov- ernor of a Chinese province for $100 or 80, to anything, and the result would probably be that the company would be systematic- ally defrauded. in Japan it is impossible for one to de- fraud as to a matter of life and death. The system of registration of births and deaths is perfect, and the Czar of Russia has not @ better method of keeping track of his subjects than that of the mikado, There are 30,000 policemen in the empire and no end of detectives. The secret service of Japan is said to be the most perfect in the world,and though this land has the shrewd- est of criminals, there is little wickedness that is allowed to go unpunished. Every man and woman in Japan must have a Passport, and this is the case with for- eigners as well as with the Japanese. In changing his residence the police call upon & man as soon as he has settled and de- mand to know all about him. They do not take his own statement, but write to the city from which he says he came, and it his story is not a true one he is arrested. He dare not leave Japan without the per- mission of the government, and it is al- most impossible now for a Japanese woman to get away from Japan unless she can prove that she is going into some legiti- mate employment abroad, and that her as- sociations there are to be good. F pk 4, Cafentes ~ : 2. Told the Wrong Reminiscence. From the Boston Journal. They were celebrating their silver wed- ding and, of course, the couple were very happy and affectionate. “Yes,” said the husband, “this is the only woman I ever loved, and I shall never for- get the first time I proposed to her.” “How 4id you do it?” burst out a young man who had been squeezing a pretty girl's hand in a corner. They all laughed, and he blushed, but the girl carried it off bravely. “Well, I remember as well as if it were but yesterday. It was at Richmond. We had been out for a picnic and she and I got wandering alone. Don’t you remember, my dear, and what a lovely day it wast” The wife smiled. “We sat on the trunk of @ trea You haven’t forgotten, love, have you?” The wife smiled . “She began writing in the dust with the point of her parasol. You recall it, sweet?” The wife nodded. “She wrote her name ‘Mary’ end I asked her to let put the other name to it. And I took the parasol and wrote my name, ‘Smith,’ below it. And she took back the parasol and wrote below it, ‘No, I won't.’ Then we went home. You remember it, darling? Ah, I see you do.” departed and the harpy pair were left alone. “Wasn't it nice, Mary, to see all our friends around us so happy?” “Yes, it was. But, John, that reminis- cence of yours.” “Ah, it seems as if it had been only yes- terday, Mary.” es, dear; there are only three things you're wrong about in that story.” Vrong? Oh, no.”* “John, I'm sorry Fp told that story, be- cause I never went to a picnic with you be- fore we were married. I was never in Richmond in my life, and I never refused yo “My darling, you must be wrong; I have @ good memory.” “T am not wrong, Mr. Smith, and my memory is as good as yours, and although we have been married twenty-five years I'd like to know who that minx was. You never told me about her before.” The husband answered nothing, and his une day smile was a thing of 4 : ——_+e+____ He Obeyed Orders. Brom Teras Siftings. In some Texas towns it is impossible to ascertain when any particular train leaves without going to the depot and inquiring of the agent how many hours behind time the train is. Col. Yerger, who lives in Austin, wished to go to San’ Antonio on the 11 o'clock train, so he said to his col- ored servant: “Sam, go down to the depot and see what time the 1 o'clock train leaves.” It was 8 o’clock when Sam returned. ‘Well, when does the train leave?” Hit’s done lef’, boss. Hit lef at ha’f pas’ two, - “What!” ‘I did jess whut yer tole me. Yer tole me ter see when de train lef’, an’ I watched till it was plain outer sight udder side ob de Colorado ribben™ pigs a a i EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 91, 1894-TWENTY PAGES THIS JACK AND THE OTHER, patentee etter entaay BY EDGAR PAWCETT. i egceer C OME IN.” Griffith, as he spoke these words, reclined in a huge easy chair, with a posture of great indolence, smoking a@ cigarette. His pretty studio, full of choice drapings, odd ornaments and unfinished sketches, looked, through one of its smaller win- dows, on the Acad- emy of Design. Grif- fith loved that window. He used to say that if he could only get the right distance back from it, 4th avenue literally became for him the Grand Canal, while rattlings of carts and jinglings of street cars mel- lowed into musical calls of gondoliers. He made some such observation now to his friend, Evan Mowbray, who had availed himself of the “come in” to enter and stand staring at a very inchoate picture on an