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Wºlk. º ſº | | f S. |ſ||\/ſº º/ſºlº š ===s N -----> ºº::= Hº | ºt.… ; | il § J UV tº º @% º º § Z/ ~ -2./ $5 |), º § #|||||||}}} l: | | | ºf lº º § § s = iº ~ 24 * sº) ~ > "I §§ 4%º jº, tº *-* -ºš * lº sºftº: º: § : Sºº º *W**}\ §§ !} - M*Doug Mus ºr "º- {{:3&A. TROUBLE IN THE PUG CONVENTION.—PAGE 201, PLUTOCRACY OR AM ERICAN W H IT E SLAVERY A POLITICO- SOCIAL NOVEL BY .* THOMAS M*NORWOOD EX U. S. SENATOR AND, Now, REPRESEN TA riv E FROM GEORGIA METROPOLITAN PUB, CO, 32 VESEY STREET NEW YORK THE TRADE SUPPLIED by T}{E AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY I888 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1888, By THOMAS M. NORWOOD, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. [All rights reserved.] D ...T.C. 3 4 - t S 4-7 s & S S + PREFACE. “—Forgive the wrong, If with grave truth light fiction I combine And sometimes grace my page with other flowers than mine. “The world, thou know'st, on tiptoe ever flies Where warbling most Parnassus’ fountain winds; And that Truth, robed in song's benign disguise, Has won the coyest, Soothed the sternest minds. So, the fond mother her sick infant blinds, Sprinkling the edges of the cup she gives With sweets; delighted with the balm it finds Round the smooth brim, the medicine it receives, Drinks the delusive draught and, thus deluded, lives.’ 5 TASSO. THIS fabric is a woof of some fiction on a warp of many facts. The warp is strong—hemp-strong—to the sufferers; the woof must be judged by the reader. It was woven in the hours that I could snatch during a long and busy session of Congress. The work was undertaken with the intention and aim to do something to point out certain political wrongs, mercantile evils, and social follies and vices that are growing at rapid and dangerous speed in our republic. As, in the “View of Soci- ety” (Chapter 33), Mr. Woolhat and others, when they turned and looked back, could not see the churches, because the decline had been so sharp, So we, as a people, have made such descent, that certain landmarks—freedom, equality and justice iV A RAE FA CA. —established and reverenced at the beginning of our march as a republic, are now lost to sight. If the effect of this work shall be to arrest, in any degree, that descent, I shall rejoice that my labor has not been in vain. A people, like a man, s/ow to anger, is TFRRIBLE WHEN AROUSED. - -v. ºr- § T. M. NORWOOD. OCTOBER, I888. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER FLIRST. THE HAPPY SPECULATOR AND HIS BROKER. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I CHAPTER SECOND. A DESPERATE BATTLE AND A GREAT VICTORY... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I4 CHAPTER THIRD. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2O CHAPTER FOURTH. CONVERSATION CONTINUED WITH A DIVERSION. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3O CHAPTER FIFTH. MISS SMILING's FIRST VISIT... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 CHAPTER SIXTH. SKETCH OF THE HAMPTON FAMILY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 CHAPTER SEVENTH. MR, RECKER AS A MILLIONAIRE TRAMP, AND M R. MoRNING... . . . . . . 55 CHAPTER EIGHTH. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * * * * * * * * * * OO *- CHAPTER NINTH. BLACK FRIDAY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 CHAPTER TENTH. PROFESSOR PRYER. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 CHAPTER ELEVENTH. THE PROFESSOR AND THE SERVANT, MARY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 CHAPTER TWELFTH. THE SECOND BLACK FRIDAY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . p > f * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 90 vi COAV7'AºAV7'S. sº- PAGE CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. GLIMPSE OF AMERICAN WHITE SLAVERY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 - CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. THE BILLION IN COUNCIL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IOI CHAPTER FIFTEENT H. sº MR. RECKER CONTINUES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . IIO sºr CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. PyTHAGOREA EUCLID’s FIRST VIEW OF PLUTOCRACY AND ITS COATs OF ARMS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I3O CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. COATS OF ARMS CONTINUED. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I43 CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. MISS EUCLID AND TOBE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I57 CHAPTER NINETEENTH. TOMMIE SHODDY-A SPRIG OF PLUTOCRACY. . . . . . . . 2 e < e < e s e e s e e s a s 164 CHAPTER TWENTIETH. ToMMIE SHODDY TRIES IT. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . & ſº tº e º sº to I76 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. THE CINDERS FAMILY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I79 CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. THE PUG CONVENTION. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I85 CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. MISS EUCLID AND MISS LOVELACE—THE VISIT.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2O5 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH. SOCIETY IN A NEW ROLE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2I7 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH. HoSTESS, HOST AND USHER. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH. . THE DIAMOND BALL. . . . . . . . . p e s = e s e tº p q e º s e e º º ſº tº e º 'º e º ſº. A gº tº a gº tº it sº p is 228 COA/7/2A77°S. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH. THE SUPPER. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT H. A HORRIBLE SCANDAL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH. THE CURATIVE POWER OF SCANDALS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER THIRTIETH. TRIBULATION OF MRS. SECRETARY NONAVIE. . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST. MISS SMILING'S LAST VISIT... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER THIRTY-SECOND. MR. PLAYFAIR AND MISS EUCLID . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRD. VIEW OF PLUTOCRATIC SOCIETY BY DAY. . . . . . . . . . . . & CHAPTER THIRTY-FOURTH. VIEW OF PLUTOCRATIC SOCIETY BY NIGHT. . . . . . . . . . . CHAP TER THIRTY-FIFTH. MINERS’ CAMP-THE CHASE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . MET AT LAST. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENTH. THE DAY AFTER THE DUEL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTH. RE-ASSEMBLING OF THE BILLION. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER THIRTY-NINTH. MISS SMILING HEARS SOMETHING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER FORTIETH. SKETCH OF GEORGE OTIS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . tº t * * : * * * * * * g º e gº tº e g tº e º a tº $ & © tº $ tº e º º º tº tº gº º * * * * * * * * * * e = • * * * * * * * * * g e * * * > * * tº e º ºs º ºs tº gº tº e º 'º º e a g º 4 gº º ſº º ſº e º a º e tº º º ſº e º 'º º ºs e º a PAGE 248 26 I 268 272 28O 284 292 306 316 viii CôA77 AAV7s. PAGE CHAPTER FORTY-FIRST. THE MEETING OF TWO SCHOOLMATEs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 359 CHAPTER FORTY-SECOND. A SECOND MEETING. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367 CHAPTER FORTY-THIRD THE BETROTHAL. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 372 CHAPTER FORTY-FOURTH. STRICTLY BUSINESS—NO TRUSTs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 377 CHAPTER FORTY-FIFTH. THE EXTREMES OF PLUTOCRACY HARMONIOUs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 383 CHAPTER FORTY-SIXTH. --- A SEARCH FOR THE LOST. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 391 CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENTH. ILLNESS OF MISS SMILING. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4O3 wº CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHTH. THE LAST INTERVIEW . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4O7 CHAPTER FORTY NINT H. THE TRIAL ON HEIRSHIP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4I3 CHAPTER FIFTY-FIRST. THE UNHAPPY SPECULATOR. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 423 SHORT CATECIIISM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 429 PLUTOCRACY. CHAPTER FIRST. THE HAPPY SPECULATOR AND HIS BROKER, IN the afternoon of a Friday, early in December, a few years ago, Mr. Galusha Smiling sat in his office which was on Wall street, New York, between Broad and William streets, waiting for his broker. Mr. Smiling was many times over a million- aire. His father had amassed what, in his day, was called a fortune, by a cotton mill in Lowell, Massachusetts, and the son, under the high protective tariff, small wages and increased plant, had added greatly to his inheritance. When the son was at the age to receive a thorough academic training the father, grasping and avaricious, did not think he had money enough to keep his son at school ; and when he had become wealthy, Galusha was too old to take a regular, or even an irregular, course. The bulk of the father's estate was accumulated dur- ing the war by contracts to supply the army with tent-cloth, and hospitals with sheeting. Galusha inherited three of his father's possessions, to wit : his estate, his capacity for getting money, and his avarice. Mr. Smiling stood by a window, looking down in Wall street. The hour was three, the hour when the gavel in the Stock Exchange falls ; when Fate, that sports with men, closes her book for the day, and sometimes, in a fitful mood, closes her account with them forever and passes them to the rear. It was the hour when the inmates of that Bedlam, who have yelled and screamed like maniacs for five hours of shifting for- tune, rush into New, Broad and Wall streets to transfer to day- book and ledger the memoranda of the day's trading, and to report to speculators the results of their ventures. The weather was cold and stormy. The wind set from the east and was high and gusty. Snow had been falling since one o'clock and was, on a level, 1 2 AZ U 7'OCRACY, near six inches deep. The wind rose and fell, now sweeping past with the wild, weird whistle which, heard by children at night, revives the horrors of ghost stories and tales of lost spirits; and now lulling into the sobbing moan that follows the first convulsive screams of a soul overwhelmed by a sudden, heart-rending grief. Big flakes of Snow swirled, sank a little, then rose, paused, flew to the window, paused again, pattering against the panes, then rushed away through the air—the cold, cold air that helped to make them and then did not—would not, give them Support. Now they whirl round and round, seeking in every direction for shelter and safety, but the cruel wind—the blast—seemed to be saying : “There's no help for you—move on—go down.” They rush again and again to the window of Mr. Smiling and rap on the glass to be let in—to be sheltered from the cold— from the cruel wind that was beating them to the ground, into the mud, and mire. “We are falling, Mr. Smiling ! We are sinking ! We try to bear up—we try to rise. We are pure— see how white we are. We are children of the sky—so pure— so beautiful—but we are sinking to the earth. Save us—for mercy's sake, save us ! If we have no help, we must fall—yes, fall—to be trodden on by feet of men—coarse, vulgar, blu tal, sensual, unfeeling men. At the first step upon us we will utter one crunching Cry—and all our purity, our loveliness, will be gone forever. Then as foot after foot tramples upon us—we will become hard, and then dangerous to every wayfaring man ; not only, not simply to the first who heard not our cry when crushed under his feet, but to all who pass our way. And, then, we shall be shoveled out of the walks of men—shoveled into the gutter—mixed with mud and all uncleanness—and, at last, be carted away—no one knows, no one cares, where.” While Mr. Smiling sat facing the window, waiting for his broker, and saw the flakes of snow whirling—then suddenly driven down—then rise again—then swim in an eddy of the air—and finally sinking to the earth, did he think of anything else that they were like * Did their purity, whiteness, beauty; their passing along Wall street—(perhaps no other street in any city on the earth could have suggested such reflections so well as Wall), passing door after door—window after window—build- ing after building—but driven on—on with no pause, no rest, except for a moment in an eddy, or when trying to rise—did all that suggest any resemblance or parallel in human life 2 7 'A' A' AAAAA’ Y SAEAECUZA 7'O.K.’ AAVZ) Ay/S AEA’OA EAE. 3 Did he dream, that what he was doing at that moment could have any possible relation to any pure, white-souled, beautiful beings 2 that he was just then engaged in driving hundreds, thousands, millions of pure, beautiful girls into the street to beg for work, driving them from door to door, window to win- dow, building to building ; driving them on as they pause; beating them down—down to the earth, down in the street, down on the pavement to be trodden on by brutal men until they are disfigured in soul, hardened in sin, slippery and dan- gerous—imperiling the character, the safety and the life of every one who goes their way 2 Did he think, or reflect, that every million dollars gathered without labor and by the turn of the dice, makes a hundred families poor—installs Hunger in their homes—which, in time, drives them out—ejects them like a heartless landlord ; turns pure girls on the street, begging first for work, then for bread, then for shelter, then falling to be trampled on, then to be shoveled out and carted away to the Potter's Field 2 What P Mr. Smiling have such thoughts * Why should he He was never hungry. He needed no raven to bring him food. His cruse was always full of oil. There was no need of any invisible hand—(by some called Special Providence)—to keep his barrel refurnished with meal every day. He was a million- aire many times over, yet was he content 2 If so, why was he waiting for the broker P He had been playing with dice; far more with loaded dice ; not with ivory cubes loaded with lead, but with millions for margins, with which he could sit down and wait for the tide of fortune to turn, and could wear out, or crush out, the twenty, fifty, or hundred, who were playing against him. Mr. Smiling, while standing by the window, was busy on a different line of thought. He was calculating the probable profit from his speculation. He knew, within a few thousand dollars ; for he knew the figures at which “The Widows and Orphans’ ” Stock had been sold during the day; but he did not know at what precise figure his broker had closed his con- tract. That was the only ground of doubt. While thus reckoning his probable gain, he was unconsciously engaged in another pleasure. The day he made his first fifty thousand dollars, which he acquired, with the aid of his father, in a stock speculation, he put in the right pocket of his panta- loons a twenty-dollar gold coin. That he christened “Com- fort.” 4 AZ U 7'OCAEAC V. When his father died, and he came in possession of a half million dollars by inheritance, he put a second like coin as a companion for Comfort. That he christened “Luxury,” and when he had rolled up his wealth to five million dollars, he baptized a third twenty-dollar coin with the name “Power,” and dispatched it, with his blessing, to consort with Luxury and Comfort. Mr. Smiling promoted these three as Representatives at Court of all his millions of subjects which he kept busy at work in mills, factories, and the Stock Exchange ; intending when those millions should show by their labor and fidelity to their ruler, and by multiplying and replenishing to the number of fifty millions, to receive another Representative, or Ambassador, to be christened “Empire.” The three already received had no work to do. Their only employment was to amuse their master, as jesters and fools were kept to entertain kings. Their sleeping apartment was always in Mr. Smiling's right- hand pocket, which they never left except when brought out for an airing and to go through their feats of skill. The pleasure Mr. Smiling was engaged in was an acrobatic performance by Comfort, Luxury and Power. His right hand, as usual, was in his right pocket, and those acrobats were, at that time, playing leap-frog over his index finger. Comfort would jump over Luxury, Luxury over Power, Power over Comfort. Comfort descends, turns a summersault–Luxury follows—then Power. Then the performance varies. Com- fort jumps from the trapeze bar (the index finger), drops below, holds up its hands and feet, then Luxury turns a double sum- mersault and is caught by Comfort. Then Power being younger, fresher, stronger, the trapeze bar being raised high, leaps through the air, turns thrice over and lights on Luxury and Comfort. - They were never brought out for an open-air performance, except to astonish certain guests who were not acquainted with the acrobats. It was then their greatest agility was displayed to gratify the master's pride. Using the master's right thumb for a springboard, like one used by acrobats when leaping over five elephants, the three, one after another, would spring into the air at a slight curve, turn over ten, twenty, or thirty times, and light gracefully on the master's left palm. Then, after a close examination and fond caressing of the brilliant performers by the delighted strangers, the proud master would dismiss his servants to their apartment. Thus was Mr. Smiling engaged, THE HAPPY SPAECULATOR AWD HIS BROKER. 5 in part, when at 3:15 his broker, Mr. Fuller Margin, entered the Office. - “Well, I have been watching the ticker, and saw you had an exciting day,” was the greeting by Mr. Smiling. “Indeed, we had. I have scarcely known such a day since Black Friday,” replied the broker. Mr. Smiling knew he had won, and though anxious to know the exact amount, he hesitated. The uncertainty possessed a charm he disliked to have dispelled. The unknown was a riddle. It partook of a mystery, which is always alluring. To know the result would destroy the charm and nothing remain but dull dry figures. Therefore he continued the con- versation by saying : “It has been a fine day for the old woman to pick her geese.” “You mean the snow, I suppose,” remarked the broker in a tone indicating attention divided between his patron and the figures he had before him. - “Yes, that's what I mean,” answered the speculator, pleased that his point was taken so readily. Mr. Margin having finished the addition of figures, gave his undivided attention to his patron, and, continuing the nursery myth introduced by Mr. Smiling, he asked : “But what do you imagine the geese think of giving up their feathers on such a day ?” “They may not like it, but they grow feathers for the luxury of others, their superiors. If they don't want to give up their feathers let 'm keep out of the way.” Thus philosophized, with Stoical Serenity, the man who had the feathers bagged. “Well, it has also been a bad day for shearing lambs—I mean for the lambs,” the broker half way soliloquized. “Rather,” said the speculator with prolonged sound of the first syllable; “but if they will carry their wool to market, they must expect to leave it there. Somebody will get it. It's one of the results of civilization, you know.” “I guess,” replied the broker, “if the Lambs could hear you, they would say, it's another illustration of the old saying, ‘Extremes meet '—that is, barbarism and civilization. They no doubt think it cruelty to shear them so clean in weather like this.” “But, I say, if Lambs will go to market—will walk right between shears wide open, they deserve to be sheared. They know it's always been dangerous to go into that gilded shear- ing pen over there.”. 6 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. Mr. Smiling indicated the gilded pen by a nod of his head towards the Stock Exchange. He did not point with his left hand because that held his gold-headed cane, nor with his right, because it was very busy conducting a séance with the three spirits which, though always subject to the call of the owner, were none the less his master. But Mr. Margin needed no index finger to interpret the words “gilded shearing pen,” and having folded his little book, he approached the window and replied : “Yes, it is strange—I mean the fascination of that spot for people we call the “Lambs.' They remind me of bright flies that Swarm, on a summer's evening, around a lamp. They are attracted to the light as if desirous to add brightness to their beauty. They circle nearer and nearer ; drawn by some irre- sistible charm, as a swimmer is sucked into a vortex by an invisible power, until their gossamer wings are scorched. One would suppose they would then seek safety in flight; but, on the contrary, they seem unwilling to leave, and persist in a wild flutter around the flame, until they end their existence by falling in it. “I speak from experience. How well do I remember my feelings when I first decided to make my fortune in that room, without working for it. I had just received my little patri- mony—about fifty thousand Jollars—and I wished to double it in a year. The market was active and upward. I heard on every side of big profits made in a few weeks. Every Bull seemed to walk in seven-league boots, and the cry rang through the streets : ‘It’s going up !' Crops were all good East, West, South, and everything pointed to an indefinite rise in stocks. Knowing nothing of the value of any particular stock, I went to the offices of several brokers and inquired. I adopted the language of ‘the Street,” So as to appear to be well up in the business.” Mr. Smiling, just here, having sank in a chair, and Mr. Mar- gin, supposing his narrative was becoming tiresome, apologized ſor detaining him. But Mr. Smiling, being interested, and leaning back in his chair, so as to give his right hand free play in jingling the coin, signified his desire for Mr. Margin to go Oſ). “Well,” resumed the broker, “I was persuaded by the Bulls to buy, and thinking the venture safe, I concluded I might as well make a pound as a penny. So I ordered a purchase through my broker, Long, of 2,000 shares of the “Widows and l Y).* f*a ZTAE/AE AAA’A' V SAEA, COW/A 7'OAe AAVZ) AZS AA’OATA2A’. 7 Orphans' Railroad ' (the same you have just made three- quarters of a million in), and gave my check for $10,000. “The next morning I was up early, bought the Herald and Tribune, and read, first, their financial articles. One predicted higher prices ; the other, for equally good reasons, thought the flood was at about its height. I went down town, into the Ex- change gallery, promptly at the opening. The market opened up and strong. I hung around there all day—that is, until the Exchange closed. - I had made a thousand dollars by the ad- vance. I felt as if I had the world in a swing, and was sud- denly seized with the desire to buy something. I hurried up to Tiffany's and invested five hundred dollars in this diamond ring and in these studs you see in my shirt and on my finger. That night I invited friends to go to the theater. I took a box. While my friend was deeply interested in the play, I was mak- ing mental calculations of my profits. After the play we had a woodcock supper, with champagne, at Delmonico's. “The second day, I was in the gallery again at the opening. The market was steady till noon. I centered my attention, as well as I could, in the general roar of the room, on the ‘Wid- ows and Orphans.’ Soon I heard a break of an eighth. Then of a quarter; then a half; then one per cent, then two. My head swam, my heart beat quick and hard ; my knees almost gave way, and big beads of Cold perspiration covered my face. I went to the street to get fresh air. I perspired until it made me thirsty. I went into a restaurant for a lemonade. While waiting, I heard a man near me ask his companion : “‘What is the matter with W. & O. 2' which was, as you know, the room and street contraction for Widows and Orphans' Railroad stock. “‘Why, haven't you heard of the falling off in receipts, as shown by yesterday's report 2 The Street is losing faith in its management, and holders are unloading.’ “Just then a man entered the room and addressing the two I have spoken of said: “‘The Bears are making a carcass of W. & O.’ “At this there was a stampede from the restaurant, and I found myself leaning on the bar-Counter for support. “I was so weak, I asked the bartender to give me a drink of whisky. I left the lemonade untouched, went out and clam- bered up the steps to the Exchange gallery. “I found the floor of the room a perfect Bedlam. It seemed to me that every man on the floor was trying to sell W. & O. 8 A LU7'OCRA C V. and no one wished to buy. I was too much confused to think. I tried to estimate my loss, but could not. I thought of going . to see Long, my broker, but I was afraid he would call for an- other deposit as margin, and as he had talked so kindly and so sympathetically, when advising me to buy, I thought he would not let me suffer, as he was a friend and had known my ſather and family intimately for many years. “Meanwhile, as in a delirium, I heard the roar below and the dropping of my stock. I was dazed. At one moment I was impelled to run to Long's office and close out. The next thought was, if I do, my loss will be terrible and certain, where- as, if I wait, the market may rally and I may get out even, or with a small loss. Thus hope dallied with me and fear con- sumed me until the hammer fell at three o'clock. “I went on the street to learn the closing figure of W. & O ; anxious to know, yet dreading to ask. I heard a broker pass- ing say, W. & O. had broken twenty points. That meant $40,000 and Commissions as my loss, nearly all of my patri- mony gone in one day, unless I would hold on and take the chance of a rise next day. “I went to Long's office to get his advice. As I entered, I saw a marked difference in his manner, though he was courte- ous. He offered me a chair. There was a pause. He seemed reluctant to speak and I did not know what to say. After a few moments he said : “‘I thought you were out of the city. I have been trying all day by telegraph to find you.’ “I told him I did not go, that I was detained in town. “He then said with an air of indifference that cut me : “‘Well it was unfortunate for you that I could not find you. Greatly to my surprise, W. & O. took a tumble to-day and, as your margin was soon exhausted and I could not find you, to protect myself, I had to close your contract. I am Sorry, but it was unavoidable.’ “Though crushed in spirit by my fearful loss, I was aroused to a feeling of indignation by this turn in affairs and by the lack of sympathy for me as indicated by his whole manner and tone. I said : “‘But Mr. Long, you knew I was good for the money ; why, then, close me out 2 You might have carried me for onc day, it seems to me, considering our friendly relations.” “He replied in a monotone : “‘Mr. Margin, business and friendship are very different TAZAE A/A PAE Y SAA: CULA TOR AAVZ) AZS AROKER. 9 | things. Brokers have no friendships in business. We are merely mediums through which the public speculate. People will gamble, (for this is nothing but gambling), and brokers are simply their servants or dealers. They choose the card, so to speak, and do the betting. If they win we do not share the gain ; if they lose, should we bear the loss 2 Every man who enters on this slippery way must know, the first and only thing he has to do is to make his margin good. When he does that, his broker is his servant. When he fails, positions change, and the broker is his master. “‘I did nothing but to act on that rule to save myself. If I had not sold, your loss would have been greater. A panic had seized the holders of W. & O., and when a panic takes hold of speculators, they are as senseless as women and children in a the- ater at the cry of “Fire.” The noise and uproar you heard in the Room to-day, were but the echo of what was going on outside.’ “Not feeling any interest in his dissertation, or the ethics of gambling, as he called it, and seeing how little he felt for me in my distress, I asked how much I owed him, and giving him a check for the amount, I bid him and his gambling fare- well and went out a wiser, sadder, poorer man. “That night, until I fell asleep, was the most miserable of my life. I tossed in anguish for hours, like a cockle on tumbling billows, I thought of my sainted mother and my noble, patient father, and, wicked as it was, I drew some consolation from the fact that they were not in this life to suffer by my folly. “I thought of their economy and painstaking to save, not for themselves, but for their children—for me ; how my father would gather and lay away for use old nails, old hinges, locks and keys, pieces of rope, of chain, crocus bags, and even strings, which he would wind around a piece of paper into a ball ; how my dear, tender, old mother darned our socks, patched our pants and shirts late at night after the children had gone to bed, to make two suits of clothes last us a year. This they did, not from stinginess, but on a principle of econ- omy, that nothing should be wasted. And when I thought of how I had thrown away in one day what had cost them twenty years of hard work, the closest economy and self-denial to accumulate to help their children, I cried aloud ‘Fool Fool that I am ' ' I felt as I have often imagined Vathek felt when he realized he had lost all.” “Who is he One of that fellow Recker's victims ?” asked the speculator. IO AZ U 7'OCRACY. “No, he was a Caliph,” explained the broker. “A what? a calf,” the speculator asked. “No, sir; not a calf—a Cal-iph—a high ruler among Mo- hammedans.” “Oh, one of them infernal Turks. Well, what about him P Is he a big speculator and been caught 7” inquired Mr. Smiling, very much interested by the fact that Vathek had lost all he had. “Vathek,” the broker explained further, “is a character in a story, or novel.” “I see—not a real millionaire, but one of them fiction fel- lows we read about. I was wondering how I never heard of him before, if he was a millionaire.” Mr. Smiling spoke with a feeling of gratification that he had escaped the humiliation of not knowing a distinguished citizen like himself. He looked into the street to see if his coupé had come, as it was past the usual hour for its coming. Not seeing it, he requested the broker to finish his story. “Well, after several hours of suffering, I fell asleep and had a dream ; and I would give all I have, or expect to have, if I could be as happy as I was in that dream. I used to hear a Song when I was a boy that ran thus : “Oh I would I were a boy again, When life seemed formed of sunny years; When all the heart then knew of pain, Was swept away in transient tears,’ and so on. “In my dream I was a boy again. I was back on the old farm. All the family, father, mother, three brothers, three sisters, were there, and all was joy and tenderness and love. The time was before the discovery of oil on the farm, that brought us the moderate fortune of three hundred thousand dollars. We were not in poverty—we were comfortable.” Here Mr. Smiling ordered Comfort to glide on top and dive to the bottom. “Each of us worked cheerfully, and felt a pride in doing our work well. Then, when Sunday came, we were dressed in plain but neat style ; and the six walking in pairs went in front of our parents to Sunday-school and to church, presenting a picture of six lambs being gently guided by good shepherds. “Dinner over, we would stroll, in spring, summer and Fall, over the fields, down in the meadows, and through the clover, where a clear brook babbled and wild flowers grew, and run in \ 7A/A2 AAA’A Y SAE AECUZA 7'OA” AAV/D Aſ/S BA’OA. A. R. I I chase of bright-winged butterflies, until twilight warned us to return. “Then, at night, how we would read fairy tales, or listen to legends of the wild mountains near by, or to some story told by our father, who always wound it up with a moral or good advice. I could hear in my dream my father's voice teaching us so kindly the virtue and value of economy, of saving, of avoiding debt, and of the danger of hastening to be rich. When the lessons and stories were done, I saw my father take from the shelf the old family Bible, and heard him read a psalm, then offer a fervent prayer for blessings on us all that night. We then kissed our parents and romping and laughing ran to our beds for sleep as sweet as ever fell on mortal lids. “One picture I remember more vividly than any other. There was a rise in the edge of the field, near the house, shaped like a mound. Owing to its natural water-shed, my father stacked his hay on it, and it was my delight to climb on a rick of hay and gaze on the sylvan picture. “I lay in my dream stretched full length on a rick of new mown hay. The sun had nearly sunk below the range of hills. The Susquehanna, that divided my father's farm, catching the glow of the fading West on its bosom, looked like a band of gold with an emerald fringe. “Then soon appeared the long streamers of gold shooting up sin fan shape, and in my boyish fancy, I imagined the sun might be a huge porcupine with golden quills, which he sud- denly raised as he went down, I did not know where. “Then, the fat, sleek cattle began to move out of the clo- ver meadow, winding slowly homeward to the music of their tinkling bells, followed by the flock of sheep. Following the sheep was our faithful, intelligent Colly, herding the stragglers and playing around among them.” “Did your father keep a Chinaman to mind his sheep 2" abruptly asked the speculator. “No, sir : why do you ask 2'' inquired the broker, awakened from his dream of happiness. “Because you said a Coolie was minding the sheep. We employ them building railroads, because they are so much cheaper than Irish, or white labor, and I supposed your father had one for cheapness.” “You are speaking of Coolies. I spoke of a shepherd dog called a Colly. No, my father would not have a Coolie about him. He believed ‘the laborer is worthy of his hire,’ and 12 AZ U TOCAEAC V. he always employed white men—Americans—and paid fair wages.” “Yes,” said the speculator in a dictatorial voice, “and that's the reason he was just barely comfortable" (up came Comfort and made a dive) “before he struck ile and made his fortune.” (Luxury followed over the trapeze bar and jumped down on Comfort.) “But I interfered with your story. My coupé hasn’t come yet; I guess the snow has interfered, so go on.” “When I awoke, memory instantly held up to me the sicken- ing picture of the day before and pressed it on me until I grew sick. Fever set in, and for two weeks I was very ill, at times delirious. A friend wrote to one of my sisters, who lived on the old homestead, and she came and nursed me. When I could be moved, she carried me home. There the gentleness of a sister's love, the quiet and seclusion, the thousand health- ful memories of my boyhood, soon gave me new life. “I did not mention my loss to any one, but I studied daily, almost hourly, how I could “get even,” as we brokers say; and I finally resolved that I would never speculate again, but would be a broker. I saw men and women, laymen and preachers, rich and poor, master and servant, hostler and chambermaid, all speculating, and I knew that brokers were necessary, as nearly all speculators are secret in their ventures. The image of the Stock Exchange appeared to me like a huge hydra, with ponderous jaws and mouth wide open, and every tooth a broker, seizing, cutting and grinding to pieces every man and woman who ventured within its reach, and I concluded it would be better to help to grind, than to be ground to pieces, And here I have been ever since I made that decision. I now understand Long's want of sympathy.” “Have you got hardened like Long P’’ asked Mr. Smiling. “Yes, I know no friend in business. Speculators pay the piper and do their own dancing, while I look on without con- Cern, if margins are good.” “Well, I’ve been interested in your experience and will say I like you as a broker better than ever before. I don’t want a broker who has a heart. I pay for his head. “NOW tell me how I Stand in W. & O.” “Your account stands : amount of two hundred thousand dollars in bonds, profit on the transaction seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, after deducting commissions, for which here is my check to your order.” 7A/AE HAAA’ y SPAECULA 7'0A2 AAWD A/S BAEOKAEAE. I.3 “That's a pretty good fleece for the time—sixty days about. But that's a small business to what I am about to get into. My coupé has come, and as I am behind time, I will go. I will get the order for the bonds to-morrow.” Mr. Smiling, in as good humor and temper as a Grizzly that has just devoured an elk, rolled noiselessly up Broadway to his Fifth avenue home, while Comfort, Luxury and Power reposed in their warm bed unconscious of the many new sub- jects just reduced to slavery by their master. Mr. Margin, reflecting on the big gain of his customer, con- Soled himself, when looking at his small profit in commissions, by repeating mentally as he went to his office, “Heads I win– tails you lose.” But which of them thought of or felt for the Lambs they had shorn and turned out to the winter, and, may be, to want 2 That three-quarters of a million reaped without a scythe, gar- nered without work, represented the active brawn and sweat of seven thousand five hundred laborers for one hundred days at One dollar a day, and yet that vast sum was not the addition of one dollar to the country's wealth. It was but one more, a very slight, turn of the thumbscrew ; one more transfer, with no equivalent, from the credit side of labor to the credit side of capital ; one more stone laid in the temple being erected in this land of Democracy to Mammon ; one more accession to the power and ultimate rule of PLUTOCRACY ; one more step in the decline of the Republic. Who sees the coral insect building its wall that finally wrecks the ship 2 Who notes the decay of the twig in the bank, and the water Creeping in and out, until the crevasse is formed and the flood rushes over the growing grain P CHAPTER SECOND. A DESPERATE BATTLE AND A GREAT VICTORY. MR. FULLER MARGIN having been introduced by an auto- biographical sketch, only a few words more will suffice for him. He was a typical broker, being quick in thought, attentive to business, courteous from interest, secretive, watchful of margins and the market. His age was about forty. Being a bachelor, he was as reticent on his age as on his customers’ names. Experience with the broker, Long, and Wall street had made him hard and unfeeling. In fact, before he entered on brokerage he per- formed on his breast the Caesarian operation, and removed every fiber, every root of sympathy. Still he was considered a man of commercial honor. He considered himself honest. He would have scorned an invitation to join in any act made criminal by statute, while he would have been grateful for admission to any scheme to take advantage of the public by fabricating false reports to mislead and deceive. That he called strategy : and, as in his view of barter, two, when facing each other as buyer and seller, are open enemies, he believed every advantage justifiable. His height was six feet, his figure spare. His head was long from front to rear, and narrow from temple to temple. His eyes were gray and deep-set ; mouth large, nose aquiline. His knees were on terms of most devoted intimacy. They were always together ; while his feet, which were very large, ap- peared to have fallen out, and, each reliant on its own size and strength, were resolved never to be friendly. This intimacy between his knees and hostility between his feet produced a slightly pendulating gait, owing to the centripetal action of the former and the centrifugal energy of the latter. Mr. Galusha Smiling, in physical mold, was the antipode of his broker. He was short, stout, with round face, florid com- plexion, and an expression suggestive of a constant Smile. To supplement his height, he always wore a beaver hat. He always wore a large Solitaire diamond pin. It was stationed as a financial vidette, as far advanced on the front A DESPERA 7"E BA 7'7"LE AND A GREA T VICTOR Y. 15 line as possible, to warn all enemies that he held in the rear a very strong force ready for any engagement. And the vidette was not a dummy to deceive, for there were many millions behind it within call, and under a commander who could handle his force with great skill. Mr. Smiling, though not a man of acquirements, was one of acquisitions. In business—and he was never, so to speak, anywhere else—his motto was, “The devil take the hindmost,” and he intended never to be taken. The meeting described in the foregoing chapter grew out of a big speculation then being brought to its close. It was a “joint operation ” by a syndicate formed months before to scoop in the Widows and Orphans' Railroad. The members of the syndicate had been perched for months over the market, like hawks on a dead tree watching a barn-yard—and they at last concluded to sweep down on that road in which they were directors. The situation was studied carefully. They knew by the stock-book that the stock was held largely by men and women of small means, and that there were under it no big- neck Bulls, to hold it up. With these facts in hand, they de- cided to open the campaign (to use the martial language of the Street), each having a confidential broker. Margin was in command of the center for Smiling; Cheatham, for Weaver, was in charge of the right wing, and Ketchum led the left for Recker. The enemy in front were factory hands, who, on the advice of Mr. Weaver, had invested in that stock their scanty savings from wages received through many years ; Small farmers living on and near the line of the W. & O. Road, who had been persuaded by Smiling to put their money in it because it was an ironclad security ; mechanics, machinists, laborers of all kinds ; widows who had pinched their daily comfort to save enough to buy a share at a time, year by year, and had been advised by Recker to buy “The Old Reliable Widows and Orphans’ ” stock ; and orphans, whose fathers when dying had charged their wives to hold on to that stock to the last for their children. The attack on the W. & O. was begun just as vile, cowardly slanderers begin on an honorable man, or a virtuous woman. Mr. Margin, as he stepped into the street going from his office to the Exchange, asked several speculators and brokers, each separately, “Is there anything wrong about W. & O. P.” This was spoken in a tone of surprise that W. & O. could possibly be in trouble, and with a look of personal regret, I6 AZ U 7'OCAEA CV. Cheatham, in Command of the right, called several other brokers aside, one at a time, and inquired in a low, confidential tone : “Have you heard a rumor about W. & O. P.” Ketchum, on the left, whispered to his friend, Lam Sucker, who had not money enough to pay for a hearse for his own funeral : “If I were you, I would not buy W. & O. This is strictly confidential—for your own benefit.” Of course, if he were Lam Sucker he would not buy anything for cash. Sucker never bought ; he received whatever his friends gave him. But he could talk—would talk—and Ketchum knew that a fool was as useful as a philosopher to give an alarm of “Fire!” The effect of that confidential communication poured by Ketchum into Sucker's left ear was startling. It was like putting a match to a zigzag firecracker. Sucker, being proud of the confidence of a great man like Ketchum, turned himself loose. He shot in and out, skipped here and there—whispered to every one he met, “Beware Of W. & O. ” By the hour of ten A.M., when the Exchange opened for the daily five hours' lunatic performance, half the brokers were alarmed about W. & O. The guarded inquiries made by Margin, Cheatham, and Ketchum had become positive asser- tions, that W. & O. was in a most perilous condition. The Room being thus prepared for a break in W. & O., soon after business opened Margin, with a look of anxiety and apprehension, offered a few shares at the closing price of the day before. Nobody bid. He then offered them a little lower. No one responded. He fell a little lower ; and Cheatham, with apparent hesitation, took them. Margin then offered Cheatham a thousand shares at the same price. Cheatham had enough. Margin fell a little. Cheatham took the block. Margin then put two thousand shares a little lower. Cheatham took them. This decline spread alarm. Small lots were offered by many brokers. Ketchum bought them. The market for W. & O. rested awhile, In an hour or less came a rumor that one of the longest- headed men on the Street, (but who had the long head no one knew or ever found out), had stated that the Board of Directors of the W. & O. had discovered an enormous deficit in the A DESPERA 7A, BA 7'7"LAE AND A GRAEA 7 WWC 7'OR Y. 17 treasurer's cash. Margin unloaded another big block of stock on Cheatham, at a price below the market. This brought out stock held on Small margins, and Ketcham began to buy all the shares offered. As the market would steady a little, Margin would break it by another sale to Cheatham below the ruling figure, and Ketcham stood with the mouth of his bag wide open to catch all the genuine shares shaken out. The decline thus artificially, artfully, fraudulently produced, brought many more small holders, men, women, widows to the slaughter. They became alarmed, and sold the market down many points by their rush. All these shares Cheatham and Ketcham kindly took care of. The market was then low enough for the syndicate to take all shares offered with safety. But it was not low enough for a big scoop. It must go lower. They let it rest until the next day, for time to get up a panic—a regular stocks cyclone. The papers next morning were full of “the battle between the giants,” over the Old Reliable W. & O. Farmers on the line of the road became alarmed, and knowing no facts, their imagination, as is always the result, drew the picture much darker than the truth. They were afraid the whole of the property, except the track, had been stolen, and the company was bankrupt. They telegraphed to brokers to sell at the market. Laborers, mechanics and women read of the excitement, the heavy and rapid decline, and they besieged brokers to tell them what was the matter. Brokers shook their heads, looked wise, but could not explain. Within a few minutes after the Exchange opened, there came another rumor floating along the street, and growing as it came. “The receipts of the W. & O. were rapidly falling off; a competitive road had determined to lower its rates; ten mill- ion worth of bonds on the road had just been discovered ; five of the Board had resigned to save their reputations ; and the whole shebang was going to the bow-wows.” Mr. Margin, who still held unnumbered shares—in fact any number that Cheatham of the right wing desired—became panicky. He threw down thousands of shares in any number and size of blocks that Cheatham would take, and as Cheatham did not have to pay, he resolved to buy all Margin would part with. The Room was wild ; stop orders came from every di- rection. Widows “to save a little something ” parted with the 2 I8 AZ U 7'OCRACY, hard earnings of many years, for any price they could get. Margin continued to sell recklessly to Cheatham. Cheatham and Ketchum bought from every other broker every share offered ; fifty brokers, including Margin, climbed over each other to get to Cheatham and Ketchum, to sell thousands of shares, all of which Cheatham and Ketchum took on a falling market until the gavel fell. The next day all rumors were denied ; all a fabrication. The Street came to its senses, or sense returned to the Street. The author of the rumors was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had left the city, or was dead. The Board of the W. & O. offered a large reward for the scoundrel, which the scoun- drel generously forbore to receive by proof of authorship of the rumors, as he was in the Board. Women—widows—thus robbed of their lifetime labor, called on their brokers to know if they could get back their stock. Their brokers referred them to the purchasers’ brokers. The purchasers' brokers comforted them by the assurance, that they were “not in business for fun '' ; that a trade's a trade ; that business is business ; that their principals bought the stock to make money. The syndicate had done their work. They had “won a great victory.” The papers and the Street could not find words equal to their enthusiasm over the “wonderful financial ability—the nerve— the genius—of the heroic syndicate. Never was there such a bold attack against such fearful odds. Never was there such fortitude, endurance, pluck, strategy, desperate fighting. It sur- passed the glory of the battle of Gettysburg. “The heroism of one man is especially worthy of the most exalted praise, as he received the repeated advances, the on- slaughts, the charges, the heavy cannonading of the dashing, reckless, brave Margin, and stood immovable to the last ; until Margin finally exhausted and crestfallen, quit the field, proba- bly, a ruined man * “Nothing in all history—not Leonidas at Thermopylae—not the Old Guard at Waterloo-can be compared to the Infernal desperation ; the cool, resigned courage of the incomparable hero of that ever-to-be remembered struggle—the immortal Cheatham '' * The battle over, the victors had nothing to do but sit down, or lie down, or go yachting, or lounge at the clubs, until flood tide in W. & O. It was sure to come—to rise. The road had A DESPERA 7'E BA 7'7"ZE AND A GRAEA 7" VICTOR Y. 19 never been in better condition, the receipts never were so large, the treasury was full ; dividends would be declared within a few weeks—and the stock was steadily and rapidly rising to par. The combination of millions had crushed the many uncom- bined and weak. The falsehoods, the strategy planned, not by want, not by hunger, but by avarice—by cruel avarice, had entrapped the honest, the unsuspecting, the poor, the widow and orphan. The bunco who, by means no more false, no more deceitful—and not a thousandth part so disastrous, cruel and far-reaching, draws his victim into a corner, or upstairs, or in a beer garden, and swindles him of ten or twenty dollars, is seized and punished. But the Smilings and Weavers and Reck- ers, who form syndicates and use millions to accomplish on a larger scale, and by the same deceits, what the bunco does, are the heroes of great battles, kings of finance, and honored for their achievements—as swindlers, CHAPTER THIRD. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. THE family of Galusha Smiling consisted of himself, his wife, and Miss Mary, their only child. The mental and moral qualities of the head of the family have been already indicated. But it is well to say, that while he was illiterate and uneducated except in the art of money-making, which in his views of life is the all-important part of education ; while he was cold, 1.a. d. selfish, and unsympathetic ; yet, there was one soft spot in his nature, which was his love for his daughter. He had two idols, the first was money, the second, his child. He respected his wife, treated her kindly as she was non-resisting and fol- lowed him submissively, but she was to him more a partner in business than an object of devotion. Mrs. Smiling was an amiable woman, an economical house- keeper, an agreeable, because a quiet, docile helpmeet. The daughter was cast in a mold widely unlike that of the father or mother ; so unlike that it was a matter for wonder with every acquaintance, from whom the daughter could have inherited such dissimilar and extraordinary traits of character. She possessed all the positivism of her father and none of the negativism of her mother. Her intellect and emotions were alike active and strong. From early childhood she had been thoughtful, sedate and studious beyond her age. At fourteen she had read books which few women read at any age. She read rapidly, compre- hended without effort, retained tenaciously and recalled readily because all impressions were vivid. With such a mind, such sensibilities, such thoughtfulness, it is very easily seen into what a stature of womanhood Miss Smiling would develop under her environment. At the period of this history she was twenty-four years of age. From the age of thirteen she had resided in New York, that microcosm of much that is good, great, intelligent, luxurious, tragic, comic, wicked, sorrowful and debasing. She had been sitting at the focus, the center of American life, for eleven years. She could make observations along all its radii, - AºA 7TA/A2Aº AAV/D /OA UGA/TAEA’. 21 Her father being wealthy and to her, only, indulgent, she had uninterrupted leisure for study. She read books of science, philosophy, political economy, Sociology, history and theology, as well as current literature ; but the subject that interested her most was the social problem enveloped in, and being evolved from, American civilization. This interest was the offspring of the sympathetic side of her nature. It may be inferred that Miss Smiling was a member of some religious denomination. She was not ; but that she was a Christian, no one who knew her ever had a doubt. She was a Christian ; but not a churchwoman. She attached no importance to creeds and ceremonies. There was some good in all Creeds, and much in each that she considered use- less. Religion with her was an active principle, sectarianism was but its outward form. She was above the medium size of her sex; of most comely shape and graceful movement. Her eyes were hazel, large, and gave to her the appearance of constant meditation. Her well- shaped head was crowned with a long full suit of hair of the rich- est auburn. Her nose was Grecian, her mouth a Cupid's bow, and a full chin indicated strong will and firm resolve. She was not beautiful, as animal beauty is classed, but she was, in form and features, a model that, once seen, was held by the mind of the beholder as a standard of the highest physical womanhood; she was, indeed, beautiful, but her beauty was the light of her soul and intellect reflected by her features when in play. Mr. Smiling had a dreary drive from his office up Broadway and Fifth avenue to his palatial dwelling. The streets were almost deserted by pedestrians, as the snow was then ten inches deep. He looked right and left, but saw no one he knew. Yes, he saw one man he knew, as he was crossing Fif- tieth street. That man was well known. Mr. Smiling knew his history. He was trudging along in the Snow, leading by the hand a little girl apparently eight or nine years old, but really older. He was bent, not by age, but by calamity. He kept his eyes on the ground, as he crossed Fifth avenue, going eastward. The sight of that figure was the only thing that disturbed his mental repose during the drive. There came to him, suddenly, unbidden, a memory that for a moment—only a moment— 'broke the serenity of his soul. He dashed it away, and calling to his coachman, “Drive up,” the bent form and little girl were Soon forgotten, - 22 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. The proprietor arrived at his dwelling at the usual hour for dinner. He was greeted by his daughter, who rose and kissed him, and announced that dinner was waiting. The father very soon after the three were seated at the table announced his financial success. “Well, wife I made a big haul to-day, and landed it high and dry.” This was addressed to the wife, not from deference to her, but because the speaker knew, from experience on like occa- sions, that he would strike a stronger chord of sympathy. He had made such announcements before, and more than once they had led to a discussion between himself and daughter on the morality, the justice, the effects of such hauls. The statement was received by the wife, as others of like kind had been, with expressions of pleasure, but without com- ment by the daughter. After soup, and while waiting for the course of meats, Mr. Smiling turned to his daughter and said, in a pleasant way : “Well, Mary, what have you been amusing yourself at to- day ?” “I have been busy. I was out a good part of the day.” The daughter paused on the verge of the business, checked up by her knowledge of what the father thought of her business en- gagements. But he led on, and with the courage of a brave woman conscious of the right of her cause, the daughter did not shrink from the issue. “What out such a day as this 2 You must have had im- portant business to take you out in such a fearful storm.” “It was only to look after some people who are in great need,” answered the daughter, meaning by the word “only ” that the business, though important, was not what her father considered business at all. - “You are still at that unprofitable work and expense. You must feel a deep interest in the people you go to see such a day as this,” he remarked, with a tone of regret. “I do feel for them, and cannot think the time I spend in trying to aid them is unprofitably employed,” the daughter re- plied, gently. “Why, my child, do you really think that you do them any good Christ said, ‘the poor you have with you always,’ which means, no matter how much may be done for 'em, they'll always be poor. It's born in some people to be shiftless, and you can't change 'em. The more you do for 'em, the more AºA 7 AEK AAVD ZXA UGA 7"E.R. 23 they expect you to do, and they will just sit down and do nothing.” “Your construction of the Saviour's reason for charitableness as enjoined in the words you quote, father, is certainly novel. I cannot agree that He meant to state the simple fact that there will always be poor people. He meant to enjoin the constant exercise of charity, not simply love, as charity orig- inally meant, but the giving to the poor out of our abundance.” “Do you think, daughter, that Christ intended that one class of people, or one part of mankind should work hard and economize and undergo all sorts of hardship and spend sleep- less nights from care and anxiety about business, and when they get money, they must divide it with people who don't work, won’t work, and who haven't sense or energy enough to earn their bread 2 No, my child, if that is His meaning, I don't intend to follow it out. If Christ is a part of the Deity or Trinity and sees fit to make such people, He Ought to take care of 'em. Why the bees teach a better lesson than that. They don't feed the drones which don’t work. They kill 'em, and as God made the bees, why did He give 'em that instinct 2" To his short exegesis of the Saviour's words, and his ebullition of feeling that was not much in harmony with his text, his daughter replied : “I do not think we are enjoined to divide to the length of reducing ourselves to want. In giving, every one must be the judge of his ability. We should have the courage to refuse to give as much as the world might judge we are able to give, and to decide that question in the forum of conscience. “Perhaps you do not know the skimpy wages paid many thousands of families in this city, many within ten minutes' walk of this luxurious home. I saw a few of them to-day. One consisted of a widow and six children, all too young to help her. She goes out at early morn, remains all day making shirts and gets five cents for each shirt.” “Well, she has a sewing-machine,” interrupted her father, “which does the work of ten women with the needle.” “But,” rejoined the daughter, “that machine while a multi- plier of work, is a reducer of wages, and hence the small amount she receives. And she does not get near as much per day as women got before the invention of the machine. The price of shirts is now lower, competition is greater among merchants, which diminishes prices; and among laborers, which reduces wages. So that the sewing-machine, called woman's 24 AZ U 7"OCRACY. friend, has not benefited woman. It has only benefited the rich.” “But, my child,” Mr. Smiling put in, “you admit that com- petition among capitalists reduces their profits.” “Yes, but the difference is this : the capitalist who makes only three per cent. On one, two, five, or ten millions, receives thirty, sixty, a hundred and fifty, or three hundred thousand dollars profit—more than he can spend even wastefully ; while the poor woman, with no capital but her hands, can scarcely live. I am viewing the matter in its length and breadth. I am looking at the relation of capital to labor, or rather the existing evils growing out of the accumulation of so much sur- plus capital in so few hands, and the consequent impoverish- ment of the many ; and then at the moral questions that neces- sarily arise out of this condition of things.” “I don't see any morals in the business—one of money and nothing else.” “There is a great moral question involved in the way this disproportionate possession of money is brought about, but I will not speak of that now. Looking at it only as a question of business, I think I can see in the signs of the times many things that should make the wealthy pause and consider.” “Consider what ?” asked the father. “What is it you see 7" “I mean they should consider what as to the effect of such fabulous wealth gathered and held by so small a percentage of the population of this country. There are social forces at work that will certainly break through the barriers of law which protect property, unless those forces are diverted, or . drawn off in some way. Look at the ‘strikes,’ that are of daily occurrence in one or another part of the United States. Look at the trades unions—the Knights of Labor—the secret organizations among the laboring men ; the anarchists, the socialists, the nihilists. When we reflect that they all look in one direction, and that they are but phases or separate symp- toms of one disease, if I may so speak, they are not to be ‘whistled down the wind.” “None of these things existed in America twenty-five years ago. You can remember what I only know from books. There is a cause for such a result—such a marked change. It is not to be found in increase of population. The conditions that made thirty million people contented, will make double, or quadruple that number contented. If there be enough for all, increase of number will not produce discontent. Mankind, as FATHER Awo pavgårek. 25 a rule, are peaceably disposed. Very few men take delight in complaint and in riots. They do not take the trouble to organize and spend money unless they think there exists a wrong to be remedied, and while some imagine wrongs, the great mass of mankind do not. But, whether they are imagi- nary or real wrongs, if they believe they have good grounds for complaint, the effect is the same on them and society. The man who sincerely believes he is oppressed, is as dangerous as the man who is really oppressed.” “This is a free country, and this government don't oppress any man,” said Mr. Smiling, with an air of patriotism. “If he don't like his employer or business, he's free to get another.” “All oppression is not by governments directly,” said the daughter. “As long as our governments, state and federal, are administered according to the spirit of their several con- stitutions, there can be no oppression, and yet, laws passed under those constitutions do oppress. The oppression in this country is financial, and I am satisfied that most of the suffer- ing all over the country has been produced by legislation.” “What legislation do you mean P’’ “I mean legislation in general, and some special legislation. The General Government since 1861 has been in the control of a victorious war party. The war sentiment and feeling have prevailed in every Presidential election. General Grant twice elected ; then Mr. Hayes, a war candidate, and then General Garfield. And if Mr. Blaine had been a general in the late war he would have been elected by a large majority. The single feeling of those in control has been, and is, that they saved the country, and therefore it belongs to them, to do with as they please. “The men who saved the Union, the men who did the fight- ing, have been deluded by the belief that they have shaped public affairs since the war. Demagogues have so flattered them, to get offices, but the rank and file of the army have had no more voice in shaping legislation than the negroes in the South. The masters of the situation are the men whom the war suddenly enriched, and those whose colossal fortunes have been acquired since by means of oppressive class-legisla- tion. The rank and file have elected Congressmen and Presi- dents who passed at once under the control of the rich—the millionaires of the land—and they have shaped all financial legislation to gorge their pockets, already full.” “Why do you say so; what evidence is there of it?” asked 26 - AZ U 7'OCAEA C W. the father, as if he had no knowledge and doubted the correct- ness of the statement. “First, because they had an interest in such legislation, and had the power. The power was in their wealth, and the inter- est was in maintaining and increasing that wealth. The evidence of this is found in the history of legislation, which brought paper money to par with gold ; in the legislation exempting govern- ment bonds from taxation ; in the national banks; in the tariff that has been Aladdin's ring to the capitalists; in the Selection by each President of the financial offices of the gov- ernment from the money circle ; in giving away empires of land to the wealthy ; in stealthy legislation that made gold the Only legal tender. These are some of the evidences I referred to. - “But, the strongest and best evidence is, to be seen in prac- tical results. Who have reaped the fruits—the people as a mass 2 No—the few, very few, have increased their wealth to a degree, and in sums without parallel in history, and these few are the men who were interested in the legislation I have named. And hence, I say, they have been and are masters and rulers of this country, and they are the ones against whom the poor make complaint, or will make it when they come to understand the situation. “All this legislation has been carried on without violating any part of the letter of the Constitution, and yet it has resulted in the oppression of a thousand to benefit one.” “Why, you talk as if you think the tariff hurts anybody, when it is what's increased the wealth of the country,” said the father, who was losing sight of the intellect of his daughter in his dislike of her views. “The tariff, or something else,” she said, “is hurting some- body, or the laborers in this country are foolish, or wicked, beyond endurance, for organizing and making constant strikes ..against the class who control the money and the legislation of the federal government. I have read much of the writings of protectionists, and every writer tries to bury stubborn facts under false figures. Their sophistry is, that a tariff that benefits the producer, or manufacturer, benefits the laborer also ; which means, that the more profit the seller of any manufactured article makes, the better off the buyer is. In other words, a high tariff benefits everybody, and the higher the tariff the greater the benefit. This is the theory the tariff must rest on or it is nothing more than a bounty given by the government AºA 7TA/A6/8 AAVZ) DA UG// 7TEA’. 27 through legislation, to a few men who are engaged in certain trades, to enrich them at the expense of all other citizens. The present tariff is a gratuity, a bounty pure and simple, given to a favored few. & “But, father, take a broad view, leaving all details and figures out of sight. Why is it that, before the late war in the United States, none of the social strifes, so common now, was known 2 Then there was no great wealth in one man's hands. The wealthiest men in the United States before 1861 were Stephen Girard and Jacob Astor, but neither owned ten millions. Yet they were considered enormously rich. Now there is one man who owns twenty times the wealth of Girard or Astor, and many thousands worth much more than either of those two. “Then, there was a distribution, now there is a concentration of wealth, and the concentration has vastly outstripped the in- crease of national wealth. “Then, the people as a body were contented and peaceful, now they are discontented and turbulent and riotous. “Then Girard and Astor amassed their fortunes in regular trade ; now fortunes are made by wrecking some other man, or men, and by speculation, which is not called gambling only because the game is not played with cards. “Before the war, no big fortunes were made by the tariff, but now there are thousands of industries carried on by men who have become millionaires by the tax laid on the con- sumers of their products.” “Do you think wealth an evil, my child P’’ interposed Mr. S., because he did not understand the drift of his daughter's remarks. “No, father, I am not inveighing against wealth. The notion of some fanatics, who believe that one man should not own more than another, is absurd. Everything in Nature is un- even ; intellects differ, statures differ, vegetation, rocks, moun- tains, animals differ, even the stars differ one from another in glory. Again, one man is frugal, another extravagant ; one industrious, another lazy. No power except Omnipotence can keep men's fortunes at the same figure. No all that is worse than folly. - “I am speaking of great wealth acquired by unfair means, by immoral methods, by hypocritical legislation, and the effect of its concentration. One of the evil effects is the conviction produced on the laboring classes that such egregious wealth is obtained by stealth. If they had plenty, the effect would not 28 AZ U 7'OCRACY. be dangerous ; but, believing that they have been robbed of their labor's profit; seeing, as they do, that the numbers of the poor increase, while the numbers of the millionaires increase rapidly also ; and not seeing where the latter get their increase of wealth legitimately, as the laborer earns his day's wages, they become resentful and rebellious. - “Another evil is in the use made of such wealth. It is not used for the public good. It is used to hold down those who are the active producers of it, in every contest in which capital and labor engage. “Another evil is subjective, that is, the effect produced on the possessors themselves. You are engaged so closely in business that you cannot judge as well as I can, because you do not see as much of society as I do. Take a few families in this city as samples. Look at the Reckers, the Clinkers, the Cinders, the O'Le Margarines, the Bonanzas, the Ferrums, the Haslets, the Bankses, etc. Do you know them intimately 7° “I know the old men and their wives very well, and some of the boys,” replied the father. “Well,” continued the daughter, “you know the best, when you know the husbands and fathers. They have some industry such as it is, but they are misers, coarse, ignorant and wholly without sympathy for any one. The sons and daughters are idlers, spendthrifts, lazy and ignorant. The girls think of nothing except dress, diamonds, jewelry, teas, traveling—in short, how to kill time and spend money. They read nothing— think of nothing—talk of nothing but fashion and dress—of Smith's last dinner and what they ate and drank—of their pugs and what they eat, and where they board when the owners are at Saratoga or Newport, or ‘Urup,’ as they pronounce it. “The sons are still worse. They do no work—drive tandem teams—dog-carts—tax their feeble brains in trying to think what pleasure or dissipation to plunge into next ; spend a month or two in preparation for Tally-Ho, belong to every useless club in town ; emulate each other in extravagance ; eat, drink, get drunk, and wallow in iniquity. There would be some relief to the darkness of the picture, if they had any intellectual force, but they are idiotic dudes. Strip them of their money and not one of them could earn a dollar a day, and yet they riot about town squandering a hundred dollars a day.” “I don't know any idiots among them. May be, you are prejudiced,” said the father, “Just tell me one,” AºA THER AMD D.A. UGA 7TER 29 “Do you know young Shoddy ?” asked Miss Mary. “No, I guess I know his father. He's the man they say made millions of dollars out of the government, during the war, on soldiers' clothes and blankets, by working so much cow and horse hair in 'em. I’ll tell you a funny thing that happened. Some of the clothes were give out to a corpse of the army and they put 'em on, on a warm day just before going into a fight, and the hairs soon began to stick ; and when they got to sweating they begun to sting, and it got so bad it was like nettles. Some laid down and rolled over and over. Others backed up against trees and stumps and rubbed like hogs against a fence rail. Some thought ants were stinging 'em and whole regiments stripped to their underclothes and fairly danced jigs. But, the funniest part was that a nigger regiment was coming up behind, and when they saw the white objects dancing, one nigger hollered out, ‘God Amighty look yonder a graveyard broke loose !' and every nigger flung down his gun and run for life.” Miss Smiling, though dignified, enjoyed the ludicrous, and she gave way to it, as she pictured the scene so graphically described by her father in his plain style. At that moment the servant informed Mr. Smiling that Mr. Weaver was at the door and wished to say a word to him on important business. This interrupted the conversation for a few minutes. CHAPTER FOURTH. CONVERSATION CONTINUED WITH A DIVERSION. WHEN the father returned to finish his dinner, the daughter continued, by saying : “I wish to tell you of Tommie Shoddy, as he is called by the girls. Through some - freak, or I might say, during a lucid interval in his constitutional stupidity, he came here one even- ing to make a call. He was dressed in regulation gray, every garment, except shirt and collar. He had a twig of a cane, which he held, with his gray hat in his hands. He wore, all the time, his snob eyeglass on his right eye, as if he were a watchmender, and was examining me with a magnifying glass to see if I needed repairs. “I asked the privilege of placing his hat and cane on the rack while he sat. “‘Naw, thank you,” he drawled out, ‘ I always hold 'em in my hands, you knaw—for then I can't leave my cane without leaving my hat, you knaw, and that would be too awful bad, I might take cold in my head if I leſt 'em both, you knaw. Er—that reminds me, do you knaw what is good for a cold in a dorg's head 2 I’ve a dorg that has a cold in his head, and he sniffles and snores so, you knaw, I can't sleep with him—er— that is, he can’t sleep with me, in my room, you knaw, because I can’t sleep, you knaw.’ “I informed him I was not a judge of sick dogs, and he gazed at me with an expression of face that meant, “How queer | What an ignorant woman I pity you,' then said : “‘You have dorgs, of course. Are they pugs, or poodles, or skyes 2 Maybe you like black and tans best.’ “When I told him I did not own a dog of any kind, he stared at me for some seconds, and Said : “‘How very remarkable ! I have a half dozen. They're such good company, you knaw, I like to be with 'em. I de- clare I don't exaggerate a bit when I tell you I own two dorgs that knaw more than I do.’ “‘Oh, no, Mr. Shoddy, you are joking,' I said, to relieve him of his dilemma, - CôAV WEASA 7/0/W COW 7/AVöED WI7-H A D/VERSION. 31 “‘Miss Smiling,” he continued, ‘I would not wound the feelings of any lady by joking with her. I've too much re- gard for the female sex to indulge in frivolous talk, you knaw ; and to show you I was not joking, I will tell you that every- body that knows my two dorgs has the same Opinion about their sense that I have. I don't mean the dorgs are educated like me, of course. I am talking about their sense, you knaw. To show you I am not joking, you can take my dorgs to any part of the city and turn 'em loose, and they can find their way home and not get lost ! You must admit now, you knaw, that I told the truth, when I said they've more sense than I have. You don't know me well, you knaw, but when you do you won't need any proof of what I say about my dorgs. We've a neighbor, who is a man of fine sense, and he thinks just as I do about my dorgs, but he says he's got a poodle that has more sense than my two dorgs put together. “‘But I caught him out one day I saw him teaching his poodle some tricks, you knaw, and he said, “Tommie,” says he, “why don't you send your dorgs to a trainer to learn 'em some tricks 2 You can't teach 'em anything !” Don't you see how slick I caught him 2 It was this way: there he was a teaching his dorgs tricks, you knaw, and he right then and there admit- ted that I couldn't teach my dorgs any tricks, which showed— don't you see ? that my dorgs already knew more'n his dorg— don’t you see P Because he admitted I couldn't teach my dorgs anything, you knaw. “‘I didn't let on that I caught him, but I went right off and told a friend, and he laughed till he cried, and kept saying “What an idiot ” Of course I never told my neighbor what my friend said about him, you knaw. “‘I hope you’ll see my two dorgs some day, and I’m sure you’ll believe all I say about 'em. Maybe you'll think better of dorgs then ; but I don't know. I once heard a lady say, “The more I see of men—the better I think of dorgs; ” and if I could flatter myself by thinking you are of that opinion, you knaw, I would call to see you often, for I want you to like my dorgs, you knaw.’ “And thus the creature talked on for a half hour or more wholly unconscious that he was slashing himself into mince meat—I came near saying dog-meat, at every sentence.” “But I don’t see any idiot in what he said,” Mr. S. inter- jected. “It only showed he had dogs on the brain. ' “I see more than that in what he said,” replied the daughter. 32 Aſ ºf 7 OCRA C jº. “Think what all this is leading to. What are such creatures worth to Society—to a government in which every man is called a sovereign Pº. In fact these apes of English ways are trying to imitate the nobility of that country. The simpletons are adopt- ing coats of arms, and having them made to order by a man down town, who professes intense English sentiment and thorough knowledge of heraldry. The young women may be seen any day promenading Fifth avenue, with a dirty pug, or poodle, or Skye, holding it by a silver chain, delighted with its Company. “Again : have you ever thought of how the North and South have reversed positions since the war P “Before the war the Southern people were wealthy, and the people of the North, as a rule, were poor. The whites, South, who owned slaves, did comparatively no work. The whites, North, men and women, as a rule, did all kinds of work. The Southern slaveholders were enervated, while the Northern men and women grew up a strong, hardy race, full of energy and pluck for any undertaking. “Now, positions are reversed. The war removed the cause of the Southerner's indolence, and, at the same time, reduced him to poverty; and men and women now do just the kinds of work the people of the North used to do. The men work in the field, feed their stock, bridle and harness their horses and mules, cut wood, draw water, and so forth. The women cook, wash, iron, milk the cows, make their clothes, and many teach their children. & “But there is another and still worse effect produced by this aggregation of wealth. It is objective—that is, its effect on others, on the poor. It is enslaving them. The North, for fifty years, denounced slavery in the South, but we have slavery here worse, in some respects, than that was. Bad as that was, and I have no apology to offer for it, it had some features milder and more humane than our slavery. The negro was cared for in health to keep him well, and when sick he was kindly nursed and had medical help. When, from age, he could not work, he was still fed, clothed, housed and provided for in every way that humanity and philanthropy required. The law of the State compelled humane treatment, under heavy penalty. Besides all this, as a rule, the relation of master and slave begot mutual kindness. This ig proved by the kindness and fidelity of the slaves to mistresses and chil- dren, when the masters were absent during the war. There COA/VERSA TION CONTINUED WITH A DVVERSION. 33 was not then one-tenth the crime committed by the slaves, as they, as freemen, have committed in any four years since the Walſ. s “But look at our slavery. There is the natural antagonism between the white capitalist here and the laborer. They meet as financial foes ; the one to get as much, and the other to pay as little, as possible. This prevents kindly sympathy at first, and through the whole term of hire. Natural selfishness keeps alive the feeling that one is getting too little labor for the price paid, and that the other's labor is worth more than the wages received. Thus the bond of sympathy is never established.” “Yes, but the slaveholder took all the slaves' wages, and often separated families by selling some of 'em,” argued the father. “I am not justifying negro slavery ; I am condemning white slavery / What you say was sadly true, but where is any material difference 2 If the result is the same, what matters it about the means ? It is idle declamation to say to a man, ‘You are free ; if you do not like what I pay you, go some- where else. What you earn is your own, and you can carry wife and children with you. I have no power to separate your family. ' “This is simply mockery. Literally, it is all true ; while, in reality, it is a delusion. He may go, but how would he be benefited 2 It would be uprooting and transplanting a full- grown tree and replanting it in like soil. Every transplanting endangers the life of the tree. Every move impoverishes the man of family. He falls into the same iron grasp, the grasp of avarice, of greed. The same struggle begins, or is continued ; the weak against the strong. “And this is not the worst feature of this slavery. The worst is, it subjugates mind and soul. IT DESTROYS MANHOOD. This millionaire money-power is used to crush the will. How many men who are working in factories, foundries, machine shops, on railroads, in the North, ever cast a free vote 2 How many vote for Protection who are convinced they are voting to fasten shackles on themselves and children 2 And why P Because that vote is the price of bread. It is a shield against want. They know full well that the master wants Protection, and that he will not keep a laborer who votes against the master's pocket. This is slavery of the worst kind, because it is slavery from which there is no escape except by death or revolution. There is no ‘underground railroad' for it to take.” 3 34 AZ U 7'OCRACY. “I wouldn't keep a servant who worked against my interest, would you ?” asked Mr. S. “I wouldn’t employ a man who voted against my interest.” “Then what becomes of the Northern cry—‘A free ballot and a fair count,” made against the South P” asked the daughter. “Why, the Southerners won't let the negroes vote at all, unless they vote their way. They drive 'em from the polls with guns,” argued the father. “That is the campaign talk just before every Presidential election,” replied the daughter, “but where is the proof But for argument's sake, suppose the Southerners do what is charged, where is the difference in the effect on ‘a free ballot,’ between not letting a man vote at all, and forcing him to vote the way he does not wish to vote?” “But, I say we millionaires don't force our laborers to vote, we only give 'em to understand how we want them to vote.” “And they are discharged if they do not vote your way,” quickly responded the daughter. “Well, why shouldn’t they be 2 We know our business better 'n they do, and they’ve no right to receive bread at our hands and vote to take bread out of our mouths.” Mr. Smiling said this with some asperity, for the argument was pinching him. “But, Is THAT A FREE BALLOT P’’ asked the daughter, and paused for an answer. “My child, where did you get such notions from anyhow 2 ” said Mr. S. “I am surprised at you. You've run round the dens of poor people till you are getting infested with their cranky ideas.” “No, father, my ideas on this subject are conclusions drawn from observation and study. It is true, that some part of my information of the condition of the poor has been obtained by seeing their horrible condition, and by conversing with them, and I consider that part the most valuable, because the most reliable. It has come from lips scorched by fever, tongues dry from thirst, throats that wºre strangers to whole- some food. “I wish to present another fact just here. “The tax laid by about ten thousand manufacturers on the people of this country during the last twenty-five years through the tariff surpasses any robbery in all history. The patience and long-suffering of this people have been amazing. Have you ever made a calculation of that tax 7” CON VERSA 7/OM CON 7/AVOA.D W17A. A D/VERSION. 35 f “It’s not a tax. It’s legislation to build up infant indus- tries,” the father protested. “Yes, that's the old story. It is nearer the truth to say, ‘it is a tax to kill infant children,” by depriving them of comforts and homes. Why, the poor are not permitted to use even the trees that God in His infinite goodness has given them for their comfort and shelter from cold and storms, without first paying two dollars on every thousand feet of lumber, as a bounty to the rich—that is, between forty and sixty million dollars every year. Is that to protect infant industries 2 Is a sawmill “an infant industry’ 2 But I return to the thought I was on. “Have you ever made a calculation of the sum of money the Money-Power of this country has made the people hold up their hands and deliver to it 2 '' “No, and I don't know how you or anybody can get at it.” “Well, the total amount no one on earth can ever know,” replied the daughter, “but we know some facts and figures that even the men who have thus robbed the people cannot deny, though they deny everything as a rule.” “What are the facts and figures 2" asked the father. “I have recently seen a table of revenue, for twenty years, from the present tariff. The amount from tariff duties only— not including nearly as much more from internal revenue—is two billion, ſwo hundred and ninety-two million, three / undred and sixty-three thousand dollars That is more money than the value of the total property—including lands—in Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana.” “My child, you don't know what you're talking about. We millionaires don't get that money. It goes to the govern- ment.” “I did not give that figure as what the Protectionists re- ceived. That would be frightful—appalling. But that mon- strous sum of money—I say monstrous for want of a stronger word —paid to the government, does not begin to represent what was taken from the people by manufacturers during those twenty years through Protection alone.” The father looked at the daughter with an expression of wonder and anxiety. He could not imagine what was coming, so he remained silent. He even let his acrobats take a rest. “I mentioned that figure of nearly two billion three hun- dred million as a basis on which to try to reach the higher figures. 36 Pł U 7 OCRACY. “Do you know what proportion of the total amount exacted of the people by the protective tariff goes to the govern- ment P’’ “Why, it all goes to the government,” the father answered. “You are speaking of customs-duties collected on imports, are you not 2 " . “Yes,” replied the father. “That is not what I am speaking of. I will try to convey my meaning by asking another question. It is this. Have you an idea of the relative value of the quantity of raw mate- rial and manufactured goods consumed by these fifty-five mill- ion people, on which the government collects a duty, and on which it gets no duty 2 In other words, what is the ratio in value between the total products and material consumed and the imported products and material P’’ “No, I don’t. But what has that got to do with the tar- iff 2 ” answered the father. “You say, you do not know. Nor does any one else. It is ignorance of the truth, that keeps the American people quiet— asleep. They have no conception, it has never entered into their imagination, how vast the tax is on what they consume by reason of The High Protective Tariff. “The amount thus taken comes out of the pockets of nearly three thousand people, to enrich one man. That is, about every three thousand citizens are compelled by the High Pro- tective Tariff to support one citizen. If it was only a com- fortable support, the wrong would be outrageous tyranny. But it is not simply a support, it is taking nearly all the earn- ings of their labor to make one man owner of ten, fifty, a hun- dred millions.” “My child, that is very wild talk.” “But you have not heard me through,” said the daughter. “It is impossible, so far as I know, to calculate accurately the amount the consumers, including the laborers employed in all kinds of manufacturing industries, pay to the few who are the favored pets under the high tariff, for the reason that no man knows the aggregate of the yearly value of the products of all industries thus protected. “For instance, who knows, or can find out how much the total yearly product is of cotton fabrics, or woolen fabrics, or iron, or steel, or shoes, or hats or any one industry P Do you believe the census returns give the outside figures P You can as readily believe that every man returns his property for taxa- ...sº ČOM WAERSA 7/ON CONTINUED WITH A D/VAERS/OAV. 37 tion at the full price he would sell it for, as to believe the other. “Yet, with the facts that are known (and they are far short of the truth), it is estimated that for every dollar collected by the government, as revenue, under the tariff, the few, who are protected, collect out of the people at least four dollars, by the aid of the blessing of Protection.” “I told you you were talking wild,” again the father said. “That may be, but there are some facts I would like to have explained on any other theory. Before speaking of them, however, let me make one statement on the fact I have been trying to establish. “The amount of duties collected during the past twenty years is nearly two and a half billions. That the government received. Now multiply that by four and we have over nine billions the Protectionists have taxed out of the people.” “That is absurd, my child. You don't understand how the tariff works. You better quit studying this business. It don't concern you—” “It concerns every infant in this land, father. It concerns every man, woman and child. We boast of equality, of free- dom, but what sort of equality is that which favors and pampers a privileged few to live on the labor and by the sweat of the many P Wherein is there any difference between passing a law to tax directly fifty million people, and paying that tax money Over to a few thousand, for their support, as a privileged class, as a moneyed aristocracy, as a PLUTOCRACY-and passing a law that accomplishes the same result in an indirect way ? “But I pass from that. You have said several times that I talk wild. If you think so, I will now ask you to explain some facts that are neither wild nor mild. “If the people have not been forced by legislation procured, as I say, by the moneyed men, to pay taxes to them as a favored class—how is it that all those protected have gathered to them- selves nearly all the wealth of the country since the present tariff law was passed ? “How is it that the iron men, some in fifteen, some in ten, some in a less number of years, have made five, ten, twenty million dollars 2 “How is it that manufacturers of steel have made even more than the iron men P “How is it that wool and cotton factories have made their owners millionaires many times over ? 38 PZU 7'OCRACY. “Why is it that the nine manufacturing States own most of he wealth of the thirty-eight States ? “Why is it that the mortgages, with which the West and South are shingled, are owned by manufacturing States? “Still further, to narrow the number holding wealth, why is it that it is almost exclusively the manufacturers in those few manufacturing States that own the wealth 2 “The protected few contend that Protection is a blessing to the operatives in their factories, mills, mines, foundries, and so on. If so, why is it that the manufacturing States contain so many paupers and supply the country with SO many tramps? “Why do fathers and mothers who are receiving the great blessing of Protection wish to brutalize their children by factory labor at an age so tender P “Why is it that seven of the nine principal manufacturing States have found it necessary, in the interest of good morals, to hold over the heads of fathers and mothers a penal statute to deter them from lying about the ages of their children in order to get them into factories, mills, and shops, to help the parents to get food 2" “You have asked a dozen questions at least. It will take a good deal of explaining to answer them, and I haven't time now to do it.” “I wish you would go with me and see what I have seen. Are you going out 2" Mr. Smiling had risen when invited to visit the poor, and had waked up Comfort, Luxury and Power to get ready to Start. “Yes, but I'm not going among the dens you go to, and I wish you'd quit it. It does no good. It keeps you harried up and your mind disturbed, and some day you’ll catch smallpox or some disease, and may be that 'll cure you. But I don’t want to hear what you're about to tell of. I’m going to a meet- ing of millionaires at Ferrum's. You and your mother needn't set up for me, I’ll be out late.” Mr. Smiling slipped into his fur-lined cloak, seized his gold- headed cane, and trying to shut the poor out of sight by shut- ting his front door, he glided into his coupé and was off to Fer- rum's brown-stone front. CHAPTER FIFTH. MISS SMILING's VISIT. As Galusha Smiling was dashing up Fifth avenue, the light of lamp after lamp flashing on him through the glass doors of his coupé, his face wore an expression different from that it wore as he sat down to his dinner-table laden with luxuries two hours before. He had escaped the poor. He was running from them. They were not before his eyes, and he would have felt free, if the advocate of the poor—his daughter, his second idol—had not been the subject of his thoughts. He could not escape from her. Her views disturbed him. They chased him. They hemmed him in. They came as hungry wolves behind, before, around the traveler's sleigh in the forest, at the dead of winter, in Russia. He called to his coachman to drive faster; and in a few seconds, forgetting he had called for more speed, he would call again to drive faster. It was not the condition of the poor that annoyed him. It was the thoughts pressed home by his adored child—adored as much as the father could adore, as much as any one can adore, or worship a second idol. He had never thought of any slav- ery except negro slavery. The word, applied to white men, was to him a solecism. The idea that the mind, the soul, could be enslaved, had never occurred to him, even as to his own soul in its love of money. But the wolves were pursuing him. White slavery—the evils of great wealth—the degradation of the owner—the imbecility of their offspring—the decay of man- hood—the vices attending great wealth, as well and as inevitably as extreme poverty—these and more were barking, snarling, Snapping, leaping, behind, beside, in front ; and among them, between them, here, there, yonder, shone the serene face, the noble form of his second idol. “Drive up—drive up,” came from the slave inside to the slave outside the coupé ; and Mr. Smiling escaped the wolves by slipping through the door of Mr. Ferrum's brown-stone front. Leaving him to perform his part in the work to be done in the appointed meeting of the secret organization known as “The National Club of Millionaires for Mutual Protection,” of 4O AZ U 7'OCRACY. which we will hear further on, we return to the cosy sitting- room, where the daughter, Miss Mary, is continuing the nar- rative, to her mother, of her experience that day. “I wish, above all things, that I could persuade father to visit the class I am so deeply interested in. I have a hope—a bare hope—that a visit would arrest his thoughts, awaken some sympathy for the distressed, and cause him at least to counter- mand his order to our servants to drive beggars from our door. The sight I saw to-day would soften a heart of stone. “As you know, I took Bridget with me, as I always do, for propriety and protection. I drove to the seven-story tene- ments on Fiftieth street, E., south side, near Second avenue. I went to see the woman—I will say lady—I told you I met on the street a few days ago, who aroused such pity in me, and who asked me not to rely on her word, but for mercy's sake to come and see the condition she and her children were in. “As I stepped from the carriage, a group of dirty, ragged urchins, probably ten in number, was near the door of the building. Their ages ran from four to ten years. One was returning with an old, greasy, battered lard can full of snow for drinking water, when it should melt. Another had a few splinters and barrel hoops she had gathered for firewood. A third was standing just inside the door, shivering from cold, while the others were playing ball with the snow. “I asked if Mrs. Hampton lived there, and the little girl in- side the door replied, through chattering teeth : ‘Yes, ma'am ; she's my mother. She's up-stairs on the top floor.” “I said, ‘What are you doing down here in this cold 2 Don't you know, my child, you will be sick if you stay here 2' “‘I spec' so, but mother told me I must not stay in the room, Sister is very sick, and I had to come down here because we haven’t but one room, and I couldn't go anywhere else. So I came here.” “By this time the entire group had gathered around me, looking up at me as if I were some strange creature, and I had a good view of their dress. Some had on old shoes, several numbers too large, showing they were castaways of older persons. Some had slippers, rudely sewed, made of old pieces of carpet. For stockings and hose some had pieces of old flannel patched together. The legs of some were visible and red from cold, and their necks, faces, and ears were almost blood red. “I asked the little girl, who had said she was the daughter of M/SS SMILING'S VISIT. 4I Mrs. Hampton, to show me the way to her room, and we started up. The stairs were dirty, and looked like they had not been swept in a month. I said to the little girl whose name, she said, was Josie—for Josephine : “‘Your stairs have n’t been swept to-day, have they 2' “‘No, ma'am,” she replied. “They haven't been swept, I don't know when. I would sweep ’em, but we have no broom, and mother says she hasn't money to buy one.’ “‘Do not other people live here P’ I asked. “‘Yes, ma'am, plenty of 'em, twenty families, I guess, but they haven’t a broom, neither,’ came the reply, as the little prattler climbed the stairs. “Every floor showed the same dirty condition. Bridget suggested I had better hold up my dress, or I would get it ruined. “When we arrived at the door of the room on the seventh floor, I was almost out of breath, and I paused a few seconds to rest, before entering the room. “The little girl rapped. The door soon opened, and before me stood the woman I had met on the street. Her sad eyes at once brightened a little, her sorrowful features put on a faint smile, as she said in a low tone : “‘Good morning. Walk in. I am very glad to see you. Please be seated. This stool is the best I can offer, but it will rest you, though there is no support for your back. I hope you had no trouble in finding the house.’ “‘None,' I replied. ‘Your directions were accurate.’ “‘I had faith in your coming. Your tone and manner, when I asked you to come, and you said you would, gave me assur- ance of your intention. Yet, had I been guided by previous experience, I should not have expected you. I have asked so many ladies to come and see for themselves, and not one has eVer COIne. “‘As I told you, nothing but abject want could have driven me to ask for aid, and I was even then unwilling to rest my re- quest on my own statement, because I know how few able to give, will believe what those asking say of their condition.’ “‘Your little daughter, Josie, told me you have a sick child. Is that she P’ I said, pointing to a mattress on the floor in a corner of the room. “‘Yes, Miss, may I be pardoned for asking your name 2' “‘Smiling—Mary Smiling,' I answered. “‘Yes, Miss Smiling, she is my second born, and is very sick,” 42 AZ U 7'OCACA C V. and she supplemented the remark by a sign, that the disease was consumption. That, I understood, was to keep the invalid from knowing what her disease is. “‘Is a physician attending her ?' I asked, and she answered, ‘No,' in a tone and with a look that said : “‘How can such poverty as mine afford help of any kind 2’ j “Just then her daughter coughed, and the mother stepped quickly and bent over her. The cough was hollow and weak, and the child moaned, as if it gave her pain. The mother spoke to her in a voice as sweet and gentle and tender as ever fell on my ears. She raised the invalid's head a little to enable her to use an old ash pan by the pallet when she coughed, but the exertion soon exhausted the child, and the mother had to use some old rag to wipe the phlegm from the child’s mouth. “The mother for a few minutes rubbed her daughter's head and hands to soothe her, and then told her, a lady had called to see them. The invalid turned her face slightly upward, raised slowly her eyelids, as if it required an effort, and said feebly, “What is it, mother ? What did you say about a lady ?’ “I went to the pallet, and the mother stepped quickly and brought the stool for me to sit on. The girl turned her face to me, and looked almost wildly at me, until I spoke and asked her how she felt. I did not know what else to say. She whispered, “Oh I am so sick, so weak,’ and then gazed at me a few seconds and added: - “‘Did you come to see us God must have sent you. You're the first lady we’ve ever seen here. How good in you to come to such a place as this.’ “While I am not a believer in special Providence, I could throw nothing in the way of her faith as indicated by her remark, and so I said : “‘May be so. Any how, I am your friend, and will help ou.’ “‘Did we ever meet before ?' she asked, looking at me as if trying to recognize me. “‘No, I never saw you before, but I have seen your mother,’ I answered. “‘I thank you so much for coming. We never See any one except the rent collector and some of the people in the tene- ment,” she said in a faint voice. “Oh I'm So tired, so weary, so sick | If I was only well, so I could help my good mother, I’d be so happy.” “I tried to cheer her by telling her not to be discouraged or M/SS S///Z/AVG'S ºf S/7. 43 yº, that I would help her mother and make them all com- fortable as well as I could. “I never saw a sweeter face, nor such wealth of rich brown hair on any woman's head. It was disheveled and resting partly under her pale cheek, and on the little pillow that had no case on it and was stuffed with straw. “I hastily took a mental inventory of the furniture in the room with a view to getting some necessaries and comforts for them. The invalid's bed was a straw mattress, and the bed quilts were old and worn, but neatly patched. The stool I spoke of and two or three boxes answered for chairs. There was a small deal table, some broken Crockery on the shelves in one corner, another mattress in a third corner, a Bible and some pictorial papers on one shelf, a small oil stove with a pipe run through a hole into the chimney flue; several old tin buckets, and their scanty supply of clothing hanging on nails driven into the wall. “I left the sick child's pallet and walked across the room to a window, where the mother stood looking out, wiping her eyes She had been weeping while I was talking to the daughter. I told her I would send her some things to make her more comfortable, or rather, less uncomfortable, and asked her what she most desired. After getting her statement, of which I made a memorandum, being curious to know some- thing of the history of a woman so refined and evidently well educated, judging by her language and conversation, I asked her to tell me who she was and how she came into such dis- tressing circumstances. “She hesitated for a moment and looked at my face with an expression of doubt, but said at length : “‘You are very kind to us, and I believe you are prompted by interest in our welfare and not by curiosity. I would not offend you by asking if that is true. I will give you our his- tory, after advising you that it is one of sorrow.’ “I assured her that I knew she had seen better days, and I desired to know more of her. She brought the stool to the window, and asked me to be seated. She drew one of the boxes by me, and sitting on 1t, she gave me her sorrowful story. I will repeat it in her own words as well as I can remember.” | CHAPTER SIXTH. SKETCH OF THE HAMPTON FAMILY. “I AM a Southerner by birth—a Carolinian. My father was a planter and also owned a large interest in a cotton mill. He was for that time (before the war, I mean), reckoned a wealthy man. What my maiden name—that is, what my father's name was—I need not mention. You will no doubt infer why I do not before I am through. “Before the war my father came North on a pleasure trip, and while here the superintendent of his mill died. He was telegraphed to engage another. He went to Lowell, Massa- chusetts, and there met Otis Hampton, who was manager for a Cotton mill. He engaged Mr. Hampton to go South. “To be brief on the unimportant period of the first year after he went South, I will say at once Mr. Hampton and I married. My family opposed the marriage bitterly for several reasons, but mainly because they knew nothing of his family. “When war was declared—that is, when it was certain—my husband said, if he should remain South he must either go into the army and fight against the Union, or be subject hourly to suspicion of disloyalty; so he decided to come back North. “When he decided to leave, I told him his first duty was to his country, and as my first duty was to him, I would come with him. At that time we had three children, two girls and one boy. “My husband went back to Lowell and was engaged as super- intendent in a mill of a Mr. Weaver, where he remained until fourteen years ago. Our children grew up, and we gave them all the best education the public schools afforded. Our older daughter, Eugenia, took lessons in music and became cele- brated in and around Lowell for her voice and execution. Our Son, the youngest child at that time, we sent to a high School near Boston. “We had a delightful little home. Our means were small, but by economy we lived comfortably. Everything went well until the son of Mr. Weaver, named John, came home from School. As we were not able to own a piano, Eugenia often - - * * *...* t SA*E 7°CAE OF 7A. A. HAMP 7'OAV AAM/Z V. 45 went of evenings to visit neighbors who had pianos, and she thus met young Weaver. He was bright, handsome, and in every way fascinating. “John Weaver, as I afterwards learned from her, made pro- fessions of love which she at first repelled. We were poor and his father was a millionaire. Eugenia therefore distrusted him. But he protested his sincerity, and was very attentive when he met her at musicales. At last he gained her confi- dence. She did not confide in her parents and that was the fatal mistake. “Weaver pretended that he had made known to his father his desire to marry her, and his father strongly objected and threatened to disinherit him, but that his happiness so depended on her he intended to risk paternal displeasure and disinheritance. He proposed elopement and she, after long hesitation, agreed. They went to a village about thirty miles away and were, as she believed, married. He forged a marriage license and hired a villain to go to the village, to represent himself to be a preacher, to perform the marriage ceremony. After that they went to the village inn as man and wife and stayed there and around there for several days. “Weaver then told Eugenia he must go West on very urgent business just made known by a telegram, that she must go home, but to keep the marriage a secret until he returned. This aroused her suspicion of something wrong, but he pro- tested that only the most urgent business called him away. “She asked : ‘Why keep this secret P Are we not here only thirty miles from home living openly as husband and wife 2' -“‘Yes, but father may cut me off by a will, and I want to go to the ranche and secure some property there before he knows this.’ Thus the villain excused himself. “‘But,” said Eugenia, ‘if the property is yours now, your father cannot take it from you ; if it is his, you have no right to take it. How is it 2' “‘Oh, well. It's a long story. Don't you bother about that. I’ll be back soon.’ “She asked, “How soon 7' “‘In about two weeks, and then all will be right, I am not deceiving you,” he still protested. “She asked him to go with her to bid the preacher good-bye, and he stated the preacher did not live there. Still, while doubting, she trusted. She finally said to him : “‘This is very strange . We are married, yet you wish to 46 AZU 7 OCRACY. keep the marriage secret. Within three days you must leave me, on whom you said, but one short week ago, your earthly happiness depended. We are married by a preacher who does not live here. How shall I explain my sudden departure and absence P’ ---, “He suggested that she should say, she had been on a visit to a friend. That, to her mind, was almost a confession of betrayal and she was aroused to a realization of her peril, without positive proof of her ruin. With a glimmer of hope, she was restrained from either a burst of grief, or violent resent- ment. She clung to the hope, and accepted its promise. But she said to the wretch : “‘I must do as you say. I must return, but I will not give a false reason for my absence. I shall say nothing—make no explanation. I shall expect a letter within a week from you, and your return within the time you name. My husband l if you return as you promise, all will be well and our lives happy. But, John Weaver, if you return not to claim me and call me your wife, nothing but death can save you from my vengeance " ' “She came home. We could get no explanation. Weeks passed and she grew melancholy. She went to the post-office daily. She eat but little, became thin and haggard. We per- sisted, kindly, in the effort to learn her trouble. She only said, ‘I am constrained by a sense of duty from saying anything et.’ “At the end of two months she found it necessary to confide to me the story I have given you the outline of. No letter had Come, no word from her betrayer. She saw, I saw—she had been trapped and betrayed. - “This revelation was made to me about nine o'clock on a night when my husband was absent looking for work. Eugenia, I saw afterwards, had planned to tell me when I was alone. Our son, George, had but a few days before returned from school. “Eugenia fell on her knees, took my hands in hers, and looking me steadily in my eyes, while hot tears coursed down her cheeks, said : “‘Mother I Do not reproach me. In the eyes of God, I am innocent and pure, as pure as when you nursed me so lovingly at your breast. Before God, I am a married woman, but before men I will be forever dishonored. I am betrayed. I, the innocent one, will be turned away into darkness. by men and women, and the guilty betrayer will be for- SKE 7'CH OF 7"HE HAMP 7'O/W FAMAZ V. 47 given. If I felt guilty, I would destroy two lives, and end this sorrow and save you all from shame. There re- mains to me but one road, and that is to oblivion. Look out the window, mother, into the pitchy night. There lies my path. It is a fit emblem of my future. I cannot, will not, stay here to be a moral leper, whom all your friends will shun, and a burden in your poverty. Don't plead with me; I am resolved ; calmly, unchangeably resolved Unless honorable restitution comes to me, I am henceforth dead to all I so dearly love. Give me, it may be your last kiss on earth, and be consoled by my parting promise, that I shall never disgrace you. My last request is, tell father, brother and sister all I have told you, and as they love me—never to seek me in my solitude.” “I pleaded with her as only a mother can with her child, but she was immovable. The west-bound train was due in thirty minutes. She seized a bundle of clothes she had ready and started for the door. Her brother was reading in the parlor. She kissed him, and handed him a photograph and ring. “‘Brother, wherever you go, keep these. You don't know the man, but you may desire to know him. That (touching the photograph) will be your guide. Good-bye and farewell.' “Before he could speak Eugenia was gone. He was bewil- dered, and started to go with his sister, but I stopped him. “After the train passed I told my son the whole story. He was fourteen years old. The effect of the story on him was frightful. He wanted to go out and hunt Weaver, to kill him, and only desisted, when I told him Weaver was on a ranche in Wyoming. “I need not tell you how my husband and daughter lying there on that pallet, were affected. I will only say, this wretched poverty you see here is a part of that villain's deed. My son shut himself in his room and walked the floor day and night, now and then going out hurriedly and coming in in the same manner. He did not speak unless spoken to. In two weeks he came to me and shocked me by saying he was going West ; that he would die if he remained here, and he would not con- sent to be a burden on his parents. If he met with success, he would be a comfort and helping arm to me—if he failed, he alone would know and suffer. He went, and from that day we have not had a line or word from him. . “The remainder of this continuing chapter of woes is short. My husband applied for months for work. He had been dis- 48 AZ U 7'OCRACY. missed by Mr. Weaver, because he refused to surrender his Opinions on something about politics, and to vote as Mr. Weaver dictated. All the other mill-owners were notified by Mr. Weaver of my husband's discharge. He did not give the true reason, which was Mr. Hampton's refusal to surrender all personal freedom to his employer, to think as Mr. Weaveſ thought, and vote as he demanded. The true reason for the discharge was kept secret by agreement among the mill own- ers, and the notice of discharge only said, ‘because he was ob- stinate, self-willed, and would not work for my interest.’ “The owner of one mill to whom my husband applied, asked: “‘Do you believe in free trade, or high protective tariff “‘I do not favor either,’ he answered. 44 & Why P y “‘Because free trade means direct taxation for all govern- ment expenses, while high protection means taxing the poor to give a government bounty to a privileged class—the rich.” “‘Then you are a Neuter I take it. We don’t want any Neuters around this mill. You can go.” “Another said: ‘If I feed and clothe your family by giving you work, you must agree to vote as I tell you.’ “My husband asked if he was to sell himself, mind and soul, to get bread for his family. “‘You can put it as you please,” said the white-slave owner. “All I ask is that you vote as I say.” “A third asked my husband where he worked last, and when told, he said: “‘Oh, yes! I guess I’ve heard of you. You have opinions on the tariff. Don’t want men here who think. I want their labor and I do the thinking. You’d better hunt for a free trade mill. When you find one I'll send you a white crow, if the mill owner isn't an idiot.’ - “My husband went from town to town, and mill to mill, factory to factory, for months, trying to get work, but every- where he found he had been blacklisted on the circular letter sent around to all the mills and factories by Mr. Weaver.” I asked her why her husband did not try to get employment in some other business. “For the best of reasons,” she answered. “He was expert in all factory work, and would have been no better than an ap- prentice in any other. That makes the treatment he received so cruel and inhuman. The capitalist needs no intelligence to own a factory. He requires only sufficient sense to add and Sā’ā 7°C# OAF 7 A/A A/AMA 7'OAV AAA/// V. 49 multiply and save what his slaves make. It is just as it was in the South during slavery. The master might have been a fool, and all he needed was a good, honest, intelligent overseer. Then, if the master had just sense enough to count and see that accounts were kept right, he made money easy enough. The two slaveries are very much alike. “So it is here North. If a man has money enough to buy a factory, and employs a skilled superintendent, who is honest and faithful, he does not need to have sense or skill to make money. The tariff makes it for him. “But, all this is not what you asked me to tell you, and I will finish in a few words. I was unconsciously drawn into that line of thought by the bitter memory of how my husband was treated by the man whom he had served so faithfully and helped to enrich, simply because he would not give up his right to think and vote as his employer demanded. It is indisso- lubly connected with the suffering I feel every day and every hour. Oh, Miss Smiling ! if I did not believe it an unpardon- able sin to take human life, I would long ago have ended this anguish. But my mind wanders. Excuse me. I cannot help it. When I travel over the dreary, arid waste of the last ten years of my life, I almost go insane. “My husband could not get work in his line of business. He was cut off from every hope, and we moved here. He sought from house to house for weeks, and at last got a place as messenger in a store. “That paid him twenty dollars a month ; that to support him, myself and our two daughters. He struggled on, walking from Fifty-sixth to Fourteenth street, through snow, sleet, rain, slush in winter, and heat in summer, until he could drag his feet no longer. “One night in February, ten years ago, he came home drenched by cold and rain, and changed his clothes. He sat by our little fire, gazing listlessly in it, and was silent. He would not eat Supper, said he had no appetite, and had a pain under his left shoulder. After the children went to bed, he said to me : “‘I feel more disheartened to-night than ever before. Shad- ows are thickening around me. I have shambled along until my feet can go no further. The odds against me are too great. I believe my time to surrender is come. There is an hour or a moment in every man's life when he realizes there is no use in trying to stand up any longer, I have fought for you and 4 5o AZ U 7"OCAEA CŞ2. our children the best I knew how. But even the camel goes down at last. - “‘I have had too heavy a load, too much to carry; broken up in Carolina by the war, then, when nearly sixty, turned adrift by the man who had received the best of my manhood, because I would not be his slave in soul and mind as well as body; then the trouble, the heart-breaking brought by Eugenia's thought- lessness (for I am sure that is all it was), and the drag I have had here every day—it's too much strain. I feel the anchor is parted, and I am on the ebb tide drifting to sea. All is dark around me—dark, dark ' ' “I begged him not to talk that way. I knelt by him ; tried to comfort him. I clasped his hands; they were hot. I found he had a raging fever. I feared delirium. I sent for a neigh- bor, and asked her to send for a physician. We got my hus- band to bed, and the physician, who soon came, said there were strong symptoms of pneumonia. So it proved,——and in six days I saw my noble, good, tender husband carried away—yes, car- ried in a cart—to the Potters Field.” Mrs. Hampton broke down, and could not speak. I, too, was overcome, and was sorry I asked her to tell me of her life, but now I think it was well I did. I know now she is a true woman—in every sense a lady, and most deserving of sym- pathy and Support. I apologized for having made the request, saying, I would not have made it had I supposed the narration would grieve her so, but she promptly said : ** “That matters not. It was really a relief, as I know you are sympathetic. And, besides, it is no worse to tell it than to be thinking of it—to be crushed by it as I am every day. “We were left with nothing except a little furniture. My daughter Sallie was too feeble to work, and the youngest one, Josie, you see is too small. I sewed and did anything I could get to do, but I had to sell pieces of furniture to get bread. I gave up that house and took rooms cheaper, falling back year after year to still cheaper rooms, until at last I had to come here as the cheapest place I could find.” I ventured to ask her how she managed to live, and Oh, how I wish father could have heard her—that gentle, intelligent, Christian woman—go through the description of her house- keeping economy. She said : - “I sometimes find a little work to do. Of course, I can’t leave Sallie long. I tell her and Josie where I go, so Josie can SKAE 7'CH OF 7"A/E A/AMA2 7'OAV AºA MZ.Z. V. 5 I * run for me if needed. There are several families—some Irish, Some negroes—in this and the range of tenements you see just opposite, who give me a little job of Sewing and patching now and then. The parents work out, and the mothers have not time to mend their children's clothes. In that way I pick up some days fifteen cents, twenty cents, a quarter, Several times within the year I had the good luck to earn fifty cents a day. That was by nursing the sick all night after my children were asleep. “With this little money I buy in winter a loaf of bread and a quart of milk in the morning and a loaf in the evening In the summer I get a pint of milk morning and evening, as Sal- lie cannot use sour milk. Now and then, when I can spare a few cents I buy for her a little tea—a quarter's worth, and eke it out through several weeks. I do not mean that I am spar- ing of it with my daughter, but with myself. I buy from a retail cart a bushel of Coal at a time, and get the children in the tenement to join Josie in bringing it up here. I do all the washing and ironing for my family, but the ironing is not much, as we do without starch to put that money in milk.” “What rent do you pay 2” I asked. “Five dollars a month.” I did not tell you, mother, because I did not wish to break the thread of Mrs. Hampton's story of her life, that while she was about half through there was a rap on the door, and a little messenger boy handed Mrs. Hampton an envelope, and she gave the boy a receipt. When she told me five dollars, I asked if she was always able to pay it. She answered : “You saw that boy here a minute ago 2 Well, there is a mystery about that visit I cannot solve. I cannot even sur- mise what it is. Ever since my husband's death I have re- ceived regularly, cvery month, an envelope inclosing money, sometimes three, sometimes four or five dollars. I have tried in every way possible to discover the secret, but all in vain. I have asked each boy who sent it. Some did not know ; some say an old woman ; Some a young woman ; some refuse to say anything ; others say a man, but they do not know his Ila Iſle. “So I am bewildered. I only know the money comes every month, and just before rent is due. That fact indicates an intended connection between the money and the rent, and hence I always apply the amount to the rent.” 52 AZ U 7"OCRACY. I forgot to mention that while Mrs. Hampton was giving me that Sorrowful history, a man leading a little girl walked in without knocking. I looked up alarmed, but Mrs. Hampton told me not to be uneasy, as he was a “harmless gentleman,” and came often to see her. He is crazy, and wanders about always leading the little girl, who is his child. He was intro- duced and walked up to me at once, and said, in the saddest VO1Ce : “Miss I’ll give you some points. You can make your fortune in a day. Sell gold and buy Erie. I can't stay long. I'm looking for her. They tell me she's dead—dead. But we'll find her by-and-by, darling, won't we ?” He spoke to his child. He bowed himself out and went away. Never did I see so sad a face. There was not a feature that was not in pallid ruins, and the dwelling-place of sorrow, ex- cept his eyes, that looked like bright lamps put there to illu- mine the wreck. - I thanked Mrs. Hampton for her confidence in thus unveiling what I know has given her sensitive, refined nature immeasur- able grief, and told her I would send some articles to morrow, to make her comfortable. Her expressions of gratitude, so gracefully worded, were enough to compensate me, apart from my recompense from a duty performed. I stooped over the invalid to cheer and say good-bye to her. She was asleep but not quiet. Her mother and I observed her restlessness at the same moment, and remained watching her. Her lips moved as if she were whispering ; a smile came and went ; then her brows were raised, like one surprised or in wonder, and her hand twitched or moved quickly. Her mother grew uneasy and called her name. She smiled, opened her lids, and her sight fell on me first. She looked astonished for a second or two, then said sweetly : “And have you come back to bless us again, you good angel ?” She reached both hands to my face, laid the palms on my cheeks, and looked at me earnestly without a movement of hand, eye, or lip. “Oh I I know now ! I’ve had a dream, mother—a dream so beautiful and so sad. I dreamt I was in a large city. I was standing on the side of a wide street, and as far as I could see there were fine houses on both sides. It was a lovely Sabbath morning. “Soon a great crowd of people began to move along the street, I looked to see where they were going. Near by was a SATAZ 7 CAE OAP 7"HE A/AMA 7'OAV AZAM/Z V. - 53 great white temple, larger than any I ever saw. The people, men, women and children, all went into the temple, and all stood up. Soon a door opened, and the great organ sent Over the temple a peal of joy, and then a lady dressed in white and covered with a veil entered walking alone. As she appeared a thousand men, women and children burst into tears, and cried, ‘Good Angel !—our Good Angel ! Do not leave us—do not go away.” Children ran and hugged her knees. “Men bowed before her—women fell to the floor in anguish. “By the side of the lady in white, I saw, I thought, our lost Eugenia, sobbing as for some dear one dead. The lady in white was you, and you are so good to come back to us !” “The invalid looked transfigured while telling the dream. I forgot that she was not a spirit. I never had such a feeling in my life as I had when she looked at me and said: ‘The lady in white was you.’ My flesh crept and a cold chill ran over II162. “I am not superstitious, but I have not yet recovered from that feeling of awe. If the girl had not looked so spiritual—so translated out of herself, I would not mind the incident, nor give it a thought, but it haunts me. “I went directly and bought a bedstead and all necessary bedding, a bolt of sheeting, a dozen towels, a short set of plain crockery, knives and forks, water bucket, four chairs, a bolt of cotton for underclothing, and a quantity of provisions, coal and kindling, to be delivered at once. I then called at our physi- cian's office and left the name, number of the tenement of Mrs. Hampton, with a request to him to call there this afternoon, and continue his visits as long as needed.” Mrs. Smiling was inoculated with her husband's views of life and money. She heard the story through, asking a question now and then with some interest. As Miss Mary was their only child, neither parent felt disposed to interfere by act or criti- cism with her generosity and charities, while both were watch- ful of the way the dollars went, and especially if many went off together. This mental quality, or habit, was exemplified when the daughter finished the story. “How much did all them things cost 7” asked the mother. “I did not count the cost, mother. I was too busy counting the wants to count the cost. I will say, on a guess, I expended about one fifteen-thousandth part of what father made in Wall street alone to-day, to say nothing of the thousands of income from interest on bonds, dividends, and rents,” 54 AZ U 7'OCRACY, The daughter kissed the mother good-night. The mother, after wondering why Mary did not marry some rich, money-making fellow, and settle down to business, join some benevolent society, give a few hundred dollars a year, and save herself all this running around to hunt up people, who are at the door every day, proceeded to figure up the day's expenses, set the night latch, so Mr Smiling could get in with- out ringing, turned the hall gas very low, and went to bed. After reading of the good Samaritan, and planning her work of charity for the coming day, the daughter slept the sleep of one whose “good deed shines in a naughty world,” and dreamt of the invalid whose wasted, bony form, for the first time in years, was resting by her mother and sister, on a comfortable bed, and who in her waking hours of pain and coughing was blessing the Good Angel who had passed away through the great white temple, and had come again to bless her, CHAPTER SEVENTH. MR. RECKER AS A MILLIONAIRE TRAMP, AND MR. MORNING. MR. MORNING, the harmless gentleman, who was introduced to Miss Smiling in the tenement, by Mrs. Hampton, requires more than a passing notice. He was a living, or rather a dying, witness to the whims and caprices of the flirting god- dess, Fortune. She had smiled on him in his youth, and for a brief period during his manhood, with loyal devotion, and then deserted him in a night. Mr. Morning was born “in the West”—an expression of such longitude and latitude that his place of birth might have been at any spot within an extent of country twelve hundred by fifteen hundred miles. He had resided in California many years before he went to New York city. But, if “it matters not what immediate spot might have been the birthplace of such a man as Washington ’’—why stop to inquire where the subject of this sketch first saw light, and entered on a journey about to terminate in such woful dark- ness It is sufficient to know that he was educated far beyond the degree usually obtained by men in that busy region, “the West.” He was a Scholar of more than ordinary attainments; a poet of fine imagination and rare expression ; a musician of techni- cal execution and exquisite taste ; and a gentleman of suave, gentle, winning manners. He was six feet in height ; straight and well proportioned, with handsome, regular features ; a brunette, with eyes large, round, tender when at rest, but with a wild flash when he was excited. He was a man of deep feeling and quick sensibility. He went to New York with ample fortune to support himself and wife in comfort, without labor. They were then childless, but were blessed, as the phrase goes, by the birth of a daughter in the year 1867. Mrs. Morning was intelligent, beautiful and charming in society. She was of medium size and a blonde. Among the earliest acquaintances she formed after moving to New York was the family of Mr. Recker. Mrs. Recker was not, in the accepted 56 AZ (77 OCAA CV. sense, a “society lady”; that is, she visited but few—seldom attended at public or private entertainments. As Mrs. Morning was like Mrs. Recker in tastes and habits, a close attachment between the two ladies was soon formed. That affinity brought the two heads of the two families into a limited association, that was very pleasant to Mr. Morning and not disagreeable to Mr. Recker. A distinction is here noted which requires a word of explanation. Mr. Morning was open, free, unsuspecting, generous and friendly without design. A congenial associate was to him the source of unalloyed pleasure. On the other hand, Mr. Recker was cast in a very different mold. Physically he was of medium height, and above average weight—had gray eyes, a large nose, no beard, and stooped a little from his habit of looking thoughtfully at the ground as he walked. He was in fact Meditation on thin legs. This was Mr. Recker, physically. What he was mentally and mor- ally will be seen as this history is written, “Whether Nature broke the die in casting ” Mr. Recker, as we are assured by Byron she did in casting Sheridan, we have no declaration, but those who knew Mr. Recker would have given full credit to any biographer who might have made that state- ment, even if he ventured it in unlicensed prose. Indeed, the men were not few who would have sung paeans to Nature if she had broken Mr. Recker; for, as between the breaking of Mr. Recker and being broken by Mr. Recker, they unanimously preferred the former result. He was not without a modicum of that kind of education which Mr. Morning had received, and which, usually of itself, is a magnet that attracts and afterwards holds men in strong affilia- tion. Mr. Recker had some knowledge of the classics, including two of the so-called dead languages. He could understand the AEneid with the aid of Anthon's voluminously annotated edi- tion and a dictionary. He abhorred the Bucolics of that poet of Nature, except the one in which he describes the apiary and tells us there are certain bees called drones that hang around the hive and consume all the honey which the thousands of busy bees gather here and there over the country by hard work, and bring in and store away for themselves and their young to live on when winter comes. That part of that Bucolic was at one time delightful to Mr. Recker. In fact, the first time he read it, he paused—admired—re-read it, marked it for future reading. He had found an example in Nature of the }: MR. RECKER AS A TRAMP, AAWD MAC. MORAVING. 57 busy many supporting the idle few, and he was delighted. But when afterwards he read in Huber that the working bees, after a time, fall upon the drones and kill them, he never again read Virgil's description of the bees. He did pause while reading Huber to wonder why the drones, that did no harm except to eat what others made, should be treated so cruelly ; but the only rational theory he could think of was—the drones are tramps and ought to be killed. If that theory had been satisfactory, he would not have ostracized, so to speak, that beautiful Bucolic. But it was not satisfactory. Mr. Recker was a reasoner. Even spiders reason when they weave and spread their webs for the unwary ; for the Insect flying in haste to get food for its young ; for the working bees that sometimes in taking “a bee line,” are caught in the spider's toils. Mr. Recker could “out-reason” a spider. He asked him- self, “What is a tramp 2 What is the difference between the man who won't work and who tramps around the country, and the man who won't work and sits still P “On the main question, that is, on the essential (no work) they are as like as Dromio to Dromio ; on the non-essential (walking or sitting), why that is only a matter of inclination, or method.” Thus he answered his own question. “What is the difference between going into a farmer's house and choking him to make him give bread to the tramp, and inviting the farmer into my house (Stock Exchange) and then choking or squeezing him until I make him deliver up his money for me to buy bread 2 ” In the essential, to wit, the choking and getting the bread in one case, and squeezing the money out of him to buy bread in the other case, Mr. Recker did not see any difference great enough to sustain a debate in a country school ; while in the non-essential—the going into the farmer's house, and inviting the farmer into his house—he was inclined to think the walk- ing tramp had the advantage of the sitting tramp. That in- clination of mind was not the result of choice. It was the re- sult of what all belief rests on—reason. Mr. Recker by that process of reasoning found himself being driven fast and inevitably to the fatal conclusion that there are two classes of tramps and drones in this land of freedom— the walking tramp or drone and the sitting tramp or drone. They stand or lie, as the case may be, at the extremes of 58 PLU7'ocracy. financial condition. One is the pauper who begs, steals, robs, as necessity demands or opportunity affords, with his ten digits; the other is the millionaire who approaches his vic- tim with fair speech, or inducements, or false beacons called “points,” and who, when the victim is in his parlor (or Ex- change), crushes him by the strength, not of his ten digits, but of his tens of millions. The truth is, Mr. Recker was of the tribe of the sitting tramp. A tramp is not a tramp simply because he walks from place to place. He got the name from his methods of getting a living, while going from place to place ; because he lives without work ; because he is dangerous to the general public ; an enemy to honest industrious working men. Why is he any more a tramp because he moves about, than the man who lives by the same means and remains at home 2 Both are agreed in One Opinion, that it is more blessed to receive than to give. Both live without work. Both live by their wits. One lives by peculation ; the other, by speculation. One looks in through the window to find his victim ; the other looks out through the window on the victim passing by ; or down in Wall street : down in the coal mines ; down in the iron mines; down in the gold mines ; down in the silver mines ; down in the factories, the machine shops, the mills; down in the wid- Ows and orphans' homes. Why is Mr. Recker looking so intently at the passer by ; and down in the factories and mines 2 Why is the hawk perched on a limb that gives a wide view, watching the hen with her young brood, which she scratches for, clucks to and then hovers and fights for when the hawk descends P But Mr. Recker would not take bread out of the mouths of miners ? He would not steal their scanty substance to add it to his hundred millions 2 He would not take their beds from under them—their hard, knotty mattresses made of shucks, on which, after a day of hard work, down in the dark, gloomy, sooty mine, and after a meal of crusts and water, they sleep so soundly, or so uneasily P Would Mr. Recker do that ? “Is thy servant a dog that he would do this thing 2 ” Go, ask him. Who can answer so truthfully as he When the roving vagrant tramp is rolling a huge stone on a railroad track, or prying up a rail to wreck a train to rob it, does he stop to think that he may, no doubt will, tear, limb from limb, or burn to death, women and children When the sitting tramp studies, plans, watches, schemes to wreck not a train, but MR. RAECKER AS A TRAMP, AAWD MAE. MOAAW/AWG. 59 the railroad itself, is he thinking of the poor laborer whose little savings are all in that road—that stočk; of the women and children, the widows and orphans, whose all of earthly goods is in that road 2 When the sitting tramp is placing, is putting on the market, is inviting the public to buy his worthless stock issued on a doomed enterprise, does he caution the inquirer who would invest his little and his all not to buy P Yet, there are men on whom what is called Society look with horror; men whom fathers teach their sons to shun as they would a pestilence, and teach them rightly ; men called gam- blers ; men who are social outcasts, who, when a man enters their dens intoxicated, or known to be too poor to lose, will kindly advise him not to bet and will refuse to let him enter the game. d Yet, the sitting tramp is courted by Society ; is honored with high station ; is a pillar of the Church ; is trumpeted as a great financier ; while the gambler is Scoffed, Scorned, shunned, ostra- cized. Mr. Recker had looked out through his window on so many, and so long, and often, that he had grown to feel—no, not to feel—Mr. Recker did not feel, but he believed that all was fair in speculation ; that speculation is war ; that in war all strategy is right; and that in business, which with him meant specula- tion, there was no friendship, and friends as well as foes must beware. CHAPTER EIGHTH. - THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. MR. MoRNING had resided in New York for two years with- out engaging in any business. But he had taken a mild form of the contagion which is epidemic and perennial there ; the disease of which Mr. Recker was a subject of national reputa- tion. It was on Tuesday evening before the day which is now known in all financial calendars as “Black Friday,” that Mr. Morning was on a social call at the luxurious house of Mr. Recker. The slight disease contracted by Mr. Morning was aggravated by the atmosphere pervading the drawing-rooms of his million- aire host. He looked around on the rich upholstery, on the rare Turk- ish carpet into which his feet sank as into a bed of down ; the Eastern articles of vertu, gathered by paid connoisseurs spe- cially engaged to go and get without limit to price ; on the Soft light mellowed by shades painted by the hands of masters. He saw serving men and maids moving as noiselessly as in a dream. He was served with wine of the richest bouquet, of the rarest vintage, in the finest Sévres glass, borne on a salver of solid silver, and he thought, “Twenty years ago, and this man was living on less than my small income. Now, see all this gorgeous display of luxuries maintained by more than a hundred million dollars, who knows the amount?” Mr. Morning's mild form of disease grew rap- idly worse. His mind became excited, his pulse grew feverish, his fancy grew wild, his appetite became morbid, and he felt , a slight pang of misery. Gold at the close of the war was two and a half times higher than greenbacks, but year by year it had sunk. Business— that is, speculation in the Gold Room, had gradually de- creased ; but there was difference enough between gold and paper currency for a large profit for him who could “go short” on gold and wait. Mr. Morning thought he would consult Mr. Recker on the advisability of a turn in the Gold Room. Mr. Recker was his friend—Mrs. Recker was a friend of Mrs. THE SPIDER AWD THE FLY. 6I Morning. The families were on most charming terms of fa- miliarity. Like David with his friend, Mr. Recker and Mr. Morning “had taken sweet counsel together’”; but never on finance, except in the abstract. In the concrete or practical, Mr. Morning had never sounded Mr. Recker's views. He had only seen Mr. Recker in repose, never in action. In this he was not singular. No one ever saw Mr. Recker in action, but thousands had felt him. And all who had ever felt him would have rejoiced had they been privileged to have seen him only. “Mr. Recker,” said Mr. Morning, “I have been thinking for some time of making a venture in Wall street, but I have not been able to decide what to invest in. I have not made a venture since I came to New York, and I concluded to consult you, if you are not averse to expressing an opinion, or making a suggestion. I know you are in the market, and you might feel a delicacy about advising. Still I know the only way to settle the doubt is to ask.” This was business. Mr. Recker was a fervent admirer of business. More yet; it was business in his line. The war- horse never pricked its ears more gladly at the sound of battle than did the speculator at the voice of that applicant of initia- tion. Mr. Recker was reclining on an easy chair, when that trum- pet sound fell on his ears. He leaned forward slowly (he was at all times deliberate) looking at his guest, or rather gently devouring him by anticipation, and in a tone of extreme kind- ness and abiding interest, remarked, “Are you willing to act on my judgment, Mr. Morning 2" That was an adroit throw of the net. Mr. Morning had asked for Mr. Recker's opinion. To seek it and not act on it might give offense. The situation was close. The net was over him and he could not safely, honorably, escape, Had he not opened the door for the wily man to enter 7 There was but one answer, unless he would risk the displeasure of his host. “Yes, sir. Your past success is a guaranty of safety in rely- ing on your judgment. It is certainly immeasurably sounder than my own, and hence I have asked for it to be my guide.” Mr. Recker assumed a pose of reflection. He looked on the carpet at his feet with an air of serious meditation, as if run- ning over the stock-list, weighing this, rejecting that, uncertain about another, and, above every consideration, anxious to plant his friend's feet on a firm foundation. After a careful and 62 A LU 7'OCRACY. prayerful survey of the list of stocks and other properties, Mr. Recker, guided by his exalted sense of hospitality and friend- ship, announced his conclusion with a very brief, condensed thesis on political economy as applicable to the then existing financial situation. The thesis was the prologue to his play. “Gold is gradually declining in relative value. That diminishes its purchasing power, or, what is the same thing, increases the price of other property, particularly of stocks and bonds. Therefore ” (conclusion), “I advise you to sell gold and buy Erie.” As he finished the prologue and reached the word “there- fore,” the economic essayist raised his eyes and fixed them lovingly on his charmed guest, with a faint smile that was meant to express, “What have you to say in refutation of that 2 " but which really meant, “Will he walk into my parlor I must hold him with my gaze until he is in.” “I thank you most heartily for those points, Mr. Recker, and to show my confidence in you, I will sell gold and buy Erie to- morrow to the extent of my credit.” -- Mr. Morning was so full of the next day's work that he wished to rise early and get in at the opening of the market. After summoning his wife from the sitting-room of Mrs. Recker, where those two had been settling some social problems while their liege lords had been settling, each to his own satisfac- tion, but with diametrically opposite results, a single financial problem, Mr. Morning gracefully bid the hostess, and grate- fully bid his host, good-night. The next morning, Wednesday, Mr. Morning rose early— earlier than was his habit. He was unusually buoyant. As he arranged his toilet he sang, “In the Sweet By-and-By,” with a tenderness of expression that arrested the attention of his devoted wife. Time and again he kissed her, lingered in the bedchamber after requesting his wife to go below and see to the preparation of the breakfast. As she left the chamber, the joyful husband quickly opened the top drawer of her bureau, seized a velvet jewel case, opened it, took therefrom a small flat key and slipped it into his waist- coat pocket. After carefully replacing the box and closing the drawer, he gently lifted the sacred pledge to his arms, echoing her delightful prattle as he put her on his back with her tiny arms, like tendrils of a vine, clinging to his neck, and followed to the breakfast room, where he romped and played until he was summoned to the table. . 