Evening Star Newspaper, August 14, 1897, Page 17

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, AUGUST 14, 1897—24 PAGES. TO PLAY THE RACES The Motley Crowd That Goes to St. Asaph Every Day. SCENES ABOUT THE BIG POOL ROOM Gambling Without the Fun of See- ing the Horses Run. AND THEY CALL IT SPORT ——__>-—_—_ Written Exciusively for The Evening Star. ing back b: gestion to post-Druid in tree hollows, cowl- . with their T. ASAPH name (considered of itself) full of music— christianization, the Hi chimes of woodland | chape! anchorites ' -um—"“St. wled ont ear con- ed friar vor and sult a pe cap cocked on one ear, is a different ail shorn of its music, and to hear it thus sounded is an experience analogous to an accomm ‘ossroads Vv is the baldest ac- t between Asaph, y which better, no ious, tion acro: in Virginia on the hither side iria, on the line of the electric road. There however, an attraction Asaph that carries thence a considers Week-day population, and it is not the traction of a Si 1 the rustieity and trul Iness_ thereof. is a rambling wooden building, verging upon an abandoned outlawed race track, where men make hets upon the running of race horses. ng thus to create little Klondikes of their own. The St. Asaphites who don’t live in St. Asaph drift dvance guard of them. the to the of Pennsylvania avenue and olley railroad point of oward 1 o'clock in the © advanee guard locks men, upon awaking, look 1, OF he lack of one, per- abed until the sun is sus- in the heavens. A advance guard Wlondik ators for afiluenc: even $5 bi ires them wit who labor for r monthly s—the plod- not or c: not for the lying at their very doors punt it wearing work to h six hours of feverish ex- the pool room in the settle- the fluous name. All the grinding work could not be day of it more lity-wasting, dging, than twe days of the brain of the man who py rut of regularity and quie knowing not the meaning of a “fifty to one shot.” A Motley Crew. About the advance guard there is some- thing motley. Some of them are well- dressed and prosperous-iooking after the hion of men w ving, precarious often, by loud fashion, ex- fied by ects as lurid fancy sparkling sto cf suspicious size and a grooming in seneral that is too ap- parent over the a there are the rough-looking mem empt, even not clean, some of them, nm fact, almost tat- 5 battalion com- prises t bettors, men with bill-wads to wager often a ‘dozen times the size of the roll? of the flashily gotten up men sitting beside them. All during the efterncon, until 5 o'clock, the trolley trains dump these throngs cf men, so different in exterior make-up, so alike in their adherence to a common ‘dea and their pursuits of an ignis fatuus, at the St. Asap station. On the trip o most of them are too busy for much conversa- tion—busy “doping up.” Nine in ten of them carry “dope books,” and the careful study of » dope book forbids e ation. A dope book is a realy referene> guide. elaborately compiled individually by pool- room hi s There is a Yor r devoted ex ely to publishes , in the form ory of every before. All the this paper at th tes bu: Sta- they leave Washington. at out the chart everal wecks of such strapped to- Anxiety. ether, pocket size, with rubber bands, form a dope book. Deductions as to how the races today are going to come out are based by the bettors upon the dope heck’s facts. it is a delightful system—like sup- pesing, for instance, that because Mt. Ve- suvius was in a state of eruption on Au- gust 14, last year, it is going to erupt again today. The dopers swear by it, though. It gives them the “forms” of the horses, decs it net? Here, for example: The horse Havoc & month ago ran sec- ond to the horse Forsythe; next time Havoc won; next time came in third; won next race; came in second again, and has won his last four races, 115 pounds tp. Ha! says the man with the dope book, great horse, Havoc; must play him to win today. But, hold on! Greyhurst is to run with woe today. Must look up Greyhurst. hurst has won his last seven races. Greyhurst to win, Havoc for place,” the man with the dope book scribbles on his way down in the trolley train. Could any- thing in life be easier, more like finding money? Nothing! Im the Pool Room. By the time the trolley train whizzes over to the St. Asaph station the dopers have covered the race chart of the day with strange hieroglyphics and made their se- lections; and they beam peace as they stroil from the station on the plank walk to the pool room. The pool room is a big barn with a floor of boards—a room about seventy-five feet in length and two-thirds as broad; a four- sided bar at the entrance; cheap wooden chairs scattered all about, a line of wicker rockers facing the betting board for the contemplative bettors; a lunch counter | Must be in regular cake-walk shape. For Very Joy. laden with most unattractive-looking feod; and at the lower end a counter heaped up with bound dope bouks for several years sth of the room side is the blackboard, with all inted in chalk, the entries rate heads and labeled, at St. Louis, second race at ond race at Iron Will, dnd so re the entries, sdme of the with fields of fifteen horses or so—all Asaphite has to do is to pick the winner, cash his tickets, get rich and go a-yachting in southern seas. The black- board ¢ ace up and down their plat- form edience to the call of the teleg- rapher, filling in the betting, changing the > entri “price: scratching” horses’ names, doing it all with marvelous quickness. The bet- ting counter runs parallel with the black- Half a dozen ticket writ= born ng mathematicians, sit behind it, taking in the money of the wealth pursuers and droning out the odds as they write the tickets: “Combination, Linda to win, Mar- guerite a place, May Blozsom third—30 to ‘s y drone, drone, v! ng the lightning rapidity, and never up at the faces of the Eldorado searchers handing their money over the counter. Three or four little windows open into the den where the tickets are cashed after the race:s this window, “blue