Evening Star Newspaper, December 11, 1897, Page 21

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, ‘DECEMBER 11, 1897-26 PAGES. TYPES OF MANKIND As They Are Exhibited in Street Cars and Elevators, HOW MEN ACT IN PUBLIC PLACES Different Phases of the Hat and the Seat Problems. PLAYING FOR THE GALLERY Written for The Evening Sta I: EACH OF THE several elevators in a large office build- ing in this town there is hung a neat, gilt - lettered sign, thus inscribed: “This is a public elevator. Gentlemen need not remove their hats.” The hat-removing problem is not an easy one in Wash- ington elevators. Au- thorities (all of them self-constituted) on the subject differ. One of them sends forth the edict, “Keep on your hat and save doctors’ bills." He ap- pends to his edict such questions as, “You don’t remove your hat in a street car, do you?” Then up springs another self-pinna- cled authority, the modern Sir Galahad (with weak eyes and long hair) who makes chivalrousness his forte. “Off with your hat!” shouts he. “Do you aspire to be a boor, a low-down churl? What if you do lay the foundation for pneumonia? Could you acquire pneumonia more Bayardesque- ly? What if you do get your stiff hat dented and smashed? Aren't there other hats? Take it off!” Then the ladies who mourn over the decadence of the human species emit wails in the form of signed communications to the newspapers on the subje It is a sad commentary upon the degeneracy of public manners as ex- It Was a Hit. ibited by persons assuming to he men,” etc. Finally arises the arbitrator of last resort (in his mind) who writes in the “It-ts-all-over” manner. “Take your hat off only in the hotel elevator when in the company of ladies. Keep it on in all other elevators whatsoever.” He does not wind this up with the phrase, “I have spoke," but he means it. Thus, with so ¥ author! the plain, God-fearing n who wants only to do the right thing, without being regarded as a yokel, a boor or a cad by his fellows, finds him- self in a jungle of uncommon density. * for Effect. There is a lack of uniformity of custom that militates against the ready solution of the question. In an ‘vator with a fu passenger list, there is nearly always one man with a predisposition for calcium light plays. He is an unpleasant sort of citizen. of vigitors. most of them un- dd composed about omen, got into a tment elevator on the ground mornings ago. It a cold morning, and the clevator shaft was some- what draughty. All of the men—none of whom ‘ooked iike moral degenerates or rufians—kept their hats on. Here was the opportunity for the unpleasant citizen of the party to inaulge his penchant for grand stard plays. Perceiving that all of his male elevator companions had tacitly and silently assented te the unspoken prop- osition that under the circumstances, there existed no absolute necessity for them to remove their hats, he removed his own with a flourish. With the women in the elevator it was a hit palpable. They re- wardec him approvingly—even beamed up- on him, those of them of certain ages—and from him they directed glances filled with vituperation and scorn at the men who still wore their hats. These men in their turn glared contemptuously at the self- satished-looking aititudinizer who had thus taken the center of the stage at a bound. But there were a few weak ones in the lot The First Man In. —quitters. The quitters sheepishly feil into the game of follow my leader, and sneak- fly pulled off their hats, after the man- ner of schoob boys of whom such an act is sternly demanded. It was cbservable that there was no particular amount of char- ecter in the countenances of the men who did this, while the men who kept their hats on to the finish appeared to have properly broad foreheads and looked as if they needed a close shave once every day. ‘These mez looked at each other and grin- ted when the lime-light poseur who had first removed his chapeau got out at the third floor. Follow the Leader. In proof of the fact that there is no such thing as uniformity of custom in the cle- Vator-and-hat problem, it may be noted that when half a dozen men step, one after Bnother, into an elevator in which two or three women have already taken passage, each man fertively looks at his fellows to see if they make any move to take off their hats. They watch each other tn this fashion until the elevator is under way. If one man removes his hat the others rearly always follow suit. Each man fears to make the “opening break,” because he ig afraid the others might not fall into Ine with him—and the man of today does not like to be considered a performer for effect in every-day life. This elevator-and-hat question will prob- ably adjust itself in time. Other draw- backs to the compléte joy of riding in ele- vators msy not be 580 easily remedied. ‘The end-seat hog who patronizes the open cars also rides in the elevators. He wants to be the first man in and the first man out—and he always is. He shoulders his ‘way through the throng surrounding the elevator door on the ground floor, tackling all Lands, men and women, who bar his path, and struggles, breathless, into the elevator, a good first. He then stands weil within the door, making it necessary for all of the other entering passengers to squeeze by him if they wish to ride on that trip. He stands. close to the door in this way, in order that by no possible mis- chance he may be unable to be the first out. This elevator hog usually goes to the top floor, too, ro that all exiting passengers at thegother floors are again