The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 27, 1903, Page 5

THE SUNDAY CALL. EXANDPOVIT CIT " C. McClure.) DROVITCR a man with a ry—e memory of th. Alexandrovitch , almost he was . when he and hand had the had met death n it for £ employment blo e road here had ovitch to him- id stay until the Anna Saratov- k spot in the iise she ross Then she re- he peered out laimed to her- surely freeze to will “He is alive!” exclalmed Anna Sara- tovsky, “alive, and I must save him.” The next few moments made a woman out of a mere girl—the work of those few moments was the work of a lifetime. But she did it. Fifteen minutes later Anna Saratovsky was rubbing with snow the i face and feet of a strong , who was fair to look upon, and all the fairer because he was in the valley of the shadow of death. At last she was rewarded. Alexandrovitch slow- ly ovened his eyes and looked into the ,ut her. face of the beautiful young girl. ‘‘You . threw open are one of the angels up in heaven,” he buffeted by murmured. ace of twelve She shook her head. “I am Anna Sar- P | have been veky,” she answered. s which had de- nd all this was some years ago. Now In Anna Saratovsky's village Alexane ar £ drovitch lived and moved and had hig 1t w 1 extra effort she cast off the being. He was a Russian and she was a vists ampered her and then, with a Jewess, but to him she was one of the the | x torward angels up in heaven. et object by It was early summer in the village. - red One night without a sound 200 men stole " oI - L DICKEY'S ATONEMENT ey + By §. B. Kennedy * z 30 T. C. McClure.) SS DELANEY, who ad been to Wash- ingt and eeen seve t h eatrical st might tiit her e as she pleased, but the 1. Dickey Holt in the cast ys sure to hap- pen to Dickey That ticular ture, but ts consequences. He quits forgot that afterncon to purchase & pair of long hose to wear with the knee breeches of th lonial costume in which he was to enact the heavy villain, and at the last moment bribed the mald grom the girl dressing-room to surrep- dtiously row & pair for him. These he donned so hurriedly that he falled to Dotice the owner's name worked in bright silk just below the knee. But there were opers glesses the house, and eoon the audience knew what he 4i4 not. The applause eccorded him was es unexpected es it was gratifying, end he looked com- passionately et John Moore, the “leading man,” who thought to reap all the hon- ors. But in the most thrilling scens of the second sct. where his Vi Zenounced, there came an awful “You are & penniless impost @#d John, giving the lines as t *Why, the very shoes in which you stand @re mot your own And then before Dickey could make his grandtloguently scornful reply, & small Doy in the front row rose and cried ex- citedly: “And peither is the stockings his, for they've got my sister Belle's name on After thet & permeanent return to pom- pous tregedy wes impossible, even John Moore's imposing voice and Jessie Lane's well stimulated teers falled to keep the spectstors in awe. Dickey's stockings were the “stars of the goodlie compane, and every time he eappeared he was greeted with shouts and epplause. Though the delighted audience went out into the night regretting no penny spent for tick- ets, behind the scenes Dickey had the whole troupe about his ears. But the y eriticism that hurt him was Jessie With Jessie he had long belleved and it hurt when she Lane's self in love, “You quite spoiled most of my part, you made my poor littie sister Belle sergble than I can tell you.” e next night he called upon her to nd found John Moore in forgiven you,” “put Belle has avowed against you, and if you are go out yonder on the porch You used to be quite a - Sueh® left John with Jessie, and y out to where Belle, aged n a hammock and pouted. n and petted her in days he thought soon to smooth umage. Instead he found and full of reproaches. st pacify Jessie's sister. Bo Dickey spent the evening by the ham- mock. The next time he came it was the same, John sat with Jessle and he was ed to the yorch and Belle. That £ lady had framed an elaborate pro- mme of reparation for the humiliation 10 which she had been subjected. He o 3 bons and flowers and sing to her in the summer moonlight to his mandolin. Dickey undertook these gs in a spirit of penitence and mar dom. Night after night he sat on th t bring her be was 1 why wondered nice girig to have small sisters. second week of his en- ) ade a discovery. had lengthened her d ses ‘and twisted her bralds into a knot on top of her small head, and with these personal changes there had come also a touch of try to her manner that made her a delightful companion. He found he was frett less over John's advantages, almost he 3 not placated?” asked laug v one night Belle answered with “Do you think six boxes of chocolates and three bouquets would atone for all that laugh- ter in the dress circle and those catcalls from the gallery? No, indeed Dickey