tckets ed here;” that window, “yellow tickets shed here, on. ‘The telegrapher, who is al race caller, sits upon a platform lerably raised above the ter of the ticket write tant] s, between races tches to Hgat an un- tte—made of ashestes, and merely a property of his call- ing. He has a good, r t voice, this telegrapher, and it must be a joy to him to know that men hang upon his words as they do. His words mean much—opulence, anyhow for a day or a week; or gleom. r example, all hands have hacked Ben Brush to win. Thus the telegrapher, sit- ting unmoved, his ear following the ‘click of the key. “They're Off! “They're off at Louis, Balk Line In the lead, John P. second by a nose (pause); Siva at the quarter by half a length, Balk Line zecond by half a length (pause); ali m a bunch at the half (pause); Belvadella at the three-quarters, Siva second by three lengths (pause) me in the stretch (pause) wins by a head! B vadella third.”” heen rooting for their ho: gcnized snapping of fingers; their fac | have screwed up as the race called off up to the very finish, their horse was not even mentioned, one, two, three; and some of them have gotten out their tickets, ready to tear them up and scatte! the floor. But—Ben Bru: throughout the race the bits about . “under a wrap” to the , is whip- ped in, and wins; and Ben Brush's rooters shout, and sail their hats into the air, and jump for very glee, and execute waltz steps with each other, and teli each other how thoroughly well they knew the race w going to come out just exactly as it did— At Random. so much exuberant happiness hinges upon the droned words of the telegrapher with the resonant voice. Or, in the space of a single minute, this puissant telegrapher may implant a million microbes of mis=cy within the bosoms of all the men within the sound of his voice. They have played Madeleine to win, say; and the key-manipa- jator, between puffs’ at this unli cigarette, and impassive as a figure of brenze, has this short story to narrat ‘They're off at Saratoga; Madeleine in the lead, Joe Miller second, Sir Wal or third (pause); Madeleine at the quarter by a length, Sir Walter second by a nose, Cumberland third (pause); Madeleine at the half by a length, Troiley second, Sir Wal- ter third (pause); Madeleine at the three- quarters by two lengths, Trolley second, Sir Walter third (pause); same in the stretch (pause); Sir Walter wins!” etc., etc. Hoping Against Hope. A heartbreak, this—the Madeleine root- ers’ horse doing the romping all the way, waking a “cake walk” of the race; and then—falling back to third place; a heart- break. Groans of disgust, talk of “funny business” and “pulling,” and the speechless silence of the really hard losers—these are manifestations. Some of them tear up their tickets in wrath—but it is noticed that the confirmed pool room habitues do rot do this; for, after a race is over, the foul claim is eften made and allowed; and the old-timers know that their apparently valueiess ticket has always a remote chance of yet being good on a foul claim. ne indecision of a major number of the ttors is what you expect to notice as of their traits; yet it is strange to orks. says a man with a of bis friends in the receding chin to one crush around the betting counter, “to play Dutch Comedian to win at 20 to 1; and for awhile he sits with his dope book, ner- vously turning over the pages, and sizing up the chances Dutch Comedian has to win the race. “Dutch Comedian, 8 to 5;” calls out the telegrapher to the blackboard writer even as the doper is studying. “Played down almost to even mone: groans the man with the dope book, sor- row in his heart that he has missed an enormous thing when the betting was “just built for him; and when Dutch Comedian wins the race in a canter, he employs one of his friends to convey him to_a corner of the room and kick him. Friends? Well, at_ the St. Asaph pool room all hands are friends. Few of them know each other's names, yet they are friends. They thread and cirele about the room in the fiushed throng and address each other zs if they had learned the al- phabet in company. Looking for Tips. “What do you think of Loki to win this race?” asks g youth of a man whose name he has never even heard, but who, from “Play | bis oleaginous smile and “I told you so” look, seems to bea winner. “My boy,” is the reply, “keep off of him; take a friend's advice and keep off of Loki. He's a dead ‘un. Won't be heard of. ‘Won't be in the running at all. Play Dam- ocles, at 8 to 1; it’s a cinch; it’s a lead- pipe; if Damocles don’t just dance in I'll eat my shoes. You play him, now, boy, and then come and throw some bouquets at me for putting you on.” The lad takes his “‘friend’s’’ advice; and when his own selection, Loki, Wins the race in a lope— even then he seems not to be instructed in the value of St. Asaph friendship, but is observed to go around, nimbused by the same beatific innocence, on the hunt for more tips. Some men who bet heavily get down to the pool room around 8 o’clock—business men who know the game, or think they do, and who, noticing a “good thing’ among the entries published in the morning, go to Asaph to play it. These, without even glancing at the board, except to learn the price on the horse they mean to play, lay down their money in wads on the coun- ter, take from the ticket writer the one ticket with the name of their horse in- scribed in abbreviation upon it, and then plump themselves into the wicker rocking chairs to wait for the race to be run, fan- ning themselves with their hats meantime. If the horse wins, all right; if the horse loses, all right; in either case they take the next train for Washington. Odd bet- tors, these; “flyer” bettors they are called in the parlance. There are not many of them, yet enough of them to require this word. A light-hued colored man “who has built him a $6,000 house with the money he made down here” (the stock way of pointing him out at St. Asaph) seems, indeed, quite un- able to lose. He plays a combination bet of five