Evening Star Newspaper, July 9, 1898, Page 16

cise} (sek se (Copyright, 1898, sehselseh It is doubtful whether the gift was ‘n- nate. For my own part I think it came to him suddenly. Indeed, until he was thirty he was @ sceptic, and did not believe in since it is tion miraculous powers. And here, the most cony-nient place, I must men’ that he was a little man, and had eyes of 2 hot brown, very erect red hair, a mus- tache like the German emperor's, ans freckles. His name was George McW ter Fotheringay—not the sort of name by a to lead to any expectation of miracies—and he was clerk at Gomshott’s. He was greatly acdicted to assertive ar- gument. It was while he was asserting the impossibility of miracies that he had h st intimation of his extraordinary powers. This particular argument was be- ing held in the bar of the Long Dragon, and Toddy Beamish was conducting the opposition by a menotoncus but effective So you say” that drove Mr. Fotheringay y mea to the very limit of his patience. ‘There were present, besides these tw cyclist, Landlord Cox, and Mi the perfectly respectable barmaid of the Dragon. Miss standing with her back to a tather portly Maybridge w Mr. Fotherin washing glas the others w watching him, less amused by the ent ineff ss of the asser Goaded & Tor- res 's of Mr. Beamish, Mr. Fother! to make an wu usual r Looky here, M Fotheringay, d what a miracle is. It's something iwise to the course of nature, ¢ yy power of will, something what couldn't happen without being spe- cially witied.” Beamish, clearly unde} * said Mr. Beamish, repuls- ingay a itherto his a: ppealed to the cyclist, een a silent auditor, nt—given with a hesi- and recet! tating cough and a glance at Mr. Beam The lan would express no opinion, theringay, returning to Mr. h, recelved the unexpected col of a qualified assent to his definition of a mira “For i greatly miracle. nate ance,” said Mr. Fotheringay, 1rage “Here would be a That lamp. in the natural course e. couldn't burn like that upsy n, could it, B nr” ou say It cow sald Beamish. ‘And you?’ Fotheringay. “You an to say—eh?” id Beamish, reluctantly. “N said Mr. Fothering: ome one, as it migh . and stands. as it might be. s to that lamp, as L do, col- Turn upsy-down with- go on burning steady, to make any one say The impossible, the incredible, yle to the mall. The lamp hung Inverted in the air. burning quietly with its flame pointing down. It was as solid, as disputable as ever a lamp was, the prosaic common lamp of the Long D> aon bar. Mr. Fotheringay stood with an extended ferefinger and the knitted brows of one an- ticipat who wa: Simp mere o 2 catastrophe smash. The cyclist, sitting next the lamp, ducked and d across the bar. Everybody jumped, less. Miss Maybridge turned and screamed. For nearly three seconds the lamp rem d still. A faint cry of mental distress came from Mr. Fotheringay. can't keep it up,” he said, “any longer.” He staggered back, and the inverted lamp suddenly flared, fell against the corner of the bar. bounced aside, smashed upon the floor, and went ou It was lucky it had a metal receiver, or the > place wouid have been in a blaz Mr mark shorn of needless excrescence: to the effect that Fotheringay sa fcol. Fotheringay was beyond disputing even sc fundamental a proposition as that! He was astenished beyond measure at the thing that had occurred. The subsequent conver on threw absolutely no light on the matter so far as Fotheringay was con- cerned; the general opinion not only fol- lewed hemen of a silly self as a foolish security Mr. Cox very closel ‘YY one accus presen destroyer of comfort and His mind was in a tornado of but very ve- perplex was himself inclined to agree with them, and he made a remarkably in- effectual opposition to the proposal of his depar} He went shed and heated, coat eollar_crum smarting and ears red. He w of the ten street lamps as he passed it. It was only when he found himself alone in his little bed room in Church row that he w: able to g le seriously with his memori of the ¢ nce, and ask: “What on earth removed his coat and boots, and itting on the bed with his hands in ‘Kets repeating the text of hie de- e for the 1 time, “I didn’t want the i thing to upset,” when it oc. » him that at the precise moment the commanding words he ently willed the thing he said, it that it depended on him to out being clear how had not a particu- he might have avertently will- it the abstrusest ry action; but as it 2 came to him with a quite ac- aziness. And from that, follow- opeecie emp: the was, ceptable ing as In the air one Fotheringay Fotheringa: still. “Tt in the ha id : And ‘ow I'm to explain * sighed heavily, S pockets for a and then tt that miracles were pos- extended a a lark. “Let ch in that hand,” he said. ht object fall across his nls fingers closed upon a match. veral ineffectual attempts to lignt covered it was a safety match, jown, and then it occurred to » might have willed it lit. He reelved it burning in the midst t table mat. He caught it up and it went out. His perception of *s enlarged, and he felt for and the candle in the candlestick. iere, you be lit,” said Mr. Fotheringay. ¢ forthwith the candle was flaring, and he saw a lit er, with a wi he e black hole in the toilet cov- sp of emoke rising from it. For a time stared from this to the little flame and back, and then looked up and met his cwn gaze in the looking glass. By this help he communed with himself in silence for a time. “How about miracles now?’ said Mr. Fotheringay at last, addressing his reflec- tion. The subsequent meditations of Mr. Foth- eringay wers of a severe but confused de- scription. So far, he could see it was a case of pure willing with him. The nature of his experiences so far disinclined him for any further experiments, at least until he had reconsidered them. But he lifted a sheet of paper and turned a glass of water pink and then green, and he created a snail, which he miraculously annihila!ed, and got himself a miraculous new tooth- brush. Sd. when in the small hours he had reached the fact that his will power must be of a particularly rare and pungent quali- OAM OOO ELON OWE Se Ke) RAIA SEI DOWN NONE OMNES OWN 5) 2 THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 9, 1898-24 PAGES. NOMA OWOWT THE MAN WHO COULD eae WORK MIRACLES, A Pantoum in Prose. ——+__ t ‘WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY H. G. WELLS, by H. G. Wells.) 