Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, December 26, 1902, Page 7

BULLION ON BULLION ROW Btrong Boxes of Precious Metal Bafely Qartod Around Wall Btreet. CROOKS, GIVE THE BOODLE A FROST and Wis Dos mess—Fortunes in the Pockets of & Messenger—Scenes in the Just inside the railing of the Mills bulld- | ing, down in Broad street, says the New York Sum. and only a few yards away from whete the throng of outside brokers jostic and shout in the roadway hangs a slate with & pencil attached by a string. Once in a while a clerk will hurry to the corner, take & look around, and then, it mot finding the person he seeks, will scribble something At intervals a big, heavy man strolls | over and takes a look at it. If there is anaything written upon it he will probably #ive an order to the driver of & two-horse truek which has stood for most of the day | at the corner, the blankets will be taken off the horses down the street ohviously on business in- tent. You are hikely to meet this or similar trucks with the name of the same owner upon them two or three times in the course of a day in and about Wall street. Some- times the truek comtains a few boxes or barrels, no different at a casual glance from any other boxes or barrels. or maybe there will be upon it & number of bricks of in appearance not unlike In either case there are likely to be two or three roughly dressed men seated with the driver or on the rear of the truck, and twe or three more better clad men, whom anybody versed in the ys of the financial distriet will know at once for bank clerks or bank messengers, swinging their legs from t tallboard or walking beside the vehiel ‘There s nothing about the outfit likely to -attract particular attention from any- body. A close observer may see that the hoxes or kegs are strongly ironed, locked and sealed, and he may wonder that mature bank clerks, who do not look as if they were inclined to frivolity, have time to #pare for a ride on a truck which proceeds &t & bare walking pace or even slower. But the usual passerby will never bestow a second glance upon the crawling vehicle. Tt doesn’t look different from a truck earrying any old kind of freight, but for all that the load it carries is often worth more (han a great many of the bduildings it passes. That load would set up a score of ordinary men with fortunes large enough to keep théem In luxury without doing & stroke of work for the rest of their lives. Bars of Solld Gol Thé barrels contain bars of solid gold, the boxes are stuffed full of gold coin, and the white metal is bulllon siiver going from sate deposit vault to subtreasury, or, if the load s gold coln, from bank to bank. The truck is Barkley's, the money truckmai the slate hung on the fence is Barkley's office, and the big man who consults it from time to time and might be a retired police- man o7 & well-to-do grocer is Barkley him- pelt. All Wall street knows this and knows what the tfuck cont, when it passes with its load. But Wall street is not interested. It is & sight so old that it has become commonplace. In the fact that a shabby old truck with a million or two upon it crawls safely through the most crowded streets.in the city. with only a guard of twe or three truckmen and a bank elerk or twe to watch over it nobody sees aaything out of the ordinar: That news of the shipment is written on & slate which hangs on a fence in reach of every passerby 1s no less a matter of course. Gold has been transferred safely in that way for years and there is no rea- son why it should not always be. As & matter of fact jt would be harder to steal that gold than anything else in the eity. In the first place, there is a guard of from four to six men with every load of it In the second pla gold is usually in bars welghing from ten to twenty-fi polinds aplece and is packed In kegs locked end sealed, with from three to a dozen bars in & ki The gold coin is In strong boxes equally heavy. The silver, which is carried bare in the bottom of the truck, is in ingots, and a single Ingot would be a good load for a powerful man. ‘Then the transfer usually takes place in crowded streets and In the crowd there is safety. It would be a bolder gang of crooks than ever held up a train that would ever try to rob the money truck. As to the rest of it, Fred Barkiey, the money truckman, has been in the business all his Nfe. He has a monopoly of the money carrying in this city and his father had it before him for more years than body now in Wall street remember: He Is a conservative person. father did business, so does he. Nothing ever went wrong with either, and the benks and ‘the people whose business it is to handle millio: accepted the meth- @ds of both with perfect satisfaction. They are now a part of the daily routine and the street sees nothing wonderful about them. An Ordinary “Why," sald the shipping clerk of one of the largest exchange houses in Wall streot, when the Sun reporter sought iuformation about gold transfers, “you can't write any- thing about that. It's the most ordinary everyday transaction down here. “You just pack un the gold and weal it and sead for Barkley ana he carts it away to wherever it has to go. There isn't any- thing else to it ‘Nothing ever goes wrong and there really fsn't anything interesting about it. Is there, now? 3 The reporter thought there was. But the money truckman was of the same opinion a8 the money exchange clerk. Sald he: “Things have been printed in the papers years ago about this busimess, but father dida’t hold with them or give the informa- tiom the papers got. And I won't. There ain't anything about it to make a story about anyway. We just move the