Evening Star Newspaper, April 28, 1894, Page 20

‘WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY HOW- ARD FIELDING. LITTLE ROUND stone lay in the grass in that portion of the * Yale base ball ground which is technically known as left field. The color of the stone was blue. Its posi- tion was exactly right, and the grass was just long enough to conceal it. These details had been ar- ranged by Fate with her usual care and foresight. If the stone had not been round {t would have been useless; and if the grass had not been carefully nourished by rain and sun it would not have concealed the stone, and somebody would have thrown it Bway. The decisive game between Harvard and Fale had progressed as far as the last half of the ninth inning. Yale needed two runs to win. Two of her men were out and two ‘were on the bases. Jack Bangs was at the bat, and a responsibility larger than two full moons rested upon his shoulders. No- Body who not been in a similar situa- @ion can kn: how he felt. If an individual with hornc and a tail and arrying a blue flag as an evidence of good faith had risen beside Jack Bangs with the presidency of the United States in one hand and a base hit in the other, Bangs would have struck him over the head with his bat for insulting him with the suggestion of a choice. But that individual did not rise be- side Bangs. Perhaps he was out in left field watching the little blue stone. ‘The Harvard pitcher tried to remember a short Latin prayer whieh had once struck him as a good thing to use in desperate emergencies. Failing in this, he made sev- ‘The End of the Great Game. eral good resolutions. Then he launched ‘the ball. He imparted to it a peculiar rota- Ty motion, which caused it to leap up about ® foot just before it got to the batter. This twas done for the purpose of deceiving Bangs So that he would either strike under the ball or send it up into the air. Bangs’ bat ‘encountered the ball with a sound like the erack of a rifle. The sphere soared aloft. A dreadful din of voices rising after it seemed to buoy it up. All the pretty girls in blue cried, “Yale, Yale!” But as many of their brothers as knew the game were silent and their hearts were like lead. ‘The Harvard pitcher felt a strong spasm ‘of relief. His “rise” had done the work. Bangs had batted a high fly. The odds at that moment were a thousand dollars to a ent against Yale, for that fly would drop into left field, where “Infallible” Lee kept guard for Harvard. The pitcher was as gure that Lee would catch the ball as he ‘was that it would not stay up in the sky. Lee had to run in a little way to get un- @er the descending ball. He was perfectly sure of it. The game was as good as won. Already the cry of “Harvard” seemed to be drowning the cry of “Yale.” In the tem- pest of shouting he distinguished his own Mame with remarkable clearness. It had fung out like that before in many similar emergencies and a great cheer had always followed it. He remembered suddenly that he would never hear that thrilling call again. This was his last effort in any col- lege contest. He had borne the red H on his breast for four glorious years, and this ‘was the end. Well, though it must come, it could not come better. He was very glad of the final opportunity. He could think of all these things as he ran, for the time weemed as long as a dream. And then he trod upon the little blue stone. It caught the metal plate on his shoe and rolled like a wheel on the hard Ground. He plunged forward and the ball ‘went over his head. Everybody in the world cried “Yale!” The ‘two blue-legged runners crossed the plate. Whe game was lost and won. In an instant the crowd swept Over the Meld. Above the frantic throng appeared mine figures borne upon the shoulders or their friends. Each was surrounded by a cheering. struggling mass, and the biggest and the wildest was around Jack Bangs. But out in the left field, alone, a figure lay ‘upon the ground. It was the infailible Lee who had failed just when there was no hope of retrieval. They say he sobbed like a child. And he was six feet and one inch tall, and could lift a load of hay. Well, there's a loser for every winner, though we o not hear so much about him. In the grand stand, meanwhile, the en- thusiasm had been enormous. The vast crowd was upon its feet yelling like mad People. Pretty girls perched upon the seats and screamed aloud. Some of them knew that Yale had won without being told; but most of them didn’t and they just yelled because they couldn't help it. Among those ‘who saw and understood was a particularly — girl named Florence Lorne. She had ept a full score with her own fair ‘hand, and had every point recorded, with a few extra errors for the Harvards. For Flor- ence was a Yale girl through and through, and wore half a cable’s length of blue rib- ‘on on her dress. When it was all over she trembled to Rhink how near she had come to missing that glorious culmination. In her excite- ment she would certainly have fallen off the geat on which she was standing if she had mot steadied herself by putting her hand upon the broad shoulder of a man in front of her. It was a considerable satisfaction to her that he was introduced almost im- mediately afterward, for it gave her a chance to thank him. That was quite un- mecessary, for he had been entirely ob- Zivious of the occurrence. If she had been Chang, the Chinese giant, he would not have felt the weight at such a moment. “g Mr. Bangs!” she exclaimed when the spology was out of the way, “wasn't it per- fectly thrilling?” “It was, indeed,” he rejoined with what Wemained to him by way of a voice after the eheering. “Did you enjoy it, Mrs. Lorne?” This question was addressed to a pretty, motherly woman who stood beside Florenc: “I'm afraid I didn’t appreciate all of it, ghe replied. “But I'm very glad Yale won. & have a son in college.” “Poor exclaimed Florence. He's an enthusiast, but he can’t play ball. He didn’t even make the Freshman nine | this year.” “Perhaps he will develop,”said Bangs,sym- ithetically. I've known men to fail in the | hman year and do very well afterward.” | “Were you interested in athletics when — in college,Mr. Bangs?” asked Mrs. ie. ‘Mother!’ The girl's tone was full of re- Proachful pity. “Red your country’s his- tory. Everybody in the world has heard of | Mr. Harry Bangs. He was the greatest | back-stop Yale ever had, and he played foot- | Dall, too. He was the man who broke Har- vey Duff's nose in the great slugging game | if "86. And that saved the game because ff was the best ground gainer that Har- | had. Isn't that so, Mr. Bangs?” | “Well, in the matter of Duff's nose,” said Mr. Bangs, “I'm afraid I'll have to plead guilty. The remainder I leave to the his- torian.” “Mother is just beginning to learn,” said | the girl, “but she is doing very well. You must know, mother, that Mr. Bangs’ family been very distinguished at Yale. They have done more for the university than any | ther.” Bangs, who had been in high spirits, be- Bame suddenly gloomy. | outside of you first. It’ “Tm afraid pega he es is ee he. said. “My cousin Jack juates this year. ane he go to one of the professional schools?” “He's been through ’em all. He's been in college nine years, but he’s got to go now. And he’s the last hope of the family.” “But there’s your brother!” exclaimed Florence with sudden recollection. “I heard that he was going to enter this fall. The gloom on Bangs’ face became a dozen times darker. “It's a hard thing to speak of,” he said, “put I'm ‘afraid my brother is a total fail- ure.” “Oh, what a pity!” exclaimed Mrs. Lorne. “Can't he pass the examinations?” A grim and mournful smile overspread Harry Bangs’ face. “Mother doesn’t understand these things,” said Florence geatly, “or she would be just as sorry as I am. Can't your brother do anything at all?” ‘He won't try,” said Bangs, bitterly. ‘He'd rather read Greek.” “Oh, what a shame! Can’t you do some- thing to influence him?” “That's my only hope. You see the trouble is that I haven’t had a chance at him. Every time he's been home from school in the last two years, I've been away, and I haven't seen him in that time. But I've written constantly, and father has done what he could. It’s all no use. Lawrence is big enough, I’m told, and perfectly sound, but he hasn’t the head for it. He can’t do anything but study. I tell you, it’s a hard blow to the governor.” ‘There was silence for a moment out of deference to Mr. Bangs’ sorrow. Then the young man said: “It’s ungracious to begin an acquaintance by unloading one’s burdens. You must pardon me. such a day as this, of course, I can’t help brooding on it. To think that a brother of mine—” He broke off suddenly, and turned his face away. rence was on the verge of tears, but she compressed her pretty lips and said: “This simply shan’t be. Introduce your brother to me, Mr. Bangs, and I'll talk to him. We'll set Jimmie after him, too. Ah, here he comes. He slipped away the in- stant that run came in to look out for our cal je."? Jimmie Lorne was made acquainted with the famous athlete, whom he regarded with veneration. He would have remained there till the following day imbibing wisdom from this eminent authority, but Mr. Bangs dis- creetly took himself away. As he walked across the field through the crowd, now rapidly thinning, there was a light of hope in his face, and he whispered to himself: “If my brother could fall in love with such a girl as Miss Lorne it might make a man of him.” , CHAPTER II. SHOWING THAT PADDY O'TOOLE WAS NOT BORN TO BLUSH UNSEEN. Paddy O'Toole had never enjoyed many advantages, but he had thriven surprisingly without them. At the age of seventeen he was nearly as tall as a tree. A diet of mixed ale and chewing tobacco is not recommend- ed by the best authorities, but the wonder- ful power of Paddy's vital machinery had transmuted St into hard muscle and plenty of it. He would not work in warm weather, and in the winter he never could get anything to ; do. Such being the case, the fact of his con- tinued existence should have shown him that destiny was preserving him for a re- markable career. But Paddy never con- sidered such subjects. He accepted food and shelter whea they were offered him, and did very well without them on other oc- casions. He gave no thought to the mor- row, and the lilies of the field were not ar- rayed as he was. In fact, Paddy’s clothes had almost no competition in their special line, Nobody's cast-off garments could pos- Come Again. sibly have been long enough for Paddy, and had they been so, he would have outgrown them in a month. Paddy had been playing ball on Boston Common. The game was over, and his side had won. It always did. When Paddy pitched nobody else on his nine but the catch- er ever had anything todo. |The outfielders usually sat down on the gi and smoked clay pipes while they waited for three nen to strike out. After the game Paddy also lit a pipe and sat down on the grass. Immediately he ‘was aware of a thick-set young man, whose clothes were as sharply differentiated from Paddy’s as the sartorial art permits. The dis- tinction between such garments and his own had been driven into Paddy's skull even at his early age. Ii consisted in the fact that such clothes had money in their pockets, while his had none. Reasoning thus, Paddy was about to ask the stranger for “the prize of a_ beer,” when the conversation was taken out of his mouth. “My name is Bangs,” said the thick-set young man. What's yours?” “Patrick O'Toole. Have youse got der price——" “Have you ever been to school?’ asked Bangs, interrupting. “T've been to school, I don’t think,” said Paddy, staring. “Have youse got——* “Would you like to have an education?” “Come again.” = “Do you want to go to school? Have you any desire to learn?” I dunno,” said Paddy, “but I’ve got a thirst that——’ “Yes, you do know. You want to amount to something. You don’t want to go on this way. Now look here. I’ve taken a fancy to you. I've got more money than I know what to do with, and I'm willing to spend some of it on Paddy O'Toole. If you will put yourself in my hands I'll educate you and pay all your expenses from this day until you graduate from college. Come. This is the chance of your life. Will you take what heaven sends you?” Paddy .dropped his pipe on the ground. Then he propped his meager body up with his preternaturally long arms, and sat there in the attitude of one who has been knocked down by a blow in the face. “Are youse stringin’ me?” he gasped. “I mean every word I say. What should I gain by deceiving you?” “Darned if I know,” rejoined Paddy. “You couldn't get nothin’ out o’ me.” “Them believe what I tell you, and come with me.” “Say,” said Paddy, “I'll have to go you. I don’t catch on to the game, but it lool eas: What do youse want me to do first “ome with me and talk it over. t her go. It's a bargain. I'm wid yer. Paddy got up and stretched his long limbs. He looked around at the familiar trees, and the monument on the hill. He wanted to see whether they were all there. It seemed more probable to him that they would be absent, and that he would find himself in bed somewhere, and just waking from a dream. But the common looked no different from its ordinary. The trees were waving gently under the blue sky. His late companions in the game were scattered about on the grass. And before him stood a person whom he vaguely suspected to be the boss of the ward—the highest dignitary with whose office he was familiar—who wanted to give him a lot of money just for going to school. It looked like a good thing. Paddy re- flected with joy that the schools were all closed and that his work could not begin till he had had a taste of his wages. The sudden surprise had accentuated the dryness in Paddy's thoat. “If yer got the price o’ two beers,” he began. “No, sir,” said Bangs. “T’ll attend to the more conspicuous. The first thing you need most ts a suit of clothes.” Of that first day of his new life Paddy re- tains a most confused recollection. He re- members a bath somewhere in a place that THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1894-TWENTY PAGES. was so hot it made his head ache. There Was a little room where he undressed, and when he got back to it he found a lot of new clothes. There was not only a brand new suit, but there were some articles to. put on under it, quite superfiuous, as he protested, in warm weather. Then he went to stores where people bowed to Mr. Bangs and never mentioned paying for anything, which led Paddy to believe that his bene- factor was connected with the police. fterward they went to a big house where there were rooms which reminded Paddy of the show windows of furniture stores, “You'll live here for the present,” said 8. “Me? In dis place? Say, I'd be afraid o° breakin’ somethin’ Bangs laughed. “Don’t you worry about that. These are Some rooms where I live when my father’s house fs closed in the summer. It is open now, so you'll be by yourself. James,” he continued, addressing a servant, “see that Mr. O'Toole has whatever he wants. Get his meals from the St. Vincent. We'll have dinner now.” ‘There never was anything like that din- ner. Whatever height of luxury Paddy may attain in the future he can never know the joy of another such appetite. Immediately after dinner he fell asleep in a chair, and when he awoke Bangs had gone away, and James was inquiring whether Mr. O'Toole desired anything more — going to bed. “I'd like to eat some more,” said Paddy, “but I can’t.” site i Ten minutes later he was asl again = a by a fear, even in his treana, ‘at he might awake on the tree in Boston Common. en aes (To be continued.) ee - JOINED IN THE LAUGH. A Bow-Legged Admiral Mimickea by an Imitating Bulldog. From the St. Louis Democrat. “Sailors, like horsemen, have a tendency to become bow-legged,” said Capt. Wooden, an ex-navy officer, who was at the South- ern yesterday. “I once saw an old admiral, whose long sea service had given his legs a decided outward curvature, have a ‘ingular adventure with a bulldog that was a pet aboard ship. The sailors had taken great pains with the dog’s education and taught him a number of tricks. One of his most frequent exploits was to jump through the aperture made by the man holdi one of his feet against the other knee. “he was a trick that the dog seemed to take great de- light in performing. One day the admiral came on board the ship on a visit of in- spection, and while standing on deck con- versing with some of the officers was spied by the dog. The admiral’s bow legs seemed to strike the dog as affording