horses, all of them to wi; all wm, and the light-hued colored man gets nearly $200 for his $5. He plays half a dozen “long shots” for place money and wins all. The men unfamiliar with the game, yet inoculated with its virus, gather around him. What does he like for the next race? Well, he likes such-and-such a horse. His adulators make a rush for the counter and fall over each other in putting down their money on the horse the light-hued colored man has named. The horse is never heard of in the race; yet the Hght- hued colored man cashes a ticket on that race. For himself and his own ‘wad’ he liked another horse. Wise, for a Minute. A repulsive-looking white boy who sells newspapers on the Washington streets wins $80 on a bet of $5 and receives the acclaim of all hands. He puts the entire $80.down on a series of six “long shots,” loses all of them and is no longer a crafty hero, but a fool, so proclaimed by the very men who ten minutes since patted him upon the back. The pretty, well-dressed men with inky fingers on their writing hands get down about 5 o'clock and hasten to “get aboard” the races being run over the wire, the cards having been nearly finished. They are mostly young men, and—well, the civil service of the federal government is pretty well represented every afternoon at the St. Asaph pool room. All of them carry well-worn dope books, and some of them have even been known to occasionally win. The betting slackens up a little when the races are particularly “hard;” when, in the bettors’ eyes, the winner does not loom like a monolith, that is to say. The ticket writers behind the counter notice the slack- ing. It grieves them. ceGema a now, all of you!” they bark. imperatively. “At the post at Newport ard St. Louis! Come on, now!” It sounds like the mandate of a king’s herald, this sum- mons of the ticket writer. And they are obeyed by numbers, too. The man who has been meditating and doping, resolved to wait for the next race, hears the clang of the starter’s bel! when the ‘At the post! bark from the ticket writer reaches his ears. Well, he might as well put a few dollars on this race, anyhow; and he goes up to the counter, lays down his money practically at random, and thus obeys the demand of the ticket writer. No bet of less than a dollar is taken over the counter. But two very seedy men chip in a half dollar each, make a dollar bet on a “long shot,” and each wins $10. Do they quit then for the day and take the train back to Washington? No. Each puts his entire $10 down on another race—and loses. Unless they go flat “broke,” hardly any of the St. Asaphites leave the pool room until the last race has been run. Now, the management of the St. Asaph Institution ts keenly businesslike. No winning tickets on the last races at the different tracks are cashed the same evening; men holding such winning tickets must make the trip over to the pool room the next day to cash their tickets. Such men, in making the trip, ve often intend to simply cash their tick- ets and go back to town; and they prob- ably do this as often as one time in a thousand. All hands assemble at the dingy station to the return trolley train in the neighbor- hood of 7:40 in the evening. Frank depres- sion is placarded on the *countenances of the losers, and talkative exultation marks the winners. When the train comes along all of them drop into their seats with weary sighs—still, playing the races is not work. —— THE STORAGE OF FURS. A Dealer's Advice to Women Who Wish to Care for Them at Home. From the New York Sun, “Furs are easy enough to keep during Warm weather,” said a storer of furs the other day, when approached on the sub- ject. “If ladies would only use a few sim- ple preventives they could keep them at home as well as we can in our storerooms. Of course a fur garment is better hung up than folded away in a box or trunk. First, because there is less danger of crushing and wrinkles; second, because moths can be more readily seen at their work. The best plan is to select a dark closet and have !{t papered all over, top and bottom, with tar paper. As its sur- face is sticky, it should be covered with a second coat of paper to prevent the clothes coming in direct contact with the tar. For this second coat I find newspaper as good as anything that can be used. Perhaps the smell of printers’ ink helps the tar do its work, or it may be because newspaper is porous and allows the tar odor to come through more readily. Before hanging in this closet, all garments, both fur and wool, should be carefully beaten with a slender cane. Here is the great secret of keeping furs. It is in cleaning them be- fore they are put away. If a moth or a moth egg goes into the closet with them the damage is only partially prevented. While the egg will hatch, the moth only lives for short while and cannot increase, but during that brief life I have known these little insects to spoil the beauty of an elegant garment. So the greatest care should be taken to beat and comb furs clean before storing them away. For this purpose a fur comb should be used, or a slender, strong cane, that will reach the skin itself. The safest plan is to remove the garments from this closet about once a month end give them a thorough beating. Scme persons-hang them in the sun on these occasions, believing that the sun de- stroys moths and moth eggs, while, as a matter of fact, it hatches the eggs, and, lke any other heat, makes the moth thrive. “Where only a chest or trunk or, as is sometimes the case, only a pasteboard box is to be had, then the management is dif- ferent. After the cleaning process, which is always the same, it is best for the chest, box er trunk to be lined with tar paper, after the same manner as the closet. But where this is not practicable any of the numerous moth preventives may be used; though sold under different names, their ingredients are about the same. They should be carefully sewed in bags to pre- vent contact with the furs, as they in- variably leave spots on dark-colored skins. The odor can be overcome by a thorough beating and hanging for several hours in the wind or open air, that Is, where the furs have been rermoved and beaten during the season; otherwise, the odor is hard to get rid of. “Some dealers use the fumes of sul- pkur to clean furs already attacked by meths, but that should te a last resort, as it discolors the garment and necessi- tates it being redyed. Many of the old- fashioned preventives have some virtue in them, as sassafras, china root, &c., and can be used to advantage by people in the country, Where they are easily obtained, but persons in the city have better means within their reach.” ——.