acknowledged that she was right, and went on play! agreeable. And as he was as much phi'osopher as martyr he set himself to get all the pleas- ible out of his new role. It was g how quickly time passed ce. As she swung in tk hammock with her lengthened skirts frou- frouing about her she made him tell her all about his hopes in his profession and never doubted but that he would achieve his ambitions. Sometimes she talked of Jessie and wished, with a languishing glance into Dickey's eves, that she were like her sister, “it would be so lovely have a man like Dickey in love with her.” He looking close to find the coveted like- ness, discovered she was very much more beautiful than Jessle, and wondered that he had never known it before. After six weeks of this sort of thing Belle sighed prettily and said she sup- posed he had spent quite enough time and money on her to salve her hurt, and that he had better resume his attentions to Jessie. Of course, she would miss him, she added with drooping lips, but she trusted she was no usurer to claim more than her debt. Dickey went away with sense of something lost tugging Leart. The next evening he came, ntending to go into the parlor and begin his riv an odd with John; Lut somehow the lonely lit figure in the hammock drew him aside and he spent the evening as h in the moon- pent the preceding ones, lig “Good-by,” he ald at parting, “‘to- morrow 1 really must break into John's game and recover my lost ground.” hed and then laughed o quickly separate the r a moment, S red himself he found still holding her hand, that a ching him shy He went wey with brain in a whirl; in his P 10 socthe he er feelings h'\d he made the ct ild love hir sat smoKing and morning th queer feeling was 11 b and Blackstor ¥ open but un- read before him all day. Tn t as he 1 office there wa tion est street ¢ rur 4 dashed into view, drag- ging a dogcart in which sat two girls— Jessie and Belle. The quick turn about the corner sent the cart careening on one wheel, and almost Dickey recognized the occupants they were spilled in the dust. With a cry Dickey rushed forward, and, passing one prostrate form, the other In his arm with words of cau ous endearm But the figure drew resolutely aw Th not Jessie—thi — But I key on held her the closer. “Not Jessie, but the girl I love, the only girl 1 ever really loved! Let John take care of Jessle. Are vou hurt, dear?” There was a contented sigh against his shoulder, “I haven't any In now, not even in my heart, which as often ached at your indifference.” “John and Jessie are to be married in the winter,” she told him later. “I'm glad of it; we'll dance at the'r wedding” he laughed, “but, dear, I'm onty a poor young lawyer, and—— “And I'm ages too young to marry, walt a whole vear for vou, and if you give up smoking and send me only one box of chocolates a week you can save no end of ney." And so it was arranged. and when Miss Delaney next spoke of the lack of artistic finish to that theatrical performance Dickey stoutly declared the “finish was the finest on earth,” and held to his point. 72— —5—g N some unaccountable manner the idea has been spread abroad that the inevitable re- ward of virtue is hap- piness and money in the bank, while the lot of the wicked i3 as in- sorrow and a cold handout No one seems to evitably at the back door. know who meanufactured this theory end placed it on the market, but every one belleves in it just as firmly as he belleves that all men named Jim are honest and with about as much reason. Of course, it will be ad- mitted that theres must be some color of truth to an idea that is so firmly held by the major portion of the human race. Other things being equal, it is usually the man who stays out late at night who has the headache the next morning and the absent-minded {ndividuals whose moral astigmatism prevents them from distinguishing between thelr own pockets and those worn by other people are sel- dom allowed to decline an invitation from the State for a brief sojourn in the In- stitution for the Suppression of Unneces- sary Night Work. These facts are ad- but the point that we desire to make, if we can find a place to put it, is to the effect that it is not always virtue that lands inside the money at the finish, while vice is left kicking at the post. A long and careful study of the ways of the wicked world inclines us to the bellef that the dictum of the alleged poet on the subject of the exceeding sinfulness and unattractiveness of sin should be changed to something like the following: 8in is & creature of such charming mien That to approve it needs but to be seen; And seen enough and in the proper place, A goodly profit comes from its embrace, That this statement {8 a true one may be seen from a brief observation of the case of Percy and John. Percy and John were brothers, but otherwise unrelated. Percy had been given that label because it was seen from the start that he was