easel bathed in searching sunshine. “Is this the tenth or eleventh time, Jack, that you've slandered the Palazzo San Mareo? You know very well that it looks no more like the Academy of Design than Grace Church looks likes Westminster Ab- bey. Any news?” “Yes,” yawned Griffith; “I've painted for two hours.” ‘On that thing?” and Evan slanted his @ handle toward the still moist canvas. ‘Thing’ isn’t polite, Evan.” “Oh, well, Jack,” said his friend, turning away, “I dare say it’s very splendid and original. But upon my word, it looks to me, for all the world, like a strip of mildewed wallpapering. Pray, what is the subject?” Griffith threw away his cigarette and rose. “Oh, it’s a study in color,” he said, carelessly. ‘‘You never did know the merest alphabet of art, Evan.” “But you'd call it—* “I'd call it—’m—well, I’d call it a Norse- land seashore, lighted by a stormy sunset.” “Oh, really! But I—" “Never mind.” Griffith went to a table and took up an opened letter which lay there. “‘You asked me, my dear Evan, if there was any news. I've had this from my cousin Jack, down in Rio. He's utterly cleaned out again, and wants more help.” Evan, standing erect and handsome, with his close-cropped blonde locks and his lim- pid blue eyes, scanned the letter, which was by no means long. “I wouldn't give him another cent. He's always begging you to help him. And how many times have you sent him money, down there in Rio Janeiro?” “Lots,” muttered Griffith. “Of course. And here are you, Jack—* His friend paused, and Griffith, as it were, continued for him, with a rather weary smile on his dark, fresh, frank face: “Here am I, Evan, you mean, with ten un- sold pictures and nearly twice as many un- paid debts.” “It’s your own fault, Jack. You will paint these extraordinary—" “Masterpieces. Thanks. I take that as @ compliment. Well, we were talking about poor Jack. He’s my first cousin, you know, after all. We're both Jack Griffith, both named after that misanthropic old uncle of ours, who went out west years ago and has made a huge fortune there, it’s rumored, among the gold mines or the silver ones--I never exactly learned which. He quarreled with each of our dead fathers, and Jack and I, a few years ago, used to compare notes— family annals, as it were—and try to decide which of our fathers it was whom Uncle John hated the most. Jack was the eldest son of the eldest son, you know, and that always made him put on airs concerning our opulent uncle. He used to say that his father had once had the cool courage to te Uncle John he'd cheated both his brothers in the distribution of the family inheritance.” “Perhaps he did,” said Evan Mowbray, musingly. Griffith bridled. “My dear Evan, please recollect that I reserve to myself the priv- ilege of insulting my own relations.” Then, with drowsy irony: “I shouldn't be sur- prised, though, if you were right. Only, the greater wrorg, I’m nearly sure, was done to Jack's father. There was some business partnership between Uncle Ralph and Uncle John. Jack often referred to that; he knows twice as much about it as I do, Upon my word, I wished he’d gone out there to Nevada, or wherever it {s, and asked Uncle John for a hundred thou- Wats \ he ANY ws y\ AeR WANS A \ ere YY YY sand or so as amends for his fraternal scampishness, instead of dancing down to Rio on a wild-goose chase after buried diamonds that were probably ten miles from the place in which his hare-brained ecmpanions believed them.” “And now, Jack,” said Evan, with a somber look of reprimand, “you know that you shouldn’t give this scapegoat kins- ™man another dime. Promise me you will not?" And Evan, who dearly loved and admired his friend, laid a hand on Griffith's shoulder, “Lord save us,” was the gentle and mournful answer, “I haven't got many more dimes to md. I suppose that as long as I have though, I will send.” Here the young artist glanced toward the easel that upbore his latest landscape. He was very well aware that Evan con- sidered it a daub, but that knowledge did not alter his own conviction that it was a masterpiece of “symphonic” and “sym- bolic” paprenss joniem. . “We somehow never get on, nowadays. ‘We need only talk with one another five minutes to‘find ourselves fighting like cat and dog.” Griffith said this in his easy, dreamy way, several hours later, amid the music and babble of a ball at Sherry’s. He look- ed very handsome, though a trifle worried and fatigued. Evening dress always be- came his olive, oval face; the white tie at his throat seemed to deepen the soft bril- Mancy of his peculiar, dusky eyes. “I never saw but one man who had eyes at all like yours,” the lady to whom he now spoke had once told him. “That was Edwin Booth, whose eyes were a kind of golden black. Yours are smaller and haven't the same trick of occasional