Evening Star Newspaper, January 2, 1897, Page 15

THE. EVENING STAR, SATURDAY,. JANUARY. .2,51897~-94 PAGES. PRIVATE WATCHMEN Men Who Wear Badges and Have Police Powers. ON GUARD WHILE GWNERS SLEEP Paid by the Contributions of House- holders. FORCE| IARY AUXIL S WHO ARE ed away from ir homes at night are apt to meet; on the men walking slowly along in an fashion. imes these indi- really seem inquisitive, and per- haps they are, for it is in line with their duty as protectors of property, for they are & more nor less than special police- There perhaps fifty or sixty of t is called beat duty on the in addition to those who are em- in the department buildings and parks. Counting these, there are 200 a ry policemen. Under the Commissioners may appoint these with all the powers of a regular poiice- although as a rule their field of duty 1 to a particular beat, de- The law also requires when requests are made for the ap- utment of specials such requests must zned by reputable citizens, thus vouch- fer the character of the applicants. special policemen are required to ilar to the oath taken by men, which is as follow: and aim! Sore viduals em street loing w man in the metropolitan police of the Dis- trict of Columbia, 1. ————, do solemnly swear that I never veluntarily borne arm s since I have Yy mental nd that + the du- pout to the regular civil and orderly in his > ent; and in the per- f his duty he must maintain and attention, full command of patience and ‘liscretion. He’ must n from harsh, violent, nt lan; yet at the tw to perform All Kinds of Men. Each Monday the «nergy and eclal policemen are © the Heutenants of to report ts in which they do duty. If «ating a particular crime the must know it in order that ny needed assistan> regular force, the corps of spe- ¢ up of all kinds and condi- They are by no means, so | his vi uct is concerned, everything © desired, for they frequently € disgraceful scenes; some of them k and use their pistols, and sev- eral of them have landed in prison. On the other hand, there are many honorable men vem, who endeavor to perform faithfully and conscientiously. em from time to time have been ex-policemen who wore unable to hold their positions on the regular force be- cause of infractions of the rules, and these men, as @ rule, have made splendi cials. Then there are some specials who are elderly men and who could hardly man- ge a prisoner, but who wateh buildings and building materials in a manner which would do credit to a more active man. The special policemen, who are known to the force as “additional privates,” re- ceive no compensation from the District of Columbia, but are paid by private-individ- uals and corporations. It nas not been many years since the park watchmen, as well as thore employed about tke departments, have been given police power. As already stated, there are about 800 of these men, and not more than. sixty 2777/7 Wie HHT; Ll HEE) A Little Slumber. of them are paid by corporations and in: dividuals. In many of the large business houses the night watchmen, as weil as the men in charge of the buildings in the day- time have the police power, and their em- ployers find that it makes them more effi- cient as a rule, for persons who are in- clined to be troublesome or dishonest will feel that there is some restraint upon them when a man clothed with this authority is about. Arresting Petty Thieves. It frequently happens that men employed in this capacity apprehend petty thieves and shoplifters and turn them loose after giving them a bad scare. Only a few days ago in a big busiress housa two school girls were apprehended in this way. To have taken them into court would have wrecked their lives, and so the proprietor of the store forgave them, and they were re- leased after making a solemn promise that their offense weuld not be repeated. Men employed in this way work on a specified salary, while the street men get only what they are able to collect from those who live on their beats. In the business sections of the city the special policeman who has a good beat gets as high as $100 a month, and some in the residence sections man- age to gct as much as $150 a month. The man selects his beat of several squares, as much as ke thinks he can properly pro- tect, and then makes a house-to-house visit to see who will pay him for his services. His charges as a rule are made according to the size of his beat and the number of his patrons, as well, perhaps, as in accord- ance with the means of the householder. In some secticns there is a charge of 25 cents a week made for each house, while in some other sections the charges will run as much as $1 for each house. Years ago the specials collected considerably more money than they do