— Part of the Sport. From the Chicago Post. ~ “Can you swim?” asked the girl who had been at the beach before. “ “Yes, indeed.” replied the new arrival. “Well, you'd better pretend you can’t, or you'll miss all the fun of having some nice yeung man teach you.” ‘nation, had gone away jfor a. vi BEHIND A CLOSED -O0R Written for ‘The Evening star by W. J. Lampton. Col. Harry Ford was the.president of a big bank in a western state and the col- onel and I were, at the cfcnicling of this tale, in New York, whither we had gone as chance traveling companicns on a train from the west. It was on Sunday morning, and as we took it easy in the hdndsome apartments he was occupyjng, 8 messenger boy brcught him a telegram. The message was from his wife, and the boy being a bright-eyed youngster, thé cheerful colonel chatted with him pleasantly a moment and gave him a quarter as he departed. “Doesn’t that make telégraphing come pretty high?” I inquired, with the true Yankee spirit of thrift. “I used to be one myself,” he said in explanation, “and now whenever I see a bright-eyed kid like that I warm up to him and give him something, though not always a quarter. Being Sunday, and the telegram being from my wife, I do a bit better than usual and part with all cf 25 cents. “Do you really mean that you were once @ messenger boy?” I asked in great sur- prise, as I looked over the elegant-man cf the world, every inch a gentleman born, who sat in the big*chair by the window gracefully poising a cigar on his thumb and finger. “Really and truly,” he laughed, “and if you can stand a reminiscence this morning, Til tell you the story af my life. Journal- ists,” and he bowed over the arm of the chair, “I believe, are always on the lookout tor interesting facts in history and fiction, aren't they?” I hastened to assure him that they were, and after making me swear that I would keep awake at whatever sacrifice, he be- ‘When I was a youngster of ten,” he said, “I was a messenger boy earning the luxurious salary of three dollars a week, all of which I gallantly turned over to my mother, who was a banker's daughter, though she had been turned out of her father’s house because she had not mar- med to suit him and her stepmother.* In- deed, she had gone farther and married the man who had suited her, and after that, while her heart was never empty, she and her husband and only son were often So, and life was not quite as rosy as it m‘ght have been. We were brave people, though, end with my three dollars a week we managed somehow to get along. I tm- proved after a year or two, and incidental- ly picked up telegraphy, so that when I was fifteen I got a place at a small coun- try station in Missouri and took my moth- er there to live with me on my salary of forty dollars a month, my father having died a year before. “At sixteen my mother died, leaving me alone in the world, and at my mother’s funeral my grandfather relented sufficient- ly to propose that he educate me, which Proposal I accepted and agreed to take a good business education. By the time I was twenty-one I had been graduated, and my grandfather gave me a position in a bank he owned in a very pleasant interior town, where I showed such aptitude that the old ge1tleman entirely forgave me for having been the son of his disobedient daughter and told me to go. ahead and I should be a partner some day. “The next most natural thing in the world to do was to fall in love, and I did it for all there was in my throbbing heart, and on the evening of the day I was pro- moted to the cashiership, of the, bank I asked Kate Vernon to be my wife. I did it advisedly, too, for my, ‘grandfather had told me when I married ‘he would’ give me an eighth interest in the bank. Miss Ver- non wasn't the most beautiful girl the eye of man ever rested on, and even I was forced to confess that there was foo much pug in her nose for classic beauty, but she was the brightest young woman in the county, and the cheerlest,"and I was heels over head in love with her, which made up tor all discrepancies. “During all the time of my experience in the bank I had kept up, my interest in telegraphy, and after Kate and I had set- ted upon our future relationship, I had connected her house with my reom at the bank, and whenever I had the chance I called her up and talked love to her be- tween meals by electricity. I don't know how much of tHat kind of talk we indulged in, but I do not know that Kate became almost an St yent telegrapit operator, and could easily have made her living at it had there been such a necessity. “One of the other customs of that charm- ing me of love in the foreground was a drive that Kate and I took two or three times a week in a trap she owned, leaving the bank just after closing time, 4 o'clock, and driving for a couple of hours, to end at her house, where I took supper with her. On the days when she would telegraph Gqyn that she was coming, I would lock up the money and valuable papers in the in- side safe and leave the outer doors of the big vault open, so the last man out of the bank could put the books away and lock them up against fire. The man who did this nearly always was an old fellow, tly deaf, and a janitor rather than a clerk. One day, when I had shut up the inside safe and gone out to join Kate in her trap at the door, she sent me back to wait until she went up town to see a friend about a church