Evening Star Newspaper, December 31, 1922, Page 40

6 Stingy, Snarly and a Grouch, He Could Use and Received His Just ILES MORSE was his name. He lived over on the nosth side of our square, two doors from the Varick man- ston, in a small, neat, solid and very private house. His age was uncer- tain. His appearance was arid. His garb was plain and black. His ex- presslon was unfriendly. His busl ness was making money and his pleasure keeping the money when made. As to his neighbors, he asked nothing and gave nothing. Behind his back, and not always very far be- hind it, he was called the meanest man in our square. Only for Terry the Cop, MacLachan, the little red doctor and Cyrus the Gaunt, did he have a curt, silent nod, and for the Bonnie Lassie an awk- ward bow. The rest of us might as well not have existed. Naturally, there were few who had a good word for him. Of these Terry the Cop w: one. “Anyway, he has a grand pair of hands,” Terry has been heard to aver. On the strength of this opinion, the Bonnie Lassic, who needed a really superior pair of hands for a sculp- ture which she was then employed upon, made a point of catching Miles Morse in the park and compelling him to shake hands with her, to his resentful embarrassment. Subse- quently she took our guardian of the peace to task. “I don’t know what you could have been thinking of, Terry,” she do- clared. “His hands are knuckly out- side and puffy inside.” “You should see ‘em in the court,” sald Terry cryptically. Not clearly comprehending what standing In court Mr. Morse's hands would give him, the Bonnie Lassie dropped the subject. On her own uccount, however, she had a sus- vicion of redeeming qualities in the weanest man. * koK K TOW it happened that the high iN gods of council who unofficially rulo our square held conference not long thereafter upon a project ad- vanced by the little red doctor for a local legal aid organization, with an offico and an attendant. Money was needed, and money Is one of our rarest phenomena. It was the Bonnie Lassie who sug- zested that the meanest man in our square be approached for a contri- bution. “Well, my dearest,” sald Cyrus the | Gaunt, with that condescending sur- render which 13 one of his few faults as a husband, “suppose you tackle him for a contribution?’ “l will,* said the Bonnle Lassie. “I'll go now." She went. Presently she returned. It was not the return of a victress. “How much?”’ asked the little red doctor. The Bonnie Lassle throw out empty , and eloquent hands. “And what did he say?’ inquired Cyrus the Gaunt. “He Indicated that he'd seo me in hades first.” “Then Il go over and knock his head o dening. anyay.” Nothing of the sort, goose! I dldn’t say he said it I said he indi- ated it. It was his manner. Ver- »ally, he was polite enough. Said he didn't belleve in charity.” Cyrus the Gaunt snorted. “Gave his reasons, too. He sald he doesn’t believe in charity because it makes the reciplent think too Il of Limself, which is bad, and the giver think too well of himself, which is worse.” “Something in that” grudged the littls red doctor. | “Tsu't there? I tried to explain the usefulness of the legal ald soclety, but he sald that people who got into court were focols, and people who litred lawyers to lie for them tere aves. Then” —the Bonnle Lassie iimpled—"he caught me sniffing at ufs musty old house, and asked me what was the matter, and I asked him if he had ever been dusted and alred, and he sald that he was afraid he'd have to get a housekeeper, and if I'd got him one—the right kind of a one -—an old, respectable, honest woman, who'd do all the work while he was! away, so that he’d never have to see lier, he'd contribute to our fund”— the Bonnie Lassie paused for effect— “ten dollars.” When the assembled council had rinished expressing its various emo- tions the speaker continued: i “I've got a month to do it in. So 1 made him make out the check and Lold it, unsigned.” “What's the idea, Lassie?’ MacLachan the Tailor. “The leak-in-the-dike principle,” she explained profoundly. “The ten dollars is just the first trickle. If we ever get him started, heaven help him sefore we let him stop! I'm golng to zet that ten dollars If T have to take | the position myself.” | UT she was not driven to that length. It is a recognized fact| n our square that when the Bonnie | Lassie determines to get anything done, Providence, with rank favorit- ism, invariably steps in and does it for her. This powerful and unfail- ing ally it was that brought Molly Dunstan to our square, white-faced, hot-eyed, and with a gnawing fire of despalr at her heart, plunging blindly agalnst the onset of a furlous March wind, until the lights of Schoenkind’s drug store gulded her to harbor. In the absence of Schoenkind, who was lining late at the Elite restaurant, oung Irvy Levinson was keeping hop, and as young Irvy is of a cheer- tul, care-free and undiscriminating position, he made no bones of sell- ing the wind-beaten customer a bot- Ue of a certain potent drug which las varfous propertles and virtues back of its skull-and-orossbones la- Del, one of the latter being that it is prompt though painful. With her purchase, Molly plunged back into the storm, turned toward the dim park space and bumped violently into the little red doctor. Gently releasing her, he caught a glimpse of her face. Tts aspect was not reassuring. Young women who come blundering out of T've always wanted to do it, asked declared her husband, red- | j hollow cheeks, Regfilér ; His Fists Reward. the way of human misery, he knew that mysterious Instinct of suicides which guides them, no matter what their chosen method of self-destruc- tion, toward water. Therefore, he tock the shortest route for our foun- tain. Young Irvy's custbmer sat huddled on a bench at the water's edge. The bottle was in her hand, uncorked. She had just made a trial of the liquid on her hand and was crying softly because it burned. As the little red doctor's grip closed on her wrist she gasped and sought to raise the drug to her lips. “Drop it!" said her captor in the volce of authority. She obeyed. But she misinterpreted the authority. “Is it to jail ye'll-be taking me?” she asked despairingly. ‘The soft appeal of the voice, with its faint touch of the brogue, shook the little red doctor. One glance at the piteously lined young face con- quered him. He formulated his pro- gram on the spot. “Jail?” he echoed in affected sur- {price. “What for?" | She glanced mutely at the shat- | tered bottle. | o { warts,” he observed carelessly, lift- — ing the hand, which was as soft and moth's wing. “Now, you come with me to a friend of-mine, and she'll fix that burnt finger.” . : His captive followed him without protest to the nestling little house been her husband’s wedding gift to the bonnic lasste. There, without fuss or query, Molly Dunstan was accepted as a guest, and presently, too worn out even to wonder, she was deep in healing sleep in the spare room over the studio. In the morning she presented her- Belf to her hostess’ unobtrusive-but kind observation—a wistful slip of a woman of perhaps twenty-five, with deep-brown, fright- ened eyes, a softly drooping mouth and a satiny skin from which the color had ebbed. She bore herself with a certain native dignity and con- fidence. “It's good ye've been to me, and I'll not know ‘how to thank you, now that I'll be going,” she sald, and the silken-soft voice with its touch of accent won the bonnle lassie’s soft and wise heart from the first. “But you're not to go yet” tested the latter. “You must stay until you're well. And then I want to sculp you, if you'll let me. I'm an artist, and I think you would make a wonderful model.” “It's kind ye are” returned the other, “but how can I be beholden?" “You won't be. It's you that will be doing the favor. As soon as you're well onugh——" “I'm well enough now. nothing the matter with me.” But her voice was without life or hope. * X %k ¥ 0, in many slow sittings, the bon- nie lassie sculped Molly Dunstan, and from those sittings grew the heart-moving bronze, “The Broken Wing.” As the work progressed the pro- i heart of Molly Dunstan opened little by little and her story came out. While a young girl in a good Irish school she had met a traveling Amer- ican, Henry Dunstan, and, half for love and half in the elfin Irish spirit of adventurousness, - had run away with him. He was a good husband to her, and they were happy in a little country place which he had bought and which she turned to skillful ac- count, raising ducks and.chickens for the market to eke out his income— “until the drink took him.” It took him the full length of its well-beaten path, from debt to ruin; from ruin to broken will and health; and presently to death. When his debts were cleared up the place was gone, and the little widow had-a scant $2,000 of his life insurance in the bank. Belng sturdy, able and:.couragéou she had come to New York, had found some fine sewing to. do, and.main- tained herself, always with the idea of getting back into the country.and to her poultry raising, which she loved. Here the simple story came to a full stop with the words: “So I bought a bit of a place they took it away from me.” “Who took it away- from - you?’ and [uked the bonnie lassie. “Mr. Wiggett,” replied Molly, and Qrug stores with that expression and |mn into such a it of shuddering that make for the nearest quiet spot not infrequently cause needless trouble to the busy authorities. Opening Schoenkind’s door, the little red doc- tor thrust into the aperture his carnest face and this no less earnest query: “What did that last customer buy?” “Carbolic,” replied young Irvy light-heartedly, “For a dog. Ast if it hurt much.” The door slammed with much the effect of an oath and the questfoner sprinted for the park. Being wise in the bonnie lassie forebore to ques- tion her further concerning the trans- action. 