now, sc it is sald, and for this reason a number of them ‘have recently surrendered their commissions. Regular vs. Special. At police headquarters, it is said, some of these specials have done and are still doing good work, while, on the other hand, some of them are really worthless. As a rule, the regular officers do not put much faith in the ability or sincerity of the spe- cial, and at times some of the police offi- cials have thought that commissions should not be granted to men not regularly paid by the District. While the specials are accountable to some extent to the police department for their actions, they do not have to make the hourly calls on their beats, as the regulars do, nor are they in dread of being caught “hoodling,” as the police term loafing whilé on duty. They are not under the necessity to be on the Icokout for the sergeant or the night in- spector, ard if, perchance, one should be quic sleeping in some doorway when the zeant blows his whistle, it ts not necessary for him to make answer. The peclal who attends strictly to his duties the doors and windows of the houses his patrons during the night, to see cure against the invasion burgiars. This, of course, applies to gates, as well as to the front jes looking for burglars, they sed to be on the lookout for fire, many instances valuable property saved by them. At times there been considerable rivalry between the specials and regulars as to who discovered @ particular fire and reached the fire-alarm box first. that they are of Making Business. But, according to the statements made in police circles, there, is more than one side to the lives of many of those who have, from time to time, figured as members of this band of police auxiliaries. These men, like men in other walks of life, have found it necessary to make business for them- selves, and, as the story goes, thefts have been committed and the plunder hidden for no purpose other than to impress upon the property holders the necessity for the em- ployment of some one to protect their prop- erty. In one ‘case it was reported that where a householder declined to employ the services of a special a big vase that was at the front door of the house imme- diately disappeared. Some of these men have resorted to other means in order to | procure a few dollars. There was a time when two specials who did duty on ad- jeining beats operated a system of making arrests and then holding court. One of them, it was said, would make an arrest for sume trifling offense and would go with im as far as the next man’s beat. ecial No. 2 would then take him, as the victim supposed, for the purpose of landing him in the police station, but instead of is he would compromise for a small nount, and would release his prisoner. Just how long this business was kept up is not known, nor is it known how much money they collected in this way. But, as already stated, there are many honorable r among them, and some of them have been doing this kind of duty for years. a HE CAME OFF BEST. Mr. Champiey Was Not Chump Enough to Be Turned Down Easily. From the Detroit Free Press. He was no sooner seated in the cozy par- lor than she took the initiative. “Since you proposed to me last weck I have given the matter a great deal of thovght, Mr. Chumpley.” Mr. Chumply! Why you have called me Bertie for ages.” “That's neither here nor there. I have concluded that I must decline the great honor ycu have proffered me.” . “Ah! Certainly. But you must pardon me for not understanding just what you refer to. I have so much to think of in a social way, you know.” “But you must recall the last conversa- tion you had with me.” “Deuced stupid of me, Mamie, but it has slipped my memory. Something about the horse show?” “Never mind, Mr. Chumpley. Don’t incur the risk of overtaxing your mind in trying to recall our little talk.” “So sorry! But a fellow will forget some things. Must do it, you know, if you're in the whirl. Can't you just give me a int?” “It is of no consequence at all, sir. I only have a vague recollection of the conversa- tion myself. But I'm not feeling well, Mr. Chumpley, and must ask you to excuse me for the evening.” “Tou bad! And you look in brilliant health. Only temporary imdisposition, of course. But I'll not detain you. I’m going straight home and cudgel my brain till I bring back that talk.” “Do nothing of the kind. hear of it again.” When he was gone she acknowledged to herself that there was much more to him than she had suspected, and that he had decidedly given her the worst of their little sparring match. Chumpley walked down the street chuck- ling and congratulating himself. She al- ways boasted gleefully of the men whom she had refused, but he had no fear that she would