the best chance for a running leap he had seen in many day. Suddenly he made a rush and leapt like a whirlwind through the tempt- ing gap. In astonishment at what had passed beneath him, the admiral turned quickly around to see what was the cause. The dog took this action as a signal for an “encore” and jumped again, barking furi- ously all the time as a means of showing how much he enjoyed the sport. The be- wildered face of the admiral was too much for the gravity of the spectators, and, for- getting the respect due to rank, they broke into a hearty roar, in which, after he un- derstood the situation, they were joined by the admiral himself.” soe JAKE AND THE WHITE BEAR, An Exciting Experience in the Rig- ging of a Vessel in Arctic Wate: From the San Francisco Item. . There is an old sailor named Jake, re cently returned to San Francisco from an arctic cruise, who has made up his mind not to go on another whaling expedition, no matter what happens. The reason is this: On one occasion during his late voyage Jake was on watch in the night—that is, as much night as it ever gets up there in sum- mer, The sun had been down about an hour, and would rise again about an hour later. It was a beautiful night as the ship lay there in the ice, and the air seemed scintillating with a phosphorescent glow that penetrated everywhere and made no shadows. On all sides the pack ice lay elcse to the vessel and reached for miles in every direction, broken occasionally by a large berg or the faint outlines of another ship. The silence was profound; it seemed to produce a roaring sound like the waves of a distant ocean. Such surroundings will put a person in a semi-comatose state from which the slightest sound will awaken him with a start. Jake suddenly saw something white in the gloom climbing the mast. His first impulse was to jump to the deck, but before he could act upon it the white object climbed through the lubber hoje, and Jake then saw it was a polar bear. Jake realized that he was in a most dangerous position and be- gan to think of means to escape. He called to the watch on deck below, but they couldn't hear. He tried to get out under the canvas, but the beast grabbed him and pulled him back. It began thumping him, nd eyery time Jake attempted to move away it would growl. Suddenly his eyes lighted on a rope hanging to the deck just back of the cradle. By this means he thought he could reach the deck. To swing himself free was but the work of an in- stant, but the bear made a jump and caught hold of his foot. But a few vigorous kicks freed him, and then began a new terror. Perhaps the rope was not strong and would break, or he might miss the stay and swing against the mast and be dashed to death. The moment in the air seemed years filled with horror and several times Jake wished he had taken his chances with the bear. To grab the stay and hold on was most dif- ficult, and twice Jake's hands slipped and almost lost it. ‘When he reached the deck he looked up and saw the rope swing back to the cradle, where the bear grabbed it. It tried to do as it had seen Jake do, but had no sooner swung clear than it slipped and fell to the deck. The crew had bearsteak for breakfast. A Millionaire. From the Detroit Free Press. Uncle Ezry and his wife Susan were in town one day from the plantation seeing the sights. As they stood on a street cor- rer a fine-looking, elegantly attired, well- fed man drove by in a handsome carriage. “Golly!” exclaimed the old woman;“who's dat?” The old man didn’t know, and his wife sent him to a policeman near by to learn. “Who am dat gemman, boss?” he in Quired of the officer. “He's a millionaire,” replied the police- man. “What am dat, boss?” “That's a man who has several millions.” Uncle Ezry thanked him and went back to Susan. vell,”” she inquired, “who am de gem- ‘He am a millionaire.” Wha's dat?” 5 “Dat’s a gemman what has sev’al mil- lions.” “An what am’ millions?” Uncle Ezry had forgotten to ask the policeman this question, and he was thrown out of his reckoning by it, but he began to think. “Why, chile,” he said after a moment or two, as his face brightened, “doan’ you know what dem is? Jes’ look at de fine keep ob de gemman, an you ain't gwineter be axin no questi’ns like dat, sho’.” ‘Fo’ de Lawd!” she burst out, witn the rich, spontaneous laugh of her race. “Co'se 1 knows. It sutney am watermil- —_—__+e+_-__—_ Made Him Raise the Fine. From the Buffalo News. A man from Troy told this story the other day to a small company of friends about a police justice in a little town in Rensselaer ccunty: It was the law of the village that all showmen, itinerants and organ grinders must get a license before doing business there. One day a fat policeman, who had been on the force about six months without doing anything, concluded it was time he arrested somebody. Soon afterward along came an Italian with a performing bear. “Hev yez got yer license?” asked the po- liceman. “No,” said the exhibitor of the bear. “Then yer my priz’ners,” said the police- man, and he triumphantly marched off with them to the village station house, he leading the Italian and the Italian leading the bear. Arraigned before the police justice the Italian pleaded guilty and the judge ofti- ciously gave him a most severe and scorch- ing lecture on the enormity of his offense, ending by fining him $10, the full extent of the law. The culprit had a lot of small change in his pocket, but being mostly pen- nies and nickles it only counted up to $7.65. For a very few moments the judge