The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 4, 1901, Page 4

- THE SUNDAY. CALL. e PERS and en a 2 In this mended. Mr. ader to me! h the medium of >tion for just wri - enjoved 2 with Croker rs of interest, forceful expres- ing a box- ker and a rwise hearty uined of a flush lever. smart Geseription hit on witty. he of it, of a olace in but rather pretentious i from the discussio Fletcher, W s of others. At times it history and books that Mr. Lewis is | the reader everything that king it for granted th: is a base ignoram: of stvle in writing of the comic paper order his careless treatment in =0 frequently the tepie to go into long s well wort couid have his v some hack editor e all well s one in chosen and the history of serve b fia ol Life Publishing Com- York r December, 1% ty—the local elections in December—was minary answer to fits the he Ring. set 1ce Seannell by all hods since it mizht not be fairly it, was. with the use of re- v swelling the Cops right. 1901 pa that pre King defeat of Flo ired s o 1 foundation ete Florence Scannell, tozether John Scannell, was busily about in ef- these wrongs of the Donahue. who kent a at Twenty-third street and This Donahue was himsel¢ He ar. v that were he , the Ring protect him from the law day wes the Ring’s will— to some colgn of party Aay Donahue's resort arters for those i ported “repeaters” who were to be nsed in that ward. There .were fourseore or more of these ruffians in the rear of Donahue’s bar. FI nell, accompanied by John Seannell, on the scent of fraud, came into Donahue’s. Florence Scannell. aware of the where. abouts of the “repeaters.” walked to the @oor of the rear room and sought to en- ter. The door was locked. Donahue stond behind the bar. “Don’t zo in there!” cried Donahue to Florence Scannell as the latter tried the door. There was murder in Donahue's heart. It glowed dully in his bleary eye, and had the Scannells been a whit less brave, and therefore a bit more cautious, they might have noted it. “Don’t go in there,” said Donahue. Florence Scanpell. baffied by the locked @oor, turned and stood against the bar. His elbows rested on it; his back was to the bar and to Donahue. One in the room with the “‘repeaters” unlocked the @oor. John Scannell pushed it open and entered among them. About one hundred men were therein gathered. The entrance of John Scannell fell like a fear upon these lawbreakers. They deemed him the advance of justice in pursuit of them. With that, many sought to be rid of the place; there was a deal of commotion; the door through which John Scannell hed entered was closed in the stampede. At the top of the hubbub a shot rang forth in the bgrroom. John Scannell, closed in in the rear room. couldn't see 2nd could only guess the reason of that firing. Donahue, seizing the safe advan- tage of Florence Scannell's pesition and was made John Scannell’s absence from the scene, had shot the younger Scannell in the back. There was no word of Warning; between them passed-no looks of differ- ence; murder, cold and safe and coward- ly it was, and the vietim's first touch of his peril was a bullet in his back. The effect was to paralyze; Florence Scannell slipped to the floor without falling. and as John Scannell rushed in, his eyes rest- ed first on his brother half lving against the base of the bar. In front of him stood a lesser thug of the Ring. John Scannell’s hand sought his pistol, a 44-caliber Colt’s. There was a flash and a crash; the Ring thug fell, shot through the neck. ; was Florence Scannell. John Scannell sprang to the front door. Donahue, fear-spurred, was a block away, pistol in hapd, running with all.speed. To see was to act: an instant apd John Scannell was in pursuit. The glance he gave his brother as he passed told him Donahue,” whispered “If you die,” sald Johm Scannell, \"ana the law doesn’t punish Donahue, I 3hall have his'life. If the law fails, I wili my- self take that justice which is mine.” For eight months ‘the dying Flerence wrestled with his brother for the life of im who was his murderer. ~But his strivings were of no avail. 