add him to the list. z I never want to ———+e+__—_ When Properly Applied. From the Chicago Record. ‘ “They say a newspaper makes an excel- lent chest protector for wheelmen in win- ter.” “Do you button it Inside your coat?" “No; you stay at home and read it.” . tone with which he might humor a child: A) PARENTHESIS From the Argosy. “Stand back!” And the huddled crowd on the narrow platform—whiling away a tedious wait in the divers ways known to the British ex- cursionist—swayed like a field of wheat and tottered. Then there was a little panic among them, a crashing and falling on.one another, and a stifled cry that the roar of the northern express muffled. And when the train had whirled through, and the thunder and vibration were past, the two hundred-odd souls, waiting for its tardy successor, realized that semething had happened. Three in the rear of the throng had had the life well nigh pressed out of them—one, a woman, was badly crushed between the wall and a trolley laden with milk cans. “Fetch the doctor,” urged one and an- other. Suddenly some one made his way through the crowd. Partly by virtue of his height, partly of the load he carried, a pathway was cut for him on the instant, and he went on with his burden to the station gate. Here he halted. “Foster!” he called. A lath of a man threaded his way deftly to his side, and to him he said: “Tell them to get a bed ready at the King’s Arms at once.” “It only wants five minutes to the Lon- don train, Mr. Frere,” suggested the sta- tion master at his elbow. “And we could get Dr. Gill here in an- hour.” Frere paused a half second. “But in what condition?” he asked. “Well, not at his best,” allowed the sta- tion master. Se “I shall go on tomorrow. Keep back my bags, will you, Buxton? Foster can bring them across to the inn presently. 1 shan’t drive back to Dun Moor tonight.” And he Preceded his portmanteaus thither with the woman he carried, as composedly as ‘if it had been his original intention to dine and sleep in a wayside inn 300 miles from town. Men who have traveled their thousands over half the countries of the globe have a knack of shaking down easily and at short notice. He had; and generally came off fairly well; at any rate, in his native cour ty, where he was a popular and conspicu- ous figure, for whom the rustics cherished @ vague awe as for a person who had dive1 deep into strange sciences; weathered strange hardships, and contributed strange books to the erudite literature cf their land. “Well, sir,” remarked the landlady, when the injured woman was safely established under the funeral trappings and prehistoric monsters of the most wonderful old bed in the Peak. “Well, sir, I always do say as it Was a pity you didn’t siay among us to do what you seem cut out for, instead of fac- ing wild beasts and wild men in outlandish foreign parts with but a fair-cooked meal once in six months and never a night's rest to speak of!” Worsiey Frere laughed, adjusting the final bandage on the arm oi his uncon- scious patient. “Who knows but that I may come to it yet, Mrs. Greenfield? Nothing like ha ing half a dozen trades to fall back on. I shall look in again before I turn in. Give the Patient a little brandy now and then. We must have Gill here the first thing in the morning.”” For Gill a message was accordingly dis- patched next day; and Frere, scribbling telegrams in the bar parlor, went out to meet him. “One of the pleasure seekers come to grief, eh?” said the little surgeon jovially. “I heard something of it last night, but when they told me you were here 1 knew better than to come. Who is she?” “No one knows. Not an excursionist. Buxton tells me she had just booked for town when the accident happened. Come and see her. She slept fairly and is con- seicus now. A bad case, though.” She was propped up against the huge pillows when they entered together, her cloud of hair lost in the dark background of grotesque carved figures. The examination and consultation occu- Fied but a few minutes, during which the object of it kept her large eyes on the two faces with a curious speculative calm. That the men differed in their opinion was evident to her, though they spoke scarcely half a dozen words, and she dealt with the dilemma in the curious frank manner that 4 had already puzzled the landlady. It was when Frere came back into the room after a brief adjournment. A bar of sunlight fell across the bed and streaked the unbandaged hand that lay before her on the sheet. She greeted him at once. “You are the docter who attended me last night. I wish for no second opinion.” Her manner, imperious yet simple, im- pressed him as a little inconsonant with the severely plain garb he had seen her in the night before, and he