2) seksedce. ty, a fact of which he had certainly had inklings before, but no certain assurance. The scare and perplexity of his first dis- covery was now qualified by pride in this evidence of singularity and by vague intl- mations of advantage. He became aware that the church clock was striking 1, and as it did not occur to him that his daily duties at Gomshott’s might be miraculously dispensed with, he resumed undressing in order to get to bed without further delay. j As he struggled to get his shirt over his j head he was struck with a brilliant idea. “Let me be in bed,” he said, and found himself so. “Undressed,” he stipulated; and, finding the sheets cold, added hastily, “and in my nightshirt—no, in a nice soft woolen nightshirt. Ah!" he said, with im- mense enjoyment, ‘‘and now let me be com- fortably asleep.” He awoke at his usual hour and was pen- sive all through breakfast time,,wondering whether his overnight experience might not be a particularly vivid dream. At length his mind turned again to cautious experi- ments. For instance, he had three exgs for breakfast; two his landlady had eup- piled, good but shoppy, and one was a de- sj licious fresh goose ege, laid, cooked and | served by bis extraordmary will He hur- ried off to Gomshott’s in a state of pro- found but carefully concealed excitement, jand only remembered the shell of the third jeg when his landlady spoke of it that |night. All day he could do no work be- jcause of this astonishingly new self- nowledge, but this caused him no incon- venience, because he made up for it | miraculously in his last ten minutes. As the day wore on his state of mind | passed from wonder to elation, albeit the tcireumstances of his dismissal from the Long Dragon were still disagreeable to re- cail, and a garbled account of the matter | that had reached his colleagues led to some badinage. It was evident he must bo care- ful how he lifted fragile articles, but in other ways his gift promised more end more us he turned it over in his mind. He intended, among other things, to increase his personal property by unostentatious acts of creation. He calied into existence a pair of very splendid diamond studs, and hastily annihilated them-again as young Gemshott-came across the counting house to bis desk. He was afraid young Gom- |shett might wonder how he had come by jthem. He saw quite clearly the gift re- | quired caution and watchfulness in its ex- | ercise, but so far as he could judge the dif- i} ficulties attending its mastery would be no | Sreater than those he had aiready faced in | the study of cycling. It was taat analogy, perhaps, quite as much as the feeling that he would be unwelcome in tie Long | Dragon, drove him out after supper into | the ianc beyond the gas works, to rehearse a few miracies in private. There was possibly 2 certain want of originality in his attempts, for, apart from his will power, Mr. Fotheringay was not a very exceptional man. Th miracle of Moses’ rod came to his mind, but the night was dark and unfavorable to the proper control of large miraculous snakes. Then jhe recollected the story of “Tannhauser” | that he had read on the back of the Phil- harmonic program. That seemed to him | singularly attractive and harmless. He | stuck his walking stick—a very nice Poona- | Penang lawyer—into the turf that edged |the footpath, and commanded the dry wood to blossom. ‘The air was immediately full of the scent of roses, and by means of a match he saw for himself that this beau- tiful miracie was indeed accomplished. His | satisfaction was ended by advancing foot- | steps. Afrald of a premature discovery of |his powers, he addressed the blossoming | stick hastil 0 back.” What he meant | was “Change back,” but, of course, he was confused. The stick receded ut a consider- able velocity, and incontinently came a cry of anger and a bad word trom the ap- proaching person. “Who are you throw- ing brambles at, you tool?” cried a voice. “That got me on the shin.” “I'm sorry, old chap,” said Mr. Fotherin- gay, and then realizing the awkward na- | ture of the explanation, caught nervously at his mustaches. He saw Winch, one of the three Immering constables, advancing. “What d’yer mean by it?” asked the con- stable. “Hullo! It’s you, is it? The gent that broke the lamp at the Long Dragon!” “I don't mean anything by it,” said Mr. Fotheringay. “Nothing at alt.’ “What yer do it for, then?” “O, bother!” sald Mr. Fotheringay. “Bother, indeed! D'yer know that stick hurt? What d'yer do it for, eh? For the moment Mr. Fotheringay could not think what he had done it for. His st lence seemed to iritate Mr. Winch. “You've been assaulting the police, young man, this time. That's what you done.” “Look here, Mr. Winch,” said Mr. Foth- eringay, annoyed and confused, “I'm very The fact is—” eu" e ceuld think of no way but the truth. “I was working a miracle.” He tried to | speak in an off-hand way, but, try as he | would, he ¥ | “Working a don’t talk rot. Working a miracle, indeed! Miracle! Well, that’s downright funny. Why, you’ chap that don’t believe in miracles. * * * Fact is, this is another of yer silly conjur- ing tricks—that’s what this is. Now, I tell you—— But Mr. Fotheringay never heard what Mr. Winch was going to tell him. He rcal- ized he had given himself away, flung his valuable secret to the four winds of heav- en. A violent gust of irritation swept him to action. He turned on the constable | Swiftly and fiercely. Here,” he said, “I've | had enough of this, L have! I'll show you onjuring trick, I will! Go to hades! Mr. Fotheringay performed no more mir- acles that night, nor did he trouble to see what had become of his flowering stick. He returned to the town forthwith, scared and very quiet, and went to his bedroom. “Lord,” he said, “it's a powerful gift—an extremely powerful gift. I didn’t hardly mean as much as that. Not really * * * I wonde- what hades is like!” He sat on the beed taking off his boots. Struck by a happy thought, he transferred the constable to San Francisco, and with- out any more interference with normal causatiun went soberly to bed. In the night he dreamed of the anger of Winch. The next day Mr. Fotheringay heard two interesting items of news. Some one had planted a most beautiful climbing rose against the elder Mr. Gomshott's private house in the