'The resotlves of John Scannell had set as relentlessly as water-chilled: steel. He weuld have life for flife; an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. There was something cthnic in the grim resolve of John Scan- nell, and his gray eyes, soft enough with sympathy as he bent above his brother, turned agate-hard with the first naming of “Donahue. While Florence Scannell, bound to his cot, was dying, the election took place. In the teeth of the Ring he was success- ful. But the Ring ppomised to rectify that *‘error.” = On the “offictal”’ count Florence Scannell would be defeated, John Scaniell heard this crooked news, death half told. The whole dread story would be finished unless within the pent spaces of a minute he interrupted its re- cital with a promise. It was fate, and the one potential doffed his hat to it. He promised. Scannell returned his pis- tol, and was about to depart. I do not doubt your word,” sald he to the potential one, “for I do not doubt that you are wise enough to keep it.” “T'll keep my word,” faltered the other, “but I request you to say nothing of our interview.” For the first time since his brother lay with Donahue’s bullet in his life, the least shadow. of a smile fell across the face of John Scannell. ‘ ‘“You need take no alarm.” he observed. ;;I'}l regard our interview as confiden- al."”" Florence Scannell was given the elec- tion: the man of potency had kept his word. Also, as reward of it, the poten- tial one at full threescore still dwells among us in quiet ease and peace. Those months to follow the day when he was shot down by Donahue went tip- toelng into the past. and the hour of death came on for Florence Scannell Worn of pain and starved by sickness, he was only the shade of what he was. John Scannell was with him, as he had been day and night. The one dving. too weak to speak aloud, motioned his broth- er to draw nearer. ‘“John,” he whispered, "I shall not live an hour. And before T die T want to sav a word to you. I feel differently about Donahue, and now that I dle I want to leave his punishment to his conseience. If he wera here, and I held life in my hand, I'd give it back to him. John, You're my oldest brother and-my best and oldest frlend. You never refused me in my Hfe. I have one last request. I want you to spare Donahue.” “Florrie,” replled his brother. and the tears were wet on his face—'Florrle, so so fraught of all that crushed and killed, that Donahue shrank from him as from & mystery of midnight. Donahue smelled his death off Scannell as kine smell in the “ wind the unborn storm. Donahue refused to meet with Scannell. Four days had passed. Donahue, in company of two of his adherents, was walking in Fourth avenue. Seannell leaped from a carrlage and approached Donahue. As he came near he called to the other: “Get ready: you are mot to be killed without defense.” Donahue turned and fled: he was gone in a twinkling. Scannell made no attemnt to shoot nor follow; his thought was still to have his man at bay. There was that to happen which would show Scannell that his eremies were not 5o frank as he, He was waylald on Twentv-eighth street by seven bravos of the Ring. The potorious Owney Geoghe- gan was at their van. Their ‘“‘orders” were to slay Scannell on sight. The seven poured a volley against him. But his own pistol spoke with theirs, and as he fell with three wounds. a bullet-convulsed brigand remained to bear him bieeding company. The others fled. As they ran the indomitable Scannell raised his shot body and fired twice, Each bullet stopped an enemy. There were no deaths to be the result of this attempted assassination. Scannell recovered, as @id also the wound- ed trip of would-be murderars. The Ring still. sought to compass h!s death. The Ring again ‘fordered” it. but there was now none among the Danites of a courage to hunt this Hector. Following this last collision John Sean- nell aisappeared. Some there.were to say that he'd left the town: others told that he was still here, but disguised; the thing sure; howevér, was that none might make certain -of aught concerning him. And with that, net alone Donahue, but Tweed and Sweeny and Hall and others e e time was November of 1872. The day was Saturday. Lacking a fortnight three years had slipped away on the slow tides of eternity since the murder of Florence Scannell. Donahue was rever seen these days, and seldom heard of. Now and again a half whisper would g0 about that Donahue had been in town, but was fled again. John Scannpell, on his part, was about _in his own aflnllrsd. calm, equal and