The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 6, 1895, Page 13

'HE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 6, 1895, 13 ND PRANKS. was the pet and Bar. Almost daily ard of her pranks. and with ker yello the breeze she went and In her flying golden erand thither, a living 1t was currentiy reported ved in the little California h was the child’s home ds she ever uttered were, “Tum tt Her favorite place of resort. as soon as che old enough to be out of the house, tic bench that stood under an oak il that led down the Stanis- | er in front of her father’s cottage. here, with her ragdoll i and cried out “*Hello t passed. The miners halted, hed and said, “Hello! | not little one, ild one," the child wo pl “Soon the laughing little yellow-haired | girl was k he miners all up and down the m Tum.” ildren in the ather of little th her many such a large on that little ,’’ was permitted to much at will. She early dependence of character | to take care of herself | n to ramble about the | hboring hills gave very | t her home. | ht years of azge her| 1 to walk about the | | The tall, big-bearded old man was one | | istence of such a child. | called by the miners of the camp—had | i 1 ence. Though nearly half a mile irom the | herself under a bush and began arranging | row of houses along the river the child felt | anew the flowers she carried in her apron, | as much at home as if she had been in the } glancing from time to time at the old little sitting-room of her father’s cottage. | man’s cabin until she had seen him leave As she was thus seated a tall, stoop- | it and enter his tunnel. id man with a long, bushy 1ddenly appeared before her. was a man she remembered to have n a few times at a_distance, but to whom she had never spoken. Not in the least surprised or alarmed, she raised her | eyes from her work and calmly said: | *‘Hello, sir!” The old man, who had been standing | with a hand upon his brow, muttering to | himself, seemed not to have observed the | child before she thus greeted him, so | vas sie tucked in against the rock | beside the trunk of the big cedar. At the | sound of her voice he started violently, dropped his hand and stared at her with | starting eyes. his face expressive of min- A surprise and displeasure. gray beard CHAPTER IIT. *‘SURLY BEN"’ SURPRISED. That evening when old Ben entered his cabin to prepare his supper he saw on his table in an old fruitcan a neatly arranged bougquet of wild fowers. *‘Bless me!” cried he in astonishment, as with widely opened eyes he gazed at the unwonted sight. ‘“Wonderful! What is the meaning of it? Hum, ha—is it the trick of some would-be joker?” Old Ben stood staring and scowling at the flowers for & time_in great perplexity, then light seemed suddenly to come to his mind and a smile lighted up his face. “That child must have done this,” said he. ‘‘Yes, it is the work of the little one that calls herself ‘Tum Tum.” She was playing with flowers.” The old man took up the flowers, inhaled been so near to him, and until that mo- | their fragrance, then replaced them and ment he was probably ignorant of the ex- | sighed deeply as he sat down ona stool | and covered his face with his hands. Sud- denly he started up and muttered: “Hum, ha—perhaps a trick.” Then he glanced suspiciously on_all sides of the cabin, looked up toward the loft, and even peeped under Lis bed. as if suspecting that some hidden joker might be watching his move- ments. Satisfied that no one was secreted about the place, he said: *‘Yes, it must have been the little gir1.” Several times while preparing his frugal meal old Ben paused in his work and glanced at the fiowers, the first that had ever been seen in his cabin, and finally said: ““Well! well! and she calls berself ‘Tum Tum! That’s the Chinook for heart. After all there’s some sense in the name, for the child evidently has a big heart, and a good ome. It's queer, though, that she I was mining at Bartons Bar when lit- | Tum Tum’’ was born, but this was the t time she had ever spoken to him or | Old Ben Huber—Ben Suriy,” as he was been working on the bar almost from the time of itsdiscovery. He was a man with- out “chick or child,” lived alone and was | very uncommunicative and unsociable. He | had a tunnel that was run under the flat | back of “where his cabin stood, and in this he aiways worked alone. While some said that old Ben Surly might have a “good thing” in his drift claim, the | eneral opinion was that