Evening Star Newspaper, December 11, 1897, Page 20

20 dur G2 = (3, eh (ee cece) J (Copyright, 18¢7. PART IL. | It was nearly a month before Cedar Camp that Uncle Billy and Uncie Jim had dissolved partnership. Pride had le Billy from revealing his suspicions of the truth, op of relating the events that preceded Uncle Jim's clandes- tine flight, and Dick Bullen had gone to Sacramento by stage coach the same morn- He briefly gave out that his partner been called to San Francisco on im- of their own, that indeed ate his own removal there } In this he was singularly assisted by nt busine: later. a letter from the absent Jim, dated at San t to be anxious Francisco, begging him about his ess, as he had hopes of pres- ently en ng into a profitable busine: but with no further allusion to his preci tate departure, nor any suggestion of a Teason for it. For two or three days Uncle Billy was staggered and bewildered; in his profound simplicity he wondered if his ex- traord:nary good fortune that night had deaf to some explanation of his more terrible, if he had low” and incredible intima- of taking his partner's extravagant bet as real and binding. In this distress he wrote to Uncle Jim an appealing and apolo- letter, albeit somewnat !ncoherent and te, and bristling with misspelling, camp ng and old partnership jibes. But to this elaborate epistle he received only Uncle Billy's repeated assurances of his own br-ght prospects and his hopes that his old partner would be more fortunate, sin- on the claim. For a week ie Billy sviked, but his invinci- made u gle-hunded, or two Un ble optimism and good humor got the bet- ter of him, and he thought only of his old partner's good fortune. He wrote him reg- ularly, but always to one address—a box at the San Francisco post office, which to the simple-minded Uncle Billy suggested a cer- tain official importance. To these letters Uncle Jim responded regularly, but briefly. From a certain intuitive pride in his part- affection, Uncle Billy did not letters openly to the camp, al- spoke freely of his former part- nising future, and even read them It is needless to say that t Uncie Billy’s story renee. On the con- , humorous or extravagant, were The partners had cle Jim, had re- ner and hi show thes though b ner’s pre short extract the camp did not acce They hae lessne had darkly sug- had reall s amp, he was i yet be found reech owl the a's disappear- agonized utter- was highly indeed, of n | i s atmosphere of bur- nd then a singular place in the attitude of the camp toward him and the disrupted part- nership. Hitherto, for no reason whatever, all had agreed to put the blame upon Billy —possibly use he was present to re- As days passed that slight reti- which at first attributed to remorse and + how began to tell as Here was poor Uncle while his seifish lap of luxury in glowing ac- cess only con- tributed to the sympathy now fully given in his behalf, and their execration of the absconding partner. It was proposed at Biggs’ store that a letter expressing the indignation of the camp over his heartless conduct to Fis late partner, William Fall, should be forwarded to him. Condolences Were offered to Uncle Billy, and uncouta were made to cheer his loneliness. men twice a own sion of half a do: his cabin, carrying their and winding up with a premises, was suffic his eclipsed gayety and remind ppler past. “Surprise” working parties visited his claim with spasmodic essays toward helping him, and great good humor and hilarity prevailed. It was not | an unusual thing for an honest miner to arise from an idle gathering in some cabin and excuse himself with the remark that Teckon an hour's work i And yet, as be- le if any of these y believed in their S8 or in the gravity of the Indeed, a kind of hopeful cyn- icism ran through their performances. “Like as not, Uncle Billy is still in ‘ca- * (Le, shares) with his pard, and laughin’ at sendin’ him of our tomi Z winter passed, and the rains, s of cloudless ‘skies and chili fore, it reckless bene: was vi a nights be There were still freshets from the Ww reservoirs piled high in the Sierran passes, and the “bar” was flooded, but that passed too, and only the sunshine remained. Monotonous as the | Seasons were, there was a faint stirring in the camp with the stirring of the sap in pines and cedars. And then one day ement on the bar. ther and thither, crowd on Un retained Fall and Foster.” there was the | ted report of a revolver, to all aimlessly exploded in the air ene on the outskirts af the as- As the crowd opened Uncle red, pale, hysterical, breathless a little under the back-slap- ishaking of the whole e Billy had “struck it rich’ Was a strange exe Men were seen running h but mainiy gathering in a ull semblage Ea just mated to v 5,000! Although in that supreme moment he missed the face of his old partner, he could not help seeing the unaffected delight and happiness shining in the eyes of ali who surrounded him. It was characteristic of that sanguine but uncertain life that Success and good fortune brought no jeal- ousy nor envy to the unfortunate, but was rather a promise and prophecy of the ful- fillment of their own hopes. The gold was there—nature but yielded up her secret. Ther no prescribed limit to her bounty. So strong was this conviction that a long-suffering but still hopeful miner, in enthusiasm of the moment, stooped nd patted a large boulder with the apostrophic, od old gal!” Then followed a night of jubilee, a next of hurried consultation with a < expert and speculator lured to the camp b he good tidings, and then the very next night—to the utter astonishment of Cedar Camp—Uncle Billy, with a draft for $20,000 in his pocket, started for San Fran- cisco, and took leave of his claim and the camp forever! Ct a, We emnen Seale . When Uncie Billy landed at the wharves of San Francisco he was a little bewildered. The Golden Gate beyond was obliterated by the incoming sea fog, which had also roofed in the whole city, and lights already glittered along the gay streets that climbed the gayer sandhills. As a