The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 11, 1897, Page 27

THE N FRANCISCO CALIL, SUNDAY, JULY 11, 1897. 27 SIDELIGHTS OF THE WEEK SEEN BY A "'CALL" COMEDY DUO I'here was but one opinion expressed in esponse 1o my inquiries. *‘It is the best convention ye!,” was the universal ver- It's ke the Huggermugger story,” de- clared another emphatic little lady from Vermont, “and I can scarcely believe my own eyes. Do you reaily have fuchsias and ro: —the very loveliest kinds—ns big as small trees, growing right outin the open air? Are there heliotropes clambering over your walisand verandas ke our ccmmon woodbine, and jungles alilies flourishing in your gardens? 1ave I dreamed it all?” It is a positive fact,” affirmed a slim woman from Ohic before I could reply, “jor I saw them with my own eyes. think,” this with a plaintive cadence her tired voice, “'that I have worried over one miserable calia for three years now, and preity near had a fit when it bad two flowers on it to once !” aid §3 for a palm with three s of leaves on it,” said the Ver- . consolingly, “*and sat up nights t pretty nearly all last winter, and bere you can sit under the shade of them aimost anywhere,” “I was always inclined to think that California people were kind of biased,” confessed a solemn-faced Nebraska man, “but I think better of 'em now. They’ve got strawberries as big as small apples for here, and everything else seems to be on the same scale, thouch I used to dount it when other folks said so.” “Those Towers of Dabel down on Mar- ket street fair e me shiver!” said a Kansas man. pey would be such s2in- ing marks for a cyclone; but youdon’t have cyclones or whirlwinds here, they h m tell me.” I thourht of the Market-street cuton a | breezy d but wisely held my peace, while a so n-dustere¢ man, who wore his canvas securely fastened to his long hair Uy two b saded hat- pins, took up the tale. There's wind enough here in all con- science,”” he sa'd, **but it don’t come by jerks, It seems to be a steady fler- noons, and I wonder it don't b the h v off of 'em. I stood -duy a-watchin’'em, a place for eating- emely plump & small sailor mitts; “you tumb e every step, and I reckon verybody eats out here, I t good victuals from 10 f a dollar.” 't get a cent’s worth of ,'’ complained tne ilttle man of I asked for 3 cents’ worth anythi he hatpins, ughed at me and told me to go get a free lunch somewhere, for he wasn’t in the penny-ante business—whatever that meant.” Ove in another corner a group of M e people were talking together and they welcomed me—a transplanted Maine | giri—most cordially. I don’t know that I should really want to live here,” said one of the ladies, after we had talked awhile, “for I shouldn’t It had been my custom for some weeks to arop into a somew restaurant of the City for my dinner. I soon became acquainted with the proprie- cheery, stout little man might join me. Together we smoked our ecigars, and his vivacious chat whiled away the tedium of my hour. I soon began to notice, as one will, the Labitues of the place. A tall and elegant acccmpanied by her lusbarnd, n iy at my dining hour. The pair would nass through the room to the semi-privacy of the compartment re- cerved for ladies. The woman aiways gave her hand for an instant to Marceau, the proprietor, in passing. Aud he bowed low over it, after the fashion of courtly Frenc men. I feitsure that there was a story coanected with the life of this le. The noble carriage of the woman, eeply hined face and the extravagant devotion of the man excited my curiosity, znd I adroitly led the conversation toward them one gray afternoon as they van- ished in the street. And Marceau told me their story asI lingered over the canvasback and to- basco sauce, At some paris of the tale his tongue flew fast and his 1magination had a perfervid warmth. It mighc have been the wine, of which he partook’freely. I would not for the world doubt that one word told me by this simple-hearted man was not substantially true. He said: “You sce, monsieur, in order to get the whole kernel out of the nut you must asso- ciate maaame, with the little patches of rouge on the cheeks and the ciustering gray curls in the neck, for an instant with the fine studio across the street. It is there that you go when you wish to ob- tain the highest art in photographs.” I looked in the direction he had indi- cated. There were three or four windows of a high building draped in silk