Evening Star Newspaper, October 4, 1925, Page 94

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, OCTOBER 4, 1925—PART 5. The Dead Man’s Tale BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM A Sane Moment Came to Sir Joseph Londe N hour before dawn the deep|Rocke and Ann were the only guests. | corner of it,” w silence of the night en by the melancholy the crested her the fir trees of the hotel gar- dens at Algeciras. A man who had Leen standing motionless for over an hour on the stone balcony of a small villa, his pale face and white shirt gleaming inst the heavy kness, turned abruptly away and disappeared into the room behind. He _adjusted_the ele ght with un- steady fingers. woman whose aceful shape lay outlined under. neath the bedelothes woke with a Yawn. She looked at the man and the sieepiness vanished from her eyes. “Joseph!” she exclaimed, *what Is wrong? Haven't you been’ to bed all night?” The man spoke. hard and cracked, “Judith,” he confessed, spent_horrible hours. A thought like an adder has stolen into my brain. Am I mad? Are we both mad?" “Mad e repeated, looking hard brok- call of ns roosting in The His volce sounded “I have have we done? Why are we hiding? v 1 My brain is full of ha: thought ive had the surgeon’s nightmare. 1 dreamed that 1 oper- on sound men, that my knife wa: Iways seeking for their ains, for some phan al reason. She w nd her. Phan ted. “Why do you stay out in the dark and brood | when bed is warm and sleep is good? You are the greatest surgeon in the world,” she went on soothingly. “You have done only what you had a right to do. Undress, and come and b ng-gown he repeated, his eyes fixed and glaring. “Judith, for a mo- ment it seemed to me as though a shutter had been lifted from before my eyes. Why did we leave Dredley? at became of that young man, a waiter at Shoreborough, who brought me my Lancet, and the boy who was cling acr Salisbury Plain? 'hen there was that Worton man, and the cipher reader who ed. Why were they all so terrl- 1 Lave heard their screams com- ing across the v as 1 stood out in the darkness. What was it all about, Judith?” “Tt v “You only nothing, sked " she assured him. f ungrateful men— You, who have saved hundreds of lives—you only asked of one or two them a moment upon the table, a flick of the knife.” “But why”" he persisted. remember why.” “To repair the damage to your own brain,” she reminded him, wondering- 1y. “The little discolored spot. Only wherever you search there is alw the patch of red “The patch of red,” “Stop! It is true, then. I am mad. The very idea you speak of is the idea of a madman. I have murdered innocent people.” “Pooh!” she scoffed. “Only one or two. Most of them escaped. You're making yourselt ilf about a trifle. SIeTt trifle,” he answered, hoarsely, “how is it that we plot and scheme and hide? How is it that we g0 always in terror, always hiding from these men, from the girl “They are our enemies,” she ad- mitted.” “Some day we must get rid of them all and have peace. “Peace!” he muttered. ‘‘Peace!” She threw off her dressing-gown and curled herself up in bed again. “You make my head ache,” she com- plained. “I have never been able to think much since the guns stopped. Come to bed, Joseph, or go to your own room. Iam weary.” He turned away. v her eyes were closed and she was breathing regularly, sleeping like a child, igno- rant of evil, full of confidence in the morrow. And on the morrow he would have forgotten. * ok k¥ ‘ HEN morning came she had con- ceived a wonderful idea. They breakfasted in a sunny corner of the baicony. She wore a rose-colored wrap, loosely fastened at the waist with a_silken girdle, and the rich glory of her hair shone golden in the warm flood of light. Nevertheless she had not altogether forgotten. She leaned back in her seat and studied him. He was looking pinched and white. He was losing flesh and his eyes had sunken. You seem tired.” she observed, fencing with a subtle purpose, to see if he would speak of the night before. “I slept ill.” he confessed. “Very 1. The night was full of shadows and nightmares.” “Do you remember ed. 0, he answered, “only vaguely. Yet, there's one thing I'm sure of, the whole world stinks of ingratitude. 1 know that I am in danger just be. cause I seek to repair the brain I “I can't he repeated. them?” she been thinking. I am going now to dress. Be ready to walk with me when T return. I have an idea.” Presently they climbed the hill at the back of the villa, a bare, stony place, with a few palm trees here and there, and a belt f cactus. Toward | the top, leaning to the sun, was a| square inclosure. bordered by a white | wall, and containing 2 hundred or more graves. They leaned over the =2 ow listen to me, Joseph,” she sald. “These people all make such stupld trouble over a trifle. Why not the brain of a dead man? There could be no trouble, no offense against the law His eves were bright as steel, hard and eager. “A dead ma “Why not? scarlet patch death. “True! If it were within 24 hours there would be no danger whatever.” “There you