cast for the Percy part. As a looker he had Apollo outside the ropes in the first round and his clothes were sartorial son- nets. His manner was a combination of Beau Brummel and an experienced floor- walker, and when it came to turning out conversation he could give a college pro- fessor the under hold and put him on the mat two times out of three. All the women thought he was just too sweet for anything, and they were about right. In fact, Percy was the original male Gib- son girl. When he was not occupled with his real business of life, which was to spread joy and gladnees among the mem- bers of the opposite sex, Percy dallied with the ledger in a banking house and meditated new and striking designs in neckties. John, on the other hand, would never have been picked by any one not familiar with the situation for Percy's brother. He was about as attractive in get up and general appearance &s a pair of care-worn shoes and his clothes fitted him as though he had been blown Into them by a cyclone, The best that any one could say for him ‘was that he was honest and industrious and evidently meant well. When that sort of & verdict is sent in it is a safe bet that the miserable wretch who receives it is about as popular as a Tax Collector. It's sacH Yrofi A oUsé and met under cov: of the darkness in the market-placs. Su. flenly a mighty shout went up from them. *The Jews! The Jews!" they cried. “Death to the Jews!" That was the be- ginning. After that, battle, murder, sud- den death, blood and fire, fire and blood. ‘rho men were Russians. Thelr neighbors e the Jews. Each man turned upon nll neighber. Each man armed himself and struck and struck, and etruck, to kill. They entered home after home, Aragging the Innocents into the stree! and siaughtering them like cattle. Alex- androvitch was a Russian. He, too, sought e house. He was almost too late, The people, of the name of Saratovsky, lay weltering in blood. They thelr doorpost, where Alexandrovitch had lain so many months before. ‘Alexandro- vitch looked upon them. His heart bled 7ith pity. “It one could only ha foreseen all lay there at- this,” ne eried. “If I could have but known.” He shuddered, not with fear, but with dread. He heard footsteps in the house. “Anna—Anna Saratovsky!" he cried in a low voice. He heard an fnarticulate sound. Alexandrovitch strode over the dead. He sought the living. He peered into the house. In a corner a silent strug- gle—a struggle to the death—was being fought. It wes a young girl, Anna Sara- tovsky, gagged, but with free hands that she had torn clear of their bonds, fight- ing for dear life against two men. It did Alexandrovitch was into the midst and d left. not last long, for there. He sprang struck out right ) p “In a corner a silent struggle—a struggle to the death—was being fought.” These two men were men that Alex- androvitch knew as well as he knew his brother, but it was all one now. For there was murder in the heart of Alex- androvitch, even as there had been mur der in the heart of the two men—for Alex- androvitch was fighting for something more t and he was a maniace £ d beast. Fin- ally he drew his brow turned to Anna Saratovsky. Then 1 back and opened a rear door. e sald, “thy father and thy mother are beyond all aid, O BORNE not give her time to hesitate. He caught her in his arms and forced her through the open door. “Fly, Anna Saratovsky,” he whispered in her ear, “fly, for ‘the fiying death comes after us.” It was a wild flight, that night of the dread massacre. But at last the two had left pursuit behind. As the day began to break Alexandrovitch reached forth his arm-and lifted from the ground the form of the fainting girl. Then with his pr clous burden he struck across the coun- try. He reached a small, secluded and deserted stable. With the g still in his arms he entered. Tl"i' crouched there in & corner. St the girl burst in*o hysterical wee My father and my mother!" she exclaimed, “my father and my mother.” Alexandrovitch comforted her. was a long silence between them. denly Alexandrovitch be down There Bud- his head. “Little one,” he whispered, * art alone In this wide world. Thou d save me once from death. My life be- s to me. Le longs to you, and yot e togethe: our creed is Borcski!” he cried to ome of none can help We must cven @ ten, “it is you who are the dastard. them where e Holy er thou K“v{‘ - That for you, Boroski. And that for you, Mother will protect them. Come thou Where thou lodg " Mogolovitch.” with me, Anna Saratovsky.” He did ple shall be my people; thy Ge d my God. A G i R — e e —p (Copyright, 1803, by T. C. McClure.) AM sure’ sald Mrs. Rallton, fixing me with her cagle glance, before which even Bishops have been known to quail, “I am sure you will like to be the first to congratulate Sylvia on her cngagement to Mr. Oswald Fitz- But Mr. Fitzgerald,” “Is suitable in every wa continued Mrs. Rallton, heedless of my attempted remark. ‘‘He is just the man to make Sylvia a capital husband.” I began— “‘He has, I am aware, $50,000 a year,” I ald bitter! but he is old enough to be father. “My dear Gerald,” remonstrated Mrs. Rallton in her most bland tone, “how can you say such things? Mr. Fitzgerald is Guite a young man still. and by many people he is considered extremely hand- sceme. Pray don't put such notlons into Sylvia's head.” Fable for the ¥ Foolish. 