stuff. Nothing ever happens (o it The money truckman is blg—six feet tall ot least—and as broad and solid as he is tall. Mis faoe is s set and frm as his frame is solid. It A man could look like a stone wall that man would be Barkley. Jooked at him twice would trust him with milion. It wouldn't trouble bim. He would just sit on the million till the As his d man and truck will set off | Anybody who that nobody could get hm to forget his watch on it any more than anybody could Induce a good bulldog to drop a particularly Juicy bome. He was superintending the transfer of a truckload of sil when the reporter tried to find out things about the bullion-carrying | from him. He checked off each Ingot four | times, not if he was doubtful about the | total, but as a matter of duty. | Then he watched one of his men stamp his firm sign upon each ingot with a steel | dfe punched by a heavy hammer, gave his | receipt tor the cargo and moved away with {1t down Wall street as unemotional as any | slab of siiver in the load The Rear Gua | With him wae a smaller, more active- looking man with a dash of the west ap- parent in his black mustache and shabby brown sombrero. If the bulld of the boss truckman plainly showed that he could tell any i1:-intentioned crook with one blow of his big fist, the other mam looked as though he would surely have a revolver in his hip pocket and would know how to use it. Besides the palr there were on the truck with the driver a couple of stalwart men who bad assisted in loading the silver when it came up on the little sidewalk ele- vator from the safe deposit vaults beneath. Just a few passersby recognized the value of the freight as it was carried out | to the truck, and commented on it. “Gee!" remarked a weak-chinned, over- | dressed young man whose trousers were | turned up to gladden beholders with a | Ylew of his gorgeous hese. “Wouldn't that make you sick “Yer couldn’t get none of ft,” responded the hatchet-faced youth who accompanied | him, “and if yer could, yer couldn't get away with it. If yer could, no more ledgers fer me." Sometimes there 18 a milllon dollars' worth in one of those truck loads. Some- times there ls more, but not muc A milllon in gold with its accompanying packing cases will weigh nearly three tons; !'n milllon in silver more than a dozen times as much again. Wall street has at times moved as much as $25,000,000 or $30,000,000, all of this huge sum In bullion, in a day from different points in the distriot to other points or out of it. A single bank or firm of money brokers has transferred $5,000,000 or $6,000,- 000 in & single shipment abroad. The money tiuckman carries all this and he has never lost a single eargo, however small the amount. Once there was a hulla- baloo about a missing slab of silver, but it turned up In very short order, though the ery was raised that it had heen stolen. He carries the gold which s ehipped abroad to the vessel which has to carry it and brings back to Wall street the im- ported bullion. It is lucrative business and he and his famliy baye had & mondpoly of it since it began. They are likely to keep it. No good end Is served by taking chances with a new firm in such a business, and the conserva- \'sm of Barkley suits Wall street well. Bullion is perhaps the safest kind of THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: FRIDAY, STRA NDED. By Henry Seton lerriman. sloire. It was nearly half-past eight when Grand- officer sent a message to man's dinner table in the saloon. The captain's steward was a discreet man. He gave the message in a whisper a jerk of his napkin. own responsibility. running Grandhaven had been through fog-banks ever since it afternoon Every Atlantic traveler knows Grand- haven. It was so well known that every berth was engaged despite the lateness of the season. It was considered a privilege to sail with Captain Dixon, the most popu- lar man on the wide seas. A few million- aires considered themselves honored by bis friendship. One of them ealled him Tom on shore. He was an Englishman, though Grandhaven was technically an American €hip. His enemies sald that he owed his euccess In life to his manners, which cer- tainly were excellent. Not too familiar with anyone at eea, but unerringly discrim- inating between man and man, between a real position and an imaginary one. For In the greatest republic the world has yet seen men are keenly alive to soctal dis- tinctions, On the other hand his friends pointed to his record. Captain Dixon had never made a mistake in seamanship. He & handsome man with a trim brown beard cut to a point in the naval style, gay blue eyes and a bluff way of earrying his head. The women passengers invariably fell into the habit of describing him as a splendid man, and the word seemed to fit him like a glove. Nature had certainly designed him to be shown somewhere in the frout of life, to be placed upon a dais and looked up to and admired by the multitude. She had written suc- cess upon his sunburnt face. He had thousands of friends. Every seat at his table was Booked two voyages ahead —and he knew the value of popularity. He was never carried oft his feet, but enjoyed it simply and heartily. He had fallen in love one summer voyage with a tall and soft-mannered Canadian girl, a Hebe, with the face of a Madonna; with thoughttul, waiting blue eyes. She was only 19, and, of course, Captain Dixon carried everything before him. The girl was astonished at her good fortune. For this wooer was a king on his own great decks. No princess could be good enough for him—had prin- cesses been in the habit of crossing the Atlantic. Captain Dixon had now been commodity to transfer