3 Little by little, however, there came | out bits-of ' information which - the bonnié -lassle deftly -wove together, with . the eventual result that Cyrus the Gaunt.looked up an advertisement. in a .ceftain newspaper . famous - for its traps and.pitfalls, and paid'a visit |- to the office, on St. Marks place, of “D. Wiggett & Co., city and subarban real estate.” He returned much’ de- pressed, declaring * that the laws that's foolish stuff to use for “WHAT DID YE DO TO.HIM?” SHE ASKED. 1 There's against homicide ought.to provide for exceptions in the case of such persons as D. Wiggett. “There he sat and grinned, a great, plump, pink, powerful, smirking go- rilla, and sald that the transaction ‘with Mrs. Dunstan was perfectly legal —jerfectly—and there wasn’t anything further to be said.’ “Did you say it?” inquired the bon- nie lassie, who knew her Cyrus. “I.did. And he threatened to have me arrested for defamatory language. But he's right—legally. He's got | Your little widow's $2,000, every cent of it, and she’s got a plece of stamped paper.” g S “Why isn’t it a case for our legal lala?" “I've just been to Merrivale. There isn't a thing to be done.” Following the “legal aid” line, Cyrus’ mind took a sudden but logical jump. “T never expected to meet a meaner cuss than the meanest man in our square,” he observed, “but I have.” “The very thing!” cried the bonnie lasste. “How clever of you, Cyrus! 1 mean, how clever of me! Molly wants a place. She's all over that foolish suicide notion. Mr. Miles Morse's housekeepe: “But he wanted an old woman,” ob- “How is“she to tell if he never sees | wife confidently.- | * kK K | JROR six weeks all went well and (L' stmply..Miles Morse was obliged {to confess; grudgingly, that his house | to arranging itself- with less stiffness and more amiability. When he gave {a whist party of an evening the |cigars were in place, the ash trays | ready, the rooms aired and fresh and |the lcebox stuffed, all by .invisible | hand. Orders Were issued and requi~ sitions made through tlie bonnie lasste. Meeting her neighbor in our square | the $10 check for the legal aid so- | clety. % R | *When I'm sure I'm satisfied,” sald | the meanest man, bending frowning { brows from above his owlish glasses upon her. “D’ you know what that | 0ld hag has been up to?” | “What old hag?’ inquired the bon- {nle lasste unguardedly. | “The Dunstan woman.” Oh, you've seen her, then?’ | “Not to speak of. She was.curled up like a worm and had her face swathed up.like a harem, and talked |1ike the croak of a ‘frog. And she's | been putting. flowers on my breakfast table,” he concluded with the accents |of ono detalling an intolerable out- | rage. | “What of it?” inquired the surprised agent. “What of it! Flowers cost money, don’t they?" “Have you received any bill for | flowers. yet? “I've recelved bills for brooms, | mops, palls, towels, cups, plates, nalls, i tacks, picture hangers, baking tins, soap, and God knows what all,” re- | plied Mr. Morse in a breathless and | feroctous voice. | *“Yes? And which of those do you {find In the floral catalogues?’ queried | the bonnie lassie interestedly. *“If" | you want to know,” she added as the | meanest man struggled for competent utterance, “those flowers-came from i time. You'll be pleased.” he looked—so pleased that one fresh and glorious' June day he came home early to putter about among the pansies. At the moment of his ar- rival Molly Dunstan, her work fin- ished and her shawl laid aside, was standing In her neat, close-fitting black dress, inside the area ralling, brooding with deep eyes over the glad flush of summer which glorified our square. The owner of the house ! stood regarding her with surprise and disfavor. “What are “you -doing here?” he barked. With a startled jump,. Molly came out of her brown study. and returned the natural but undiplomatic answer: “I'm the housekeeper.” *“You! What has become. of Mrs. Dunstan?” “I'm Mrs. Dunstan.” The soft tears welled up into her soft eyes. *“Oh, dear; oh, dear!” she moaned, “ye'll ‘mot—not be wanting- me - here any more!” i “Oh, I don’t say that,” returned the ‘cautious - Mr. Morse. “You're not wholly unsatisfactory. But what.does that mummery 'of an old woman mean?’ S she sald wisttully. g Miles' Morse surprised - himself by promptly.saying: - “T'll: liste: it 2 B R ~one.could_have wished a-more “intent listener.: ‘Melly-told- it all, ' iricludifig® thie “deal whereby -D. ‘Wiggett had secured her money, "At She shall be | one day, the bonnie lassie hinted at your own back yard. Look at it some | | The meanest man was pleased when TIL teil "ye it all i¢ ye'll listen,”! the conclusion her employer suggest- ed’ that Mo)ly bring him' the deed or other documents in the case on the morrow. She did so. “This isn't a deed at all,” said he. what Mr. Wiggett was tell- “What else did he tell you?” thousand dollars and would go out there he'd see I got enough embroid- ery work so that I could easily make the twenty-dollar-a-month’ payments till L owned it all.” * “He didn’t tell you that if you failed in a payment you'd lose it al1?” “Not till after.” “It's here in the agreement to sell. ‘That's all this paper is”—he flecked 1 | the’ document ' with a contemptuous deed. You've bought nothing but | empty print. ‘- Did you never read [this?’, | | She shook her head. “I trusted Mr. | Wiggett. He--ceemed so kind and with the quaint old -door and the!yus more livable and comfortable. |helptul at first.” broad, friendly vesttbule which had|pygt disappeared. The furniture took | “T'ntil the fly was in his web. You | signed that paper without knowing what you wero undertaking,” he ac- | cused. “Did you know that you wers { promising to pay taxes, interest and insurance on the bulldings?’ “No,” sald Molly Dunstan meekly. nd to keep the buildings in good What buildings | repair and puinted? !wwere they?’ “A house and & barn. They leaked. aturally. Also"—Miles Morse re- i ferred to the document in his hand— “ito plant a good, live California |privet hedge and to cntertain the same. What's your notion of a Cali- ifornia privet hedge and entertaining the same? Could you do that?” eyes there crept a little Irish devil of a twinkle. “Could I not!” sald she. “Can ye {not see me of a moonlight night tak ! ing me foot in'me hand and golng. out | to entertain me dull and lonely hedge with a turn of Kilkenny jigging!" Her sole tapped the ground as she | spoke. “Don’t -do it ‘here,” he interposed 1s beyond me, with your two thousand i dollars in the pocket of D. Wiggett. And what makes you look sick at the name of -him?’ he . concluded sharply. | “That's a terrible man,” “she an- swered with a catch of the breath. “When I went to him to ask for a bit ‘more time he swore at me. He | threatened me with jail. - He said he'd ruin my reputation. He said if I sent a lawyer there he'd hammer him to | pulp. He could do it, for he's a terri- {ble, big, strong, angry man. I came laway sick to live in the same world | with him. And that's-why I got the | carbolic,” she’ finiehéd . fn.. a” low, {shamed tone.. - - ¢ “Carbolfc! . You ‘were golng to kill yourself?” - E “Didn’t:Mrs. Staten tell.ye?" “She told~me" nothing—but lies!” was experiencing within himself a stir of strange and wrathful and pro- tective emotion. . Abruptly he changed the subject. “Would you,” he sald hesitantly, “for.a raise of wa—ahem! —salary, come a little earlier and get me'my’.breakfast?” “Tll not wait on table,” turned with a flash of color. {. .“It was not my {dea,” he sald quite humbly. | “But if" you would have a coffee machine and a toaster ‘and sit opposite at the table, and—and—it would save me money 'as against the restaurant,” he added lamely. “T'll consult my-manager,” returned his housekeeper with a-twinkle, * k% ¥ EHOLD, then, Mrs. Molly Dunstan, housekeeper, seated opposite Miles Morse, the - meanest mman - in our square, with a coffee apparatus, a toastér and a little centerpiece: bright with fowers, both of them break- fasting in a dim and .painful stlence. i But'food Is a great solvent of embar- rassment, and breakfast coffee has powers beyond the spirit of grape, corn or _rye to break down the bar- riers-bétween human and human. So that, by the end of a week; Molly was chattering: like a cheery 'bird with she re- ” | Just’enough. instigation:from her em- ployer to-keep her going. One: sub- Ject was tacitly tabooed as.a kill-joy —to ‘wit,” the devil as.embodied- by Mr.:D.' Wiggett. and all his works. :-On :a :Monday “morning- some six [ weeks' after Molly's Installation-as a “He told me if I'd-pay him the two ; Into Molly Dunstan’s Irish-brown | Miles Morse spoke harshly because he |. breakfast fixture he spoke abruptly. “I've been up there.” “Where?"" she asked. “To tae place you' thought you'd bought. It's a trap.” “I'm out of it, at least with my te. “You are not the only one that's been caught. He's fleeced four others that I know of on that plant—all per- fectly legal. I have a notlon,” said Miles Morse with an effect of choos- ing his words, “that D. Wiggett & Co. was incorporated in hell and the | sllent partner is his satanic. majesty.” “Why did ye go up there?” “Curjosity.” “Not kindness—just a little bit?” “I wanted to'ses the work of a man .