Lullaborough road, and the river as far as Rawling’s mill was to be dragged for Constable Winch. Mr. Fotheringay was abstracted and thoughtful all that day, and performed no miracles either on that day or the next, ex- cept certain provisions for Winch, and the miracle of completing his day's work with punctual perfection in spite of all the bee- swarm of thoughts that hummed through his mind. And the extraordinary abstrac- tion and meekness of his manner was re- marked by several people and made a mat- ter for jesting. For the most part he was thinking of Winch. On Sunday evening he went to chapel, and oddly enough Mr. Maydig, who took a certain interest in occult matters, preached about “things that are not lawful.” Mr. Fctheringay was not a regular chapel-goer, but the system“6f assertive skepticism, to which I have already alluded, w now very much shaken. The tenor of the ser- men threw in entirely new light on these novel gifts, and he suddenly decided to consult Mr. Maydig immediately after the vice. So soon as that was determined he found himself wordering why ke had not done so before. : Mr. Maydig, a lean, excitable man with quite remarkably long wrists and neck, Was gratified at the request for a privat? conversation from a young man whose carelessness in religious matters was a matter for general remark in the town. After a few necessary delays he conducted him to the study of the manse, which was ccutiguous to the chapel, seated him com- fortably. and, standing in front of a cheer- ful fire—his iegs threw a Rhodian arch of shadow on the opposite wall—requested Mr. Potheringay to state his business, At first Mr. Fotheringay was a little abashed, and found some difficulty in open- j are either the | ing the matter. “You will scarcely believe me, Mr. Maydig, I am afraid,” and so forth, for some time. He tried a question at Iast and asked Mr. Maydig his opinion of miracies. Mr. Maydig was still saying “Well” in an extremely judicial tone, when Mr. Fother- ingay interrupted again. “You don’t be- lieve, I suppose that some common sort of person—like myself, for instance—as it might be sitting here now, might have some sort of twist inside him that made him able to do things by his will.” “It’s possible,” said Mr. Maydig, “Some- thing of the sort, perkaps, {s possible.” “If I might wake free with something here, I think I might show you by a sort of experiment,” said Mr. Fotheringay. “Now, take that tobacco jar on the table, for instance. What I want to know is whether what I'm going to do with it is a muracle or not. Just half a minute, Mr. Maydig, please.” He knitted his brows, pointed to the to- bacco jar and said: “Be a bow! of vi'lets.”” The tobacco jar did as it was ordered. Mr. Maydig started violently at the change, and stood looking from the thau- maturgist to the bowl of flowers. He sald nothing. Presently he ventured to lean over the table and smell the violets; thoy were fresh picked and very fine ones. Then he stared at Mr. Fotheringay again. “How did you do that?” he asked. Mr. Fotheringay pulled his mustache. “Just told it—and there you are. Is that a miracle, or is it black art, or what is it? And what do you think’s the matter with me? That's what I want to ask.” “It's a most extraordinary occurrence.” “And this Jay last week I knew no moro that I could do things like that than you did. It came quite sudden. It’s something odd about my will, I suppose, and that’s far as I can see.” “Is that—the only thing. Could you do other things with that?’ “Lord, yes!” said Mr. Fotheringay. “Just anything.” He thought, and suddenly re- called a conjuring entertainment he had THE LAMP HUNG and discuss the lerger question. I don't think this is a case of the black art or any- thing of the sort. I don’t think there is any taint of criminality about it at all, Mr. Fotheringay—none whatever, unless you are suppressing material facts. No, it's miracles—pure miracles—miracies, if I may sey so, of the very highest class.” He began ‘to pace the hearthrug and ges- ticulute, while Mr. Fotheringay sat with his arm on the table and his head on his arm, looking worried. “I don’t see how I'm to manage about Winch,” he said. “A gift of working miracies—apparently a very powerful gift,” said Mr. Maydig, “will find a way about Winch—never fear. My dear sir, you are a most important man--a man of the most astonishing possi- bilities. As evidence, for example! And in other ways, the things you may do—" “Yes, I've thought of a thing or two, said Mr. Fotheringay. “‘But—some of the things came a bit twisty. You saw that fish at first? eee sort of bowl and wrong sort of fi And I thought I'd ask some one.” * “A proper coursé,” sald Mr. Maydig, “a very proper course—altogether the proper course.” He stopped and looked at Mr. Fother- ingay. “It’s practically an unlimited gift. Let us test your powers, for instance. If they really are * * * If they really are all they seem to be.” And 50, incredible as it may seem, in the study of the little house behind the Con- gregational chapel, on the evening of Sra day, November 10, 1896, Mr. Fotheringa egged on and inspired by Mr. Maydig, be- gan‘to work miracles. The reader's atten- tion is specially and definitely called to the date. He will object, probably has alveady objected, that certain points in this story are improbable; that if any things of the sort already described had indeed occurred, they would have been in all papers a year ago. The details immediately following he will find particularly hard to accept, be- cause among: other things they involve the conclusion that he or she, the reader in question, must have been killed in a violent INVERTED IN THE AIR. “Change into 10, not that—change into a of water with goldfish swimming in it. That’s better. You see that, Mr. Maydig?” “It's astonishing. a most He pointed. giass bowl full It’s incredible. You extraordinary * * * But no—" “I could change it into anything,” said Mr. Fotheringey. ‘Just anything.” Here! be a pigeon, will you?” In another moment a blue pigeon was fluttering round the room and making Mr. Maydig duck every time it came near him. “Stop there, will you," said Mr, Fotherin- gay; and the pigeon hung motioniess tn the air.’ “ could change it back to a bowl of flowers,” he said, and after replacing the pigeon on the table worked that miracle. “I expect you will want your pipe pres- ently,” he said, and restored the tobacco jar. ae Maydig had followed all these later changes in a sort of ejaculatory silence. He stared at Mr. Fotheringay fearfully, and in a very gingerly manner picked up the to- bacco jar, examined St, replaced {t on the table. “Well!” was the only expression of his feelings. “Now, after that it's easier to explain what Icame about,” sald Mr. Fotheringay, and proceeded to a lengthy and involved narrative of his strange experiences, begin- ning with the affair of the lamp in the Long Dragon and complicated by persistent allusions to Winch. As he went on the transient pride Mr. Maydig’s consternation had caused passed away, he became the very ordinary Mr. Fotheringay of every- day intercourse again. Mr. Maydig ened intently, the tobacco jar in his hand, and his bearing changed also with the course of the narrative. Presently, while Mr. Fotheringay was dealing with the mir- acle of the third egg, the minister inter- rupted with a fluttering extended hand— “Tt is possible,” he sald. “It is credible. It is amazing, of course, but it reconciles a number of amazing difficulties. The power to work miracles is a gift, a peculiar qual- ity, like genius or second sight. Hitherto it has come very rarely and to exceptional people. But in this case ** * I have always wondered at the miracles of Mahomet, and He Remained on All Fours. at Yogi's miracles, and the miracles of Mme. Blavatsky. But, of course! Yes, it is a simple gift! it carries out so beauti- fully the arguments of that great thinker” —Mr. Maydig’s. voice sank—"his grace, the Duke of Argyll. Here we plumb some pro- founder law, deeper than the ordinary laws of nature. Yes—yes. Go on. Go on!” Mr. Fotheringay proceeded to tell of his misadventure with Winch, and Mr. Maydig, no longer overawed or scared, began to Jerk his limbs about and interject astonish ment. “It's this what troubled me mos proceeded Mr. Fotheringay; “‘it’s this I’m most mijitly in want of advice for; of course he's at San Francisco—wherever San Francisco may be—but of course, it’s awk- ward for both of us, as you'll see, Mr. May- dig. I don’t see how he can understand what has happened, and I daresay he’s scar2d and exasperated something tre- mendous, and trying to get at me. I dare- say he keeps on starting off to céme here. I send him back, by a miracle, every few hours, when I think of it. And, of course, that’s a thing he won't be able to und2r- stand, and it's bound to annoy him; and, of course, if he takes a ticket every time it will cost him a lot of money. I done the best I could for him, but of course it’s dif- ficult for him to put himself in my place. I thought afterwards -that his clothes might have got scorch2d, you know —if hades is all it's supposed to be — before I shifted him. In that case, I suppose they'd have locked him up in San Francisco. Of course I willed a new suit of clothes on him directly I thought of it. But, you see, I'm already in a d2ce of a tangle—” Mr. Maydig looked serious. “I see you are in a tangle. Yes, it’s a difficult posi- tion. How you are to end it—” He be- came diffuse and inconclusive. “However, we'll leave Winch for a little | and unprecedented manner more than a year ago. Now a miracle is nothing if not improbable, and as a matter of fact the reader wes killed in a violent and unpre- cedented manner a year ago. Jn the subse- | quent course of this story that will become perfectly clear and credible, as every right- minded and reasonable reader will admit. But this is not the place for the end of the story, being but little beyond the hither side of the middle. And at first the mira- cles worked by Mr. Fotheringay were timid little miracles—iittle things with the cups and parlor fitments,as feeble as the miracies of Theosophists, and, feeble as they were, they were received with awe by his col- laborator. He would have preferred ta have settled the Winch business out~of hand, but Mr. Maydig would not let him. But after they had worked a dozen of these domestic trivialties, their sense of power grew, their imagination began to show signs of stimulation and their ambition en- larged. Their first larger enterprise was due to hunger and the negligence of Mrs. Minchin, Mr. Maydig’s housekeeper. The meal to which the minister conducted Mr. Fotheringay was certainly ill-laid and un- inviting as refreshments for two indus- trious miracle workers, but they were al- ready seated, and Mr. Maydig was descant- ing in sorrow rather than in anger upon his housekeeper’s shortcomings, before it occurrred to Mr. Fotheringay that an op- portunity lay before him. “Don’t you think, Mr. Maydig,”” he said, “if it isn’t a liberty, ‘My dear Mr. Fotheringay! Of course! No—I didn’t think. Mr. Fotheringay waved his hand. “What shall we have?” he said, in a large, inclu- sive spirit, and, at Mr. Maydig’s order, re- vised the supper very thoroughly. “As for me,”’ he said, eyeing Mr. Maydig’s selection, “I'm always particularly fond of a tankard of stout end a nice welsh rabbit, and [ll order that. I ain't much given’ to Bur- gundy,” and forthwith stout and welsh rab- bit promptly appeared at his command. ‘fhey sat long at their supper, talking like equals, as Mr. Fotheringay presently per- celved, with a glow of surprise and grati- fication, of all the miracles they would presently do. ‘‘And, by the by, Mr. May- dig,” said Mr. Fotheringay, “I' might per- haps be able to help you—in the domesti¢ way.” “Don’t quite follow,” said Mr. Maydig, pouring out a glass of miraculous old Bur. gundy. Mr. Fotheringay helped himself to a sec- ond welsh rabbit out of vacancy, and took a mouthful. “I was thinking,” he said, “I might be able (chum, chum) to work (chum, chum) a miracle with Mrs. Minchin (chum, chum)—make her a better woman.” Mr. Maydig put down the glass and look- ed doubtful. “She's—she strongly objects to interference, yon know, Mr. Fotheringay. And—as a matter of fact—it’s well past 11, and che’s probably in bed and asleep. Do you think, on the whole—’ Mr. Fotheringay considered these objec- tions. “I don't see that it shouldn't be done in her sleep.” For a time Mr. Maydig opposed the idea, and@ then he yielded. Mr. Fotheringay is- sued his orders, and a little less at their ease, perhaps, the two gentlemen proceed- ed with their repast. Mr. Maydig was en- larging on the changes he might expect in his housekeeper