he was poor, as | e seldom sold any ‘‘dust,” wore oniy the | roughest and cheapest of clothes; and his | cabin door—like most of those on the bar | in the early. days—half the time stood ajar, and often might have been seen wide open. Nobody in the camp gave more | *“BUT,” CRIED THE LAWYER, “WHERE IS THIS GOLD?” capacity for the exhibition of ‘‘wildness” had wonderfully increased. Sometimes she was to be seén dancingona big flat- | sto f flowers on her head, and | ed the passing miners by | ing out to them from the top of some | It caused no surprise | th a “hello” she made herap- candle in band, in the mine father and his partners were ks and sledges far out was her father's pet, ne into her head to pay 1ld go to the mouth of | light a candle and march into | s fearlessiy as did the miners | ca spreading oak. ng tl wieldi s zht weather a favorite re- | high plateau far | rom the trail | hich the occupants of the scattered | cabins f ing the outskirts of the little | wont to. pass. Although this | composed principally of solid | e were in ma s little ! il that produced a great | She made | tt of s variety of plants and flowers. the flowers, plants and butterfiies her com- | tehos panions, and_was seldom seen at play | with other children. Her wiid dances and other pranks were all of her own inven | tion and performed alone. They seemed | to be inaulged in as something needfnl | after hours of solitary musing and | crooning. 4 CHAPTER IL A STRANGE MEETING. i _ Obe day in early spring little “Tnm | as up on her favorite rocky | and in a secludec spot was seated | of a huge cathe -like f yranite that had tumbled down ep slope of the mountain that| towered high above. Her back rested | agaiust a large spreading cedar tree, the | trunk of which, cld and gnarled, grew as | st the rock as though it were a | of it. Her wealth of golden hair | d down her neck and shoulders in | an accidental wisp and curl, while | of it danced about her forchead and | She had collected a lapful of flow- | [ which she was engaged in weaving | a wreath, meanwhile bumming a song | inalow t . Birds were singing in the | branches of the old cedar over her head and squirrels were playing about the top of the rock, eli quite heedless of her pres- 4 J 1 than a passing thought to Old Man Huber, should have been seated just in that spot by the old cedar. She says she often goes there. I wonder if she has ever watched ——1? Noj; it was merely a strange chance,” said the old man as he checked himself and peered about his cabin. “It’sawarm, sunny spot.”’ When ready to place his supper on the table old Ben tenderly took up the flowers and placed them in the only window the cabin boasted, muttering as he did so: “‘Tum Tum,’ heart—yes, a heart of goid |"’ Several times while seated at his supper the old man glanced at the flowers in the wi_l;daw,and once, after long-drawn sigh, said: “The little one has the same eyes and the same golden hair.” CHAPTER IV. “TUM TUM'' SURPRISED. After that evening—so often during the summer that it ceased to be a matter of surprise and became, indecd, a thing that he looked forand expected—old Ben Huber found on his table fresh bouquets, though he never saw the little ‘‘wild girl,” as he called her, about his cabin. After the first evening he found the flowers in a pretty or “’Uber,” as they generally pronounced | his name, when they gave him any other | than that of “Ben Surly,” and he seemed 8s much as possible to shun the society of | his kind. After musingly and amazedly staring at the wild-looking hittle cre:\mreybofore fiim for some moments, as if wondering whether she were human or some kind of sprite that had its dwelling in the big rock, the d man turned to depart. He had hardly ne 50, however, before the child called er him in a half-abused, half-coaxing tone, “Don’t be afraid of me !’ Jlnlh.nl:‘ facing about and smiling in a more kindly way than any one on the bar had eyer before seen him smile, Ben Surly said: “Afraid of you, childi No, not afraid, but astonished. But are you not afraid to be out alone so far up the big mountain?” No.” smd the child, and am never afraid.” ““But you don’t often come here?” said the old man, eying the little one sharply. *'Ob, yes, I do,” cried the child. **i come to this very spot, and the birds come into | the tree and sing to me, and the little squir- rels piay and chirp for me on the rock.’ “I go everywhere i : et | little vase, on observing which he cried Wf:jnt s your name, little one?’” as] _edl out *‘Astonishing !’ Then feil back a pace the old man, beginning toregard the child | or two to admire the wonder. with some degrec of interest. ““My mother calls me ‘fomboy," hevovfl;?r ¥\lks call me ‘Tum Tum.’ “Well, ‘“Tum Tum,’ where do you live?” asked ol Ben, smiline. A “Up the river at the next bend, i litgle bouse by the spring.” e ‘Ah, ves. en I know your father— John Dale.” And Ben Surly muttered half to himself, “An honest man—an hon- est man, I believe. Well, child, here is something for you.” And the old man threw at the little girl’s feet a big bright silver dollar, then walked away. “Oh, oh! I didn’t say ‘thank you,’ sir!” cried the child, recrctgul!y, after she had picked up and examined thé coin. Then she ran round the corner of the great rock, and tossing back her hair looked wistfully after old Ben Surly. As the fall, bent, ‘old miner passed slowly down over the plateau toward the river the little yellow-haired girl ran dodging from rock to rock above avthe edge of the de- scent, keeping him in view. Stooping low and moving as nimbly as a mountain squirrel, she watched old Ben till she had seen him cnter hiscabin, Then she seated Though oid Ben never saw the child about his ;;llace, so watchful and cunning was she, he sometimes met her on the trail that led up along the river to the two or three stores, and other places of busi- ness that the camp contained, and he never failed to say, with the best smile he could command : ““Ah, my little wild one, how are you to- ¢ but all day?” gn one such occasion the child said: “They all call me ‘Tum Tum,” what do they call you?” “Well,” said the old man, “they call me—well, suppose you call me Uncle Ben?” “Uncle Ben,” said the child. “Oh, I shall remember that!’’ and thenceforward the man known to others as ‘‘Ben Surly” and “Surly Ben,” was to her “Uncle Ben.” ‘When, however, theold man asked about the flowers, the child archly said: 4 “Why, it must have been some good fairy, Uncle Ben."” I believe so, indeed !"" said Uncle Ben. ‘When Christmas came that year a large and beautiful doll, in bridal ‘array, with very many pretty and useful things, all packed in a handsome box addressed, “For Little Tum Tum,” in some strange manner found its way to the cottage of Jahn Dale. Both the fatherand the mother wondered where the box came from, as some of the articles it contained were very costly; but the child cried out at once: “Oh, I know! It'sfrom my good Uncle Ben!” - “Her good Uncle Ben!” exclaimed the mother. ‘“Who is this Uncle Ben? I do declare, John, the child knows all kinds of people. She is getting to be too old to run wild as she does! Whom do you call Uncle Ben, you great tomboy ?* “Why, he’s the old man that lives away down theriver and works in a tunnel back of his little house. All the men call him ‘Surly Ben’—I've heard them do it,” said the child, “but he’s not one bit cross!” “What strange notions the child gets into her head !’ zaid Mrs. Dale to her hus- band. *“Old Ben'Uber would be the last man on the bar to make. ker or any one else such a present. I guess he has enough to do to keep himself in bacon and beans!” “Poor enough, I believe,” said Jobn Dale, “but nota bad old fellow, except that he leads a sort of hermit life and seems to bea good deal soured against the whole human race. However, he may haye met with some great disappointment in his younger days.” “I “suppose you mean to say that he may have been’crossed in love,” said Mrs. Dale, “but I don’t believe the man was ever in love with any one but himself!” “Very well, mother, cook him up to suit yourself,” said John Dale, and taking up his hat he struck out for his diggings. CHAPTER V. A VOICE FROM THE DEPTHS. That winter Uncle Ben seldom saw the little girl; but once, soon after Christmas, he found a huge slice of nice cake on his table, and again he_cried “Astonishing ! 1In the spring, however, the bouquets again began to appear, much to the old man’s delight. He began to believe that after all he was really fond of flowers. One day the little gitl was stealing out of the of’d man’s cabin, after having de- hosited a fresh bouquet, when a voice call- ing out, “Hello! help! help!” caused her to halt. “Where does that queer cry come from, I wonder?” said the child, and she stood and listened. Again she heard a faint and seemingly far-away cry of— “Help!” £ She looked up and down the river and up the hill_above the cabin, but could see no one. Whileshe was running about and wondering where the voice came from, it again reached her ears. “Why, it must be Uncle Ben, and he's in his tunnel?”” and she flew to the mouth of the tunne!, but a few yards distant, and listened. 