\h "‘y,"& i “I DID EVERYTHING TO HIM,” SAID MR. MORSE. “BUT-BITE HIM.” | meaner than the meanest man in our smooth and free from blemish as a|her? I'll manage that,” retorted-his|finger—"an agreement to sell; not a square,” he said with a sour grin. Molly Dunstan flushed. . “I'd not be letting them call me that!”-she declared. “And I'll not be- |Meve it true of ye. What alls ye at ‘the -world, at ali?’ she demanded. “I'll tell you, since you ask,” he replied deflantly. “I'm getting even ! with it for treating me like a dog.” “So that's {t.” There was a pause. | “Would ye tell me about it?" | asked shyly. Much to his astonishment, Miles Morse discovered that he wanted to tell her about it. . “A man that I thought my fricnd _cheated me out of the first ten thou- sand dollars that 1 made. “Whish! Yo ma@e more, diin't ye?" rhe rcplied calmly. “I wouldn't be hating the world for tha “Then there was a woman.” he said with -more difficulty. , “T thought— . she made me believe siie cared for me. 1'was young. She got me into a fake stock proposition with some confed- | erates and they fleeced me." | “Whoot!" Molly blew an imaginary { thistledown from her dainty fingers. ‘She was a light thing. 'Twas your bank account she hurt, not your ! heart." | Suddenly Miles Morse reallzed that | this-was so. “There’s nothing clse worth speak- hastily. - “How you can joke about it | Cept a bit of boy’s silliness that you'q | 1awyer. As he walted his turn at the laugh at” “Tell 1t to me.” “It was when I was seven years | old_and we lived in the country. My {father was a hard sort of man. He {saw no semsa in play or such non- sense, and when Fourth of July came | he'd give me no fireworks nor let me |draw-any of my little money out of {the -bank. - All the other boys had | firecrackers but me. So I got a spool and . filled it with sand and put a bit {of string in it and I lighted the end. ‘When It didn’t go off I ran away and 'hid and felt pretty bad. I've always |1aid. that up against things. Foolish, }'lm‘rit‘.’" S ! I |7T'HE 1little woman opposite lifted 1 eycs which had -grown suddenly | bright and soft with a disturbing hint jot tears. b “Ye poor lamb!” she said.’ | *fTut, tut!” gruffly. retorted . the meanest man in our'square, who had never before been called’'a poor lamb. He spoke without conviction. “But that shouldn’t make ye hate the world,” argued Molly earnestly. “It should only make ye hate what's |mean and unfalr in the world.” “Well, -there's D. Wiggett,” replied the other hopefully. “I think I could learn to hate him. In fact, I think {T'11 make a trial of it by calling on him today.” “Oh, don’t do that!” she implored tremulously. “He'll do ye harm. He's & terrible man and twice the size of yer . “This will be a strictly peaceable errand,” he averred, meaning what he sald. By -no means reassured, Molly Dun- stan made her way to a spot in St. ! Marks square, which gave her a good view of the real estate office. After an hour's wait, devoted to the most | dismal forebodings, she saw her em- | ployer stride around. the corner and enter the door. Had she actually | summoned the nerve to interpose, as 'she had vaguely designed' to do, there was no time. ‘Three minutes later Mr. Miles Morse emerged. J ¢ He.emerged by -force and arms. To the terrified watcher there seemed-to be .at. last half a dozen tangled per- sons engaged.in the: eviction. of Mr. Morse. That. gentleman: descended | the steps as one who walks upon the | contact with some heavy and hard she | THE MEANESTMA clouds, albelt with a considerable limp. Molly ran to meet him. Five yards away she stopped dead, lifting dis- mayed hands to heaven. was a strange and moving sight. A small stream of blood was:trickling from the corner of his mouth, which was expanded in an astounding and joyous smile. His sober black string necktie. was festooned over his left ear. Half of his large, solemn blue | spectacles was Jammed down his neck inside a dislocated