next day, with an op- timism that seemed even to Mr. Fotherin- gay's supper senses a little forced and hec- tle, when a series of confused noises from upstairs began. Their eyes exchanged in- terrogations, and Mr. Maydig left the room hastily. Mr. Fotheringay heard him call- ing up to his housekeeper, and then his footsteps going softly up to her. In a minute .or'so the minister returned, his step light, his face radiant. “Wonder. Pe he said, “and touching! Most touch- Ing! He began pacing thé hearth rug. “A re- pentance—a most touching repentance— through the crack of the door. Poor wo- man! A most wonderful change! had tek up. She must have got up af once. he had got up out of her sleep to smash @ private bottle of brandy in her box. And to confess it, too! * * * But this gives us—it opens—a most amazing vista of pos- sibilities. If we tan work this miraculous change in her. *°* “The thing’s urilimifed, seemingly,” said Mr. Fotheringay. ‘And, about Mr. Winch—” “Altogether unlimitéd.’; And from ethe hearth rug Mr. Maydig, waving the Winch difficulty aside, unfolded a series of won- derful YS ee he invented as he went ns. Now, what those proposals were does not_concern the essentials of this story. Suffice it that they were designed in a spirit of infinite benevolence, the sort of benevolence that used to be called post- ee. Suffice it, too, that the prob- of Winch remained unsolved. Nor is it necessary to describe how far that se- ries got to its fulfillment. There were as- tonishing changes. The small hours found Mr. Maydig and Mr. Fotheringay career- ing ccross the chilly market square, under the still moon, in a sort of ecstasy of thaumaturgy, Mr. Maydig all flap and ture, Mr. Fotheringsy short and brist! and no longer abashed at his gr They had reformed every drunkard the tebe orton divisiou, changed all the and alcool to water (Mr. Maydig had overruled Mr. Fotheringay on this point); they had, further, greatly improved the railway communication of the place, drain- ed Flinder’s swamp, improved the soil of One Tree hill and cured the vicar’s wart. And they were going to see what could be done with the injured pier at South Bridge “The place,” gasped Mr. Maydig, “won't be the ‘same place tomorrow. Hi surprised and thankful every one will be And just at that moment the church clock struck 3. “I say,” said Mr. Fotheringay, “that’s 3 o'clock! I must be getting back. I’ve got to be at business by 8. And besides, Mrs. Wimms—" “We're only beginning,” said Mr. May- dig, full of the sweetness of unlimited pow- er. “We're only beginning. Think of all the good we're doing. When people wrake—” “But—" said Mr. Fotheringay. Mr. Maydig gripped his arm suddenly. His eyes were bright and wild. “My dear chap,” he said, “there’s no hurry. Look” <he pointed to the moon at the zenith— “Joshua!” “Joshua?” said Mr. Fotheringay. “Joshua,” said Mr. Maydig. “Why not? Stop it.” Mr. Fotheringay looked at the moon. “That's a bit tall.” he said after a pause. “Why not?” said Mr. Maydig. “Of course it doesn’t stop. You stop the rotation of the earth, you know. Time stops. It isn’t as if we were doing harm.” os “H’m!” said Mr. Fotheringay. “Well. He sighed. “I'll try. Here—" He buttoned up his jacket and addressed himselt to the habitable globe, with as good umption of confidence as lay in hi. power. “Jest stop rotating, will said Mr. Fotheringay. a Incontinently he was flying head over heels through the air at the rate of doz- ens of miles a minute. In spite of the in- uvmerable circles he was, describing per second, he thougt; for thought is wonder- ftl—sometimes as sluggish as flowing pitch, sometimes as instantaneous as light. He thought in a second and willed. “Let me come down safe and sound. Whatever else happens, let me down safe and sound! He willed it only just in time, for his clothes, heated by his rapid flight through the air, were already beginning to singe. He came do with a forcible but by no means injurivus bump in what appeared to be a mound of fresh-turned earth. A large s of metal and masonry, extraordina ily like the clock tower in the middle of t mérket square, hit the earth near him, richochetted over him and flew into stone- work, bricks and masonry, like a bursting bemb. A hurtling cow hit one of the larger blocks and smashed like an egg. Ther> was a crash that made all the most violent crashes of his past life seem like the sound of falling dust, and this was followed by a descending series of lesser crashes. A vasy wind roared throughout earth and heaven, so that he «ould scarcely lift his head to leck. For a while he was too breathless and astonished even to see where he w or what had happened. And his first mov ment was to feel his head and reassure himself that his streaming hair was still his own, “Lord!” gasped Mr. Fotheringay, scarce able to speak for the gale, “I've had a squeak! What's gone wrong? Storms and thunder. And only a minute ago a fine night. It's Maydig set me on to this sozt of thing. What a wind! If I go on fooling in this way I'm bound to have a thunder- ing accident! * * * “Where's Maydig? payee “What a confounded mess everything's int’ He look»d about him so far as his flap- ping jacket would permit. The appearance of things was really extremely strange. “The sky’s all right, anybow,” said Mr. Fotheringay. ‘And that’s about ail that is all right. And even there it looks like a terrific gals coming up. But there's the moon overhead. Just as it was just now. Bright as midday. But as for the rest— Where's the village? Where’s—where's ev- erything? And what on earth set this wind a-blowing? I didn’t order no wind.” Mr. Fotheringay struggled to get to his feet in vain, and after one failure remained on all fours, holding on. He surveyed th> moonlit world to leeward, with the tails of his jacket streaming over his head. “There's something sriously wrong,” said Mr. Fotheringay. “And what 1t is—good- ness knows.” Far and wide nothing was visible in the white glare through the haze of dust that Grove before a screaming gale but tumbled wasses of 2arth and heaps of inchoate ruins, no trees, no hovses, no familiar shapes, only a wilderness of disorder, van- ishing at last into the darkness beneath the whirling columns and streamers, the light- nings and thunderings of a swiftly rising storm. Near him in the livid glare was scmething that might cree have been an