7A/A2 SP/IDAER AAWD 7"Ayż Aºy V. 63 After breakfast Mr. Morning kissed his wife and daughter, and stepping lightly into a coupé was driven hurriedly from his home on Thirty-fourth street to a bank on Broadway, where his bonds were deposited. He received nearly all the bonds, and drove to the office of Mr. Margin on Broad street. It was the work of a few minutes to arrange for the sale of gold and purchase of Erie by depositing the bonds as security. Mr. Morning went to his bright home, and Mr. Margin went to the Stock Exchange. The day wore away like any other uneventful day. The market swung lazily, like the huge pen- dulum of a monstrous clock, that ticks only to kill time. When the iron tongue that orders the battle to commence at ten o'clock A.M., and with equal Command puts an end to hos- tilities at three P.M., spoke the word “cease ’’ that day, there was a bright sky in the financial world, no sign of a sudden change of weather, no thought of a blizzard or cyclone. All above, around—was calm. Bulls and Bears fed together as amiably as if they had, by mutual consent, drawn teeth, claws, and horns, and stacked them, until they should be called to arms the next day. The next day there was some activity in the Gold Room, but not enough to create alarm. The Bears confidently looked for reaction the following day. Mr. Margin assured Mr. Morning that the small rise was a natural flow of the financial tide, and reminded him that as the flood at Spring tide was always higher, the ebb at neap was always lower. That night they went to see the play of /u/ius Caesar. All went merrily during the first and second acts. Mr. Morning criticised kindly, noting every strong feature of that condensed chapter in the history of Rome. The curtain rose on the third act, the pivot of the play. They watched the development with philosophical study. Mrs. Morning became wholly absorbed in the plot. She became an ally of Caesar, she pleaded with Calphurnia to Caesar, not to go to the capitol. She prayed that Brutus would tell Portia of the conspiracy, believing that Portia would do something to save Caesar, not for Caesar's sake, but to avert harm from her hus- band. * - - When Caesar took his seat in the Senate chamber, and the conspirators approached under pretense of presenting petitions, Mrs. Morning's blood ran cold. At the first stab made by Casca, she shuddered ; and when Caesar's friend, Brutus, who had fought under Pompey and against Caesar at Pharsalia, and 64 PZU 7'OCRA C jº. whom Caesar, soon after the battle, pardoned and covered with favors and honors, rushed forward and stabbed his benefactor, the spectators were attracted by a faint scream. Mrs. Morning Covered her face with her fan. Recovering from the shock, she said to her husband : “I have always doubted the history of Brutus' part in the assassination of Caesar, because I cannot believe that human nature can be so depraved as Brutus is made to appear. How can a man willfully, deliberately plan to kill or ruin a friend ?” “I cannot conceive of the possibility of such an act. Yet, this history has been reiterated for two thousand years, with- out contradiction,” replied the husband. “Let us try not to believe it. It is too horrible. The thought of such treachery makes me miserable,” suggested Mrs. Morn- 1ng. “How can one try not to believe, my love Belief is the result of evidence, and all the witnesses testify to this killing, and all are credible. If we get rid of belief in this history, we must believe that the eye-witnesses all lied.” ‘‘We can, at least, raise a doubt and fly to it as a redoubt for shelter,” said his wife. “We have good ground for a doubt certainly, since it is now established that the story about Will- iam Tell is a myth ; that Uncle George did not cut the cherry- tree ; and as it is soon to be proved by ciphers, that Shake- speare never lived, and that Bacon wrote Shakespeare's plays.” “Well said, my love | We will build a redoubt out of a doubt, to shelter mankind from such a deadly charge,” the hus- band jocosely replied. - Mr. Morning had been so interested in the play as to forget all thought of business. But, at that moment, Octavius said to Antony : “And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, millions of mischief.” The word millions suggested money. In a second, a train of association thus lighted flashed through the brain of Mr. Morn- ing. Millions, then money, then his speculation—“some that smile.” Recker smiled when he advised him to sell gold and buy Erie. Was there “mischief’ in that smile, “millions of mischief" 2 Then the bonds, the venture of all he had ; the wife, ignorant, happy, unsuspecting. Had he been victimized 2 The market that day was not favorable. Mr. Morning suddenly turned pale. His wife's right hand was resting on his left. It became cold and clammy, and tren- THE SAE/DER AAWD 7THE A*/ V. 65 bled. The wife turned quickly, but before she could speak he said : “I,et's go. I feel faint.” They were soon in the foyer. The husband, desiring to pre- vent questions, said quickly : “I feel faint. The air in there is too warm—-I feel better, much better, now. My love, I think we both have seen that play often enough.” “Yes, I wish never to see it again,” said the wife, whose mind was dwelling on Brutus' villainy. They drove to their home, chatting on many subjects; won- dering if their “precious lamb’’ was asleep, and whether she had waked and missed them, and had a good cry. 5 CHAPTER NINTH, BLACK FRIT) AY. IF any one of the family of cranks who claim to be on con- fidential relations with Providence, and who betray his confi- dence by telling, months in advance, what he intends to do on a given day, ventured to predict that a gale, or hurricane, or cyclone would sweep over the city of New York on the 24th day of September, Anno Domini 1869, he must have suspected when he witnessed the opening and progress of that day, that his relations with Providence were becoming strained, or that “His ways are past finding out.” Two hours before dawn there were no clouds hurrying or Scudding above, no wind rushing through the streets, slapping the sign-boards in the face, or dashing at shutters and giving them a shake to awake the sleeping mortals within, and then rushing off, as do mischievous boys who jerk the knobs at front doors. All was calm and clear. “The heavens declared the glory of God. The firmament showed His handiwork.” The polar star did not pale his fire. Orion spread out his bands. The Pleiades hung bright, and moved on in search of their lost sis- ter, shedding their “sweet influence ’’ as softly as when Job, moved by its magic, forgot for the time his boils, and “rushed into print.” The Archer, Sagittarius, like a veritable broker, was drawing his silver bow, regardless of whom or where the arrow might strike. Taurus, the Bull, was kneeling with horns down, prepared for heavy and immediate work ; while the Great Bear, with a front and hind paw raised, stood ready for a stampede. Aries, the Ram, lay looking to the rear, as if expecting the shearer was near, and that he must surrender his fleece acquired by so many thousand nibbles. The millions of stars stood still, like spectators of an impending drama—watching the broker speed his arrow ; for the Bull to toss his enemy; and the Bear to cover himself for safety until the Bull should get full and tired, and turn to rend him. --- * AZA CAE FRA/DAY. 67 The great city, that up to that hour had lain asleep, began to wake, like a giant Gargantua. In the first unrest after deep slumber, the limbs—the extremities first showed signs of life. A low rumble, indistinct at first, is heard, gradually growing louder and louder until it passes the door; then not so loud; now faint and now unheard, like the music of a brass band playing the “Turkish Reveille.” It was a milk wagon, or a butcher's, hurrying to the market. Another low rumble—now louder—then dying away. These are only movements of the feet and hands of Gargantua, and he slumbers on. The pavement throws up the sound of a lone tramp passing by. As the sound grows faint, another is heard now coming, now going. Soon a thousand little flashes are seen and fires are kindled in a thousand furnaces, and the red flame, through the iron doors, lights up the grim faces of a thousand grim Titans. Now comes a slight rumbling sound that swells, then falls. The next time a little louder, then ceases; louder still, then dies away for a minute. Each repetition is more dis- tinct as the street cars, stopping at irregular intervals, take on the thousands now moving, some with baskets, others with tin buckets, to their points of assembling where they stand like so many machines waiting to be put in motion by steam whistling, at a given hour, through the thousand boilers that rest over the thousand furnaces in which the flames now hiss and leap like tangled fiery serpents. Aurora, robed in gray, rises from the deep to wake this giant to action, and his legs, arms and body move. A hundred thousand keys rattle in as many locks; a hundred thousand doors swing on their hinges; a hundred thousand shutters bang in chorus. Two hundred thousand shop girls, clerks, errand boys, sewing women, salesmen, enter and range themselves for the wearying work of a weary day. Along the ten miles of wharves is heard the rumble of drays, trucks, carts, wagons. Along twenty miles of water, fierce, bustling tugs puff, puff, puff, always saying, “Pat-a-cake-pat-a- cake, -baker's-man.” Between a hundred piers huge leviathans lazily stretch and roll, as in vast cradles rocked by a touch from each saucy, impudent tug as it pushes by, singing as it goes, “Bake-the-cake-as-fast-as-you-can.” Though Gargantua's arms and legs move, his brain still sleeps. The herald—Dawn—announcing the coming of the King—her father—sweeps past with velvet tread, but Gargan- tua sleeps on. Another hour and then he wakes and his brain 68 PZvZoCRAcy. begins to work. The feet and hands have been moving for an hour, two hours before ; now the brain assumes control and directs their movements. - “Once upon a time ’’ one Gargantua stood on two high mountains, and bowing his head, drank dry a river that flowed between. This Gargantua standing on a island formed by three rivers, stretches out his hands and reaps the fullness of a continent. - * Let us take our stand on one of the piers of Brooklyn Bridge, or best of all, perch like the jackdaw up in the steeple and look down on the people—in the steeple of Old Trinity—and watch Gargantua for part of a day. What place more appropriate than Trinity, which has stood frowning on Wall street for five generations, with arm upraised and index finger ever point- ing to Heaven, and, every hour, throwing its voice down and through Wall street, giving warning that the end is nearer by one more hour. - Broadway wears its week-day look. The scene is the same that has been visible, any week day, for a hundred years; the only difference being in the increased volume of the human tide. At this hour the tide is running down. It flows along the main channel, but part of it breaks off through the cross channels, Sweeping east and west. A steady current pours down Wall street from eight to ten o'clock. Mr. Recker is not one of the drops in that current. He is in his office. He has been busy for many days—with many people and on important business. What the business was, or is, only a few understood. He communicated with a few presi- dents of banks, a few millionaire Capitalists—until they had a common understanding. He had no need to see any one that morning. He was in his office early, calm, self-possessed, and happy. It is the reward of a good deed to be happy; and had not Mr. Recker done a kind act two nights before when his friend and guest had asked for a “point” Mr. Nat Banks is in the confidence of Mr. Recker. He knows why Mr. Recker feels happy and looks innocently SereſhC. gº Mr. Ferrum, also is down early to-day and quite interested in the same work. He is studying a tabulated statement. He lays it down and walks the floor, then sits down again. He acts like one who expects to take a train and is afraid to get his mind engaged lest he may miss it. Mr. San Bonanza is down town early to-day. His custom is A/CA CAE, AER/ZDA W. - 69 to come between eleven and twelve. He was in conference with Mr. Recker several days ago. They then separated with the understanding that they and a few others meet again on Friday night. There are a few others who were closeted with Mr. Recker Some days ago—and they were some of the drops of the stream that broke away from the main channel an hour ago and rushed down Wall street as if they would run into East River. The dial beneath us has marked the hour of ten—and still the tide runs down—is still on the ebb. The great roar in mono- tone swells up from Broadway like the sound of Niagara. Messenger boys run in and out doors as if they were play- ing the school-boy game of “Fox and Hound.” Men step rapidly into Counting-rooms—into banks—and soon hurry out. Above the din and roar of Broadway—over the tops of houses in front of us--comes a sound “like the voice of many waters” or more like “the rebel yell.” Soon the sound gathers volume and does not for a second decrease. One man—now another —and another run across Wall street, and dodge into build- ings. . It can't be that the rebels have reached the Island and are charging up New Street——and these men are fleeing for safety 2 There is no fire alarm. There is no smoke, no flame, no fire engine, visible, yet the whole of Wall street, as far as the eye can reach beyond William street, is in commo- tion. Where one man rushes into a building, two, three, a half dozen run out, to a common focus, as water rushes to a vortex. Squads of men run into every bank near by and ask, no demand to see the President. “The President is engaged in his office—but will see you after a little.” Has the Presi- dent any thought of the reason why those callers demand so urgently to see him P • Yes, the President knows what they want. He knew yester- day—a week ago—that they would be there about that hour. “He is very sorry, indeed, that he cannot accommodate them, but the truth is, he has barely enough to be within the law, and he dare not violate the law, that he could not do. How could he ever again look his fellow-man in the face, if he could be so wicked as to violate the law P’’ The crowd in the streets increases rapidly. Wall street omnibuses pick their way through the hurrying mass of human beings. One man, in trying to cross Wall street, runs against one of the horses of an omnibus team, and is knocked down. No one stops to help him up. No One has time. The om- 7o AZU 7'OCRACY. nibus stops, and another man, who was running across behind it, strikes against a wheel, dislocates his shoulder and falls heavily on the Belgian rock. No one has time to pick him up. We must go down from this steeple to see the cause of all this wild excitement. As we descend to the floor our atten- tion is arrested by the contrast between the wild hurry with- out and the peaceful calm within. “The voice of many waters” is hushed, and the rattle of the car “ o'er the stony street” is muffled. The sound board shaped like an immense sea shell, hangs above the pulpit, but from it comes not even a whisper from the great deep’s mighty voice. The light soft- ened and variegated by the colored glass, throws a sacred som- berness over the scene. Beyond the chancel there comes a still small voice : “Thou shalt have no other God besides me.” “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house ; thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his man servant, nor his maid servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neigh- bor’s.” - The place is full of inspiration. Thoughts come thick and fast. As a mariner in the center of a cyclone drifts on uncon- Scious of any disturbance of the elements, so we stand in this place of peace and rest, unmindful of the storm around it. A rumbling sound falls constantly on the ear, but that is from the tide sweeping along the great channel as it has ebbed and flowed for a century gone. How many generations had filed in and out through the door, near by, to return no more How many, who for years, twenty, forty, fifty years, every morning, turned the corner just across Broadway, “full of lusty life,” full of affairs, of specula- tion, spurred on by avarice, by ambition to be “the wealthiest man in Gotham,” have turned the corner some evening going up Broadway, and the next time they came were under waving plumes—with a vast escort of friends doing them honor by moving on foot beside the carriage whereon waved the plumes. Surely this is a triumphal procession . The ambition of the Occupant of that chariot has certainly been gratified, his cup of joy is full, he has won the first prize for wealth ! His friends have turned out to celebrate his victory, and to do him honor. As the grand procession comes near, we see no hero sitting in the chariot. There are no huzzas. The crowd on the side- walk is moving on. They glance at the procession, but neither stop, nor slack their pace. The hero is there, but he is asleep. A LA CR FRAZOA V. 71 He is reclining and moving feet foremost. His face is as pale as death. He is as Cold and bloodless as marble. He is turning down Wall street again as he has done for fifty years, day after day, but he does not stop as he was wont to do | He moves on past New Street, past Broad, past William, past Pearl, past Water, into the ferryboat, over the river—on through Brooklyn. Where is he going 2 Not far. He has only moved his residence from New York city to Necropolis, near by. But he has carried nothing with him to his new home ! No. He wants nothing. He learnt in Trinity, when a boy, and never forgot the lesson, that “man brought nothing into this world, and it is certain that he can carry nothing away.” He knew that. Mr. Recker, Mr. Banks, Mr. Ferrum—all other millionaires know that. But they must have some amusement, some occupation. They were also taught that “an idle brain is the devil's work-shop,” and they do not want the devil as a tenant. They do not need another twenty, fifty, hundred millions, of course. There are five hundred thousand industrious, honest, virtuous poor within a rifle shot, who do need what those mill- ions would provide them with, but it will not do for Recker, Ferrum, Banks & Co. to be idle. It is far better that the five hundred thousand poor do without, than to impede the race between all the members of the firm of Recker, Ferrum, Banks & Co., for the imperishable, invaluable honor of being “the richest man in Gotham.” A few hundred millions more, say two, or five thousand millions more, gathered in by that mam- moth McCormack reaper—the war tariff—what difference will it make 2 How can all that hurt the poor 2 The money is all here, it will stay here. The country is wealthy. So what dif- ference does it make, whether the money is held by a few, or is a little more evenly distributed among the many These reflections were broken off by the entrance of some strangers, who came to see historic Trinity. As the door opened the hoarse roar of the street rushed in, and with it was the cry : “A”amic 27, the Go/ā Ā’oom.” A / We left Trinity at once, and after being jostled, struck and knocked down by racing men and boys we reached New street. There were men in their shirt sleeves, some without hats, some running as for life and crying, “clear the way !” A thousand men occupied a space sixty by one hundred feet in New street, swaying and sºrging towards the door of the Gold Room, try- 72 AZ U 7'OCRACY. ing to hear what was going on within. Groups of ten or more were talking, swearing, and damning Recker, Banks & Co., and gesticulating with the force of a pugilist in a mill. Within a half hour after leaving Trinity we had pushed our way into the gallery of the Gold Room. Nor tongue, nor pen, nor brush can ever tell, describe, or limn the scene on the floor of that room at that hour. Any one who has had the horrible experience of being in a crowded theater when the cry of “Fire—Fire l’’ rang out behind the curtain, and the red flames shot up in a second, and was calm enough to observe the look of terror—then the rush—the screams of women, their cries of agony as they were knocked down, run over, trampled down, trodden upon—the awful cho- rus of hundreds of men's voices hoarse from rage and terror ; their clothing torn from their backs in the struggle to reach a door or window, knows how futile and idle would be any attempt to describe the scene. t Had a thousand maniacs been confined there, each possessed with the idea that he was to be pulled to pieces or burned to death unless he bought or sold a certain quantity of gold with- in a minute of time, the raving could not have been louder nor more Savage. The most noticeable feature of the scene was the one most prominent in every case of fire, shipwreck, earthquake, or other great danger. It was utter selfishness. No man thought of any other. The word “gold '' was the red flag that maddened every man. They shouted, screamed, ran, jumped. Some mounted on chairs and were knocked down by others running. unconsciously against them. Many became exhausted from screaming and wore a look of despair because they were voice- less. Many rushed around the room as aimless and purpose- less as if rendered unconscious by a blow on the head. They were, indeed, senseless, for they knew not whether they were buying or selling gold. A few were stunned and stood motionless, not knowing what was going on. A large num- ber dropped their hats and hurried on, not missing them— and the hats were trampled flat and shapeless. One man, seemingly unexcited, was selling gold. The buyers crowded on him and on each other until some in the outer line tried to climb over others who stood between them and the seller. Like mercury in a tube exposed to summer heat, gold contin- ued to rise rapidly. - “I’ll give 14o for ten thousand gold | * AZACK AER//DA. V. 73 Before the seller can enter a memorandum of the name, amount and price, he hears, “ 145 for twenty thousand of gold.” Another bidder instantly raises that to 150—another to 155—others standing by throw up their hands from utter bewilderment, and stagger back against fresh bidders pushing madly to get where they can be heard. Just then a man rushed into the gallery wringing his hands and trembling in every limb. His moan attracted the atten- tion of the spectators in front near the railing. He seemed not to be conscious of their presence, and pressed on to the railing and leaned over to listen, placing his right hand to his ear to act as a sound board. Above the general roar below came “16o for ten thousand gold.” The stranger by the railing uttered a wail of anguish and cried out, “Oh God My wife My child ! Where can I find Recker I'll kill him—kill him The infernal ” and he dashed away and down the stair, into the street and up towards Broadway, crying, “I want to find Recker I’ll kill him I'll kill him!” He ran up the stairs leading to Mr. Recker's office, pushed into the antechamber and demanded to see Mr. Recker. His wild glare, excited action, and loud voice betrayed his animos- ity, and he was politely assured that Mr. Recker was “not in at that moment.” The stranger, that is, stranger to the drilled usher who had given the polite answer, demanded again to see Mr. Recker, without seeming to have heard the usher. The answer was repeated, the demand was reiterated with greater fury. The drilled usher knew what he must do, and it was done quickly. The stranger was decoyed to the outer door; the door was instantly closed and the key turned. The stranger turned the knob, beat on the door—now de- manding at the top of his voice to be let in, and now crying, “Ruined ruined my wife, my child ! my child ! Oh, God what shall I do *" Suddenly he wheeled and ran down the stairs crying, “I’ll kill him, the villain, the devil—I’ll kill him 1" He had not gone twenty paces before a policeman arrested him. “See here, my friend, what is the matter 2 Why are you making this disturbance 2 ” - “Loose me, or I'll kill you and Recker, too !” exclaimed the stranger, glaring wildly at the guardian of the peace, and jerk- ing away. The policeman caught him by the arm. & “If you don’t behave and be quiet, I will have to take care of you.” . 74 AZ U 7'OCRACY. | The stranger jumped at him like a mad tiger. The police- man held him with his left hand until he could spring his rat- tle, then grasped him with his right, but not before he had re- ceived a blow that so.staggered him he would have fallen had he not held to the arm with his left hand. The struggle was short, for passers-by seized the stranger and held him until the rattle call was answered. The two policemen, one on each side, dragged the stranger, who fought at every step, and threw him into a wagon, pin- ioned him down, drove to the station-house and locked him in. The prisoner's fury was instantly turned upon his jailer. He Seized the iron bars of the door and shook them until the wall to which the door was fastened trembled. His eyes, voice, action, all were suggestive of madness. He stamped upon the floor—-grabbed his hair with both hands and shook his head as if it were that of a deadly foe. All this time there was not a Second of silence. He yelled so loud that the door to the sta- tion was soon packed with people attracted from the street. He commenced striking the bars with his hands and then struck at the keeper, who went to the door of his cell to ad- monish him to be quiet. His violence increased, and the keeper decided it was neces- sary to put him in a jacket for his own safety. After the jacket was applied the keeper searched his pockets for something that would disclose his name. A letter envelop was found addressed to Albert Morning, Thirty-fourth street, New York. He was asked if that was his name, but he heeded no one, gave no answer. The keeper sent a messenger to No. , Thirty-fourth street, with instructions to report that a gentleman of that name supposed to live at , Thirty-fourth street, was confined in Ludlow street, but not for any crime. The messenger went with all possible dispatch, and it was not long before Mrs. Morning arrived at the jail. Her servant Mary assisted her into the small sitting-room, and the messenger called the keeper. As the jailer entered the Sound of a hoarse, but loud scream was distinctly heard, and ceased as the door closed. “Madam, are you Mrs. Morning 7" said the jailer. “I am. Did you send for me 2" “Yes, madam, because I fear your husband is here, and in a very sad condition.” “I want to see at once if he is my husband.” “Won't you sit and let this woman go and see if the gentle- AZACK AER//) A V. 75 man is your husband 2 It will be best, if you please,” politely suggested the jailer. “No | Take me to him at once | If he is my husband I am the One to see him.” “But if you will pardon me—” “Mr. Jailer you sent for me to see one you supposed to be my husband. If he is here I must see him at once. So lead the way.” The door swung back—and the jailer stepped into the pas- sage. The hoarse scream greeted them as he led the way. Louder, louder it grew, colder and clammier the hands of Mrs. Morning grew, weaker and weaker her step, Was she in a horrible dream, that one outcry by her would dispel ? She had not time to make the effort to dispel it, for the jailer halted before an iron grating for the wife to look in. One glance was enough. Mrs. Morning shrieked, “My husband,” and fell to the floor. Her husband, who was chained a few feet from the grating, turned suddenly at the words “My hus- band,” and seeing the servant Mary, cried with the full strength of his voice, now cracked and broken by hallooing for hours, “Where is my wife 2 ” and covering his face with both hands, he sank to the floor, wailing and sobbing, “Ruined, ruined My God, ruined ” But in half a minute or less he sprung to his feet with a hoarse bellow, “I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him l’’ The jailer had Mrs. Morning lifted and carried to the sitting- room, and dispatched a messenger for Dr. Chase, who resided near the jail. When the doctor arrived Mrs. Morning had be- come conscious, but unnerved. He went to the cell and looked at the husband—listened to his ravings a few moments, and on his return to the sitting-room, he told the jailer, the wife must be sent away at once. - The promise of the doctor to remain being received, Mrs. Morning, assisted by him and Mary, entered her carriage and drove away, intending to go to what three hours before was her paradise, but which then had but one ray of light or hope. Before she had driven far, Mary ventured to ask if she desired to have a detective. Mrs. Morning had not thought of that. She ordered the coachman to drive to the office of the chief detective. When they reached the office, the chief was not in. “He is at dinner, madam, what can I do for you ?” This was said by the clerk whose imagination began to play, and to con- jecture a dozen or more situations; “a murder, burglary in the highest style of the art, accompanied with diamond robbery, arson, divorce, husband a millionaire, detective wanted to track 76 - PZU 7 OcRAcy. husband, to catch him in startling situation, to furnish proof– fat fees—money no object.” - “Tell your chief, as soon as he returns, to send one of his best, most reliable men—I mean detective—to me, No. ? Thirty-fourth street, at once,” was all the lady said, and drove rapidly to her home. Home 2 No 1 not home. It is not the music of that most musical word ; it is not the shelter from pitiless storms ; it is not the rest to weary limbs; it is not the family altar for sacri- fice ; it is not the bond of blood ; it is not the sweet languor of cushioned luxury within marble walls where flattering minions serve, that constitute a home, that give that word its sweetness, its charm, its sanctity, a spiritual completeness, possessed by no other word the human race has ever spoken. Shelter, rest, the altar, blood, wealth may all combine, and yet home be not there. “'Tis home where'er the heart is ; Where'er its living treasures dwell.” The humblest cot may be the dearest home—the most gor- geous palace may be a hell. Home was in the loving heart, the tender kiss, the gentle tone, the sympathetic thought, the sac- rifice of self, the subordination of desire, the kind purpose, the undying devotion that went forth that morning ; and, had rea- son remained with them, home would have been in that cell that night. But, oh the dungeon damp, the gray mildew, the green mold, that had gathered on that sacred, bright, hal- lowed spot called home, in one brief hour ! It has been said that no great actor ever lived who has not known great sor- row. And, so, no heart has ever felt the full inspiration that springs from every word and tone in that immeasurable legacy to Sorrow—“Home, Sweet Home "—until it has felt the bliss and loss of a home. - The intensity of Mrs. Morning's excitement, her horror, and the necessity for thought and action had restrained any exhibi- tion of her grief by tears. But there is a time when a woman's heart must break, unless the flood of sorrow finds escape. As she entered the hall, now so black, one sunbeam greeted her sight. It was in the form of her darling child. She ran to her mother, full of light and love—and began to prattle. Instead of giving Comfort, every word was anguish; and when the innocent babe asked, “Where is papa 2 " the stricken mother fell to the floor upon her knees, clasped her child in her arms and wept with bitter lamentation, until aroused to consciousness by the servant, who announced the presence of the detective. wº CHAPTER TENTH, professor Pryer. AFTER directing Mary to show the detective the way to the reception room, Mrs. Morning went up to her chamber to bathe her face and obliterate the traces of her grief. She soon came down, and on entering the reception room, she saw a man of medium size, spare, wiry figure, with small black eyes, neatly dressed, and beardless. He rose promptly and handed her a card on which she read : ABRAM PRYER, Detective Force, New York. “Resume your seat, Mr. Pryer,” said the lady in a tone that indicated weariness and sorrow. “Yes, madam | I am here at your service, madam . " “Excuse me for asking whether you are an expert. My anxiety and distress must be my apology for the inquiry.” “No apology, madam, perfectly natural. I understand, madam | For business we all want the best talents. When we pay, we want value received. Every buyer has the right to inspect the goods. Therefore, madam, you are right to ask. With employers I play my hand open—and I will proceed to say without further delay, that I am an expert. I am a regular jimmy to open the secrets of burglars and am recognized to be a Daisy on Divorces, from Boston to Chicago.” “Mr. Pryer . I do not want you for either a burglary or a divorce,” said Mrs. Morning with some impatience. “I am at your service for anything, madam. I only named burglaries and divorces as the leading heads of my business— of the detective's Profession, madam ; that you might know, if I am O. K. on them, I must be a Fortyory in the small busi- ness, such as murder, arson, theft, etc. That was all, madam.” “Excuse me sir : I am a woman in distress.” “Of course, madam ' '' “And I must act for myself—I, therefore—wish you to be plain and direct.” 78 - PZU 7 ocRAcy. “Certainly, madam | That is my hand, exactly.” “You have used words that I do not understand. You said you are a jimmy and a forty something. Bear in mind, you are speaking to a woman who knows nothing of those terms which, I suppose, express your rank among detectives. I want a first-class detective, and it matters not to me, whether his rank is that of a Jimmy, or of the fortieth grade.” - “My dear madam—Beg pardon I mean distressed madam. The words I used belong to my profession ; that is, the word jimmy does, and the other is a word we have adopted from the legal fraternity who use it when they make a point before a judge and want to fortify it But I will not use any more learned technicalities, madam. They are so common to our profession, I forgot I was speaking to a lady.” “I will now make known what I want you for. My hus- band is confined in Ludlow jail, not for any offense, but because his mind is affected. He went down town yesterday morning as well, sane and happy as ever in his life, and about noon he was taken up on Broadway in a state of insanity.” Mr. Pryer had dug out of his coat pocket a small book cov- ered with Russia leather, and was taking notes of what the wife was saying. - “I was sent for and found my husband in the jail. God have mercy a raving maniac. I know there has been foul play—somewhere by some one—and I have sent for a detect- ive to discover the man and the cause.” Mrs. Morning paused. Mr. Pryer looked up but was silent, expecting further information. “Is that all, madam P” he asked. “All I think of. May be you can ask me some questions that may occur to you?” she answered. “Did you see your husband in the jail 7’’ “I got a glimpse of him.” Her lips quivered and she could say no more. “Did he say anything to you ?” “Nothing. He did not know me.” “You say that he was raving. Did he use any words or language P’’ “I only remember he exclaimed, “Ruined Ruined ” “That's a clew, madam ; a starter. Did he say how or who ruined him, or who was ruined 2 ” “Not a word.” “That is bad. That breaks the clew.” Mr. Pryer mused a PROFESSOR PR YER. - 79 minute. The servant, Mary, who was standing at the door by direction of her mistress, ventured a suggestion. “May I say a word, mistress P’’ said Mary. “Certainly,” replied Mrs. Morning. “Don’t you remember when we were in the carriage that man told you, Mr. Morning said he was ruined and he would kill Mr. Recker P” - “I do not remember a word he said. I was nearly insane,” answered the mistress. - “He said he would kill Mr. Recker P” asked the detective of the servant. “Yes, sir; so the messenger said,” answered Mary. Mr. Pryer reflected. Mistress and maid were silent. “What is your husband's business?” asked the detective. “He is not in business. We have enough to live on without any other income.” - Mr. Pryer made a note, not of the last answer, but of a con- clusion—a deduction—one of his a fortiori arguments. It looked to “fortifying ” his exchequer. It read : “A fortyory, she can pay a fat fee.” He assumed the air of recording, with great pains, the words of the speaker. - He then leaned forward, his brow resting on his left hand, and thought for a time: * “Yesterday was the gold excitement—Recker was in the business. This man went crazy yesterday. Many others went crazy—all about gold—wanted to kill Recker. I’ve got it. He's one of Recker's victims. But I must not uncover here. I have not made my contract.” He raised his head and asked : “Madam, did your husband ever speculate 2 ” “Never !” was the prompt, indignant reply. “Yes,” dryly responded Mr. Pryer. “Why do you ask that f° inquired the wife. “I am trying to get at something to follow up. This is a very, very blind case—the trail is very dim. I think I can work it out, but it will require shrewd management and money. I must hire outside help ; pay well for it ; do many unpleasant things; divide with a pal or two ; bribe some house servants; forge letters to decoy—I can't tell what I may have to do. A detective's Profession, madam, is not only one of the Fine Arts, but is one of the Liberal Arts; by which I mean, madam, its patrons are always liberal. It is, madam, a Profession of con- fidences. The patron confides in the Profession's capacity to do, and the Profession confides in the patron's capacity to pay, 8o PZU 7 ocRAcy. It is a profession of mutual reliances, of pensation on the one side and compensation on the other. There is no profession that calls for such heart-rendering sympathy, and hence, the necessity for compensation adequate to the suffering and the emotional wear and tear, so to speak, endured by the Profes- sion. The agony is all the worse, madam, because the Profes- sion is never allowed, under even the most bitter anguish, to exhibit the slightest emotion. I could have burst into tears any moment the last ten minutes, madam, but the rules of the Profession forbid all such demonstration until we are alone— in our secret chamber. There we are at liberty to indulge in the wildest grief over the sorrow of our patrons. I thought it best to give you, madam, some insight to the trials of our Pro- fession, as you are evidently having your first experience with it.” “And I hope, my last,” said the madam. “Ah ! Madam | I trust so indeed May you be spared any more sorrow or suffering and, I may frankly add, expense, mournfully and sympathetically responded the Professor, “What will you charge to get at the truth of this mystery and misfortune, Mr. Pryer P’’ said Mrs. Morning, to get down to business, and stop the homily on the profession. “You may well say mystery, madam. It is a deep one. But I am willing in consideration of your distressed situation to work, in part for sympathy, and to put the small matter of compensation, provided— Will you let the servant bring me a glass of water, please ?” - - Mary, as directed by her mistress, stepped away for the water, and Mr. Pryer proceeded : “Provided, no one shall know the amount but you and my- self—at, say, three thousand dollars. You See, I don't wish the Profession to know I knocked off any amount on account of sympathy. I would be expelled from the Profession.” “Mr. Pryer . That is enormous ! I can't— ” “Remember the mystery who can tell where the bottom of this thing is It may be in California’—the detective cau- tioned his prospective victim. . As Mr. Morning had lived in California, the wife was stag- gered by the chance hit of the detective in naming that locality, and she imagined the detective already knew something he would not reveal without pay. She concluded to make terms, and replied : “Mr. Pryer, I cannot prolong this interview, I am suffer- AROAA SSOA. AAE YEA’. 81 ing too deeply. I will pay you five hundred dollars cash, and two thousand more when you put me in possession of every fact leading to my husband's condition.” “That is very little, madam, very little. That is knocking off twenty-five hundred for sympathy—but, as we must look for a part of our reward for good deeds, in the world to come, I will lay up one-half as treasure in Heaven, and try to worry along here on the other half. I accept your offer, madam.” The servant came in with the water too late to hear the amount, but in time to be impressed by the pious generosity of Mr. Pryer's last remark. She was most favorably affected and imagined that the detective had agreed to do the work for ten dollars as the outside figure. Mrs. Morning went to her chamber and returned with the cash installment of the price (less the sympathy), charged by the detective. She handed the money (one bill) to the detective, who pushed it into his vest pocket with the air of one who felt he had been wronged, but resolved to bear it with Chris- tian resignation. That was to impress the payer with the im- portance of the Profession of the payee. That being done, Mr. Pryer came down to business in earnest. - “You said, madam, that your husband never speculated— that is, never operated in Wall street, selling and buying stocks.” “Never,” was the same reply. “Well, let me suppose a case, that I may exhaust every source of information. Of course, you will aid me in getting at the facts you wish to know.” “Certainly I will—and most gladly.” “Then I will ask, ; could not your husband have operated in stocks and you not know it 2 '' “He might. That is, I do not mean that it was not possible for me not to know it, but I mean, he always told me of his business affairs.” “But, had he not money, or bonds, or stock, he could have used as margins in speculation ?” “I don't know what you mean by margins,” replied the in- InOCent WOman. - “Well, I will explain, madam. When a man goes to a broker to speculate, that is, to buy or sell stocks, he is required to put up what is called ‘margins in cash, or good collaterals. I have often wondered why it is called margins, but I think it is a term borrowed from a spider's web. 6 82 . Pzvzocracy. “Have you not seen a fly or bug light on, or strike against the outer edge or margin of a spider's web : If the fly or bug is weak it is held ; if strong, it will tear away. If weak, the Spider Soon hauls it in to the center, sucks its last drop of blood, and drops its empty carcass. If strong, it gets away be- fore the spider gets it so tangled in the web it cannot escape. “The man who goes into speculation begins on a margin. That is the first and almost always the fatal step, the begin- ning of his entanglement. If he is strong, at the first loss, he will “pull out,’ escape and be free ; if weak, wanting in de- cision, he will be drawn further in and be ruined.” At the word “ruined ”—Mrs. Morning shuddered and turned pale. It recalled the horror of the moment her husband gave the hoarse frightful scream in jail. - “For ruined he is sure to be,” continued the detective, “if he stays. Better—a thousand times better—to ‘fight the tiger over the green baize,'—than enter on the margin of the field of ‘margins.’ It is all the more destructive because con- sidered respectable. “But, excuse me, madam, I was led off this way by trying to explain to you what is meant by putting up margins. “I do not wish to pry into your husband's affairs, but I must ask, whether his property was in such shape he could have used it as collateral for margins in speculation. Was it in money, or stocks or bonds 2 ” “While I do not see the use such facts may be to you, I will tell you his property is nearly all in bonds,” answered the wife. “Who keeps them for him 2 Are they held in a safe vault 2" inquired Pryer. . “Why do you ask?” These questions had aroused suspi- cion in the mind of Mrs. Morning. “To find some way to this mystery, that is all,” quickly re- sponded the detective, who saw that he was suspected. “I see you do not feel easy under my questions, and I will stop just here by asking you to do one thing to aid me in this investiga- tion. It is very simple and easy. Will you examine the bonds as soon as possible and let me know if they are all on hand 2 I will call here at any hour to-morrow you may name. - “Before I go let me ask if your husband is acquainted wit Recker P’’ “Yes—well acquainted.” “That's enough,” was the laconic comment. “Did your husband go.down town early to-day ?” PROFESSOR PR YER. 83 “He did, just as he went Wednesday and Thursday.” “The first thing to be done, madam, is to look at your bonds. Count them and let me know. When shall I call ?” “TO-morrow at eleven.” - The professor bowed himself out—and the wife was left to darkness and herself—the darkness of a living tomb, except the dim light that added gloom to the chamber where no sleep entered during the night. The rich tapestry adorning the chamber, that was chosen with so much delight, that had given pleasure at every glance of the eye, that was a silent witness to all observers that Luxury had there a dwelling place, now hung unnoticed, as unattractive as would have been the graphic pictures in the squalid shelter of Mrs. Hampton. Grief has no luxuries. Grief is solitude. It is solitude in darkness. It hears but cannot feel, for it is, in itself, the very ecstasy of sublimated feeling. If the mind do not give way, if the heart do not break, it must run its course and die at last, because it lives by feeding on itself. The prison cell, that night, was the witness, not of grief, but of ruin. Grief had passed—and woe, calamity, ruin had come. The mind had given way. Mr. Morning did not feel grief. He could no longer distinguish the relations of things and thoughts, and, therefore, could not grieve. He could feel— did feel—but it was animal, not spiritual feeling. He was a wreck. He had trusted a friend. He had been duped, deceived, betrayed. Prompted by love, he wished to benefit his wife. Relying on the honor and truth of a friend between whom and himself there existed, for the time, the sacred rela- tion of host and guest—a relation that even savages respect and will not violate—he had done what all will condemn, but what many good men and husbands had done before in Wall Street. He saw the glamour of wealth—of fabulous wealth—of tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds of millions gathered within a few years without labor. His desire for riches got aflame. It was consuming him. He was unhappy. He was deluded by the belief that he had only to invest, to make. He went to the lion for counsel and the lion pointed him the way to his lair—his den. He entered. He lost, of course. He was ruined. His house had fallen upon wife and child. He knew it, and reason fled from the frown of outraged honor. Not far from Thirty-fourth street, in the palace of Mr. Recker, were gathered that night, Ferrum, Banks, and others, 84 PZU 7 ocRACY. They took deep draughts of wine, and talked with boyish glee of the grand success of the short but brilliant campaign in the Gold, field that day. They counted their gains. They chuckled over their glorious victory. They were delighted by the over- throw of Smith, Jones, or Brown, as if Jones, Smith or Brown had been an armed foe seeking their lives. The horrors of the day were not theirs. They thought not of the hundreds of families affluent that morning, paupers that night. They had grown hard, cold, selfish, wicked, inhuman. Men to them were no more than ten pins, no more than sol- diers were to Napoleon First. Women and children were as the grass that grows in the way they decide to go. They fixed their eyes on the goal—all between was nothing. They had the millions and they massed them for victory. - After that day's fitful fever, Recker, Ferrum, Banks & Co., slept well. The maniac yells of their victim reached not their ears. The breaking of the woman’s heart was unheard. The vision of the impending total ruin visited not their slumbers. Nevertheless, Mr. Recker had a secret detective watching Ludlow jail to prevent, or to give warning of, the discharge of one of the victims of the conspiracy that had brought pov- erty, distress, ruin, degradation, vice, on many homes that were as bright and happy that lovely morning as even the homes of Recker, Ferrum, and Banks that fateful night. CHAPTER ELEVENTH. THE PROFESSOR AND THE SERVANT, MARY. THE professor of detections was prompt in keeping his engagement the next morning at eleven. - He was met at the front door by the servant, Mary. “Tell Mrs. Morning Mr. Pryer has called on the minute,” said the professor looking at his watch. “Walk into the reception-room. I have a message for you.” The professor was thrown into a state of wonder, not to say of trepidation by the statement that the lady would not see him. Had she been to see the Mayor about the exorbitant charge of three thousand dollars 2 If so, he might as well pre- pare for voluntary exile to the West. Had she told the story of his dividing with others their grief to the extent of at least fifty per cent of the value of his services 2 Think of that appearing in the New York dailies ; of rhymes on it set to music for the gamin to sing whenever he appeared He awaited the message as a sentence of banishment. When the professor was seated, the servant girl closed the door, took a seat near him and delivered the message. - “Mistress cannot see you to-day. She is in bed very ill. Two doctors have been to see her. They say she is dread- fully bad off. They are with her now, and I just run down to tell you, I can't stay long.” “Poor lady How I do feel for her ” slowly and sadly said the Fountain of sympathy. “I fear her sensibilities are overtaxed—too much to bear.” - “Yes, she is all broke up. It's enough to kill her. Indeed it is I don't believe she can stand it.” “You mean her husband's mind being gone, of course ; don't you?” said the detective. “That's not all, by a good deal. That's bad enough, good- ness knows, but she has worse trouble than that.” “It can't be possible How I do pity her,” said the sym- pathizer. “Has she heard anything since I was here P’’ 86 AZ, U 7'OCRACY. “Yes, indeed ” replied Mary, in a tone that said “a thousand times worse.” “Oh how sad | You know, of course, the lady employed me to find out what affected her husband's mind so suddenly. Didn't she tell you ?” - “Yes; but she's already found out this morning,” said Mary. .. The professor made a start, as one at breakfast or on the street, who suddenly remembers he has left his watch or pocket-book under his pillow. He was startled by the thought of the unpaid two thousand dollars. But Mary, not being a detective, did not see the little emotional commotion, and con- tinued with her story. “Soon after breakfast she ordered her carriage and we went down to the bank where he kept his bonds. She called for the head man. We then went back into a dark room, and the gen- tleman took a little key Mrs. Morning had and unlocked a little door in a brick wall and took out a tin box. They then counted some papers or bonds. Mrs. Morning said, in a second, there were very few there. The gentleman said that's so, and handed her a paper lying in the box, signed by Mr. Morning, for all the missing bonds.” - “Oh my Profitic soul | * groaned the professor, as he laid his left hand on his left pocket, where he carried his purse. “What's the matter, Mr. Pryer 2 Are you sick 2 Shall I. bring you some water or hartshorn ?” asked Mary, a little alarmed. “No, no I was thinking of what I suspected yesterday, and it made me break into the classics—Shakespeare—I often break into the classics. Excuse me—I didn't intend to break into your story. Go on.” “Well, when mistress read the receipt, she sank down and fainted . The gentleman caught her, and I then held her head in my lap till he brought some water and bathed her face, and then sent for a doctor. “After a while she come to herself and the doctor came home with us, and I went at once for the family physician. They are both up-stairs now.” This confirmation of the detective's theory, that the husband had used bonds for margins ; the severe illness of Mrs. Morn- ing, and the fact that there was no witness to his agreement with her, gave him deep concern. He grew weak on the profit side (his one-half), but he must show great strength on the THE PROFESSOR AWD THE SERVAW 7, MAR Y. 87 sympathetic side. If the property was in bonds and they were gone, where was he to look for his profit P Suppose Mrs. Morning were to die 2 What then The professor concluded to employ the highest style of his art to get Some information from the servant, Mary. So he led off with the sympathetic. “Oh that is too bad, too bad | What a calamity Just to think of a family so noble as this being broken up by some scoundrel like Recker. I am sure he is at the bottom of all this. “Changing the subject, Miss Mary—for you know it is not healthy to let our sympathies be played on long at a time, the strain is too great—you resemble a sweet girl I know so much, I believe you must be kin to her. She is just lovely You are so much like her you must be related.” Mary smiled a little, and pulled at her left sleeve, though the sleeve was perfectly quiet. “If you are not cousins, at least, I am no judge of likeness. She is considered the belle of all the neighborhood.” Mary smoothed her apron, as if to say to it : “You just lie still ; that compliment is not for you.” Mary asked : “What is her name 2 ” The truth is, the professor, when he started on that road to Mary's heart, had no particular girl in mind. He had not prepared himself for a surprise. He supposed the delight of his listener would be such she would listen as long as he flat- tered. When the inquiry was made, he had to answer at a Venture. “You must know who I mean,” he answered, to get time to pick a name. “Of course I don’t. How can I? What is her name P” “Her name is—is Ruth Darling !” was slowly spoken. “What that girl 2 I know her well ! No, indeed she is no kin to me. She's as ugly as sin ” This rapid, indignant declaration upset the professor. - “Oh you must be speaking of another girl. There are a great many Darlings in New York, you know.” w “Yes | No doubt you know a great many darlings—all girls at that—in New York,” replied Mary, with emphasis, “but I guess there is not more than one Ruth Darling.” “Why, Miss Mary, why not Think of the large number of Smiths there are in New York Don't you suppose there are several Smiths of the same name P John Smith, for instance, or Mary Smith ?” - & “Yes, and a great many John Johnses.” 