compelled to draw themselves into slat-like compass in order to get by him. ~ The lady who is uncertain as to where she wants to go makes an elevator triv interesting for passengers who have large incomes and therefore plenty of spare time. She doesn’t precisely remember the name of the land and improvement com- pany she wants to interview, but it’s some- where—somewhere— Somewhat Uncertain. The elevator man stops the car at the fourth fioor. “Thezz some kind of a ‘mprovement comp'ny ’n room 0091, around’ t’ th’ right,” he says, opening the elevator door. The lady steps under the lintel of the door, with one foot resting inside the ele- vator and the other upon the fourth floor. She does this so the elevator man cannot close the door or start the elevator without ausing her instant death. What's the name of the company?” she asks the elevator man, wha paws the cable nervously. ‘‘How long has the office been in this building? Are they selling lots out “Round to the Right.” on the ‘Teenth street extension? What did you say the number of the room*is? Is there an oid gentleman with a white beard and a swollen eye connected with— “Room 0001, aroun’ t’ th’ right,” says the elevator man, moving to close the elevator door and clutching the cable, and his look of determination, together with some sub- dued Roman populace muttering in the rear ranks of the elevator’s passengers, finally scares her out of the elevator door- way. Then, there is the man who stands about twelve feet away from the open wrought- iron door of the elevator, in order that the elevator conductor may not see him as he passes up or down, and who, when the ele- vator has gotten a comfortable distance past his floor, bawls out hoarsely, ‘Goin’ up!” or “Goin’ down!” as the case may be. This startles the elevator man so that he pulls up the machine with a suddenness that almost loosens the teeth of the p: sengers, and then he returns for the bawler. Sometimes he does, that is. The passen-! gers all approve him highly when he does not. The player-for-effect has lately been per- fecting some new moves in the street cars, too. One of them was seen going through his little act on a northbound 14th street car the other evening. He was a young man of about the same apparent degree of intell lity as Sir Walter Besant's “city man,” who . is, and always will be a jelly fish. He had a seat. The car rapidly filled up at New York avenue with pretty young women who had been attending a sociable at a G street church. All of the men who were seated, including some elderly men, quite unostentatiously gave their seats up to the young women, who thankeu them in the fashion young women have at length. after many, many years of consideration. decided is right and proper. There were not enou ts for all of them, but there would have been at least one more seat had the before-mentioned ver-for-effect given up his. He did not. looked straight ahead of him, taking no notice whatever of the young women hanging to s nd he seemed to be saying to himself, “Well, if they want to vote and all that, let ‘em hang on to straps in street cars. same as I often have to do. But he wasn’t saying anything of the sort to himself. He was simply waiting for his chance Honors Gray Hairs. The chance came when a poor-looking old woman boarded the car laboriously at K Street. She did not appear to be feeble, but just poor-looking. She no sooner ap- peared at the door of the car than the young man with the seat was on his feet, his hat in one hand, and his other hand out to help the old lady to his seat. By the time he had installed her in the seat, he had made her at least ten Mr. Turvey- drop salaams. Then he looked around the car for glances of applause. His look- around seemed to direct the query, “Now, ain't I noble? Aint I the real thing? Here, you've all seen me stick to my seat in spite of the mellowing glances of all these stout, healthy-looking girls, who are (as you no doubt all saw I considered) quite as well able to stand up as I am; but when hoary age steps in, you see, why, of cou! —don't you all think I'm just about right ‘The player-for-effect never has any sort of notion as to the painful pellucidness of his gallery-enthusers. ‘The athletic, 200-pound young man who never gives up his seat under any circum- stances to any woman, not because he is engaged in maintaining a principle, but simply because he doesn’t have to and doesn't want to, is an unamiable study in swinishness. He was in a closed 9th street car a few days ago. The car was packed trom end to end, and he was the only man sitting. The other men in the car had offered their seats to entering women as occasion required. But this particular young man, who looked a pretty likely chap for center rush on a foot ball team, sat through it all, without even the grace to appear cheap looking. A poorly-clad man carrying an exceedingly boisterous boy baby got on the car at H street and moved up to a strap directly in front of the solitary man sitter. She had about all she could do to hang on to the strap with one hand and to hold the wriggling boy infant in the other arm. The boy infant became interested in the man sitter from the go off. He began by kicking the man sitter’s hat off with his little foot. The man sitter didn’t like this very much, but he replaced his hat and looked out of the window. Then the boy infant slipped down a bit from his mother’s arm for the pur- pose, and kicked the man sitter experi- mentally, but good and hard, in the left ear. He followed this up swiftly with another hat kick