was in a quandary. He didn’t want to send the fellow to jail, nor yet lose the $10. Pres- ently a bright idea struck him—a happy solution of the problem—and he said: “Here, officer! Take this fellow out to the market place and let him perform with his bear until he makes up the balance,and when he gets it drive him out of town.” DISORDERLY IN PARIS What Happens to an American Who Gets Too Intoxicated. FROM WARNING TO ARREST The Manifold Intricacies of the French Bureaucracies. — NEVER AGAIN IN PARIS RSE ECS Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, April 6, 1894. OT LONG AGO AN American in Paris, beginning on a soft spting afternoon by looking at French brandy when it was red, finished off by attempting to color the town aright. He collected a crowd of delighted Parisians and foreigners before the Taverne Pousset, J y and was guilty of a A aNe “scandale” in his pa- thetic, but loud, appeals to every one to take a drink. When I speak of the redness of French brandy I refer to a natural phe- nomenon. That triumph of modern science does, indeed, present an agréeable brownish- yellow tint when seen in its respectable, conventional petit verre, or pony, with your after-dinner coffee. But in larger bulk Gust as in a deep lake the clear water will seem blue), say in a half tumblerful at once, its sheen is red or reddish. It w: thus he looked on it, . A Scandale. Thus he was put au bloc, au violon, or, in Plain words, instead of French slang, he was put au poste—that is to say, put in the cooler over night. Being, in the exact words of the officer de la paix, “in a high state of surexcitation,” he hit the officer who searched him one blow on the chest and one clip on the jaw. Then, being com- fortably trussed up in ten yards of rope, he fell into a blameless slumber. Early in the morning the police untied him. Seeing he ‘was sober and remorseful he was treated with consideration. He was given a cigar (out of his own cigar case); he was allowed to walk about the large room freely; the concierge’s little daughter sold him coffee; and he sat wondering what would happen next, surprised to find his head not broken with a billy (the gentleman was from New York). Ten Yards of Rope. ‘Two hours later he was accompanied three blocks up the street to the bureau of the Police commissary of the ward. There, be- ing ushered into a private room, much like a lawyer's office, a genial and sympathetic secretary said: “Please take a seat.” “I must have struck the wrong place, thought our friend. “This is no ‘hearing.’ ”* The secretary smiled a broad, consoling smile and said these things would happen, and he went on reading, writing, copying. * * * “And the deponent avers that when he struck the agent two blows—one on the chest, one on the neck—with his left hand, he believes himself not to have been actu- ated by contempt for authority nor by per- sonal malice.” * * These were the last words of two long, closely written pages which were read to the American, read and translated, all about his case, from its in- ception, and only lacked his signature, his name and surname, age, profession, nation- ality and piace of birth, his present domicile in Paris, his mother’s maiden name, his father’s Christian name and the amount of rent he pays for his apartment. This latter was to gauge his fine, although he did not know it. Rent shows which way the wind blows here in Paris; if you pay a hundred francs a month, they say your income must be so and so; if you pay a thousand francs, your income must be ten times more. It was a slack day at the commissaire’s. Only two persons had accompanied the drinking man from the police poste. The Commissary. These were kept back, while the Ameri- can, in virtue of his clothes or out of hos- pitality, was taken to the private room. It was here the genial secretary wrote his deposition out and read it to him. He sign- ed the deposition apprehensively. No man was there to testify against him. The sec- retary made the deposition up from a police report. The actual commissary came in bustling, a handsome man, of a fine bear- ing and a splendid head of curling hair. He cast a look upon the incipient dossier—the mass of papers which, like a rolling snow- ball, magnifies itself with every inch it travels in the intricate routine of French bureaucracy. He turned then to the cul- prit. “Suppose that I get drunk in New York and strike the agent who arrests me— what do they do with me?” The American was not untruthful. “You A Liberty to Tremble Under. would get clubbed and fined, perhaps im- prisoned, all depending on your money but the clubbing.” He curled. his nose and answered with a scornful laugh: ‘We don’t do that way here in France.” Through all this time the American had been alone and not allowed to see a friend. At the police poste he had asked permission to send the concierge’s little girl to summon this friend, in whose astuteness, integrity, good looks, good clothes, good will, address and knowledge of the French he had a proper confidence, if I may say it who should not. He was allowed to write the note, but not allowed to send it. The ser- geant put it by; it went to swell the dos- sier, a precious piece of evidence. Instead a formal line was sent, in French, direct- ing that the friend should come, not to the poste at 7 a.m., but to the commissary’s at | a.m., where all his aid was limited to the formal act of “‘reclaiming” the coupabie. He was admitted to the private room when | all was finished and the deposition signed. | He gave his