western man, UNCLE JIM AND UNCLE BILLY WRITTEN POR THE EVENING STAR BY BRET HARTE. LOD ION OOOO, else) ce Le tkse hae tsehselse sokse, 32) 90.4 a ei N by Bret Harte.) upon him. He kad heard of a cheap pop- u'ar hotel, much frequented by the return- ing gold miner who had entered its hes- pitable doors, that had an easy access to shops, and emérged in a few hours a gor- geous butterfly of fashion, leaving his old chrysalis behind him. Thence he inquired his way, hence he afterward issued in gar- ments glaringly new and ill-fitting. But he had not sacrificed his beard, and there was still sot hing fine and original in his handsome, weak face that overcame the cheap convention of his clothes. Making his way to the post cffice, he was again dis- cemfited by the great size of the building, and bewildered by the array of little square letter boxes behind glass which occupied one whole wall opaque and locked wocden ones numbered. His heart leaped; he remem- bered the number, and tefore him was a window with a clerk behind it. e: and an equal number of legibly Uncle Billy ned forward. ‘Kin you tell me if the man that box 690 b'longs to is in?” The clerk stared, made him repeat the avestion, and then turned away. But he returned Imost instantly, with two or three grinning heads besides his own, ap- parently set behind his shoulders. Uncle Billy was again asked to repeat his ques- ticn. He did so. “Why don't you go and see if 690 is in his box?” said the first clerk, turning with affected asperity to ene of the others. The clerk went away, returned, and said with singular gravity moment aro, but he’: his legs. It ather crampin’ at first; and he can’t stand it more than 10 hours at a time, you know.” But simplicity has its limits. Uncle Billy had already guessed his real error in be- Heving his partner was officially connected with the building: his cheek had flushed and then paled again. “He was there a gone out to stretch The pupils of nis i iS Orie eee Be THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1897-26 PAGES. to certain women, who need not be other- wise mentioned, which startled them into a sentimental yet grateful confusion. But I think he was chiefly pleased with watch- ing the arrival of the Sacramento and Stockton steamers at the wharves, in the hope of discovering his old partner among the passengers on the gangplank. Here, with his old superstitious tendency and gambler’s instinct, he would augur great suctess in his search that day if any one of the passengers bore the least resem- blance to Uncle Jim, if a man or a woman stepped off first, or if he had met a single person’s questioning eye. Indeed, this got to be the real occupation of the day, which he would on no account have omitted, and to a certain extent revived each day in his mind the morning’s work of their old partnership. He would say to himself, “It’s time to go and look up Jim’’—and put off what he was pleased to think were his pleasures, until this act of duty was ac- complished. In this singleness of purpose he made very few and no entangling acquaintances, nor did he impart to any one the secret of his fortune, loyally reserving it for his partner’s first knowledge. To a man of his natural frankness and simplicity this was a great trial, and was, perhaps, a crucial test of his devotion. When he gave up his rooms at the Oriental—as not necessary af- ter his partner's absence—he sent a letter, with his humbler address, to the myster- ious lock box of his partner without fear shame. He would explain it all when they met. But he sometimes treated unlucky and returning miners to a dinner and a visit to the gallery of some theater. Yet while he had an active sympathy with and understanding of the humblest, Uncle Billy, who for many years had done his own and his partner’s washing, scrubbing, mending and cocking, and saw no degrada- tion in it, was somewhat inconsistently ir- ritated by menial functions in men, and although he gave extravagantly to waiters, and threw a dollar to the crossing sweeper, there was always a certain shy avoidance of them in his manner. Coming from the theater one night Uncle Billy was, how- ever, seriously concerned by one of these crossing sweepers turning hastily before them and being knocked down by a passing carriage. The man rose and limped hur- riedly away, but Uncle Billy was amazed and still more irritated to hear from his companion that this kind of menial occu- pation was often profitable, and that at some of the principal crossings the sweep- ers were already rich men. But a few days later brought a more notable event to Uncle Billy. One after- noon in Montgomery street he recognized in one of its smartly dressed frequenters a man who had a few years before been a member of Cedar Camp. Uncle Billy’s childish delight at this meeting, which seemed to bridge over his old partner's absence, was, however, cnly half responded to by the ex-miner, and then somewhat satirically. In the fullness of his emotion “I SAY—, IT AIN'T A HER, IS IT?” blue eyes had contracted into suggestive black points. f you'll let me in at that winder, young feilers,” he said with equal gravity, “I'll show yer how I kin make yer small enough to go in a box without crampin'! But I only wanted to know where Jim Foster lived.” At which the first clerk became perfun>z- tery again, but civil. “A letter left in his box would set you that information,” he said, “and here's paper and pencil to write it now.” Uncle Billy took the paper and began to write: “Just got here. Come and see me at ——” He paused. A brilliant idea nad struck him; he could impress both his old partner and the upstarts at the window: he would put in the name of the latest “swell” hotel of San Francisco—said to be a fairy dream of opulence. He added “The Oriental,” and without folding the paper shoved it in the window. “Don’t you want an envelope?” asked the clerk. “Put 2 stamp on the corner of it,” responded Uncle Billy, laying down a coin, “and she'll go through.” The clerk smiled, but affixed the stamp, and Uncle Billy turned