supper they were interested in. Old Jock, as we called him, was not at his desk when I came back, though I had said good-bye to him as I went out, nor was there any one in the bank, and as I sat a moment at my own desk I noticed a paper that had been left there by mis- take. I got up at once to put it where it belonged in the safe, end as I went into the vault, I did not observe that all the books had been put uway, though I could hear old Jock, in the little room back, telling his boy about sweeping out. “The paper belonged in a pigeonhole far back in the vault and high up, so that I was compelled to go up a step ladder we kept there, and about the time I had got myself hid away in the shadow the big outer door swung toe and I could hear old Jock turn the combination out of joint. I yelled out, but it was too late, even if the old man’s ears had been sharp, and I found myself in the disagreeable predicament of being shut up in my own safe and no visible means of escape. At first it struck me as ludicrous; then it became serious, and in a few moments I had gone to thinking as those people think who are confronted with tremendous mcments in their lives. I scon decided that my only hope of getting out -was through Miss Vernon, who, when she returned, would naturally inquire for me and in this way old Jock would in time discover that he had shut me up in the vault. How long it would be until Miss Vernon returned, or what chance of the old man still being there when she came now began to demand discussion in my brain, and for a minute of two I stood still in the thick darkness and listened to my heart beating. Then I remembered that we always kept a hammer in a pigeon hole near the door and groping around I found it and at once began to pound on the door. Immediately a response came, but, of course, I did not know who was giving it, though evidently the boy, as the old man could scarcely have heard. This gave me hope, at once, and I get up a regular tattoo on the door with hammer, to all of which came the responses fro! out- side. But it was not getting out of my prison, and confinement was }ecoming irksome. es : “For the first time now I heard faintly the sound of human voices calling to me, but it were as if they were,miles away, and I could not distinguish whose they were, though I thought I knew Kate's. I an- swered back, but the place was. so thick and heavy that my voice frightened me, and I used the hammer instead of calling. Up to this time I had not.thoroughly real- ized what my entombment meant, but now it came upon me that the only; man in town except myself who knew the combi- ation to the seashore, and that with the door air- tight, or practically so, J, could pot live a very great while in the Vault. “Certainly not long enough to hear from either the clerk on vacation or from the people from whom we had bought the safe in St. Louis. Indeed, if I stood it for two hours, I felt I would be doing well, for my pounding had filled the little air I had with dust, and it was nearly suffocating me.- ‘The pounding from the outside increased the dust, too, and while I could prevent myself from do- ing it, and did stop, the very fact of my stopping made those on the outside pound harder as if to encourage me, when, as they thought, i was losing hope. “This thought came to me with a shock so great that I almost c d. T caught at the sides of the vault in the inky dark- ness and for a minute I became deathly sick. Following this came almost a frenzy to yell and bowl and claw at th? door ard scratch my face and tear at my hair. I had heard of people doing that way and going mad when lost in caves and such places, and I felt it coming on me in that dreadful hole. To add ‘to the horrors of my situation, the air was growing rapidly worse and I could not stand up in the yault without a feeling of the most pro- found nausea. It was the nausea of de- spair, if anybody ever has analyzed just what that is. At intervals, notwithstand- ing the harm of it, I would grope around for the hammer and pourd on, the door, only to choke more and to hear the muf- = thuds of the responses from the out- side. - “Two feet from light and air and love and life and utterly shunt off from them all. It was horrible to think of, and I am sure a thousand times worse than if I had been entombed in a mine ten thou- sand feet de>p or had been buried in the sands of a desert a hundred miles from water and green trees. Slowly I felt my strength going, and at last I could not so much as respond, even at long inter- vals, to the knocking on the outside, and I sank to the floor with my head against the cold steel wall between the light of the world and the darkness of death. As I lay there panting I heard the dull thud of the beating on the outside, and it soon came as a beating of time, or rather eter- nity; @ measure of music to soothe me to sleep, and I sank away into semi-con- sciousness and seemed to be dreaming. “You know, they say that when a.man is dying under unnatural or violent cir- cumstances all his past life comes back to him, even in minute detail. It did not quite appear to me that all my life was passing in review before me in my dun- geon, but it did seem as if the youth of my life had come back to me, and I thought I was once again in that little telegraph station on the Missouri river catching the clickety-click-click of the instrument on my table, and which always scemed to me as important as a ship's deck is to an ad- miral. I seemed to be hearing the ‘calls’ of operators all along the line, but I gave no response, and then the scene changed, as it does so suddenly and unaccountably in dreams, and I was at my instrument in the bank listening with all of a lover's eagerness for the first call of Kate Ver- non’s over the wire I had put up for her. ‘It was very faint and far off, and I think I must have smiled as I bent my ear closer to the instrument to catch the sound, having in mind my sweetheart at the other end of the wire essaying her first attempt in handling the