are, then,” she cried. “Wonderful!” he muttered, looking eagerly over the wall. “But how to get them? They bury deep in Spain.” She clutched his arm, drew him round, and pointed down below to & hovel by the seashore, a plastered structure, thatch-covered and banked with weeds. There were fishing nets spread out in front. On the beach al few yards away a small fishing boat, a black sail, rode at anchor. You know what they call the three men who live alone there?”, she re- minded him. “The three devils. They have all been in prison. They are all outcasts. Let them do your work on dark nights, and afterwards—when you have finished—they can sail out beyond the bay and drop what re- mains into the bottom of the Medl- terranean.” N\ He looked at her almost with re- venge. “Judith,” he confessed, “I have sometimes done you a wrong in my thoughts. You have had a great idea —a wonderful idea,” he added portent- ously. “If I can once be sane again, even for one year, no one will ever ralse a finger against me, because I can show the world things it never cven dreams of now.” She drew him down the hillside. “The brothers are there, all three of them,” she pointed out. “Your Spanish is good enough to make them | " he repeated. she argued. “The will have faded with | the prompt reply. The wine was good, the dinner excel- lent, and everybody, on the surface at any rate, was cheerful. ve're going to lose you for a time, Sir Francis,” Ann remarked. He nodded, a little gloomily. “The doctor insists,” he haven't any particular des In fact I would rather stay in land just now “I can’t think why th a little shiver. rain and sleet outside. “I could tell you why,’ pered, leaning toward her. Vhere are you golng asked, quickly. Gllbraltar,” he replied. My cousin is governor there and I shall stay with him for a day or two and afterward at Algeciras. - you remember who this is?" Ann glanced at the little party of new arrivals. Foremost among them, very correctly dressed, very good: looking, still a little self-satisfied, came Capt. Milton, the chief constable of Shoreborough. He strolled across toward them. “So the miracle happened after all,” Francis reminded hith, a little drily. *“That little petrol boat wa: never heard of again.” | “I won't admit the miracle,” was “I sald that escape | for that man and woman was an im-| possibility. All reasonable harbors | and landing places were barred to them. There was nothing to prevent their making for the mid-Atlantic, though, and dying of hunger or thirst or being swamped.” “You think, then, that that is what happened?” Daniel asked. “There isn't the slightest doubt about it."” *I saw both the man and the woman alive and well a few months ago,” Ann observed “Bless my .soul!” Milton exclaimed, incredulousl 'Where? “They spent last Winter in \onte Carlo,” Ann told him. “The same people? that?"” “Quite sure. she observed, “Think of the he whis to?" she You're sure of 1 dined at their villa.” “But surely vou did something about it?”" he demanded. ‘I did what I could,” Ann replied. T've come to the conclusion that lunatics are too full of cunning to be dealt with by ordinary human beings mean that they got away “They mitted. “Must have nine lives, that fellow, Milton observed. ‘I never saw any one take a purler like he took from that cliffside, and get up and walk as though nothing had happened. . . He took leave of them with a litt] bow and sauntered off. “It is a long time now,” Ann said, thoughtfully, “since we had the faint- est news of them. I wonder whether they are still in Europ “They are lying low if they a was Sir Francls' rejoinder. i Daniel left his place presently to| speak to some acquaintances at the | other side of the room. Ann and her | compainion sat for an unusual length | of time in silence. Suddenly he turn- ed to her. | “Miss Lancaster,” he began, “I| think you can guess what I'm going | to say to you.” “I'm afraid so,” she admitted, “Then I am already answered,” he sighed. “I know that I am too old | for you, and there must be many ob- stacles from your point of view, but I think you know how it has been with me lately. I am fonder of you than of any one else in the world. Will you marry me?” She shook her d. “I am so sorry,” she told him. *“Tt is very generous of you to ask me, but you see I have my own little se- cret. There is some one el You are engaged?’ he quickly. got away again le asked, | Do | their cicerone’ comment. me up to my room." They followed him upstairs and out on to’'a quaint stone balcony looking westward The three stood side by side in the ne the balcony, and Sir ancis pointed to a small white villa, anding out on u spit of land about a mile awa; vd Tariffa. both of them,” he itter in his eyes ngx in life “We have them trapped. came here heaven on! knows, I have seen them with my own ipped! Londe is Cin his hole. An ex nt is on its way out arrive at any moment. f he crosses to Gib he will be ar rested on the quay. My cousin has loaned me a dozen marines—fine fol lows—and two of them are alway® within 50 yards of his door. There isn't a car in the shed, and both garages have been warned not to let one out on any conditions. Further- more there fsn't a petrol boat to be had for love or money.” How did he get here?” Ann asked. “He landed in Portugal,” Sir explained. “probably in the y: ad at Monte Car I've “collected quite a_lot of information. e had| cht painted, altered her and sold to a dealer in Lisbon ¢ , no questions to be asked as there been any trouble Daniel inquired. hesitated. Not exactly trouble,” he replied, ut something curious has happened. We will speak of that after luncheon. We'll go and see about vour rooms now. Afterward I'll take you for a walk. itting | dec which i there. | the | but leves. . . . | there, like a 1 tradition warr | now and may few 1 * kK ok 7THEY lunched upon a flagged ter- race leading from the dining room, sheltered by a grove of palm: the sun exquisitely warm, the air heavy with the perfume of verbena and lemon trees. Yet not one of the little party but was conscious of & certain sense of strain. The subjec they so carefully avo obsessed them. After coffee . Sir Francis led them th along a rolling grew little tretch of stony land, on which e an occasional tus plant and a stunted patch of scrub. Half- down to the sea was a cemetery, inclosed by a white plaster- ed wall, with an occasional minaret of blue stome. A fune s even grim | had brought | Why | | | jecet that had just heen w most black, fre generations of | sun, was gestlculating fiere | appearance he was on the defensive, and there was evil threatening him evil in the faces and shouting little crowd by which he was sur- rounded. Foremost among them was the widow of two days before, a shak- ing monument of evergrowing fury her eyes burning fires. She seemed to wcomers into her decla- she swung backward and the oly. | r: and To all “Listen, all of you, and tell me what she cried. “Here was hushand of mine, father of my burfed but yesterday. Dead he , as you all know, f the fever t eats out the heart, Burfed he 3 I s And now, be- hed in from the " 1 his head—his dear head “What have I to do with thi eried Pedro, the man with the black skin pof a Moo “It is the devil who him! You lie!” the woman shouted, sud- denly brandishing the i one hand and a knife In the other. *He was washed ashore with this sack tied to him, in_which there have been stones, and ft is your sack, Pedro!” Tedro fell on his knees. “It is the senor at the villa by the he declared. “He gives a thou- sand pesetas for a dead body, out of which the life has only just gone. It is for the science. See, he comes!” * k% ok 'OWARD them, came Londe, quiet; composed . Ann found herself shaking in every limb. This must be the end, she told herself. There could be no escape. Iler hand touched Daniel's arm and found it tense and hard. In his right hand he was gripping a pistol . ! So Londe came on to his final end— not death at the hands of Daniel or orpse Wi across the sands, then in progress and a ghoup of blac clad peasants were gathering around | an open grave. A little apart stood | the widow, sobbinz bitterly, a stout | dark woman, pallid, with a deep growth upon her upper lip, and a fire in her eves which even her tears | could not dim. “I brought you here because of a| curious idea I had.” Sir Francis con fided. “I think I told you that among my few accomplishments is a knowl-| edge of Spanish. I've been very in terested during the last week in hear- | ing the gossip of some of these peas They say that the devil has been walking in the cemetery. There have been curious footprints and dis turbance: ound the & The people here are very superstitious and | rised to see a funer: taking place at all. Ann shivered a little. It Daniel who asked the question. You think that Londe g 1 suspect something of the sort Sir Francis admitted. “One can't pr tend to follow the workings of such a brain as his, but one can egsily | imagine that his craving to us€ the knife is insatiable. A cemetery close | nd would always be a tempta- ; | was Ann exclaimed We draw near to the end.” Sir Francis said solemnly. “Tomorrow I expect the warrant.” Torrible She shook her head. “I am not engaged, man T am fond of has never asked me, and I am afraid he won't unl T put itainto his head. But, in an: case, I have sworn, and 1 mean to keep my oath, that I will never marry any one while Joseph Londe Is alive and fres & “Isn’t that rather a foolish vow he protested. “From your own point of view, I mean. You may miss so many vears of happiness—the years that I fear I have missed.” “I have faith,” she answered. “Be- sides, as I told you, the man whom I gould marry doesn’t know anything about it vet. I'm not sure that he has even thought about me that way.” “For his own sake, I hope he won't wait until it is too late,” Worton said, a little sadly. “Do you care to dance?” A week later, when Danfel handed her the following telegram which he had just received from Gibraltar she knew quite well that her faith was about to be justified. “Come out here by Friday's P. & O. boat from Tilbury. Don’t fail me. Have made the great discovery but may still need your help.” Sir Francis met them in the gov- ernor's brass-funneled launch, and made his way on board as soon as the great liner had dropped her anchor. “We want to know everything, please,” Ann begged. “You shall, within half-an-hour,” he promised. “But not a word yet.” We are going straight across to Algeciras. Tell your bedroom stewards to put your luggage on the launch at once. They want us to push off as quickly as possible. I'll be at the gangway. I promised them we'd be away in five minutes.’ In little more than that time they were racing across the deep blue water of the bay. Still Sir Francis would tell them nothing. They were at the pler in a quarter-of-an-hour, through the customs a minute or two later, and drove at once to the hotel. By degress the sternness left Ann's face, her eyes softefled, her lips were parted. The quaintly built hotel, - Spanish, half-Moorish, was covered with a magenta creeper. Giant palms s understand. There is not one of them who would not sell his soul for a few peseta A Colonel Sir Francis Worton, X. C. B., D. 8. O., was giving a small farewell dinner party at Marlo’s famous club restaurant {n London, at which Laniel stood motionless in the warm tropical atmosphere, and everywhere the place seemed to bask in sunshine, warm, golden, invigorating. “This is Paradise,” Ann exclaimed enthustastically. “With the devil lurking in one because the | But tomorrow brought nothing ex cept_a storm from sea, u gray | THE THREE MEN WHO LIVE ALONE, ALL OUT- CAST. mistral which sent them shivering in- doors, to enjoy the luxury of a wood fire, and kept them there most of the day. In the afternon came a tele- gram which Worton tore open eagerly. “The warrant is granted,” he an- nounced. “It will be here tomorrow night.” Even then the sense of restlessness pursued them. A little before dusk they donned mackintoshes and walked out along the sea road to watch the waves break against the quay. At the last bend they came face to face with Judith! They stopped short. So did she. She was wearing a seaman's mackintosh and southwester, and the rain was dripping from her, but in those few startled seconds the three of them had but one thought—the amazing beauty of this woman. She carried herself with the grace and freedom of a young goddess. “Something has happened to Joseph,” she confided. “All day long he sits and mutters. Thefre are terri- ble things in his eyes. He seems to be surrounded by invisible people whom he is always trying to push away. Somethimes he looks at me as though he hated me. Shall I tell vou what 1 think is coming to him?” “Tell me,” Worton invited. “I think that he is soing insane,” she declared. “It is too terrible. { Worton, | haad | and | distorted men of thelr word and to kill—but at the hand of the his_victims. About half-a- n s from the outskirts of the little group, he paused. e He probably did not for a moment doubt his ability to quell the tumult, even after Pedro betrayed him, but he suddenly Ann, with Daniel by her side, Worton in the background fterward they all of them shared a pecgliar convietion with regard to those few moments. They saw a sud- den gleam of light in Londe’s eyes, a terrible self-revealing fire of remorse. The whole expression of his face changed—its strength, the brute strength of lunacy, failed him. They 11 believed that in those few seconds he was sane, that the curtain of his vision was momentarily rals If this were indeed so, he must ve welcomed death. ian sprang at him with a s and force which were amaz- or a moment they saw the thread of steel descending, heard one long, drawn-out cry—and that was the enc Both Ann and Daniel were consclous of a certain emptiness of outlook on that first morning back in the office. Daniel went through his letters me- thodically, read the paper for some short time, and rang the bell. Ann ame in, note-book in hand. “There is a paragraph here,” he said, “which I think should interes He laid the pledge least of aw desk and pointed with his forefinger. “UNIQUE INCIDENT at Yesterday's MEETING OF THE BRITISH MEDICAL SOCIETY “Yesterday, at the opening of the proceedings, of t {of the British” Medical Society, the chairman, Lord Randall, announced that he proposed to establish an al- Listen!” She broke off in sudden fear. A murmur of voices drifted up to them from the beach. Below, on the sands close to the edege of the sea, a group of people were standing round an ob- h together unheard-of precedent by himself reading a paper entitled, ‘The Isolation of Insanity,’ sent to him, he frankly admitted, by an anonymous correspondent. - The. paper, a full re- port of which will be found in another of the ninety-fiftth meeting | baking | THEY SAW A SUDDEN GLEAM OF LIGHT IN LO} DE'S EY A TER- RIBLE SELF-RE- VEALING FIRE OF REMORSE. column, created a great sensation, and, if the various theories enunclated can be sustatned, will throw an altogether fresh light upon the study of brain | failure. " It is believed, although no name was attached to the manuscript, that the author was