in this eity. It is in tracsferring other kinds of money that the banks take chances. It was not for the sake of the gold carted threugh the streets that the dead line for crooks was established at Fulton street. Messengers amd Thelr R The bank messenger coming from the Clearing house after the day’s balance has been struck will often carry back to his bank from $1,000,000 to 35,000,000 in cash in bis leather pouch or in his trousers pocket; that is, in bills of large denomina~ tions, usually $10,000 notei A bank’s Palance at the Clearing house will range from $1,000,000 to $5,000,000, or even more. The biggest bank, the City National, will often ‘bave at the close of from $3,000,000 to $5,000:000 to fits credit. The messenger takes back to the bank that amount in bills. He does not go algne. Usually it is & party of three that escorts the millions. There is the messenger with the money in his pocket, & clerk and the bank's detective or bouncer, whose physique and quickness have usually earned for him his job. The detective is armed. 80, though a bank messenger's millions are in shape to be carried off, it would practically be impossible te get them at any cost. They are not carried where » lucky grab would make them eves tem- porarily change ownership. The most valuable bundle of wealth taken through the streets in this city, how- ever, is not moved in the financial district at all. It passes between the comptrolle; office In the Steyart building and the city ball, and Eddie, 'who has been the comp- troller's messcnger from time immemorial, rever an {ssue of these bonds has been made, after having been filled out In the comptroller's office, they must be signed by the mayor. They are not then regis- tered, but with the mayor’'s signature upon them they seem and might possibly be ac- cepted in practice as otiable. Eddle carries the bonds, a few millions at a time, to the mayor's office, and when signed carries them back again. How many millions he has carried in a single trip only he knows and, like the money truck man, he fsn't telling his business. But the amount has certainly reached §20,000,000 on occasion. No crook has ever had the nerve to tackle Eddie and really none would think it worth while. The hue and cry which would be raised over such a theft would in all probability at once bar the bonds as ne- gotiable securities, even in the world of graft, And no thief would get far with the plunder. The city sees to thaf But the sight of the messenger with mil- lions in bonds, the little posses of three or more bearing millions in real cash through the financial quarter to the banks, the bare silver in the money truck, thé kegs of gold bars and the strong boxes full of gold coin must sometimes make some evil minds dream dreams such as made Buperintendent Byrnes long establieh that dead line above the streets of temptation. Still Weeps ¢ U “Durisg & period of poor health some time o | got a trial bottle of DeWitt's Little Early Risers,” says Justice of tbe Peace Adam Sbook of New Lisbon, Ind. ‘I took them and they did me so wueh good | bave used thewn ever since. Safe, rellable and gentle, DeWitt's Liitle Early Risers nelther gripe nor distress, but stimulate the liver and promote reguiar and easy action of the bowels. ——— The Weeping Willow. The w willow tree came to America through the medium of Alexander Pope, the poot, who planted & willow twig on the banks of the Thames at his Twicken- ham villa The twig came to him fn married some years. His marriage had made a perceptible change in the personnel of his intimates. A bachelor captain appeals to a different world. He was etill a great favorité with men. Although Grandhaven had been only onk night at sea, the captain's table had no vacant seats. These were all old travelers and there had been libations poured to the gods now made manifest by empty bottles and not a little empty laughter. Dixon, however, was steady enough. He had re- luctantly accepted one glass of champagne from the bottle of a senator, powerful in shipping olrcles. He and his officers made & point of drinking water at table. The modern sallor is ene of the startling pro- duots of th odd times. He dresses for dinner, and when off duty may be found sitting on the saloon stairs discussing with & lady paesenger the respective merits of Wagner and Chopin as set forth by the ship's band—when he ought to be asleep in bed in preparation for the middle watch. The captain received the message with & curt nod. But he did not rise from the table. He knew that a hundred eyes wer: fixed upon him, watching his every glance. table the night's rest of half a hundred anxious ladles ould inevitably suffer. He took his watch from his pocket and rose laughing at some sally made by a nelghbor. As he passed down the length of the saloon he paused to greet one and exchange a laughing word with another. He was a very gracious monarch. wind from the northwest seemed to prom- ise a heavy sea and a dirty night when the Lizard should be passed and the pro- tection of the high Devon moorlands left behind. The captain's cabin was at the head of the saloon stairs. Captain Dixon lost no time in changing his smart ness Jacket for a thicker coat. Ollskins and a souwester transtormed him again to the man that he was, and he climbed the narrow iron ladder into the howling dark- ness of the upper bridge with a brisk readiness to meet any situation. The fog bank was a thick one. It was like a sheet of thin and very wet cotton wool laid upon the troubled breast of the sea. The ights at the forward end of the huge steamer were barely visible. There was no glare aloft where the mast light stared unwinking