card and was allowed to state | the culprit’s standing, honor, character. “What shall I do?” the secretary asked the commissary. “Leave him at liberty.” “Oh, where's the slave so lowly, Condemned to chains unholy, Who, could he burst His bonds at first, Would pine beneath them slowly?” These sweet lines of the sweet-voiced Thomas Moore have painted application to the case of every foreigner in France who finds himself involved in that mysterious piece of schoolmastering—the process ver- bal. It applies in general (and not at all infrequently) to (1) drunken gentlemen who make a disturbance, (2) tourist ladies of all nations yielding to temptation in the big shops. To be at liberty, without a bail- bond, without money and without price, to breathe the fresh spring air, to take a good | stiff drink, to take an open cab into the Pr Bois—oh, bless that commi for his goodness, his discretion and his insight into character! “Leave him at liberty,” the commissary said. — that does not sagen 4 = pro- ces ver creeping—creeping on its way among the offices. The commissary of po- ce is not a judge. The hearing ‘in the morning, which with us is before a commit- ting magistrate, was here before the com- —* but a simple function of police rou- e. * This fine liberty which the commissary could and did give is a liberty to stand and tremble under, waiting, free as air, two weeks, three weeks, a month, to hear the thunder clap of, “Come; be tried!’ Or, as it often happens to the English or Ameri- cans who do not understand, it is a liberty to sit in foolish gladness, knowing nothing till the lightning strikes them. And, last, it is a liberty to skip, to flee, to leave the land of France. The Real Offense. A question very pertinent comes up. “If they intend to pursue the charge why do they free the drunken man without a bail bond?” (1) They do not “intend” to “pur- sue the charge.” The charge pursues its own way by virtue of bureaucratical ma- chinery. Nobody “intends,” nobody cares. (2) In this case it was not for his drunken- ness, or rather the public scandal, that he must have fear. That might be a fine or nothing but a scolding. The French have so Uttle drunkenness among themselves, they.can afford to look on it with tolerance. The offense which had involved him in a lamentable unpleasantness, for which he ought to skip or take prompt measures, was the striking of an officer. This de- pends on something very fundamental in French law and usage. In France, under the republic as under the monarchy, the essential principle is respect for authority— that is, for the person who represents authority. Thus a petty thief, sent up for two months last week, turned and reviled the judge who sentenced him. He got two extra years upon the spot from that in- sulted judge! In the army court- trials such offenses are frequently pun- ished with death. So, the slightest overt act against an agent, even the touching of his shoulder with your finger in an alter- cation, is a dangerous thing. (3) Why, if the thing were serious, did they let our friend at liberty pending his trial? These laws are made for Frenchmen, not for for- eigners, Frenchmef cannot, will not, leave their beloved country. They cannot, will not, skip out for the matter of a short im- prisonment. French law can count upon this fact, and does. It habitually puts at Uberty, pending trial, men whom we in America would ask to furnish heavy bail. If foreigners run off, tant mieux, we will be rid of them! Thus says French justice. High Time for Action. ‘This was something we had quite forgot- ten, and it only struck the writer after several days. Provisional liberty does not mean our friend was watched. He was as free as air. He had no doubts. One was obliged to wake him from this false se- curity. “Do you wish to stay in Paris?” “Certainly.” “Then let us seek the com- missary for advice.” The commissary answered coldly: “The affair is not in my hands.” “Will it be a fine?” “I do not know.” “Might it be imprisonment?” “Undoubtedly.” “How much?” “I cannot tell.” ‘Monsieur le Commissaire, it is the question of a for- eigner, unused to discipline. Please give us some advice.” ‘The commissaire relaxed and answered al- most kindly, with real interest: “! hes- yous, depechez-vous! Get from your consul or ambassador a letter recommending you. Then see one of the secretaries of the pre- fect of police. The matter will rest there today yet, or tomorrow. Quick, depechez- vous, if the dossier gets to the office of the public prosecutor you will have great dif- ficulty.” He wrote a name upon a card: “That is the man to see.” The question now arose: “How would you like to make a call on the ambassa- dor?” “And teil him all my little troubles? Thank you, no!” “Well, then, consult a lawyer.” What curious stories the ter books of a great New York and Paris firm could tell—smashed international marriages and extraditions, rumaways and kleptoma- niacs, rich and gracious ladies weeping in their handkerchiefs because some mean de- tective caught them lifting lace. The first advice, the last, the best—the ad- vice Americans who live here evén are regularly tempted to forget, because we think so differently from the French and cannot understand their ways—is, stop the lawsuit, stop the proces-verbal, stop it quick, and do not trust to time or liberty or your money or position! Once a case has reached the parquet, French law is like the grinding of the mills of the gods! Nothing can then be done except a application to the judge who is to try the