The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 17, 1904, Page 1

g as h though, he next make the wing h e up at that dia You'd ier than gold brick touch my he turned where pays— th and grafting »t wit and hapr you can just spin ar little finger! w, even then I o »f selling the pretty to think of a the ing-room to herself. which is a big box, t where the three- nuitiply the jewels n three times as a-leather, sil Mag—Gray could the things—the s, the tiara , the chain of pearls, ng rings, and the waist- that dlamond, that huge mond, I couldn’t, T just could- 2't let her have it. And yet I didn't know the first step take toward getting it, till Beryl Bleckburn belped me out. She's one Cherities, like me—a tail ack blonde with a pretty, pale and gold-gray eyes. And, Jf you'd leve her, there’s not a man:ip the audience, afternoon or evening, that isn’t dead-gone on her. “Guess who's my latest,” she sald to me this afternoon, W ities stood in the wings walting. all got clear to me then in a othing!""'I sneered. “Beryl ks of only one Don’t you ‘opham Bighead, Topham th! thin; fool y “Oh, doe: prove it, he let me diamond last pight. “It's es say so but I don’t see the p d lose his job so quick it'd make his head spin if he did it.” “Not if he did, but iIf they knew he did. You'll not tell?” “Not me. Why would 1?7 I don’t be- lieve it, and I wouldn’t expect anybody: else to. I don’t believe you could get Topham to budge from his chair in Gray’'s dressing-room if you'd—" “What'll you bet?” “I'll bet you the biggest box ¢f cho- colste creams at Huyler" **Done! I'll send for him to-night, just before Gray and her Lord come; and you see—" “How'll I see? Where'll T be?” “Well, you be waiting in the little hall, right off Gray’s dressing-room at seven-thirty to-night and—you might as well bring the creams with ‘you.” Catch on, Mag? ' At seven-thirty in -box. he, Miss! well, just to try on the rose There!” the evening I was waiting; but not i the little hall off Gray's dressing-room. I hadn't gone home at all after the afternoon performance—you know we play at three, and again at eight-thirty. I had just hidden me away till the rest were gone, and ag soon as the coast was clear I got into Gray's dressing- room, pushed aside the chintz curtains of the big box that makes her dressing- table—and waited. Lord, how the hours dragged! I had- n’t had anything to eat since lunch and it got darker and darker in thereysand hot and close and cramped. I pat 1 the time, much as ¥ could, thinking of Tom. The very first thing I'd do. after cashing in, would be to get up to Sing Sing to see him. I'm crazy to see him. I'd tell him the news and see if he couldn’t bribe a guard, or plan some scheme with me to get out soon. Afraid—me? What of? If théy found me under that box I'd just give ’'em the Beryl story about the bet. How do you know they wouldn't believe it? * * ¢ Oh, I don’t care, you've got to take chances, Mag Monahan, if you go in for big things. And this was big —huge. Do you know how much that diamend’s worth? And do you know how to spend fifty thousand? I spent it all there—in the box—every penny of it. When I got tired spend- ing money'I desed a bit and, in my dreams, spent it over agam. ' And'then I waked and tried to fancy new ways. of getting rid of it, but my'head achgd —_— HIS is the second installment of Miriam Michel- son’s noted novel, “In the Bishop’s Carriage,” the first 1installment of which appeared in The Sunday Call Magazine on July 10. This novel is almost twice as much in demand at the leading libraries as any other one piece of fiction, and is one of the two best selling books of the day. Miss Michelson, before enter- ing Eastern fields, was one of the best known newspaper women of this State, and it may be of interest to those who are following the “Bishop’s Carriage” to know that Miss Michelson’s first journalistic experience was gained on The Call. The story of the career of a professional female thief, treateq in a highly literary style, is an orig- inal motif for a first-class work of fiction, and in the portrayal of the character of Nance Olden, Miss Michel- son has created a girl Jhoman, with faults rather acquired than native, and with a humor so generously developed as to enlist for her, in her delinquencies, the keen thies of the readem more and my back ached, and my whole body was so strained and cramped that I was on the point of giving it all up when—that blessed old Topham came in. He seteshe big box down with a bang thet nemly cracked my head. He turéd on the lights and stood whist- ling Tommy Atkins. And then sud- d.