the late Sir Jo seph Lande, Bart, who was murdered a short time ago under tragical cir- cumstances at Algeciras.” “*Amazing’ X nd, Ann,” he went on, “there i a letter here from the solicitor who | took charge of Londe's affairs. It seems that there was plenty of money after all. Judith Londe was moved into a private asylum yesterday. They say that she seems quite happy and | contented.” | “I am glad,” she murmured, mo-| mentarily startled by his use of her Christian name. “And furthermore,” have decided to ¢ round the world he continues, - e this office and go TTEY, JR. become of the gentleman the chimney that jocular, imp of Satan, of endmen in used to con- health, com iEORGE M. B! HAT ha luxurious known as sweeper, smut-faced and the deadly rival minstrel shows, who tribute so much to famil; fort and happiness in W of the information District Bullding, for many vears, secretu ion. who answers jons over the counter daily, gone into the limbo of o sword-canes, tournament riders s and other half-forgotten director at the merly comni of ques he cart duel things The subject came up the other day when a solicitous person from the Northwest section appeared at the Dis trict building and sought a_chimney sweeper to clear a choking flue. “The chimney-sweepers are no more,” answered Dr. Tindall with a note of sadness in his voice, for he re- calls fondly those davs of ‘‘chimney doctors” and smoke-beiching, soot-scat- tering flues. “'A tinsmith might help you. 3ut T was told that the District commission kept a chimney-sweeping department,” persisted the troubled householder. “So it did up to 25 years ago, but not now. I doubt if you could find a chimney.sweeper in the city who does nothing but sweep chimneys, although of course you might locate one who is retired, occupying a basement or a hole-in‘a-wall, but mostly attending to fitting keys into locks, or following the plumbing trade as a regular thing."” and v of the hundreds | poor chimney-sweeper, as true a martyr to human progress as could be found. Inventive genius has sounded his death knell. Dry heat, steam heat, improved chimne roofs of slate, gravel, tin_gnd tile have proved his undoing. He is distinetly a relic of yesterday, with a hectic past but no future, and unless somebody does something to perpetuate his name and fame, a correct description of his ap- pearance and habits will be as rare, a century hence, as the characteriza- tions of mastodon, dinosaurus and oterodactyl in the present age. A monument has been erected in Alabama to the boll weevil, because that energetic insect taught the farmer to deversify his crops; an en- thusiastic admirer of the original an- cestor, Adam, has built a shaft to the first man somewhere in Maryland; a tablet is dedicated to a famous oak tree in Athens, Ga.. the Indian is memorialized in {ron and stone; practic- ally every profession and trade, creed and cult is remembered in marble or anniversary celebrations; but the faithful chimney-sweeper faces extinc- tion and oblivion without so much as a footstone to tell of his once glorious * ok ok % 'WE must hark back to the eight- eenth century to find a real ap- preciation of this™ picturesque char- acter. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, noted author, who toyed with the af- fections of the poet Pope and received her retribution through his written portrayal of her as “Sappho,” the woman Wwith a heart of ice, set the fashion for her entourage by enter- taining the chimney-sweeper of Lon- don at a big dinner yearly. Needless to say, on these prandial occasions, every face was clean and each recipient of a prized invitation appeared in his best bib and tucker. Lady Montagu and her distinguished guest friends who were not chimney- sweepers were highly gratifled to find so meuch native wit and latent ability lurking_beneath these crusty exteri- ors! Although her ladyship failed to smile on Alexander Pope, she proved to the satisfastion of the ‘‘sweeps” that her heart was warm; and her chimneys and hearths during her life- time were the marvels of all England. Going back a bit further, we find ‘William Shakespeare raising a literary shaft which has since seen no counter- rt. In his “Cymbeline” he observ Golden lads and girls all mus As chimney-sweepers, come to duist. In “Love’'s Labours' Lost" he testi- fles to the darkness of their complex- fons. But these fast friends of the chim- ney-sweeper are moldering in dust of another kind, and apparently there is none to take their places, so the reader is invited now to retrace his steps. “I well remember these happy-go- lucky fellows as they shambled through our streets, singing their plaintive monotones,” Dr, Tindall went on. “They sang in a cheerful, hopeful, well-modulated voice, ‘Sweep, all; sweep, all” Passing along the thoroughfare came the man, or master sweeper, followed closely by the boy apprentice, overladen but willing, and both going at an ambling pace, and giving the impression that soot weighed m6re heavily on their clammy brows than care. “Gentlemen in broadcloth and ladies finely