5 i “Help!" came a cry, in a voice she rec- ognized as that of Uncle Ben. “Yes, Uncle Ben; Iam here! I'm com- ing ! cried she. *‘Wait till I get a candle,” and into the cabin she ran for a candle and matches. 2 LD Lighting her candle just within the mouth of the tunnel she swiftly advanced into the long, dark drift. She had not pro- ceeded very far, however, before . the well- known voice of Uncle Ben was heard, as he cried out in surprise: “Why, is that you, little one? Bless you, my child! Why. 1 have but to ery out and my good fairy instantly appears.” “Oh, Uncle Ben, you're lying on the ground!” cried the girl. “What is the matter?’’ 5 P « “Don’t be alarmed, child; it is nothing. 1 hurt my leg so that I could not walk. crawled out this far, and, getting tired, I set up a cry to bring some one to help me to my cabin. But how came you here, child? I thought my voice might reach some one passing along the trail, but never dreamed of your hearing the call. Where were you, little one?” “Well, Uncle Ben, you see I'd just been into your house and left the flowers—" “An? Then, at last you acknowledge that you are the good fairy that brings the flowers? But I knew it, child—I knew it all the time. And now you come to find and help Uncle Ben when he can olonger help himself. You are, indeed, my good guardian fairy !” ““But—oh, Uncle Ben! whatcan I do to help you? Can I carry you out to the cabin? Can you walk if you lean on me!” “No, child, no. Goand tell your father where I am, and tell him that I am afraid my leg is broken. But don’t let that frighten you, little one, and don’t_run too fast. 1 shall be very comfortable here un- til your father comes. A broken leg i nothing—nothing at all. It will be well in a week.” Little “Tum Tum’’ darted out of the tun- nel and flew, rather than ran, along the trail up the river. She called to every one she met or saw to go to the assistance of *Uncle Ben.” “Who?” asked nearly every person. * ‘Surly Ben,’ you call him,” cried she, asshe ran. “But he is good, and he is hurt in his tunnel. Run to him!” Lighting a candle, she dashed into her father’s mine, and soon he and his part- ners were out and bastenimg down the river. The miners who hurried to old Ben’s assistance soon had him out of the {tunnel and laid upon the cot in the cabin, when one was sent for the nearest doctor. 1n a few words the injured man explained to the miners about him—all now full of sympathy and kindness—that a blast which he had placed in a large bowlder had ex- loded prematurely, hurling a large, Jagged fragment against his right thigh and hip. For a time he had lain stunned and unconscious, but on recovering his senses he had crawled out along the tunnel as far as he had strength to move, for pain and loss of blood bad made him very weak. The physician found the old man’s thigh and hip o badly shattered and lacerated that he at once pronounced the case hope- less. He declared that it would be worse than useless to subject the injured man to the pain and shock that would be atten- dant upon the amputation of the shattered Lmb. In amanner as considerate as pos- sible the doctor told the old man that he could live but four or five days at most, and that he would do well to arrange his worldly affairs without delay. That evening little “*Tum Tum’’ and her father visited the old man, for he had said to John Dale: “I wantto have her here 3;5 my poor cabin at least once beiore I ie. The face of the sufferer brightened and he seemed to forget his pain as soon as the child apveared before him. At first the little girl wept for her old friend, but he soon succeeded in comfort- ing and reassuring her. He was not con- tent till sbe was seated on a chair beside his cat, where he_ could hold her hand in his while he talked. He then joked with ber about the way in which she had 1 glaycd the ‘“‘good fairy” by stealing into is cabin with her fioral offerings, and became as merry as though he had been unhure and in the best of health, When visited by a pang so severe that he could not control his features he turned his face aside from the child till it had passed. The next day little “Tum Tum” ap- peared early at Uncle Ben’s cabin with a fresh bouquet and remained prattling at his bedside