-ly there’'came a soft call, “Topham! Topham! I leaned back and bit my fingers till I knew I wouldn’t shriek. The English- man listened a minute. Then the call came again, and Topham creaked to the door and out. In a twinkling I was out, too, you bet. Mag! He hadn’t opened the box at alll There It stood in the middle of the space framed by the three glasses, I pulled at the lid. Leocked! I could have screamed with rage. But the sound of his step outside the door sobered me. He was coming back. In a frantic hurry I turned toward the window which I had unlocked when I cdme in' four hours ago. But I hadn’t time to make it. I heard the old fel- low’'s hand on the deor, and I tumbled back into the box in such a rush that the curtains ;were still- waving when he came in. Tha story will bo Slowly he to place the jewels, one bx‘m‘e, in tle order her ladyship puth themf on. e Charity girls had oftery Watghed him from the door— he never let one of us put a foot inside. He was method and order itself. He never changed the order in which he lifted the glittering things out, nor the places he put them back in. I put my hand up against the top of the box, tracing the spot where each piece would be lying. Think, Mag, just half an inch between me and quarter of a million! Oh, I was sore as I lay there! And I wasn’t so cock-sure either that I'd get out of it straight. I tried tae Beryl story lots of ways on myself, but some- how, every time I fancied myself tell- ing it to Obermuller, it got tangled up and lay dumb and heavy inside of me. But at least it would be better to appear of my own will before the old Engl'shman than be discovered by Lord Gray and his lady. I had my fingers on the curtains, and in another second I'd been out when— “Miss Beryl Blackburn's compli- ments, Mr. Topham, and would you step to the door, as there’s something most important she wants to tell you.” Oh, I loved every syllable that call- boy spoke! There was a giggle behind his voice, too; old Topham was the buft of every joke. The first cdll, which had fooled' me, must have beén from some giddy girl who wanted to guy the old fellow. She had fooled me all right, But this—this one was‘the real’ article.” There was a pause—Topham must be looking about to be sure things were safe. Then he creaked to the door and shut it carefully behind him. It only took a minute, but in that minute—in that minute, Mag, I had the rose diamond clutched safe in my fingers; I was on the top of the big trunk and out of the window. Oh, the feel of that beautiful thing in my hand! I'd ’a’ loved it if it had- n't been worth & penny, but as it was I adored it. I slipped the chain under my collar, and the diamond slid down my neck, and I felt its kiss on my skin. I flew down the black corridor, bumping into scenery and nearly trip- ping two stage carpenters. I heard Ginger, the call-boy, ahead of me and dodged behind some properties just in time. He went whistling past and I got to the stage door. I pulled it open tenderly, cautlously and turned to.shut it after me. And— And something held it open in spite of me. . No—no, Mag, it wasn’t a man. It was -a memory. .It rose up there and hit me right over the heart—the mem- ory of Nancy Olden's happiness the first time she’d come in this very door, feeling that she actually had a .right to use a stage entrance, feeling that she belonged, she—-Nancy—to this wonder- land of the stage! You must never tell Tom, Mag, prom- isel He wouldn't see. He couldn’t understa I couldn’t make him know what I felt any more than I'd dare tell him what I did, I shut it on the I shut forever an- too—the old door that opens out on Crooked t. With my hand on my heart, that was beating as though it would burst, I flew back again through the black corridor, through the wings and out to Ober- muller’'s ce. /ith both my hands I ripped open the neck of my dress, and, pulling the chain with that great-dia- mond hanging to it, I broke it with a tug, and threw the whole thing dowm he desk in front of him. or God'g_sake!™ I yelled. make it so easy for me to steal! I.don’t know what happened for a minute. I could see his face changs half a dozen ways in as many seconds. He took it up in his fingers at last. It swung there at the end of the slender little broken chain like a great drop of shining water, blushing and spark- ling and trembling. His hands trembled, too, and he looked up at last from the dlamond to my face. “It's worth at least fifty thousand, you know—valued at that.” I didn’t answer. He got up and came over to whers I had thrown myself on a bench. “What's the matter, Olden? Den't I pay you enuogh