cold: he never smile and never spoke of Donahue. Tt was in the evening of the day. In & basement at the northwest corner c; Broadway and Twenty-eighth street an under the present “Fifth Avenue Thea- ter” was a poolrcom. John Scanneil, who was walking in Broadway at the time, paused and entered. Donahue "as not in his thoughts: he believed him full one thousand miles away and more, for a waif-word blew about that Dona- hue's refuge was Havana. Scannell’s fires of vengeance glowed as hotly as ever. but by long walting they had become banked. In the lapse of years the tooth of sharp expectancy had dulled. Scannell wasn't longing end looking to find his foe with every moment, as was earller true. John Scannell entered the . poolroom. There were full two hundred in the place. Scannell saw only one. Before him steod Donahue. That man who had slain his brother. and for whom he had hoped and huntad, was delivered into his hand. Almost three years had sped since John Scanmell beheld his brother lying in bloody helplessness, and worse than dead. by the hand of this man. The picture was with him still. Almost three years had gone—more than one thousand days and one thousand nights—and each day he had resworn himself to vengeance; and each night he had prayed that the hour might come. Tt was here, and he welled with happiness. The murky glory ofsthe mo- ment filled his heart; his pleasure over- flowed in laughter. John Scannell gazed on Donahue. The - THIS 13 MARK TWRIN'S SUMMER ROUSE, NEAR SARANAC RAKE AMUEL L. CLEMENS, with g whom the world hobnobs as IMark Twain, hes taken unto himself a quaint, curious and exceed- ingly comfortable habitation near Saranac Lake, in what used to be ihe Adirondack wilderness. A big doubl2 verarda is the distinguishing feature of tha front of the Twain home-- double by reason of being two stories high. Birch, pine and occasionally oak trees surround the house, which looks es if just enough land had been cleared to maks room for it and the rest left as nature constructed it. The interior of the cottagse is just what one would imagine the summer Lome cf 3. men who loved to be com- fortable and knew how. Big fireplaces drive away ell cold, just as the at- mosphere of the place doss care. The windows do not push up and down, modern faghion, crusing vexation and somctimes loss of breath, but pull inwerd end push outward as ono may will, just like blinds that work both ways. These windows are big and square, letting a flood of light ints ths rooms, and upon the plain but thoroughly comfortable furniture with which they are filled. On tho first floor are the living-room, library and kitchen. Upstairs ars the hedrooms, Mark Twain’s own being the biggest. One of the windows of this rooms casts an eye on twin youngster trees, whila a second eve peers into what looks like the wilderness, even if it is not. The author has been self-expatri- ated from woodsy joys so many sum- imers that he declares this year he is determined to revel in good old for- estry surroundings. There are no very near neighbors as distances go At summer resorts, and so there will be neither the matutinal breakfast hell 2t the adjoining house nor the howling of the summer dog next door whose wails to get into the open are only exceeded by his piteous appeals for re-entrance. that the latter was wounded to the desth. Whereupon a great hunger of re- venge seized him and swallowed him un. e made what epeed he might, us life wes clogging him. H pursner, perfect of habit, was hate- winged with the one vast thought of vengeance. The sharp chase Qf John Scannell was overwhelming the murdercr. Donahue, whose frightened eye each moment swept his shoulder. beheld his fate as it was descending upon him. Da- epair had almost claimed him. There was a police station near at hand. If Dona- hue could but win to that, he would he safe: the police—the Ring police—would protect him. They were allies as well as officers, This thought upheld the mur- derer. He begged of all his energles; they granted strength; he panted to the door. Scannell’s pistol cracked, and Don- ahue fell in among the police. The Scan- nell builet had shattered an arm. Tt was a long shot; still hate and revenge have eves of hawks: the bullet reached, though it _only wounded. John Scannell, heavy of heart. carried his brother ‘to the hospital: Then he gave bail on charges of shooting both the Ring’s ruffien, whom he mistook for the murderer, and Donahue, wounded in the door of the police. Donahue, the assassin of Florence Scannell, was not arrested, Such ‘was’ the hardihood, not to say the power, of the Ring. Florence Scannell lived elght months and was dying every moment, Para- lyzed—for the bullet had struck his spine —he reposed on a cot, without motion and while Hfe wasted away. Fiorence Scannell was powerless to move, but he could talk. And each dey he besought John Bcannell, who hung over him, to ery off that vendetta which be had sworn against Donahue. . There was one who stood for the wis- dom of Tweed ' He will not here be named. Suffice it that he was the Tweed intelligence: the potent one behind the throne of the Ring. This wise one. and potential, was alone at his desk. Tt was the scant. gray after- noon of the Decemher solstice. The door opened and John Scannell stood before him. He wofe the tranquil air that was common with him. “I owe you an apology.” sald Scannell to the potential one. “for this unan- nounced invasion, But T had a most Im- portant word to communicate.” “What is it?" queried the potential one, not much at ease with his formida- ble visitor. calmly the finished gentlcman though that visitor might be. “Whar is this that vou should tell me?” “My brother.”” observed Scannell, “lies nigh unto death. There is small, if any, hope for his recovery. He was falrly elected ‘at the polls. Despite that' fact, vour corrupt board is about. officially, to ‘count him out.’ My thought is that if my brother were given the certificate of election’ it would bé as medicine in wine to him. It might aid him to be well.”” “Very right.” replied the potential one. “Tll look into the matter and let you hear fror me in a few days,” John Seannell closed the door which had stood ajar. When he again turned to the potential one his plstsl was in one hand and his watch in the other, “I will give you one minute,” sald Scan- nell, and his tones were cool and true, “wherein to prorise that my brother will not be robbed of his election. If the min- ute dies wanting that assurance, I'll kill you where you are.” In the gray depths of those eves bent upon him, the man of power read his surely as you die and I live, T shall kill Donabue.” There was a moment's pause. Then: “Jchn,” whisperad the other, “‘you have broken my heart.” And he dled without further word. On the cot was the dead, and by fts sl knelt the living. and there John Scannell made his voi anew that, be it late or be it soon, be it far or be it near, yet should his vengeance find a time. He would have life for life: he would pay with death his debt of death. John Scannell made a visit to Ponahue. His hope was to force him forth to battle: he would not kill him as his brother was slain; Donahue should have his chance. Scannell was coldly steady when he found his man. “My brother {s dead.” said he. "‘and you murdered him. If you had killed him in honest quarrel and with his face toward vou, T would not harbor thought against vou. But this was murder—murder plain and cowardly.. You killed him when he had no difference with you and while his back was turned. For what you did there's no excuse, nor shall vou find escape. Yet T will deal better by you than you did with him. You shall see vour death and defend yourself againat me; vour hand shall hold every advantaga that I hold in mine, You must come and fight. You shall not hesitate; you are not new to weapons nor ¢o taking life. You have already killed two men, and dearly wounded one. And you must come with me. To help you to decision. T promiss it's your only door to safety. You've killed my brother. You must now .kiil me or I shall kill you."” Donahue turned white as paper. Dona- hue was bold, but there was that so in- veterate in the one before him, he scemed of the Ring’s highest went nervously lest thelr lives. too, were written in the books of Scannall Donahue rematned, for the great vart, out of town. He crept to his home at in- tervals to l'e in hiding for a day or two: then he would fiit again. A fugltive day and night. Donahue's every moment was fe of fear. and his life already fall- en info a semi-eclipse of death. It wes a few montis following the at- tack of the seven Danites on Scannall Donabue