for several hours. During most of this time the old miner who was in_attendance in the capacity of nurse— old Zeke Bundy—remained out in front of the cabin, marching up and down the trail; and occasionally taking his pipe out of his mouth to muiter some passing thought. After shaking his head for some time the old fellow broke out with: “Never seed the beat on’t! Old Ben Sur- ly’s got a heart into him arter all. He couldn’t think more o’ that wild, gal- lopin’ young-un if he was her mother. As for her, he’s her ‘Uncle Ben’—her ‘dear Uncle Ben!" How did she ever find him out? Must be a case of two cranks—the wolf and the wild gurl!” To a miner of the bar, who came down the trail and proposed to go into the cabin and see old Ben, the patrolling ' nurse curtly said: “Hold on! you can’t go in there now. Old Ben'’s fixin' to pass in his chips. John Dale’s little gurl—the wild un—'s at his bedside. He giv’ mea hint that he had somethin’ particular to say to her—good advices, I s'pose—before he dies. Pore old Ben! His time's sot. He's got ter go. Too bad; too had. Jist as his Leart was beginnin’ to meller!” And the old fellow strack a match and relighted his pipe. CHAPTER V1. SURLY BEN MAKES A WILL. The followinfi day a lawyer, who had been sent for by old Ben to draw up his will, arrived from Sonora, the nearest large town.: John Dale and two or three of his neighbors were present by request as his witnesses. Little Tum Tum was at the bedside of the old man when the lawyer arrived, for she had come early with a bouquet gathered while the dew was still on theflowers. | ‘When it was noised about Bartons Bar that old “Ben Surly” had sent to Sonoma for a lawyer and was ‘‘goin’ to make a reg’lar out-and-out will,” the tongues of the men and, women of that place found occ%&unon. “What has the old fellow got to will away,’anyhow ?” said one. “Nothing,” answered a man of the bar, *‘nothing but his mine, and I guess that'll never make nnybody very rich.” ““It may be,’” said some, ‘“‘that the old man has a little sack of dust stuck away 1n some crack of his cabin or some chink in his tunnel.” As the lawyer, seated at the one table of the cabin, progressed in his work of filling out the will, he pres- ently asked for the names of the legatees. “There is but one name to be men- tioned,” said old Ben. “That is Ellen Dale, the daughter of John Dale, here Fresent. and known to all in this place as ittle *Tum Tum.’” On hearing these words, John Dale and his neighbors looked at one another in surprise. 'When the lawyer asked about the property tobe disposed of old Ben said : “Well, as_to the mine, that is alreddy arranged. I bave made a bill of sale of it to John Dale, but you may put down that to Ellen Dale, his daughter, 1 give $20,000.” “What!” cried the lawyer, dropping his pen, turning about in his seat and facing the old man. *‘Twenty thousand dollars, did you say ?” “That was what I said,” calmly replied the old man, Then taking a folded paper from under his pillow, he gave it to little Ellen Dale, saying: ‘‘Here, child, hand that to the gentleman. You see there, posted up,” said he, addressing the lawyer, “just even 1250 ouncen of gold, which, at $16 an ounce, makes exactly $20,000; but, as our Bartons Bar dust generally a little overruns $16, I think you had better set down to her 1250 ounces of gold.” The lawyer complied, then said: “But, my friend, where is this gold? ‘Where are we to look for it ?” “The child knows where it is,” said old Ben. ‘“She’ll find it.” This announcement created a profound sensation among those present, as may be imagined, and no one was more astonished than John Dale. ‘Do you know where all this gold is?” said the lawyer, turning to the little girl. *Yes, sir; Ican find it,” said the child quietly. ‘‘Are you quite sure you can find it?” asked the lawyer, not very well satisfied th?; he was to have nochance to finger the gold. * Yes, sir,”” answered the child. ““She will find it at the %roper time,” said oid Ben. ‘There will be no trouble about that, for she knows as weil as Ido myself where it is.” CHAPTER VII. JOHN DALE SURPRISED. After the name of John Dale as sole ex- ecutor had been written in by the lawyer, with the usual legal and technical flour- ishes, the will was signed by the old man. “What!” cried Johu Dale, when the will was read over at the request of one of the witnesses. “What is that? Benjamin Huber Herbert?"” “It is the name given by the man him- self,” said the lawyer. “It