ofa golden hue, which must have lent a glow like perpetual sunshine to the rooms be- hind hem. The name **Madame Picard’’ was painted in bold script letters across the windcw-glass. There was an entire absence of garish di-play about the place, which was never- theless the most popu'ar photographic studio in the City at this time. We watched through the curling wreaths of smoke from our cigars a steady jine of patrons in carriages draw up before the vlace. Marceau continued: “L knew them— madame and her husband—three years ago and more. It was late on a December afternoon when I ran in there first to se- cure a sitting for my sister—littie Corinne. | There was no crowd at their door then, and madame was not a feature of the es- tablishment at that time, more’s the pity, as I shall show you. Iremember as if but vesterdaay how the hum of the human procession on the street below rose up through the half-open window, and t e brilliantly lizhtcd clock-tower stone over the sea of roofs like a great orange ball. *‘Armand Picard s'ood at his desk, away from the window, talking with some one. His brown hair was combed straight back from his care-seamed face. The deep-blue eyes, burning unsteadily beneath his shagegy brows, lifted at mv approach. Madame sat by a little stove in the rear of the room. She had her wraps on, as if she And | , for meals are so reason- | d and cheese at one place, and the | feel quite comfortable in a place wher: there are so many saloons and where ai most every grocery has a bar attachment. And do you know I actually saw some | women order wine wirth their dinners the other day in a restaurant! I thought it ee what jolks want to search out such places for; I'd rather walk up and down and see the cars and the people and the store-windows, but pa is set on going, to tell the folks home apout it, and I'll have | to go with him, for he’s that excited and OuUR GLORIOWS ) CLIMATE IN THE EAST WE HAVE ToSITuP NIGCHTS TO RAISE PALMSAND EVEN THENTHEY LOOK CONSUMPT/ BUT ITS DIFFERENT HERE " was a respectable place when [ went in, too, but you never know in a strange city.” I mildly stated that a restaurant that serves California wine to its patrons was | | not considered a haunt of vice in our | State, and that a woman who takes a giass | of claret with her dinner is not deemed a moral ieper; but my Eastern sister still | disapproved. | “You need a Neal Dow :nl a Sundav | law in California,” she i, ~and then it | | would be almost an thiy paradise. As | itis I hear that your places of amuse- ment are all crowded on Sunday evening: and that your Sunday papers and picnics | keep people from going to meeting morn- | ings. It scems almost heathenish,” and [ she shook her silver-crowned head doubt- | fully. | “It's the heathan that T want to see,” | said a long-faced man with a tall hat,a| goatee and s limp collsr, bus'ling up | cagerly with a motherly looking little | woman hanging tightly to his arm, as if she were afraid of losing her one treasnre in the swirling crowd. *I've heard teli of S8an Francisco’s Chinatown for years| and I want to visit it and s2e those be- | nighted creatures in the depths of their n'quitous wickedness.”’ *I’d a good deal rather see something | pleasanter,” dissented his companion. “They say it's dreadiul dirty there and | smells enough to knock youdown. Idon’t | | | | | | | bad run in for a moment. Her dark hair | hat noted Irench | —it was dark at that time—curled about a | wo.1d take possession smail-featured face of the most uelicate cotoring. Her eyes were wide open, like tor and often lingered at table, that the | a bavby’s. Suddenly she turned toward ber} took Levir husband. * “What timeis it, Armand ?' she called | out. Her voice was a peculiar one. Not | cold or harsh, but it had action, spirit, in its vibrations, as if the nerves were speak- |ing. Atits sound Armand’s face tcok on {a strange radiance. He hurriea toward | the window, near enough to catch sight of | the fingers on the gluwing dial in the | tower, | ‘**A quarter to 5 ma petite,’ he an- 1;wereu. I was watching and I could see | madame’s «lim hands tremble, and a bril- | lianey in ber eyes such as comes when | tears wash suddenly over them. How could I know, then, that her emot'on was | caused by the fact that Armand had not | consulted his watch. It was in the hands. They were so money-iender’s poor in those days! “I pot to know them very well after this, for they were compatriots