metallic splendor. But you ought, nevertheless, to be proud of the resemblance.” She used to say things like this to him in the early days of their intimacy. But latterly, as Griffith put it, she was forever scolding him, and “getting up rows.” Per- sonally, she was very winsome and elegant, a blonde, with the most delightful wild- rose coloring. She carried her slender fig- ure so that all its willowy curves made the nicest harmonious interplay. Her name was Mrs. Rochester; she h: married at an early age and now, though scarcely thirty, was a widow, rich, courted, with a Desition that hundreds of her own sex en- vied her. “You're shockingly rude,” she murmured to Griffith. “It’s lucky no one heard what you've just said, or I should have been com- = to + gar! with you.” pe “But you're always quarreling me,” moaned Griffith. “I mean—seriously.” “I've never known it to be any other way, six weeks, you know.” “I supposed that was settled, Jack. Be- sides, I did speak to you—more or less.” “A good deal less than more. I lived on snubs, like a dog on bones, And they were pretty bare bones, too, Will you dance? And I'll tell you, while we're dancing, just how you wrung my soul.” “I'm so angry that I wouldn’t,” mur- mured Mrs, Rochester, “if you didn’t dance remarka®ly well.” “Oh, you've told me that before, and I always suspect that you mean it to give me a kind of dig in the ribs—” “Jack!" They were moving about the floor now. People looked at them and said, “What a nice pair they make!—both so handsome!’ Then whispers were exchanged. “Why doesn’t she him?” and “Has he asked her?” and “Good gracious, he's horribly poor, nowadays, you know,” and “They say she keeps on refusing him once every week regularly, by the day) and the time of the clock.” * But these were only the airy fatuities of gossip. Griffith had always told himself that Sara Rochester would laugh in his face if he ever dared to propose marriage. He was all very well to dance with, and to fight with, and to call on at the last minute for one of her nice little dinners, when somebody else couldn’t come and had left that vacuum which society, no less than nature, abhors. But ask her to marry him! Why, she'd tell him he wes crazy; that was all it would be. And instead of getting on together as they did, now and then being partners at the Delmonico and Sherry ger- mans, now and then staying at the same country house and behaving “chu: to one another during the Meadowbrook hunts —now and then, in short, reaping solid en- joyment from each other's company—in- stead of ail this, Griffith had solemnly mused, it would just be the end of every- thing with the dear little woman, and some other fellow would step in and he'd get a dazzling, inscrutable smile the next time he spoke to her at an assembly or a Patri- archs’ or any other confounded place, and she’d glide off from him on the other fel- low’s arm and there would be an end of his treasured intimacy with the sweetest and loveliest woman in the town—not to men- tion all other —— apg “ “Dig in the ribs,’ Jack, not stan said Mrs. Rochester, while they lided along together. uu know I will not——” “Of course I do,” sighed Griffith, -, danced, with his slow, capable step. “I'd like to see any man dare to do it. ra-— well, I'd kill him here in this ball room.’ He heard her irrepressible laugh bubble up in the region of his right ler. “How dare you? I wasn’t thinking of that. I meant your phrase—-Why will you talk im such vulgar style? you, whe tell me that you're a poet-painter or a painter-poet— which ts it?" “Both—when I'm with you.” began tonight by lecturing you.” I know. . "You're wasting your time scandalously. You've got an idea that you can paint in @ new, astonishing fashion. You caught it from some of those artists you saw last year in Paris. You did some really good work before that. If you'd gone on, being industrious and sincere in your own line of accomplishment, and not drifted into all sorts of lazy habits both before then and Ince then, you might——’ “Heavens! Do spare m entreated Grif- fith, He had his revenge an instant later. He paused in the dance with his most genial bow, and placed his partner just at the side of a certain ravaged widower, Mr. Vanderdecken, whose attentions he knew that Sara Rochester almost loathed. “I saw you commit your act of dastard- ly desertion,” said Evan Mowbray to him, as they left the ball together, a littie while before the beginning of the german. stead of aggravating that woman as you're constantly doing, Jack, why on earth don’t you ask her to marry you?” They were walking side by side along the still, starlit avenue. ‘As if she would, Evan! Besides, I don’t aggravate her. She's forever nagging at me. igging’ is beautiful, Jack, to say of lady love.” “She isn't my lady love, as you