gowned paid them the obeisance of right-of-way that was due to a king. Congressmen, members of the cabinet and Supreme Court judges stepped off the sidewalk at their ap- proach, saluted smartly, and were re- warded ‘with their most appreciative smilegs 2 | Thus is related briefly the fate of the | | | According to Dr. William Tindall,| Byt his beneficence did not stop there; bureau | his ad for-| | ““The ma chimney-sweeper did his work well and was worthy of his hire. He was the man on whom the mily_depended to kep the burning | s - shingle roof, and the de- | ! marring ash from | . curtaifis and rugs. Even as the household looked to the pastor | for salvation and the doctor for cure S0 did they intrust him with the duty of abating the smoke nulsance. ce was asked on the framing of wills, matrimony, business con tracts, health topies and collateral af- fairs. He is practically unknown to the younger generation, but they may see his ndants and_ successol ny day among the plumbers, steam itters, tinsmiths. automobile me. chanics, metal workers generally and other tradesmen who make up the| backbone of our industrial structure. Although he is of the past, he nobly served his people. May he not be entirely forgotten.” * % % * Glamzr;l-:‘rmvx, it is believed, up a chimney-sweeping establi ment before one was officially recog- nized by the city fathers of Wash- ington. A well-worn miniature book- let in the Library of Congress, printed in 1811 by W. A. Rind, jr., sets forth the_local law approved September 8, 1807, as follows: “An ordinance respecting the sweep- ing of chimneys within the jurisdiction of Georgetown. “I. Be it ordained by the board of aldermen and board of common coun cil of the corporation of Georgetown, that the mayor be and he is hereby ithorized and empowered to con- ¢ with and give the exclusive right | sweeping chimneys within the jur- isdiction of the corporation of George- town to such persons as he may deem proper for a term not exceeding one year, and until the end of the nxt session of the corporation thereafter, on_receiving such security for the faithful performance of the duties prescribed by this ordinance as he may deem adequate and just. “I1. And be it ordered, That it shall be the duty of the person so con- tracted with by the mayor once in every three months from the first day of April to the first day of October in every year to notify the persons who are ‘housekeepers iwithin such juris- diction that he or some person em- ploved by him will within three days after such notice call between the hours of five and nine in the morning or at such other hours as may be| agreed upon by him and the sald housekeeper, for the purpose of sweep- ing the flue or chimney of the fire- place used in cooking and for the general purpose of the family; and it shall also be his duty ® call in like mannér once in every second month from the first day of October to the first day of April following in every vear, and give notice as aforesaid that he will within three days call to sweep the flues of chimnevs of the fireplaces then generally used, which several calls shall not vary more than seven days from the period hereby fixed at each succeeding call. “III. And be it further ordained, That as compensation for sweeping such chimneys, the person so con- tracted with shall be entitled to re- celve from the occupler of the house where such chimneys are, the sum of 10 cents for each story for every flue or chimney he swept. “IV. And be it ordained, That it shall also be the duty of the person contracting as aforesald to attend and sweep any chimney within the juris- diction of the said corporation within three days after recefving a written requisition for that purpose from the occupler of the house where such chimney is; and in case of his refusal or neglect to call and sweep the chim- ney within the time aforesaid, or his neglecting or refusing to call at the time required by the second section of this ordinance, he shall forfeit and pay ‘to the person complaining the sum of $2, to be recovered with costs before any justice of the peace for the County of Washington. “V. And be it ordained, That if any housekeeper shall refuse to have his or her chimney swept at the times herein prescribed and on the call of the person contracted with for that purpose, or such other person as he shall employ, such housekeeper shall forfeit and pay to the contractor the sum_of $1, to be received as aforesaid, provided that such call is not made earlier than the times mentioned in the second section of this ordinance. “VI. And be it ordained, That if the soot in any flue or chimney so swept by the contractor shall before his next call for the purpose of sweeping or within two months from the last sweeping thereof take fire so as to blaze from the top of the funnel of sald chimney, the said contractor shall forfeit and pay the sum of $5, one half to the informer and the other half to the use of the corporation, to be recelved as aforesald. But if any chimney shall take fire, which has not been swept by the contractor