case—this is permitted! There you see the difference! But the application will have slight effect. Another method is to get a letter from your ambassador, which will be sent up to the minister of justice by the public prosecutor; but even this is likely not to work when there is question of the correctional police, a matter mixed up with the city government. In no case can im- They Look You Up. Plicit confidence be placed in the power of gory reels letter. e first was to assure the law firm that the case had not gone to the public prosecutor, of which they had much fear. The second task was to assure them of our friend’s respectability. The last task was to make a trip down to the river where the formidable barracks of the prefecture rise up. A second trip, almost as long, was mede inside the immense building, through wide or narrow corridors, or dark or light, up stairs and down, a perfect maze, a garrison of functionaries. Ape ana ys of ord prefect was of dis- jooks and way = friendliness. Bae tom e clerk the lawyers had sent down with us explained: “And I am told to say the gentleman is known to us as a man of honor and of good position in America.” “You want to boxer, yes?” the secretary smiled. (To boxer is to box or spar, a word imported into French but lately, with the thing.) “Well, let me see the dossier, which has not reached me yet. Perhaps it has not been sent to me! I shall have i it = at once.” ‘ter an hour of waiting in an ante- the dossier was found, caught = in cone office on its curling route. The culprit saw it, quite a book, bound in brown paste- board, tied with a red ribbon, with his name inscribed In large and ornamental script. He did not dare to ask to read it, but he thought it must contain reports upon his conduct since his first appearance in the gay French capital, with every change of residence and tke reasons ‘therefor, every shade of character, taste, habits set down cleanly, as seen by the clairvoyance of the terrible, mysterious Parisian police, of which this kindly, jesting man before him was almost the head! “I do not know,” the secretary said. “It there has been an agent hit, I think there must be excuses made to the agent. M. Lepine does not like to have his men ill- treated. They are not allowed to strike back, except in the gravest necessity. They may not even speak impolitely to the man who injures them. However, on the repre- sentation made by persons of considera- tion, whom we know, I will keep back the dossier. But you must make excuses to the agent!” He copied the injured policeman’s name ig rn egrtings 9 “Take this to the offi- cier de x (something analogous to our police captain), ask his permission to express your regret to the agent whom you struck. That will go upon his report for the week and so come up to me in the routine. Bonjour. Do not disquiet your- self, and, monsieur, remember to be dis- creet when you go pleasuring The Officer de In Paix. Two cabs went flying to the original po- ce station where the offense had been com- mitted. Three clerks sat writing, writing, writing in big ledgers. The officier de la paix was out. The party waited. The clerks’ pens kept on scratching, scratch- ing, scratching, putting down the crimes and misdemeanors of what people, freed or jailed, or on provisional Mberty, and never ceasing. These clerks do nothing else. Once you come in touch with these Parisian po- lice, if innocent or guilty it is quite the same thing, all goes down on an eternal judgment roli to wait the time you shall come up again before them. Thus they are able to confound ill-doers. The officier de la paix received the cul- prit frowning. He was a young man, sharp, alert and handsome, dressed in plain clothes and smoking at a cigarette. He was not over kind. “You were guilty of a great stupidity. You struck a man. You not only struck a man, but an agent; not only an agent, but an agent in the exercise of his duty! I was forced to have your hands tied. You waked the whole poste up!” He received the e of the prefect’s Giscloss the addres policeman. not e of the “Come tomorrow.” som He Accepts the Appology. The morrow came and all the parties. The officier de la paix called in the agent, a dignified and sober man, who were he dressed in evening clothes might pass for a French duke. He had a blase air withal. He was not young, and he had seefi the empire and the war. The officier de la paix addressed him formally: “The monsieur who struck you ‘wishes to make excuses. Will you receive them?” The agent: “Yes (to the American), mon- sieur. I suppose you did not do it with intention. Apology. The agent saluted his captain and walked out ‘ou understand,” continued the officier de la paix, “you also said a great many betises to me while you were violent. For myself, I do not notice it. I can afford not to speak of them. (Then why?) But with men it's different. Good-day. Sacre bougre de pochard (slightly relenting, with a rough laugh), take my advice. Do as I do, Drink no cognac!” So the affair was finished, without a cent of fine of cost or bail-bond or ce. They would not let the agent take a cent and he refused it privately. Never Again i ‘aris. T have since asked the drinking American his impressions. What happens to an American who gets too drunk in Paris? Nothing, creates a prolonged scandal. All other drunks, including sleepy ones, are let to go their way in peace or sent home in a cab if they appear to have the cab fare. What are your impressions of the over- Bight accommodatic of the poste, the