romanti- cally put it. She'd no more accept me than the man in the moon—if there were one— Besides,” Griffith added, gravely, “ I've too much self-respect t Everybody’d say—you know what every- body’d say, Evan.” “D—n what everybody say,” retorted Mowbray, stoutly. “You've heen awfully fond of her for three years, and she— why, the ‘nagging’ you speak of, old boy, only means how fond she is of you!” “It’s too late for Delmonico’s, ign't it?” said Griffith, as they neared that far-famed inn. “Come across Madison Square to my diggings, Ev, and I'll give you—” “Not a drop more, I’ve had two glasses, of champagne and a slice of canvas back, and I'll be sworn——" “Oh, well, don’t swear or be sworn,” said Grifith, drowsily. “How nice that Farra- gut statue of St. Gaudens’ looks under the electrics, doesn’t it? There's an artist, Ev —So you w@i come? I'll take your arm through the park. So dangerous, don’t you know? Tramps and sandbaggers, and all that sort of thing. It’s only a bottle of very old Scotch, which my dear friend, Algy Gladwin, sent me over from London last month. There were six. If I’m not mistaken,” he added, dryly, “you drank the other five—” . “I, Jack! How outrageous of you!” ‘—With my assistance, after balls, din. ners and other pow-woys like the present.” “You may well say ‘with my assistance,’ ” grumbled Mowbray. “As I perceive,” he added, in amicable sarcasm, “that you're grossly intoxicated, I'll see you across the park to the stoop of your residence.” He did more. As Griffith turned up the lights in his studio a letter caught his eye, lying on a little dark table where his mail was usually placed. “Another durning screed, I suppose.” The geet gave a spiteful crackle as he tore it open. “Your fire hasn't quite gone out yet, Jack,” said Mowbray. “I see some embers there, and I know where you keep your wood.” ‘ “Evan!” “Eh? Behind that folderol Japanese cur- = wae it? IN just-—" “Eva mn Griffith had caught his friend's wrist. With the other dis: hand he lifted a letter high, so that the two fresh-lit gas burners could strike it. Then, flutteringly, he gave the letter to Mowbray. He himself flung his form into an arm-chair. ead, Ev, read.” half-dazed reply. “That—that! Uncle John’s dead, out in Nevada, and he’s left me two millions. Some lawyer there writes to some lawyers here. There can’t be any gistake. Read!” “I wonder how people will act,” said Griffith to himself, quite late on the fol- lowing afternoon. He had granted that everything would papers, sooner or later, but he prepared for the perfectly flamboyant ac- count of his new inheritance with which three or four journals had greeted him while busied over his coffee and egg. “‘Con- found their calling me a second-rate painter!” he muttered. This was a stab whose wound -even last night’s benign tidings could not properly salve. It meant @ very sharp thorn under a very big rose. Later came talks with the lawyers down town. Griffith signed a few papers, and tried to look abstracted and semi-indiffer- ent. All the while he felt either as if his feet were a pair of wings or else as if his arms were. When he got uptown again he remembered that he had a certain sum in @ bank there, which only yesterday had seemed to him like a snowdrift under th spell of a vigorous thaw. Now he went to the bank and drew a fairly large check with wholly altered feelings. In a week or so, the lawyers had suavely told him, he would have so much “ready money” that the affair of its prompt yet judicious in- vestment might prove a trifle embarrassing. “I suppose I'll have lots of fun watching hor: people behave,” he mused, as he stroll- ed along the avenue, past the marble ma- jesties of the Manhattan Club and the brand-new altitudes of the Waldorf. “Here comes Doddridge the multi-millionaire. He generally gives me a nod about two inches deep. I wonder what he'll do now.” Mr. Doddridge bowed so appreciably and beamed so sunnily that Griffith half expect- ed him to stop and reach forth a hand. “Oh, money, money,” he murmured below his mustache. ‘What's that thing I learned in college? Aurea sacra famem. . . . No, I'm afraid that isn’t right. I never could quote a line of Latin right. . Here's the Effinghams’. I'll drop in; it’s their big tea; the awning’s up, and all these carriages are threatening to mash each other; yes, this must be the day of their pow-wow, and I'm sure I’m asked. So here goes.” He knew a great many people in the thronged drawing rooms. Everybody's bow Was somehow different from of old—more interested and more arimated. He spoke to several ladies with whom he was but slightly acquainted, and found that they treated him with a sort of repressed aston- ishment not exempt from a certain feverish and novel cordiality. Finally, he came face to face with Mrs. Rochester. “In mercy’s