within the time specified by this ordi- nance, through the neglect or ghe re- desc | sweepers fusal of the occupier of the h in which such chimney shall take fire, such occupier shall forfeit and pay the like sum of $5, to be recovered as aforesaid. “VIL And be it ordained JThat this ordinance shall go into operation so soon as the mayor shall .publicly an- nounce his having made a contract %, . “Shall you need a secretar asked. i “I should like you to accompany me | in another capacity,” he replied. | She laid down the book, her hands trembling. I am rather a clum: afraid,” he confessed, you to come as my wife.” “I don’t know about being clumsy,"” she answered, “but you certainly have been-—dilator: 2" she| wooer, I'm ut 1 want | agreeably to the regulations herein| prescribed; and after such contract shall have been made and announced, | no other person or persons employed | by him shall sweep chimneys, under the penalty of $100 for each and eve offense, which penalty said ctor | is hereby authorized to prosecute for | and receive, one-half for his use and! the other half to be for the use of the | corporation.” | * ¥ % HE Washington law was quite si lar. For m ¥ chimpe eeping had been performed in the | National Capital on an independent | and indiscriminate basis. Dozens of | maintzined establishments, the conditions of lack of proper authority and differen for services the business was attend ed with a number of evils. Mis derstandings and lawsuits multip 0 rapidly and fires from wood-burn- ing grates were so nume that the District Comissioners took the situ- atlon in hand and included it in their system of local government. An ordi- nance passed June 3, 1553, and amend- ed October 1 created two su- perintendents of chimney-sweepers who furnished $500 bond each for the faithful performance of their tracts with the city. By this arrange ment, the owners received satisfaction, the their helpers got a good living and the municipality added to its revenue. One_superintendent had authority over all the chimneys in the first, sec ond and third wards, another over the fourth. fifth, sixth and seventh | wards. Neither could sweep on the| territory of the other; if he did so, he was liable to a fine of $3 for each offense. A ‘‘chimney-sweepers’ trust”| was virtually set up, because nobody | else had authority to sweep: if an outsider swept a chimney, he was fined $20. Quite possibly an owner could mot sweep his own chimney although this point not covere in_the ordinance. The superintendents were required | to visit all the inhabited houses once | a_month between November 1 and May 1 _of each 12 months, and once | every 2 months the balance of the year, to_see that the chimneys were clean. Failure to execute this duty was punishable with a $5 fine upon the sweeper. Occupants paid $5 when they persistently refused to have chimneys swept, unless their refusal was due to illness or death in the | family. If flues blazed from the top earller than the time set for the next sweeping, the superintendent paid a | fine of $10. All fines were poilected | like amy other dues of the district corporation. | Occupants were forbidden to burn hay, straw, shavings or other com- bustible materials, because of the fire danger and the belief that this task should be performed by the regularly appointed sweeper. However, if chin- neys were t0o narrow to admit a small man or boy, it was permissible ta “burn out” in this manner. “Sweeps” had the privilege of a priority in claims on household goods and chat tels attached by other parties. in the | event chimney owners failed or ve-| fused to pay bills for sweeping : and | when they went into court they could count on strong support from the ad- ministration. One of the purposes of the ordi- nance was to protect the health of boys, who in many cases under the old order had been sent too young into the chimneys, and had taken as much soot inside as out; but the age was not fixed and apparently was left to mutual understanding. For that matter, chimney-sweepers of what- ever age seemed to enjoy the most robust health and were, well informed and pleasant companions wherever met up with. Stunted growth was an asset in the game of sweeping out thousands of Washington chimneys every month. Most of the chimneys were too small to admit the body of i man, except that he be sharply restricted in size, so boys usually ‘entered the flues. Thi} sulted the circumstances, because the man was needed to make the arrange- ments with the household, to stop up the base of the flue with paper or crocus sacks, so that the contents would be confined as nearly as possi- ble to the fireplace; also to handle the ladder by which the boy gained access to the roof to begin his downward climb, and finally to assist the youtn- ful sweeper in the event he got in distress in any wa ¥ % * A NOTHER duty of the superintend-| ent was to recover the brush or scrape in the event it slipped from the hand of the boy to the bottom; like- wise to minimize damage due to the collapse of the paper under an ‘un expectedly