conduct of its functi aries, their relations with their prisoners? The accommodations are e: dressed to me. Then, to wind up, I asked him: “Have you ‘ny other strong impression?” “Yes,” he answered, with conviction. “It is this. When I get drunk again, it will not be in Paris. I shall take the train for dear old Lunnon!” STERLING HEILIG. —— +02 ___ A Cat of Venice. From the London Daily News. In an old cafe in Venice there lived a magnificent cat, the pet of all the guests. This cat lately died peacefully, and when the news got about some neighbors made a collection of 200 frarcs for the purpose of erecting some sort of monument. The work ‘as confided to two artists, who modeled the statue of the cat in clay, and took a plaster cast, painted like bronze. The other evening this little monument was inaugu- rated at the cafe, and so great was the crowd that the doors had to be shut. The ceremony was conducted in serio-comic style; speeches were made, poetry was re- cited, the monument was placed in position and finally the master of the cafe was presented with an album containing and verse, and a number of pretended let- ters of condolence signed with the names of high personages. As the sculptors re- fused any remuneration, the sum collected was distributed among the poor. ——-——+0-. She Was a Strategist. From the Indianapolis Journal. The young husband was somewhat sur- priged when his wife came into the office. She opened the conversation at once. “I want enough money to go out of town for a few days,” she said, “and you will | have to take your meais down town for a few days.” “Why, what does this mean?” “It means just this: I got a messenger boy to come to the house for Mary Ann to tell her that she was wanted at her aunt's, and as soon as she got around the corner I shut up the house and locked it and ran away. When she comes back she won't find any one there. We don’t owe her any- thing, so it's all right, and I wanted to dis- charge her, but you know I never would dare to tell her to go, and I knew you wouldn't dare, and don't you think your lit- tle wife knows pretty well how to manage? Say yes, now, or I'll break and cry right here in the office. —— His Absent Queen. From the New York Sun. Tonight, Fast in’ my arms I bold thee, Anastasia ‘mine, My queen! Fast in my very arms! And yet, ir =e last ent Ta beld thee iy in my hand— How then, indeed, would you Have been to me A queen imperious? For then, Clasping ‘as I did those other queens, Those three right royal ladies = had "em all the time), vith that king full that Bill Jones beld You bet Id stared whooped it up ‘Until the cows came home, nd. like a cyclone revolving out to bustle things, | I'd rake the pot. ‘That big, that opulent, that fat Jack-pot, ‘And stowed it in my jeans— Ie but last night I'd beld thee Just in my one weak “My own cousin, an’ me!” “Don’t mind it, Sally; wimmin isn’t ac- ie didn’t reckernise countable for what they does when they | gets a Mary de Medecine collar on for the | first time!” unless he hits somebody or the same in New York or Philadelphia. The con- duct of the turnkey and the rest was more than polite, it was kind. Not a word of reproach or wit or sarcasm was once ad- RAILROADS. RICHMOND AND DANVILLE RAILROAD. SAMUEL, SPEN F. W. HUDeKOPER AND RECREX VERS. 9 ‘April 1, 1804. and the Norfolk and Western road god at Manaseas Tor Strasburg, dally. caceit W. 4. TURK, Gen. Pass. Agt. L. 8. BROWN. Gen. Agt. Pasi. Dept. ap PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. STATION CORNER OF 6TH AND B STREETS. Effect January 1804. Palmas 11:05 A.M. PENNSYLVANIA and State i,t penton Ca ante og Parlor Car to Hi = 11:05 AM. Fast Bor Pittsburg, to Pitts 3:15 P.M. CHICAGO AND ST. LOUIS Pullman Buffet Parlor a ‘Louis Sleeping ané Dining 7 "Naga ing. 10: ; epi! is | Pi tis 335 Pretty ar i E A i 3 5 3 Tt Zi al oval BLUE TD For Pufiadelphia, East, daily 3:35. 8200 Can, a2200 200° (11:30 DATLY—The tamous “F. F. ¥. Lim- ited. A solid vestibuled train with dining car and Pullman for and Jee Louisville, Arrives Cincinnat!, Le m.; for all. point To'T AM. DATLY—Por OW Point Comfort and 2-00 Pt. DATLY Express for Gortonsettte, 4 Charlottesville, *, Staunton and princi: pal Virginia 3 daily, except Sunday, for | "Patiman locations and tickets at company’s of- 1 220 General Pansenger Arent. POTOMAC RIVER BOATS. NEW PALACE STEAMER HARRY RANDALL Leaves River View Tth street, t¥ “ao \-d Votnsedaye nd 7 z 1-4 jondaye. a mm. oenger ctivas fest-clasa ight received hour 1 q x = a 0s "8 .. E 8 RaNDALL, Alex. . & Mam 0. CARPINTER, Gen. gt _fer9-te cy ‘ANO For Mattox Croek and senger and freig! rates ti For in- formation apply G. L. 828 Pa. ave. WASHINGTON STEAMBOAT ©0., “LIMITED.” st. ferry wharf. on MONDAYS, WEDNES- teat DAYS ‘TURDAYS at 7 a.m., for Nominal cree town and St. Ys bay and to tern ediate ‘ing TURSDAYS, THURSDA’ INDAXS. (See schedule.) c W. RIDLEY, a20-tt Gen'l Manager. NORFOLK AND WASHINGTON STEAMBOAT 00. AILY LINE BETWEEN WASH! D. ” FORTRESS MONROE a: * WASHINGTON AND NORFOLK—SOUTH BOUND, Leave Washington @aily at 7 p.m. from foot of 7th st. wharf, arrive at Fortress Monroe at 6:30 Arrive at Norfolk at 7:30 a.m, connectious are made for all points Leave Fortress 6:30 pext ” BO a ve wand ‘Tickets on sale at 513, 619, 1251 and 1421 Pen syivania ave. and 615 15th st. nw. Ask for tickets via mew line. 3X0. CALLAHAN, Gen. Supt. apls-tt MANICURE MADAME PAYN, odist, 703 15TH and "manufacturer |OPODIST ‘MANICURE AND GHiROP. ST. N.W.—The only i o¢ FINE MANICURE. and south of New York.au23-tr