with the other foot, and before he lost the advantage thus gained, he leaned over and grabbed the man sit- Unmoved. iy ter’s thick and well-combed hair in both his red Ifttle fists, begrimed and sticky, and pulled the hair with all the force he’ was capable of. Then the unamiable swine made the best~of his bad situation, and gave up his seat to the woman with the militant boy infant. Had-he not been too obtuse, he would have heard the general snicker that went around the car when he got up. - ~ The woman who boards the 14th street car ‘way down town with her two young children does not infuse happiness into the souls of folks who are compelled to take the same cars for their Mt. Pleasant homes. When the woman enters the car with her two young children the car is practically empty, so that she stands one of the children on either side of her seat. in order to let them look out of the win- dow and see how the world moves. When the car begins to fill up with passengers with a three-quarters-of-an-hour trip ahead of them, she permits the children to continue to scan the busy panorama of street life from the car windows, while decrepit men and women hang to straps. She rarely thinks to take one of the young ones in her lap, thus making room for a man or woman who has paid a nickel for a ride and a seat, if seats there be. The only rule for the strap-hanger to pursue under these circumstances is to gently but firmly pick one of the young ones up, take the seat thus made vacant, hold the young one in the lap, and then endeavor to ap- pease the woe of the child and the possible wrath of the mother. To accomplish this successfully, however, a winning way is necessary. ——— PRAISE TO BE CALLED AN ASS. Some of the Many Virtues of That Creature Briefly Reviewed. ¥rom the New Orleans Picayune. To be called an ass ts a great compliment. Humility, patience, charity and industry have been recognized as great virtues ever since mankind has been introspective; but the world has failed to notice that the ass, which is the brunt of the jests of all na- tions, possesses these qualities more fully than any other animal or any human being except the proverbial one in a million. Often we call the man whom we like a “rare old dog.’ and he rather likes it. If we called him a rare old ass, which is finer praise, he would get mad, however. We write poems in praise of the horse, though the horse is in so many respects the ass’ inferior. The horse makes the brilliant cayalry charge, but it is the ass who brings up the army’s ammunition and the food supplies. While one rides on a galloping horse over a plain in safety he despises the and he still despises the ass when, forsaking his hors, he trusts his life to the ass in a mountain pass. The ass is to be found in every part of the world, always melancholy and slow, nobly doing his work, whether in the An- des, the Himalayas, the Rockies, or in the place of his nativity, the orient. Wherever he his dominant characteristics are the m. Wherever he is, he is generally abused; perhaps because he puts up with abuse so mee! Always ke is the friend of the poor. In countries where horses cannot be afforded he is the sole means of transport. All day long he will go over a hot plain or up a rocky mountain side, loaded down with more than any horse could bear, though his weight is oniy half that of the average horse, while if a horse were limited to the focd it subsists on the horse would fall down in its tracks and die, though it had no load. With the load it would fall down anyway. That the ass can be cured of his only two vices of braying and kicking is proved by the superior conduct of the London moke, who is about a third cousin of the oricntal ass of myth,,of fable and biblical story. The moke, who is about the size of a big Newfoundland dog, draws the barrels of the costermongers who vend fruits and veg- etables from door to door in all parts of the city. All day you may occasionally hear him of your window chivy-chivying with his rapid and mincing little steps over the as- phalt pavements. At the same gait he will carry his bar well loaded with produce, and two big costermongers, up the side of a hill. This sometimes calls for sharp re- rearks about brutes who ought to be in from old gentlemen with white side whis- and a kindly expression of mouth, to the costermonger usually replies: n, old plum pudding. It ’urts you n ‘im.’” Until Bareness Burdett-Coutts and the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals—organized in imitation of the or- i ok the matter in sage of the law a ntimental moment in the of commons, instead of feeding his little donkey the costermonger usually beat him, and the moke, too patient and too humble to attempt to petition the commons itself, tried to thrive on the whipping and eeded wonderfully. There is no finer playfellow for children ana moke. When his fuzzy fur is wi soft, y and pretty. A youngste craw] all over him and under him and pound and pull him in every part of his and he will only smile the con- -d smile of the moke who is living in f oke heaven of currycembs and good ons. hat the ass is not stupid equal cleverness with the horse in learn tricks, by his picking his way where a horse cannot go, by his calmness under conditions that make a horse uncomfortably fretful. But he seems homely and out of proportion, matter of great s house proved by his unless you look at him closely, and the world too often goes by appearances. Seru- tinize sharply the patient face of the ass, and you will find those qualities which make a