name,” she faltered, “what are you doing here?” “I don’t know that I’m doing an; here in mercy’s name,” he answered. “A fellow usually doesn’ does he, at these afternoon crushes? Unless you mean,” he added, meckly, “that so many women come to them and so few men—~” “I mean nothing of the sort, Jack. I’ve heard, you undertsand.” me I thought you had. Isn’t it iy?" She gave him a quick, severe glance, low- her eyes the next instant. have the good taste to “In private?” “Certainly. If you £0 generously to you, you cultivate the appearance of some. ing here like this is too awful. certainly, you shouldn’t be her you are, without a scra) on the very day after you've heard of uncle’s death.” Griffith gave a forlorn start. “By Jove! I forgot all about it!’ Then he pursued,plain- tively, “But, you see, I've never even set eyes on him.” “Do hush!" commanded Mrs. Rochester. “ le are listening to every word you say. This is so Uke you. Upon my word— “There, now, ness, “you're going to scold again! But I you're right this time.” “Unis time! she bristied. “T'll—T'll cut—excuse me, I'll go away. I'll go and buy black studs and a ‘weeper’ for my hat, and all that sort of thing, Tm 90 glad you told me. Nobody se did.’ “Nobody else cared—I meen, knew well enough to care,” frowned Mrs. fo any one out of his own Uttle eiry plutocrats, actually shoulder and called him “my infinite amusement of Griffith. He left the club that night in melancholy mood, however. “What a world! tated, while stepping door. “I'm learning that might turn Weill, anyhow, But on the morrow he was confronted by bitter disappointment. Mrs. Rochester re- ceived him with icy “Oh, good — A creates “haven’ you got over it yet?" “Got over what yet, if you please?” “Why, what I did y cept with it? Frankly, believe it will lead you into all sorts of fol- lies.” “What kinds of follies?” asked Griffith, studying the gloss on one of his boots, and at the same time playing automatically — his watch chain. BL apm gs ve ine follies. You mean follies?’ es." “T’m an unpurchasable folly, if you please. You can’t buy me.” two years, and seen it. You're rich, you ‘—_" wan She broke in with a light, curt “So, now that you can make But he had not much taunting iteration, for his eye light on a letter, which he raised table where it lay. The name of lawyers—Atterbury, Chalmers and worth—gleamed from @ corner of velope. “Devil take tt,” he murm ured they don’t want me down vw aly T'm in no stéte to go, after 1ame of the son of Ralph brother. I wasn’t even tn sooage to your humble in Fecompense wrong which I once did my brother, Ralph,” reads the document, ‘I will and his only son, Join,’ ete., ete. bad that full quota! out ef ended » “I suppose I've got to stand it.” ft Evan went to him and wrene his “What earthly sense would there be io £O- ing crazy, Evan—even for a time? * * * No,” added, with soft rumination, “I'l try to keep to i i Bold of it, and publish- what seemed to Griffith agonizing ray unts of the whoie ridiculous ever, and this hurt Griffith worse than open “chafing.” After « Gay or two he found himself seated before his easel, powerless to half aloud, after ual strokes of the brush, e: “By Jove, I didn’t know it could he so deucedly unpleasant to have peopie feel sur- ry for you!” All the while he was thin! of her, and wondering whether she had felt sorry, in really right and generous way. His anger had emtirely fied; he never could stay angry very long with anyone; his neture was too replete with loving kindness for that. And when @ short pote came to him in her han@writing, bidding him “drop in that afternoon between 4 and 5,” he kiesed it, and smiled a little over it, and shed several authentic tears over it, and obeyed its a rather unsympathetic her hand. He pressed it in silence, and as withdrew it she burst out lauching. “Jack, I'm ” she said. “Really? I—I thought you'd be iiad.” “Glad? . on earth do you tcke me for?” He hesitated, and then answered, in his innocent, “For the most 869 AB : He FL E i F f { Ba ie ecules itech FE a ! i i { i i i te if See | A ! { f i I i f § 8 Ff i i ° i Feet i & } i : ef i E $ 5 EF i f i i & h : i ; it H § H i e & i ! g & SEE i i 5 Ht s f f if it ' i i | i | uit i fl pt iB % § ; E ! i | if ts ll Hs ! i 5 g rT; i ii; 4] i gE iE ij A z i s ber ani- £ z i Se i i i é H i “at EEE p H x i i 3 & ‘i ii af zl i : i z i i i F 5 F e ‘ i ‘i i g F that we would bag five minutes went we heard a shout of surprise— scream—a cry of terror—and we behold a curious sight. Lit- backed himself @lear of the followed the sergeant, though circuit Men who sew him he exercised the greatest vanced more like a wolf His ctrevit was wide enough in rear of the creeping In foliowed him up and dashed suddenly that the warrior awoman. 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