Into the mist. Dixon exchanged a few words with the second officer, who etood, rather restless, by the engine room telegraph. They spoke in monosyllables. The dial showed “full speed ahead.” Captain Dixon stood chew- ing the end of his golden mustache, which he had drawn in between his teeln. He looked forward and aft and up aloft in three quick movements of the head. Then he lald his two hands on the engine room telegraph and reduced the pace to half speed. ‘There were a hundred people on board who would take mote of it with a throb of umeasiness at their hearts, but that could not be helped. The second officer stepped sideways into the chartroom, reluctant to turn his eyes elsewhere than dead ahead Into the wind and mist, to make a note in two books that lay open on the table under the shaded electric lamp. It was twenty minutes to 9. Grandbaven was a quick ship, but it was also & safe one. The captain had laid a course close under the Lizard lights. He intended to alter it, but ot yet. The mist might 1ift. There was plenty of time; for by dead reckéning they could scarcely hope to sight the twin lights before 11 o'clock. The captain turned and said a single word to his second officer and a moment later the great fog horn above them in the darkness coughed but its deafening note of warning. A dead silence followed. Captain Dizon nodded his head with & curt grumt of satistaction. There was vothing mear them. They could carry | (Copyright 1902 by Henry Seton Merriman.) | binnacle. “Aucun chemin de fleurs ne conduit a la | again. haven ran into a fog-bank, and the second the captain's steward who was waiting at that great a8 he swept the crumbs from the table With wiih that eas The second officer could not, of course, reduce speed on his | left Plymouth In the gray of a November Above the bows. It he had jumped up and hurried from (hal On deck it was wet and cold. A keen | on, playing their game of blindman’'s buff Almost at once his face clouded ‘There is another right ahead,” tered. ‘“‘Hang them!" The captain gave a short laugh to reas- sure his subordinate, whom he knew to be an anxlous, careful man—on his prome. tion. Captain Dixon was always self-con- fident. That glass of champagne from the senator's hospitable bottle made him feel doubly capable tonight to take his ship out into the open Atlantic; and then to bed y heart which a skipper only knows on the high seas Suddenly he turned to look sharply at his companion, whose eyes were fixed on the fog bank, which was now looming high There were stars above them, but no moon would be up for another | three hours. Dixon seemed about to say | something, but changed his mind. He raised his bands to the ear flaps of his sou'wester, and loosening the string under his chin, pushed the flannel lappets up within the cap. The second officer wore the ordinary seafaring cap, known a cheese cutter. He was much too anxious @ man to cover up his ears even in clear weather, and said with his nervous laugh that the color did not come out of his bair if anyone suggested that the warmer head- gear would protect him from rain and | spray. | Dixon stepped nearer to his companion and they stood side by side looking into | the fog bank which was now upon them. “Any dogs on board?" he asked casually. “No—why do you ask?"’ “Thought I heard a little bell; such a thing as a lady's lapdog wears round its neck on a ribbon.” The second officer turned and glanced sharply up at the eaptain, who, however, made no further comment, and seemed to be thinking of something else. *“Couldn’t have boen a bell-buoy, I sup- pose?" he suggested with a tentativo latigh as he pushed his cap upwards, away from his ears. “No bell-buoys out here,” replied the captain rather sharply with his usual self- confidence. They &tood side by wide in eflence for five minutes or more. The mist was a little thinner now and Captain Dixon looked up- wards to the sky, hoping to see the star: He was looking up when the steamer struck and the shock threw him against the after rail of the bridge. The second officer w thrown down and struggled for an instant before getting to his feet akaln. “God Almighty!" he said, and that was be mut- al Captain Dixon was already at the engine room _telegraph wrenching the pointer round to full speed ahead. The quarter- master on watch was at his side In a mo- ment and several men in shining ollskins swarmed up the ladder to the bridgs for their orders. Grandhaven was quite still now, but | trembling like a horse that had stumbled | badly and recovered itself with dripping | knees. Already the seas were beating the | bluff sides of the great vessel, throwing | pyramids of spray high above the funnels. Captain Dixon grabbed the nearest man by the arm. “The boats!"” he shouted in his ear. Mr. Stoke to take charge. the Manacles There seemed to bé Tio danger for (he ship was quite steady with level decks. Turning to another ‘quartermaster Dixon gave further orders clearly and concisely, | eep 1t at that,” he sald to the second officer, Indicating the“'dial of’the engine reom. tay where you are;” he shcuted to the two steersmen who were preparing to quit the wheelhouse. It Captaln Dixon had never made a mis- take in seamanship he must have thought the possibilities of thfs mistake out in {all thelr bearings. Fof the situation was | quite clear and compact in his mind. The orders he gave came in thelr proper se- quence and were given to the right man. From the deck beneath arose a contused | murmur like the stirring of bees in an | overturned hi Then & sharp order in one voice, clear and strong, followed by a dead silence. “Good,” sald the captain; got ‘em in hand.” He