lightning. For a moment it was gue enough, with its modest little clicket: lick-click, but all at once it seemed to say somethinz to me. I*could not distinguish at first, but pres- ently it took form and I could ch the call’ I had taught her. It was t letter K, repeated over and over again, jus i operators do when they other operator who is not at his des! respond promptly. Then it was an eae ety-click-click of the letters that formed my name, and I smiled to think that as a child learning to talk Says. ‘mamma’ iirst, fo Kate was saying first in this new lan e e wires tha ae of her fenchee Bee eecahe ut there was something mo: dream in the sensations I mee experiencia I could feel that it was something more than a dream. I knew that some sound must be shaping my dream for me, and without knowing what I was do- ing and with an odd feeling of the very peculiar key we had put on our instru- ments I took up the hammer and soundea my ‘call’ to Kate, in response to what I was hearing. Instantly the ‘call’ was re- peated and my name followed. Now I seemed to throw off the nightmare, and I roused myself. Striking with the hammer on the door I called to Kate by name, end then distinct enough, though muffled, I heard the clickety-2lick-click on the euter door, and Kate was telling me in the mys- terious manual of Morse, & Message of courage and hope. “And what a wonderful strength is hope. Now that I had established communication with the outside world, T took great cour- age immediately, though I did not under- stand just what or how I was soing to do to be saved, for I confess that I was not very clear headed at this time. I thought enly of telegraphing to St. Louts for the combination, and had actually signaled to Kate to do so at once, and I would try to keep up until word was received, when to my indignation, she laughed at’ me over the wires, that is the door plate, and told me to telegraph right then and there to her what the combination was and she would do the rest. “How plain and simple that was, and I had never thought of it. Neither had I thought of telegraphing to her from my prison, and it was only because she was a woman that she ever thought of sending word through that dull door to me with a hammer. She has since told me that some men never will learn anything unless it is hammered into them, and I never say a word. Anyway, when three minutes after i had told her what the combination was, the door opened and I fell forward into the fresh air of the world of sunshine, Kate caught me in her arms, and it was her voice I heard faintly and far off as I had heard the clickety-click-click of her tap- ping that led me back to life and light and love once more.” “And you lived happily ever after?” I in- quired, after so long a silence that I was surprised at myself. My boy,” said the banker, earnestly, she has saved my life a hundred times since that, and I wouldn’t trade her for all the other women in the wor! And when she sees this story in print,” he added laughing, “I'll need to have my life saved again, but she won’t do it, I'll bet a horse and harness.” “She must draw the line somewhere,” said I. ——— SLANG OF COLLEGE GIRLS. “Crash, “Dead Squelch,” and Other Expressive Terms, From the New York Sun, College girl slang is not often heard out- side of college walls. To outsiders it is chiefly interesting because it gives glimpses of college life. Take the word “prod,” for example. A “prod” would scarcely be met with except in the college world, although prodigies might. It is always a question whether a girl who is called a “prod” re. ceives the term in aapprobation or disgus' There are two sorts of “prods,” one re- ceiving the term from pure brilliancy in some particular line, the other for general studiousness. The latter are the most ir- ritating, for they are always ready with answers in recitations, while the brilliant “prod’”” may be on the ordinary plane of intelligence when out of her particular sphere. She is a “prod,” through no fault of her own. A distinctly woman’s collegi- ate word is “crush,” expressing a relation- ship wetween two girls hard to-define. One a girl, generally an underclassman, and usu- ally a freshman, becomes much attached to another girl, ordinarily an upper-class girl. The younger girl is “crushed” on the other, sends her flowers, and tries in various ways to give expression to her admiration. ‘The “crush” soon passes over, the admirer finding some flaw in her idol, or else, as is often the case, the “crush” ai length loses its youthful sentimentality, and settles down into a good friendship. J If, however, before either of these states are reached the object of the “crush” gets weary of the devotion, she resorts to what in college parlance-is known as “squelch- ing,” the highest form of which is a “d. s.,”" or “dead squelch.” This method,indeed, has often to be employed toward freshmen, whether “crushed” or not, to teach them their proper place. There is an unwritten but well-established decree that upper- class girls shall always be held as super- iors. At the first of the year, for instance, before the entering class is thoroughly at home, it would be a decided breach of eti- quette for a freshman to ask a mighty senior or junior to dance. She must wait to be invited. But the freshmen—well, they don’t understand all these important points, but a judicious use of the “dead squelch” will teach them a good deal. In much the same category with slang are the abbreviations rife at college. Lit- erature is always “‘lit,” psychology “psych,” dictionary “dic.” The abbrevia- tion most in the minds of the girls at pres- ent is that dreaded monster, “exams.” Volumes might be written concerning the blue state of the atmosphere during the time when every one is looking forward to the “exams.” In the corridors may be heard such questions as “How many ‘ex- ams’ have you got?” “Do you think we'll have one in ‘lit’?” then with gloomy fore- boding, “Oh, I’m so afraid I'll flunk.” Then The the synonyms for hard work come into