face educational and perhaps even beautiful. ———— Convicts as Church Bui! From the London Matl. In the stony fastness of Portland's rug- ged isle, or rather promontory—in whose Penal settlement the notorious Jabez Bal- four is at present expiating his misdeeds— there is a sight which tourists often over- look. The beautiful garrison church of St. Pe- ter’s is convict worth throughout, with the exception only of the colored mosaics in the reredos, which were inserted by an italian artist. The church is of course of Portland stone, the same material of which St. Paul's Cathedral, the law courts, the monument, Westminster bridge and the banqueting room at Whitehall have been built. St. Peter's is situated just outside ers. the prison domains, and is for the use of the line regiment stationed at Verne cita- del, the highest point on the island. The interest attaching to such a building at is hgightened by the circumstances t the verger—an ex-warder of Portland pris on—can tell you whose work is represented in particular parts. The border around the porch and the mosaic pavement of the sanctuary are the delicate handiwork of Constance Kent, the lady of gentle birth who murdered her step-brother and was irduced to confess her crime by a Brighton rgyman. The stone pulpit, the body of which is in one piece, was erected by the Irish Fenians. The font at the door and the lectern in the center were chiseled by young Whitechapel thieves, who proved to be such exceptionally skiliful artisans that it was a pity they ever took to thieving. This wild corner of England contains a practically inexhaustible supply of the fa- mous white stone, and as many of the quarries are owned by the government, the Portland convicts are employed to work them. They can be seen at work by the visitor almost any day. Ten or a dozen of them will be tugging a rope attached to a trolley, on which some huge mass of stone is being borne along a narrow !ine of rails, and the scene forcibly reminds one of the famous picture in which Egyptian slaves are depicted quarrying stones for the temples and palaces of that ancient em- pire. ——__+e+-____ He Was Averse to Troy Weight. From the Burlington Hawkeye. ‘The highest grade of negro is the private car porter. It was such a negro, young and with many fine mannerisms and some money, who decided to take a trip to Europe. In London he made the acquaint- ance of several English-bred negroes. By these he was shown the sights and intro- duced int> society. One evening he was in- vited to “sit in” a little poker game. He was well acquainted with the game as played at home, ard did not hesitate to play. His limited acquaintance with Eng- lish money cost him several good pots. At last he got four aces and knew exactly‘ where he was, for four aces have their value the world over. Hie opponent “‘skin- ned” his hand carefully after cards had been “‘doled” and sald: “Ah’ll just bet yo’ a pound, Mistah John- sing. “Well,” said the American, “Ah don’ rightly know how much a pound is, but Ah’ll jest raise vo’ a ton.” ——---s0+ Trained Recruit. From the Philadelphia Record. Reeruiting Sergcant—‘Do you know any- thing about the drill?” = Recruit—“Av coorse. Didn't Of jist tell ye Oi wurked in a quarry these foive year past.” ——__+e+—____ Some girls who ir an air of innocence all the t weal seem ime te be trying to make wt rustle, like a silk petticoat.—Puck, WELCOME PAY DAYS How the Men in Tile ‘Sam's Army Get Their Money, LIKED THE OLD SYSTEM BEPEER Then the Coming of the Paymaster Was a Great Event. saath 4 ¢ THE CEREMONY IN THE NAVY —_—_-—____ Written for The Evening Star, HE SOLDIERS OF the regular army of ¥ the United States were pleased, a few weeks ago, over the War _Department’s announcement that it intended to adopt Paymaster General Stanton’s recommen- dation for the re- sumption of the for- mer system of pay- ing off enlisted men —that is, in person by tne departmental paymasters. They were correspondingly disappointed when, a short time later, the War Depariment an- nounced that the present system would be continued. The old system of direct pay- ments by the paymasters had prevailed sirce the establishment ®of the United States army until about two years ago, when, on the score of economy in the pay- nasters’ and the paymasters’ clerks’ mile- age accounts, fhe system of forwarding the enlisted men their monthly pay by expr: Was inaugurated. This is the system that is to be continued, aithovgh it is said to have worked unsatisfactorily from the be- gining. A good deal of money thus ex- pressed to remote posts has been lost,’ muci confusion has arisen in setting losses right, and the paymasters themselves heavily borded, incessantly complain to the de- partment of the injustice of compelling trem to transfer to the hands of others, rot bonded at all, moneys for the loss of which, in transit, they or their bondsmen might be made to suffer. The soldiers themselves, and especially the old-timers, regard the ‘expressed-envel- ope pay-day with unconceaied dislike. It practically does away with the old-time joyous pay-day function. Under the pres- ent system, the men simply straggle into the orderly rocm upon the first sergeant’s announcement that the moncy has arrived, and under the eye of the captain or first lieutenant, or one of the minor officers of their companies, are handed their strong manilla envelopes—a complete shearing of all the former fun of standing alphabetical- ly in line on pay-day, and of crackling in the hands fresh bills and of jingling loose gold and silver dished out