eim tree, a smashed mass of splinters, shivered from boughs to base, and further a twisted masa of fron girders—only .too evidently the viaduct—rose out of the piled cenfusion. You see, when Mr. Fotheringay had ar- rested the rotation of the solid globe, he had made no stipulation concerning the trifling movables upon its surface. And the earth spins so fast that the surface at its equator is traveling at rather more than 1,000 miles an hour, and in these latitudes at more than half that pace. So that the village and Mr. Maydig and Mr. Fotherin- gay and everybody and everything had been jerked violently forward at about nine miles pet second—that is to say, much more violently than if they had been fired out of a cannon. And every human being, every living creature, every house and every tree—all the world as we know it— had been so jerked and smashed and ut- terly destroyed. That was all. These things Mr. Fotheringay did not, of course, fully appreciate. But he perceived that his miracle had miscarried, and with that a great disgust of miracles came upon him. He was in darkness now, for the ciouds had swept together and blotted out his momentary glimpse of the moon, and the air was full of fitful, struggling, tor- tured wraiths of hail. A’great roaring of wind and waters filled earth and sky, and peering under his hand through the dust and sleet to windward, he saw by the play of the lightnings a vast wall of water pour- ing toward him. “Maydig!” screamed Mr. Fotheringay's feeble voice amid the elemental uproar. “Here!—Maydig!” “Stop!” cried Mr. Fotheringay to the ad- vancing water. “Oh, for goodness sake, stop!” “Jest a moment,” said Mr. Fotheringay to the lightnings and thunder. “Stop jest @ moment while I collect my thoughts.” “And now what shall I do?” he said. “What shall I do? Lord! I wish Maydig was about.” “I know,” said Mr. Fotheringay. “And Ae goodness sake let's haye it right this m2.” He remained on all fours, leaning against ae. Wind, very intent to have everything right. ‘Ah, he sald. “Let nothing of what I'm going to order happen until I say ‘Off!’ * * * Lord! I wish I'd thought of that before!” He lifted his littie voice against ths whirl- wind, sheuting louder and louder in the vain desire to hear himself speak. ‘Now then—here goes! Mind about that what I said just now. In the first place, when all I've got to say is dona, let me lose my miraculous: power, let my will become just like anybody else’s will, and all these dan- gerous miracles be stopped. I don’t like them. I’d rather I didn’t work ‘em. Ever so much. That’s the first thing. And tha second Is—let me be back just before the miracles begin; let everything be just as it Was before that blessed lamp turned up. It's a big job, but it’s the last. Hava you got it? No more miracles, everything as it was—me back in the Long Dragon just be- fore I drank my half pint. That's it! Yes. He dug his fingers into the mold, closed his eyes and said “Off: Everything became perfectly still, perceived that he was standing erect. “So you think,” said a voice. He opened his eyes. He was in the bar of the Long Dragon, arguing about mira- cles with Toddy Beanish. He had a vague sense of some great thing forgotten that instantaneously passed. You see that, ex- cept for the loss of his miraculous powers, everything was back as it had been, his mind and memory, therefore, were now just as they had beeen at the time when this story began. So that he knew abso- lutely nothing of all that is told here to this day. And, among other things, of ig ited re ae = in es ‘les. “I tell you that miracles, properly = ing, can’t possibly happen,” he said, “what- ever you like to hold. And I'm prepared to prove it up to the hilt.” “That’s what you think,” sald Toddy Beamish, and “prove it if you can.” “Looky here, Mr. Beamish,” said Mr. Fotheringay; “let us clearly understand what a miracle is. It's something contrari- wise to the course of nature done by power of wilh * * # ——___+ e+ ____ Im the Surf, He Miss Backbay (from Boston)—“I don't want to go too far out—I’m afraid I'll get Jack Dewit—“You're the first Boston girl Tever met who would acknowledge such a iGOLD BY THE TON Vast Treasure Stored by the New York Clearing House. UNUSUALLY LARGE AMOUNT JUST NOW In a Safe Where* Thieves Cannot Break Through. OPENING THE BIG BOX Special Correspondence of The Evening Star. NEW YORK, July 9, 1898. More coined gold, by millions and mil- lions of dollars’ worth, is packed away for safekeeping in New York this summer than has ever been gathered here before. prob- ably more than js at this time stored in any ether city on earth, excepting St. Peters- burg and Paris; certainly as much as the total output of all the mines in the world jast year. This may seem an exaggerated state- ment, in view of the fact that the gold out- put of 1897 was the largest in hi be- ing equal to at least $203,000,000, yet it is well within the truth, since the golé coin holdings here now amount to between $200,- 000,000 and $210,000,000, and are probably rearer the larger than the smaller figure. Moreover—and this statement is still more surprising—the world’s visible supply of gold, estimated by ‘he officials of the New York assay office, though now larger than ever before, amounts only to a little more than _$5,000,000,000, both coined ard ur coined, so that, accepting $200,000.00") as th measure of New York's present gold coin storage, it is quite equal to éne-twenty-fi part of all the precious yellow meta! in ex- istence. Though all that has been true, the facts being gathered from the manager of the New York clearing house. the assistant treasurer of the United State: in charge of the subtreasury here, superintendent of the assay office, be impossible to give exact figure the total amount of stored gold cx for two reasons. First, there is no way of ecuring accurate reports of bank and pri- vate holdings, and second, the hok the United States subtreasury and ¢ York clearing house fluctuate from da Gay. The functions uf the clearing ho: include the storage of surplus goid for all the banks belonging to the «scociation, hence its vaults contain the bulk of all the gold cvin in the city save that owned by the government. A few days ago its stor- age footed up to $167,000,000, with a few millions more in prospect. On that same day the subtreasury had $60,000,000, If the