play, “grind,” dig,” and “bone.” ee ee THE ENGINEZR BLAZED AWAY. IT SAVED HIS LIFE The Book of Rules Did Maloney a Good Turn WHEN ROBBERS ATTACKED THE TRAIN Some Lively Incidents Connected With Western Railroads. RUNNING BY STOP SIGNALS Written for The Evening Star by Cy Warman. (Copyright, 1897, by Cy Warman.) When the Denver and Rio Grande rail- read was extended through the black canyon of the Gunnison, over Soldier summit and across the Utah desert to the city of Salt Lake, it opened a new and fruitful field for enterprising train robbers. It brought business to the very door, so to speak, of a band of bandits who had been driven from Purgatory range in Colorado and were now living a rather monotonous life in the Wahsatch mountains in Utah. By chang- ing their names and whiskers as often as they changed their post office address, and by receiving their mail anonymous!y, these hunted criminals were able for a time to keep clear of the officers of the law, and to make occasional sorties into the desert for the purpose of flagging the midnight ex- press. This new and enterprising railroad being the most direct route, enjoyed the privilege of carrying the gold from the San Francisco mint to the treasurer at Wash- ington or the subtreasury at New York, and this fact was among the many thi: known to the half-breed leader of Wahsatch band. These bandits were mounted, having the pick of the thous: of splendid horses that graze in the broad and beautiful plain that begins at Frait- ville and ends at Ogden. organized and hunted the gang, but with poor success. When they were in need of meat the ouUlaws would ride into the val ley, rope and slaughter a steer or sheep, and long before daylight be sleeping in their mountain caves again. If they wanted something from a grocer they would enter one of the quiet Mormon ges, disguised as cowboys, or Indians, play drunk, shoot up the town and in the excitement help themselves and ride aw: while the people peered after them, only too glad to let them go. An Indian chief, who had been a warrior of some note in his time, offered, for a con- siderabie reward, to capture or kill the out- laws. With a dozen men, well mounted, this Indian started for the hills to hunt the bandits. All the people of the valley gave aid to the Indi: , thinking perhaps that whatever the result might be, the less to the church would be trifling. At the last little town near the foot of the range the red chief and his band were given an ovation, with red liquor on the side. Nothing can be worse for a com- munity than the mixing of firewater, fire- arms and Indians, A Rendy Reception. The outlaws heard of the coming of the red sheriff, and arranged a reception for him. They had their hiding place in a narrow canyon, that pinched out at the top su that a horseman could ride so far and no farther. The trail to this canyon led over a sweep of barren rock, so that it was difficult to follow. But now, being anxious to have the Indians find them, the bandits rode down the canyon to the valley, turned and came back again, making a new, plain tra. Then, carrying their horses end other chattels out over the blind trail, they established themselves at a point above the old camp and beyond where the canyon walls came together. The Indians soon found the trail, and, flushed with firewater, they gave chase. In a few hours, and much sooner than they expected, they came upon the old camp, and before they could raise their rifles the outlaws were pouring lead into them from the crags above. Three or four of the Indians fell at the first fire, and what added to the horror of the situation was that they were un- able to return the fire, so completely were the outlaws hidden in the jagged rock. Panic stricken, the Indians dashed down the canyon, but the bandits continued to shower the lead after them. The leader and two more of his men fell in the re- treat, anc that was the last time the In- dians of Utah undertook to arrest the ban- dits, i It was shortly after this fight that the railroad was opened, and the gang de- termined to enter upon the more romantic busines. of train robbing. The first two or three attempts made by the Utah gang to hold up the midnight express had resulted to their embarrass- ment.- Once the air had failed to work, and at another time a desperate cowboy, who hap- pened to be among the passengers, disputed the territory, and put the band to flight. Another such water haul would bring about the leader’s impeachment, and that distirguished incividual determined to re- establish himself in the confidence and esteem of his companions. Solitude, about as desolate a spot as there is on the American ccntinent, was seleci- ed as the proper place to rob the train. There not a house at that station; only a rolttary switch target at either end of a long and lonely side track. A red cot- ton handkerchief soaked in bear's oil was set ablaze as the long train, with two en- gines, came roaring down the desert. In- stead of swinging the torch steadily back and forth across the track, the amateur flegman allowed the light to bob about in a1 awkward, unseemly manner that caused the man on the leading locomotive to mis- trust the “token.” “om Brakes.” He blew his whistle long and loud, end- ing with the two familiar “‘toot-toots,” in arswer to the signal and shut off. Tac waiting robbers hastily put out the torch as the trair. came on, but instead of ap- plying the air, which was his business, the lezding engineer (sotto voce) sounded “Off brakes,” and opened up again. Before the bewildered robbers. could realize what had happened, the train, the speed of which had’ scarcely slackened, went thundering by. “fant what hac been avoided by the sa- gacity of the daring engineer might have remained a secret had not the baffled ban- The Mormons had | safe to try it too often with the same gang. That night when the band had retired to a safe place among the hills over against the rarge they held an important meeting. Manifestly, the leader did not know his