collar. The other |half presented a scandalous and sightless appearance, having lost its |lens. His coat was split in three places and torn in one. His hat sim- ply was not; it could be {dentified as & hat solely from the circumstance that it was jammed inextricably down upon his head. From his right cheek bone there had already sprouted. & | “nickey” fit to hang a bucket on. But these were minor injurles compared to the condition of Mr. Morse's hands. Bruised and cut, scarified, scalped and swelling, the “grand pair of hands” which Terry the Cop so ad- ing come into violent and repeated 1object. Horror-stricken, Molly turned her eyes from them -to the real es- tate office of D. Wiggett ‘& Co. A front window flew up. The counte- nance of D. Wiggett appeared therein | and Molly at once {dentified it as the | heavy and hard object to which her employer's manual plight was due. | | The countenance opened, somewhat islantwise, and sent forth a gasping and melancholy bellow: “Police!™ | ‘Without a word, Molly seized one | {of the battered hands and ran. Per- | | force, her employer ran with her. A {tax! was prowling up 2d avenue. | Molly hafled 1t. * ok % % 1 N the trlp Mr. Mlles Morse ex- | ;U hibited stlent but alarming symp- toms. Arrived at home, e flatly ro- | fused to enter. | “Air and space,” he sald, were his, ispecial and immediate needs. He Mr. Morse ; mired, testified unmistakably to hav- | ! though for very ' differant { The court then proceeded to the sen- |made his way to the most secluded | {bench in the park, followed by his| | dismayed housekeeper, sat down and ; egan to chuckle. The chucklo grew | Iinto a laugh, the laugh into a serfes | ,of chokes, the chokes into a pro- !tracted convulsion of mirth. When | t length it had passed, leaving him! |spent and gasping, Molly Dunstan ' | spoke serlously to him. “Are ye finished?” : “Iam.” i “Have ye been drinking?” “I have not.” i “What did ye do to him?* ! {1 did everything” said Mr. Miles | Morse with a long reminiscent sigh | | of utter satisfaction, “but bite him.” | | “Ye told me” accused Molly with | heaving bosom, “that it would be a ! | strictly peaceable errand.” “So it would” replied the other calmly, “if he hadn’t eaid something ; {about you.” ! { Molly's brown eves widened ond| { brightened with amazement. Her lips | parted. | “About me” sho cried. Then she! | committed what the lawyers call a| | non-sequitur. ‘“Mother of all the! | Saints!” cried Molly, “How old are [ yez | “Thirty-seven years a four months,” replied the meanest man In | our square gravely. H “And me thinking—" | He never found out what | thinking, for she broke off |ana said: i “Clap a bit of raw beef to that cheek,” and vanished from his sight. | No Molly appeared for breakfast in | i the morning. In her stead arrived a. court officer with a warrant, in which the term “felbnlously” played a con- spicuous and dispiriting part. At] court Miles Morse, prisoner, found a | idelegation from our square awaiting ihim, including Molly, Cyrus the Gaunt, the bonnie lasele, Terry the Cop and a man taking coplous notes | with an absorbed and feroclous ex- | pression, with a view to daunting | wrongdoers by the prospective fierce | whito light of the press. This was ! | part of the bonnie lassle's strategy. : {So also was the presence of Merri- {Jale, the young lawyer of the legal |ald branch, for the bonnio lassie had | correctly guessed that the accused | she was ' abruptly | ng of,” he sald, a bit sullenly, “ex- ; Would disdain to spend money on g | Pensions. |bar of judgment (before Wolf Tone |Hanrahan, the human judge, his friends remarked with satistaction) | Terry the Cop caught sight of his| damaged knuckles. | “I always said he had a grand pair, of hands,” murmured Terry to the| ! bonr e 1asste. : “And here they are in court, where ' you sald they were at thelr best,” she ! commented. i An expression of bewilderment gave | placo to a grin on Terry’s handsome | face. o 2 “The court.” I said,.