is my name in full and my true name,” said the old man. *Of course, I've one By shorter names and by nicknames fiere on the Pacific Coast, but that doesn’t matter now.”” “Are you Benjamin Huber Herbert, for- merly of Quincy, IIL.?” cried John’ Dale excitedly. “Ioncelived there,” calmly answered the old man. “‘And youmarried Ellen Tracy, who was killed by Jack Pratt, a discarded suitor, on the day of your marriage,” cried John Dale, nrisi:s and advancing to the cot, “and you fled after killing—"" ‘‘Hush, John Dale!” cried the old man. “How came you to know that one dark spot in my life?’” “How came I to know it? Why, my wife is the youngest sister of that unfortu- nate ¥llen Tracy; and that child at your bedside bears her name!” “This is wonderful—wonderful!”’ cried the old man. ‘“And I living here all thes: years in ignorance of what I would have given worlds to have known! Ah! Ellen, Nellie, my child, after all, I am really your Uncle Ben! Child, those eyes of yours al- ways haunted me!” Then, partly rising on his couch and turning to the father, the old man said: . ““As for that other matter, John Dale, it was in fair fight! The murderer did not deserve it; but, on my deathbed, I say he was given an equal chance, and it was a fair fight—though there were no witnesses to it but the old trees of the forest in which I found him. But let no more now be said of that.” “Although I never saw you in that country, and was not then & member of the Tracy family, I believe yom, Ben Her- bert,” said John Dale, *‘and at a proper time I sball explain all to those now resent, and also to others who should mow about it. Ido net blame you. Ben Herbert—I should haag done the same.” ‘‘John Dale, it was %one in the heat of my wrath and. thirst for vengeance. I have keenly suffered for taking the law into my own hands—suffer still—but I was right. "I did not fly through fear of the law. A sudden half-mad feeling of abhor- rence of all my kind came upon me. T had taken my revenge, and was satisfied as far as possible in that respect. I could not endure, however, the thought of the great trouble being brought = up and the whole story of it being one over in the long drag of the usual egal proceedings. What then was the world to me—its ways and its laws? All T desired was to be alone with my great sorrow. The mines and the mountain wilds of California offered me a safe retreat, and I came to them. For heaven’s sake let no more now be said! Ellen, my child, run out and see how high the sun is—no, stay! Never mind the sun, my dear.” CHAPTER VIII. LITTLE NELL LEADS THE WAY TO HER LEGACY, That evening Ben Herbert was carried on a stretcher to the cottage of John Dale, where two days later he breathed his last. His last hours were made comfort- able, and he died clasping the hand of the child he had loved so well, and whom dur- ing the last day of his life he constantly called “*Nellie.” ~ At his request his grave was made 1n a beautiful spot in a little lap of land on a bench overlooking the river. ;I_‘Pere he was laid, alone in death as in ife. After the funeral, Mrs. Dale spoke to the where it was? “Itisnot yet three days,” said the sobbing littleone; ‘*he told me to gn there three days after—after he was uried.” At the end of three days she said she was ready to show the way to the gold, but not a word would she say in regard to its whereabouts. “I am to go toit, and my father is to go with me,” is all she would say. As the little girl led the way her father and the two friends that were with him, carrying picks, shovels and sacks, were surprised to see her suddenly leave the river trail and strike up to the high pla- teau above, They had expected to see her keep down the trail toward the old man’s cabin. Straight across the plateau she went, keeping some yards in advance of her father and his companions. them from the direction in which they wished to go that the faces of the two as- sistants began to look very blank; but the countenance of John Dale remained se- rene. Presently the child disappeared behind an immense block of granite, ‘When her father and friends reached the rock they found the child seated on the ground, tucked in against the granite mass, beside the trunk of an old cedar. “Well, is this the place?” asked the father. Arising, the girl said: I was sitting.” The men set to work at the spot indi- cated. Atadepth of about two feet they c]nme upon a large, neatly squared slab of slate. “Dig just where child