broke off and looked sharply fore and | aft and up above him at the towering fun- | mel. “She's heeling,” he sald. heeling. The ship was slowly turning on its side, | like some huge and stricken dumb animal | laylng itself down to dle. | “Yes," sald the captain, with a bitter | laugh to the two steersmen who had come | |a second time to the threshold of the | | wheelhouse. ““Yes, you ean go." He turned to the engine room telegraph and rung the “Stand by, but there w Tell Tell him it's “Stoke hi “Martin, she's | wero burled, DECEMBER 26, almost instantly silenced. Them he heard nothing more. He went back to the tion and made his report. He was so sure of his own ears that he took a lantern and went down to the beach. There he found nothing. He stumbled on toward | Cadgwith along the unbroken beach. At times he covered his lantern and peered | out to sea. At last something white caught |his eye. It was half afloat amid the | breakers. He went knee deep and dragged | & woman to the shore. She was quite dead. He held his lantern above his head stared out to sea. The face of the wa | was flecked with dark shadows and white | patches. He was alone, two miles frem held, up a steep combe and through muddy | 1anes, and as he turned to trudge toward | the cliffs his heart suddenly leaped to his | throat. There was someone approaching him across the shingle. A strong, deep volce called to him, with command and a deadly resolution in its tones. “You a coast guard?” it asked. “Yes.” The man came up to him and gave him | orders to go to the nearest village for help, for lanterns and carts. “What ship?" asked the coast guard. “Grandhaven, London, New Orleans,” was the answer. “Hurry, and bring as many men as you can. Got a boat about here?" “There is one on the beach half a mile along to the south'ard. But you cannot | launch her through thi “Oh, yes we can." The coast guard glanced at the man with a sudden interest. Who are you?" he asked. “Stoke—first mate,” was the reply. The rest of the story of the wreck has been told by abler pens, in the daily news- papers. How forty-seven people were how the lifeboat trom Cadgwith picked up spme, floating insensible on the ebbing tide with litebuoys tied securely round them; how some men proved them- selves great and some women greater; how a few proved themselves very contemptible, indeed; how the quiet chiet officer, Stoke, obeyed his captain’s orders to take charge of the passengers—are not these things told by the newspapers? Some of them, es- pectally the halfpenny ones, went further, and explained to a walting world how it had all come about, and how easily it might have been avoided. They, moreover, dealt out blame and praise with a liberal hand, and condemned the owners or ex- onerated the captain with that sublime wis- dom which cometh out from Fleet street only. One and all agreed that because the captain was drowned he was not to blame; a very common and washy sentiment which appealed powerfully to the majority of their readers. Some of the mewspapers, while agreeing that the first officer having saved many lives by his great exertions during the night and perfect organization for reliet and help the next day, had made for him- self an immortal name, hinted darkly that the captain's was the better part, and that they preferred to hear im such cases that all the officers had prished. Stoke dispatched the surviving nassen- gers by train from Helston back to Lom- don. They were mot enthusiastic about him, neither did they subscribe to present him with a service of plate. They thought him stern and unsympathetic. But before they had realized quite what had happened they were back at their homes or with their friends. Many of the dead were re. covered and went to swell the heavy crop of God's seed sown in St. Keverne church- yard. It was §toke who organized theso quiet burials ahd took a careful note of each name. It was he to whom the friends of the dead made their complaint or took their tearful reminiécences, to both of which alike he gave an attentive hearl emphasized by the dy gaze of a pair of gray blue eyes which many remembered afterward without knowing why. “It Is all right,” said the director of the great steamship company in London. “Stoke 1s there.” And they sent him money and left him in charge at St. Keverne. The newspaper correspondents hurried thither and several of them described the wrong man as Stoke, ‘ { | else behind them—a sort of velled light “It was kind of you to come so soon,” she sald, taking a chair by the fireside. There was only one lamp in the room and its light scarcely reached her face. But for all the good he did In coming it would seem that he might as well have | stayed away, for he had no comfort to offer her. He drew forward a chair and sat down with that square slowness of move- ment which is natural to the limbs of men who deal exclusively with nature and ac- {tion, and he looked into the fire without saying a word. Again It she who spoke and her words surprised the man who bad only dealt with women at sea, where women are not seen at their best “I do not want you to grieve for me,” ehe sald quietly. “You have enough trouble of your own without thinking of me. You bave lost your friend * * ° and your ship.” He made a little movement of the lips and glanced at her slowly. He held his Hp between his teeth, as he was wont to Lold, it during the moments of suspense be- tore letting go the ancho roadstead as he stood at his post on the nal. She was the first to divioe what the ship had been to him. Her eyes were walt- ing for his. They were alight with & gen- tle glow, which he took to be pity. She [apoke calmly and