5 e the kind of thing that people say about a man when they are trying to find an excuse for his existence. What people thought about him, however, never seemed to make John lose any sleep at night and while Percy was permeating the glddy soclal whirl he was sitting up with his business and carefully nursing the balance on the credit side of the ledger. In the course of time John married and gettled down in the shade of his own vine and fig tree, not to mentlon a comfortable account at the bank which Percy honored with his presence about as often as once in a while . It happened that about this time it occurred to the aforenamed gentle- man that he was not drawing the stipend out of the financial Institution that his elegant manners dnd exalted social pos! tion entitled him to and on the suppos! tion that the matter had been overlooked by the president he decided to appropriate a portion of the surplus of the house to his own use. All went merry as a dinner bell for a few weeks under the new ar- rangement. Percy broke out in new clothes that made the rainbow look like an impressionistic study of the Milky Way on ‘ nlnudy ulflt and cabs and American beauties th varieties and little suppers after the theater gladdened his waking hours dally. At this stage of the game the gentle- man with the mutton-chop whiskers who presided over the destinies of Percy's bank congluded that the young gentleman ‘was hitting a pretty lively pace for a pay- 2 By T. Ww. McKRail. I held my peace, and after studying my countenance carefully for a few moments Mrs. Raiiton continued: “I have told you this because I have thought—although, of course, I may be mistaken—that your affection for Sylvia has been becoming a little more than cousinly. I should be sorry if—"' My dear aunt,” T broke in impetuous- ly, “what is the use of your trying to blink facts? You know quite well that I have been making desperate love Io Syl- via ever since she was 10 y s “A mere boy and girl flirtation,” said Mrs. Rallton. “Perhaps,” I said, trying to speak non- chalantly, “but at any rate 1 do not mean to congratulate Sylvia on her engagement to an old man with dyed hair and false teeth. Jf it had been a young man it would have been different. I don’t be- lieve she cares for him any more than she cares for—the man in the moon.” My tirade fizzled out rather ineffective- ly, but I was feeling genuinely savage, and the necessity of keeping up a calm THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR---BY NICHOLAS NEMO ing teller on $20 a week and he proceeded to investigate the situation. As a result of his heartless proceeding he discovered that the bank was contributing to Percy’'s support at a rate not contemplated in the original arrangement. As a rule Percy was not aware of John's existence more than two or three times in the year, but when he heard that it was up to him to make 004 or look up the time of the first train to Montreal he fairly burned holes in the soles of his shoes getting over to the place where his brother did daily battle with the world to get the wherewithal to pay his taxes and buy shoes for the baby. According to the theory of strict justice John should have reminded itm that every tub must stand on its own bottom, even if the bottom may happen to get kicked out, and then have passed him up with an interesting tract pointing out to him t the wages of sin Is death—or stripes, but we regret to state that John did noth- ing of the sort. Being a simple minded and unlettered gentleman he had probably never heard of those fundamental busi- ness truths. Instead he put on his hat and went back with Percy to inform the cold-blooded president that he was pre- pared to do the good Samaritan act to the best of his ability. Then he extracted his poor little balance from the bank and passed it over that it mltul be known ot all men how innocent and unlearn the wnn of the justice-loving warld he In the meantime the greater part of the feminine population of the town had waited on his mutton-chops and assured him that to put a handsome young gentle- man of Percy’s complexion into a suit of stripes would be so grave a brmh of oo exterior before my aunt oppressed me. I wanted to go out and hit somebody. I went home and wrote Sylvia a furious- Iy sarcastic letter of congratulation. About two hours later I lit a cigarette, mixed myself a whisky and soda and lounged in an e chair before the open window. Thé sound of a cab approach- ing rapidly aroused me. Looking out of my window, I saw that it contained Syl- via. As she stepped out of the cab at my door, looking more bewitching even than usual, I noticed that she carried a letter in her hand. Thus forewarned I answered her hur- ried knock at the door with a matter- of-fact ““Come in.”” and evinced none of the surprise she evidently expected me to fecl at her appearance. You are perfectly horrid,” she began. 