at first hand by the paymaster’s clerk with the plastered hair, under the supervision, of the puffy paymaster with the very strong cigar, and other little joys attending the long-cstab- lished system of paying off. ; Arrival of the “Paymaster. The fun of watching out for'the arrival of the paymast®r as pay day drew nigh was scmething that the soldiers looked forward to, especially in the lonely posts off the railroads. At these remote po: e driver of the post ambulance wor Ss be the first n to get the ne that the pay- ter was approaching. Tha commanding r would get a.dispagch, brought to the post by pony messenger, from the neares tation, announcing that: the paymaster ive at the station at such-and- such an hour, andhe would summon the ambulance driver and order him to. have embulance, ready, :"prepared for the paymaster,” at that, hour... Then, the: am- bulance driver woult lope to the quarters of the men with the news, and, it:would be all o post Jike wild-fire, At such posts -an escort. of about half a dozen men was always provided for the ambulance carrying the paymaster, and, for no especial reason aside from the cha , ail the men liked to b 8 members of these escort parties. Very often during the past quar- ter of a century these escort parties have had heavy work cut out for them in fending the paymaster and his money grips from the aitacks of determined bandits, and on at least two notable occasions they have been outfought and practically anni- hilated by the highwaymen. At the larger posts, nearer to civilization, and direcily on lines of railroad, the time of the arrival of the paymaster was pure- ly problematical up to the very hour he put in his appearance in garrison, and when pay day time drew eloseno exact calendar day was ever adhered to by the paymasters under the former system for peying off in certain posts—the men made it a practice to bet tobacco, trinkets of the kit or even small sums of money on the day of the paymaster’s arrival. The inter- est of the canteen steward in the matter was probably mere acute for business rea- scns than that of any other man in a large post, for it devolved upon him to provide the necessary number of barrels of beer to mect the demand the paymaster’s ar- rival created. Suppressed Excitemen Even after the arriyal of the paymaster at the post the men were usually kept on tenter hooks for a coupie of hours before they learned just when they were to get their moncy. Those unoccupied with military @uties would keep an eye on the command- ing officer's quafters, where the paymas- ters always regaled themselves for any pcriod from one to four or five hours be- fcre beginning business. The appearance of the paymaster’s clerk with his heavy leathcrn bag, plodding along for regimental headquarters, would be the signal for a sort of suppressed shout, and then the first sergeants of the companics would speed in- to the quarters and order the men to as- sume sidearms and gloves for the paying- cff ceremony. The men were marched to regimental headquarters in companies, and then arranged in Indian file, alphabetically, according to their names. The paying off weuld be done rapidly, and the men would disperse for the chief business of the day— settling up. On pay days the enlisted banker, the lender of small sums of money to com- Trades at the rate of interest cf about 500 per cent a year, would establish a sort of flyer office of his own on his bunk. Soldfers of the United States army are scrupulously hcnest in their payment. of debts, even to the Shylocks of the service, and for several hours ofter the paymaster .l.ad finished his work he would do a quiet but;none ‘the less profitable business on hig bunk. Occasion- ally, when the men would crowd too thickly around him, he. would drop business for a spell and go outside, for;his bersiness was a forbidden and surreptitigusivone, ‘and he feared the possible visityof accompany of- ficer. oe it Laying in Provisipns. The very first thing the pgid-off soldier does after recetving. hise money is to pro- vide himself with sufficient tebacco to get him through the month, It goes not take @ recruit very long to ,percgjve the good sense of this move. After;he has gone practically tobaccoless"Ifor’% couple of months, owing to his faitare t6 make proper provision in this respeet! on°pay days, he falls into the habit of the bid-timers of repairing to the post ‘ekcharire from the paymastcr’s desk and getting himself an armful of tobacco, sméking ‘er chewing. Ninety-three per cent ofthe soldiers of the United States army’ either smoke or chew, or indulge in both habits, according to statistics’ compiled on the subject. Bol- diers have of recent years united infor- mally against men known as “tobacco bums."" There used to be class of men in the army who rarely purchased any to- bacco themsaives, but depended upon their srroothness to supply ‘themselves with the weed from the stock of their comrades. ‘That class of men has been practically sup- pressed now, and a soldier's need must be _yery great, and his reputation as-a “‘buyer”’ when he has the money perfectly estab- Mshed. before he can get ‘The post laundresses “are the pit Een tea ote ney make their business to get hold. of the men 1 all on hana, | the canteen—for the post laundresses are }wives of soldiers themselves, and they know that when a goldier gets into the can- teen he is pretty apt to stay there—on pay day, that is—until he has no money left for washerwomen or for anybody else to whom he may be indebted. To the credit of the soldiers it should