away. But it was a short-lived triumph. The Gi pointment at finding Uncle Jim's ad- dress conveyed no idea of his habitation seemed to remove him farther away, and lcse his identity in the great city. Be- sides, he must now make good his own a/- dress and seek roo:ns at the Oriental. He went thither. The furniture and decora- tions—even in these early days of hotel buildirg in San Francisco—were extrava- gant and overstrained, and Uncle Billy felz lost and lonely in his strange surroundings. But he took a handsome suite of rooms, paid for them in advance on the spot, and then, half frightened, walked out of them to ramble vaguely through the city in the feverish hope of meeting his old partner. At night his Inquietude increased; he could not face the lonz row of tables in the nil- lared dining room, filled with smartly dressed men and women; he evaded his bed room, wfth its brocaded satin chairs and its gilt bedstead. and fled to his mod- est lodgings at the Good Cheer House, and appeased his hunger at cheap restau- rant, in the company of retired miners and freshly arrived eastern emigrants. Two or three days passed thus in this quaint double existence. Three or four times a day he would enter the gorgeous Oriental with affected ease and carelessness. demand his key from the hotel clerk, ask for the letter that did not come, go to his room, gaze vaguely from his window on the passing crowd below for the partner he could not find, and then return to the Good Cheer house for rest and sustenance. On the fourth day he received a short note from Uncle Jim: it was couched in his usual sanguine but brief and business-like style. He was very sorry, but important and profitable business took him out of town, but he trusted to re- turn soon and welcome his old partner. He was for the first time Jocose, and hoped that Uncle Billy would not “see all the siehts” before he. Uncle Jim. returned. Disappointing as this procrastination was to Uncle Billy a gleam of hope irradiated it. The letter had bridged over that gulf which seemed to yawn between them at the post office. His old partner had ac- cepted his visit to San Francisco without question. and had alluded to a renewal of their old intimacy. For Uncle Billy, with all his trustful simplicity, had been tor- tured by two harrowing doubts, one whether Uncle Jim in his new fledged smartness as a “city’” man--such as he saw in the streets—would care for his rough companionship; the other, whether he, Uncle Billy, ought not to teH him at once of his changed fortune. But, like all weak, unreasoning men, he clung desper- ately to a detail—he could not forego his old idea of astounding Uncle Jim by giving him. his share of the “strike” as his first intimation of it, and he doubted, with more reason perhaps, if Jim would see him after he had heard of his good for- tune. For Uncle Billy had stil fright- brought and thrilled up by inland rivers, he vas fascinated by the tall-masted seagoing ships. and he felt strange sense of the remoter mystericus ocean—which he had never seen. But he was impressed and Startied by smartly dressed men and wo- men, the passing of carriages, and a sud- den conviction that he was strange and foreign to what he saw. It had been his cherished intention to call upon his old partner in his working clothes, and then clap down on the table before him a draft $10,000 as his share of their ol4 claim. But in the face of these brilliant strangers s and unexpected timidity came ened recollection of Uncle Jim's sudden stroke for independence, and thet rigid punctiliousness which had made him ss gedly accept the responsibility of hig ex- travagant stake at euchre. With a view of educating Uncle Jim’s company, he “sew: of San Francisco—as hardly be called a pure times rewarded vice Uncle Billy confided to him that he was seeKing his old partner, Jim Foster, and reticent of his own good fortune, spoke slowingly of his partner's brilliant expecta- tions, but deplored his inability to find him. And just now he was away on important business. “I reckon he’s got back.” said the man dryly. “I didn’t know he had a lock box at the post office, but I can give you his other address. He lives at the Pre- sidio, at Washerwoman’s bay.” He stop- ped and looked with a satirical smile at Uncle Billy. But the latter, familiar with California mining camp nomenclature, saw nothing strange in it, and merely repeated his companion's words. “You'll find him theer! Good-bye! so long! Sorry I'm in a hurry,” said the ex- miner, and hurried away. Uncle Billy was too delighted with the Prospect of a speedy meeting with Uncle Jim to resent his former assoclate’s super- cilious haste, or even to wonder why Uncle Jim had not informed him that he had re- turned. It was not the first time that he had felt how wide was the gulf between himself and these others, and the thought not orly drew him closer to his old partner, as well as his old idea—as it was now Dos- sible to surprise him with the draft. But as he was now going to surprise him in his own boarding house—probably a handsome one—Uncle Billy reflected that he would do so in a certain style. He accordingly went to a livery stable and ordered a landau and pair, with a negro coachman. Seated in it, in his best and most ill-fitting clothes, he asked the coachman to take him to the Presidio, and leaned back in the cushions as they drove through the streets with such an expres- sion of beaming gratification on his good- humored face that the passers-by smiled at the equipage and its extravagant occu- pant. To them it seemed the not unusual sight of the successful miner “‘on a spree.” To the unsophisticated Uncle Billy their smiling seemed only a natural and kindly recognition of his happiness, and he nod- ded and smiled back to them with unsus- pecting candor and innocent playfulness. “These yer Frisco fellers ain’t all slouches, you bet,” he added to himself, half aloud, at the back of the grinning coachman. Their way led through well-built streets to the outskirts, or rather to that portion of the city which