about the gold. Could she remember So far she led | “‘Here we have it!" cried the man who was wielding the shovel. Sure enough, there it was stowed away in several tin cans and glass pickle-jars of \-lariou; sizes, as was seen on lifting the slab. A square hole had been cutin the firm rock which lay a foot beneath the soil, and in this had been deposited the gold. “No mistake about this, John Dale,” said one of the men, as he began opening and handing out the cans and jars. “It's all good, clean, Bartons Bar dust. ‘It is, indeed !” said Jobn Dale, looking not at the dust, but gazing with glistening eyes upon the bright face of his little daughter, “Itis, indeed!” “How did you know the place, child?'’ asked one of the men. ‘It was there the first time I ever spoke to Uncle Ben. I was sitting right on top of it—just as you saw me a bit ago—weav- ing some. flowers, when Uncle Ben came round the corner of the rock. When he saw me he ‘was so astonished that he almost dropped, so I looked up at him and said, ‘Hello, sir” When he got hurt he told me the gold was there.” R AR T e e e e Last spring I revisited Bartons Bar. T found many changes that saddened me, but I was glad to see that Uncle Ben’s grave was beautifully kept. About it were fine evergreens and other trees, with rose bushes and a great variety of flowering plants and shrubs. Surrounding the grave and taking in almost a quarter of an acre of ground was an iron fence, and there was a fountain, supplied with water from |a big spring above. with apparatus for irrigating the garden-like plat. AsIstood by the iron fence old Zeke Bundy came up. He had a bad limp and looked much older than when I lcpt the bar. As soon as I had made myself known to him he was at ease and his tongue was loosened. ‘“Want to know about little ‘Tum Tum,’ eh? She's little ‘l'um Tum’ no more. Ske’s a grand lady now. For nigh onto ten years she visited and tended this gzrave almost every day in summer. Then a Gov’'ment survey come along and stopped at the bar—a whole pacel of these yere fellers what triangerlates with trioglodites, triggernometers, jiggernometers, and sich- like three-legged insterments. ““Well, it wur a case o’ love at fust sight, if ever there was one—no doubt on't. Less’'n a year the young engineer feller came back to the bar. Ther’ was a stavin’ big weddin’, then away they went to the triggernometer feller’s town back East to | set up housekeepin’. | “Does she ever come back? Oh, yes; ‘Tum Tum’ comes back. Almost every year they come to California, and allers comes here to stay.a while with Father Dale. Her triggernometer husband ain’ta bad feller. When he’s here he’s allers out hammerin’ rocks. He found a quartz mine a piece above here that's turrible rich—jist turrible! He’s got a nephew up thare now runnin’ his mine, ‘“‘FatherDale? Well, I think he’s kinder peterin’—gittin’ a little sorter ricketty. Ain’t keepin’ up like me. He don’t pur- tend to work no more. That claim he got | of old Ben was awful, awful rich. I do | acterly believe Dale got "bout a million out on’t—and he hain’t got it hid in no hole in the ground; it’s all in some San Francisco bank. “Grave neatly kept? Bet yer life! I keep it myseli—and it keeps me. Nota blessed thing else do I do but terd it. ‘Tum Tum’ puts up for my whole livin’ and keegwin’ just to have me tend her Un- cle Ben’s grave. Even now, when she’s got half a dozen beautiful young uns of her own, she's just the same ’bout the Tave. ““What's her husband’s name? Why, it is Professor —,”” and old Zeke gave the name of a geologist and scientist who is known throughout America and Europe. DaN pE QUILLE. A CONTRACTOR CONFESSES The Work Done by Him on the Streets Was Properly Condemned. YET ASHWORTH ACCEPTED IT. A Deputy Whose "Affidavit Is Con- trary to the Facts—Elder’s Answer. ‘What Superintendent of Streets Ash- worth said yesterday to THE CALL reporter about the A.P. A. being responsible for his troubles seems to have proved a counter irritant in several directions. Itis said that many of his nearest friends were quite disgusted with him for bringing that topic into the discussion. As for George ‘W. Elder and George T. Gaden, at whom it is supposed to have been directed, they simply smile and ask if the Grand Jury and Street Committee of the Board of Supervisors are likely to be influenced against a public official on those grounds. Said Mr., Elder yesterday: “If the A. P. A.isfor good streets I favor them, to be sure, but that is the only question at issue. Iam appointed to do certain work and I am doing it as best I know how. My business is to inspect the streets as the agent of the chairman of the Street Com- mittee. 