be said, however, that a very great majority of them are careful to keep entirely out of sight of the centeen until they have made themselves financially four-square so far as the post is concerned. « Invariably Makes Trouble. The pay-day excitement around a post generally lasts three or four days after the men have got their money. The offi- cers don't like pay day, for it nearly al- ways brings trouble upon a good many soldiers, often upon men with excellent records. For several days after pay day the canteen is filled to overflowing, and the sergeant of the guard is often called upon by the officer of the day to sup- press the canteen pay-day hilarity, which is invariably of the most vociferous sort, or to clear the canteen out altogether and lock it up when, as often happens, the men get to fighting among themselves. The guardhouse of a large post is pretty well filled after each pay day. There is an un- written regulation in the army to the effect that if a soldier gets drunk in the canteen after nightfall, and all of his mili- tary work is finished, he is not to be pounced upon by members of the guard it he quietly seeks his bunk in quarters. Only when he exhibits a fighting or other mischievous inclination is he to be hauled before the officer of the day. Unfortu- nately, most soldiers of the regular army, when they become canteen sodden, find fighting the most entertaining business immediately at hand, and that is the rea- scn the guardhouse gets so many ‘of the soldiers after pay day. Few sodliers have a cent of their pay left a week after pay day, and during the remainder of the month most of them are greatly put to it to get hold of postage stamps to mail their letters. In the Navy. In the navy there is even more uncer- tainty over pay day than there used to be in the army under the od system. The Jack-of-the-dust, who is the paymaster’s yeoman’s striker ard general dog robber, becomes a bluejacket of considerable im- portance when “serving out” day, as it is called in the navy, impends. His appear- ances up forward to smoke a peaceful pipe always assemble a knot of shor raving: men around him, and these men impertun him eagerly to tell them when money is to be served out. The Jack-of-the-dust doesn’t generally know any more about it than the coal-passers on watci: down below, not being on exactly intimate terms with the paymaster of the ship, but because his station is aft the door of the paymaster’s office the men figure it that he ought to Know all about it, and he does not disabuse their minds on the matter, relisning the at- tention that is paid to him. There ts a lot of preliminary business in the paymaster’s office ona man-of-war be- fore the enlisted men get their money. A function that takes place two or three days before the men are paid off is the erving out of small stores—tobacco. lan- ards, cloth for uniforms, all sorts of gar- ments and small gear required »y sailors. The men “put down” for the stuff they need of this sort about a week before it is served out to them. When the Jack-of- the-dust, after fuming around in the pa: master’s store rooms for a few days, has got the gear out and ready for distribution, the boatswain’s mate calls the men aft by divisions. Taney “lay aft" to the paymas- ter’s office, get the stuff they have put down for, and carry it off to their ditty bags in their arms. The next day they are called aft again, in ship's divisions, as be- fore, to “sign” for what they have drawn. They step into the paymaster’s office, one by one, and inscribe their signatures on the dotted lines indicated by the paymas- ter’s clerk, and some of the signatures thus pu: down are curiosities of penman- ship. An occ; nal Chinese, Japanese or Arabic signature adds a picturesque break to the row of names set down in Oc- cidental seript. Signing for Rations. 3 on the day following all hands listed men are again ordered aft for rations.” Every man in the entitled to $9 a month in rations, eats it up at his mess table. But if he chose to live on rice of his own pur- chasing a or oatmeal, or any other t r with which he chose to independently of his mess, ined to eat any of the meals im at Lis mess table, the regu- s entitle him to draw his $9 in cash. s very rarely done, however, in th day din puiting their signatures to the ‘master’s ration jist the men simply sign for what they have already eaten at their m tables. All these preliminary ceremonies indicate to the men forward that pay day is draw- ing pretty nigh, but they never know ex- actly when the day is to be. It is reserved for the boatswain’s mate at the gangway to spring the big surprise. The officer of the deck moves up to him and exchanges a word with him. The boatswain’s mate gives a long, shrill blast on his pipe, and then sings out: “All the men of the first division, lay aft to the pay office to draw monthly money.” The yell that goes up all over the ship when this announcement is made is like the “cheer ship” given by sailors at a navy ‘ard to a man-of-war bound for a foreign ation. The men do not have to doff their working clothes and ‘get into uniform” to get their monthly money. They make for the paymaster’s office just as they are when they are ordered aft by the boats- wain’s mate, and they get into line down the alley ways leading to the office In ac- cordance with their ship's numbers. The yeoman calls out the man’s number, and the man steps from the line into the pay office, where the paymaster stands merely in a supervisory capacity, the pay clerk and the yeoman attending to the actual