seemed to have been over- whelmed by shifting sand dunes, from which haif-submerged fences and even low houses barely marked the line of highway. The resistless trade winds which had mark- ed this change blew keenly in his face and slightly chilled his ardor. At a turn in the road the sea came in sight, and sloping to- ward it the great cemetery of Lune moun- tain, with white shafts and marbles that glittered in the sunlight like the sails of ships waiting to be launched down that slope into the eternal ocean. Uncle Billy shuddered. What if it had been his fate to seek Uncle Jim there! “Dar’s yar Presidio!” said the negro coachman a few moments iater, pointing with his whip, “and dar’s yar Wash-wo- man’s bay!”" Uncle Billy stared. A huge quadrangular fort of stone with a flag flying above its battlements stood at a little distance, press- cabins or cottages, like stranded driftwood around its shore. But there was no man- sion, no block of houses, no street, not an- other habitation or dwelling to be seen. Uncle Billy’s first shock of astonishment @ vague memory they had both abardoned. A cert: - stinct—he knew not why, a es it might be one of with outs hed hands. Uncle Billy caught them, And one supreme pressure seemed to pour out and transfuse his whole simple soul into hig partner’s. There they Swayed each other backward and forward and sideways by their still clasped hands, urtil Uncle Billy, With a glance at Uncle Jim's bandaged shoved him by sheer force down into chair. Uncle Jim was first to speak. “Caught, b'gosh! I mighter known you'd be as big a fool as me! Look you, Billy Fall, do you know what yqu’ve gone? You've druv me outer the strdets Whar I was makin’ an honest livin’, by day, on three crossin’s! Yes,” he laughed, forgivingly, “you druv me outer it, by day, jest because I reckoned that sometime I gmight run onto your darned fool face’—another laugh and a grasp of the hand—‘and then, b’gosh! not content with ruinint my business by day, when I took to it at night, you took. to goin’ out at nights, teo, and so put @ stop- per on me there! Shall I tell you what else you did? Well, by the holy——! I owe this sprained foot to your darned foolish- ness and my own, for it was getting away from you one night after the theater that I got run into and run over! “Ye see,” he went on, unconscious of Uncle Billy’s paling face, and with a raivete, thovgh perhaps not a delicacy, equal to Uncle Billy’s own. “I had to play roots on you with that lockbox business and these letters, because I did not want you to know what I was up to, for you mighta’t like it, and might think it was lewerin’ to the old firm, don’t yer see? 1 wouldn't have gone into it, but I was play- ed cut, and I don't mind tellin’ you now, old man, that when I wrote you that first chipper letter from the lockbox I hedn’t eat anythin’ for two days. But it’s ail right now,” with a laugh. “Then I got into this business—thinkin’ it nuthin’—jest the very last thing—and do you know, old pard I couldn't tell anybody but you—and, in fact. I kept it just to tell you—I've made $056! Yes, sir, $956; solid money, in Adams & Co.’s bank, j'st cuter my trade. Wot trade?” asked Uncle Billy. Uncle Jim pointed to the corner, where stood a large, heavy crossing sweeper’s broom ‘That trade.” “Certingly,” said Uncle Billy, with a quick laugh. “It's an out-door trade,” said Uncle Jim gravely, but with no suggestion of awk- wardness or apology in his manner, “and thar ain't much difference between sweep- in’ a crossin’ with a broom and raking over tailings with a rake, only—wot ye set with a broom you have handed to ye, and ye don’t have to pick it up and fisa it outer the wet rocks and sluice gushin’, and it’s a heap less tirin’ to the back.” “Certingly, you bet!” said Uncle Billy, enthusiastically, yet with a certain nervous abstraction. z “{’m glad ye say so—for, yer see, I didn’t know at first how you'd tumble to my doing it—until I'd made my pile. And ef I hadn’t made it, I wouldn’t hev set cyes en ye egain, old pard—never!” : “Do you mind my runnin’ out a minnit?” said Uncle Billy, rising. ‘You see, I’ve got a friend wa‘tin’ for me outside—and I reck- on’—he stammered—“I'll jist run out and send him off, so I kin talk comf’ble to ye. “Ye ain't got anybody you're owin’ men- ey to,” said Uncle Jim earnestly; “‘any- ody follerin’ ycu to get paid, eh? For 1 kin jest set down right here and write ye “No,” He slipped out of the door and ran like a deer to the wait- ing carriage. Thrurting a $20 gold piece into the coachran’s hand he said hoarsely, “I ain't wantin’ that kerridge’just now; ye kin driv2 arcund and hev a private jam- boose, all by yourself, the rest of the after- noon, and then come and wait for me at the top o” the hill yonder.’ Thus quit of his gorgeous equipage, he hurried back to Uncle Jim, grasping his $10,000 draft in his pocket. He was nerv- cus, he was frightened, but he must get rid of the draft and his story and have it over. ut before he eouldtspeak that he was un- ectedly stopped by Uncle Jim. Now, look yer, Billy boy!" said Uncle Jim, “I got suthin® to say to ye—and I might as well etear it off my mind at once and then we can start fair agin. Now,” he went on witha half laugh, it enough for me to go on pretendin’ I was rich and doing’ a big business and gettin’ up that lock-box dodge so as ye couldn't find out whar Ff hung out and what I was doin'—wasn't it enough for me to go on with all this play-actin,’ but you, you long- legged orang ctrss! must get up and go to lyin’ and play-actin’,'too!” Me play-actin’? Me lyin'?” gasped Un- Billy. Uncle Jim leaned back im his chair and laughed. “Do you think ‘you could fool me? Do you think I didn’t see through your little game 0’ going to that swell ori- ental, jest as if ye'd made a big strike—and all the while ye wasn’t sleepin’ or eatin’ there, but jest wrastlin’ yer hash and hav- ing a roll down at the Good Cheer! Do you think I didn’t spy on ye and find that out? Oh, you long-eared jackass rabbit He laughed until the tears came into his eyes, and Uncle Billy