said, almost in the ‘Dr. Gill is a clever man; moreover—” ‘I don’t like him!” “Moreover, I am not, as he is, a doctor ee profession. I have walked the hospital, But you don’t mean to bother yourself with me. Tell me; he believes that it—it must come off?” Frere, taken a little aback by the quick intuitions of this girl, winced, looking at the uninjured and beautiful hand lying at his elbow. “They are my one charm,” she said slow- ly to herself. And as he had formulated no opinion as yet on her points, he did not challenge the words. He was a man who generally said little, thought a good deal and eschewed compliments. Suddenly she laid hold of his bronzed capable fingers and clinging to them, said under her breath, gaspingly “Save it, save it for me if you can! Don't listen to him! His sympathies are dead- ened! Use your own judgment!” It had urged him all along to disagree with this once-brilliant, half-soddened litde man, but he did not tell her this, only calm- ed her with a brief matter-of-fact word, and told her she must not waste rer pow- ers in fancies. Then she looked at him straight out cf her wide, fearless eyes, and he turned and took out his watch, not choosing to ac- knowledge to himself that she had read his thoughts. It wanted fifteen minutes to the depar- ture of the Lendon express. He put it back again, and when he did so had changed his plans. “I will do my best for you, Miss ——” his deep eyes met hers pleasantly. “Miss Marjoram,” she replied to them. And he did his best, being a man as good as his word. Gill, in his usual, casual, light-hearted fashion, cried off contentedly, and said he would send round Forsythe from the cot- tage hospital across the moor. A day later Forgythe came, and there was a brief par- ley between himself and the man whose degrees were far ahead, and whose exper- ferce far behind his own. And then a faint odor of chloroform filled one wing of the old inn, and an hour afterward Miss Mary Marjoram woke to a knowledge that the crushed hand had been saved in the ope of final restoration. “Not beautiful now,” she said next day to Frere, when he came to see how she was pregressing; “but I thank you. And I thank Ged that it was not my right hand.” She considered the sound limb pensively, stretching and spreading the long slim fingers with a mournful smile. “It can still work and accomplish.” “What?” he asked, to divert her thoughts. “Samplers? No—those were our grardmothers’ right, weren’t they. Anti- macesears? Our mothers claim those. But you of today demand—nothing.” His sarcasm did not escape her. She lay back on her pillow smiling thoughtfully. “You dislike the wide field for us,” she sal “Why.” — “I will tell you tomorrow; you have talk- ed enovgh for today; and I want you to give me your frie! address, so that 1 muy write to them. fe She colored suddenly. “That,” she said, “you needn’t trouble about. I am an or- phan.” And though, when she was estab- lished on the sofa in the big parlor below, he came often and regularly to see her, she never spoke to him once of her be- longings. « Of other things they talked much. His distaste for society and society wo- men did not touch him in his intercourse with this stranger. She was of another world—full of simple candid questions and variable whims—now eager-in defense of this modern development, now strangely indifferent, even ignorant, on another; a pvazle that by its very complexity interest- ed and attracted him curiously. One day he would leave her, sure in his opinion that such ingenuousness could he but the out- come of an uninstructed mind; the next, by some quick grip of a subject, she had persuaded him that her ignorance was sim- ulated. And as the days er into weeks, the charm of her individuality grew, too, He had gone back to his brother’s house at Dun Moor, but generally fi ) some ex- ‘cuse or other for riding over to King’s Jorn Frere chaffed him for his devotion to a “case,” but Mi and remembered that Worsley had always proféssed —are converted by thé her head himself Ba one z simple medium of One day she drevé" over with:-flowers, in. shook misogynis grapes and a little patronage, to gee the invalid. “Phyllida”’ wigs the name she had bestowed ‘on the stranger. to meet the sort- of adject! with Wiich her brother-in- Jaw tad painted her» 9 Now, Mrs. Jonn was fa brisk, wide-awake little person, wko prided herseif on reading riddles, and’ came to Brescoe quite assured that she would quickly find out whether the -young “woman Tyoswessed” @ grand- father, mind or manwer. But Miss Majoram,eading letters in the wide window, with ..a, pucker .upon.. her broad, white brow, was in her most un- communicative mood." ; “Simple, ingenuou¥* timid! My dear Worsley, she‘ is. the: ¥ériest