amounts of gold locked up in bank vaults and held by private individuals could be determined and the sum added to the ¢ mous total, the estimate here made would undoubtedly be found below and not above the actual holdings. id ic strictly Large Figures. In addition to the vast sums represented by the figures quoted, there was stored in the assay office on this day about $55,900,- 000 worth of bar gold, and this, added to the coin holdings of $227,000,000 in the clearing house and the subtreasury, swells the gross—aside from bank and private holdings—to $2 00,000. Unquestionably there is enough more gold in New York this time to raise the grand total to $300, (00,000, or one-third more than the worl? output in the year of greatest production. The presence at the nation’s commercial center of so vast an accumulation of the world’s standard money metal, due to no government efforts at concentration, is un- precedented, and, while it is in one sense a source of gratification, the situation is not without its embarra: ng features, Perhaps the greatest embarrassment arises from the lack of adequate storage facilities at the clearing house. Its great strong box, or treasure chest, was built to hold $105,000,000, and when it was erected three years ago there was little thought that its capacity would ever be tested. But though the estimated storage limit has long been overrun, no surplus millions are kicking around loose on the floor of the in- stitution. On the contrary, by crowding the treasure chest, its capacity can be in- creased over 50 per cent, and the unexpec ed millions are today stored quite as safely and guarded as carefully as any of the stock on hand. The great strong box of the New York clearing house, by the way, is the only treasure chest of its kind in the world, and competent judges say it Is aiso by all odds the best, exceeding in security the vaults of the government at Washington and those of the Bank of England in London al- most as much as a modern burglar-proot safe exceeds the iron key safes of our grandfathers. Located somewhat lower than the side- waik, it is about as large as a good-sized private dining room, having & frontage of twenty-five feet and a depth of twenty feet. The ceiling is twelve feet high. The floor rests on a platform of steel railroad rails. Like the sides and top, it is six and on: quarter inches thick, and composed of lay- ers of chrome steel plates, each plate being three-sixteenths of an inch thick, so tem- pered as to be of almost diamond hardness, and all bolted together in such a manner as to “break joints” at every point. Were there no other safeguards, the material used and the methods of construction would form an almost perfect guarantee against loss by theft, for it would take the most expert burglar, using perfect tools, more than twenty-four hours to make a hole through either floor, top or side. As a matter of fact, the additional safeguards are so elaborate that the gold would be secure even were the walls of the treasure chest made of wood instead of laminated chrome steel. In the first place, and here is the point in which the clearing house strong box ex- cels afl others, it is entirely inclosed in a large underground apartment 40x50 feet in size and twenty feet high, which is at all times brilliantly lighted by electric bulbs. Thus the walls of the treasure chest are entirely free from contact on the top and sices, while on the bottom there is no con- tact save at four points only. Safeguarded Against Burglars. These are furnished by solid masonry piers, set on the bedrock which forms Man- hattan Island's foundation. These piers raise the great chest six feet six inches from the main floor tothe level of a narrow Platform reaching quite round the apart- ment, but separated by quite a space from the box siself. By this arrangement it is possible for the watchmen who guard the treasure night and day actually to walk urder it at will; indeed, it is a part of their duty to do this at regular intervals. This arrangement also furnishes an absolute Safeguard against burglars working from the bottom by means of a tunnel, and it would, of course, be impossible in the cir- cumstances for any one to break into the box at any cthor point. In, ordinary circumstances it is impossible to touch the chest at all, excepting at the bottom, since it is separated from the surrounding plat- form exactly as a feudal castle is separated from the immediate territory by its moat, while the roof is two feet lower than the ceiling of the inclosing apartment. As an additional safeguard the treasure chest is surrounded by a grating or grill of finely tempered two-inch steel bars, which reach from floor to ceiling, making it impossible for any one to get nearer than four or five feet without unlocking the grill deors. En- tering the strong box is a matter of some time, if not ceremcny, even to those who are authorized’ to pass through its doors ard gaze upon its yellow treasure. How the Chest is Opened. The doors can be opened only when rep- resentatives of two sets of officials—one from the clearing house itself and one from the associated banks, which own the gold—are present. In actual practice these officials are personated nowadays by Mr. Wililam Sherer, manager of the clearing house, and Mr. Frederick D. Tappan, pres- ident of the Gallatin National Bank, who is also chairman of the bankers’ committce on gold storage. When it is desired either to withdraw or put away gold, they both go to the apartment in which the s' Uttle drawbridge swings into place. Pass- ing over this they open one of the treasure chest’s outer doors. each using a separute combination as before. So delicately are these doors adjusted that they swing at the slightest touch, though each is four- teen irches thick and weighs ten tons. But the opening of this door does not « mit the men to the presence of the treas- ure, since there are inner folding doors 10 be ‘unlocked and passed, and after t) have been swung there are small chests which must be unlocked before ihe gold itself Is accessible. The internal arrangement of the great treasure chest is admirably suited to its purpose, there being three rooms, each entered by its own doors. These rooms are each six feet wide, and each contains seventy steel chests for the storage of gold. They are ranged along the side walls in tiers