laughed too, albeit until the laugh on his face became quite fixed, and he was fain to bury his head on the table. “And yet.” said Uncle Jim, with a deep treath, “Gosh! I was frightened—jest for a mipit! I thought mebbe you had made a big strike—when I got your first letter—and I made up my mind what I'd do! And then I remembered you was jest that kind of an open sluice that couldn't keep anythin’ to yourself, and you'd have been sure to have yelled it out to me the first thing. So I waited. And I found you out, you old sin- ner!” He reached forward and dug Uncie Billy in the ribs. “What would you have done?” said Un- cle Billy, after an hysterical collapse. Uncle Jim’s face grew grave again. hev—I’d—hev cl’ared out! Out er ‘Frisco! out er Californy! out er Amurky! I couldn’t have stud it! Don’t think I would hev begrudged ye yer luck! No man would have been gladder than me.” He leaned forward again, and laid his hand caressing- ly upon his partner’s arm—"Don’t think I'd wanted to take a penny of it—but I—thar! I couldn't hev stood up under it! To hev had you, you that I left behind, comin’ down here rollin’ in wealth and new part- ners and friends, and arrive upon me—and this shanty—and—” he threw toward the corner of the room a terrible gesture, none the less terrible that it was illogical and inconsequent to all that had gone before— “and—and—that broom! There was a dead silence in the room. With it Uncle Billy seemed to feel him- self again transported to the homely cabin at Cedar Camp and that fateful night, with his partner's strange, deter- mined face before him as then. He even fancied that he heard the roaring of the pines without, and did not know that it was the distant sea. But after a minute Uncle Jim resumed: “Of course you've made a little raise scmehow, or you wouldn’t be here?” “Yes,” said Uncle Billy, eagerly; “yes, I've got—” He stipped and stammered. “I've got—a—few hundreds.” “Oh, ho!” said Uncle Jim, cheerfully. He paused, and then added earnestly, “I say, you ain't got left over and above your d—d foolishness at the Orienta) as much as $5007" “L've got,” said Uncle Billy, blushing a little over his first deliberate and affected lie, “I’ve got at least $572. Yes,” he added tentatively, gazing anxiously at his part- ner, “I've got at least that. “Jee whillikins!” said’ Uncle Jim, with a laugh. Then eagerly, “Look here, pard, then we're in velvet. I've got $900. Pur your $500 with'that, and I know a ranch that wevcan cl “pa rt little t for $1,200. That's what I've bees! savin’ up for—that’s my little game. No mote minin’ for me. It’s got a shanty twice as big as our old cabin, night on 100 acres, and two mustangs. We can run it with two Chinamen and just n.ake it howl. ot,yer say, eh?’ He ex- ce “Tm 2 ly, radiant; Jim’s hand. But his smile wrinkled grasping Uncl faded and his clear,;simple brow Baap’ “Uncle. imate ppily not notice it. ola pad,” e th “we'll have ai gay leld of our jamborees. I’ve here—red herrip’s and ©’ carde, and we'll have understand, not for siree; we'll play, for beans.” A sudden light iNuminated Uncle BUly’s face again, but he said with a grim des- Peration, “Not tonight: I’ve got to go into town. That fren’ o’ mine expects me to go to the theayter, don’t ye see? But I'll be out tomorrow at sun-up, and we'll fix up this thing o’ the ranch.” “Beem's to me you're kinder — sae pete Uncle oer: Incle Billy's heart bounded at his part- ner’s jealousy. ‘‘No—but I must, you know,” he returned, with a faint la “I say—it Jim. sald, brightly, ain’t a her, ie it?” sald “Uncle Uncle Billy achieved Anes cyecltane Deep ot tis Me. ’ ~ “Wot,” said Uncle Billy in a low, con- @ diabolical wink. fidential tone to the coachman, “wot do you ’Frisco fellers allow to be the -best, biggest and riskiest gemblin’ salgon here? Suthin’ High toned, you know?” The negro grinned. It was the usual case of the extravagant, spendthrift miner, though perhaps he nad expected a different question ard order. “Dey is de ‘Polka,’ de ‘El Dorado’ and de ‘Arcade’ saloon, boss,” he said, flick- ing his whip meditatively. ‘Most gents from de mines prefer de Polka, for dey is dancing wid de gals frown in. But de real prima facie place for gents who go for buckin’ again de tiger and straight- out gamblin’ is de Arcade.” “Drive there like thunder!’ Billy, leaping into the carriage. 5 * . . . True te his word, Uncle Billy was at his partner’s shanty early the next morn- ing. He looked a littie tired, but happy, and had brought a draft with him for $575, which se explained was the total of his capital. Uncle Jim was overjoyed. They would start for Napa that very day and conclude the purchase of the ranch. Uncle Jim’s: spraimed foot was a sufficient reason for his giving up his present voca- ticn, which he could also sell at a small profit. His domestic arrangements were very si:nple; there was nothing to take with him—there was everything to leave behind. And that afternoon at sunset the two reunited partners were seated on the deck cf the Napa boat as she swung into the stream. Uncle Billy was gazing over the rail- ing with a look of abstracted relief toward the Golden Gate, where the sinking sun scemed to be drawing toward him in the ocean a golden stream that was forever pouring from the bay and the three-hilled city beside it. What Uncle Billy was think- ing of or what the picture suggested to him did not transpire, for Uncle Jim, who, emboidened by his holiday, was luxuriating in an evening paper, suddenly uttered a iong-drawn whistle, and moved closer to his abstracted partner. “Look yer,” he said, pointing to a paragraph he had evi- dently just read, ‘just you listen to this, and see if we ain't lucky, you and me, to be jest wot we air—trustin’ to our own hare work—and not thinkin’ o’ ‘strikes’ and ‘fortins.’ Jest unbutton yer ears, Billy, while I reel off this yer thing I've jist struck In the papers, and see what d—d fools some men kin make o’ themselves. And that theer reporter wot wrote it—must hev sced it reel: Uncle Jim cleared his throat, and, hold- ing the paver close to his eyes, read aloud slowly: “A scene of excitement that recalled the palmy days of '49 was witnessed last night at the Arcade saloon. A stranger, who might have belonged to that reckless epoch, and who bore every evidence of being a stccessful Pike county miner out on a ‘spree,’ appeared at one of the tables with a negro coachman bearing two heavy bags of gold. Selecting a faro bank as his base of operations, he began to bet heavily and with apparent recklessness, until his play excited the breathless attention of every one. In a few moments he had won a sum variously estimated at from $80,000 to $100,- 000. A rumor went round the room that it was a concerted attempt to ‘break the bank, rather than the drunken freak of a western miner, dazzled by some successful strike. To this theory the man’s careless and indifferent bearing toward his extra- ordinary gains lent great credence. The attempt, if such it was, however, was u successful. After winning ten times in suc cession, the k turned, and the unfortu- nate ‘bucker’ was cleaned out, not only of his gains, but of his criginal investment, which may be placed roughly at 320,000. This extraordinary pley was witnessed by a crowd of excited players, who were less impressed my even the magnitude of the stakes than the perfect sang troid and recklessness of the player, who, it is said, at the close of the game, with liberaiity tossed a $20 gold piece to the banker and smilingly withdrew: The man was not rec- of the habitues of the place.” d Unele Jim, as he hurriedly slurred over the French substantive at the ciose, “did ye ever see such God-forsaken feolishnes: Uncle Billy lifted his abstracted eyes from the current, still pouring its unreturning gold into the sinking sun, and said, with a deprecatory smile, “Never!” Nor even in the days of prosperity that visited the Great Wheel ranch of Hand ** did he ever tell his secret to his partner. said Uncle +]. MINGLE JOY WITH SORROW Strange Funeral Customs of the Italians in New York. Even the Poorest Members of the Quarter Can Have a Showy Procession. Bpecial Correspondence of The Evening Star. NEW YORK, December 9, 1897. One of the most remarkable of funeral customs, according to American ideas, is one that has grown up in the Italian quar- ter in New York. The 20.000 or more Ital- jans in the city form a separate communi- ty in the heart of the metropolis and oc- cupy the region about the historic Mul- berry Bend. They are ostly bootblacks, Fuskeart men or day laborers; nearly all of them are poor, but when one of their number dies he is apt to receive a funeral that is more elaborate than most of the residents of 5th avenue have. It is no unusual thing to see a funeral procession of twenty-five to thirty carriages starting from one cf the crowded tenements of the Italian quarter. Behind the hearse, which is sometimes drawn by four horses, comes an open carriage filled with flowers. There are pillows and crosses and wreaths that fairly overflow the sides of the carriage. All the flowers that do duty at the funeral are conveyed to the burial ground, and they are arranged to make as brave a dis- play as possible. After the leaders comes a motley pro- cession of vehicles, rusty-looking hacks, drawn by skeletouized horses and occupied by persons of all ages, who laugh and chat and gaze about as though they were hay- ing the pleasantest kind of time imagina- ble. In fact, the rear of an Italian funeral procession in New York might easily be mistaken for a picnic party. Sometimes the cortege is headed by a brass band, but ihis is not always the case. The idea of hiring a brass band to pay respect to a corpse is one that will not appeal to one brought up with American notions on this subject, but the band, as a part of the fu- neral procession, is a sight too common in New York to attract special attention. The uninitiated person who views this strange cavalcade of fruit and neanut venders doubtless believes that some per- son of note in the Italian colony is dead. Inquiry often reveals the fact, however, that it is only some poor bootblack or street laborer. Now, it is a fact that bootblacks and laborers are not ordinarily burdened with wealth. It is equally true carriages, flowers and brass bands, even the variety to be found on the Bowery and Mulberry street, cost money. So the Italian funeral remained a mystery until it was explained by the undertaker himeelf. The undertaker is a person of stand- ing in the Itaifan colony. To the dole- ful importance which ordinarily to his office he adds a weight of social influence which cannot be claimed by any of his fellows. “It is the custom among my people when @ person dies,” suid the undertaker, “‘to send out an announcement of the fact and invitations to the funeral. If the death occurs in a family of position they prepare the invitation list and I send out the cards; if it is a man in poorer circumstances I make out the list myself. Each person who receives a card understands that if he comes to the funeral he is expected to pay $1 for the privilege, and it is con- sidered an honor to be invited.” “Like it is to be of what you call the 400," explained the undertaker’s assist- ant. “All the actions of men are AN ENDLESS CHAIN Developing Methods of Attack and Defense in Naval Warfare, TORPEDO BOATS RENDERED HARMLESS Their Approach Can Be Detected by Means of Balloons. OUTCOME OF THE CONTEST Written for The Evening Star by Lieut. R. Scallan. The balloon is no novelty on board ship. Many European battle ships are already equipped with apparatus for its reception, filling and maneuvering. Its purpose, so far, however, has merely been to extend the lookout’s horizon and detect the ap- proach of a distant enemy, but henceforth the balloon enters on a new role, that of defending the navies of the world from the insidious attacks of submarine vessels, by extending the field of view beneath the sur- face of the ocean. The story of the changes in naval ma- terial which have resulted in the adoption of the balloon as an adjunct to the wai is both