busiress, and his resignation was called for. He refused to surrender, and the gang voted to disband. He had 2 a poor pro- vider at best. The gang breakfasi ly, lunched lighter still, and in t Light stole awa Only one man re loyal to the old leader, and while the oth headed for the hills ‘these desperate des- peradoes rode back to Solitude. At house, maul, fall out of the midnight a flag station they robbed a section secured a red light and a spike and determined to take one more express, y's run out that night, armed himself with a brand new six-shooter the trainmen gave him the laugh. The traimmaster said something about locking an empty barn, but Maloney It was Ed Malon and when hi tcok the gun, shoved it into the bosom of jacket, and pulled out rand Jenction, Almost every engineer has his hobby, ard Maloney’s sp was the book of a small volume printed by the com- for the guidanc> of its employes. If anted to clean a beadlight or take a 1 _h» would first consult the book, and, if > failed to find anything printed on that Subject, he would then proceed, deliber- ately, to do the very best he could without instructions. | With Book and Gun. “It is much better,” he used to say, “to rely on a good book than a bad memory.” He had often declared to his fir man that he expected that little book to save his life some day. However, upon this particular occasion he elected to fortify himself with a os, re- eardless of what the trainmen might think about it. It was a dark, drizzling night, and although the gain was light, Maloney found it almost impossible ; to make run- ning time. Tne helper he had up the hill was a makeshift in the shape of a leaky old work engine, and they gained the sum- mit thirty minutes late. Now, however, he had them on his side of th. pe and was slamming them up against the curvy where the road wound around among the sand hills in a way chat mvinced the besengers that he was not afraid of being | Nageed. | A number of the passengers had remain- | ed in the smoking rooms of the sle ping determined to keep awake until they had pa d the point wh the train had j been flagged the night before. The con- ductor had assured them that the ‘y would be able to see nothgig but silence at Soll- tude, but they were curicus, as most men are, and refused to go to bed. ly, there was a long, mournful blast whistle, and when the sound had died away in the desert the conduc pick- ed up his white light, said “Solitude,” and stepped out on the rear platform. Three or four men followed him, but all they could see was the dripping railing, the chain across the rear end of the car, the wet bell rope fastened to the chain, and the dark- ness closing rapidly around them. But what Maloney saw would have turn- ed their hair gray. It was a regulation red light, but it was not being handled by a car hand, and Maloney determined to dis- regard it. At any other t'me he would have stopped, but a precedent had been estabe lished. An engineer had run past a signal at this very siding the night before, and had been voted a great head: so Maloney only whistled, looked sharp and let them go. The robbers had expected this, and that is why they had broke: > swite nd opened. the swith ate she ieee emadle the siding. Muloney half expected this, and the moment his headlight shone upon the leaning tare he shut off, reversed and applied the air brakes, full upon the whir- When the Emergency Arose, A moment later the Mg, black engine shot off in the desert, turned half over on her left side, catght the fireman and crushed him to death. Maloney, thrown through the cab window, floundered in the adobe mud for a few seconds and was on his feet again. So wel’ had he performed his duty that all the cars except the mail, and smoker remained upon the The express car was what the rob- bers wanted, but it was driven high upon the mail car, which was resting on the tail of the tank. Maloney, boiling with rage, felt for his book of rules. It was trere all right, but there was no light to read by, and like enough there was no rule to cover urgent emergencies, such as now confronted him. The only rule he could call to mind was the one at the bottom of the time card: “In case of doubt take the safe side,” and Maloney felt for his gun. In the weneral confusion it lad dropped down into his overalls, but he fished it out and approach- ed the wreck. The oll box, in which the supplies were carried, had been jarred Icose and driven up against the furnace dcor. When it had been there a few sec- onds the oil ignited, and instantly the whole interior of the wrecked engine cab was aflame. When the flash came it show- ed Maloney face to face with the two rob- bers, Being quick and cool, the engineer raised his revolver and blazed away at one of the men, and the robber chief was left without a follower. But, even as Malon pressed the trigger, the desperado held his own gun clese to the engineer's breast and let go. The conductor and passengers, Who were now hurrying up from the rear, saw the murderous weapon pointed straight at Maloney’s heart and made no doubt but that he would be dead in an instant. But when the gun went off the big engineer only staggered, clapped his left hand over bis heart and blazed away at the robber. The spectacle of a man shot through the heart still showing fight seemed to fill the bandit with terror, and being a coward, as many of these fellows are, he turned and dashed away into the darkness, while Ma- loney, still holding his band to his left breast, sent stray bullets over the desert where the robber ran. “In the glare of the light Maloney open- ed his shirt to look for the bullet hole, and there was only a big red spot over his heart. Clos his shirt he examined his jumper, pull his book of rules out, and found a deep furrow plowed across the cover. “That did the business,” said the en- gireer as the conductor approached. “I | teld you that book would be the saving of my life some day.” And then they started to put out the fire. - cee eae A Warm Reception. From Harper's Bazar.