serving out of the money. The officer of the division being paid off always has his station in the pay office, acting as a sort of sponsor for his division. Getting Their Money. When the man whose number has been called out steps into the pay office he doffs his cap and puts it between his knees gen- erally. The yeoman hands him an inked pen with which to receipt for his money. if the man goes through very many pain- 1ul contortions in getting his signature to paper, and lets his tongue hang from his jouth, and looks at the paper very much jantwise, “as a good many of the blue- jackets do before they succeed in their un- dertaking of signing, their shipmates out in the alleyways gibe them in unison, and have to be sat dcwn upon by a master-at- arms, one of whom is always around when monthly money is being served out. On ac- ccunt of this signing the money is paid out to the men much slower in the navy than it is in the army, and the best part of a Gay is generally taken up in paying a ship's ccmpany their monthly wages. The men do not mind the slowness of the task, for it re- lieves them of the necessity of working, all the men being required to “stand by” to obtain monthly moeny, and standing by rieans no work. The aftermath of a man-of-war pay day is more Cisastrous than that of a pay day at an army post. All the men whose names ore not down on the bad conduct class lists, and who are therefore permitted to go ashore, take advantage of the oppor- tunity immediately they get their money, and for fully a week, in some ports, New York, for instance, more than in others, the skip is kept in an uproar up forward by the return of tumultuous sailermen. Some of them have to be lifted over the side when they come off to the ship in bo’suns’ chairs, from which they are straightway thrust into the brig for sobering-up purposes. A great many of the men break their liberty for days at a time every pay day in port. Fights up forwerd under the fo'c’sle are numerou3, and broken heads not uncom- ton. It is small wonder that naval officers do not look forward to the pay days of the bluejackets with unalloyed delight. ——.___ ’ The Power of Cannon, La Nature contains a short note in which the horse-power of a cannon ts calculated. An Italian cannon of 100 tons, with a charge of 550 pound of powder and a shot weighing about 2,000 pounds, will give an initial velocity of 523 meters per second; the length of time during which the power «cts is less than 100th of a second, from which it follows that the horse-power de- veloped is about 17,000,000, The writer adds that efter about 100 shots the cannon is 2 Perka ‘uvide himsel and if he de set befure latio: Thi |. “out of drawing’ AT WORK IN THE CLASS ROOM. IN A PARIS STUDIO The Class Always Gives the New- comer a Warm Welcome. CEREMONY OF SELECTING A MODEL From That Time on Every One Keeps Hard at Work. SOME TYPICAL SCENES Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. PARIS, December 1, 1897. E RICH AMERICAN pays ze drinks!” The rich American is a young man from the classes of the Art League of New York or from some art institute of Phil- adelphia or Chicago —or, maybe, further West. It is Monday morning and ne Weather for The sun_ shines through the clouds sian wickedness all and winter. The Pari that weep over Pai through the autumn yctng man, fresh and innocent, has been primed and warn He will not try the official studies of the Beaux-Arts, be- cause there the neweomer has to submit to hazing too disgraceful for a freeborn American, such as being stripped like a model, painted many colors or even tarred. Also the examinations which are require: are rather stiff fer our western habits of study. So he directs himself to the Julian school in the Rue du Dragon, where the bulk of American painters of Paris breeding have preceded him. He has a high hat on his head, like Harry Hare, which in time will also try his respiration. But all he hears as he enters the working room where the students of painting are gathered is the uranimous cry, “Ze rich American pays ze drinks!” Not at once, for work is on hand. It is new to his experience of tame art as prac- ticed among boys and girls at home. Here, for valid reasons, the students are all males. The American girls who must and will study art in Paris have to go by them- selves, very properly, and many of them, after exploring the ground, settle down ccntentedly to private study under some American artist who has transferred his classes from America to the glamors of a fcreign shore. But the young men at- | tend to the strict and serious business of their profession under French auspices. Selecting the Model. ‘This Monday morning there is a strong oder of Italian art in the field. It is the ‘Model Market,” when nine or ten of the living beings whom the student is to study | in muscle and framework, dimples and foreshortening, are standing on a platform a row, waiting for the inspection of the strdents, after which votes will be taken, and those who please best will be engage to pose for the class as long as they may be wanted. They are all in the dress which was the invisible garment of Adam and Eve before the fall. Trere is an old man who has been a celebrated Samson and a St. Je- rome in the desert, and beside him is the patient-lcoking Christ of more than one painting exhibited at the salon. There are scme young children who have been Cupids or cherubs, and there are young women who have posed for Rochegrosse’s Babylon. There are whole families that find a liv- ing, from father and mother to sons