interesting and instructive. Ever since steam and iron accomplished such a radical change in modern navies, gradual- ly transforming the old three-deckers of Nelson’s day into the terrible twenty-knot battie ships of our times, the sole aim of naval inventors and engineers has been to devise successive ways and means of de- stroying the product of their own skill and ingenuity. First came the torpedo, a t rible weapon, carried by the warship Its: to destroy its fellow, speedily followed by the torpedo boat, the sole mission of which was to endeaver to steal unperceived wita- in close range of the battle ship and quiet- ly discharge a ‘‘whitehead” at its vitals. To effect this purpose the smaller boat's speed had necessarily to be increased, or, in other words, more powerful engines had to be built within a much smaller com- pass. Now, in naval affairs, as in nature, the theory of evolution seems to hold good, so the necessary sequence to a torpedo boat was the catcher cr destroyer of torpedo boats, larger ard stouter than these latter vessels, but possessing the speed of an express train, and an armament of light, quick-firing guns of sufficient power to warrant the cognomen, “destroyer.” The only resource left to the torpedo boats lay in seeking to become invisible, or, at least, very difficult of detection. The 1897 type of this c! a low-lying, black, hideous craft, very reliable, but practically indistingutshable at night or at any distance. These very qual- ities, however, only tend to defeat the very end aimed at, for a torpedo cannot be fired with any measure of success beyond about 600 yard: d_surprises at night are both risky and difficult, now that all men-o'- war are fitted out with powerful electric searchlight: The Submarine Boat. Consequently naval designers, disappoint ed at the non-success of the torpedo boat, sought for the next development in e evolution of that vessel, and found it in the ymarine boat, that climax of the ima tion which furnished Jules Verne w r such good material for a romance, and that represents to sailors what the flying inachine does to landsmen, the ultima thule of locomotion. Only few months ago the accounts of the trial trip of the Holland submarine boat at Elizabeth, N. J., attracted the attention of every civil- ized government, and its apparent success seemed to sound the death knell of the htge, cumbrous fronclad, and predestine the naval superiority of whichever nation effected its purchase. But apart from the engrossing question as to which government would succeed in acquiring the rights of Mr. Holland’s in- vention arose the equally important propo- sition of how to nullify, partiall least, if rot entirely, the ‘mingly o ming preponderance of advantages which such a vessel must po: men began to a we fight an en! nor hear; that can approach us under wa in broad daylight and destroy the ship 7 The solution of the riddie ble, yet there were some who philosophically refiected that this last danger would without a doubt be met and prepared for as many others had been before—and, as events showed, they were right, as philosophers always are, or claim to be. Already, before the new enemy is fairly equipped for battle, its supposed in- vulnerability is discounted, its detection assured and its pretensions ridiculed as pre- pesterous. New Use for Balleons. It remained for a Frenchman to discover the means by which this submarine prodi- gy is to be defied, and his plan consists simply of attaching a balloon to the war ship, from whose eminence it has been Proved. by the experiments of the French government, the movements of a subma- rine vessel can be easily detected long be- fore it reaches a dangerous proximity to its intended victim. A little explanation of ths system of submarine attack is nec- essary for the complete understanding of the advantages in the use of a balloon. The actual creation of Verne's fertile brain is still a myth, existing only in his famous book, but boats do exist which, like the Holland, travel ordinarily along the sur- face, but can, when necessary, submerge themselves entirely, and are yet capable of proceeding several hundred yards in any Particular direction. Hence the enemy to be faced by the .ron- clad is one who, as soon as he thinks him- self within the range of vision, will disap- bear beneath the surface, and, having taken the direction of his objective, will silently, invisibly approach it, still within certain lim: watching his target by means of an instrument called the periscope, consisting of a small mirror attached to the boat through a long tube. When finally he has arrived within so short a distance that even the little mirror might attract atten- tion, he draws it in as a snail does his horns, and now, himself deprived of vision, but rejoicing in the knowledge of his un- conscious adversary’s position and capable of making his way toward it without mis- take, he can proceed onward and discharge @ torpedo at the sleeping giant, utterly de- molishing at one stroke the stoutest battle ship that ever waved her ensign to the breeze. There is but one chance of failure, namely, a sudden change in the battle ship's course or speed after the mirror has becn drawn in, which change would not only de- feat the meditated attack, but would also expose the submarine vessel to retaliation if it should come to the surface to search for its lost adversary. Seeing Beneath the Water. The French government has acted on the well-known and undeniable fact that from the car of a balloon it is posstble to see ob- jects under water, even at a considerable depth, and within a large area. The ex- planation is that though the refraction of the rays of light prevents a person near the surface seeing objects at even slight depths, yet the higher one goes, the easier it becomes to detect a submerged object, as long as the distance does not prevent vi- sion altogether. As an example, if a straight tron bar be suspended half in and half out of the water, it will seem to a per- son standing near to be bent at the surface Beth