of mine, | and how much I respected them! Ar- ; mand Picard wasanoble man and just, | jbut not strong-hearted, for misfortune | had been Lis constant companion for many years. It was to him, he wouid | say sometimes, like an invisible creature dogging his footsteps; and there would be | | a bard, restless glitter in his eyes, and 1 | used 0 turn away from him trembling, | | not with fear, not with fear, but with an | | infinite dread. | “They lived then at North Beach, over- | looking the sea. Their home was a three- 1 roomed flat, over the grocer’s, and there | was an attic room in the gable roof, close | | under the sky, which had been given them by the landlord without exira | charge, and from which they coull look i on clear days we!l out toward the Heads. “Th's attic room was made beautiful | by madame's deft fingers. There wers two | big rocking-chairs placed side by side in | the window and a warm-hued rug or two on the floor. Mon Dieu, what capacity— | what ability the woman has! She could { even then havedirected all Armand’s busi- | ness ventures into the harbor of fortune. | But the pair were too simple, too child- | like, to dream of such co-operation. "To | havedistrus.ed Armand’s judgment would | have bzen to madams= like derying the | mercy of God. And who can say, mon- sieur, that it was not better for her to keep her faith sweetand inviolable, even though | debt was their inexorable master tor| | years? There are compensations—there | | are compensations. “After the men were paid off, if there | was enough money leit over there would | be a chicken for the Sunday dinner. How | often have I accepted their hospitality before I set up a home for myself."” Marceau was leaning forward looking intent!y into the distance, far beyond the cheerful windows of his cafe. His lips were parted in a smile. The spark of fire |in nis cigar had gone oul. Presently he | resumed: “With the clicken there would be a bottle of wine and asalad. If there was ! not so much money Jeit over, there wonld | be a stewed mext made savory with herbs ! and sauces, a salud, but this time of let- | tuce, and a cup of black tea with a fleck of i cream in it | would t dealer and + This Levin was a shrewd man lon YEY TO OUR FRIENDS FROM THE EAST N TWE HEATHEN CHINEE | swarmed over our sample c¢f the Flowery | Kingdom during the pas: week and went | over o where a small maa in an alpaca coat sat solitary in a corner. | but had come out ‘‘just for greens.” | informed me, “anua it’s most cheaper'n | staying at home. B sides, my brother | “I am disappointed,” he declared, after I had succeeded in partially winning his confidence, “though I wouldn’t dare say | | nearest tc—nothing but goats, some of the folks on board told me, and tbey mast have been all on the other side, for I | John came out here in the seventies, and | lxhnuzh we have not corresponded, I| | thought maybe I might meet up with him | somewnere.” I satdown beside him and essayed to lchuer him, for he seemed melancholy. SEEM TO D HERE, THEY OBTECT 7O TAT PROOUCT OF our & worked up that he don’t harlly know his head from his he 2 I left them talking ing the army over plans for join- of “While madame el ner Ar and and I would walk out and he k to me of the trouble that was fast crushing him. He would say that he would be all right if Levin would pay him tbe money that was certainly his if justice was done. It was thus: “In Laramie, four years before, when Armand was in the book bu-iness, be was greatly pressed and threatened Ly his creditors. He told his troubles to a ci money-lender named Levin. urged Armand to convey all his property to him lor a small consideration. He and settle the debts. “Armand, distressed beyond measure, ’s advice, and so cleveriy were matters arranged that Armand’s personal property paid his debts and a block of lots the outskirts of the town touched. ““With a cry of thankfulness she hid his pistol away.” irod away the din-| “‘Levin did not-convey the lots back to and he | was un- | | sightseers that has | | Armand. He said he would at any time, was always ready, but full of excu es. | Laramie had a boom the next year. Levin sold Armand’s lots for enough to make | bim a rich man, but—he injustice of the affair—he Kkept the proceeds. Armand would write to Levin an | say he must con- sult lawyer about this matter, but Levin would put him off on one protext or another. He was aiways about to do, but never did. “By decrees there