heavy load of soot and mortar dust. Quite frequently, when an accident of this kind happened, and the bed- spread . or table cloth received a shower from the chimney, the occu- pant not only refused to pay tha bill, but sought to make the master sweeper smart in damages. Such oc currences were infrequent, however, and relations were pleasant, particu larly since newspapers or cloths were spread through the house for the superintendent to walk upon. The process of sweeping a chimney | was simply this: The boy climbed in at the toD, armed with scrape and brush, while the man waited at the bottom. The man _peered into the aperture and shouted to know if every- and under i t | | alw | word, {extracted a | that w ‘You knew it without my telling you h. A woman was her last ““That_didn’t h kes to be told, (Copyrizht. 1925.) 19 Hunt for Chimney-Sweeper Fails As Occupation Passes in District it obstacles e needed - time he took care not to expos: ead unnecessarily or to Kkeep his eves too wide open. Further. the boy was often forgetful and would fail to provide himself with the scrape or the bry s the case might be. he man alwavs asked if he had otten anyihing: and as a matter of form, o Le on the safe side at law the man invariably cautioned the boy , and stated to him the - distance to the bottom ed him not to tarry, as e jobs to do before thing was all right ny While the hoy scraped and brushed and puffed and puffed and brushed and and then efaculating ) here!” the man his pocket and pages put the the date of his ne due. and the v sweeping. He 1 chimney so they back and forth to its fir remained could yell each ¢ cluded, the aw would get stuck in such alstress t he would re. bo; in and be of mind and body ti quire immediate nce. If he was near the base of the chimney, the 1 would pull him out by the legs, but if about the middle, would clam- ber 1o the roof pass him a rope. | A broom attached to a long handle would be used to complete the job After his superhuman exertions, the jackanapes would be quite tuckered out. and the superintenden: or master sweeper would allow him 1o climb down und rest, so he would be_good for the next house. Now and then the man below would 2o out : 1f of bread. a mug of beer or something he needed in the nd a member of the fan home unexpected] would start a fire in the grate, almost suffocating the boy, warming his pants thoroushiy and sending him to the top puffing like & grampus. Staying in the chimney without fall ing was a matter of friction. The boy had only to arch his back. stretch out his feet, rest his knees and elbows st the sides, and sweep for his If he wanted to hang at a par lar point, he spread himself out abrasions on his body, and soot and dust worked themselves into the ward in all directions; if he wanted to descend at a good pace, he stretched | at full length and held his hands over his head, wounds. It should be remembered in appreci ating the difficulties encountered by these youths that they could not send all the soot and dust down before them, but must br and scrape at but this usually caused ough their hair, eye nd loose-fit clothing in a manner the reader can well imagine. Much of the dust was taken into the s, but a sneeze only stirred up oot all the worse, and prepared 1;-»1‘ taking back into the lungs n. The chimney-sweeper still has his day in London. On May day he pa rades moisily with brush and pan in the finery of his clan, and meeting the milkmaids, who turn out with fiddles, dances untij tinie to milk the cows in the early morning. He is gone from Washington, but the mem ory of his war on svot and dust still abides with the other inhabitants. An Automatic Flagman. these days of automobiles some thing than the old “Stop, Look, Ljsten” sign is necessary to protect railway grade crossings. Such signs are entirely too unobtrusive to attract the attention of the motorist going 60 miles an' hour and they are practically worthless at night. A de- vice known as the automatic flagman has to a great extent remedied this. It rings a loud gong and waves a red disk by day or a red lamp by night whenever a train is approaching the crossing. he device consists of a weather- proof case mounted on the regular crossing point and containing the operating mechanism. This case sup- ports on a rod a red disk, which is waved by the mechanism, and on the face of the disk are mounted red lights, one on each side, to give warn.- ing at night. The motor receives its energy from storage batteries, light- ing circuits or trolley wires, accord- ing to the character of the road it protects and the neighborhood, and is set in operation when the approach- ing train closes a circuit between the tracks at a certain distance away. The device for closing the circuit is set at different distances from the crossing, rding to the speed of trains on the line, and is o adjusted rning will be given in ample time for speeding cars. more All She Ever Wanted. Tommy—You say she only partiall returned your affections? ik illy—Yes. She returned my lev letters, but kept the ring, ” .