offi ik themselves: be gradually straightening itself out, and the higher the balloon rises, the larger the area becomes within which submerged ob- ee it will be practicable to shell the su>mar- ine vessel, with a vertical plunging fire, frcm the ship, and though the plan sounds ridiculous, yet some measure of success might, no doubt, result, as the boat cannot be at any great depth, since it is aiming for the body of the ironclad, and the plunging fire will not be greatly deflected through striking the water verticaily. A Terrible Fate. The effect of one lucky hit at a sub- marine boat can easily be appreciated—the slightest leak and the unfortunate boat goes plunging down, down to the uttermost depths, while the imprisoned crew, like so many rats caught in a trap, knowing that escape is impossible, sec themselves @oomed to a horrible death, slowly asphyxiated, the very thought of which drives a shuddet through the frame. Remarkable indeed has this cont between the ironclad and the tor —remarkable from mary po'nts v '. but more especially from that of the con- trasts afforded by the methods of fighting alopted by the two adversaries. At night the torpedo boat puts out its fires and s: to become invisible. The ironclad imme- diately sweeps the ocean far and near with t been 10 boat its powerful searchlights, turning night into day. The torpedo boat seeks to ap- proach in silence, and is equipped wit noiseless engines; the ironclad, on the ot! er hand, bristles from the water's Je the crow’s nest with light guns, whic’ conflict will bark most infernally. T° pedo boat again strains every nut and bolt to increase its speed; the ironclad, on the contrary, is surrounded with huge ous steel torpedo nets, whic bar progress, speedy or otherw r last resort the torpedo boat ! ermined to travel below the surface, to sink out of sight, but in vain, for the ironclad, the balloon inte its serv: t contemptuously at ndeavors uny opponent to effect beneath the at it had found impossible to do stly and above board. What will be the ultimate outcome of this duel of ingenuity between pigmy and giant? sa ption a Dr. 8 W. Abbott, Secreta: Board of Health. ‘Two persons standing or working at a distance from each other of five or ten feet, he said, are more lable to transmit an¢ to receive infection from each other when indoors than in the outdoor air. In consequence of the peculiar methods under which tuberculosis is spread from one person to another, from the sick to the well, it is therefore desirable that the most reful attention should be bestowed upon the condition of those persons who are com- pelled either to live or to work indoors, and that a due measure of the work of boards of health with reference to the of the spread of this disease shou pended in this direction. The danger from the consumption of milk and meat of tut culous animals has been investiga thus far, while the danger to be feared from this cause may be said to have pus: from the region of possibility to that of rrobability, that which may be f the diffusion of sputum in incl or spaces mzy be raid to amount to a ec tainty. Its character is too well defined, both by chservation and by experiment, to admit a sonable doubt. The active ‘principle 1 Co F Dineane. of the Massacl infection, the ba is of tuberculosis, is recognizable; it is able of isolation from the body, of cultivation and of inoculation into the lower anim: But, practically, the exact mode of infection, when applic to the daily intercourse of human being is extremely limited, and no evidence has ever been presented which tends to show that such infection r occurs by exposure in the a air, either by the breath of consump Sor by the distribution of sp um upon the surface of the A SEA OF FLAME. On the evening of November, 28th, 1878, 8 fire broke out in the British ship Melanie, loaded with 500 barrels of petroleum. An awful mass of flames shot up from the main hatch and the vessel quivered from stem to stern with explosion of the barrels. Her seams opened and the blazing petroleum poured out into the river, spreading a belt of fire around her. The master and seamen jumped overboard. Captain Sharp, whose vessel was lying close-by, propelled a small boat through the blazing river and after a severe scorching and imminent peril, saved the seamen from a horrible death. All over civilization there are thousands of men in more imminent danger than were those seamen. They are threatened with consumption or are already in the clutch of that deadly disease. If they only knew it, help is at hand. Dr. Pierce’s Golden Med- ical Discovery cures 08 per cent. of all cases of consumption. It also cures bronchitis, asthma, throat and nasal troubles and all diseases of the air passages. It is the great blood-maker, fiesh-builder, and nerve-tonic. It makes the appetite hearty, the digestion SSS aud the liver active. The ‘Golden Medical Discovery the product of that eminent specialist, Dr. R. V. Pierce, who, during the thirty years that he has been chief consulting physician to the great Invalids’ Hotel and Surgical Institute, at Buffalo, has treated more cases than fifty ordinary physicians treat in a lifetime. Thousands given up by doctors, have tes- tified to complete recovery under this mar- velous medicine. Constipation causes and aggravates many serious diseases. It is speedily cured by Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets. Within a certain section of New York State there are three times as many Elgin Watches carried as of all other makes combined, yet less than one- third of the watches on the jewelers’ repair racks in that section are Elgins. Strong evidence that they cost less to keep in order than any other watch. Ask your jeweler about the timekeep- ing qualities of these superb watches, and be sure that the word **Elgin”’ is engraved on the plate of the watch you buy. {Se grade specaly fecommenced Elgin National Watch Co., Elgin, Il. BRENTANO’S have established permancntly their policy of selling all books at Sweeping Reductions trom Publisbers’ Prices.