was unfolded to me | the who'e truth about a new business, in wiich Armand became engaged. Every- thing the 1 | venture— | TO HANE A STEADYM THOSE TALL BUIRDINGS ON 1 MARKET STREET WoULD' MAKE ACYCLONE LAUGH WITH JOY, SAID A KANSAS s0 to a native-born Californian. T've He was not an Endeavorer, he told me, ' always heard about them seal-lions dis- “[ | poriing themseives around here, and I | had the money handy for the trip,” he | looked for ’em coming across the bay, and there wasn’t one on the isiand we came e ‘\W?’Fvo SEAL ON GOAT /SLAND didn’t see one. Then 1'm kind of adven- turesome in my ideas, and I thought there might be some volcanoes working near the city that I could visit. I'd like to see one throwing out ‘fire, smoke, lava and i HA ANO NO YOLCANQGES ON TELEGRAPH HILL ! WELL, . 8y cRACKI‘,I M OI5APPOINTEQ melted stones,’ as it used to say in the geography. I'd feel as if I had my money’s worth then.”” I tried to console him by telling him of various other things of interest to be seen here, but seemed to strike few responsive chords. “You can’t walk much ot anywhere, for the city is straight up and down in lots of | places, and other places are pretty far apart to go to on foo!,”” he said; ‘‘and I'm no friend to your craz y sireetcars, for they make noise enough to wake the dead almost, snd half the time I can’t make out which 1s the head and which is the tail of the peeky things.’” One thing, however, had pleasel and ished him, and that was the Lotta | fountain. “That womsn must have been awful rich to give the City such a chunk of gold as that,’” he said. “One of the little boys that sells papers down there told me that it was pure California gold all the way through and worth more than a million | dollars. He told me tkat there’s a private | detective watching it all the time to keep | folks from gouging pieces out of it, and | that they mostly keep a fence around it, these Endeavorers and came with them.” Before I could decide whether or not it was my duty to destroy his pleasing illu- sion by a statement of facts two blooming girls descended upon me and bore me away to answer the various questions of their merry party and its sweet-faced, gentle chaperon, They were from New York—bright, well-r-ad, uy-to-date girls full of life, fun and business. They wanted to attend to all their spiritual duties, see all the sights, including Mount Hamiltonand Yosemite, and get home on schedule time, and they wanted wme to help their plan. The detail was a heavy one, as they all talked at once, and each was animated by a desire to obtain instant information, exiensive and exhaustive, on a different subject. I did my best for them, but retired from the war of words feeling as if I had been run through a verbal thrashing-machine. A pretty, prim little woman from Phila- delphia weicomed me to a seat beside her, as she wished an auditor to her gen- eral praises of everything and everybody connected with her Western trip, and of San Francisco in particular. “People East think everything is kind of wild and reckless out here, and I was ’most afraid to come, to tell the truth,’” she smiled, ‘‘but I must say I've been | pleasanily disappointed. You folks don't seem quite so set and sober, perhaps, as we do, but you've got good hearts.” And then she asked me with lowered voice if a certain Jocality on Van Ness av- enue 1s “‘quite respectable.”’ As the neighborhood she mentioned is unimpeachable in point of propriety I answered unequivocatly in the aflirmative and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I've got a third cousin living there,” she explained, “ana I was a little scary about looking her up, for I heard that was a pretiy bad street once and they changed ! the name of it. I always wondered at Cbrissie’s moving there.” Evidently this was a case of “‘mix’’ eas- ily set right, and the identity of the streets having been esteblished, to her great happiness, she spoke of other things. “Your modern buildings seem so queer,” s' e said, “and the high and low ones are 80 queer y mixed. Then your streets s-em narrow for so large a city, and you sell vour fruit by the pound instead of the quart, and your flour by the sack instead of by the barrel; and your twe-bits and four-bits and six-bits are hard to keep track of.” Leaving her, I, on my way to the exit, fell again into the hands of my plump acquaintance. who laid hold of me with her black mitts and whispered loudly in my ear. “I like it all but the fleas,” ¢he said, “and if you'll believe me I didn’t know bow a flea Jooked until I came here. I was ashamed to scratch when I first got one on me, but when I saw good respect- able Christian California folks defending themselves I felt better. 