and daughters, by posing as models. Bougue- reau is said to paint now, the children and grandchildren of his first models. Some be- long to the class named in the tin Quar- ter “studentese,” and they find a consid- erable increase of income from these stu- dios. When the annual ball of the stu- dents of the Four Arts comes around—the Bal des Quat’-z-Arts, which once led Paris to the edge of a revolution, and is now held with doors rigidly closed to the profane, der the eyes of a police force—all these young women models join in the parade and the fun. On this Monday morning when the choice has been made, the rejected huddle on their clothes and disappear. The elect lady continues on her platform and takes the pose indicated, and the students, who have no time to lose, begin drawing her outlines and form from every point of view. To be is the one unpardonable sin of an artist nowadays, when every trained student can learn to draw as he orce learned to write. It is this excellence of the training in drawing that makes the Paris schools the best in the world. ‘What the Models Earn., The first thing which the young American has to learn is to see the minutest shades of form, for until now he only saw it in a general way. Wherever the least shadow is made by the light from face or arm or bust to foot and toe, drawing must reveal it, al- though the best photography might not. But to draw the student must first see, and it is.only by long study of these models, for model and ir Thus in winter many as 1K) ents, wh. vided among three 1 a more than an extra dollar a week In summer, when the studio remains ope in spite ef the otherwise universal vac mn faithful students wil to the single m On aly the wages. ometimes as t ir pitt, whole, it is not a bad trade for the per likely a to take it up. As Ss between model a may best be told to the marines. ‘here is a wide flel nis not to de desy which . they el's art— d, for it requires ng the private studios vbound in Paris. For them the model market has been notorious at the » Pigalle, also on Monday morning, artists of Montmartre to s it was on the open str vestments of paradise had to be dise: sometimes, doubt to the adva romance , the rded, itage of ation, “Ze rich American pays ze drinks!” It is first rest, and the new student's time. They all rise as one lead nim in triumph down the stairs, ther, out arry hum on oss the ant ot of respect for his high hat, their cafe money question is ins rad to this turbulen the ‘mass He atte , of the as well as of the prietor also has 2 shoulders to the T rout chosen te the new studen me the proper tim, be informed what the ¢rinks have ¢ It will pet be ruinous here in where habits are economical and the taste of m fren runs and water. Wut of will b on n; first, nforting, an ause it is served with r turn to make principal me to the French mim on beaten on t ns of inioxica- poons ra from the rich pays for the drinks. If he, a he wit ediently raount the his jouth. He may emit or none at all erow‘L.who only wish hin the motions, while they raise their cries. With a French student it may be differ- ent. They will wait for him to enter on a tide of eloquence, when they ¥ eak out worse than the deputies on parliame If he loses his te the better; he will be the evermor But the Amer da jolly good fellow, and with a cheer the crowd slopes back to the studio. Among them Is an elderly swell—an American als in the suades > on his mone and 5 who 1: ysees quarter, himself year after year that he ts learning art here by modeling in clay. How He is Hazed. The “atelier,” or studio, which is a big art school, has its various divisions, regu- ‘arly visited by famous artists whom M. Julian, the founder of a number of these classes outside the government school of the Beaux-Arts, has secured for his stu- dents. Here in the Rue du Dragon are Bouguereau, Jean Paul Laurens and Ben- jamin Constant. Our American sets him- self to work drawing from the model. He is supposed to have had enough pre- liminary training to do this by hi his fellow-students, who have & through the mill without the desire it grinding, have not yet finished with him. Early in the week a grave-looking, bearded man passes around among the easels, ap- parently criti ing the work. The new one awaits this first judgment. Is he to be pro- nounced a Michael Angelo on th Alas! when his turn come clearly pointed out to him that he has not caught the character of the model—the Initiation of the Nouveau. legs are too Jong, the thumbs too short, that he shows signs of remarkable unfitness for his work; and he stands quaking, for some one has whispered in his ear that it is Constant who is criticising. Then the critic walks away, and it is only when t real criticism day arrives that the new student finds he has been fooied by a false Constant He is lucky if he -has not again to pay the drinks. The real Benjamin Constant says a little word, least, about every picture in the room; and he frankly recognizes the slight- est merit. Each week he or Laurens picks out the best for the monthly competition on the last Sunday of the month. During the month Laurens has criticised two weeks, and Constant the rest of the time. Some thirty drawings come up for the competition, and a prize of fifty francs is given to the best. The picture becomes the property of the Julian Academy, and is hung up on the walls for the encourage- ‘ment of ths newcomers. A year ago it hap- pened that two brothers from Philadelphia won between them the first competition in RE Pa two m ns aks ail STERLING HEILIG.