her volee was alwa low and qulet. But he was quite sure that her heart was broken and the must bave been conveyed to her by the silent messenger that passes to and fro be- tween kindred minds, for she immediately took up bis thought. “It is not,” she sald, rather hurriedly, if it would break my heart. Long ago T used to think it would. I was very proud of him and of his—popularity. But—" And she said no more, but sat with dreaming eyes looking into the fire. After a long pause she spoke again. “So you must not grieve for me," she sald, returning persistently to her point. She was quite simple and honest. Hers was that rare wisdom which is given only to the pure in heart, for they see through Into the soul of man and sift out the honest from among the fals It seemed that she had gained her object, for Stokes was visibly relleved. He told her many things which he had withheld trom other inquirers. He cleared Dixon's good name from anything but that liability to error which is only human, and spoke of the captain's splendid nerve and steadiness fo the hour of danger. Insensibly they lapsed into a low-voiced discuelion of Dixon as of the character of a lost friend equally dear to them both. Then he rose to take his leave before it was really meccssary to go in order to catch his train, impatient to meet her eye —which were waiting for his—for a mo ment as they sald good-hye; as the man who Is the slave of a habit waits impa- tiently for the time when he can give way to it. He went home to the room he always oc- cupled near his club In London. There he found a number of letters which had been sent on from the steamship company's office. The first he opened bore the post- mark of St. Just in Corawall. It was from the coast guard captain of that remote western station, and It had been originally posted to St. Kerverne. “Dear sir,”” he wrote. *One of your crew or pagsengers has turned up here on foot. He must have been wandering about for nearly a weck and is destitute. At times his mind is uuhinged. He began to write a letter but could not finish it and gives no name. Please come over and identify him. Meanwhile I will take good care of him.” Stoke opened the folded paper which had dropped from the envelope. “Dear Jack,” it began. Ome or two sentences followed, but there was mo se- quence or sense in them. The writing was that of Captaln Dixon without its characteristic firmness or cohesion. Stoke glanced at bis watch and took up his bag—a new bag hurriendly bought in Falmouth stuffed full of a few necessitics pressed upon him by kind persons at St. Keverne when he stood among them in the clothes in which he had swum ashore, while others having mentioned him weighed him and found him wanting in & proper sense of thelr importance. There was mo “copy” in him, they sald. He bad no con- ception of the majesty of the press. At length the survivors were all semt home and the dead thrown up by the sea Martin, the second officer was among these. They found the cap- tain's pllot jacket on the beach. He must have made a fight for his life and thrown aside his jacket for greater ease in swim- ming. Twenty-nine of the crew, eleven passengers and a stewardess were never found. The sea would never give them up now until that day when she shall relin- quish her hostages—mostly Spaniards and English—to come :rom the deep at that trumpet call Stoke finished his business at St. Ke- verne and took the train to Londen. Never no answer. The engincers had come on | deck. i “‘She's got to go,” sald Martin, the sec- | ond officer, deliberately. “You had better follow them,” replied | the captain, with a jerk of the head toward | the ladder down which the two steersmen | had disappeared. | “Go, be d—4," eald Martin. “My place 1s here.” There was Do nervousness about the man now, The murmur on the derk had suddenly risen to shrieks and angry shouts. Somc were getting ready to dle in a most un- | seemly manner. They were fighting for | | the boats. The clear, strong voice had | ceased giving orders. It afterward trans- | pired that the chief officer, Stokes, was engaged at this time on the sloping decks | in tylng Iife belts round the women and | throwing them overboard, despite their shrieks and struggles. The coastguards found these women strewn along the beach like wreckage below St. Keverne—some that nigkt, some at dawn—and only two were | dead. The captain snapped his finger and thumb, a gesture of annoyance which was | habitual to him. Martin knew the mean- | ing of the sound, which he heard through | the shouting and the roar of the wind and the hissing of a cloud of steam. He placed his hand on the deck of the bridge | it to feel it. He had only to stretch out his arm to touch the timbers, for the vessel was lying over farther now. There | was mo vibration bemeath his hand; the engines had ceased to work. “Yes,” sald Dixon, who was holding to the rall in front of bim with both hands “Yes—she has got to go." And as '~ spoke Grandhaven slid slowly backwards and sldeways into the deep water. The shricks were suddenly fin- creased and then died away in & confused gurgle. Martin siid down on to the cap- | | | an expansive man, he was shut up now s the strong are shut up by a sorrow. The | loss of Grandhaven left a scar on his heart which time could not heal. It had come to his care from the bullder's yards, It had never known another husband. He was free now—tree to turn to the t portion of his t He bad al- ways salled with Dixon, his life-long friend. They had been boys together, had forced their way up the ladder together, had understood each other all tkrough. His triend’s wife, by virtue of her office, per- haps