The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 25, 1896, Page 18

FRIDAY. DECEMBER 25, 1896 #T BEING Boxing night, s.ad the family being gone to the pantomime at ; I'rury Lane (where I I was)—when I say tamily I mean young A% 1.ady Westwood, Mr. Sicaey and two young nieces, and, well another younyg lady—I beg to take th® opportunity to set downa few facts concern= ing wbat I may, without offénse I hope, term ar extraordinary incident that Zccurred this Christmas in this very house, No. 146, Onslow Gardens, Bouth Kensington, where I have been under footman these six months come’ February. I hope when I've set 1t all dewn it will be a relief, and that iny mind, so to speak, will feel better. It most certainly can’t feel muckt worse. It I wasn’tsandy-haired by nature I believe I should have turned gray with worry, and I ain’t 17. Miss Sarah Price arrived last Monday morning. I decline to refer to Sarab by her real Christian name; moreover, Idon’'t know that 1 know it. She called herseli Sarah, and I never doubted her word for a single moment. “And what is your name, my boy?” she said, when I had placed her tiz box in her room. She was a tall, slim young person, with a pleasant sort of face, “William, I suppose.” 2 “My name is not William,"” I said, coldly, “and@ I'm not a boy. My name is John Henry, and I'm & young man. How long do you generally stay in one place?”’ “1t depends,” she said. “Well,” 1 said, “that’s no answer.” “It was not meant to be.” “Ain’t your ’ands white, though!. You must’ave had a easy berth the last place you was in. How do you manage to keep tirem so clean?” “Why,"” said Sarah, good temperedly, “I wash them.” “I’d give anything to keep my ’ands like some. Somehow the upper classes never seem to ’ave no chilblains. I got’em on my ’andsand my ears and— By tbe by, Mr. Sidney’s coming ’ome this Christmas.” *“‘Who is Mr. Sidaey ?”’ My lady’s brother-in-law,” I answered. Sbe looked steadily at herself in the looking-glass for just a moment. Ileaned against the doorpost and went on with the conversation, because I knew that the girls were very fond of being talked to. ““‘Wonder how you’ll get on with cook,” I said. Tt made me laugh to think of what wer first encounter with cook would be like—she with her quick, decided manner and cook with her temper. *“Cook always takes down newcomers a peg or two. Isn't your hair nicely done up at the back ?” Do you mind running away, John Henry?” *“What,”” I said humorously, ‘‘with you?”’ For answer she stepped from the dressing-table to the door, and closed it quickly in my face. And now I want to write down a queer thing, and that is this. The mere fact of her showing spirit at our first meeting seemed somehow to egg me on. Why it should have been so, goodness only knows—I don’t. I believe that if she'd set her cap at me like other girls have done, I should have been standoffish in my manner toward her. As it was, by the second day before Christmas I could have laid down my life for that girl and weicome; to a certain extent I mean. “I can’t quite make her out,” said cook to Mr, Barker. “Ishould say she’d seen better days.” “Well,” said ™r. Barker, ‘‘there’s no harm in that. Plenty of ups and downs in this life. Look at me, for instance.” “Why?” asked cook. *Look at me,” repeated Mr, Barker. “Five yearsago I was butler at the Duke of Surrey’s in Cavendish square, and here I am now in the house of the widow of a mere knight. You never know how long any- thing’s going to Jast. It's a mistake to throw stones at any one: just be- cause—" “A stone, Mr. Barker,’’ said cook sharply, *is the last thing I should throw. Asa matter of fact, I've took a liking to the girl, and she cer- tainly is very anxious to learn. The way she finds out what everybody has to do and bow they do it is a perfect marvel. 'Andy with her pen, too, she is. Copied out ’alf a dozen recipes for me this morning before I covld turn round twice. Good writing, mind you.” ‘‘School boards make all the difference,”” said Mr. Barker, judicially “When I was a lad you never found any of this education nonsense among servants. I'm not sure that it isn’t getting overdone. What I mean to say, it makes ’em ’alf inclined to look down on their elders.”’ “Ihey don’t look down on me,’’ said cook, with decision. *‘Any show of that ard I pretty soon open my mouth and nip itin the bud. What time does Mr. Sidney arrive, Mr. Barker?” *‘Boat’s due at Southampton this morning.” “That’s runn:ng it pretty close,” remarked cook. *I hope he’ll be home for Christmas dinper, that’s all. There’il be some credit in sending up things to a gentleman who has traveled like he has.. He’ll know what’s what, I lay.” I don’t often dare to speak when Mr, Barker and cook are talking, but I did just for once ask a quesgion. “What’s Mr. Sidney like, Mr. Barker?” “How do I know what he's like?” answered Mr. Barker, testily, *I don’t know him from Adam.” ““Who does, I wonder?” *‘None of us, that’s'very certain,” said cook. time.” *“Is he married ?”’ “Look here, Jonn Henry,” said cook, “don’t you be too inquisitive about things that don’t concern you, and leave off picking those mince pies.” “‘And go and answer the bell this minute, you young rascal,” said Mr, Barker. “You don’t care if visitors are keot waiting at the door all day long. Before you go though open a bottle of Burgundy for me. Me and cook 'll jest wish each other a Merry Christmas. What do say, cook "’ *‘Well,”” said cook graciously, “as it only comes once a year I don’t know as I won’t. Christmas will soon be on us now.” Inever saw a more overbearing gentleman than the one I opened the door to. He threw his portmantean on the hall chair and made me hold his cigar while he took off his long thick overcoat. *‘See here now, kiddie,”” he said. *“Lady Westwood in?'" “What name, sir?” *Lady Westwood, hang you.” “But your name, sir.”’ == He took hold ol me by the shoulder and shook me. ““He was before our “Another word of your infernal impudence.” he said, “and, by gosh, I'll wipe the floor with you. Is she in now?” “Well, sir,” I said trembling, “she is in and she ain’t in, if you under- stand me.” “Tell her that her brother-in-law, Mr. Sidney Westwood, jest home from ’Frisco ahd other places, is here, and don’t want to be kept waiting on the mat over Christmas.” On the stairs was Sarab. She was holding the balustrade with one white hand, aha she was looking down very curiously at the loud-voiced man in the hall. TR “And tell her that I'm jest 'bout hungry, d’ye see?—and I'd like somethin’ t’ ¢at at once. Boat came in a bit previous, and I didn’t want to feed at Sovthampton. Some of’em stayed behind there.” Helooked up the stairs an¢ caught sight of Sarah. *“What on earth is the girl looking at? Seem to keep an uncommon pretty brand of—" “That’s Sarah, sir, the new ’ousemaid.” “I'll talk: to her,” he said, *while you take that message. Hurry now.” My lady’s orders were that lunch should be prepared atonce, and that Mr. Sidney should be shown into the reception-room. I came downstairs to deliver these orders, and I was annoyed—as any man in my position would have Leen—to find him and Sarah in close conversation. It was what I call bad form. ° _ “‘And you have been all over America?’ she was saying. “That’s so.”” “And now you are back in England to make the afquaintance of the relatives whom you have not seen, and to settle down?” “You've guessed it, my girl, in once. Ever been in 'Merica yourself?” “Yes,” she said, calmly; “I know it.” “Finest country in the world.”” “Even Americans say that.” *Of course,” he said, hurriedly, “I'm not an ’Merican. 1'm English right through. But having been over there for some years I've naturally enough—"" “I believe Englishmen always bring back the accent with them.” “We don’t let "em bring back nothing else, you may bet your boots.” “Whom ?”’ asked Sarab, quietly; “whom do I understand by we?” She was talking in quite a self-possessed way, and 1 listened with my mouth open at ber cool impudence. I know mostof the rules of eti- quette one way and the other, and I never yet come across one which said that housemaids should chat like this with visitors. “I didn’t say ‘we,’ ’’ he said; *'I said ‘they.’’’ I conducted him upstairs to the reception-room, and it seemed to me that there was no harm in waiting outside the half-opened door in case anything interesting was said. Besides you always find in the best fam- ilies that downstairs they rely on the under-footman for little bits of new's and it he can’t overhear any he has to make it up. My lady had limped into the room; she is slightly lame and more than half an invalid. “I hope you will believe,’”’ she said, gently, “that it gives me much pleasure to welcome you.” “That’s good enough for me,” he answered, with something of awke wardpess. ‘“Shakel” “You are earlier than we hoped, Sidney?” “You’ll find me a bit left-handed,” he said, evasively, *in first-class society, after I've been out of the rut for all these years.” ““We shall be prepared to make every allowance, Sidney.” MISS SARAH PRICE BEGINS HER lNQUlSlTlVENESS. *“‘Ah!” he said, in his high nasal tone, “that’s just what I want. I’Ul get you to let me have some cash to go on with.” *No trouble abont that.” “And you'll pardon me, but—I've been and forgotten your Christian name.” “Margaret.” “Marearet, of course. My brother used to be always blowing about his Maggie in his letters to me. Real fond of you, I believe.” *‘Poor Sir James always called me Madge.’’ “Perhaps it was Madge. He was a darn bad writer.” i “I beg your pardon,” said Lady Westwood, with some reserve, ‘‘your brother wrote a beautifully clear hand.”’ “Well, well,”” he said, impatiently, “we won’t argue 'bout that, Where do you propose to spend Christmas, Madge?” 3 I thought of staying in town this Christmas,” she said. about in front of the roaring fire and handling and examining eveTything near the mantelpiece. “Paddock Hurst is so very duil at this time. people to diuner this evening to meet you.”” “Now, see here!'’ He spoke if anything a little louder. It was quite easy for me to hear what he was saying; it was never easy to overhear my lady’s remarks. *“‘Look right here; I don’t want none of this fuss and foolery. If you think I'm going to be handed round like cake to a lot of back numbers that used to know me you've madae a mistake. D'ye hear me, now ?” j “Y only want to make you comfortable, Sidney.”” Then she added, *For poor Sir Jim's sake.” ¥ ' . “SirJsmesbe—"" He stopped. “Look here, now. We don’t want to go and make a noise jest over a simple matter like this. I'm going round the town to-night to see everything and paint this London of yours purple. When that lunch is ready I'll eat it, and then afterward you'll be kind enough to advance me as much as you can spare. D’ye see? On my note of hand.” “1 shall be very pleased. Will £50 do?” “Fifty pounds! Why, how many dollars is— Father Abraham, no! Fiity pounds, indeed. I want five hundred at the very lowest reck- oning.” *Five hundred seems a lot, Sidney.” *That’s jest why I want it. In cash or notes, or how you like.” * shall have to give you a cheek.”” “Do your bankers over here close any earlier day before Christmas?' he demanded quickly. *‘They don’t? That's all right, then. Now let’s see about this feeding.” “Do you mind lunching alone, Sidney ?° “Prefer it. 'Who’s that new maid you've got downstairs? Something familiar about here.” “I hope,” said Lady Westwood severely, “that it was not her man- ner.” ! *'Lord, no,” he said. “Jest her face.” Sarah, whom I meton the first landing, was a little flushed, and looked, upon my word, prettier than ever. I think I may say without bragging that Iam a judge of the fair sex, and if Idon’t know a good (i L ‘We shall have several AN EXCEEDINGLY ROUGH INTRODUCTION. looking girl when I see her why then I don’t know anything. That's all about it. “I beg pardon, Miss Price,” I said. conversation.”” “I have so much to think of, John Henry,"” she said absently. “And you’ll have more,” I said, “‘when I bave told you what I want to tell you, Andif I'm not vary much mistook you'll be highly grati- fied too. ““If I tell her,” she said, half to herself, “‘I shall have to explain who— 1 peg pardon, John Henry. Go on.” “Yes, well,” I said, a little hurt at her want of attention, “’ark to what I'm telling you. This what I am about to say is likely enough to be a kind of turning point in your life. You’ll look back on this Christmas and yow'll say: ‘Ah!’ you'll say, ‘that was something like a Christmas.’ "’ “Why,” she said, cheerfully, I do believe I shall.” **And you'll remember it chiefly, Sarah,’’ I said, with much delibera- tion, *‘as being the time, or per!'aps I may say the occasion, on which I myself, known as Jobn Henry, offered to you to zive up the girl he's been keepin’ company with over in Onslow Square—she’s a bit too short for one thing—and to propose to you.” She did not answer for a minute. **What did that gentleman speak about when he saw Lady Westwood, John Henry ?" “‘Let’s settie one matter first,” I urged. She repeated .her question, and T told her all that I had overheard. Bhe nodded once or twice as she listened, and it seemed as though she had enticipated what I was telling her. ‘““’Arping back to the original subject,” I said, when I had finished, “Can you give me a few minutes’ “it occurs to0 me that you'd rather not say ‘yes' or'no’ at the present moment."” *“That is so,” she said. “And if you'd rather take a little time to think over it, Sarah, say so, Idon’t believe in rushing into engagements meself and 1 don’t want you to.” [ “Why, I think I will ask for time, John Henry, if you don’t mind. I'm rather worried about another matter, you see.”’ “I venture to ‘ope,” I said, ‘'that there’s no one else.” *John Henry!” she cried. Her eyes twinkled. ‘*‘Do you think tnat if there was another he would stand any chance in competition with you?” “Well,” I said, honestly, *‘since you put it that way, I cert’ny do not.” “Will youdo something for me, John Henry? Quick!” *I am ready to fly, Sarab, for your sake, on what I may term the wings of love.” “I may want you presently to run along to the telegraph office as fast as ever you can. You must not lose a single moment,”’ “For your sake, Sarah,"” I said, fervently, “I'd do even more than that You don’t understand how I've took to you. Asa matter of fact, it sur- vriges me. But I was always a rare one for good breeding, and you—" ° *‘Listen at the dining-room door, John Henry, and if you find that Lady Westwood is giving him the check come to me at once.” *‘He's got it already,” I,said. ‘‘I saw her give it to him and he put it in his pocketbook.”” The telegram Sarah gave me was as foliows: She seemed to be already fiarvéua of the big, blatant man stfldlng' “YOU HAVE GOT A GOOD CHEEK, My GIRL.” It check for five hundred is presented - stop payment. Westwood. It will give you an idea of how far gone in love I was, when I tell you that it never occurred to me to ask her any questions nb(_)ul it. On the way back I bought a scarlet fichu to give Sarah asa Christmas present, and then I called in at Onslow square and told the young lady I hac'l been going out with that our engagement must be considered off. '1 ve go rather peculiar principles in matters of the heart, and I “evar.wm carry on with two at the same time. Itisn’t right; it isn’t nonorable; it isn’t fair. Besides it's risky. 5 What happened while I was away, I have ascertained from cook and one or two of the others. There isn’t much goes on in a house that the servants don’t find out, and what they don’t know is not worth knowing. It appeared that the loud-voiced gentleman was coming down the stairs into the hall with the £500 check in his hand. i s *Looks,” he said with satisfaction, ‘‘looks like a straight flush. With ahand like this I can—Haullo, my girl!” “'T want to spaak to you,” said Sarah very quietly. “Well, I can’t stop now."" “I think you will,” she said. “You have got a good cheek, my girl.” *I have also a good memory,” she said. “But it does not always answer readily, and just now when Isaw you Icouldn’t exactly locate you." I knew you were not Sidney Westwood.” “You an American girl?"’ “I’m an American journalist,” she said, calmiy. “Well, but you don’t talk like—" ““Well, you see,” she said, “I am educated.” “Look right here, now,” said the man excitedly, "I can stand s good deal from a woman, but by gosh there’s a limit, Stand away!” “I only want to advise you to go now and not to show your face here a gam.” - ‘‘Say, my gir), don’t you be so handy with your advice.” “And if you don’t agree to do that, I shall simply press this knob and send for the police. Ithink thata charge of obtaining £500 under false pretenses, especially with vour New York record, Mr. Lennard—"’ “How d’you know my name?’’ “Oh,” she said genially, “a lady journalist knows a Jot.” “And knows it pretty well all wrong,” said Mr. Lennard, savagely. “In this instance that is not the case,’” she said, agreeably. *‘And as I have to some extent an interest in this house, I am going to use my knowledge for all that it's worth.’’ “You talk about me and ‘false pretenses,” he said aggressively, ‘‘how did you get your character?” 3 “From my aunt at the embassy.” “And what’s your little game?”’ “JVs a very little game,” she suid placidly. “I am writing leiers about London life in different spheres to a New Y ork paper.” “Look here now,” he said, changing his tone. “We've all got a livin’ to earn. If you don’t interfere with me, I’H promise not to interfcre with “I don’t think you are likely to do so.” He hesitated fora moment. One fist was clenched. “‘Seem to have goton a toastin’ fork,” he said. ‘‘Reckon I'll get.” And be went. Isaw him, as I wasreturning, haila cab and tell the cabman to drive to the London and Westminster Baunk in St. James square, and it made me laugh, because I knew very well that the tele- gram would be there before him. I now come to the painful part of my story. Looking back on the whole affair, I can see I was wrong 1n giving up so hastily the young lady in Onslow square, even though she was only just over five feet. Atany rate she was better than nobody, and it doesn’t follow because a girl is only medium height that she hasn’t 2 good heart. I could see all this as plain as possible when real Mr. Sidney arrived. Before he came, Sarah had explained everything to Lady Westwood and a messenge r from the bank had come to'say that the bank had duly refused payment. “And thanks to this young lady—" began Lady Westwood. “Whom | have met before,” said the tall youth, gravely. ‘“Mr. Westwood has met many people in his travels,”” she said {0 Lady ‘Westwood, hastily. “I have met nobody else like you,” he said. swer my letters, dear?”’ ““When my father died, Lady Westwood,”” she said, persistently ad- dressing herself to my lady, “‘and I found that instead of having plenty of money. I hadnone, why I had towork. And, of course, I knew that my old friends woula not want to continue their acquaintance, especially with a journalist who,” she laughed a little sadly, “‘who has to adopt all sorts of devices for the sake of a little copy.” “In regard,” said Mr. Sidney Westwood, taking her hand sgain—'‘in regard to one of those old friends, I want you to believe that you are quite wrong.” "§ am glad,” she said. “It is clearly my duty,” said Lady Westwood, good-temperedly, *‘to dismiss you at once.” ' “I will go directly, Lady Westwood." “But I insist upon your staying here as a friend, dear.” I have much pleasure,” said Sidney Westwood, “in seconding that resolution.” “Why did you not an- B * * * * Cook says it’s been quite the romanticest Christmas that she’s ever experianced, and Mr. Barker says he only hopes the wedding will be done in style. It'sall very well for him, but it does not seem to me, speaking from a personai point of view, that it’s pretty middling rough on John Heary. FEDERAL WAR RECORD One of the most interesting members of “‘Why, bless you, I've raised nine chil- want praise for anything I had done, and GRANDMA" DUNCAN, A SALVATION ARMY WONMAHN WITH A the Salvation Army, either here or else- where, is undoubtedly Mrs. A. J. Duncan, better known as “Grandma Duncan,” who seventy-seven years a30 was born in Wellsburg, Va. Doubtless, few of those glancing in at | the multitnde of hungry children being fed by the Volunteers on Thanksgiving day recognized in an aged woman present, who assisted untiringly in distributing food to the poor, a person whose life bad been marked by events of more than ordi- nary interest, yet such was the fact. Five years ago Mrs. Duncan was stricken with blindness, remaining in that conai- tion about two years, when gradually her eyesight began to return, and at present she can distinguish faces, although unable to read. Shortly after her misfortune she joined the Balvation Army. But long before the existence of that organization her best woman’s efforts were given to another cause in which the welfare of our country was involved. When questioned, she sveaks modestly of the part played by her in our Nation’s history, preferring to dwell upon her pre- vious work in humaritarian lines similar to that which engrosses the moments of her declining years. “You think it kind of me to care for this little boy 7’ she said, echoing a remark con- cerning a child jn which she is interested. dren, besides 1wo sons of my own. 1 should have brought up ten, but a woman claimed the tenth child and took it away after I bad kept it five days and had made up my mind that no one wanted the little stray. My children and I cried as though | our hearts woula break, and I never hated to'give up anything so bad in all my life. Did my husband object because I took so many? He never said much about it, When I brought home a new one he would look at it and remark that if all women were like me there would be no need of orphan asylums. He worked hard and fed them and I sewed and kept them well clothed. I took the last one the year that Judson went to China—the first mission- ary to enter that country. “We were then living in Maysville, Ky., where there was great enthusiasm over his work among thb heathen. They came to me and asked what I was goine to give for the box being made up to send the missionares. ‘‘Nothing,’ I said; ‘we have too many poor right here at home who need what little I can spare.’ ‘* ‘But the names of those who donate will be published in the Macedonian and go all over the world,” a friend said. “I told her,” tears gathered in the dim eyes as she spoke, *‘I told her that I never knew that any one professing Christianity worked merely for a name; that 1 didn’y that I couldn‘t give to the missionaries; but if she knew of another child in need of a home I would take it. 5 “She told me of a man whose wife had just died and left seven, There was a baby three months oid which npbody wanted. - As it was the hardest of all for * the father to take care of, I took her and raised her. There hangs her picture; that’'s Addie.” My attention was Qirected 1o the picture of a sweet-faced middle-nged woman. “And there hangs the picture of her son.” The sailor-boy in his picturesque suit bore a striking resemblance to his mother. *‘She’s dead now,’’ the aged woman con- tinued sadly; “been dead these eiglit own flesh and blood. They were all good children, those I raised, and all lived to grow up and marry, but most of them are dead now and I’m still living. ¥ i “You heard that I could tell you about years. Iloved her as thongh she 3]!! my’ the war in the South?'’ she said, bright- |- ening up. “Well, I can tell you some- thing of it, for I saw more than most women had a chance to. As I wentabout with my little satchel on my arm they gave me the name of Sanitary Commis- sioner, but I was seeking news. I did what I could to bring about peace in the country. § “We had moved to Madison, Ind.; when the war began, and I first commenced to take an interest 1n the strugele through hearing a young man named Morgan—not the raider—boasting about the arms they expected to get the following week, and saying the seat of war was to be right in our county. “I learned this when I was visiting seven miles from home; but I made up my mind to leave at once for Indianapolis and relate what I had leard to Governor Morton. I had to go home first, but my friends urged me tostay and said they could not take me home then, as the saddle-horses were all away. As General Green and An- drew Johnson—afterward President—with two regiments of soldiers were going there, too, they learned my mission to the Governor through an old gentleman with whom I conversed, and a command came for every private soldier to vacate the car, When the car was clear of soldiers General Green and Johnson came in and I had to repeat the story to them. “When we reached Indianapolis I was escorted to a hotel and the Governor him- self called to learn the news I had brought, ““As a result men were sent to search, and there was found hidden on the farm of Graham Bright near Madison $10,000 worth of percussion caps alone; then when a lot of boxes came marked Sun- day-school books they were seized and found to contain rifles, 'and that is how they prevented Indiana and Ohio from becoming the seat of the war.”” Crara 1zA PrIcE. The Gzar's Blue-Eyed Horses. The Emperor of Russis has four separate “‘services’” of horses and carriages—the gala set, and the French, English and Russian sets. Each set comprises at least fifty horses. The Russian set accompanies the Emperor wherever he goes, and at Gatehina it is used, together with the English set. The gala and French horses ana carriages are housed at St Petersburg, 1n the Winter Palace stables. The Emperor's gala turnout consists of fiity Hanoverian horses. These horses are perfectly white, with blue eyes, and any- thing more magnificent ‘in the way of trappings than their harness could hardly " be conceived. The state carriages are of the Lounis XV style, and the one which carries the sove- reign has a large circle of aiamonds set in- side among the cushions and on the roof. The imperial crown surmounts this state carriage, which is drawn by eight white horses, each led by a postillion dressed in white and gold.—Answers. ————.—— The rumber of patents issued in the United States for the manufacture of ink is over 200Q.