bit of ice—dis- dainful ice, too! Ho@ blind men are!” cried the small lady‘0aher return to Dun Moor Manor. is Mr. Worsley Frere,’ who was putting’ a few sporting and scientific trophies into a box, turned his deep eyes on his"sister-in- law doubtfully. “Are we?” said he; “I sup- pose wo are.” : : : To prove how blind he felt himself im- pelled to ride over to the old coaching inn for the second time in three days. Mrs. John watched him start, and, stand- ing under the venerable porch, said’ to her- self, ““Phyllida, indeed! But your learned man is always a bat!” To the bat, nevertheless, Miss Marjoram accorded her usual bright smile. “You have brought them! How nice of you,. You give me such peeps inte an un- known world that I forgot my enforced rest.” He opened the box he had brought with him, and spread out these signs of his ac- tivity before her photographs ° neatly mounted with infinitesimal notes at the foot of each; specimens of the African flora and’ fauna, and scraps of all sorts; and, with her hands folded In the pathetic at- titude he had begun to ‘know so well, she listened to his description of the expedi- tions in which each item had been secured, and laughed and sighed her comments. Suddenly, with a change from the wis! ful to the peremptory, “Mr. Frere,” she said, ‘‘why do you grudge the wide field to women in a world where there is so: much to do and see?” 3 “They are unfitted fer it, Home should be their province.” | She laughed disdainfully. “Home!” The word is nothing to ‘some people, if it is everything to others. With you, I suppose, it is meant to cover a multitude of desires. But it doesn’t often. If you, keen on scal- ing mountain tops or crossing deserts, had been condemned to tread feather beds— how would you have liked it? Men are so—" She halted. “So what?” he asked, amused at this un- expected display of temper. But she was laughing, now, with the child-like look in her eyes. “So discriminat- ing and wise. They know just which is the most reprehensible and clamorous among the new women. Let me see if I can touch them off in right order.” She laid her soft, sound hand before her, and beginning with the index finger, said, so- berly: “First, the lady orator.” He nodded, smiling; her pretty warmth was diverting. “Then—the lady journalist.’ She paused, with her wide eyes on him, questioningly. Her appeal—there was nothing dida:tic in Mary Marjoram—pleased him in some sub- tle way. “Or shall we put the lady-journalist first?” he ‘said, entering into her mood. “She is generally aggressive, square-toed and badly dressed.” “Three things that no wise man would pardon,” she agreed, meditatively. Thira——* ig But just then Mrs:' Greenfield entered with tea, and she dismissed the subject with a half-petulant laugh. ‘Don’t let us waste ebbing daylight over such an unat- tractive section of society as the advanced woman,” she cried. “‘You haven’t told me half about your African*adventures.” And with question and aiswer whiled away the twilight. It was two days before he came again— a glowing October evening “Dr. Forsythe says 1 am almost well. 1 shall go next week: I must get back to work.” EB “Work?” he said, fer in her playful, de- pendent ways she had never struck him as a working woman. She laughed low at his perplexity. “Hats and bonnets must be made, you see, Mr. Frere, even though, the!.season is over.” And though she ha@ not declared herself a miHiner in so many words, her remark sent an odd stab through his big frame. He got up and went to the windew. “This being so," she went on cheerfully, you see how much, how very much I owe you, who saved my hand to me to stitch and seam and gather pence. Mr. Frere, 4 they thank—I do thank you.” He shrugged his shoulders irritably. ‘St was nothing.” “Well, ‘nothing’ if you will. That is your point of view. It isn’t min He stood still, staring at the yellow sky and the bare, far moors “Miss Marjoram, do you believe in mar- riage between people of similar taste he presently asked, abruptly. ‘Do think, for instance, that an artist would be happy with an artist—a literary man with a literary woman “Most probably not,” she said shortly. They were silent for a time; then she resumed in a different tone: “I have been quite happy here alone out of the beaten track. 