had come mearer to this man's grim and lonely heart than any other woman, He had never defined thie foeling; he bad not even gone back to its source as a woman would have done, or he might have discov- ered that the gentle air of question or of walting In her eyes which was not always there, but only when he looked for it, had been there long ago on & summer voyage before she was Captaln Dixon’s wife : at all. All through his long swim to shore, all through the horrors of that November night and the long-drawn pain of the suc- ceeding days be had dome his duty with a steady impassiveness which was In keep- ing with the square jaw, the resolute eyes, the firm and merciful lips of the man; but he had only thought of Mary Dixon. His one thought was that this must break her heart. It was this thought that made him hard and impassive. In the great office in Lon- don he was received gravely. With a dull surprise he noted a quiver in the lips of, the managing director when shook hands. The great business man looked older and smaller and thinner in this short time; for it is & terrible thing to have te deal in human lives, even if you are paid beavily for doing so. “There will be an oficial inquiry—you will have to face it, Stoke.” which had dried upon him during a long Neversber ight. There was just time te ocatch the night mail to Pensance. Hoav was kind to him and gave him no time to think, The coach lei Penzance at 9 in the moorland to St. Just—a little gray, remote town on the western sea, The loneliness of the hills is emphasized here and there by the ruin of an abandoned mine. St. Just self, the very acme of remoteness—Is yearly diminishing in Importance and pop- ulation, sending forth her burrowing sons to those places in the world where silyer and copper and gold are found. The coast-guard captain was awaliting Stoke's arrival In the little deserted square where the Penzance omnibus deposits its passen, The two men shook hands with that subtle and silent fellowship which draws together seamen of all es and all nations. They walked together on matters of their daily bustness. “He doesn’t pick up at all,” sald the coast-guard captain at length; “‘just sits mum all day. My wife looks after him, but she can't Stir him up. If anybody could she could.” And the man walked on looking stralght in front of him with a patient eye. He spoke with unconscious feeling. “He 1s a gentleman despite the clothes he came ashore in. Getting across to the southern states under a cloud as likely as not,” be .sald presently. “Some bank manager perhaps. He must have changed | clothes with some forecastle hand. They were seamen’s clothes and he had been sleeping or hiding fn & ditch.” He led the way to his house, standing apart in the well-kept garden of the sta- tion, He opened the door of the simply- furnished drawing room. “Here 4s & friend come to see you,” he sald, and standing aside he invited Stoke by & silent gesture of the head to pass in. A man was sitting in front of the fire with hls back toward the door. He did Gre in a crawded | forecastle head awalting the captain's sig- | thought | morning for a two-hours' climb over bare | mot move or turn his head. Stoke closed |the door behind him as ho entered the room and went slowly toward the fireplace Dixon turned and looked at him witk shrinking eyes, like the eyes of a dog tha; | bas been beaten “Let us get on to the clins,” he sald in & whisper. “We cannot talk here." He was clean shaven and his bhalr was grizzled at the temples. His face looked oddly weak, for he had a rather irresoluto ebin, hitherto hidden by Ms wmart beard Few would bave recognized him By way of reply Stoke went back toward the door. Come on, then," he sald. rather curtly. They did not speak until they had passed out beyond the town toward the bare ta- bleland that leads to the s “Couldn’t face it, Jack—that's the truthy" sald the captain at last, “and it you or anv others trv to make me 1'll shoot my- selt. How many was it? Tell me quickly, man!" “Over 180, replied Stoke They walked out on the bare tableland and sat down on a crumbling wall. “And what do the papers not dared to ask for one." Stoke shrugged his square shoulders “What does It matter what they say?" answered the man, who had never seen his own name in the newspapers. Perbaps he failed to understand Dixon's point of view, ‘“Have you seen Mar: tatn. “Yeu." Then they sat asked the cap- ] in silence for some min- utes. Therc was a heavy sea running and the rocks round the Land's End were black in & bed of pure white. The Long- ship's lighthouse stood up, a gray shadow in a gray scene “‘Come,” sald Stoke, “be & man cnd face There was no answer rnd the speaker sat staring across the lashed waters to the west, his square chin thrust forward, his resolute lips close pressed, his cyes impassive. There was obviously only one course through life for this seaman—the stralght one. “If it is only for at length. “Keeping the Gull having the South Foreland V by you should find six fathoms of water at a neap tide,” muttered Captaln Dixon in a low monotone. He was unconscious of his companton's presence and spoke like one talking in his dreams. Stoke sat motionless by him while he took his steamer in Imagination through the Downs and round the North Foreland. But what he sald was mostly Bonsense nd he mixed up the bearings of the inner nd outer channels Into a hopeless jumble. Then he sat huddled upon the wall and lapsed again into a silent dream with ey.s fixed on the western sea. Stoke took him by the arm and led him back to the town, this harmless, soft-speaking creature who had once been & brilllant man and had made but one