1don’t begrudge 'em a bite or two, for I've got enough and to spare, but the way they wiggle when they get into a tight place where you can’t getat 'em, nearly sets me wild. Do tell me what you do for 'em.”’ the crowd that but took the fence down the other day just to show the confidence they’ve got in And I told her und}_m: ed ont. r possessed wasstaked on the | him he was dreaming. tame's shawl of soft, rich |a coward that he wished to slip off into business did not succeed, he would go | with it to ignoble death. And, asif an unkind fate wished to tannt him with his | vow, business had not been good, and there was already a mortgage on his ma- terial. And madame, what could shedo? “Wno can say that failure is not predes- tined to some? True, I think, myseif, that it 1s only because the brain acts less swiftly than the heart in such men as Armand. Sometimeshe would talk to me of death. He would say it must be a pleasant thing to lay down in the eternal sieep. Then I would laugh and shrug my shoulders; I would pinch him and tell Armand was not texture and the priceless cameos that had | forgetfulness and leave madame to battle descended to her from the charming Jose- phine Beaubarnais. trician. “But to return to Armand. For madame is a pa- | had lost his grip. | of us become terrified when battling with He would | an unseen foe. But his courage was broken; he You see the strongest alone. If we could grasp it, could | vow between clenched teeth that, if this ! measure its strength—but what must it be N\ N | to be forever pitting yourself againsta | band in the dark?” | The unpleasant irain of thought was | visibly affecting Marceau. Though eacer - for him to resume the narrative, I turned my back upon him for a moment, that 1 might, unobserved, wipe the mist away that obscured my v.s on. “‘After such a taik as this we would go home, and, not stopping at the little flat, we would clink the stairs to the attic room. And Armand would sitdown in his chair and rock and rock, and never speak. Then niadame wou'd come and sit beside him and take his hand and charm his un- happy mood away, until he was the brsve man again. I would curl up in the win- dow seat, the room was so small, and we would watch the curling for come in from the sea, a giant vapor walking the water with noiseless tread. “It was a March afternoon and the air was soft and sweet like that of La Belle : France. I had stepped out into the | atelier to see Armand a moment, and I met madame on the way out. Ar- mand bad preceded me. When I first entered he was closeted in his private office with a young man, and I walked leisurely about, looking at the pictures, waiting for him. He soon came toward me, but his manner was constrained and his face ashen-colored. He turned away alone. I said, ‘Something is wrong with my friend,’ and I shook asif I might have achill. Ifollowed him out, and as I told you, mon: stairway. Her face looked bright and !'smiling, and I nodded to her and went my way, dismissing from my mind the thouzht of evil. “Madame went stra‘ght to Armand’s private office. On his desk there lay the Jetter that had bsen left by the young man whom I had seen talking with him. its envelope. Madame opened it and read the contents, If a large sum was not paid by the 15th of the month fore- i c'osure would be begun on the office. Her brain recled. She laid her forehead down ! on the sharp edge of the desk and litile motes of fire danced before her vision. “Her hands trembled as she unlocked | his private drawer. His pistol lay un- touched, and with a great ery of thankful- ness she hid it away. Armand should not have it in the hour of his defeat. she went slowly back 1o their little home, | entered in the dark and sat down. { “But there came a dream to her that i night while she waited the coming of Ar- mand. She thoucht they were chilaren | playing a merry game and he was hiding trom her in the little room under the roof. Obedient to the vyiszion she rose and climbed the stairs. The pale rays of the moon wete directed into the room and fell full upon the face of Armand sitting in the rocking-chair. One hand was on the han- dle of her rocker. With a cry of joy she seated