1 wonder—1 wonder how your holi- day has agreed with you? A little pause in an adventurous life—a full stop between two sentences—is that it? “Yes,” he said carelessly, “a parenthesis —a pleasant parenthesis.” He didn’t know it would be his last word with hér at Brescoe. When he rode up a few days later he found Miss Marjoram had gcne. She had been sent for suddeniy —abroad, Mrs. Greenfield said. The tele- gram was lying on the table. He pieked it up mechanically. It was addressed to the Honorable Mary Marioram by Ledy Joanna Pierpont, at Bordighera, and said merely, “Come at once.” 3 “Tt seerrs,’”’ 1. marked the landlady, stand- ing by, “that she was quite a great lady—a writer, and rich, with my Lady Joanna Pisrpont for aunt, and all sorts of fine connections. But she had disagreed with them. The old lady wanted her to stay at home and do nothing, and Miss Marjo- ram wanted to go out ‘aud do a great deal. She told me she got tired of sitting on a cushion and sewing a fine seam. Well, it’s every one to their tastes. And, what- ever hers were, she was the pleasantest- spoken young lady I ever came across.” ‘orsley Frere rode home slowly, and go- ing, found himself face to face with a prob- lem. A great blank had suddenly entered into his life, and he was trying to argue it away. He labored for a night and a day, and then he told Mrs. John Frere that he was going to take a run to the continent preparrtory to his voyage to Africa. It was just a week later that he came across a slight figure leaning—in a brief ab- sence from a sick room—toward the sleep- ing Mediterranean, The palms and villas of Bordighera were around; behind, steeply and sharply, rose the picturesque buildings of the old town, the cathedral dominating them. He was a man of prompt measures, and, having examined his heart, knew it. “What made you do it?” he:said, quietly, sitting down beside her and:displacing an armful of roses she had laid {along the seat. She turned, and a iquidk,. unbidden glow sprang into her eyes.}; “A love of the uncanventional,” she said, lightly; “the same reason that made me shy against poor Aunt Joanna’s social rou- tine and turn journalist. J came to Brescoe to contribute a colunin on its cottage-hos- pital, and I met—yeg, it must have been there I met you. I yonder, shall we meet again, for I must go‘th' td my invalid now. She is very ill. Goodby.” Her casual manner angered him, “This is ridiculously inadequate to the oc- casion,” he said, firmly,‘getting up and Standing so that she could not pass him. “We meet after ten days—days that have meant much to me—and you wonder flip- pantly whether we shall see each other again.’ ” she acquiesced, with her eyes un- “Yes, flinchingly on him, Her hands were trem- bling, though. : a 3 “Don’t you know that I have travaled two days to see:you—to ask an explanation which our frequent intercourse and your whim justify?” “Whim!” she saf@, coldly; “to you, at least, I-am not called on to explain my ac- tions. The time was a mere breathing space—a lull. I couldn't help the ‘accident, ny rats than I cotid help being indebted 0 you. : a aa ae He folded his arms, looking at her, but her éyes were on the curve of the pay that hi seo rear the. decepiin ‘ou could’ help the deception. Why should you: ave uretendes to be what you were not?’ .- She faced round on him sud rs “Because,” she said, flercely—“‘because I happen to be’one of those-unlucky:women who can't find their whole-content-tn nurs= a cae Baus twenty pesmi morning, driving out osce a Jay, and ‘being fawned ‘on. for thelr expec! tations. °-2 got | away from {t all—for a year. It was Aunt Joanna's arrangement, though we quar- reled over it. And I went in for writing. But I don’t see why, having tak. anonymity, I should drop it again. I was Miss Marjoram simply—a woman with a calling when I left Aunf Joanna. Why should I be any:hing more to you, of whom I knew’ so little?” - “We met under exceptional circum- stances. Our intercow oe She interrupted him. What was it? A parent pleasant parenthesis in two busy lives. It was passed. And the sentence goes on as if it had never been. It was your own phrase.” “My own phrase!” he echoed. “Perhaps s0—a week ago. Women haven't the mo- nopoly of changing their minds. I have changed mine. . That month is sentence, chapter, bock itself to me.” She moved from him, fear in her eyes. “You are jesting, Mr. Frere,” she said under her breath. “It is a poor revenge.” “Revenge!” he said, in his deep vibrant tones. “You are hard to melt, still harder to woo. Cannot you tell, Mary—cannot you tell I am in earnest?” Over the sea the darkness was stealing; the sibilant croon of the waves came up to their ears from below. But still Mary Marjoram looked over its placid breast, and was silent. To their right, the faint lines. of the distant Esterels,, Mentone, Monte Carlo. and the grand dim moun- tains; below, the murmurous Mediterra- nean; around, unbroken hush wherein two hearts alone seemed to beat. At last he moved toward her, covering her restored but still delicate hand with Lis strong one Then she looked at him, something else than fear dawning in her eyes.