88 AZ, U 7'OCRACY. “Well—there now, don't you see P’’ “Yes, I see. You begin to see, too, don't you ?” quietly answered Mary. “Miss Mary, where does the Ruth Darling you know live 2" “Tell me where the one you know lives.” Mary saw the professor's tactics and flanked him, promptly. - The professor of detections was about to be detected. He thought rapidly and he saw no certain escape except in killing his imaginary Ruth Darling, which he proceeded to do, at once, in cold blood. “If you understood me to say, that the Miss Darling I spoke of lives anywhere on this sad earth, I did not mean that. Poor girl. Sweet, beautiful, lovely creature | She was too good for this vain world, and in the words of the classics, “Death loves a shining mark—and claimed her for his own.’” “You certainly said you Know a girl—and not knew a girl,” Mary insicted. ... • “Well you must excuse me—it only shows what every member of my profession often says. “But for the errors of men and women, what would become of the profession ?' How natural and easy for me to make that slight mistake, while my mind was dwelling on and so distressed by the ruin of this house. Sympathy, Miss Mary ! Sympathy | Sympathy, like grief, makes us forget.” While the professor was saying sym- pathy so mournfully, he was unconsciously patting his pocket with his left hand. - - - Mr. Pryer had set out to learn from Mary the financial con- dition of the family, and to do that, intended to gain her confi- dence by flattery. He started on the right line, but without due circumspection. He would have reached his goal, if he had killed his Darling girl before he set out, and had carried with him only her photograph. - The professor decided at last to go straight to his object, which was to find out the probability of getting his two thou- sand dollars. “You have a delightful home here, Miss Mary—that is, it was. Such refined people and so wealthy and liberal.” “They are very fine people,” answered Mary. “They must be very rich—ain't they ” continued the pro- fessor. - - “I don't know. They pay me all they owe me, and I ask n - questions. It would not do me any good to know they own ten millions.” THE PROFESSOR AWD THE SERVANT, MAR Y. 89 “I know the lady is very liberal,” said Pryer. “Didn't you hear our bargain yesterday—the amount she offered me, without my asking it, to find out what made her husband crazy R You were right by the door.” The detective had asked the mistress to send Mary for a glass of water to prevent her from hearing his exorbitant charge. He was now in dread lest the mistress might die, and he would have no witness to the agreement. . “No. I did not hear anything said about your pay. You must have talked about that when I went to get a drink of water.” The professor was caught in his own trap. The trap was set for Mrs. Morning. He was safe, if she should live. She would not deny the contract. The only thing left was to pray for her recovery. The professor was a man of resources. His profession required him to be so. His interest in this case impelled him to be so. “Miss Mary,” said he persuasively, “language fails to ex- press the profound interest I feel in the welfare of this unfor- tunate family. Never have I in so short a time become so much interested in any mortal as in the fate of that fine lady. My heart yearns over her. If I was a praying man I would offer up wailing appeals to the throne of Mercy in her behalf. . Are you not a member of the Church—a woman of prayer P’’ “I am a Roman Catholic,” was the answer. - “Ah ! I thought so. Then allow me to say to you, ‘Nymph in your horizons let your sins be remembered.’” “What is that ?” asked the Nymph. “That is the classics for prayer | Shakespeare ” As the professor interpreted the classics, he waved his right hand upward and outward and rolled his eyes to the ceiling with an expression of Amen | bowed sadly and went his way. CHAPTER TWELFTH. THE SECOND BLACK FRIDAY. MR. PRYER called the next day to express his condolence. Mrs. Morning was no better. She was delirious. The serv- ant, Mary, was in deep trouble. Mr. Pryer could not possi- bly make known the fathoms deep his sympathy was moved, as the rules of his profession forbid him to exhibit any emo- tion in public. Words were idle—yes, a mockery under dis- tress like his. He could only do justice to himself by seeking retiracy, where his feelings could have something like a fair chance for exhibition. He accordingly left, promising to call again. Mrs. Morning's condition was serious. No remonstrance by her physician, no soothing words from Mary could get her mind away from the sudden calamity. She asked constantly for her husband. There was no change in his condition to justify any favorable statement. The physician tried opiates. They gave only temporary sleep, and left his patient more nervous and prostrate than before. It was supposed that her child, Grace, would, to some extent, sustain her, but she proved to be a source of aggravation more than comfort. Little Grace like her mother, was crying for the loved absent one, the lost OIl C. On the fifth day, Dr. Sanford decided to call in a consulting physician. Brain fever had not only set in, but had made rapid inroad. The consulting physician thought the case would terminate fatally unless relief could be given within twelve hours. Every remedy was used. But the one and only remedy that could give relief was not within their reach, not in their dispensatory. If the heart could be reached, the mind could be, then the body. The cyclone had swept by. The twin trees had fallen ; only the Scion, too young, too small to be struck, was left unhurt. The husband had been removed the second day to the asylum for the insane, and it was the dread of that, unknown by the wife, but believed by her, that was hurrying her on to death. The seventh day Dr. Sanford gave up all hope. His wife. 7 HE SAECOM D BZACK FRIDA Y. 91 came with him to smooth the way, as well as she might, to the valley that was just ahead. Kind neighbors called. They could do nothing but offer to do. How impotent are we in the hour of that last struggle ! An army of a million veterans are as weak as is an infant. Sympathy is all we can give, and that is of no avail. The sun was setting slowly but surely. Every one present felt the shadow settling on that house. They saw it creep- ing through the windows. Night was very near. It was com- ing, covering, Swallowing up that home at noon. On the eighth day, the curtain fell. It was, indeed, Black Friday to the house of Morning. Father and husband a ma- niac ; wife and mother dead ; estate swept away, and gathered in by the wreckers of Wall street, and the child motherless, an orphan, penniless, friendless, and alone in that “whole city full.” What of it 2 Who cares 2 Does not Recker's conscience smite him 2 Does not his heart ache as he views this master- piece of ruin wrought by his own hand P Let us, like Asmo- deus, unroof his palace and see his grief. The day of Mrs. Morning's burial, Mr. Recker was in his study examining railroad maps. He was planning another brill- iant campaign, like the one planned and prosecuted by Weaver, Smiling and himself to such a decisive victory, “against such fearful odds.” He was tracing the lines of several Western and Southwestern roads, pausing, thinking awhile, then taking notes. Mrs. Recker was sitting by, looking over a paper. The hour was before breakfast. “My dear,” said she, “I see that Mrs. Morning is dead, and to be buried to-day.” Mr. Recker was too deeply absorbed in planning to kill a long line of railroad, and, may be, a hundred families, to pay attention to the death of one woman. As the killing of thirteen men before breakfast was scarcely an appetizer to Hotspur, so nothing short of the death of a score or two was worthy of Recker's notice. “As we know her, what do you say to me going to the funeral P” continued the wife. That arrested the husband's attention. “Who’s dead, did you say ” he asked. “Mrs. Morning, wife of the man who went crazy on Black Friday,” she replied. “Would it be proper for me to go to the funeral f" - - - * 92 PLUTOCRACY. “I don't know. What is his wealth ** he asked, looking away from the maps. “I guess he is rich,” she answered. “That is something too important to be decided by guess- ing. I can't answer your question until I know his commercial rating. Hand me Bradstreet.” She gave him the book. “What is the fellow's name P’’ he asked. She told him. He looked for the name “Morning.” It was not in Bradstreet. “Hand me /D2/?? & Co.'s.” - He examined it and could not find the name. He strummed on the book while considering the social problem. “As he is not rated by Bradstreet, nor Z)wn & Co., he can hardly be a millionaire. If he was a retired millionaire I would know it. People in our rank can’t afford to attend the funeral of any one worth less than a million. It is not respectable. “These miserable newspaper scribblers would find out you were at the funeral, and would set to work, at once, to learn the amount Morning is worth. It might turn out that he is not worth over a half, or three-quarters, of a million. Then, they would attack Our Social standing—say, I am getting to be democratic, or some such vile stuff. People in our rank can't be too particular. They accuse me of inhumanity, stealing, robbery, and ruining families. That I don’t mind. It does not disaffect our millionaire friends. We do not lose caste. But, they would snub us in a minute if we recognize any one below a millionaire, except in business. “But dead people are out of business. The man (Morning, I mean,) is as good as dead. People are worth something to us plutocrats when living. We can use them. They can work, if poor, and bet on our stocks, etc., if they have money. Society permits us to recognize them so long as they have a stake to bet with, but no longer. We have no more use for a dead man than a bankrupt. Well, I must qualify that a little. Bank- rupts are a little more useful to us. They can, sometimes, raise money by stealing or robbing a bank, and then bet in our Exchanges and add a few thousands to our wealth. You can't afford to attend that woman's funeral. According to Bradstreet and Dum (our surest guides) the family is not respectable.” The little child, Grace, was taken by the Orphans’ Society and kept two years. The father, at the end of two years, was discharged from the lunatic asylum as a hopeless but harm- less lunatic. He was so distressed about his child, that a 7 HE SAECOMO BZACK AERZOA Y. 93 friend moved by pity conducted him to see her, and he ex- hibited such anguish because she was not with him, that the Society let him take her. From that time they wandered about the streets, receiving little sums of money, shelter, food, and old clothes from those who were moved by pity. Through rain and sunshine, snow and Sleet, almost every day in the year, he tramped the streets, leading little Grace by the hand, giving “points" to all he met, then hurrying away, muttering to the tender object of his love : “Come along, darling. We'll find her yet. They say she's dead—dead and buried. Mamma's not dead. She's too good to die so young. Come along. We'll find her yet.” w CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. AMERICAN W HITE SLAVERY. MR. GALUSHA SMILING was received at the door of the brown-stone front of Mr. Francis Ferrum by a white man- servant, who was dressed in black coat, black trousers, white vest and necktie. This servant was the butler of said estab- lishment—recognized and known of all millionaire-visitors of the Ferrums as “Red-top Mike.” Whether Mike had a sur- name ; that is, ever had father or mother, whose patronymic he had inherited, was nobody’s business. At least no one seemed to be concerned about it, as he was called by every- body “Mike ’’—by some “Red-top,” by a few “Red-top Mike.’’ .. The prefix “Red-top' was not arbitrary. It was a neces- sity. Nature dictated it, just as the color of hair of the first man named “Rufus,” “the red-headed,” demanded recogni- tion ; just as the long hands of Longimanus required that he should be so named. Mike's hair was so red it flamed ; and he was, by some irreverent reader of the Old Testament, called “The Burning Bush.” Moreover, according to the test of ex- treme fear, given by Hamlet's ghost, Mike was in perpetual terror, for “each particular hair stood on end.” This indica- tion was marvelously supplemented by a constant, because natural, startled expression of his eyes. He was in a state of congested surprise. . Some of the “Street gods” who had seen cobwebs (at long intervals, of course) ruthlessly ejected from their upper corner lots, to which, as co-tenants, they had, by long possession, acquired prescriptive title, had dubbed the “gentleman-usher ” “Pope's head Mike ; ” “The Burning Bush,” though sadly irreverent, was beyond criticism. If Bardolph's nose could light the way for Sir John Falstaff from tap-house to tap-house, in the darkest night, what a treas- ure Mike's head would have been to that night-errant knight— who had neither electric, gas, nor kerosene light to guide his erring feet. But Mike was born out of time. His wealth of light served him in no other way than to distinguish him from all other AMAER/CAAW WA/7Z SZA WAER V. 95 mortals—just as Goliath's and Saul's height distinguished them from all the hosts of Israel and Philistine. Yes, there was one advantage Mike had over all other sinful mortals. If he had ever been wicked enough to try to “hide his light under a bushel,” he could not have sinned in that way. That talent was not given to be hid away. “Is Mr. Ferrum in 2 ” asked Mr. Smiling, as he saw the red flame at the door. “Yes, sir! Walk in, sir! Your cloak, cane and cap, please ! There, sir! This way, please !” and the Red-top lighted the way through the hall to the large dining-room in the rear where Mr. Smiling disappeared, while the Burning Bush returned to the front door, took its seat, and sat upright and motionless, looking like a hall statue surmounted with a lamp shaded by a red globe, or “Jack O' my lantern '' in meditation, because un- decided in what direction to move. - Mr. Smiling found that he was not the first to arrive by thirty or more—and yet, he was not the last. Others came at short intervals until the number swelled to fifty. After Mr. Ferrum had filled a glass for Mr. Smiling with wine which, he assured his guest, cost twenty dollars a bottle—and was known to be the old Forsyth wine taken from a cellar in Charleston by a Federal officer who let him (Mr. F.) have a thousand bottles as a special favor, and had handed his guest a Havana that he was also informed cost a thousand dollars per thousand at wholesale, Mr. Weaver continued a story he had just begun. “Smiling, I had just started to tell my experience with a superintendent of my factory in Lowell a few years ago. I had a man in that position named Hampton. He was as good a spinner and weaver as I ever knew. He was a born machinist, in fact, a genius. There was nothing about the mill—its ma- chinery, engines, looms, spindles, everything in short—that he did not understand perfectly. “He had been South before the war in a mill in South Caro- lina, and had married a daughter of a wealthy planter and mill-man—and she was a highly educated, refined woman. Her children were smart and refined, too—just like their mother. She astonished me in one thing. I always thought the Southern women didn't know how to work—and if they did, they wouldn't do it; but that woman would do anything that come to hand. She kept her children always clean and neat, and her house inside was as neat as a pin. They had two 96 £f Uſ focãº.46 y. daughters who were pretty and smart. The oldest was a fine musician, but they were too poor to own a piano and she played on a neighbor's of nights. My son John used to go there often to hear her play. He was sly about it, because he knew they were too poor to move in our wealthy circle, and he didn't want the rich girls around there to think he associated with that poor man's daughter. I told John he had better look out ; that that girl was very charming, and the first thing he knew he'd be in some scrape. He laughed, and said, ‘There's no danger of my marrying that girl ; she is not in my rank in Society. She's as poor as Job's turkey. I only go over to Simp- son's to hear her play and sing.’ - “I guess I would have that man Hampton under me to-day if I had not heard about his views on Protection. One day, one of my foremen came to me and said : ‘Mr. Weaver, do you know that Hampton is your enemy P’ “‘What do you mean P’ I said. I thought the foreman might be jealous of Hampton and want his place. ‘What has he done, or said, that makes you think he's my enemy “‘Well, I’ll tell you. You know young Otis, who is in one of Mr. Spinner's mills, don't you?” “I told him I knew him by reputation as one of the smartest and most dangerous young fellows in the State. “I said I would look into the matter and told him to go on his work. •. - “I sent the next day for Hampton to come to my private office. When he entered, I told him to shut the door. I did not ask him to sit down, for my rule is to make all my em- ployés stand when in my presence. It teaches them respect for my power and position as their master. “I told him I wanted to know how he voted at the last elec- tion for Congress. I saw the question staggered him, but he said, after some hesitation : 3. “‘I voted for the Democratic nominee. And now that I have answered your question, I beg to ask, why do you in- quire 2 What has occurred to give my vote any significance P’ “He was always very polite, as you see from the way he answered. - “I said : ‘You know George Otis, I suppose 2' - “‘Yes; I know him well. If I may ask, what about him 7” he replied. “‘Do you know his views on Protection ?’ said I. “‘I do. I have conversed with him on that subject,” he replied. AMAEA8/CAAW WAI/ 7'E S/A WAZA' V. 97 “‘Do you and he agree on that question ?’ said I. “‘In the main we do think alike,' he answered. “‘Then, you admit that you are not in favor of high pro- tective tariff P' “‘Yes, sir! I have believed for years before I engaged here with you, that the present tariff should be reduced.” “‘That will do,” said I, ‘I don't want to hear any more. You have been receiving money from me to support yourself and family and voting against my business, that is, to reduce my income, or profits.’ “‘Your way of stating my position is hardly fair,’ said he. ‘I have not been receiving alms at your hands. I have worked for you, at a stated salary. You have, as you know, got value received. You did not employ me as superintendent because I favored Protection, but because you believed I would be worth to you all you agreed to pay. That was, and is, the ex- tent of my engagement with you. I did not sell my opinions, or manhood, or freedom of thought.’” 4 “What an impudent ingrate l’’ interjected Mr. Ferrum. “So I say !” echoed a dozen others. “The idea of an em. ployé, a servant—damn him—having opinions and voting them at that, against the interests of his employer, yes, his master,” thundered Mr. Petroleum. “If that is allowed, it would ruin every business that Protection has built up in the United States. No, indeed But excuse me, I interrupted you.” “‘No,' I said to him. “You did not sell me anything except your time and labor and brains. I bought them and paid you for 'em, and instead of spending your time thinking of my business interests, you spend it at night with that fellow, Otis, in studying politics and filling your head with old worn-out ideas about tariff reform; and you then go to the polls and vote against my bread. “‘You say you did not sell your opinions and manhood. It is true, no such words were used in the contract, but you know very well that it is the rule, the unwritten law, of every factory, mine, and so forth, that the employés must vote as the owners want them to vote ; and you know I have issued verbal orders through my foremen, at every election, for my men to vote as I voted. The orders were not written, of course, and you know why. The other side would have used it against us.” “He then said: ‘I)o you mean, Mr. Weaver, that on great questions of government policy, as they come under review dur- ing campaigns and at elections, laboring men shall not think?’” 7 98 - ** AZ U 7'OCRACY. “Think 1 and be damned ' What do they know about “great questions of government policy' 2" ejaculated Mr. Ferrum, again “They’d better be at work and earn their bread, and let people who have time and money do the thinking.” “That's so, but I will go on with what the fellow said. “‘And shall not form opinions and act on their conscien- tious belief of what is best for all the people, for the whole country P’” “The devil ' Why the fellow was patriotic. His soul took in the whole country. His heart covered every nigger as wel as white folks,” said Mr. Spinner. “He then went on : ‘If that is your view of my position here, then my brains would belong to you, indeed, and my soul also ; and I would be as abject a slave as any my wife's father ever Owned in Carolina. Yes, a worse slave—for if you think for me and really cast my vote, though I deposit the ballot at your bidding, your financial policy would be fastened like a vise on the labor of this country, and you would grow richer as they grow poorer. And when age and infirmity overtake the labor- ers, you could and would turn them adrift without food, clothes or shelter, which the Southern master was not permitted to do to any old slave.’” “Look here, Weaver ! Did you sit still and let that fellow talk such rebellion as that ? I'd a' kicked him out of the office, damn him l’’ exclaimed Mr. Petroleum. “Let me go on,” said Mr. Weaver. “You see, I didn't want to lose the fellow. He was valuable to me, and I wanted to conquer his spirit—to break him on the wheel, so to speak ; to crush him once for all—and then I would a' had no more trouble with him. So I adopted the Sam Slick plan—and I was right. If I had kicked him out, the next man might a' done the same way, and I’d been constantly engaged in the kicking business, and that don’t pay anybody except ballet girls. “I said to Hampton : “Now, I don't want to hurt you, but I must protect myself—all manufacturers must. We must have laborers who'll do what we want done, vote as we think right. Voting one way or the other don't benefit you. You get no more wages by having opinions on politics, or exercising what you call your right to vote. You are poor ; you have a family dependent on your wages, for life, I may say. This question of the tariff concerns rich men, who have large capital invested, and not poor men. What business is it of yours, if we manu- facturers are making millions by a high tariff You and your AMERICAN WHITE SLA PER V. 39 family are not any worse off. The millions of farmers and other producers, professional men, mechanics, and so forth pay the tariff, which we add to our goods, and not you. Now, I don't wish to part with you, and all I ask of you is, that you hereafter stand by me, and vote as I tell you. If you'll do that, you’ll have no trouble.’ “‘Mr. Weaver, are you through 2' he asked. “I told him I was ready for his answer. “‘Then,’ said he, “hear me for a minute. I am a Northern man by birth, as you know. I was in Carolina when the war opened. When Fort Sumter was fired on, I came North, for my heart was with the Union. I disapproved of slavery, not so much because the wages of the slave went to the master, for, in that respect, the slave had a life-policy that insured to him food, clothes, shelter, medical aid and humane treatment, by the laws in every slave State, as long as he lived. I disap- proved of negro slavery mainly because it subjected the opin- ions, the will, the speech, the action of one human being to the will of another. In other words, because slavery destroyed manhood. “‘I lived to rejoice in the destruction of that slavery. While armies of brave white men, poor and patriotic, were fighting, bleeding, dying to strike the fetters from the negroes, South, I saw the moneyed men of the North, who were not fighting, but were financiering, forging fetters to put upon the soldiers who were freeing the negro slave, as soon as they should return from the war. The ſetters I refer to were forged in the name of Liberty They were forged on the plea of raising money to win the fight, and to free the negro slaves. They were forged on the plea that the war made them necessary, and on the promise that they should be destroyed as soon as the war closed. These fetters were forged by Congress; they are in the high protective tariff laws you wish me and every man to perpetuate and put upon our children, to establish a money Power, a Plutocracy, in this land. “‘It is now the beginning of winter, I am poor, as you say, I am dependent for bread for my helpless family on my wages, as you say. And should you discharge me, I know not where I could go and get work. But, if the price I must pay for bread, is to surrender my convictions, to subject my will to your will, to vote as you command me to vote, when I believe that vote is to keep shackles or fetters on the poor of my country- men, that are already cutting into their flesh, then, I have ióð PZU 7 ocRAdiº. no alternative but to breast the winter and wander where i must.’” sº “What did you do, Weaver, after that insult 2 ” asked Fer- rum. “You kept the scoundrel of course !” “No Sir-r-r ! I discharged him so quick, I guess I made his head swim ” “Served him right !” was the unanimous verdict, “That fellow came to me to get work after you discharged him,” said Mr. Spinner. “I had just received your blacklist circular. I told him he'd better move South again ; he might find some fool who was not willing to take all Congress gives us by the tariff—but that up here, we're going to suck as long as the people are kind enough to give us the cow, and feed it for nothing, and pay for sucking, besides.” “What a set of asses some of them fellows are,” remarked Mr. Spinner in a rather philosophical style. “Superintendents, or foremen, or headmen, talk as wise and knowing as a blind owl looks, about 7’ariff Reform, Banking, Finances. I hear 'em talking about Adam Smith, Richards, Malters—and a whole lot of books I never heard of and don’t know anything about and care less. And they get up and spout as if they knew something. If they were all at the devil, we'd have a much easier time.” “Well—-I suppose your discharge of that fellow ended him,” said Mr. Petroleum in an inquiring tone. “So far as I am concerned it did. I heard that he died a year or so after, in New York, some said of starvation, but that's always the cry, if a man dies poor.” “Your story, Weaver,” said the host, “reminds me, that this meeting is for “Mutual Protection.’ So come, gentlemen Fill up your glasses——and let's proceed to business—Here's brandy, here's sherry, Madeira, champagne. Help yourselves—wet your whistles, and then we’ll have music.” CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. THE BILLION IN COUNCIL. MR. FERRUM being, in one sense, the host of the assembled millionaires, led off by moving that Mr. Recker take the chair ; at the same time, facetiously expressing the hope that the name of the chairman, which had been so well sustained by his many brilliant achievements, would not be prophetic of the result of their proposed combination against the people. Mr. Recker was unanimously elected chairman. Mr. Ferrum then asked, if it was the wish of the meeting that some one should act as secretary. Mr. Recker promptly suggested, that in his view of the situ- ation, a secretary was not only not needed, but was about the only thing on earth they did not want ; that the very nature of the business to be transacted demanded the profoundest secrecy; that any record would not be permissible; that every- thing said and done must rest on the personal honor of every member of the organization, which, of course, must rest on every member's money-interest. This was admitted by all. “That's right ; no books ; no minutes ; no writings.” The chairman then rose slowly and inquired of Mr. Ferrum, if all doors were securely closed, so no one could possibly hear. Whereupon the host stealthily approached the two doors to the room, and finding them closed, he went into the hall, and told the Lamp with the red shade, that, as the gentlemen would proba- bly play whist very late, and as there was no necessity for the Lamp to burn its oil of life to no purpose, and as it had to be burning at a very early hour the next morning, the Lamp could extinguish itself for the time under a blanket. When the Lamp had ceased to shine in the hall and down the basement steps, Mr. Ferrum returned and reported “all quiet along the Poto- mac,” or words to that effect. v The chairman then remarked in earnest, Solemn, measured monotones, that it was useless to explain the object of the meeting of so many gentlemen in that room, as the enormous fo 2 AZ U 7'OCRACY, wealth there represented and belonging to every one present, declared, without any explanation by him, the object in view ; that in a gathering of even so few, when he saw no one who Owned less than ten million dollars—and saw in the aggregate not less than a billion dollars—no observer of cause and effect could mistake their purpose. “The purpose, as we all know,” he continued, “is greater strength—more efficiency through organized action. We have done well, it is true, without formal combination—on the skir- mish line, so to speak—but we know we can accomplish much more by union. Perhaps there is not a man present who, twenty years ago, was worth fifty thousand dollars—and yet, without any concert of action further than that produced by sympathy and a common purpose and the great benefits of Congressional legislation, see what we have gathered into our coffers from the general public. “To make clearer my meaning, let me illustrate: I have been working on one particular line, that is wrecking railroads, I may say single-handed—I mention only that work because it has been my principal, but not exclusive, business by any IIleaſ).S. - - “You, Mr. Ferrum, Mr. Clinkers, Mr. Cinders, Mr. Weaver, Mr. Spinner and others, have been working the tariff, but you have had thousands of assistants in certain parts of the coun- try. Still, you all had no special organization. You were, if you will excuse a homely simile, like a drove of hogs, that had broken into a farmer's field. When one is caught, all the rest run to help it by grunting and turning up their bristles and they make such a racket that the dog turns the hog loose. That is to say, when Congress would threaten to touch any one of your tariff bonanzas by reducing the duty, you all made that man's cause your cause, and would put the printing presses to work to show how the country would be ruined ; but that was because you feared your turn would come next. “You, Mr. O'Le Margarine, have been operating on an in- dependent line. You are not affected by the tariff. The ma- terial you use is not imported ; indeed it will not bear trans- portation, as it is so very perishable. Hence, I say, the tariff does not add to your profits; while on the other hand, the price of the material you use can never diminish them. You are in the most happy situation of having a monopoly of ma- terial, inasmuch as no one else will use it. Yours is rank monopoly. * THE BILLION IN COUNCIL. Io.3 “But, your interest in this meeting lies in the fact that you are a many-times millionaire, and you must invest your vast idle accumulations reaped from the public in some property that the tariff does make, more or less, a bonanza. That gives you, as it does us all, a twofold interest in this organization, first, as a millionaire and, Second, as a millionaire with such investments of your vast surplus as are affected by and made immensely profitable by Protection. 3. “You, Mr. Petroleum, are not affected by the tariff directly, as you have a monopoly in the article you deal in. Still, you have what is equal to tariff protection, you have secret rates allowed you by the railroads. But, you own a hundred million dollars, levied off the people in the last ten years, and, of course, you invest largely in properties that are enhanced greatly in value by Protection. When we reflect that four thousand dif- ferent articles are benefited by Protection, you see at once that it is almost impossible for you, or any millionaire, to in- vest in anything except land or farming, that is not nursed and fattened by Protection. Hence, you, as a millionaire and an investor of your immense wealth, are doubly concerned in our SUICCCSS. “And you, Mr. De Stilling and Mr. Lagér—I believe your name is pronounced with ‘g' soft, like “j” and ‘r silent, is it not P '’ - Mr. Lagér, with a slight stammer, admitted that to be the very recent classic and Gallic sound of his name. “I thought I could not have been mistaken, though I have heard it pronounced by some people, uneducated of course, the other way. You two gentlemen are directly interested in the tariff. It is true that you are not, so far, as much benefited as you would be if there was a tariff on water, but still (excuse me, Mr. De Stilling, for I mean no pun or play on words), as you do sometimes use some hops and some alcohol, you have a small direct interest in the present tariff. - “But you have cause to be greatly encouraged, for, as we have been so successful hitherto in controlling Congress, and getting a tariff on everything we wanted to tax the people on for our benefit, I think it almost a certainty, from my knowledge of that body, that we can have a tariff laid on water.” * - This decided opinion of such an able advocate of Protection produced a profound sensation in the attentive listeners. In their wildest dreams of their ability to tax the long-suffering IO4 - AZ U 7'OCRACY, farmers and laborers for almost every necessary of life, they had never thought of including water in the tariff bill. The possibility of doing it was so startling and the thought so inspiring, that at least twenty asked in one breath, “Do tell us how we can do it.” Mr. Recker continued : “We will not ask for it by that name, of course, for if we did, the farmers who have never yet got their eyes open on the tariff question (their nine days not having yet expired) might suspect, that we would create droughts and sell water to them at high rates ; and they might—I don't say that even then they would open their eyes and go to work against us—but they might give us trouble. - - “But we can accomplish our end as we have done in hun- dreds of instances by indirection—by legislation hoodwinked, so to speak—by our usual pretense that it is to help the poor laborer. In this case, instead of saying water, we will ask for an ad valorem duty on ‘protoxide of hydrogen.’” “Why, what the devil sort of ox hide is that, Recker P” asked Mr. Skinner in astonishment, who thought he knew every kind of hide on earth. “While you are explaining, Recker, you might as well tell what sort of gin that is that goes with the ox hide.” This was suggested by Mr. De Stilling. “The explanation is easy. You have the words wrong— they are ox-ide and hydro-gen.” - “Oh none of your English now ! Dropping your h’s. Deal fair ’ demanded Mr. Skinner. “The words are pro-tox-ide of hydro-gen, the chemist's phrase for water.” “All right, but you must talk so people can understand you,” was insisted by Mr. Skinner. “Well, as I was saying, of course, the fellows we keep in Congress to legislate for our pockets wiki shut their eyes and vote for it without asking what the thing is. And, as both political parties are running a race to see which can go furthest in favor of the dignity of the American laborer, and all that rot, we will get the support of both parties by telling them this is a very cheap article which, if let in in immense volume, will flood the country and destroy our factories. They will believe it is a product of pauper labor in Europe or China, and will put on a thousand per cent. ad valorem duty. - “We can, with certainty, count on the votes of Kentucky, 7"HE BALL/OM /AV CO UAVC/Z. IoS Indiana, Illinois, Tennessee, Western North Carolina and West Virginia, as they do not know what water is. “By the way, let me ask, are any of those members related to you, Mr. De Stilling 2" “Not by consanguinity, but by very strong affinity,” an- swered De Stilling. “Well,” continued the chairman, “that is all the better, so long as you do not reveal to them the half-cross that you keep up between your products and water. But it is useless to appeal to your personal honor on that point, as we know your personal interest in this move will outweigh all other considera- tions. Our secret motto, as we all know, is—“GOLD WEIGHS MORE THAN HONOR.' “You, Dr. Nostrum, have a direct interest with us in every way possible. You are protected by duties levied on imports ; in investments of your immense income in other properties protected and made more valuable by the tariff, and in the suc- cess of our effort to repeal the internal revenue laws. You want cheap alcohol, which you use so largely in your benevolent preparations ostensibly made to heal the sick, and also many other articles that enter into your obnoxious—I beg pardon— your innoxious compounds. By repealing the tax on whisky, its cheapness will increase its use fourfold. That will increase disease and the consequent demand for your obnoxious—that word is very persistent to-night—I mean, of course, innoxious compounds. As no doctor takes his own physic, I am sure you would pardon me, even if I were not punctilious in correct- ing even slight mistakes. “I am glad to see several gentlemen here, who represent a class of millionaires I have not alluded to ; I mean Mr. Sam Bonanza, Mr. Bond, Mr. Nat, Banks, Mr. S. O. Stocks, and Mr. Haslet, and I trust it will not be amiss to make a few remarks about their interest in our proposed organiza- tion. “Mr. Sam Bonanza and Mr. Haslet, we all know, have no direct interest in the tariff ; that is, their business is not such as can receive any of the fictitious values from high duties on imports. We can't levy a duty on gold, as we would be glad to do in order to lower the prices of all products except ours, and of labor also by diminishing the legal tender currency. You know, that one of our greatest financial achievements was by a corner on Gold on Black Friday. “Gold is the rich man's, silver is the poor man's money. This Ioé PLUTOCRACY. work, Mr. Sam Bonanza, cannot affect you, as you, after making over a hundred million dollars out of a mine that never yielded over five million in bullion (on which I congratulate you), are out of that business. That achievement of yours is incredible to a laboring man, because he can't see how any man can swell five to one hundred. We here present, if we know anything better than we know the billions we have made by Protection know exactly how you did it. You were in a sock Company, of course ; and you inflated your balloon and sold it and the gas together. Then, when the gas escaped, you bought back the balloon, and inflated it again and again. There is nothing that some people like better than going up in a bal- loon. It is, in fact, a species of speculation.” - “That's correct,” said Mr. Sam Bonanza, by way of confirma- tion. “It is the same financial operation employed by the directors in nearly all railroads and other corporations, whose stock is listed. As this is a confidential meeting, I don't hesitate to say, that I would have made five hundred millions, if my friends had not ‘tumbled to the racket.’ But, they did, and the barometer fell and the thermometer rose so fast in my neighborhood, that I come East as quick as I could ship myself, and get a bill of lading signed ‘in good order.’” Mr. Recker resumed : - - - “Mr. Haslet's business cannot be injured by Protection. What he does not find a home market for, he exports, and he can stand with us, ‘cheek by jowl.’ His vast wealth makes him necessarily one of us. “Mr. Bond (I mean R. R. Bond, of course) and Mr. S. O. Stocks, while apparently affected by the tariff on iron, are not so in fact. The increased cost of iron, which they pay to Mr. Ferrum, Mr. Clinkers and Mr. Cinders (who are all rela- tives, by the way), is repaid by the farmer and the traveling public in the increased rates of freight and fares over their rail- road ; those rates being established with a view to cover all fixed charges, and then to pay a dividend on the original stock and on several hundred per cent. increase of stock, which hard times, brought on by speculation and losses, force the directors to issue and put on the market to save the owners of the origi- nal stock from losing it by foreclosure ; or, as now and then happens, to supply some greedy purchaser who is secretly buy- ing up the original stock to get control of the road. You all remember a notable instance not many years ago, when, in order to save the original stockholders from ruin by a man who *## Byzzzow ſw covyczz. io; was buying up the stock, it was decided by some of the direc- tors on that road to be fine financial strategy to issue stock and sell to him as fast as he could buy it. And they loaded him to the gunwale before he found out he was about to sink. But the directors took care of themselves and the stock, and the road is running yet. But I am digressing. I merely spoke Of that instance to show the advantage, at times, in doubling, even quadrupling the stock of a railroad to save innocent holders, especially as the increase never diminishes the per cent. of dividend. “You two gentlemen are as deeply interested in the tariff and in having gold as our only currency, as any one here. Your many tens of millions prove that proposition without argument. With gold continued as the only legal tender, you will double your millions without making a dollar in business. Let your money lie in bank—no, I would not advise that in these days. Excuse my frankness, Mr. Banks. Let it lie in your safes, and it will double in value by the fall in prices of all kinds of property, caused by the scarcity of money. “It goes without saying, that Mr. Banks is as deeply inter- ested in the work to be done by this organization as any one can be. His sympathy is with every business in the land, ex- cept farming. He will help any interest except that, and would help it, if he could see any profit in it. He not only lends to us, but he and members of his numerous family frequently very kindly take an interest in our ventures. “Even the clerical members of his family, who, as the word implies, are pious church and Sabbath-School people, lend a patriotic hand in all our enterprises. I said patriotic, but I must correct ; I should say, a helping hand. “I cannot say patriotic, and I trust Mr. Banks will excuse me for saying that very many of his family, the most pious among them, do not act on the broad plane of patriotism that I act on. For, as soon as they get possession of a large amount of money (and all of them are such adroit financiers, they often obtain it with astonishing rapidity and skill), they instantly de- sert their beloved country, carrying all their wealth, and mak- ing their homes in Canada, much to the Sorrow of confiding friends and relatives. - “I am an ardent lover of my country. The hundred and odd millions I have taken in during the last fifteen years have come out of my own countrymen. They have gone into hun- dreds of enterprises with me, and have never drawn out, until to8 AZ U 7 OCRACY. they saw there was nothing to be made by staying in. Many, in fact, have gone into speculations, not knowing, nor even suspecting, that I had any interest in them ; and when they learned that I was in, they have kindly withdrawn, and let me make all I could out of the ventures. Many, if not all of them, withdrew because they saw the risk was too great. “I have no cause to complain of my countrymen, especially those in, or recently from, the rural districts. Their joint op- erations with me, when I have had millions in view, have been of incalculable profit to me. Hence, I love my country, and I intend to remain here and keep all I have, as long as I may be permitted to do so. “But, perhaps, I have said enough, and as to myself, more than enough, as my career and methods were well known to you. What I have said, I considered important to show that we have a common interest, and must work together. As I have already said, we have all worked to the same end—but not with organization. It was simply from our individual in- terest, which is one, and from the fact that we are all million- aires. Now, we intend to pull, push, and fight as one man, through this proposed Society. One man's cause is to be every member's cause. Having said this much, I will state that the meeting is ready for business.” As a matter of history, it is stated that the speech above reported, if speech it may be called, was the longest and the most reliable in its personal reminiscences and representations that Mr. Recker ever delivered. - Mr. Banks rose and said : “Mr. Chairman : While it is true that we who are here, have talked over the objects of this meeting in a general way, our talks have been as two or three have met here and there. I think it would be well, before we proceed, for some gentleman to make a statement of the specific objects, and at the same time to tell us what has been accomplished, hitherto, in our interest—and how it was done ; and what else we must do and how it is proposed to do it. I’d like to have some one familiar with these points tell us what he knows.” Mr. Ferrum said : “As the chairman is the biggest million- aire present, and has no one regular business, but takes a hand in any and everything big that comes along, and devotes all his time to studying out financial schemes, he can tell us more than any man here.” To that every one said, “That's so : Let's hear him—” *. i 7 HE BILLION IN COUNCIÉ. 