berself ieside him and placed her hand over his and tried to rock. The heuvy weight of his body held her immov- able and the hand was inerr. She patied the white face and told him that his little Marie had found him. For the first time in their married life Le failed to re pond to her caresses. “At last, when madame had caught her br.ath and the blood rushed back to her heart, she cried fcr help. Neighbors worke.i over Armand uniil bis face took on the look of waking life,and madame kre.t by the chair, her face buried in her hanas aiud her speechless agony revealed only ty the pallor which had crept to her neck beneath her hair. “Finally she raised her eyes to the crowd that had gathered round her. What she saw then turned her face trrom white to red and sent the blood ly to her brain. It was the face of Levin. “By some borrible fatality he had been end put on his coat and hat and I was | ieur, I met madame on the| It had been carefully folded and p'aced in | Then | swept in by the curious throng, and h® now stood staring blandly and half-real- izingly upon t{te scene before him. With a sharp exclamation, terrible in its im- port, madame found her voice: “ There!’ she cried, pointing to the shrinking wreich. ‘Had it not been for him my husband had not died.’ “For a moment every eye in the room was turned to his retreating figure. Then | he was gone. “Slowly the windows of Armand’s soul opened and the dazed mind looked out. Then madame talked to him of their chil- dren, of the merry days when life danced with youth, She told him only of beau- tiful things, such as the mind loves to dwell upon, never speaking of their pov- erty, or of debt or of trouble, for he could not bear it yet.” ““While he yet lay between life and death, his face wearing the happy smile that madame had coaxed there—the smile he had seemed to lose for a time, while he pattled with the world—a letter came. It was from Levin and 1t contained a check for a large sum of money. s O W e * . “Armand recovered slowly under madame’s constant care and unceasing | devotion. But it was weeks befors eh could talk of that dreadful day. A strange thing, his heart was changed. He no more longed fcrdeath, but rither craved for abounding life, that he might . walk down the year: with the lrave, sweet madame. “Madame went to Armand’s creditors. They were merciful and gave more time, and she has infinite tact and wonderful ability. When Armand regained his mental health he smiled at the world, the world smiled back at him and prosperity came. Madame will bear the mark o1 that terrible experience as long as she lives.” “But the money from Levin?"’ I asked. i “Ob, that—she sent that back the same | day she received it. We do not forget, Monsieur, that we are talking of a noble woman.” Frorexce HaRDIMAN MILLER. | Loud Talkers and Liow Speakers. “Funny writers and stage comedians make the mistake of representing country | teople s very loud talkers,’ remarked | Cotonel Leonard Ainsworth of Arkansas. ‘*As a matter of fact, persons who are ac- customed to the quiet and solitude of rural life speak in a very low tone of voice,while those who live in the constant din and nerve-racking noises of the city naturally acquire the habit of talking loud!y. The reason for the difference is plain. When you city folks meet on 1he street you have 10 elevate your voices to a high pitch in order to make yourselves heard. I never come to St. Louis or visit any other large city that I don’t get a sore throat from j over-cxerting my voice. Of course, you who live here ars used to the strain on your voice and don't snffer from it as Ido. **1f you ever heard an Indian talk you will vealize the force of what I say. I never saw a real Indian that spoke much above a whisper, He illustrates exactly what I mean. The Indian lives in quiet and solitude. His atmosphere is not filled with noises and tympanum-piercing sounds. Consequently, he does not have to elevate his voice in carrying on con- versation. Your city arab, the counter- part of the Indian, talks loud enough when he comes to Arkansas to be beard in the next county. 8t. Louis R=public. ———————— It has been estimated from the stamp duties paid by patent-medicine makers that 4,000,000 of the pilis are taken by the inhavitants of the United Kingdom every week. In France the qnaniity is about half. Oniy about 1,000,00) are taken by the people of Russia. The Australians are the bizgest pill takers in the world,