-If surrender was in them with tears, she would rot let it pass into her words. “I thought the lady journalist headed the list of your aversions, Mr. Frere?” But the assumption of audacity did not deceive him. “A week ago. Now, ‘If you would sit by me thus every night, I should work better, do you comprehend? ” She laughed low, recognizing the quota- tion. “And you believe in marriages between people of the same tastes?” she said. “Quite!” “I don’t think I do,” she said slowly, ris- ing and gathering up the scattered roses. “I shouldn’t like to see Mr. Frere mar- ried to an ‘aggressive, untidy, square-toed person’—his love »f the orderly and beau- tiful would suffer too much.” But in her dainty diaphanous frock, with flowers in her belt, and mirth in her eyes, she stood. but a few inches from him and courted his refutation. “Aggressive, untidy, square-toed!” he re- peated. And suddenly she found herself in his arms, witn his kisses on her brow. “Your own fault, Mary,” he said, when he held her et last away from him, all rosy and charming under night’s kind shadows. And straightening her old lace ruffles, she merely said resignedly: “Well, I have warned you. Two of a trade never agree. But—’ “They will!” And it is sure that the two people who went down the hill toward the little towr half an hour later went hand in hand. Se SINKERS WOULDN'T STAND IT. “Our intercourse! A Problem of Christmas, a Girl and Her Company Put to Sarsaparilla Reilly. From the New York Sun. Sarsaparilla Reilly entered the little res- taurant and took a seat at one of the rear tables. The sinker man poked his head through the kitchen door and shouted: “Hello, Reill: How it ‘tis everyt’ing? “Can't kick,” said Reilly; “gittin’ three squares a day and able to sit up.” “Dot's good,” remarked Sinkers; “but I want to said somet'ing asfore I foreget it. Supposin’ a young vomans is keepin’ com- pany mit a young mans, und her fadder didn’t t'ought oof saving some money for Christmas presents, should it be out-in Place for him to overlook givin’ one when he can’t spare der money vhat he didn’t r talkin’ shorthand,” said Reilly. “Why don’t yer git a typewriter an’ trans- late yerself?” “Vell, I put it plainer. Ve vill suppositi dot my daughter’s young mans is keepin’ company right along, und vas presenta- tioned on Christmas mit someting from her fadder vhat he was astonishment mit vhen he arrived-ed at der house der night asfore on last year, und den vhen ve have Christ- mas again is it unnecessary to suppose dot he expeds anudder one? Dot's vhat I vant- ed to find oudt.” “Dere’s no more show Christmases in a year ¢ two Sundays in a week,” said Reilly. “You don’t qvite understood me," remark- ed Sinkers. “I mean two presents for der young mans what is keeping company mit der girls.” is, why, he'll expect two aid Reilly. “Some gals has four know one mug what has four gals, so he'll expect four presents; see? “My Katie's company got four girl Jp in de ate ward,” said Reilly. i, he lies like hell,” remarked Sink- “und if I tell my Katie dot she'll ative. Such ridiculeness! Some peoples al time trying to circulation bad storie: ving I know dey’l! say my wife's married.” “Ain’t she ked Reilly. “Stop dere,” shouted Sinker: now; dot’ll do you! I take foolishness from everybody, Reiliy, but I von't let you talk someting "bout my vife; understand?” Then the sinker man went back into the kitchen and shot off one of his duplex Ger- man oaths as he kicked Jocko, the cat, into the dough box. ‘dot'll do —+ee- SUPREME JUSTICES’ GOWNS. Our Early Statesmen’s Task in Select- ing a Court Dress. Ex-President Harrison tells of the con- tention created over the question of an ap- propriate court dress for the justices of the federal Supreme Court in the January Ladies’ Home Journal. “‘When the consti- tutional organization of the court had been settled and the high duty of selecting the justices had been performed by Washing- ton,” he says, “the smaller, but not wholly unimportant, question of a court dress loomed up, and much agitated and divided the minds of our public men. Shall the justices wear gowns? And if yea, the gown of the scholar, of the Roman senator or of the priest? Shall they wear the wig of the English judges? Jefferson and Hamilton, who had differed so widely in their views as to the frame of the Constitution, were again in opposition upon these questions re- lating to millinery and hairdressing. Jef- ferson was against any needless official apparel, but if the gown was to carry he said: ‘For heaven's sake discard the mon- strous wig which makes the English judges look like rats peeping through bunches of cakum.’ Hamilton was for the English wig with the English gown. Burr was for the English gown, but against the ‘inverted woolsack termed a wig.’ The English gown was taken and the wig left, and I am sure that the flowing black silk gown still worn by the justices helps to preserve in the court room that dignity and sense of sol- emnity which should always characterize the place of judgment.” 2. Luck Has Never Helped Any Person. In replying to the query, “Does not luck sometimes play a goodly part in a man's success?” Edward W. Bok, in the January Ladies’ Home Journal, writes: “Never. Henry Ward Beecher answered this question once for afi when he said: ‘No man prospers in this worl@ by luck, unless it be the luck of getting up early, working hard and maintaining honor and integrity.’ What so often seems, to many young men, on the surface, as being luck in @ man’s career, is nothing more than hard work done at some special time. The idea that luck is a factor in a man’s success has ruined thousands; it has never helped a single person. A fortunate clfance comes to a young man sometimes just at the right moment. And that some people call luck. But that chance was given him becai That is the only luck there is. demonstrate your ability, and show to others that if an opportunity comes within your grasp you are able to use it.” ; —————+o+___ Woman’s Advantage. From the New York Weekly. I first heard of IPANS Tabules through a sister who had found in them a relief from headache. I was induced to try them for irregularities, and found them bene- ficial and effective to a degree as surprising as gratifying. I am never without them now, and I constantly recommend them to friends. Spee ee ectestecestetece tester tessententetesteterentete tentecteedecectedecentntedentetectetetectetecentetectetetoctedetetntes Soehendontoegensenge Get a copy Of the ee eee ee, Washington. Seroniontentortegentone so Siete Letntetntoy Sonsesqortont Soe SPSeors Evening Star’s ALMANAC AND HANDBOOK. This little volume is of value to every wide-awake person in From cover to cover it contains a plethora of information touch- ing upon every question of the day. is of especial value to every Washing- tonian because of the completeness of its information about the local government, the duties of the District officials, the sources of revenue, and statistics regard- ing the District’s educational, financial, commercial, charitable and religious in- nestimable It stitutions, and all other information sort you can turn STAR ALMANAC once! Fe a that every Washingtonian should kno When in search of information of any what you want to know. to THE EVENING and find out just Get yours at Twenty-five cents a copy. For sale at all newsstands and at the counting room of The Evey- ing Star. HE SHAVED HIM. But He First Prepared His Razor in a Queer Way. From the Chicago Record. At Chautauqua the Hotel Athenaeum has a large barber shop which employs only colored barbers and serves only white pat- rcns. One day at the height of the assem- bly season a “loudly” dressed negro entere1 the shop when it was crowded and demand- ed to be shaved. He was politely told by one of the barbers that it was contrary to the rules of the place to shave colored men and was informed where ‘he could be ac- commodated at another shop. The caller evidently was looking for trouble. He sported a silk Lat, a flaming red tie, and a diamond as large as a mar- ble, wore patent leather shoes and a cane. He began ‘about “equal rights” and “the dor r immediately attracted a. ‘The foreman of casionally, however, some colored man comes along, like yourself, who is deter- mined to cause trouble for me, to injure m: business and to drive away trade. I ai- ways like to wait upon such a customer myself, because some of the other boys, I am afraid, do not look kindly upon this sort of bulidozing, and therefore might not to first-class work. When I shave such a cus- tomer myself I know that he is sure to get a nice, easy shave.” Thereupon, in full view of the lathered customer, he nonchalantly drew the sharp edge of his razor across the edge of the marble shelf before him several times, and hacked the stone absent-mindedly. In a min- vte the razor was about as sharp as a dull hoe. And when the barber turned toward his obstreperous customer to begin work the latter rolled out of the chair and ran from the shop. The Cruel Truth Forced Home. From the Cleveland Leader, “Ah, Henry,” she sighed, “it is very kind of you to tell me that I am still beautiful and that I look as youthful as I did ten years ago, but you are wrong. I have had Proof of it.” “Why, my darling, what do you mean?” asked. “Today when I got aboard the car,” she bitterly replied, “not a solitary man offered to give me his seat.” > Bonnett—“I think you should have some chickenbroth for your dinner.” Mr. Lipsner—‘Dat’s a queer suggestion t” ine 3