mistake at sea. Stoke wrote a long letter to Mary Dixon that afternoon. He took lodgings in a cot- tage outside St. Just, ou the tableland that overlooks the sea. He told the captain of the cost guards that he had been able to identity this man and had written to his people in Londen. Dixon recognized her when she came, but he soon lapsed again into his dreamy stato of incoherence, and that which made him lose his grip on his reason was again the | terror of having to face the world as the captain of the lost Grandhaven. To humor him they left St. Just and went to Lon- don. They changed thelr name to that which Mary had borne before their mar- riage, a French-Canadian name. Baillere. A great London specialist held out a dim hope of ultimate recovery. It was brought on by some great shock,” he suggested. es,’ answered Stoke, hock." bereavement ?"* ‘el answered Stoke slowly. It is years since the loss of Grandhaven and its story was long ago superseded and forgotten. And the London specialist was wrong. The Bailleres live now in the cottage westward of St. Just toward the sea, where Steke took lodgings. It was the captain's wish te return to this remete spot. When- ever Captain Btoke returns to Dngland he spends his brief leave of absence in jour- neying to the forgotten mining town. Bail- lere passes his days In his garden or sit- ting on the low wall, looking with vacant ey cross the s whereon his name was once a household word. His secret is still safe. The world still exonerates him be- cayse he crowned, . “'He sits and dreams all day,” is the re- port that Mary always gives to Stoke when she meets him in the town square, where the Penzance omnibus, the only link with the outer world, deposits its rare passen- ger: { ary's sake," he added lightship ESE and “by a great i nd you?' Stoke once moment of unusual expnsion, his volce halt mufled with suppressed pense. She glanced at him with that waiting look which he knows to be there, but never meats. For he is a bard man—hard to her, harder to hims And who shall gauge a woman's dream? Reflections of a Bachelor, New York Pre: There is no way of getting out of a love affair that ever suc- ceeds like not getting in. The way to praise anything & woman wears is to tell her how pretty she looks in 1t The fun that a woman gets out of an argument {e the chance to cry, and a man to get mad. When a woman confesses her age she thinks to let you know how much younger she is than her younger siste A woman can stend being kissed agalnst her will all right, but it makes her very indignant if you don't pretend to use force. Health ad Sm A few doses of Dr. King's New Life Pills will cleanse, tone agd invigorate the whole Only 26c, For sale by at Educators. tain and together they shot into the sea. owner came back to claim it, and before with fate. open-eyed, steady, watchful. | qyoy gank (hrough a stratum of strugsling o & box of figs sent from Smysna by a friend “Tos," ho answored slmeat Indiecently, Through the kindly assistance of some of who had Jost all la the South Sea bubble @nd bad goue to that distant land to recoup bis fortunes. Harper's Encyclopediae tells the story of the willow's arrival in Amer- There was no music tonlght, though the | % band had played the cheeriest items of Its | “myo yijage of St. Keverne lies nearly repertolre outside the saloon door Auring | \.o'voiles from the ses. high above it on dipner. Many of the passengers were the bare tableland that juts out ten miles their cabins jalready; for Grandhaven Was | i, (he Lizard lights. It is a rural village rolling gently on the shoulder of the Al-| ¢y from raflway or barbor. Its men are lantic swell. The sea was heavy, but ot | yorieylturali following the plow and 80 heavy as they would certainly encoun- | ynowing but little of the sea, which is so ter west of the Land's End. Presently | tor below them that they rarcly descend Grandhaven crept out imto & clear space, | 1o the beach, and they do no business in “And there is Dixon's wife. You will have to go and see her. I bave been. She ays at home and takes her punishment quietly—unlike some of them." And two hours later he was waiting for Mary Dixon in the little drawing room of the house In a Kentish village which he had helped Dixon to furnish for her. She did pot keep him long; and when she came into the room he drew a sharp breath; but leaving the fog bank in rolling clouds like | the great waters. But their churchyard is cannon smoke behind her. full of drowned folk. There are 104 in one “AB!" sald Captain Dixon, with & sigh | grave, 120 in another and 106 in a third of mever been really anx- | Ap old St. Keverne mas will slowly name second officer, ruddy | thirty ships and stcamers wrecked in sight ted up sud- of the church steeple In the range of his sundry lines around bis eyos memory. AWy a8 he stooped over the A quick-eared comst suaid Beard the be had nothing to say to her. She was tall and strongly made, with fair hair and dell- cate coloring. She had no children, though she bad been married six years, and na- ture seemed to have designed her to be the mother of lary strong, gestle men. Stoke looked into her eyes and lmme- diately the expectant look ceme lute thom. fl the ablest educators in the Wesf sext a list of epecial articles whic! themsel almost a liberal education in will mean something to you to have at your ticles of interest to yourself, your ‘We pre- o S g wi evenings o a serios of ar- wife and the children. ves. On | SOME OF THEM. e Farmec— ) @ 3 natretion “The Distriet e e EAE ey Write and send e R PR = TWIH!‘TIITH CENTURY FARMER, Fanman 'y Nes. Special offer to agents ot every postoffice in the country,