“the hand ball' .court at the Y. M. C. A. e packs a wallop in either hand 'un kill a bull.” Then the plaintiff came In and there was no further need of expla- natibns. « D. Wiggett was a horrid sight. He would have been a horrider sight if he hadn’t been almost totally ob- scured by bandages. The gist of his testimony was comprised in the fre- guently repeated word, “murder."” * % % % HE accused-put in no defense. In the human judge’s eye were doubt and indecision. Obviously- therc was something behind this case. As he | hesitated, the legal ald lawyer came forward with the light-pink. docu- ment of D. Wiggett & Co. and handed it to the judge with a few words. D, Wiggett's lawyer entered vehement objections. Stilling his protests with a waving hand, Magistrate Hanrahan read the “agreement to sell.” Then he called for Mrs. Molly Dunstan. More objections. Overruled. At the conclusion of Molly's testimony he turned to the protesting lawyer. “Did ye draw up this dockyment?” “I ad, your honor.” “It's as full of holes as the whitch’s cullender. Y'otta be disbarred fer it! The lawyer hastily receded. The remains of D. Wiggett were led for- ward to listen to a few brief but pointed dicta by the court, while the reporter (under promptings) edged up and took coplous notes in & book such as no reporter ever carried ex- cept upon the stage. At the end of the ordeal D. Wiggett, in broken and terrified accents, disclosed that his motives were of spotless purity, that his document was a harmless joke, and that. Mrs. Dunstan could - have the place and & deed thereto if shed 1just make the payments. | daughter, : will assume the care of the man too old | SAM BY UEL HOPKINS ADAMS. 2 “ll guaranites that,” put-in Cyrus| the Gaunt. = o | ¥And Il see that she gets work to keep golng on,” added- the bonnlo.| lasste. R Whereupon both . D.. Wiggett, the party of the first part (in the docu- ment), and Mrs. M. Dunstan, the party of ‘the second part,’ 1ssolved in tears, | reasons. | tence of the defendant.” Judgment was delivered in two mediams—tull- voiced for the prover judicial process, | and sotto volce, for the benefit of those most concerned. “Prisoner at the bar-r-r, ye¢ have brootally assaulted a peaceful citizen (not more than half ag'in as big as! yerself). Ye have bate him to a poolp (an® bim but a scant tin years young- er-an’ with a repitation for befn’ a rough-neck—with women and chil-' der). Ye have haff murdered Lim | (an’ take shame to yerself ye didn’t do th’ other haff). Becauise of yer youth an' inexperience (I mane ver age an’ the wallop ye carry), I wiil let ye off light with a fine of fifty | dollars (an 'if we'll slnd me word | when yer goin’ to operate again I'll remit the fine.) Nixt ca-ase!” * % % ¥ Fon a culprit who had got off €asy, ! Mr. Miles Morse resented far. from a cheerful appearance’ when Molly Dunstan presented herself on the following morning. Molly exhibited strange and Inexplicable symptoms, | flushing and paling, finding no place | for her regard to rest, until she dis- | covered that Miles Morse. was much ! worse confused than herself. There- | upon, after the manner. of women, | | she became quite composed and easy. |it's I will make it u Through breakfast ‘he: was very. si- lent. After lingering over his coffec | to an unwonted degree, he finaily arose, with an air of-great determi- nation, sald “Weli,” - in what was! meant to be a business-like tomne, walked briskiy to the door, then turned and stood in the most awkward uneuse. “The house wom't be like a ho without you,” sald he desolatel:. “Won't 117" sald Molly. “You'll be golng out to your ows place very soon now.” “Supnose I don’t want to?" It's all arranged. I've been talk- ing to Mr. and Mrs. State: “Have ve now!" suld Molly mutinous uptilt of the chin “She's arranged for you to get your own kind of work out there _(Continued from Fifth Page.) iturn, and no additional financial afd' was given unless absolutely sary. Mr. Ford does not believe in old-age His substitute for them s as for all other forms of charity. work ] —work with better pay for a £on.or 2 or some near relative. who neces- to continue on the job. It was a matter | of surprise to me to find how, in the | majority of instances, this was.a solu- | tion better for all concerned- than the pension. I have had old.men. on pen- | slon from other {ndustries come.into my | office begging for work. ~The. pemsion glven them was not sufficient to meet | their needs, and had had the eifect of | making the company for which they: had formerly worked-indifferent to their fate. Here is an- instance that ‘fiipe= | trates tho working out of <the-«I'ord plan: et Tl I’ recelved a report ffam anc. branches of the’company- that it-had in its employ a négro potter past séventy.