169 “Come, Mr. Chairman,” said Mr. Smiling, “that little talk hasn't tired a man who can talk railroad, bonds and stocks all day and then go home and read Homer’s “Iniad,” as they say you do till leven o’clock.” Mr. Smiling's compounding the ‘Iliad' and the “AEneid " into one word did not provoke any comment or criticism by Mr. Recker Before Mr. Recker could begin, Mr. De Stilling remarked that the air in the room was baking his clay very dry, and he could enjoy the coming speech much better, if it was moist- ened. * Thereupon forty-eight others returned their profoundest thanks to Mr. De Stilling for his diagnosis of a very unusual discomfort they had felt for an hour or more. Mr. Ferrum said, he opposed all Prohibition except Pro- hibition of the tariff, and on that question he called for a “wet” and “dry” vote. Mr. O'Le Margarine said, his conscience would smite him, if he should vote “wet,” while talking so “dry.” Mr. Ferrum said he could remove that “scruple" by sup- plying a “dram.” Mr. Recker remarked that he could not see what comfort a dram would be to Mr. Haslet, who was so accustomed to a hogshead. Mr. Banks who had risen and posed, protested against making a butt of Mr. Haslet, unless it was of the Forsyth wine. Many other sallies were made but are lost to history. The clay was soon moistened, and the billion were soon seated for the feast of reason. CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. MR. RECKER, CONTINUES. “I THANK you gentlemen for the compliment, but I do not assume to know more of the struggles we have had and the victories we have won, than any of you. Still as you request it, I will briefly review the past, and blaze out our future Course and plans. “We all understand that we, the millionaires, are in a death- struggle with the great mass of the people of this country. Some call it “Capital against Labor ; others, “wealth versus poverty,’ ‘millionaires against the poor,’ ‘aristocracy against democracy, the strong against the weak.' But the title of the case, as lawyers say, signifies nothing. The nature of the contest—the subject matter of the suit—is the thing to be looked at. “It is the old story. The first great fight was in Rome when public men, Senators, Tribunes, Generals, and soldiers became corrupt after victorious wars, and the people—the plebeians— wanted money, and when the cry was made ‘Divide the lands' and gave to the world the word ‘agrarianism.” The result was the people were whipped by the soldiers led by ambitious men, and then the rich bought the soldiers. “The same contest took place in France, in the last half of the last century—when the people rose against royal gratuities to favorites, courtesans, moneyed institutions, and the Church, and ended in subjugating themselves, after a reign of terror and a state of anarchy that produced a leader and tyrant in the person of Napoleon First. “England has had slight throes, but nothing like those of Rome and France. Her aristocracy, founded on the feudal system, has been her safeguard. They owned the wealth in the beginning. They held vast landed estates under the crown. They constituted, from the first of Parliament, its upper House, the House of Lords,-the same as Our U. S. Senate. They sat there not by election, but by inherited right. This right and this wealth were alike inherited. The people never sought to destroy either. The people did not consider Mr. Recker cow.TINUES. I I I that there was any wrong done to them by property acquired in that way, because these inherited rights (land and nobility) never belonged to them and were not bestowed by them. “But, the situation in America is very different. Here there was no aristocracy in the beginning. There was no king to bestow estates and confer titles of nobility on favorites. Every man stood on a common plane. There was no wealth of any size and none to be acquired except by labor. The lands were held by the thirteen States and were granted in lots of small size to suit families. The United States owned no lands until certain: States ceded some of their Western Territory, and Florida and Louisiana were bought. Hence, neither land nor personal property could be acquired except through labor. In that sense, labor in this country was king. It alone bestowed land and position. “But, within the first century of our beloved country, great and rapid changes have occurred. Man is, by nature, an idol- ater. In every Country, ancient and modern, Savage and civil- ized, he has worshiped idols. The Chinese worship Joss ; the Hindoos worship images of Buddha ; the Egyptians, croco- diles, lizards, Iris and Osiris; the Jews a golden calf ; the Greeks and Romans, statues of human gods; the Britains, mon- archy; the French, liberty; and the Americans have had many. “The American's first idol was the hero ; next the rebel against law in 1776; then virtue; then intellect ; and now Money. I forgot to name as their idol, at one period, the Constitution ; but that is past, and is now in Congress itself, the inspiration of more jokes and jeers than all Ireland. “The prevailing belief of this day is that mankind are im- proving, and such is my belief. Their advancement in the worship of idols proves it. Take the order in which their idols come, and you will see reason for this belief. First, the virtu- ous hero or rebel ; second, the Constitution ; third, virtue without heroism ; fourth, intellect without virtue ; and last, money without heroism, virtue, or intellect. Now look at the extremes of these various idols, the first, and the last (or pres- ent) idol : The first, the hero or rebel, the last, money. You see what an improved change in public sentiment. Nothing was ever so adored as the rebel hero of '76 ; nothing more despised by us than the rebel hero of '61. “Again, in 1776, the people counted money as naught, and what they imagined to be ‘principle,’ they held above life itself. Now, they worship money and jest about principle. II 2. AZ U 7'OCRACY, “This results from the form and spirit of our democratic government. As I said, mankind will worship something. If they can’t have a hero, or a martyr, or aristocracy, they will fall back on dress, or a pug dog. But heroes, virtue, the Con- stitution, intellect, all having been relegated to the Past, Money is the idol of the Americans. MONEY now, and not labor, is KING ! - “We here to-night need no argument to prove that statement. Our experience, not to say our affections, attests its truth. We see every day men and women bowing to this Monarch, our Money. * “Men violate trusts, sacrifice honor, destroy reputation, dis- grace families, wear stripes, to gain the favor of this King. Women offer up modesty, social station, to win its smile, as much as they did to get near the throne of Charles the Second, or Louis Fourteenth. “As every one here lives and has made his millions by catch- ing ‘points,” I doubt not you have anticipated the point of my late remarks on idols and money.” This remark was received with hearty applause muffled by dog-skin gloves that told the chairman, his point had been taken by every one present ; a fact that agreeably surprised the chairman, because his remarks about his personal reminis- cences when speaking of Mr Nat. Banks, indicated that no men of a speculative turn of mind, except those from the rural districts, ever took his points. The quick perception of the points was probably due to the experience of his audience. “The point is this : the rapidity of the growth of this last phase of idol worship and its increasing intensity, demonstrate that those who control this King will control this country. WE are to-day the Power behind the Throne, and we must hold our position.” Notwithstanding the point had already been seen in the scabbard, yet when it was drawn and gleamed before the ad- miring eyes of the spectators, the applause was earnest and prolonged. De Stilling and Mr. Lagér rapped on the table with their goblets with such vim, and yet without injury to the glasses, as to prove long usage, or that they were reformed jugglers. Mr. Weaver not being “unco fou,” and being therefore cau- tious not to make a noise, struck the sleeve of his coat as if he were testing the quality of its nap. Mr. Ferrum, having drank with every guest as he came in, Mā’. RAECK AER COM 7T/WöES. 113 rapped loudly on the table with the ferrule of his cane. Mr. Smiling jerked out Luxury and Power, leaving Comfort in his pocket, as a poor neighbor not respectable enough to be invited to such an entertainment, and made “heads" on Power kick “tails” on Luxury, to indicate the superiority of Power over Luxury, and to show that he took in the full ſorce of the point. Mr. Haslet, too discreet to rap, as the meeting was to be profoundly secret, grunted out, “Good good good ” many times with decreasing tone. Mr. O'Le Margarine, who was under all circumstances devout and always emphasizing his piety by apt scriptural quo- tations, exclaimed with a slight French accent, “Praise the Lard, oh my soul | " Mr. Skinner, being so transported as to become oblivious of all surroundings, reverted, as Darwin would say, to his former occupation, and made a quick stab with his forefinger upon the jugular vein of Mr. Bullock, who sat near his right, and im mediately proceeded to jerk off Mr. Bullock's coat. - The chairman was not able to proceed with his remarks until two little “ affairs of honor ’’ had been settled. Mr. Bullock rising in great wrath, demanded of Mr. Skinner to explain why he had struck him, Mr. Bullock, on the jugular, and then tried to skin off his coat. Mr. Skinner apologized most humbly and explained by saying, he was so enthused by the thought of being one of the rulers of this vast empire, that he was thrown into a momentary trance and imagined he was again a poor man in the old butcher pen, slaughtering beef. Mr. Bullock thereupon shook hands most cordially with Mr. Skinner across the almost “bloody chasm " for at least two minutes, and ex- pressed not only his entire satisfaction, but his everlasting gratitude for the fortunate stab, because it was the happy occasion of drawing him, Mr. Bullock, nearer and dearer to him, Mr. Skinner; and he hoped, that nothing in their lives would, in fact nothing could, ever occur to destroy a friendship so singularly, he might Say providentially, brought about. - The other affair was between Mr. De Stilling and Mr. Has- let. When Mr. De Stilling heard Mr. Haslet grunting out “Good | Good ” so often and with an indescribable sort of reflu- ent gurgle at the end of each sound of the word, Mr. De Stilling's memory, like Mr. Skinner's imagination, carried him back to the occupation of his early days, when he filled and emptied jugs with whisky. The grunt of Mr. Skinner so exactly imi- tated the sound of whisky pouring from a jug, that Mr. De * * * * * ~ * * , - - - - • . * * : *d 8 I I4 A LU7'OCRAC W. - Stilling grew redder in the face by that memory than he already was from his potations; and he rose and demanded of Mr. Has- let to explain what he meant by insulting him. If Mr. Haslet, in the ecstasy of the moment, had been ad- dressed by Mr. De Stilling as “Thane of Cawdor,” (of the meaning of which he would not have had the remotest con- ception), or had hailed him as “Haslet, the First, King of all the United States and the Territories thereof,” he could not have been more surprised than by the peremptory demand made by the wounded honor of Mr. De Stilling. - He looked bewildered, and as soon as Mr. Haslet, the pork packer, could get back into Mr. Haslet, the millionaire, he Smiled and extending his hand to Mr. De Stilling, exclaimed : “Why bless your heart and haslets, De Stilling ! Me in- sult you ! What have I said or done 2 Why I wouldn't insult you, nor any man of your standing and money, for the world ! If I have said or done anything to hurt your feelings or your recollections, or anything, I beg your pardon a thousand times. The fact of the business is, I was feeling so good over my future glory, your future glory, all our future glory, I don't know what I said, or done. Do you forgive me 2" Mr. De Stilling's gratification at the explanation was un- bounded. He insisted on taking a drink with Mr. Haslet, which invitation Mr. Haslet, being so delighted by the recon- ciliation, extended to Mr. Ferrum, the host, which Mr. Ferrum extended to all present. All accepted except the chairman, who said his rule had always been, never to drink when he was “making Points.” . “Well, Mr. Chairman, while we are waiting for your ‘pints’ we will take a few of Mr. Ferrum's,” facetiously replied Mr. Stocks, who felt himself at home—in the business of “Points and pointers.” .* The imbibation being ended and the imbibers again seated, the chairman resumed by saying : - - “However Mr. Ferrum may feel as to his pints you have taken, I congratulate myself, gentlemen, on the readiness with which you took my point, a few moments ago.” “Ah, Mr. Chairman, that was because we knew on which side of this question you are—that's all ”—said Mr. Stocks. Whereupon the chairman Smiled with an expression of de- light at this recognition of his cunning, vulgarly called knavery ; the audience laughed at the “palpable hit,” and the chair- man continued : MR. A. AECK AER COM 7TWAVUE.S. II5 “I have already explained our object. It is, in a word— Fmpire / These people are being trained to that end. As the Jews forsook the worship of the true God—abandoned Moses, followed Aaron, and worshiped the golden calf he fashioned for them, so the Americans have deserted the Constitution, the political teachings of its framers, virtue, truth, and honor, and are to-day the most abject idolaters of Money on the face of the earth. Money is now the touchstone for respectability, so- cial rank, political office, and is the baton of Power. “As I said in the beginning of my remarks in reply to Mr. Banks' inquiries, there is a death-struggle between the rich and the poor—Capital and labor. Anarchists want ruin. They wish to rob any man who has more than they. Socialists want, not absolute anarchy, but just enough of law to level without destroying society. The laborers—those who work, are willing to work, are our most dangerous enemies. They are organized and alert. They have the sympathy of the middle class ; that is, all who are neither millionaires (who are the upper class), nor manual laborers, who are the lowest class. They seem de- termined to break our power and end our reign. “The most dangerous enemy would be the farmers, if they could organize. But they can’t. They are too scattered and too lazy. Besides, they don't know how we fleece them. “ Unfortunately for us the laborers have discovered the fal- lacy which we have so successfully used for over twenty years, that Protection is the poor man's friend. They see every pro- tected capitalist growing rapidly rich, while their wages remain about the same, and barely sufficient to give their families food and clothing, and nothing to educate their children.” “We furnish public schools, tuition free, for their children,” said Mr. Weaver. - “Yes,” answered the chairman, “and did you ever think how dependent for much of our large profit, we millionaires are on free schools P’’ “I don't see that,” replied Mr. Weaver. “Well, I have given much thought to this question, and my conclusion is, that if free schools were turned into pay schools, many hundred millions which we millionaires now have buried in our napkins, would be owned by the people.” - “What an idea Why, do you advocate abolishing public schools P” asked Mr. Weaver. “No | The paradox of the proposition is—” “The what 7” inquired Mr. Clinkers, II6 - PZUTOCRACY. “The paradox,” answered the chairman. : “What sort of dox is that P I've heard of orthydox and het- erydox, but I never heard of parrydox,” said Mr. Clinkers. “I am like Mr. Clinkers,” said Mr. Smiling. “There is more of us in the same boat,” said a half dozen. “Paradox means a contradiction,” the Chairman started to explain. “Oh I see,” said Mr. Clinkers, “it is the dox that contra- dicts orthydox and heterydox.” “Not exactly. I was about to explain : Paradox is a contra- diction or apparent reversal of a proposition—or in fact, and I was about to say, that the paradox of the proposition I stated, (that free schools yield us great profits) is that they apparently take money out of our pockets.” “Mr. Chairman, ain't you mixed on the paradox business P’’ asked Mr. Smiling. - “I will explain. Free schools give the lowest class—the laborers—education without cost. If that were not so, we would be forced by them to pay higher wages, so they could live and have money to pay for tuition also ; whereas, now, we pay them just enough to live. We would, therefore, lose the excess of wages necessary for their children's education. That would take millions out of our pockets. The expense of maintain ing free schools is met by general taxation, which every citizen and every class pay. The middle class and the lowest class pay a larger per cent, of the taxes than we do, because, first, they are five thousand to our one, and second, because we own all the non-taxable bonds which they are not able to buy or hold. That is another profit we reap. Do you not see, now, how free schools help to make the rich richer ; that is, help us 2 I will now show you how the tariff has made so many millionaires. “We make in the middle and at both ends ; that is, we make, first, the natural profit on our capital that labor gives to every manufactured article; second, we make, that is, we save, what we would have to pay in excess of present wages to enable the laborers to educate their children, if free schools did not exist; and third, but mainly, we make at least five times more than the amount of duty levied on the kind of fabrics we, respect- ively, manufacture ; and we supply, probably, seven-eighths of what is consumed by our people. - “So, you see, how dependent we have been on free schools and the tariff, Our New England fathers were wise in their MR. RAECKAZAC COM 7TWAWUAE.S. 117 day and generation, when they conceived the financial scheme of free schools and the tariff. I mean the capitalists, for the laboring class is not benefited by either in a financial point of view. “We have run that fallacy of tariff benefit to the poor man for all it is worth, but he is getting at the truth. We have hired scribes to write up unnumbered pamphlets, stuffed with statistics and figures, and comparisons of foreign and home wages, to prove the tariff is a blessing to the laborer, but those of us who study the question know, they are all a delusion ; “springes to catch woodcock.” We have never published to the world what profits we have made by the tariff. We have been as dumb on that point as the sphinx on its origin and age, or you, Mr. Bond, on the profits from your railroads when the government wants to know your net profit.” “That's something no fellow can find out,” quoted Mr. Bond. “As jurors say when asked about their verdict. “So say we all,’” answered the chairman. “To which, I guess, the com- mittees appointed by Congress to investigate, will heartily say, “Amen l' “But the laborers need not be told what profits the tariff gives us. They see almost as clearly as we do. They can calculate it closely. They take the capital invested, the cost of the raw material, the product it yields in fabrics, the market price, the amount of wages paid by the pay-roll, and the result is easily obtained. And they are being undeceived. Hence, they are organized and demanding more of their share. Hence, so many strikes in every department of manufactures.” “But railroads don’t manufacture and are not protected by the tariff,” interjected Mr. Bond, “and they have more strikes than any other business.” “The rates charged by the railroads,” replied the chairman, “are in themselves a tariff. They are not duties on imports, not technically a tariff, not levied by Congress, but they are an excise on all domestic commerce. And I have observed, that all strikes come from labor employed by capital protected either in terms by the tariff, or capital which, like it, is sup- ported by charges on the public ; that is, either duties or ex- cises levied out of the general public. They are directed against capitalists who make their profits by taxing the public, by preying on it—if I must speak plainly. And I have spoken plainly and frankly, because we are not here to try to fool our- II.8 AZ U 7'OCRACY. selves. We reserve that for our amusement when we talk to Congress and depict the calamities that will inevitably over- whelm the whole country, including our most dearly beloved laborers, if one hair on the head of that hoary old sinner and robber, the Tariff, shall be touched. “We have paid for organs and set their barrels to playing that old tune around Congress and over the North until the teeth on the barrels are worn out. Every time Congress proposed to reduce the tariff, we have struck up our old tune; and every reduction has benefited the people, and the country is here yet, hale and hearty. We played it in 1878, when the people asked Congress to coin silver. We raved and swore the country would be ruined, that gold would fly from the country or run into old stockings and hide ; but Congress passed the Bland Bill and gold, to our disgust, came in to confuse and confound us. We are in the position of a lawyer who wanted to continue a case on the ground of an absent witness. He had persuaded the witness not to attend court. He made his motion for a continuance on the ground that his most material witness was absent, and as the Court was about to grant it the witness walked into court. The peculiarity of the lawyer was that he never wanted to go to trial in any case, and was always moving for a continuance. The judge, knowing his practice, said, ‘Mr. Fickling, your witness has just come. Maybe you would like to change the ground of your motion and move on the ground of surprisc 2' “‘Yes | Your Honor I thank Your Honor I move to continue on the ground of surprise. I am surprised, Your Honor l’ gravely said Mr. Fickling. “Gold came in just when we wished it to stay away, and we were confounded as much as the lawyer. Again we raised the same cry when we made an effort to get that law repealed. We failed, and gold continued to increase. “But there is another inquiry of Mr. Banks to be answered. The first, ‘What is our object 2' I have answered. The second, ‘What has been accomplished, and what do we propose to accomplish 2 ' I will answer as briefly as I can. “Before the war we had innumerable banks, chartered by each State. That was a part of the old idea of local self-govern- ment. It sprung out of State Rights. We have nearly abol- ished all that and now have a Federal banking system. This is a long stride on the way to centralized power. This we, the money-power, established, MAE. R.ECK AEA’ COA/7/AVUAE.S. II 9 “Before the war every railroad was a distinct entity, worked between its chartered termini. Every president was a little baron, and no concert of action for offensive and defensive warfare was possible. Each road was, more or less, under the heel of the people, or of its employés. That put us at great disadvantage in our contest with the people. We learned a valuable lesson from the government during the war, of the power of railroads when controlled by one head. The govern- ment practically managed every road then in the Union, and its power was vastly increased. - “We have gradually, and without noise or exciting alarm, swallowed up hundreds of roads with a view to combine all, ultimately, into one iron chain. As you know, we own four trans-continental lines, besides about ninety thousand miles of other lines; and we control by connections and by pooling all the others. Nearly all this control has been acquired within the brief period of ten years, and as our millions increase, which they are doing in almost geometrical ratio annually, we can combine Our billions and crush out all the smaller lines ; buy them in, and have them all under one hat. We can then defy the people and the government. We are able, already, to play with its Committees sent out to nose out our business. “Before the war there was but one telegraph line of any length worth noting. I mean the Western Union. Since the war, many companies have been formed to aid “the dear people’ by competition and cheap rates. We have given each one an anaconda squeeze ; they have dropped lifeless and we have Swallowed them all. The only one that has given us any seri- ous concern is the Baltimore and Ohio. But after playing with it awhile, as the Snake plays with its victim, or a cat with a doomed mouse, we will swallow it whole. “We started the Western Union with a capital of five hun- dred thousand dollars, in 1856. We have watered that stock, from time to time, as we needed money to crush some rival, or to buy some railroad, and we now have over eighty millions in stock, on which we levy revenue enough from the people to pay us a large annual dividend. It is true that this dividend has not been paid every year, but there was good reason for passing it, now and then. It was necessary to depress the market price of the stock, to buy it in cheap, and thus increase Our holdings and our power through that grand monopoly. “We own all the valuable inventions that are patented. In some instances we have bought them after the inventors have f 26 - AZ. {V7'OCRA C j2. spent years of thought and labor on them, and, having spent all their money, were driven by poverty to part with them. The cost in such cases has always been a trifle. Sometimes we have found an obstinate pauper who would not sell, and we disposed of him by infringing his patent, drawing him into expensive law-suits, and finally forcing him to take almost nothing for it. . “There are many patents we hold as monopolies, having bought up the original patent and every improvement. A notable instance of this class of monopoly is the gun shell, paper and copper, used in shot guns and rifles. No merchant, no hardware dealer, no gunsmith, can buy a shell from any one but us. Express permission must be obtained from our monop- Oly to sell a single gun or rifle shell anywhere under the United States flag. “Besides the land we own in cities, worth six billions, we own, in the Territories, land enough to make six States as large as the State of New York, and it is doubling in value every two or three years. This landed empire was the property of the people, but it was given to us by Representatives and Senators chosen by them and we must hold it. “We hold three billions in mortgages on farmers' lands, which we are rapidly getting possession of by foreclosure. We will soon be their landlords and they our tenants, like the sys- tem in Ireland. “We own nearly all the coal and iron in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama, and, as we own the railroads, we can create coal and iron famines at will, and get our own prices for those necessaries of life. - “We own also a monopoly of the oil in the United States, and can and do raise or lower at will the price of this neces- 'sary of life. - “We control the market prices of wheat, corn, oats, hay, butter, lard, cotton, cotton seed oil, beef and pork, sugar, rice, stocks and bonds. In fact, we hold grains down while they are in the hands of the farmers, and when we get them in hand, we raise the prices on the manufacturer, who, to make his profit, raises the price on the consumer. - “This is notably true of the cereals and of cotton. Between July and January, when the products are being marketed, we ‘bear’ the market. After January we ‘bull’ the market, until the next crop is harvested, and then we let the prices drop, in order to take in the whole crop at the lowest price. MA’. A ZºCA BAE COM 7TA) UAE.S. I 2 f “In politics we have already accomplished much towards getting the government in our grasp. Those who have opposed our railroad schemes looking to consolidation of all roads and ultimate centralization of all power in our hands, we have retired to private life by beating them down at the polls and in the legislatures, when they asked for re-election. On the other hand, we have selected many whom we could use either through a common interest, being of us, or through fear of our power, and sent them to legislatures and to Congress to represent our interest. We saw it would be a herculean work to control both houses of Congress, so we selected the smaller House. With it in hand, we could prevent any and all legis- lation hostile to us and beneficial to the people. And it was not necessary to have the whole body. Control of a bare majority in one House, we knew, was sufficient, and we are now strongly intrenched in that end of the capitol. The peo- ple, like the heathen, may ‘rave and imagine a vain thing ; ’ they may send the strongest man in the country to the Lower House—and the Commons may fume and pass any bill they please—we don’t care. We, in the House of Lords, have some- thing to say about their bills, and they can't make laws unless they suit us. “There was one Senator from Ohio who kept busying himself about our affairs, and as you know, we made short work of him when he was a candidate for re-election. In California we have had to spend more money than in any one State to pre- serve the peace, but we have managed to keep a level keel So far. “These grand results in our progress to Empire have been effected by a few of us working on independent lines. It has been a fight under many captains. Now, we must battle under one General. We must raise a common fund to be used whenever and wherever any of us are interested ; for the cause of one is the cause of all. - ‘We must have committees charged with special and sepa- rate duties. We must have Ist, a Committee on Ways and Means, or Finance, whose duty shall be to assess every millionaire pro rata, or in proportion to his one, tens, or hundreds of millions. “2d. A Committee on Elections, whose duty shall be to find out through detectives or spies, the political views of Can- didates, and if they are not for us, to furnish money secretly to slay them at the polls, or, like Caesar, in the Capitol of their States. I 2.2 AZ U 7'OCRACY, “3d. A Committee to employ scribblers, who are broken down financially and will sell themselves cheap, to write pamph- lets on the tariff; also cheap printers to print them, for dis- tribution among farmers and our employés. This committee should adopt some such name as ‘The Farmers' Association and Poor Man's Friend,’ and pay some seedy farmer a salary to stay in the office to exhibit himself as the head of the asso- ciation when curious people call, and thus keep the men who are the Committee out of sight. “This Committee must perform the further duty of examin- ing all pamphlets to see that the statistics and figures shall pre- sent only our side of the question, and be sugar-coated and leave no unpleasant taste in the mouth. So we get them swal- lowed, we don’t care what the effect is on the stomach. “4th. Also, a Committee on Wages, to confer with all of the upper class who work the lowest class and ascertain the wages paid, and to establish a uniform scale of prices. This will give us even more power over labor than we now have ; for, when a laborer knows he cannot get any higher wages elsewhere, he will not be disposed to kick and quit. This will give us a tighter grip on the lowest class, and prevent strikes, except when we order them. & “5th. Also, a Committee to buy up some of the leaders among the lowest class (through detectives, or secret agents, of course), and send them among the small infant factories, to organize strikes and thus break down all small enterprises and give us millionaires control of all manufactures and all skilled labor. “6th. Also, a Committee on Manufactures and Mines, to reg- ulate the prices of all manufactured goods, coal, iron, oils, sugar, and so forth, so that when prices do not pay, the goods shall be held in store until we can get for them the highest fig- ures allowed by the tariff. “7th. Also, a Committee on Strikes, who, when goods must be held for the highest tariff prices, will organize strikes through secret paid agents, to enable us to shut down and save the CCst of labor, until consumption of goods creates a fresh demand. After selling the goods stored we can resume work to pro- duce more. “Another duty of this committee shall be to buy up the leaders in all strikes when the time arrives at which it will . be profitable to us to terminate either a voluntary or a bribed strike. - MR. RECKER CONTINUES. I23 “8th. Also, a Committee on Immigration, to bring in more cheap laborers to take the place of strikers. We have secretly imported Italians, Hungarians and others, but there was no combined effort. We must have a regular Secret Bureau of Immigration at once. “9th. Also, a Committee on Clandestine Legislation.” “Mr. Chairman, if you will allow me to say a word just there,” said Mr. Nat. Banks, slowly and deprecatingly, “I do not exactly like the word ‘clandestine.’ You see, it comes home to me and the clerical members of my family more, per- haps, than to any other gentleman here. You and all the gen- tlemen here must know that it has sometimes been said of members of my family, when they have gone on a visit to Canada, and took a liking to that fine country and preferred it as a home, that they went away ‘clandestinely.’ “Then again, you know, that when now and then, as will happen to the most devout among us, some of my family get a little behind in their bookkeeping, some uncharitable people have said they “perpetrated clandestine appropriation.” So that, the term has thereby grown to be o-fensive to the sensi- bilities of many of my family.” “I suggest “inscrutable ’ in the place of ‘clandestine,’” said Mr. Stocks, who for ten minutes had been gazing at the chairman, trying to fathom his character, and had just solilo- quized softly, with a sigh, “I give it up.’” “Why not be honest with ourselves, and be done with it,” blurted out Mr. Smiling, “ and say ‘unscruperlus P’” “According to the notion of a young lawyer in Indiana,” the chairman remarked, “one will do as well as the other. He believed the opposing lawyer in a case was tricky, and when addressing the jury, he exclaimed, in a burst of Oratory, ‘Gen- teelmen . The counsel on t'other side reminds me of Provi- dence—his ways are unscruperlous and past finding out.’” This little stream of humor turned on the meeting, put them in a merry mood. Some laughed heartily and loud, which others would have done, if they had known the difference in the meaning of “inscrutable" and “unscrupulous” Mr. Sam Bonanza, who was a rabid monometalist and whose mind at the sound of “clandestine legislation " had run off to the memory of how he and others had got Section 3586 (only three lines) demonetizing silver, slipped into the Revised Stat- utes of the United States when in the printer's hands, suggested the word “surrupshus,” - - - I 24 - AZ U 7'OCRACY. t “That's the word,” roared Mr. Bullock. “Surrupshus It Sounds strong / I never felt the power of that word till when I was in Urup and saw a rupture of Mount Vessuvyus. Sur- rupshus is the best word ' " . This suggestion met with no objection. The chairman said : “As that suggestion appears to be the Sense of the meeting, I will say, we must have a Committee on Surreptitious legislation, whose duty shall be to employ dis- Creet, shrewd, secretive, inscrutable, and unscrupulous men who wear an air of stolid unconcern and seem to the unwary to be only lookers-on, to hang languidly around Washington, to study the weaknesses of Congressmen, and to supply food for their various appetites; be it money for the avaricious, or gambling for the speculative, or wine and strong drink for the debauched, or women for the gallant, or dinners for those who will not treat with any Power, on any pending legislative proposition, except through their great Functionary, that time-honored Diplomat, the Stomach.” - “Why not call that a Committee on Diplomacy P’’ asked Mr. Banks. “Or, on Foreign Affairs 2" added Mr. Stocks. - “No we’ve done fixed it as ‘Surrupshus Legislashun,’ and that's too good to change,” put in Mr. Bullock. “Surreptitious is the proper prononciation,” gently remarked the chairman. - “Well, I don’t care how you sound it, so “rupshur ' 's in it. Let's go on with the bizness,” demanded Mr. Bullock. “We need not hope in the present state of public feeling,” continued the chairman, “ (and by the public I mean the mid- dle and lowest classes), to get any more of the people's prop- erty or money from Congress—that is, if we are known as being interested in the surreptitious legislation. Twenty, fif- teen, even ten years ago, we had things our own way. But the Credit Mobilier stench put us in bad odor. When we ask for anything we must do it, as we corral our vast landed estates. This, as you know, is done by paying pretended settlers to buy each a homestead with money we furnish and, afterwards, taking deeds from them. So, in approaching Congress, we must use as a cat's-paw men of the middle class. “But our principal work at present is to hold what we have —I mean our Empire of land, Our railroads, our telegraphs, our patents and our trade Exchanges.” - “What do you mean by trade Exchanges 2" asked Mr. Af Mr. RECKER CONTINUES. I 25 Stocks, who barely escaped being thrown into another trance by trying to fathom the meaning of, to him, the inscrutable speaker, before he could ask his meaning. “I speak of the many Exchanges, the stock, grain, cotton, mining, petroleum Exchanges.” “Well, what have we to do with them, we don't own them. Some of us here are not even members,” remarked Mr. Stocks. “That is very true, but you seem not to conceive the ines- timable value, the indispensable use, of all the Exchanges to the millionaires in this country. Has it never occurred to you that we could not have reaped the billions we now hold but for the Exchanges and the tariff 2 They have been to us the lamp of Aladdin—the mines of Ophir. They are the mouths—the deltas—the funnel points, through which pour all the streams of commerce, agriculture, trade, manufactures, mines, into our ever deepening and widening sea of wealth. Did the thought never occur to you that there were no million- aires worth mentioning, as to number, in the United States, be- fore these Exchanges were put in operation ? Girard and Astor made their millions on the sea—not by speculation or trade at home. Besides them, there was, here and there, over the country, a man who, by increase in value of city land was worth a million or two, and they were about all. “But not until the Exchanges were set up did we, each, get our tens of millions. They are our faro banks where all men disposed to gamble, come. If stocks were not listed, how could they bet 2 How could you ‘bear’ stocks to-day and take in your thousands and ‘ buſ/’ it to-morrow, and get a like profit, if the shares were out in the woods in the old farmers' hands who paid their hard-earned money to help build a rail- road 2 How could gambling to the extent of five hundred thousand shares of stock in one day in Our Stock Exchange alone be carried on, if the Exchange did not exist P Averag- ing the shares at par, some being above and some below, that is equal to fifty million dollars changing hands in a day, in one Exchange and in stocks alone. “How could we get up rumors to ‘bear the price of stocks, when we wish to buy them to get a controlling interest or to elect our own boards of directors, and then run the road down, pass dividends, freeze out small holders, then buy up the bonds and sell the road, buy it in, restock it, divide the stock annong ourselves and then declare dividends, list the stock and sell it I 26 . PZvZocracy. at high prices, if the bonds and the stock had to be picked up, here and there, from farmers and others living hundreds of miles apart and thousands of miles from New York 2 “How could an estate of eighty millions have been hoarded by one man in less than twenty years, had he not bought and sold in that Stock Exchange 2 How could that eighty millions have been increased to more than three hundred millions in ten years, as we know they were, but for that faro bank, that attracted tens of thousands to go in and bet on the chance of his stock rising or falling, while he stood there with two hun- dred millions to crush them when they got under it, or to blow them sky high, if they dared get on to it 2 “How could you, Mr. Cornelius Wheat—who, I notice, have been a thoughtful listener to-night, have made your many mill- ions in Chicago, within one decade, if you had not had the Grain Exchange wide open to entice men and women, and farmers and merchants, to walk in and put down their little stakes, called margins, and bet that wheat would go up or go down 2 “How could you, Mr. Sam Bonanza, have ever squeezed a hundred millions out of a five million quartz mine, if you had not had all San Francisco betting on your stock while you had a man down in the mine, who, periodically, would poke his head out of the shaft and cry ‘Eureka! I've found a bonanza,' and the market would jump, sometimes, a thousand per cent. in a week, and you would then unload 2 “Then the man hid in the hole would disappear; and at the appointed time, after the stock had sunk, because the bonanza had suddenly ‘petered out ' and heavy expenses were being in- curred, your Board would levy assessments on the stock, some- times to the amount of half its value, and the poor preachers, lawyers, doctors, draymen, bootblacks, chambermaids,-could not pay the assessment and had to sell back to you who were buying behind a broker. Had you not had your stock listed in the Stock Exchange, could you have milked the public, as you did in that way, ten, yes, twenty times 2 - “How could the oil men, the Standard Oil Company, have made their hundreds of millions in so short a time, without their Petroleum Exchange here in which thousands of men bet, con- stantly 2 Think, for a moment, how trade would be conducted in petroleum and its products without the Petroleum Exchange. The oil pouring from the wells is gathered in tanks. There it stays until the refiner buys it and makes kerosene, paraffine and other commercial articles from it. The refiner uses it as fast MAE. RAECA. AA’ COAV 7”/A7 UAE.S. 127 as he can sell those products, that is, demand and supply regulate the use. That is legitimate trade.” - “How about Western Union ?” inquired Mr. Stocks. “Oh that is not oil, it's watered stock,” playfully replied the chairman. . “Well, if we get an ad valorem duty laid on water, that stock might go ‘dry,’” said Mr. Bond. “We can put De Stilling and Lagér in the Board, to keep it wet! They are opposed to men and places being “dry,’” re- torted the chairman. “One more word and I will close. You see the power the Exchanges give us and the wealth we have reaped from them. The middle and lowest classes have never understood this fully. They have a glimmer, but the full light has never broken in. The immoral view has blinded them to all other considera- tions. Preachers talk against speculation (which means the Exchanges), because it is gambling Legislatures pass still- born Acts to prevent “gambling in futures.’ They drive away at bucket shops as the root of the evil, as they speak of it. They cut off the branches, vainly imagining they are killing the tree. They are only pruning it and giving the tree strength to bear more fruit. They do not seem to see, that a bucket shop is to an Exchange what a gill of whisky is to a hogshead ; or a three-inch rattler is to one six feet long with twenty rattles. “Our danger is that the masses, or as some wit said, ‘them asses,’ will look beyond the question of gambling and discover what we know—that these Exchanges are our shears for fleecing the public ; our compresses for crushing the weak ; the field where we reap what farmers sow and labor produces. When these sowers and producers, whose hard earnings we sit down and reap by our wits, fully comprehend our power over them through these Exchanges, it will not be long before Prospero's wand will be broken and Othello's occupation gone. ‘To your tents, oh, Israel !’ “There is in the breasts of the middle and lowest classes a well-founded dread of the power of our money ; of Plutocracy destroying Democracy, of our wealth accumulating so rapidly, that by the corrupt use of money at the polls, or in an Electoral College, we can elect one of ourselves President, and then by the use of a few hundred millions ‘placed where they will do the most good,' in the army, the navy, in Congress, overthrow the democratic form of government and establish on its ruins a Monarchy and a Money Aristocracy. Stranger and more un- 128 Prva ocracy. expected things have suddenly occurred in the history of Greece, Rome, and France. And, if the middle and lowest classes will give us the swing for twenty years more that we had for twenty years past, this Democracy will be an EMPIRE.” This peroration aroused such enthusiasm in Mr. Bullock that he called loudly for three cheers for the chairman, which would have been given most vociferously, had not Mr. Ferrum instantly said: - “No, no ; that won't do. This is a whist party to-night.” What would have been the effect of that remark can never be known, because as soon as it was uttered, the enthusiasm of all was instantly allayed by a Sound resembling a giggle, a sup- pressed sneeze, and the “pish ’’ of an angry cat that came from the China press in the rear of the dining-room. . “What's that 2 " burst from nearly every throat except Mr. Bullock's, which only responded, “It is the cat l” The china press was communicated with by stairs leading to the basement. Mr. Ferrum stepped quickly and looked into the press. Seeing no cat, he went below and found the base- ment door unlocked. He suspected that Red-top had neg- lected to lock it, he being charged with that duty every night. Could it be that Mike, his “trusty,” had been eaves- dropping, or more correctly, key-holing 2 He would see. He ascended the steps to Red-top's castle—tried the door. It was not locked. He entered, struck a match, looked at the end of the bed where the light of the Burning Bush should appear, but it was extinguished. No, it was never extinguished. It was shining beneath two blankets; and from the same spot proceeded a periodical, sonorous but inarticulate declaration as serious as if every inhalation were an affidavit, that that son of Israel was not only in his tent, but had been there ever since the chairman of the whist party, with his usual good fortune, with a sequence of Ace, King, Queen, Knave of diamonds as trumps, had led the knave and housed ten, nine, of his opponent's hands. Mr. Ferrum quietly stepped from the castle and returned as wise as he went. He reported that he had seen no one, but that he had found the basement door unlocked. . This elicited a dozen or more questions bearing on the probability of any one having heard what had been said, but as no one could solve the riddle, it was dropped. - - Mr. Ferrum then moved that the chairman should appoint the Committees as soon as possible, and notify them verbally, MR. RAEC/TAA’ COM 7TWAVUE.S. I29 as it had been agreed, there was to be no writing of any kind. The mover urged the necessity for immediate action, as Con- gress was in Session and strikes increasing. The motion was agreed to. It was then agreed that the meeting adjourn subject to the call of the chairman ; that the next meeting be held at Mr. Clinkers’ mansion ; that the chairman should tell Mr. Clinkers what night the meeting would be held, and that Mr. Clinkers should simply send a note to each millionaire, inviting him to come at eight o'clock sharp to play a game of whist. After a “night-cap" of the host's twenty-dollar sherry, or of his forty-dollar brandy, or of champagne, according to each man's taste or condition, the game of whist so well begun but not played to a finish, in which Plutocracy and Empire were the stakes, was suspended for the night 9 CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. PyTHAGOREA EUCLID'S FIRST VIEW OF PI '7TOCRACY AND ITS COATS OF A RMS. WHILE we are waiting on the politico-plutocrats to mature business through their committees, our time can be profitably employed by observations of what the social plutocrats were doing. There were some social, matrimonial and philanthropic events and occurrences worthy of being recorded. In a brown-stone front, No. — Fifth avenue, New York, resides the family of Clinkers. The head of the family, Mr. Obadiah Clinkers, at the time of this history, was fifty years old, while Mrs. Clinkers stood “fat and forty.” They had no children, no heir apparent to Mr. Clinkers' immense wealth. The interior was all that upholstering and decoration could add. Then, too, the walls were hung with some paintings. The stands, corners, niches, were loaded and filled with bric-a-biac, curios, statuettes in marble and bronze. Still, the Clinkers were not happy. Their wealth had not brought the social standing they desired. They wondered at this and chafed under the disappointment. They saw the families of several millionaires—many millions— at the top, as they supposed the top to be—but they did not reflect that those families had been wealthy for at least two generations. They had never heard the German proverb, that it requires three generations to make a gentleman, and they did not know that even in America one generation cannot reach the top with no other ladder than wealth. They had seen intellect go to the first rank at a bound, and they wondered why money had not the same spring. This was not only a vexed, but a vexing question to them. They had talked the matter over in their bedchamber councils many times without solving the mystery. Mrs. Clinkers finally decided that she was confined too closely at home by domestic cares; that she must go out more and be sociable. To that end she must have a housekeeper and she at once inserted the following advertisement in the A/era/d/; “A lady of great wealth wants a housekeeper. She must be PPYA/AGOAAA A UCZZZY'S V/A. W. OA PLU 7 OCRACY. I 3r .# A business like and very intelligent. Send application to Herald office down town. No other kind need apply.” Numerous applications came by the next day's mail and were promptly forwarded to the brown-stone front. Among them was one mailed in an interior city of New York that read as follows: “In reply to the ‘lady of great wealth who desires a house- keeper, I beg to say in paraphrase of Iago, ‘ I am nothing if not business like '; and as to the other qualification you require, I will only say, that I am a graduate of Vassar College, and stood first in mathematics in my class; making a score of Ioo Out of a possible Ioo. Trusting that I may be given an oppor- tunity to ‘demonstrate the problem ' of my ability to meet your reasonable demand, I remain respectfully yours, PYTHAGOREA EUCLID." The hand was large, bold, masculine, strong, and the chirog- raphy beautiful. “My dear,” said Mr. Clinkers, after reading Miss Euclid's note, “I am pleased with that girl's letter. She writes like a man, and I will bet a bushel” (Mr. Clinkers' favorite expression when he wished to be emphatic), “that she will fill the bill. Besides she must be good in figurs and she can keep all your accounts straight and your cash, and now and then help me, do you see P’’ e “Yes,” slowly replied Mrs. Clinkers, “but look at all the big words she uses. I don't want a servant girl using words about me that I can't understand. See that word “paraphrase' ' What does she mean by a paraphrase of Iago—and who is he anyhow 2 ” “Paraphrase ? let me see—how it is spelt"—mused Mr. Clink- ers, “Yes, paraphrase means the way that man Iago had of talking. I don't know him, personally, but I have seen him. He's a big play-actor. He's a great rascal, though. He once stole a handkerchief from a man's wife and got the man and wife so mixed up by putting the crime on the wife, her husband killed her.” “Well, well !” ejaculated Mrs. Clinkers, “Then that girl must know him—I mean that villain Iago, and that's a bad sign to begin with.” “No,” said Mr. Clinkers, soothingly, “that don't follow. She 1s only quoting one of his sayings—his paraphrase—just as people quote Shakespeare, or Byron, or any big man.” * f32 AZ U 7'OCRACY. “Then, again, see what a name! P-y-t-h, Pyth, a-g, ag—can you call it 2 I can’t. What on earth would we do with a girl as a servant when we can't call her name 2 I never heard such an outlandish name—both of 'em in fact. Pyth-a-go-rea Eu- clid. Do you know any family named Euclid 2 ” “No,” mildly replied Mr. Clinkers, “but the name needn't bother you. Call her Py or Pyth for short, and tell her you do so to save time. If she's sensible, she won't mind it. If not, you don’t want a fool. You have got to try somebody, so you might as well close with her.” “Very well,” consented Mrs. Clinkers. “You answer her letter and tell her to come at once—on trial, understand.” “But what about the price, her wages 2 ” “Let her come first, so we can see her. We might not like her looks. I would say ten dollars a month and board is enough. Maybe she'd be glad to get that in these hard times, and it would be nothing to us.” The letter went that day, and two days thereafter a hack stopped before the brown-stone front, and a young lady about five feet four inches in height—well shaped——with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face handsome for one so strongly marked by will and firm resolution, stepped nimbly from the hack, and tripping with muscular grace up the stone steps, rang the bell. The door was opened by a boy whose appearance provoked an unconscious smile on the face of the young lady. She inquired if Mrs. Clinkers resided there. When the boy with some hesi- tation admitted the fact, the lady requested the driver to bring in her trunk, a plain small-sized depository of all her worldly goods. On inquiry if Mrs. Clinkers was in, the boy said she was, tout did not move a muscle, nor ask his vis-a-vis to walk in. Miss Euclid (for it was she) having her keen sense of humor aroused by the boy's look and attitude, asked for his name. “Tobe,” came the slow reply. “Well, Tobe, tell Mrs. Clinkers that Miss Euclid has called to see her.” “Miss What?” inquired Tobe, without any sign of life, ex- cept the movement of his lips. “Miss Pythagorea Euclid " “Wish you’d write it down, I can’t say all that.” “Then tell her a lady has called to see her on business,” kindly answered Miss Euclid, with a gentle laugh, which Tobe emphasized with a giggle, ending with “ah-he ” as he walked PYTHAGORAEA EUCLID'S VIEW OF PLUTOCKACY. 