1 am required to inspect and re- port upon all work under way. “When I find that work not being done according to specifications I report it so, of course. ' If that—the simple perform- ance of my duty, the thing that T am paid for doing—brings me in conflict with the Superintendent of Streets I cannot help it. To my mind he should be the last man to oppose me in the effort to secure good work on the streets. I certainly have no feeling in the matter as against Mr. Ash- worth or any one in his office. Nor will T enter into personalities, however much he may be disposed to do so. I shall confine myself to my business. “In that line I will say that I drove A. B. Clate, the contractor, who is doing this now famous Tweifth-street job, out to-da; to look at another piece of his work whicg we condemned some days ago, and he ad- mitted that we did right in condemning it. And yet Mr. Ashworth accepted it. It was a piece of artificial stone sidewalk. The specifications for this class of work re- uires that tar paper be inserted between the joints at every three feet. The inser- tion of this paper requires of course more careful workmanship than without. It had been entirely omitted, and the joints were loose, and clearly showed improper construction. ‘“‘Some of the joints were already begin- ning to crack. "When these defects were inted out by me to Mr. Clute this morn- ing he frankly acknowledged that the work was not up to specifications, but explained that he had not been present during its construction; that he had depended upon his foreman, ana said. at once that he would have the work done over. ““But, although Mr. Clute was not present, the inspector for the Superintend- ent of Streets was present during the per- formance of the work, receiving $4 a day for this service. This inspector reported upon this work nnder oath that the work had been performed ‘‘strictly in accord- ance with the specifications”—that is the language of his affiday That affidavit is on file in the Superintendent of Streets’ office and upon it Mr. Ashwerth has issued an assessment, with a warrant and dia- gram, which are his official acceptance and approval of this work. The assessment was sent to the Mayor’s office a week ago; therenpon Mr. Gaden, the Mayor’s expert, and myself made an inspection of it, dis- covered its defects, and I notified Mr. Donovan, Mr. Ashworth’s chief inside deputy, that we had condemned it. Yet no attention has been paid to that notice. edges the work to be wrong, which he did the inspector, the sworn representative of the Sugerintendem, that he should accept it? Where does the responsibility rest? “The Supervisors hold Mr. Ashworth re- ‘‘Now if the contractor himself acknowl- | do this morning, where were the eyes of | ! sponsible and so do the people. The Su- pervisors bave made strong enough specifi- cations, and if they were fulfilled we would have good streets.” They charge the Super- intendent as their executive officer in the department to see that the specifications are carried out. 1f he does notdo it the cost will fall npon him aud upon those contrac- | tors who try to smuggle through thig crooked work.”’ Mrs. Touchard’s Dinner. The State development committee is doing all in its power to assist Mrs. Margaret Touche ard in making her “California dinner” at the California Hotel on the 16th inst. a success, The secretary of the committee has sent a cir- cular letter to all of the newspapers in the Btate, setting forth that the object is to adver- tise California products that are used on the table. The request is made that those in the interior who desire to assist in this direction send to thelady donations of terrapin, poul- try, fruit and butter and eggs. A donation of bear meat would be highly appreciated, but it must be a young bear in order that the diners’ teeth shall not be damaged. —_———— Gregory’s Case Dismlssed. Judge Morrow ordered & nolle prosequi ene tered yesterday in the case of John Gregory, | indicted by the United States Grand Jury for | counterfeiting. Gregory is now serving a term in the Oregon penitentiary for grand larceny. The most [a)] ever éold%br'a?e money. Ior 25ceits-10certs straght-2for25cents RINALDO BROS. 300-302 Battery Strect. &.F d Tobotco PACIFIC COAST s AGENTS. ’ &Ll -