came seeretly to his home. The night following. with two others. Dona- hue was about in one of the more retired streets.. Suddenly. and wanting sign or warning. one whom mnone recosnized stood before them In the gloom. Nat a word was spoken: there .wae the bluft bark of a Derringer and Donahue fell, shot throush the hodv. The stranger dis- appeared like a dark ghost, as he had come like one. Donahue. tenacious to live. got well of this wound as of the first: but befora the f-ct was abroad, he had ‘gone—where, no one knew. 3 It is a curious thought. and one which tells for the self-centered sort of Scan- nell, that none dared speak to' him of Donahue. Richard Croker, his nearest friend, was asked to intervese hia Influ- enca with Scannell. Croker shosk his head. “T'd give all I'm worth.” he sald. “and ten years off my life it tho matter might end as it fs. It's bad. and mors will make it worse. But''—and Croker paused —"but I can’t epeak to him. I best know John Scannell of all his friends: I've no closer friend myself than he: but I don't" know him well enough for that.” Now corze we to the last act of this t-agedy: a tragedy b&n of conditions peculier to the dyrasty of Tweed. The L dogzed moments scemed to pause. Scar- rell's face shone with a smile. His eyes were lighted brightly up, vet pleasantly, with the Jamps of a white hate. Dona- hue, opposite. was as one of stone, and with a cheek -of ashes. Donahue had courage: but was of bludgeon kind: it would not carry him against this man of joy ap@ death. Donabue couldn't eom- mand himself, he was in a dream of hor- ror. Grinped in his right hand. and hid- den In his coat. was a heavy pistol. It was found frozen in his fingers when ha was dead. Donahue pointed this weapon at Scannell. through his coat: but his hand was nerveless; he couldn't fire; Twice he called in a dry, hoarse volce like a raven's croak: “John!" 7 Ard again “John Donahue was calling to one who should have been with him. Secannell smiled only the more. The blood of his brother was calling to him. John Scannell still looked on Donahue while the moments snailed away. Secan- ell reflected of Donahue as with a comte htness that matched the' smile- on his lips. This was what he.thought: “They sav you're bullet-proof. and that no lead will kill you. Perhaps this is true. And Tl make = promiss in your favor. If you live through this—if you get by ma this time—T'Il call my venge- ance oft—I'll let the dead past bury its dead."” Something of thet was running In the mind of Scannell. Then his thought went to other matters. He could see that Don- shue rrasped In his hand a pistol. He hoved that Donahue would sheot. Scan- neil cared not if he died or not: he was sure in his heart that he would live to E{ll Donahue. and that was all his pray- er. Frem the first Scannell spoke never a word; Donahue at intervals calle “John!" huskily. Then a third. thought came to Scannel, “My pistol carries the heaviest ball. When I, shoot this man the bullet wi through and through and wound c one of those behind.” There was truth in this, for, as Secan- nell stood in the door, the onlookers, as pale as Donahue—for each foresaw (ha sequel—were crowded to the rear, and in the line of fire. This would not do; Scannell wanted no man’s blood but one's Scannell bégan to pace slowly around Donahue. The other, fear-stiffened ana incapabfe, could only turn to meet him Scannell ceased not to smile. His winking eyes did not waver from eves of Donahue. The latter was held as by a spell. Slowly Scannell went about Donahue to the right. never wid- ening. never lessening the distance. At last he had forced Donahue erosswise of the room, with naught behind him save the safe, insensate wall. The time had come. Not until then did Scannell's hand seek 1.8 weapon. And he went slowly after it. with pauses full of pleasant hesita- tlon. Seannell still tacitly called Dona- hue to actfon. It was not to be. Dona- hue was as rigidly. helpless as a status of ice. With fron deltberation Scannell drew his pistol. Donahue, licking a dry lp, stood at gaze and as one planet- struck. “Bang!" Between those murderous eves which had lined the shot that stole his broth- er's life, Scannell's revenge went crash- ing. Donahue crippled forward. half- turned, and with a sob, which broke on Scannell like a tune of music, fell