| years of age. He was'gaing blind, and, as he worked about'the garage,.was in-danger of being killed or’ injured. It would be .better to pension him' ang'| send him home. I asked-for a»fuller | report ‘on the case. I got back a ‘state- ment that contained little ‘additional in- formation. I then sent a man from the home office who knew what to_look for. His report was that the man was past seventy: that he was going blind: that | he had a good home practically pald | for; that his wife was much younger than her husband and able and willing to’ work;" that the house could accom- modate a number of roomers as several Tooms were not in use; that there was a stepson about twenty-five years old working in & box factory at $25 & week. Here ‘was-the solution. Get the son. 1 asked him how he would like a job at $6 a day on condition that he give a certain weekly amount to his parents. He jumped at the chance. Then we helped fill up the house with a good class of roomers. We went further. We procured the old father a light job a: Janitor in a small flat a few doors from where he lived. When we got through the income of the family was just about double what it had been. Everybody was at work, and everybody happy. The gift of time, personal interest and a job seemed a very good substitute for a pension. * & % ¥ R. FORD'S wealth was to the clergy what Noah's incense was to the gods. “They swarmed dbout it like files. Thelr requests varied little as to form, and the reason they usu- ally advanced for thefr being granted tvas just the one chief reason why ltke my own job here.” “It's all arranged” =ald MMiles Morse with dismal {teration. “Does that mean I'm discharged?’ £ you want to put it that wa. “And I'm to go up there to ¢ country—alone —und entertaix “alifornia privet hedge?” Her lttle foot tupped tie gro as it had on ‘the unforgotten c sion” of that first intervies meanest man in our square wince Molly saw it, and her eyes grew ter der, but her tone was still uncou promising. “What am I discharged for?" Silence. “For not belng old enough to your housckeepe: She looked t' merest wisp of a girl with her ¢ ing and going as she spoke. For not belng ugly enou she contrived to look bewilde Why do you plague me, Molly he burst out. She pointed a finger at Lis chin. “1 dare ve, Miles Morse,” her vo for all he are ye to @ For zll ye're called in our square, ye wouldn’ me v charge me! meanest be that from iger still level sne caught and held close to the and respectible black coat. "d never dared hav. Molly,” said Miles Mors of one who walks ecstatic wonders of a dx “Dop’t 1 kn And then, w Iked straight to himn and wa sober * she sand-n; Dool & PENING h following (for whose the stars in a little e througl ing ol lars” was w caret, word “hundred The signature they could not be. One was bullding a church, another a parish house, 1 - other a parochial school. “A gr. many of my parishioners are Ford emplo ran the argumen a I know Mr. Ford is interested in hLis people. 1 am sure he will be glad to help us erect this building.” And answer was: “Mr. Ford is interes in the welfare of his employes. wants them to have homes of th own, churches and schoois. But I thinks. that it is better that they should build such for themselves than that he should do it for them. It for this reason that he pays them liberal ‘wage and in addition to t shares his profits with them. It his idea that it is better to sper money through his employes than t spend it.on them or for them. Mo which others somctimes hold ba-: from their employes and spend on re liglon, - education and charities es to his workmen, believing th s better for all concerned to mik-~ it possible for them to do for the: selves. - As a rule, people appreci: (o the thing they pay for more than 1l thing that is given to them—religion included. _Which would you prefer, that he cut the wages of your people and give what he saves thercby to you, or that he keep up the wage and let you look to the people for the money with which to carry on your work?” Put that way, they thought the wage better than the gift. Labor does not take kindly to the man who is epending money in “up- 1£t” work. It prefers to be given the “lft” in wages and look out for its own uplift. There seem to be but three ways by means of which & man of large means can put a portion of his money to philanthropic purposes. He can establish a foundation and leave the disposition of his benevolences to experts. He can personally listen to and Investigate every request made, provided he has nothing else to do. Or he can lay down & lime of his own and hew to it. This Henry Ford has done. He decries charity. He makes no attempt to conceal that fact. He believes that money should be made to work, and that men should worl for money. He says that anything that can’t pay its own way has no right to exist. Just what effect this would have on the Dearborn Inde- pendent I do not know. (Copyright, 1922, !‘lfiahu:rmen Newspaper hid —— A Briton has invented a silent soup- spoon. But we may still find the din- ing room if we listen for the celery.— New Orleans Timcs-Picayune.