'Why?' 1 asked innocently. “To write me a letter like this,” hold- ing out the offending document. “Is it not a little indiscreet of you,” 1 went on, realizing my advantage, “to come here alone, to a bachelor's rooms, ! . the laws of esthetic harmony as to threaten the very foundations of soclety. They also assured him that a nice man who could adorn a dress suit as could Percy should be granted a perpetual im- munity from the operations of the vulgar minions of the law. The president, being particularly solicitous of the foundations of soclety and knowing how hard dress suits were to suit, fell on Percy’'s neck and told him in trembling accents that he was proud to know that he was once more square with the world and that if he would give him his sacred word of honor as a man and a banker that he would never steal again in that unofficial manner he would make him assistant cashier so that he would be beyond the reach of temptation. All the women sald that it was perfectly lovely of Percy to be so good and forgiving when every one knew that he could just as easily have carried off the furniture of their old bank while he was about it. As for John, they all knew that he ‘was nothing but Percy's brother anyway, and it served him right for wearing such old clothes and looking like a scarecrow on a vacation. Percy is now the cashler of the bank and his friends have him slated for the presidency as soon as the gentleman with the mutton-chops now holding that posi- tion has the decency to eash his last check. Meanwhile, John puts in his lels- ure time shoring up the mortgage that rests upon his vineclad cottage and push- ing collectors oft the front porch. As he turns over the leaves of his erstwhile bankbook he sadly ponders the profound wisdom of the proverb that the way of the transgressor is hard—on the trans- gressor's relatives. (Copyright, 1903, by Albert Britt.) without a chaperon?” She sprang to her feet, her eyes flash- ing and her cheeks flushing, in a manner that I could not help confessing was emi- nently becoming to her. o you think I care about s ventionalities,” she said, “when it is & question of justice between you and me? Do you imagine I am going to remain at a decorous distance from you when my happiness is at stake, do you?—' ut I interrupted her. is not so much a question of what sine as it Is of what Mr. you mention him to me?" he flamed out; “It is the worst taste on your part. If I had refused you and ac- cepted him—"" “That {s exactly what you have dome,” I interposed. “Indeed!” she bowed haughtily. “You know more of my affairs than I do my- self.” “Sylvia,” 1 sald, taking her hands In mine, “your mother tof@ me you were en- gaged to him." “And you belleved it and wrote me this—this unpardonable letter. I came to tell you that I am not engaged to any one—and that I never shall be.” ‘Not even to me?" I pleaded. You deserve the worst punishment you could possibly have,” she sald with s hint of relenting in her voice At this mo- ment we heard a carriage drive up to my door and a moment later we recognized inquiry. gasped Sylvia, “it's mother! Hide me, for goodness sake.” There was only one hiding place in the room, a cupboard disguised by the name of pantry. As I closed the door on her Mrs. Rallton knocked and entered. I eaw her glance wander round the room as she sald blandly: “So glad you are in, my dear Gerald. Have you seen Sylvia this afternoon?"” “Sylvia!” I exclaimed in amazed tones. “I managed to lose sight of her just now in Fifth avenue, and it occurred to me that perhaps she had met some one she knew, possibly yourself. But if you have been in all the afternoon of course my surmise is incorrect. She has probably home. Wil you see me down She raised her eyeglasses. “What Is this” A letter addressed to Sylvia? Shall I take it to her?” She was about to pick it up when there was a terrific crash and a faint scream, unmistakably in Sylvia's voice. “Sylvia!” she exclaimed in ma- jestic accents, as Sylvia emerged, dis- closing a vista of broken crockery. “I am sorry, aunt,” I sald gravel “that Sylvia should be found in such & compromising situation, but, after all, there is a very good way out of {t.” Mrs. Rallston’s horrified gize removed itself from Sylvia's face to me and de- manded my meaning. “She can always, as a last resource, be- come engaged to me,” I continued hardily. “Of course, I am a very bad match for her, but we are very much attached to each other—as you see—and—"" “And it's the least I can do after break- ing his tea service,” sald Sylvia, taking my arm.