head- long down. John Scannell looked on his prone en- emy for a moment while his bosom filled with the tides of a generous peace. Tt was as though a stone had been rolied from his heart. Then he went.slowly forth, and no hour had seemed so sweet nor the world so bright befote. An officer touched his elbow. Scannell turned and followed him. The officer led the way. The dead Donahue was where he fell. A captain of police stood closa at hand. “De you see your work?” asked the captain. “I do.” The sudden sparkle to glancs in Scarnnell’s eyes showed how burned the fires to be kindled in a brother's breast by a brother's murder. “T do: I see my work; observe how I approve it."” “Bang!” ‘And Scannell sent a bullet through the dead Donahue as he had sent .one through the living Donahue before. The body jumped on the floor with the springy concussion of the shot. and then lay still. The vengeance of John Secan- mell was full.—From Alfred Henry Lewlis’ “Richard Croker,” by courtesy of Life Publishing Company. Literary Notes. “Midsummer in New York” will be the subject of a long article opening the August Century—a Midsummer Holiday Number. Mrs. Schuyler van Rensselaer, who writes it, s a native of the eity and shows her appreciation of its charms by being one of the last to go out of town in the summer and one of the first to re- turn in the fall, a considerable part of her time being glven every year to volunta public work. Many full page and smaller pictures will illustrate the text. “The Book World” for An<ust makes 1 new departure in presenting its readers with the first installment of a high clas serial by Max Pemberton. To jud the cpening chapters. “The Giant's will prove a story of intense interest arfl unusual ad sre. In additlon to t customary of special articl stories, news of authors and pl com- prehensive book reviews. etc., there illustrated articles on “The Developn of the American Locomotive™ by Fawcett; on “Treasure Trove in by Mrs. J. S. Remy, wi especial refers ence to the famous “Book Plates.”" their origin, histor: valme by John de Morzan. and on Little Mothers of New York™ by Mrs short B. Bunce. The feature of the August number nt Evirybody’'s Magazine is Emillo Asi- naldy’s story of his capture by Funstn The Yilivino leader narrates the circtn- m:\"f‘i:\'; It ner of\great clearness and is a moat interesting as well as a ant contribution to the histo the bravest deeds of warfare. lows with a sxetch of - Agu rather an unus\al point of view. are several delig\tful nature articles| L. W. Brownell tellsof the “Birth o a Butterfly,” which N finely illustrateq L . Blake writes and A. R. Dugmorep! tures *“Days With § Mocking Bd.™ Maximilian Foster conkibutes “Trasf —a fine moose story. In'“Photograpl as a Fire Art.” C. H. Caffix writes of/tha work of C. H. White. A racely Intersding 1s “Pletures That how Motion, the evolution of thebin- graph, by Roy McArdle. J. M. Bacot of ““Steering Balloons by Upper Alr rents. QUERIES A'BO“'T AUTHORS, 1. What does Anthony Hope? To Marletta Holley. . What happens when lohn Kenjck Bangs? Samuel Smiles. When is Marian Evans Cross? | When William Dean Howells. 4. When did Thomas Bucharan Rea} = @ Just after Winthrop Mackwih Praed. 5. Why was Rider Haggard? Because he let Rose Terry Cool 6. Why is Sarah Grand? To Make Andrew ‘Marvel. 7. How long will Samuel Lover? Until Justin Winsor. | 8. What gives John Howard Payne When Robert Burns Augustus 9. When did Mary Mapes Dodge? When George W. Cutter. 10. Where did Henry Cabot Lodge? In Mungo Park. on Thomas Hill. 11. Why did Lewis Carroll? To put a stop to Francis Quatles. 12. Why is George Canning? ™ teach Julla Ward Howe. 13. What ailed Harriet Beecher Stowe? Bunyan. 14. What does Charles Reade? The Bookman. —H. M. Greenleaf, in the August Book- man. e Books Received. FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER — By Maxwell Gray. D. Appleton & Co., New York: §1. RICHARD CROKER—By Alfred Henry Lewis. Life Publishing Company, New York: #2. THE KIDNAPED MILLIONATRES—By Fred- erick U. Adams. Lothrép Publishing Compan: Boston; $1 50. A PRINCESS OF THE HILLS—By Mrs. Bur- ton Harrison. Lothrop Publishing Company, ‘Boston; $130. The Books Reviewed ON THIS PAGE Can Be Obtained at IRDBERTSI]N’S, | 126 POST STREET, SAN FRANCISCO. Prices are always in the Reading Notices. A. M. ROBERTSON. \