exactly like big pigeon hove Each pigeon hole ts 18 by 24 by 20 inches in size; each has its own door and indi- vidual key, and each will hold one ton, or $500,000 in gold coin of any denomina- tion. It is the custom to store the coin in strong duck bags, much like ordinary shot bags in material and make. and each large enough to hold twenty pounds av dupois, or $5,000, so that it requires 100 bags “to fill each pigeon hole. Of course ajl are now filled, and besides, a tier of extra boxes has been ranged down the center of each room, until the total dead weight of gold now contained in the big chest amounts to 392 ters. More Than 500 Tons of Add the gold coin in th the bar goid fn the assay office to this and the gross weight of the precious yellow metal at this time stored in what may be termed the public treasure chests of York would amount to 522 tons. Were this gold placed In one side of a gig pair of scales It would heavily overbala ten fifty-ton locomotives, and the weight of the chest in which it Is kept would ore than equal the coal carried in their tenders. It is e aa. e subtreasury and ew rident from what is said above con- cerning the construction and surroundings of the clearing house treasure chest tha the thief who should succeed in robbing it of any of ious content ~ ing: ers 1g indeed. Yet of the safeguards have not b nor will the custodians of the strong box explain them all. It is a fact, however, that even were two light- firgered gentienen t mplish the im- possible and secure double corbin ticns, they woutc. be rtain they we i come to grief the moment the: gan to manipulate locks of th doors. For they are fitted with ¢ contrivances calculated to bring upon any unauthorized and therefore un- familiar person who should touch them At the same time alarms would be sounded in a dozen different quarters and arrest would be made before the burg get out of the place. while all eccrned feel a certain weight of responsit ity for the safety of the gold in their c trey still f2el reasonably certain th ing short of re: thi morally © gril re t noth- not even the rend- ing power of an ke, can ever make porsible the robbery of the treasure chest. It is not expected by the bankers of New York that the vast quantity of gold now stored there will remain long undiminished, nor would it be likely ain at this high-water mark even were no war in prog- re Its presence coincidently with the early stages of the current hostilities has undoubtedly had a ¢ t moral effect upon the nations of t earth, but it is not here because of commercial maneuverings any more than because of government pressure. It is here in the natural course of business. A certain but not large percentage came from the Klondike n, but most of it was called hither from Europe in the set- tlement of last year's business, through the balance of trade being largely in America’s favor. Big exports and s sales of American se all imports, heavy urities abroad a great influx of new Klondike gold tend to maintain present condition while there is no expectation of a disastrous gold drain within the coming year, it is anticipated that the present store will be greatly cut down before snow file WITH A TWISTED SPIRE. Strange Appenrance of ihe Parish Church at Chesterneld. From the Philadelphia Reeont. The Parish Church at Chesterfield, Eng- land, has a curious spire. Instead of being perpendicular, it is bent and twisted, so that the spire deviates from the perpen- tcular some six feet to the south and four feet to the west. Stories and legends relating thereto are numerous and interesting. One tells that pretty and virtuous women were exceedingly scarce in the town, so scarce that when one day a good and love- ly woman stepped within the church to ba married, the steeple was astonished and bowed to the bride, and that the bend was made when attempting to regain its orig- inal position. The legend is still more un- kindly toward the fair sex, for it continues that never will its upright position be re- gained until another model woman is mar- ried beneath. With many legends the prince of darkness ness is connected, and the best of these is as follows: The devil flying over the town, and tired with extra exertion, settled on the spire te rest. The incense which was being burnt in the church at the time was wafted up- ward, and so tickled the devil's nose that he gave a terrible sneeze, which so shook the steeple that it was irretrievably twist- ed. One of the most intelligent theories put forward regarding the twist in the spire is that the clinging pressure of the lead may have caused an irregular subsi- dence in the timbers, which have also been powerfully warped by the action of the sun beating through the lead on to the greener parts of the woodwork. Rumors that the spire was unsafe have been rife, especially about the when experts who examined it pronounced it to be in a very unsafe condition. Public opinion was vever, against its demoli. tion, and the steeple still stands, one of the strangest architectural curiosities in the world. Se The letter S is in the ascendant—Samp- son, Schley, Shafter and Santiago. The sibilant is sounding.—Buffalo News. The tetter S is iso in the descendant, Witness Spain's sickly smile as she seeks succor and sinks in the soup. See?—Roch- ester Democrat and Chronicle. Byc.bye!Hope riees high: There's.a swect little cra- dle hung up in the sky, +. — A dear little life that is ~ F 9——~ coming to biess ; © 7 Two soit chubby’ hands ae that will pat and caress; “YY G7 YA BBtg Little, soul wing: nwt ing down from above; tl A Guling 0 cose bees In the baby to love. days when Eve sinned it was writ- ten that motherhood should here- after be ac- companied with pain many of their sins and mistakes. One of the grandest agencies which e_ lightened Science has discovered to relieve motherhood from excessive si ing is the BV" Fieror chic! sovealting physicln of . Pierce, chief consultin: i the Invalids’ Hotel and ‘Surgical i Scription the entire nervous sys- tem with Datural, healthy vitality; gives elastic vigor to icate organism spe- cially concerned in motherhood; renders the prospective mother strong and cheerful and makes the coming of baby entirely free from danger and almost free from — The delighted gratitude of Mrs. Walton, of Alvo, Cass Co., Neb., will find an echo in the heart of every expectant