133 away, leaving Miss Euclid at the door and looking at her over his left shoulder until he disappeared. Miss Euclid entered the reception-room on the left of the hall and seated herself to await events. While she is waiting it is an opportune moment to introduce to the reader the usher, the major-domo, the butler, the fac- totum of the Clinkers—Master Tobe. - Tobe was thirteen years old, though his face indicated at least twenty, while his size represented ten. He was an old boy in body, but very young in mind. His progenitors had been for several generations workers in collieries and factories, and the degeneracy produced in them by delving in darkness ; under ground, by the dust, lint, and the dry, heated air in fac- tories, and the want of sufficient nutritious food (the result of poverty), was seen in the body and intellect of this scion. His face was weazen, and if characterized by any expression at all, it was an appeal for pity. His wardrobe was scant, and as Mrs. Clinkers, when it required replenishing, carried him to a second-hand clothing shop on the Bowery, it may be taken as granted that the fit was usually a misfit. And so it was. His coat if large enough in the waist, was too long in the sleeves, or tail. If his trousers fit in the body, they were too short or long in the legs. As he was the courier between the basement and the front door, he was dressed, when on duty, in a Prince Albert much too large and too long, which he was required to keep buttoned from chin to waist. Enough of his fingers was visible to dispel the impression made at first sight, that he was born without arms. There was evident enmity between his brogans and trousers, or his Socks had struck for liberty and had succeeded in making a wide and permanent breach to gain the light. His hair was red and bushy, and not near so much disposed to lie down as was its owner. Tobe did not like the Prince Albert, and when off duty he would divest himself of it ; and it sometimes happened in the haste of investing himself on a sudden summons by the door bell, that the buttons were a hole too high or too low. This, of course, threw the collar on one side too high, and the skirt on the opposite side too low. And such was the position of his Prince Albert when he confronted Miss Euclid at the door. To explain how Tobe became the major-domo of the wealthy Clinkers' family involves a little more of their history. Obadiah Clinkers, a few years before the time here spoken of, was a laborer in and about a coal mine in Pennsylvania. He was I34. AM, U 7'OCRACY. industrious and saving, and had accumulated a few hundred dollars which he invested in land near by. He had married a sister of a man who was a collier in that mine, and Tobe was the surviving child of Mrs. Clinkers' brother. Soon after the in- vestment in land by Mr. Clinkers, iron was discovered on it, and Mr. Clinkers at once commenced to develop the mine. He engaged his brother-in-law, Tobe's father, as one of the labor- ers, who soon thereafter was killed by a blast in the mine. Mrs. Clinkers took charge of Tobe, then a child of three years, and when Mr. Clinkers made his immense fortune by a sale of his furnace and mines some years after and retired from busi- ness and moved to New York, he and Mrs. Clinkers carried Tobe and their habits of economy, by some called stinginess, with them. After consultation they decided to make Tobe useful by installing him, as Pharaoh installed Joseph, as chief butler of the house of Clinkers. Miss Euclid did not have to wait long for the expected inter- view, but she had time enough to make a mental inventory of the parlor furniture and ornaments, and to form a conclusion as to the antecedent circumstances of her future employer; which conclusion was audibly and visibly expressed by a shrug of her shoulders and the word “parvenu.” She was not favorably im- pressed. She was induced to answer the advertisement by a desire long felt to see something of New York life. She desired to study the habits and customs of the wealthy and the poor of that great social and business center, “before,” as she expressed it, “starting life on a settled plan.” So she decided to try the Clinkers on almost any terms. Mrs. Clinkers soon appeared, and Miss Euclid, rising and moving gracefully a step or two towards her, opened the inter- view by saying : “I presume you are Mrs. Clinkers—I am Miss Euclid.” “Ah, yes,” returned Mrs. C. “I supposed you was, because it is too early for visitors in New York to call, and, besides, we don’t have many callers yet ; and besides, I was expceting you any hour after yesterday.” “I decided to come at once,” interrupted Miss Euclid, “not- withstanding your husband, in his letter, said nothing of the terms of the proposed engagement. I assumed from the words of the advertisement, that we would not have any difficulty in coming to an agreement. Permit me to inquire what service you wish me to perform, and what compensation you offer.” “You mean by compensation, pay, I suppose. We talked P Y7 HAGORAEA EUCLID'S VIE W OF PZU 7 OCRACY. 135 about that—my husband and me, and he thought ten dollars and your board would be about right. I have talked with a good many of the wives of millionaires in town, and I find they all agree, that figur’ and board is enough for housekeepers. You see, my dear, Miss Euclid, I should say—I know you must be a very Smart girl, because you went through Vassar College, but that sort of learnin', you know, is of no use to us.” Miss P. E. mentally took issue with her hostess on that prop- osition, and would have rejoiced at the opportunity of “demon- strating ” the truth of the affirmative side of the question, but she controlled her itching palms, so to speak, and allowed the negative side to go unchallenged. “It may be to you some day, but we've never seen anybody make a dollar by it. Why, we have a neighbor who has a son that has been through college, and he's no account and talks for an hour at a time about rocks and kimistry and applied knowledge and all that; yes, and flowers and poets and geol- ogy, and yet he can't make any money. His applied knowl- edge ain't worth a cent to him ; but another neighbor has a son who hardly ever went to school, and he is getting rich fast. He can add up figur's as fast as a lightnin' calculatur, and can tell you all about stocks and bonds and taxes.” Miss Euclid's desire to study the wealthy of New York was gratified ; in fact, much sooner than she expected. She had learned much in one minute, but she did not give any evidence of her acquisition by sign or word. She let Mrs. C. proceed. “You see, there is but two of us, and there's not much for you to do ; but I thought I would like to have some one in the house to look after things while I go out. I wish to circulate round more and see my friends and get acquainted. We used to live in the country and have not been living here long, and we don't know many people yet. There's a great many mill- ionaires here, I'm told, and we want to know them. We’ve met some of 'em at parties and the like, but did not see much of 'em in a crowd like that.” “You see, at these parties give by the millionaires, a good many people in plain circumstances are invited to fill up, such as lawyers and painters and doctors, and some merchants and railroad men, and they just scrouge so, you can't even sit down, much less have a social chat. And as for getting Some- thing to eaf —well, it is no use trying. In fact, I never bother about that, for the way we do is to save some of the best that never goes on the table, and when the crowd has stuffed and 136 . . . PZUzocracy. gone away, we have a good time eating and talking over the . way the crowd done. - “I remember one time, at a reception at the Haslets—you've heard of the Haslets, of course.” “Not the ones you speak of, I suppose,” Miss Euclid an- Swered. “Oh you must a' heard of the Haslet family They are one of the richest families in New York—in the world, I guess. They're from the West. He made his money in the hog busi- iness. Well, as I was Saying, I was at his house one night at one of them scrouges, and after the crowd went away he amused us who stayed behind by describing 'em, and among other things he said, was how he enjoyed the fun of feeding such people. He said the sight of the people crowding and Squeezing and pushing and pulling to get to the table, carried him back to the days when he used to feed his hogs just before he killed 'em to pack.” “Mr. Haslet was a pork-packer P’’ asked Miss E., not for information, but to test the effect of her remark on the mental epidermis of a plutocrat. - - “Yes, and he made lots of money at it. He is very rich, and one of the leading men in New York society, and is our most intimate friend. He and a few more millionaires, they control things here. They rule the town.” - . “That is very fortunate for them,” Miss E. replied. “I suppose they are what are called ‘Bosses,’ are they not ?” “Yes, that's it. People who are poor and can't make money, need somebody to take charge of them and their affairs, you know ; and these rich men, who have nothing to do but cut off their coupons and spend their money, wish something to do to kill time, and so they oversee politics and keep things right, and the poor people from upsetting things. Why, my husband is going out two or three nights in the week to some secret meeting or other of millionaires, who are all the time discussing some project or other. Sometimes they are buying up a rail- road cheap, or a lot of bonds, or big blocks of vacant lots, or making up a pool, as he calls it, to buy up Congressmen and legislatures, or to elect a Protection man to Congress, or to buy off some leader among the workingmen, who are all the time making trouble, or to crush out some troublesome meddler.” “What is a Protection man P’’ asked Miss E. “He is a man that votes for high prices on everything,” re- plied the hostess. PVTHAGOREA EUCLID'S VIEW OF PZU 7 OcRAcy. 137 “Do they succeed in their purposes P’’ asked Miss E., with interest and curiosity. “Almost always,” answered Mrs. C. “Money, child, can do anything nowadays. You will see it if you live in New York a while, and keep your eyes open. Everybody here is ‘on the make.’” “Are not the wealthy—those who possess millions—content with what they have 7" asked Miss E. “Bless your heart, child, they are the very ones who are all the time trying to get more. I tell my husband we have enough, and to take life easy, and to ‘let well enough alone,’ but he works just as hard now to make money as he did when we were poor—in fact, harder. He is just like every mill- ionaire in town—he wants to be the richest man. He al- ways answers me by pointing at the Smilings and Buckleses and Petroleums and Lagérs, who are French people, and Bul- locks and O'Le Margarines, another French family, and the Ferrums; and the Bonanzas, who came here from Californy, and the Reckers and Haslets; and the De Stillings, whose name used to be Distillers before they got rich ; and the Packers and the Cinderses—and I don't know how many more. But you’ll hear of 'em and see some of 'em—they are very high people here.” “I suppose by that, they are the leaders of New York soci- ety,” said Miss E., half inquiringly. “Certainly,” quickly answered Mrs. C., as if the question was wholly superfluous and was about a fact that goes without say- ing. “They are the “upper crust.’ They travel abroad, and some of them dress up their servants in livery and have coats —what do you call it 2 Coats of—” “Coats of arms,” answered Miss E. “Yes, coats of arms,” continued Mrs C., “on their carriages and harness and their dog blankets, door mats, and so forth, just like the English people.” It is impossible to overstate the degree of pleasure Miss E. was deriving from this conversation. She had struck a lead that pointed to the mine—the bonanza she had gone to New York to find. She could not, possibly, have hoped to drop at once on such a nugget as she had found in the garrulous hostess. In the language of miners, she was better than a float—she was a part of the lode—the vein, itself. It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that she had waived the business aside for the time, and not only given strict and 138 AZ U 7'OCRACY. admiring attention, but had artfully prolonged the interview by questions that drew her hostess into wider fields of observation. She saw for the first time what thousands had seen for many years, the coming DOMINION OF MONEY. The occasion was too opportune for her to let it slip without further advantage, and so she drew from the medium another rap, by asking : “Do you know the devices of the several coats of arms you have spoken of 2 ° “What do you mean by devices 2" returned Mrs. C. “I mean what are the coats of arms—what do they consist of 2" replied the inquirer. “Oh I can't tell you, but wait a minute, I have some of 'em in the parlor and I will get 'em.” Mrs C. soon produced the devices, and laying the treasures before Miss E. to arouse her admiration to the highest pitch, she delivered herself of an introductory explanation of the origin and the cost of the coats, pretty much after the style of a clothier in Chatham street, or the Bowery, who recommends a coat by swearing to the cost of its manufacture and the Superi- ority of its material. “I will explain to you that these coats of arms are supplied by a man in town who makes this a particular business. He is a very smart man and knows all about such things. He does the head work and has an engraver all the time to make the plates, but the devices, as you call 'em, and mottoes are all Sup- plied by this man. He is considered a great genius by all the millionaires. Now, here is the coat of the Haslets. It has some words I don’t understand, but as you are College-bred, you may know.” e Miss E. inspected the device which ran thus: Field, argent : above, the motto, EGO SUM MAGNUS, and below, a boar's head—caboched. Miss E., whose Latin was as accurate as her mathematics, and whose sense of ridicule and humor was as strong as Molière's, stuffed her handkerchief in her mouth and bit it with the grip of lock-jaw—with all that, her whole body shook in a nervous tremor, which Mrs. Clinkers perceiving, remarked : “You tremble like you had a chill. Are you sick 7" Miss E., with strong effort to control her muscles, answered : “No, madam ; but I beg you will give me a glass of water— I feel hysterical.” “Let me give you a glass of wine,” PP. 7 AA GOAZA E UCZZZY'S V/AE W OF PAE (V7'OCRACY. 139 “No, water, please ; I never drink wine.” Mrs. C. rose quickly and went out for the water and as she left the room Miss E., with her handkerchief still acting as a break, exploded in what Mrs. C. supposed to be a fit of hyster- ics. But collecting herself, she brought to bear her strong will which acted like a Westinghouse brake on a train at full speed. By the time Mrs. C. returned with a glass of water, Miss E. was under good control. She was wholly unprepared for such a sudden and violent assault on her risibility as came upon her “in the twinkle of an eye ’’—when she read and translated the motto, “I am a big hog.” - “I feel much better now,” said Miss E., as Mrs. C. returned to the reception-room ; “in fact I am entirely relieved. It was only a momentary contraction of the risorial muscles.” “I am glad it was nothing else. I was afraid you were seri- ously off.” “Anything else but seriously, I assure you.” * “Are you liable to such attacks 2 ” asked Mrs. C, with an eye to business—she did not intend to introduce hysterics into her family. “No, madam, I have never before had these particular mus- cles so violently attacked as they were just a moment after I looked at the Haslets' coat of arms.” “Here is the coat of the Petroleums. It was made just after Mr. Petroleum struck oil on his poor rocky farm in Pennsyl- vany.” Miss E. received the plate and examined it. It was, Field, azure—figure of sun rising, and underneath the words, “Lux Cum Luce.” There was another attack on the risorial muscles, but it was stoutly resisted and the enemy was repulsed. “You see, Mr. Petroleum had had a hard time. He tried raising chickens and they all died of the pip. Then he tried hogs and the cholera killed 'em all. Then he tried killing hawks at ten cents apiece, and his family nearly starved. Then, he tried trapping minks, and got along tolerably well till he got his foot caught one night in one of his traps and nearly died from lockjaw. He then saw an advertisement offering five dollars a pound for dry ground-mole skins and he went at that, and after six months' rooting in the ground, he caught 5oo moles and the skins only weighed Io lbs.-$50 for six months’ hard work. “So, one day he saw oil on a little stream on his farm and he got a man to bore, and he struck a big quantity of oil and got tAo A Z. {V7'OCRA C V. immensely rich in a few months. He said to his wife whose name is Lucy, “Luck's come, Lucy, at last,” and when he moved here and told the man who makes coats of arms all about his ups and downs and what he said to his wife, the man Suggested this motto, “Lux Cum Luce,” and Mr. Petroleum said it was just the thing. “The O’Le Margarine family has a beautiful one—look at it.” Mrs. C. handed it to Miss E. with an air of gratification. It was : Field, argent (white, symbol of purity), design : green pasture with swine, couchant; motto encircling shield : “Praise the Lard, oh my Soul.” -- As a marble building trembles for a second or more, under the throes of an earthquake, then gives way and shows seams and gaps, so the smooth white face of Miss E., after a few convulsive twitchings, yielded to the irresistible force of humor and she laughed aloud. But she avoided offense, by saying quickly, “Why, what a ludicrous mistake in spelling ! Did you notice it, Mrs. Clinkers ?” “It’s no mistake,” replied Mrs. C. “I will explain. You See Mr. O'Le Margarine is a very pious man. He despises anything like sham, or deceit, or fraud, and he told the artist that he was a Christian man, and wanted a religious motto ; that he believed men should follow the Bible and ‘prove their faith by their works,’ and ‘let their light shine before men' and ‘come out openly on the Lord's side,’ and so the artist advised him to take this one. “Mr. O'Le Margarine asked him if Lord was not spelt wrong, but when he explained, Mr. O'Le Margarine was per- fectly satisfied. “The artist's name, I believe, is Pranks, but I am not certain. He is a great scholar and a Englishman, and knows all about coats of arms. And he explained to Mr. O'Le Margarine in this way. He said the spelling is different in the new Bible that some preachers in England have just made out of parts of the old Bible, and by changing the old spelling and putting in and cutting out here and there. Why, do you know them preachers have abolished Hell and put in its place something they call “Sheol’? “Mr. O'Le Margarine says the only objection he has to the new spelling in his motto is, that it does not inspire people with as much reverence as the old way did, or else people are more wicked ; for they laugh right out when they read it on his three-thousand-dollar carriage, or his horse and dog blank- sy PY7'HAGORAEA A UCLA D'S V/A W OF PIU 7 OCRAC V. i41 ets, or door mat. He's thinking of changing it. He went to the artist and told him, he liked the piety of the motto very much, but he wanted it in Latin, so the hoodlums couldn’t read it, and the artist gave him this here, which he brought round to ask my husband how he liked it. It is shorter and sounds beautiful. It is— “‘Oh ! Lardum ! Laudo.’ - - “Here is the De Stilling's coat. It took them a long while to select a motto to suit 'em. The artist suggested, ‘Stil/ water runs deep,” but Mr. De Stilling objected to the word ‘water,’ because people might think he used it too free. The artist then asked him how “Aqua fortis cornucopy would do, but he objected to the word ‘corn,' and said he wanted a motto all in Latin.’ - * Mrs. De Stilling is a very pious and good woman, but her 11usband is not, and she thought it would be a nice thing to have a religious motto, so every time her husband saw it he would have his thoughts turned towards the Church, and he might in that way get to be a Christian. So she thought and thought, and at last when Mr. Pranks called (I think that is his name), and her husband was objecting to Mr. Pranks' sug- gestions, Mrs. De Stilling rose up with a little piece of paper in her hand and said to her husband : “‘My dear, I have just thought of a beautiful and touching motto. Mr. Pranks, if I read it, you won't give it to any other millionaire, even if you get a big sum for it, will you ?’ “Mr. Pranks pledged his sacred honor that not even the wealth of Wall street laid down at his feet could make him violate any professional confidence, and Mrs. De Stilling then read with that little tremble of the voice, you know, we have when excited and about to give an agreeable surprise, “I’ve been to church and Still would go. He’s like a little heaven below ; ’ - but when her husband asked her who was ‘Still chat insisted on going to church with her, the old lady nearly fainted, and burst out crying because she thought her husband was jealous and suspected something wrong.” Miss Euclid, who had been under the most painful restraint, could resist no longer, and she laughed until the hostess was forced to join her. As soon as Miss E. could speak, she directed Mrs. Clinkers’ attention to the mistake in the word “he” for “it’’ in the quotation as her excuse for laughing, which seemed to be satisfactory to Mrs. C., as it proved that I42 APA, U 7'OCAEAC V. Miss E. was highly educated, and she resumed the exhibition. “The artist then proposed this, which pleased Mr. De Stilling, as it was all Latin.” - - Miss E. examined the coat, which was : “Field, vert ; sym- bols—growing grain in perspective ; in foreground—Serpent in coil ; Motto, ‘Surgo in ossa altorum.’” - “Mr. De Stilling,” Mrs. C. continued, “was as proud as Lucifer when he discovered how to make matches, when the artist told him the meaning of the Latin. You know what it means, I don’t doubt—but the artist said there is or was, I don't know which, in the East a big mountain called Ossa, and that the motto means, ‘ I rise like another Ossa ; ' that is, Mr. De Stilling is the other Ossa.” “Ossa also means bones ; that is, “I rise on the bones of others,’” said Miss Euclid. - “You don't mean to say that mountain is made up of bones, do you ?” asked Mrs. Clinkers, insensible to the ghastly but correct translation of the motto. “By no means. I know it is not. There is a story that some giants once put another mountain named Pelion on it.” “Then, of course, it was not made of bones. They would a-been crushed all to pieces,” interrupted Mrs. Clinkers. “But just think of it ! people strong enough to lift a moun- tain and put it on top of another mountain But I guess it's so, for the Bible says “there was giants in those days.’ It also says, ‘By faith you can remove mountains,’ but it don't say you can put one on top of another. So I guess the giants put it there. “But I ain’t through showing you the coats of arms yet, and it’s about my lunch hour. As you are not hired yet, I will ask you to take a bite of something with me. Society would rise up against me, if it knowed I had asked a wage-girl to have something to eat with me.” - • Miss Euclid was greatly amused, and, instead of taking offense, she treated the remark as a part of the show, and went amiably to lunch. . . . Lunch being over, Mrs. Clinkers resumed the show. CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. COATS OF ARMS CONTINUED. “HERE is the Sand Bonanza's—a very rich Spanish family, who came here from Californy.” - “Is it Sand, or San Bonanza 2 ” asked Miss Euclid. “I don’t know, but I suppose it's all the same. You know there is a sand in Californy that is full of gold, and some of the Sand Bonanza families (for it is a big family, I'm told) made their money out of that sand, and I suppose that is how they got the name. Then there is some of them who made their millions out of some rock mines. I guess they are the San Bonanzas. It is said they helped the poor very much while they were getting so rich.” - “I would say they are the San Bonanzas, as “San in Spanish means saint. They are deserving of the name, if they helped the poor while helping themselves. How did they accomplish the two results P’’ asked Miss Euclid. “Well, as I have heard, it's explained this way. There were some big mining stock companies out there, and the San Bonanzas owned hundreds of thousands of shares of the stock, and when the stock would go very high, that is, get to be very valuable, they would then let the poor or anybody have it at the market price. They didn't charge a cent more than the market price. And when the stock went down, down, and got very low and was worth almost nothing, and the poor couldn't get any dividends from it to live on, the San Bonanzas came for- ward and took it off their hands. In that way, I am told, they sold and bought from everybody – lawyers, doctors, preachers, chambermaids, bootblacks, hostlers—indeed, all the poor who were all the time getting the benefit of high and low prices in that way. “But I forgot the coat of arms. Here it is.” - Miss E. examined and saw : Field, or; Device : figure of a bull, dexter; figure of bear, sinister. Motto: “Caput lucrifacio ! “Cauda perdistis ” Miss E. explained that it meant : “Heads I win, Tails you lose.” I44 PZvZoCRACY. “The Ferrums,” continued Mrs. C., “are also a very numer- ous family and they are big politicians. I don't mean they hold office, but they put friends in office. Mr. Ferrum comes here and talks by the hour to my husband about this one and that one he wants to go to Congress to protect his property.” “Do not the city authorities—the police protect it 7” asked Miss E., with innocent curiosity. “I don’t mean from burglars, or thieves, but by electing men to Congress.” “How can Congressmen protect his property P’’ again in- quired Miss E. “By voting to keep up high prices and make the people pay more for iron and the like. That is how he explains it. “Why, my husband pays thousands of dollars every year to keep up a fund to pay men just to write and print pamphlets and send them all over the country to laboring men to scare them about pauper labor and stir their pride and to prove to them that the more the millionaires make the better off the poor are.” & “And do the laboring men believe it? I don’t know any- thing about the question, but it seems to me, they are made to believe that the higher prices they pay for what they need, the better off they are,” said Miss E. “I don’t understand it either,” replied Mrs. C. “It looks strange and odd, but my husband says these writers make 'em believe it, and they throw up their hats and hurrah for high prices, or Protection, which he says is the same thing. - “He said a queer thing one evening here. There was about a half dozen millionaires here one night in the dining-room eating and drinking wine and talking over their ‘Protection campaign,' as they called it. The night was cold, snow was on the ground a half foot deep and the wind blowing dread- fully, when the door bell rung. Tobe had gone to bed and my husband went to the door, and there was a poor woman with a - baby in her arms. As a general thing my husband never pays any attention to such beggars—but sends 'em off and tells 'em to go to a charitable Society where they will get something to eat, but that night he was feeling jolly and liberal and he wanted to have some fun. So he told the woman to wait and he shut the door and left her on the step and went to the dining-room and said : “‘Gentlemen, are you in favor of Protection ?’ “Every one said, ‘Yes,’ COA 7'S OF ARMS COM 7TWAVUEZ). I45 “‘Do you favor it in theory only, or in practice ’’ “They all said “Practical protection.’ “‘Then,' said he, “there is a case now at my door. A poor woman is there thinly clothed, has a baby, and she asks for protection from the cold.’ “One spoke up and said, ‘But that is not our kind of pro- tection. We want protection by the poor to benefit us—you mean protection of the poor by us.’” “‘That is a horse of another color,’ said another. “‘That's goring my ox,’ said another. “‘That is putting the boot on the other leg,' said another. “‘I’m for home protection,’ said another. - “‘I don't see what such people have children for, anyway,’ said the last man. “‘Well, come now, I’ll pass 'round the hat and take up a collection, and start the contribution myself with a dime,’ my husband said. - “So every one put in a dime and made up seventy cents, and gave the poor woman, and then went on with their figuring on how much they had saved by Protection that year—some- thing over ten millions, I think. “I forgot to tell you that the Ferrums and Clinkers and Cinders are all related. The Clinkers and Cinders are descendants of the Ferrum family. The Ferrums are a very old and proud people. They claim to be the oldest family in the world. They have a family tree which shows they are descended from old Tubal Cain—one of the oldest families in the Old Testament, and they claim he was the inventor of iron. “But here is their coat.” It ran : Field, “Sable.” Device : Bust, with iron mask. Motto : Anvisus Sacer. Sacer Visus. “The Ferrums say it is the most beautiful symbol of Protec- tion in the world, and they got it up expressly to show the poor people the blessings of Protection to them. “The bust is old Tubal Cain's, and the mask represents his work in iron, and old Tubal Cain represents Protection. You see his face is hid by the mask. They say the motto means : “‘When not seen, or when invisible, it is sacred or divine, and when seen it is sacred, also.” “That is a very beautiful thought,” said Miss Euclid. “Did you say Mr. Pranks composed the motto P” “Yes, the Ferrums don't know Latin. They think it beneath IO 146 AZ U 7'OCRACY, them—people of their wealth—to know Latin. When they want it they buy it, which is much handier. They leave that to men like Mr. Pranks, who has no investments to look after. They paid Pranks ten dollars for this coat. He asked twenty- five, but Mr. Ferrum jewed him down to ten.” “The motto,” said Miss E., “reads two ways, and I suspect that the second reading is the one intended by Mr. Pranks. The word “sacer ' means sacred, and it also means hateful, damnable, and the motto may read : “When Protection is not understood it is lovely (sacer), but when seen, that is, when understood, it is (sacer) damnable.” “Well, upon my word, if Mr. Ferrum only knew that, I believe he would kill Pranks.” “Mercy, don't tell him I would not be the cause of Pranks being killed and Mr. Ferrum being hanged for the world,” exclaimed Miss Euclid. - “Hanged my child !” replied Mrs. C. with indignation. “You don't know what you are talking about—excuse me, I mean you don't know the power of money in New York; in fact, all over the North. No rich man is ever hung here. They buy their lives. Just imagine a millionaire being hung !” “You must excuse my ignorance. I am just from school, and I know practically nothing of the world. I supposed the LAw, as Horace says of Death, is no respecter of rich or poor,” answered Miss E. “Did old Horace Greeley say that 7" He lived in New York long enough to know better'n that ſ” Mrs. C. said this with SOme resentment. Miss Euclid regretted having alluded to anything classical in that presence, and seeing that explanation of her reference to Horace would or might be a waste of time, she answered : “No, madam, I spoke of another gentleman who has been dead some years. You do not know him. Have you any more heraldic devices—I mean coats of arms ?” - “Let me see,” soliloquized Mrs. C., looking over the plate in her lap. “Yes, here is the Reckers and the Nostrums. They are both very numerous and very powerful, strong fami- lies—that is very rich—the Reckers specially. But they haven't been in society long. There is something dark or shady about the Reckers that I don’t understand. Some people say One thing and some another. Some say there is something wrong away back in their great grandparents. Did you ever hear of a Mr. Captain Kidd 2 ” co,47s of ARMS COA'77A/UED, I 47 Miss E. admitted she had through history. “Well, some say the Reckers are kin to him, and he bears a bad name. The richest of the family here, and one of the very richest in this town, for some reason changed his name by leaving off the letter W. It used to be spelt Wrecker. But this one is trying to be respectable, though it's hard work on account of the taint in the family and the business they followed, but their money is bringing them out. Why, I'm told they think nothing of stealing a steamboat, or a railroad, or a bank, and they are so smart about it the law can't catch 'em. In fact, they say, when they are going to steal a railroad (it's very big and long, you know) they get bonds and tie it up and have it ready, and then they get lawyers to help 'em, and then they have receivers of the stolen goods, who hold 'em a long time until the owners lose all hope of ever recovering their property, and then the Reckers come out boldly and ride all about the country in fine coaches and openly claim the prop- erty as theirs.” “It is a remarkable state of society that allows such con- duct,” said Miss E. “Still, I suppose such characters are sent to Sing Sing—are they not 2" “If you had asked if they are sent to the United States Senate, you would be nearer the mark. Sing Sing, indeed You've a heap to learn, my child—Miss Euclid, I should say. Money's everything nowadays. It's a heap better than educa- tion, or being a big lawyer, or preacher, or the like, for money can buy all them.” “Have you the Reckers' coat of arms ?” asked Miss Euclid, who, always logical, desired to get back to the main question. “Oh I forgot; here it is.” Miss Euclid saw—Field, “Or ; ” (gold) Device : Train of cars, filled with women and children wearing happy faces, moving off on rails which, in the perspective, appeared to be parallel. Motto: REx. “There is one singular mistake in this for an educated artist to make, Mrs. Clinkers.” “What is that ?” asked Mrs. C., leaning over to get a view of the plate. “Do you notice that the two tracks, or rails, at a distance seem no closer together than they are just in front of the engine That is not in accordance with the laws of perspective. Parallel lines seem nearer together the further off they are seen. Of * * * * 148 PZU TOCRACY. Course, this is a mistake of the artist. A train on a track laid in that manner would smash up and be wrecked in ten seconds' run.” “But, my child, Mr. Pranks don't make mistakes | He understands exactly how to make these coats of arms to suit every millionaire's business,” enthusiastically rejoined Mrs. C. “Well, be that as it may,” quietly remarked Miss Euclid, see- ing plainly that her interlocutor had no idea of perspective, or of the laws of light affecting the apparent size or relative posi- tion of bodies at a distance. “this is a strange motto. Rex is Latin for King. What could have induced an American to adopt a motto that only a crowned head can use 2" “I will tell you. My husband told me all about it. One day he was in Pranks' office (I am pretty certain the name was Pranks), and he told my husband what was said between him and Mr. Recker, when Pranks made this coat of arms for Mr. Recker. What he said in explaining to Mr. Recker why he put ‘Rex' in the shield was so remarkable, that my husband got him to write it down for him, and I have kept it along with the coat of arms. Here is the paper—read it out loud.” Miss Euclid read : “When Mr. Recker saw ‘ Rex' on his coat of arms he said : ‘I don't fancy the word REx, as it means King.' I said: ‘My dear Mr. Recker, of all the men in this country, you are the only one for whom I would suggest that word as a heraldic motto. You are, perhaps, the wealthiest man in America—few—very few wealthier in the world. No one on earth except yourself knows your wealth. You have conquered in all financial contests. You have triumphed in every struggle with strikers and the poor. You stand with your foot on the neck of every foe who has ever dared to op- pose your wish or purpose. In short you are financial King of this country to-day. - “‘But I am looking beyond to-day. I work with prophetic eye or vision. I am an Englishman. I see in the not distant future a new order of things in this government. Money is King here, but as money cannot hold a scepter, it must, some day, have a representative with strong hand to hold it. Wealth is concentrating in the hands of the few annually. The poor make the wealth, and these few gather it in. The millions of farmers harvest vast crops, and the extent of their gains for these crops is a little more than a bare living. So, with the artisans, the mechanics, the machinists, the inventors, the coa 7s of ARM’s covziyozo. I49 miners, the factory hands, the women and children. The profits are reaped by the millionaires who own the factories, the mills, the mines, the foundries, the inventions, the railroads, the banks, the various exchanges. “‘If I may use a figure of speech, the millionaires are the monetary reservoirs—the sea. The profits of labor of the farm- ers and all laborers are the rivers, Creeks, rivulets, branches brooks, springs that are, with ceaseless, onward flow, empty- ing into that great sea—never to return. The sun exhales the vapor from the bosom of the ocean, and returns the tribute given to it by ten thousand streams, but from this financial reservoir I speak of, there is no return to the people. “‘To illustrate, take yourself as an example. Twenty-five years ago, I am told, you did not own a thousand dollars. To- day you own perhaps two hundred million dollars. Has any of that ocean of wealth returned to its source On the contrary, it is gathering millions every year. Have you earned it as the reward of labor, as the farmer makes his living 2 Who, by labor, can earn in fifty years what you now get in one month P Look at it ! Two hundred millions in twenty-five years is eight mill- ions a year, over six hundred and sixty-six thousand dollars a month ; over twenty-two thousand dollars a day ! If you were a Genie, and could stretch out your arm and clutch dollars from the air, and were to work ten hours a day, including Sun- days, without food, you would be compelled to reach your hand forth thirty-seven times every minute of each of the ten hours for twenty-five years to gather in what you have taken from the people. “‘Am I not right in saying you are King 2 Now, to the point. The people, the producers, cannot stand this drain many years. They will become poorer while you millionaires grow incalculably richer. Money will then rule everything— everywhere—in public and in private station—and the richest man will be the most powerful. Men can then be bought. Necessity will drive them to you, and you can use them to drive them where ambition leads you. “‘Everything in this country is ripening to this end. Rail- roads are one by One passing under this mighty power, and fast becoming one monopoly. Telegraph lines in competition with the Western Union fall as fast as they rise, under its crushing grasp. Trust Companies are swallowing up all smaller companies of like kind, and these “trusts,” as they are called, will soon merge into one Great Trust, that will swallow up all 15o PLUTOcRACY. industries, and then Monopoly will be King. And who will be King of that King You, of course. And from that elevation there will be but one step for you to take. From the position of Dictator to all financial legislation, all manufacturing indus- tries, by a combination of a few millionaires, then billionaires, the strongest of you can bid defiance to law, and REX WILL REIGN You need not look skeptical. Think of what you and your brother millionaires have accomplished in twenty years past ; and three-fourths of your work has been done within the last one-third of that time. Think of how many railroads you have swallowed up, how many different telegraph lines, how many manufacturing industries, how many valuable inventions that saved you the cost of manual labor, and dis- missed laborers from your service, who are now tramps; how many oil companies smothered under one ; and last, but not least, how strongly you have intrenched yourselves in the leg- islative branch of the government. Is there not good cause to believe you can as easily capture the Executive 2 There is more, because that is but one office—filled by one man, and he elected by a body, whose majority is only two hundred and one. What could not two hundred and one million dol- lars do 2 And what would that sum be to a thousand of you contributing pro rata, if the gain should be MONARCHICAL Power over the richest country on the earth 2 You could levy that sum from your subjects in one year, and they would not be distressed any more than at present by indirect taxes levied and forced out of the people by monopolies and Protection.’” When Miss Euclid finished, she looked at Mrs. Clinkers with a stare for some seconds. Her face expressed horror. She broke the painful silence by asking : - “What did Mr. Clinkers have to say to this when he brought it to you ?” - “He said,” answered Mrs. C., “that Pranks was a long- headed man, but he thought he was wrong about the tariff, be- cause, he said the tariff did not make the manufacturers rich and the farmers and others poor. He said the manufacturers got rich by getting labor cheap and selling their goods for high prices, and that was all there was about the tariff. “He said, if the farmers could get labor as cheap as manu- facturers do and could sell their grain and other things as high, they would get rich too.” - “I think your husband's view of the tariff indisputable,” said Miss Euclid. • - co.4 TS OF ARMS COM 7/ww2p. *… 15 I “I am glad to hear you say so, because you are educated and able to judge better than I can.” “What about the Nostrums 2 ” asked Miss Euclid. “The Nostrum family—you've heard of them, of course— they are very rich ; and I guess they are the largest family, that is, they have more relations than any other family I know of. “One thing I don't like about them is, the whole brood of 'em is happiest when everybody else is sick. Now, that is a mean disposition in anybody. But I will say this for 'em— they are all the time getting up something to cure people, that is, they say will cure every kind of disease. They must be a very much diseased family. How else do they find out that their medicines will cure so many diseases, if they don't first try it on themselves 2 “Still, I am not saying anything against 'em. Just like the San Bonanzas, their kindness to the poor has made 'em im- mensely rich. As a general thing they are people who've failed in business, and their sufferings from poverty has made 'em feel kind and charitable and they went to work to mix up something to help their neighbors. “I heard a right funny thing about the family—that is, one of 'em who was the first of the family we know anything about. He was fond of ducks and raised a great many of 'em, and the noise they made disturbed his neighbors so much they could not sleep. It was ‘Quack! Quack! Quack before day, and all day, and his neighbors got to calling him “Old Quack,' and the name has stuck to the family ever since. “The millionaires here, that is, the richest millionaire in the family, consulted the artist, Mr. Pranks (that must be the name, it sounds more and more like it is Pranks the more I think of it), about a coat of arms for himself. The artist asked him what he desired, and Mr. Nostrum, or Dr. Nostrum, as some of his beneficiaries—is that the word P’’ “You mean the people he has been so kind to in helping them by his mixtures 2 ” asked Miss E., “if so, that is the cor- rect word.” “Yes, that is what I mean. Well, Mr. or Dr. Nostrum,” re- sumed the narrator, “ said he wanted something to show his occupation and that he stood at the head of it. And he says, that genius, Pranks, as quick as said, gave him this coat. Dr. Nostrum says Pranks did not take five minutes; in fact, he had it down before the Doctor could finish eating a ham sandwich which he always carries for his lunch.” 152 PZ U 7 OCRACY, Miss E. read : Field—“Vert ’’-motto. DUX. “The Doctor did not see through it at first, and Mr. Pranks had to explain it. He told the doctor that Dux means a leader —a great man—that it is the title of one of the biggest families in England which is called Duke or Dux. The artist also told him, when titles of nobility get in fashion in this country, he would already have the title of Duke. - “I never saw the Doctor have so much admiration for the talents of anybody as of that man, Pranks. He says Pranks can say more and mean more by one single word than any man in the world. I heard him say the only man he ever heard of that could be compared at all to Pranks for power of words was a man who, he says, once elected a man President of the United States just by saying three words, ‘Rum, Romanism, Rebellion.’ He says he intends to organize a society of mill- ionaires to raise a fund just to build a monument for Pranks' benefit after he's dead ; and he believes, he can raise, easy, at least five hundred dollars to help Pranks, that is, by putting up a plain but strong monument to his genius ; because, he says, he certainly ought to be able to raise that much as soon as the millionaires here finish raising the one million dollars for Gen- eral Grant's monument.” --- “That seems a large sum to expend on a monument,” said Miss Euclid. 3. - “It is considerable money to give a dead man, but the mill- ionaires here are willing to do it. In fact, they are so anxious to do it, that several of 'em have almost fought in a dispute about who should give the most money, in a meeting of million- aires called just after General Grant's burial. “Just after the General's death there was a meeting of about fifty millionaires who agreed to build a million-dollar monument, provided, the General was buried here, and as soon as he was buried, they all met again to arrange for raising the monu- ment. My husband was there and he told me about the meet- ing, and the papers the next morning had long accounts of what took place. Wait a minute. I believe I can find one of the papers.” Mrs. C. went into a little room and soon returned with papers in her hand. - - - “Here is what I cut out of the World the next day.” COA 7'S OF A RMS COM 7T/AWUAEZ). i53 Miss E. read : “Meeting of the fifty millionaires to arrange for the Grant monument. Over a Billion Dollars in council | Shameful ex- hibition of selfishness on the part of one man who was suspected of a deep-laid scheme to gobble up the whole stock in the enterprise ! Meeting ends in a row ! “In pursuance of the understanding had by the committee of fifty millionaires who, at a meeting held before General Grant's body was buried, induced the burial of General Grant's remains in this city, by a promise to erect a million-dollar mon- ument, an adjourned meeting was held at the capacious and princely office of Mr. Recker, at 4 o'clock P. M. Never was there such promptitude exhibited as by those fifty million- aires. It shows that their great fortunes are due solely to prompt attention to business. At ten minutes to 4 sharp every gentleman was in the seat ready and eager for business. “A subscription book lay open on the mahogany desk of the chief clerk of Mr. Recker, and it was evident to the looker-on that every man present was furtively endeavoring to get nearest to the subscription book to have the advantage of the first signing. It was particularly noticed that Mr. Recker held his pen in his hand and did not once lay it down, even when shaking hands with each brother millionaire, as one by one they entered his palatial apartments. “Whispering was soon observed, and it grew out of sus- picion, that Mr. Recker intended to be the first to sign and to take the whole stock or subscription. This suspicion aroused a storm of suppressed indignation, as may well be imagined. “Promptly at 4 Mr. Clinkers moved that Mr. Recker take the chair. This was a clever flank movement to forestall Mr. Recker by installing him as chairman, whereby, when the rush should come, he could not possibly reach the subscription book as quickly as those standing right over and surrounding it. “Mr. Recker politely declined, making some plausible ex- cuse that illy concealed his selfish purpose. His refusal was convincing to all present that he did not intend to allow any other of that assembly of millionaires to subscribe one dollar. “Mr. Ferrum could contain himself no longer. He stepped out so as to face the others and said : . “‘Gentlemen, before we proceed with this business, I wish to ask, what rule is to govern us in determining how much of i54 PZU 7'OCRAC V. this stock—subscription, I mean, each gentleman is entitled to P’ “Then Bedlam broke loose. One moved that the oldest be allowed to sign first. When the motion was put it had but one ‘aye,' who was the mover of the proposition and the oldest man in the meeting. “Another proposed to vote alphabetically, and everybody voted ‘no,’ except the mover, the initial letter of whose name stood above all the others. “Another proposed to sign by city wards, and when asked how that would ‘work,’ he could not tell, and was set down. by all as a trickster. “Mr. Recker all this time had been intent and thoughtful. He was the richest man in the room, reputed worth one hundred and fifty million dollars. At the first short lull he rose and said : f “‘Gentlemen I see there is danger to this business that we all feel such deep interest in for want of a standard to fix priority of right to subscribe. I wish to produce harmony, and I suggest that we settle this unhappy quarrel by leaving the right of priority to be settled by the tax registry—the wealthiest man to subscribe first.’ “‘No!’ shouted one ; “I own millions of government bonds that I don't return for taxes and don't pay taxes on.’ - “‘So do I,’ said another. “‘Me, too,” said a third, and every man of the fifty engaged in the selfish, disgraceful wrangle said he owned bonds that bear no part of the tax burdens. “‘Then,” resumed Mr. Recker, who believed there would be blood shed and had tried to prevent it by proposing property as the standard of priority because he knew that to be the social test—‘then, I propose that we appoint a committee of ten honest, honorable gentlemen—gentlemen who by their high position enjoy the fullest confidence of the entire com- munity, who shall count our bonds, stocks, and all other property, and assess the market value ; and that we all bind ourselves in writing to abide by their valuation.’ “‘Who will you appoint 2 Where will you find ten men we all will agree are honest and honorable, and enjoy the con- fidence of everybody ?’ asked Mr. Ferrum. “‘Well, I would suggest,’ answered Mr. Recker, ‘that we select ten of the City Alder—' “* No | No | Nonsense ! ” COA 7'S OF AAEMS COM 7TWAVUE/O. I55 “‘Heavens and Earth 1 ° “‘That's an insult | * “‘What do you take us for 2 Fools?” “These and many other and some very profane exclamations drowned the speaker's voice before he could finish the word aldermen. One man said : “‘Better give all we've got to the monument and go out beggars at once l’ “‘Hear me one moment,’ continued Mr. Recker, with some embarrassment, but with deep emotion, because he felt that his sincerity had been questioned. “Hear me for one moment “‘No gentleman present is more profoundly impressed with the zeal and emulation of every millionaire here to subscribe than I am. I know as well as I know anything, that each mill- ionaire here is aflame with the desire to contribute the whole amount. “‘But, gentlemen, there is such a thing as justice in this world. Would it be just to the remainder of us for one man to take the whole amount of this stock—I mean subscription ? The American people like fair play. “‘It would be inhuman to the others of us here. The poet says somewhere—Shakespeare, I believe—that - “ Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless millions—” I forget the rest of the sentiment.’ “‘Dollars suggested Mr. Weaver. “‘Yes. Thank you ! “Makes countless millions of dollars.” “‘Heaven knows this is one occasion when we are not work- ing to make “countless millions,” and we ought to have credit for this one exception, at least. We are here to do ourselves honor by honoring the distinguished dead. We all have sensi- bilities—keen sensibilities on every matter of money—I should say of feenance, and I trust there is no gentleman present so unkind, so selfish, so inhuman (if I may be excused for again adverting to the poet), as to try.by unfair means to deprive his fellow men from subscribing a respectable part of the one mill- ion dollars. - “‘And now to prove to you that I am anxious to have a per- fectly fair count and valuation of all our property, I now make the proposition that we select a committee of Bank Presi–’ “‘Put him Out !” “‘No, you don't l’ “This is fooling!” I56 - AZ U 7'OCRACY. “‘ He wants to rob us ' ' - “These and other shouts again cut the speaker off. The meeting grew hot. - “‘I move we adjourn ' shouted Mr. Weaver. “But before we go, I want to serve notice on you, Recker, if after all this, you attempt to subscribe the whole million dollars, I’ll stop you by an injunction " ' - “So the meeting of one billion dollars broke up in a row, and not a dollar was subscribed.” - When Miss Euclid finished reading the above, she inquired, with much interest : - “Well what has been done by these millionaires since that meeting 2 ” “Nothing !” answered Mrs. C. “It seems like every man of 'em is afraid of the Injunction. - “But mercy on me ! I got to talking, and clear forgot all about the business. You must excuse me.” - “No apology is necessary, I assure you. I was never more interested and entertained,” quickly interrupted Miss Euclid. “It was for me to speak after you named your terms. Do you mean by naming ten dollars a month, that you wish to engage me by the month or by the year 7 ° - “I thought we might try it a while, and see how we get along together first, and then we might decide.” “As the pay is not the sole consideration moving me, I will accept the sum you offer. Shall I enter at once on my duties?” - “Yes. I will turn over the keys to you to-day and tell you what to do. “One thing I must say to you. The boy you saw at the door is named Tobe. He is not very bright. He is my nephew and he's an orphan. He is a good boy, ther's no harm in him, but he may try your patience at times. We are taking care of him and have him as our errand boy and bell boy, etc. I hope you can get along with him peaceably. I will now show you over the house and tell you where I keep everything, so you can go to work without trouble. I have a Society meeting that I must attend, and I must get ready to go.” - CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. MISS EUCLID AND TOBE. WHEN the formal installment of Miss Euclid as housekeeper was finished, she left Mrs. Clinkers to prepare for her drive, went to her room, closed the door, and gave vent to the merri- ment that had been racking her body for an hour and more. She threw herself on the bed and reviewed the interview in de- tail, quoting aloud each coat of arms, giving its translation in English, and mentally repeating many of the remarks of her simple hostess. She indulged in self-gratulation, that she had met and con- versed with the wife of a millionaire, whose simplicity had led to developments, within one hour, that she hardly hoped to get within a year. She lay for an hour meditating on what came in one day, and wondering what might come within the year. What a revelation she had had ' What ignorance of almost all knowledge except that which equips one for money making. How indifferent the rich to all except display, pomp, self- indulgence, accumulation of unnecessary riches. Millions piled on millions, and yet the cry of the daughter of the horse- leech—“Give Give ” One driving all poor from his door except one, and the one not driven only because he was inflamed by wine to good humor, and was hilarious that night over the hundreds of thousands gathered in one year by taxing the people—through Protection, and then pinching charity down to a gift of a dime. Another millionaire hoarding millions and eating a one-cent sandwich, regularly, for lunch. Another “jewing "in a matter of the gratification of vanity and pride, in a matter of twenty dollars, a man whose poverty had driven his wit to prey on that vanity and pride. Another pinching her down to ten dol- lars a month, having no more appreciation of her talents and education than if she were a cow. Weary from her early start that morning and her ride and loss of sleep, she insensibly passed from wonderland to dreamland, 158 PLUTOCRAcy. She had not slept longer than an hour, when she was waked by a rap on her door so gentle as to suggest timidity. She rose quickly and opened the door. There was the apparition that had greeted her at the front door. Tobe gazed at her for a few seconds, without a word or wink, and then slowly pulled out a sentence as if it were a chain he was pulling up, hand- over-hand, from a well. “Ain’t you lonesome 2 I thought you was, because I'm lone- some.” The logic of Tobe's incomplete syllogism caught Miss E.'s attention so quickly, she made no reply. She stood, half smiling, looking at Tobe as silently as he gazed at her. She saw the Major Premise and the Conclusion, but no Minor Premise. She was debating which limb of Tobe's proposition was the Conclusion and which the Premise. “I thought you was lone- some, because I am,” was convertible into, “Because I am lonesome, I think you are.” Tobe did not move muscle or eye- lid while that logical dissection was progressing in the brain of Miss E. and he would not have said a word in a half hour, perhaps, if Miss E. had kept silent so long. Tobe had made a remark, had laid down a proposition—advanced a step—“shied his castor,” or what you please, and he expected a return for it. Tobe acted always as if a remark was an investment of so much capital, and he expected from it a fair dividend in the shape of a reply. His rule of economy forbid another investment, until the first brought him a dividend. Tobe had invested, and he stood waiting for his dividend, while Miss E. was weighing the value of the investment to determine the percentage it was entitled to. She soon recovered from her abstraction and answered kindly : • . “Did you come to keep me from being lonesome, or for m to keep you from being lonesome, eh, Tobe P’’ The truth was, Tobe was in a chronic state of lonesome- ness, and had been ever since he came with his uncle to New York. He had been taken from the freedom of the fields and woods and confined in that jail with no one to talk to but the cook. His uncle and aunt were no company to him—even when off duty. And, when he saw by movements, by the trunk-going up stairs, that Miss Euclid was to be an inmate of that prison, he was rejoiced, eager to see her and to get acquainted. He thought for some time of a plan of approach and of a ÅfjSS EUCZ/Z) AAWD 7OAAE, f59 speech as his apology for the approach. The best he could devise as appropriate and pleasing was what he said when Miss E. opened the door. Miss E.'s reply was spoken so gently and with such musical intonation, that Tobe was charmed into a brief reverie. He had never before heard language so attractive. He had seen very few people, though he had lived in a city of more than a million souls for three years. Though he understood perfectly, every word spoken by Miss E., they sounded to him like music and in another language. The secret was that Miss E.'s voice was naturally musical, her pronunciation clear and distinct, and her tone, always gentle, was made unusually soft by her tender sympathy for the boy before her. Tobe having at length realized that he had received his ex- pected dividend, and finding it so rich and satisfactory, made another investment. “I jus' thought I’d come and see you. You might want somethin'.” - Miss E. asked Tobe to walk in, and he proceeded with his investment. - “Is you going to stay here P’’ “Yes, Tobe ; for a while—may be for a month,” answered Miss E. “I’s so glad, I is. Does you live in town 2 ” Miss E. said she was from the country. “I lived in the country when I was a little boy. I wish I was there now. I don’t see no boys and gals here. I ain’t heard any birds sing since I bin here—'cept once. Aunt sent me one day to carry a dollar to a lady. She said it was what she give every month to the fun' for the poor people all over town, and I passed a shop full er birds and heard 'em sing, but I felt sad. They was caged. I thought they felt like me.” “Where did you live, Tobe, before you came here P’’ asked his listener. - “At the mine,” was Tobe's reply, full and explicit as he thought. “What sort of a mine, Tobe 2 There are many kinds of mines,” again asked Miss E. “Meny men uv many mines, Meny birds uv many kines.” Tobe broke forth in a poetical strain, with his dead face illumined slightly by the thought that he could recite some- ióo - AZ čy 7 OCRACY. thing. Tobe had no idea of poetry. He did not repeat the lines as poetry—nor even because they jingled. No–it was an achievement Tobe was proud of. It was a triumph, but Tobe did not know over what, nor why. He had no conception of any difference between mental and physical triumphs. Lifting fifty pounds was about as much of a praiseworthy performance as to recite Hamlet's soliloquy. Miss E. pitied, yet smiled at Tobe's glee, more to let him think she partook of the pleasure he enjoyed, than because she felt like smiling; for the benighted state of this nephew of a millionaire amazed and distressed her. “You did not tell what kind of a mine, Tobe 2 " she con- tinued. “I don’t know,” Tobe answered, “They took a heap uv big and little black rocks out uv it—heavy, so heavy.” “They were not coal, were they 2 " asked Miss E. “Oh no,” quickly replied Tobe, with an emphasis on “no,” as heavy as though he was throwing on it a ton of those heavy rocks. “I know coal. We’ve coal here.” “What did they do with the heavy rocks, Tobe P’’ continued MicS E. - “Put 'em in a big chimbley and set fire to 'em, and affer awhile they come out uv a hole in the chimbley, poring out like a spout uv burnin’ water on fire, and let it run in little bits of gulleys till it turned to iron.” “I see now, Tobe. That was an iron mine,’ Miss E. - “I spec,” was the laconic semi-indorsement of her opinion. “Where was that mine, Tobe 2 ° “Where we lived,” answered Tobe. “But I asked where you lived.” “Yes, mum. I sed at the mine.” Tobe, answered, look- ing earnestly at his interrogator, seemingly suspecting that she was quizzing him. “I mean, Tobe, in what State did you live 7" persisted Miss E. “Don’t know what that is. Nobody never tole me nothin' about that,” said Tobe in a tone of apology for not knowing. “It means the country—a big country—big piece of land.” Miss E. was trying to convey some idea of a State as an ex- tent of country, but Tobe quickly put in. “Oh, yes, mum, I sed we lived in the country.” Miss E. was baffled. Tobe evidently knew nothing of y explained M/SS E UCLA D AAV/O 7'OA E. I6 I territory outside of New York city, except that he had lived at or near a mine where there was no city or town. “How far did you live from New York 2" asked Miss E., trying another tack. “Don’ know, mum,” was the answer. - “Do you know how much or how long a mile is, Tobe 2 " was Miss E.'s next attempt to get a foothold. “It’s a long piece uv groun', ain't it 2 ” answered and asked Tobe. “Yes. How did you get here 2'' Miss E. asked to get in another way. “ Uncle fetched me.” Another dismal failure. “I mean, did you walk or ride?” “Oh, we came on the Cears. We did’n walk.” One score made. “How long were you in coming 2" “Don’ know, mum. I went to sleep.” Miss Euclid felt here and there for something to effect an entrance with, just as a dentist, who has failed to pull a tooth, rattles among his various instruments for one he thinks will do better. r “Tobe (a pause), did you ever study geography 2" she finally asked. “Don’ know, mum, what is it 2 ” Tobe answered. That instrument would not pull. “What have you ever studied, Tobe P’’ “Never bin to school, mum. I never studies nothin’. I thinks, that's all. I hear aunt say, larnin's no good.” There, Miss Euclid, you have struck the bottom at last. If your last question had been the first you would have saved time. Yes. True, but you would not have known as much— or, rather, that Tobe knew so little. Did you dream, when at Vassar, that within fifty miles, yea, within fifty miles, and in the metropolis of your great country; yea, more, in the house of a man worth millions, there was a boy used as a servant to save a few pennies, and the boy of the blood of that millionaire and could not read, who did not know what a State is, what geography is, what country is, except that it is not a town or a city ? - Did you know that within a radius of a mile from the brown- stone front you are now in, there are many thousands of chil- dren who know but little more of books than Tobe, but who in wickedness and vice are grown old, and in the practices of II 162 PZ U 7'OCRA C V. thieves, burglars, the ways and walks of vile men and base women, know as much as policemen and detectives ought to know P - +. 1 “Do you know the alphabet, Tobe 7" Miss E. inquired at aSt. - “What, my A, B, Absº I know some uv 'em.” “Do you wish to learn to read P’’ Miss E. asked, prompted by her big heart, yet with a feeling of despair as she contemplated the undertaking. “Yes, mum. I hear paper boys a-hollerin’ ‘Big fire ; full 'count uv big fire and I’d like to read erbout it. Aunt won't let me go to fires, and I don't go nowhere to hear erbout 'em.” That was Tobe's idea of learning. “Well, Tobe, if your aunt does not object,” said Miss E., “I will teach you when we are not engaged in our duties about the house. You ask her if she is willing, and let me know what she says.” Tobe was overjoyed at the prospect of holding with both hands a morning's paper or an extra and listening to himself reading. “You can go now and I will attend to my duties.” Tobe retired to his room, overjoyed at the thought of learn- ing how to read. Miss E. had won his heart. There he had been for years as a servant and not a word said to him about going to School, or learning to read ; and to have a stranger, who had not known him six hours before, speak so kindly and offer to lead him from darkness into light, why, it made Tobe feel as big as if he had just whipped a boy twice his size, or found a silver dollar on the street. He retired to his room, ... but he could not be still. He picked up things that were not in his way, and moved others that were already in their place. He saw an old newspaper, a copy of the Graphic he had saved “for the pictures” in it, and a vision of the future suddenly rose before Tobe's eyes, which he at once proceeded to enjoy by anticipation. He drew a chair near the window, picked up the Graphic, folded the pictures inside (he had passed the picture period now and was a reader, a scholar), sat down and, with all the dignity he could command, crossed his legs. With the Graphic turned upside down, Tobe read aloud and slowly, as he had heard his uncle read : * “Big fire on Fif' avenue street. The millyunar's home, Mr. Ferrum, burnt plum down to the groun’. - “Five firemen rush to save Mr. Ferrum. "We are glad toº Mišš Āvcºrd AMD 70BAE. 163 know Mr. Ferrum and the pug dorgs was saved. Five firemen was killed. Triflin' loss. Mr. Ferrum immegintly sends their families ten dollars apiece.” - - “That's a heap uv money. Five times ten. I dunno how much it is. It's too big for me to count.” CHAPTER NINETEENTH. TOMMIE SHODIDY — A SPRIG OF PLUTOCRACY. ToMMIE SHODDY, with whom we have a slight acquaintance through Miss Smiling, in the conversation between her and her father, was thirty years old at the date of this history. He was slender, very slender, in fact, slender from the top of his head to his ankles, and measured five feet eleven inches. His head was small, a number five hat affording it comfortable lodgings, and was covered with a profusion of flaxen hair, which he kept subdued with pomatum. It was parted in the middle, of course. His nose was large, but thin ; his face and neck were long. The only parts of his body that showed unmistakable man- hood were his feet. His form, taken all together, suggested the work of a sculptor who had begun at the head under the impression that his material was scarce, and had remained so impressed until he finished the ankles, when he suddenly found out he had “plenty, and to spare.” His gait was in harmony with his figure. It was a long, gawky stride, with the feet making an outward curve at every step, as if they were mowing an undulating Swath in young grass; a swing of his arms, with the elbows turned outward about eight inches from his sides, and pendulating at each step at least twelve inches ; and a slight inclination, from a perpendic- ular forward, so that, with the curve of his feet, this swing of his arms and the forward inclination, his movement was that of a man trying to wade rapidly in water waist-deep. Tommie's decoration consisted of garments including gloves of uniform color, an English eye-glass held by a diminutive gold chain to the right lappel, thin mutton-chop whiskers, a Derby hat, and a small cane. This was his outward equipment. We have already had from Miss Smiling some evidence of his mental machinery. It has not been before recorded, and it is time it should be, that Tommie Shoddy was pleased with Miss Smiling, notwith- standing she did not own a dog. That was a blemish—a stag- gering deficiency in her character. Still the womanly majesty, the pervading common sense, the gentle tone, the handsome 70MM/E SHODDY-A SPRIG of PZUzocracy. 165 face—so handsome that it was almost beautiful—had impressed even Tommie Shoddy. So, he called on her of evenings when his club did not meet, or when he saw no play on the boards that he wished to see, or new opera that the imperative law of Society required every member to see and hear. Not to attend the latest opera, was a slur which no young lady's or gentle- man's character could stand. Society had so ordained. Soci- ety must be obeyed without a murmur. When Carmen was to be introduced to Society in America, young Mr. Shoddy desired to address a note to Miss Smiling, asking her to give him the pleasure of her company to hear the Opera. Knowing she was highly educated, he was solicitous about the style, and he set apart an evening to be devoted to that composition. He purchased the latest fad in note paper and envelopes ; and prepared his thoughts and emotions by excluding all reflections on any distracting subjects, somewhat as a patient is prepared through abstemious diet for a surgical Operation. It was a novel experience, as it was the first time that anything approaching a surgical operation on Mr. Shoddy's brain had ever been seriously contemplated. He retired to his room, and after eight or ten turns around the room and a brief conversation with his two intellectual dogs in an adjoining room, on divers subjects : the weather, hunger, thirst—“Did they wish to see master 2 Were they sleepy P” to all which they unanimously whined and wagged their tails, as if to say, “We vote aye,” he seated himself for the task. He dipped his pen, wrote the date at the top of the sheet, and paused for inspiration. None came ; that is, not speedily. He looked at the date, and remembered that Society forbid the date being written at the top of the sheet, and he threw it aside. He placed another sheet in position to receive his inspiration, and sat reflecting, pen in hand. He rose and walked the floor; that is, the Wilton carpet, then sat down. After five minutes he rose again and looked at a mirror, pulled his mutton-chops with both hands, then brushed his hair to bring into subjection a few self-willed strands that had broken ranks soon after the barber had set them in file. He then sat down, stuck his hands in his trousers' pockets, stretched his legs at full length and blew like a porpoise. That was the effect of the Surgical operation. The subject of the operation sat for a minute or more, then opened a bureau drawer and took out a harmonicon. He was 166 PityroCRACY. an admirer of music. Society demanded a profession of that taste. He had tried to cultivate it by practicing on that con- venient instrument—convenient because small, portable, easily Concealed, required no strings, no tuning. Mr. Shoddy opened the concert by an overture introductory to “Greenland's Icy Mountains.” Why he, at that moment of supposed bliss, arising from communion with the woman who had inspired in him such admiration, should have struck upon “mountains,” and “icy mountains,” and, of all mountains, “Greenland's Icy Mountains,” is a psychological problem too deep for discussion here and now. It may be that the difficul- ties he was just trying to surmount suggested the idea that he was engaged in ascending a mountain covered with ice and in a climate where the temperature was not favorable to an early thaw. Be that as it may, after a few notes of that sug- gestive or suggested air, the musician regaled himself with a potpourri of “Yankee Doodle,” “Way Down Upon the Swannee River,” “Coming Through the Rye,” and “In the North Sea Lived a Whale.” He looked at his thousand-dollar pocket chronometer and was amazed to see that thirty minutes had slipped from under his pen, and it had not caught one second of the eighteen hun- dred. - . This was discouraging, but as this was the first assault that this hero had ever made on the heights where he confidently believed he would find his brains, he was made desperately resolute by fear of failure to carry the works. So he deter- mined on a charge. Up to that moment he had said nothing. All his mental operations had been conducted in silence, excepting only the Orphean attempt to draw out from their slumbering recesses some hesitating thoughts. But, under the dread of failure, he began to speak audibly, just as men, on sudden fright, or from bodily hurt, will involuntarily exclaim, sometimes soliloquize, and oftener swear. “Demnition | " he ejaculated, as he sprung to his feet, run his hands into his pockets, and looked vacantly down at the carpet, resembling a stork, with wings folded, examining its feet. “What is the matter with you, Thomas Shoddy, that you can't write a note to your girl to go to the opewa ” I know you are equal to anything, you wascal So here goes.” Under ordinary circumstances he would have addressed the person he was speaking to as “Tom Shoddy” or “Tommie \ \ \ . - TOMMIAE SHODD V-A SPR/G OF PZU 7'OCRACY. 167 Shoddy,” but the occasion was too serious for any familiarities. It called for punctilious courtesy and the most dignified respect. Mr. Shoddy, thus encouraged and flattered, began : “ DEAR MISS : - “You know it is one of the laws of Society that every mem- ber of it, and I mean by it, Society, you know, shall see or hear, I don’t know which, shall see or hear every new opera, so as to, be able to talk about it when they meet or call, you know, at teas, or receptions, and visiting also. It’s a great boar. But I’m a member of Society and I must do like the Romans do ; and, while I admit to you confidentually it's a great boar, I must keep in the swim and I expect to go to see or hear, as I just said I don’t know which is proper, the new opera called the car men, at the Metropolitan. It will be just my luck if it turns out to be some miserable stuff about a railroad strike, as I am afraid it is from the name. Do you know what it is 2 As I am afraid the whole thing will be stupid, you know, I will be most happy to have somebody's society along, and I therefore. write to ask you whether or no you would join me, say Thurs- day next. If I get bored, you know, I can leave, and carry you home, of course. - “I do wish Society would settle the ettiquete of whether I ought to say, see an opera or hear an opera. It's a great newsance to me to be always bothered about it. “I subscribe myself in haste, yours, * “THOMAS SHODDY. “MONDAY, Vanuary.” - Mr. Shoddy drew a long breath at the close of the half hour consumed in the above composition ; and read it over care- fully, making corrections and punctuating with studious care. “There now, Tommie Shoddy I told you so what do you say to that P’’ He rose and strutted round the room. When he came opposite the mirror, he stopped and, pulling both mutton-chops, rewarded himself by resuming an air and tone of familiarity by saying: “Ah ! you handsome dorg | You wascal,” which was received by the “ wascal” with a look of intense gratification. - The note being finished, Mr. Shoddy opened a velvet-covered case sitting on his bureau ; took from it a small cut-glass bottle ; dropped one drop of attar of roses on the note, then enveloped and directed it to Miss Smiling and dispatched it by a Servant. 168 AZ U 7"OCRACY. ſ When Miss Smiling had finished the note, the expression on her face was a study for a mind reader. Did it indicate pity, disgust, contempt, or an effort to refrain from laughing 2 That must remain a matter for conjecture. Her nature was too noble for despite. She was cast in abroad mold. Charity was the spirit of her being. It pervaded, illumined, inspired every act and thought. It rose supreme and lofty over her spiritual grandeur, as the torch above the strong massive statue of the Bartholdi column. It was the work of a second only for her to decide. Such a woman as she was, to palter with life, to be frittering it away in Seeking amusements, to be wasting hours in the company of a man whose only attraction was prospective inheritance for which she cared nothing, and who had not a thought beyond the game of polo or racquet, or the boundaries of a dog kennel ! Why—she would have hesitated in choosing between appearing at the Metropolitan Opera House with him and a promenade down Fifth avenue in velvet and diamonds with an ugly pug as her companion. She requested the messenger to wait for an answer and wrote : . “Miss Smiling has the honor to acknowledge receipt of Mr. Shoddy's note inviting her to accompany him to the Metro- politan on the evening of the first representation of Carmen, in this city, and to say that she is under engagement to attend a meeting, on the evening named, of the Woman's Aid Society. “Mon DAY, Vanuary.” - Mr. Shoddy was not dejected. He never entertained a doubt that his money—though prospective—would bring any woman to his side. He regarded himself as a dangerous walking magnet; that mothers with daughters unfortunately already plighted before they saw him watched his movements day and night, and chained their daughters to rings bolted into the cellar floors, to prevent their involuntary flight to him. Still, Mr. Shoddy was not a studious, laborious “ladies' man.” How lucky | What a Gehenna of hearts, lacerated “bosoms,” withered hopes—withered never to bud again, no, never! might, could, or would have marked the march of that con- queror. His busy hours were too much demanded by his bar- ber, his toilet, tailor and cook ; his idle hours wholly devoted to the great end of life—base ball, racquet, polo, by day, and by night to balls, the clubs, plays, and operas. Mr. Shoddy was a member of the United Loyalty Club—the \ - 70MMIE SHOODY-A SPRIG OF PLUTOCRACY. 169 only club in the history of all Clubdom that sprang from, and was supposed to exist on gratitude. Whether it was that en- thusiastic gratitude which is defined to be “a lively sense of favors to come "-or that other more serene gratitude that “ thanks God we are not as other men "--is not a question material to Mr. Thomas Shoddy's biography or obituary. But the fact remains, that the United Loyalty Club was composed in the main of gentlemen of great distinction—another and derivative form of the expression, gentlemen of great wealth, which is still another equivalent of the word, millionaires. They had made—no, not made—but, as loyal and dutiful sons they had received their millions from their paternal gov- ernment, and accepted their several portions as a part of the patrimony justly due them as the sons of Liberty—or Freedom. The paternal Billionaire had dealt impartially. To some were given millions of acres of the paternal estate ; to some millions in bonds of their own making, which the paternal giver prom- ised to pay if they the makers, should refuse, to some mill- ions as bonuses for shoddy goods, and to others (confidential agents of the great estate) who, while facing the great pater- nal, and interceding for the Loyalty Band, held one hand be- hind their backs with open palm. But not every member of the United Loyalty Club was a millionaire. Such an order would have been inexpressibly stu- pid. What ? Talk stocks, bonds, dividends, schemes, plots, traps, gins, snares, trusts, wrecking, combinations, railroads, ships, telegraph, currency, monometalism, Corners, puts, calls, straddles, invent rumors to bear the market, spin fairy tales to bull the market ; do all this all day, and repeat it all at the club at night 2 No, indeed . Those patrimonial benefici- aries who had received their advances from the paternal estate, and were lying back in velvet ease, must have diversion— amusement. The king must have his jester, three centuries ago called the king's fool. What is a crown worth, if under it a smile or laugh is never enjoyed P Think of what a Sahara would be such an assembly of kings railroad kings, iron kings, gold kings, butterine kings, ole- margarine kings, shoddy kings, oil, Sugar, lard, coal, cot- ton kings, puts and calls and straddle kings, bear kings, bull kings, stock kings, with here and there a Prince of shoddy, Prince of sugar, Prince of army and navy tobacco. It would never do | One of the railroad kings saw the situa- tion at once. 17o PLUTOCRACY. “We must have sport, amusement, diversion,” he said. “We can't run a Theatre Comique—our wives would surprise us with impromptu tableaux not very funny—so, what's to be done P I suppose we must feed some poor devils to make fun for us.” “My lawyer, Judge Prattle, is a pretty fair talker, and tells a good story. I drench him, now and then, with brandy to get him started. And sometimes, as a special favor, I let him have champagne,” so spoke King Snob. - “Is he rich 2'' inquired King Shoddy. * , “Rich P Wo / We've got the money ! We're after fun now —sport—burlesque. Never mind about the dues for Prattle, I’ll pay ’em out of my own pocket. I’ll ask him a law ques- tion ; for instance, ‘Can I make a will that can stand P’ He'll say, ‘It takes at least thirteen men, (one judge, and twelve jurors) to answer that question ; ' and I’ll hand him a fee big enough to pay his dues.” - “Well,” said King Shoddy, “my doctor is a smart fellow. I'll agree to feed him, and pay him in the same way.” “Suppose you ask him where your heart is, and he answers, “It will require an autopsy to find out.” What would you do?” asked Snob. “Pay him for his wit,” answered Shoddy. Prattle and Bread- pill were sent for by the United Loyalty, and told they might come in. º “Thanks, kings and princes ! Humble thanks ” - “We want a good speaker, too,” said Smiling. “When we feed distinguished foreigners like Earl Guzzle, Count Lazza- rone, and other tramps who come over here hunting wives, that is, money, we must have a fellow who understands the English langwidge to speak for us.” . “I propose we let Judge Rattle come. He would be very grateful and humble. He’s a fine speaker; not long-winded ; he's too anxious to keep on feeding to talk long. He’d stop saying the Lord's Prayer, right in the middle, to take a drink, and then finish it in a burst of eloquence. He's called ‘the JJimmer Demosthemes.’” “Was he loyal P” “Of course he was Didn't he help me get my contract with the government to furnish rotten ships ? But his loyalty is not what we want—we are the Model Zoyalists / We furnish all the loyalty. We are the very pinks of patriotism. We are now hunting for jesters to amuse Loyalty.” It was unanimously agreed to permit Judge Rattle to put his 7öMM/A. Sãoppy—A SPR/G OF PEvžockAcy. 171 legs under the mahogany of United Loyalty, and feed to re- pletion, after delivering an address of welcome to Earl Guzzle or Count Lazzarone. It was specially nominated in the con- tract that Rattle should “deliver the goods" before he should feed. But, not so with Mr. Shoddy. He was son—only son—heir apparent to him who was the noblest type of Loyalty; one who, to the virtue of profitable economy in the manufacture of army supplies, added the patriotism to foster infant home in- dustries —cattle, horses, hogs, and mules, to get their hair for army clothing. The son was one of the elect—and the U. L. Club was one of his many Elysiums ; or, in the elegant phrase of some of the truly loyal, one of his “feeding grounds.” One evening, in January, Tommie Shoddy was in the club house, reclining in an easy chair with feet across the arm of another chair, holding in his right hand a glass of Mumm's Extra Dry, and in his left a lighted Havana ; sipping from one and puffing smoke from the other through his nose which, as he gazed at the richly frescoed ceiling, resembled a horizontal exhaust pipe of a donkey engine. Near by sat his friend, the Prince of army and navy to- bacco, for brevity called the Prince of A. N. T. by the lower classes, and by his equals in rank, familiarly called “Plug.” John Weaver sat near engaged in writing letters to a dozen or more young girls, protesting for each his undying devotion, and that “without her love the world to him would become a dreary waste—in fact—a desert, wherein he cared no longer to live.” Thomas Shoddy was not so much absorbed in “maiden meditation ” as he was in meditating on maidens, while Plug after reading, in the afternoon papers, a full account of the acquittal of a man of great wealth, on the plea of “emotional insanity produced by his emotions,” on the charge of murder for killing a ragpicker, was examining in the Police Gazette the account of a policeman dragging a homeless woman to the station house for falling asleep on a millionaire's door steps, after wandering around until two o'clock in the morning in search of a place to rest her worn-out limbs. * Mr. Shoddy's meditation at length assumed form : “Let’s get marwied, Plug.” “Naw Thank you,” drawled out Plug. “Yes—” “Naw I’’ A louder and longer drawl. 172 PZU rockacy. “Why not ” “Why—when I marwy, I'll marwy a woman.” “Of course—old boy—I meant that we should marwy a woman.” “Naw you didn't. How the devil can we both marwy one woman 2 Do you take me for a Morman 2 ” “I meant two women, of course—” “Then why didn't you say so P You said, “let’s get marwied,’ —like you wanted to marwy me !” “Naw How absurd . When I marwy I'll marwy a woman —one that's got sense,” stoutly affirmed Mr. Shoddy. “I’ll bet you a thousand dollars you don't l” “Done ! Put up the money. Do you know Mary Smiling?” “Y-e-s—that is—I’ve never met her—er—I mean, she's never been introduced to me—but—er—I’ve seen her,” the prince confessed. . “Well, ain't she a woman of sense 2 ” asked Shoddy. “Sensible ! She’s a cwank '' “What do you mean * * - “Why, she's all the time dwiving round town giving away to the poor. She’d bankwupt you in a year. She might as well go out on the pvawie and try to feed all the pvawie dogs. She's a cwank | * “Naw she won’t,” said Prince Shoddy. “I didn't say she would. I said she might as well.” “You did say she would in a year,” insisted Prince Shoddy. “Aw you do get things all so muddled up. I didn't say she would go in a year.” “Well, I didn't say you did.” - -- “Well, what did you say, then 7 ° inquired Prince Plug. “I said she would not.” “Well, ain't that just what I said And you said you didn't.' “I said I didn't say what?” - “Why, when I said she might as well, you said naw, she would not. And you ought to have education enough to know that wouldn't is no relation to might in gwammar,” argued Prince Plug. - “Naw, there it is again What the devil has gwammar got to do with what we are talking about 2 That's just the way you always do. When you get beat in arguing you go to quoting gwammar or poetry, or some such thing. Damn gwam- mar. I never did have no use for it, no how, and you know it / " “That's just it !” ŻóMMIE SHODD Y-A SPRIG OF PLUTOCRACY. 173 “Naw, it ain't l” “What ain’t P '' “Why, what you said.” “I didn't say so.” “You say you didn't say so, when you just this minute said SO.” “Said what P’’ “Aw, nonsense. That's the way you try to get out of every- thing. It's no use ever arguing with you.” “I know what you can do, you can dwink. Waitaw Quart Mumm's extwa dry, two fifty cent Henry Clay Havanas.” “Now, I’ll bet you that bottle of wine, you’ll deny what you said 'tother night right here about the tariff.” “What did I say ” “When I said I wanted Congwess to reduce the tariff on bwandy and champagne a hundred per cent. at least, So we could get it cheap, you argued if Congwess did do so we would lose more revenue by smuggling than we lose now. Didn't you say so 2 '' “You’ll pay for that bottle, old boy I did say so, and I stand to it, because there would be five times as much bvandy and wine brought here. And as for smuggling, that will always be done, and the more they bring the more they Smug- gle, of course ! and therefore the bigger the loss. And you couldn't answer me.” “I didn't try, did I ? I can answer it, but it's too late now to get into a tariff discussion to-night. The only objection I have to a hundred per cent. reduction is, everybody with a few thousand dollars' income would dwink champagne and bwandy, and it wouldn't be so wespectable.” “Here's your health in your own wine ! We got off into that big argument and forgot all about your getting married.” “That's so,” said Prince Shoddy, languidly. “That's why I don't like to get into these heavy discussions. They tax my bwain so, I feel tired for days afterwards. I begin to under- stand why Orators, after they make a big speech, feel so ex- hausted and take stimulus.” “But—who's the woman P” “What woman 2" asked Shoddy, perfectly oblivious from exhaustion produced by the hundred per cent. tax just laid in his brain. “The woman you want to marwy, of course.” “Yes | oh—yes. I forgot. Why, the one I spoke of.” \ | i.74 Azö7'OCRA dy. “Then you are engaged, eh?” “Oh, naw But I believe I'll marwy her. The old man's got piles on piles of money. I've got stacks of it, that is, pa has—it's all the same—and she's a smart girl. My principal objection to her is she's not a society woman. Well, I forgot when I said principal objection. I'm afwaid I might have trouble about my dorgs. She's not fond of dorgs.” “Didn't I tell you she's a cwank P Don't she keep a pug P” “Naw, indeed . She hasn't a hair of a dorg, and I'm afraid don't want any.” - “Why do you say so P” asked Weaver. “Because I called on her and she didn’t ask me to call again. But the saying is, ‘Love me, love my-dog,' and after I get her it’ll be all wight.” - “Well,” ejaculated Prince Plug. “And you are thinking about marwying out of Society 2 Tom Shoddy you're an ass! You are losing your mind ’’ “Don’t get excited. I’m not so bad stuck I can’t haul off without knocking a hole in my heart.” “No doubt of that. A light craft draws very little water.” “Now, you're quoting yachtin'. The next thing you'll quote gwammar. Do-don't I can't stand any more big argument to-night.” “Well, it takes two to make a bargain, and as you're not engaged all I say is, I hope that she'll kick you back into Society, where you belong.” “Now you talk like an ass—as if any woman would kick a fellow of my wealth and position in Society. You might as well talk about a hungwy mule turning awound and kicking its feed trough full of oats.” “Look here, I say. Now you listen to me, Tom. You say that gal is smart and is not in Society. She's a cwank. If you want to marwy to have company, you marwy a fool in Society.” “What for 2 ” asked Tom with a look of perplexity. “Why, you'll always have agreeable company. She won't be leaving you every day to hunt up paupers and such.” “You don't know that girl. She's no cwank. You're mis- taken. Let's take a pony bwandy and go.” The finger of time pointed at the numeral one on his dial as they passed out and strolled up Fifth avenue. “An eager and nipping air" enveloped their bodies heated with drink. They were deep in wine, and talked in low tones and in a maudlin, rambling way. As they stood at the corner of the avenue and TOMMIE SHODD Y-A SPRIG OF PLUTOCRACY. I 75 Forty-fifth street, a young woman, alone, poorly clad, with furrows of grief plowed into her cheeks, passed along Forty- fifth street going west, just at the moment when they were speaking of some of their companions by name. The woman stopped suddenly, gazed searchingly into their faces for a second or two only, and moved rapidly on. The two princes were so surprised that neither spoke until the womau had passed beyond hearing. “Well : I would like t'know what that means,” said Plug. “Dunno, hic. Reckon—hunting some un. Looked mad, didn’ she 2 ” “Yes. Glad we'r not the man—hic—g-night.” “G-night. Hello | What's that 7" said Prince Plug. This inquiry was caused by the report of a pistol shot that rang through the street to the west, in which their friend, John Weaver, who had just left them, resided. But the two logi- cians were too drunk for further investigation, and they went to their luxurious apartments to recuperate their wearied brains by sleep and rest, while the woman, who had daguerreotyped their faces on her excited brain, vanished into the gloom of night. CHAPTER TWENTIETH. TOMMIE SHODIDY TRIES IT. THOMAS SHODDY, while too indolent to hold a conference with a dog-fancier to enlighten Miss Susie Lagér on dog lore, had energy enough to carry out his purpose announced to Prince Plug, which was to inform Miss Smiling that he had finally selected her as the one whom he intended to elevate to his station. Accordingly, the second day after the heavy, ex- hausting draft made on his brain by the analytical debate with Prince Plug, at his principal “feeding ” ground, the United Loyalty Club, he put himself in training to throw Miss Smiling into bewildering ecstasy by announcing the endowment of bliss he had reluctantly concluded to bestow on her. He would not have denied her that rapture for even the one intervening day, had he been sober enough to produce himself in his highest style. But he was not, and Miss Smiling had to be the suf- ferer. Mr. Shoddy having once made up his mind to sacrifice him- self, lost no time in taking the heroic step that was to land him beyond the charmed circle of Society, as warned by Prince Plug. He went through about the same physical exercises and evolutions he had performed the evening he wrote to announce to the same lady that he had concluded to confer on her the privilege of sitting by him as long as he might be pleased to listen to the “car men.” He decided to reduce his decision to writing, so Miss Smil- ing might not be in painful doubt as to the sincerity of his intentions. His purpose was to be accurate. So he carried the paper for ready reference in case his memory might be truant. The following was what he prepared : “Miss MARY : There are some feelings and emotions of the human bosom, that there is no language adequate to express, and they must be understood, you know. I feel those emotions and feelings surging in my bosom at this stupenduous moment. I say human bosom, Miss Mary, on purpose, as a sort of pointer, which is not a dog, but a word very significant indeed, 7'OMM/E SHODZ) V 7A/AES / 7. 177 and is derived from the Stock Exchange, because all I feel and wish to express at this calm—yes, this balmy and pacific hour, is about no other kind of bosom than the human bosom —indeed, about your bosom, Miss Mary, and my bosom alone. “I beg you, Miss Mary, not to suppose for one moment, or even a minute, that my emotions have been aroused by any thought of your father's money; for my father, you know, is worth millions, and I don’t need money. Ah indeed, no And having assured you of the purity of my motive, I do not wish to prolong this heartrending agony, and now let me—Oh, let me exclaim, that I throw myself at your feet. Will you not raise me up from your feet and deposit me along your dear side for better or for worse 2 ” Armed with that death-warrant Tommie Shoddy got himself up in beneficent condition and called to prevent any unhappiness that might or could befall Miss Smiling. She received him with the natural grace and dignity she wore in the presence of the humblest and the highest. Mr. Shoddy took a chair in an unusual position. It was directly under the outer border of the chandelier, with his back to the light. As usual, he held his gray slouch in his hand, but with the crown towards the object of his benevolent pur- pose. After a half hour of gabble, with frequent glances at the interior of his hat, he opened on the business of the evening, and delivered himself as follows: “Miss MARY: There are feelings and emotions of the human bosom that I could not find words in Webster's or Worcester's unabridged, to express what I came here to-night to say. I say—yes—I say—human bosom Surging, you knaw, Miss Mary, as a pointer. You may not understand the word—I mean pointer—it's not a dorg. It is a word in the Stock Exchange —and it's very significant—indeed it is, because all I feel at this time—that is—er—at this balm—no—this calm, I might say, this balmy and pacific railroad. No 1 not that. “Steady, Thomas Shoddy You are talking like an idiot.” This was spoken audibly but sofſo voce by the gentleman who drilled Tommie Shoddy a few evenings before when he was writing the note of invitation to see Carmen. After which stern reproof, Tommie Shoddy resumed : “As I was saying, or want to say, you knaw—balmy and pacific hour, not railroad, of course—concerns no other kind of I2 178 A Z U 7'OCRAC jº. bosom but the human bosom—in fact—Miss Mary, your own dear bosom—and mine of course, you knaw. - “My dear Miss Mary, don’t think I come here to get your money. I’ve plenty of money—that is, you knaw, my father has millions, you knaw—and now, oh now to escape from this er—awful business, I throw my feet at yourself | Non- sense ! My er—Miss Mary, I’m all bvoke up. I did not, I assure you—I did not mean that—I meant to say I throw myself at your feet. Will you ! oh will you ! raise my dear sides up, and deposit them at your feet 2 No, not that. Miss Mary—I’ve got it all written out here in my hat, but I am all rattled—I can't say it. Please take the paper and read it for me, will you ?” - - “Mr. Shoddy, I fear you are not well ! Do you feel sick 7" asked Miss Smiling. “No Miss Mary, I am rattled, badly rattled.” - “You have been speaking incoherently. Your mind has been overworked, and needs rest. I think a stimulant will help you ; but, as I never offer it to young gentlemen, I will call my father.” “No, no—don't, please ! I—I—I—feel better—that is—you knaw—I feel I have laid my bosom open to you—and I feel a little relieved, you knaw. Did you understand me fully, Miss Mary 2” asked Tommie, with all the pathos he could throw into those words. . . . . “Pardon me for saying, your language was very incoherent, and as you do not seem to be yourself this evening, I insist that I call father, that he may stimulate you.” - “No-I will go ; I feel better,” quickly interposed Mr. Shoddy. § - - “If you will wait a few moments, Mr. Shoddy, I will have a carriage at the door for you.” - - “Thank you, naw I am not sick. I can get along very well. Good night.” - . “Good night, Mr. Shoddy. I sincerely trust you will soon be over this attack.” - The door closed, and Mr. Shoddy walked out a crushed tragedian, and Miss Mary walked in a flushed comedienne. The distance the crushed tragedian had to walk he usually traversed, when uncrushed, in fifteen minutes, but he made it that “balmy and pacific” evening within four. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. THE CINIDERS FAMILY. RESIDING in a brown-stone front on Fifth avenue was a mill- ionaire, whose name was John Cinders. Like the majority of millionaires around him, he had no distinction except his wealth, and he comes into this history, not from any personal merit, unless it may have been meritorious to be the father of his somewhat celebrated daughter, Cinderella. It is of the daughter, and not of the father, this history has to speak. Miss Cinderella was of sentimental, poetic temperament, and was more excursive in the field of literature than her female associates. She went beyond the weekly story-periodicals, the reports of balls, dinners, teas, lunches, plays, fashions, et Caetera. She sometimes read daily newspapers, and it was during one of those excursions in one of the dailies. She made a discovery that forms the foundation of this chapter. In fact, but for that discovery this chapter would never have been a part of history. One morning (it might have been noon, as that was about the hour Miss Cinderella usually broke her fast), while taking food, which she never did of choice, but as a duty to sustain the mortal part of her, she was killing time by glances at the Aſerald. After glancing at an account of the burning of a theater and the loss of more than a hundred lives, she looked below and read the report of the number of dogs captured, im- pounded, and drowned in the river the day before. Her emotions were deeply moved. The servant girl who was in waiting as her young mistress was sustaining life, de- clared that her mistress wept, but her mistress said her eyes became moist—that was all. Be that as it may, Miss Cinderella from that hour was very serious. She brooded over the sad fate of those dogs day and night. Her parents noticed her mood and loss of appetite, and sus- pected she was “going into a decline,” or was suffering from an “enlistment of her affections.” A conference held by the parents, who felt great hesitation in approaching their daughter 180 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. on a subject so delicate, resulted in the delegation of full au- thority to the mother to institute an investigation, which the mother proceeded to carry out at the first opportune moment. One evening, soon after Miss Cinderella, her daughter, had retired to her chamber, the mother followed her, and the father followed the mother, to remain outside, armed with a vial of spirits of ammonia and a glass of wine, to be ready in case the daughter, from prostration caused by the approaching inter- view, should require stimulants. The mother, in order to prevent a violent shock, resorted to diplomacy by pretending she had gone up to hunt for the pass-book she kept with the butcher, in which she assured her daughter there was an overcharge of fifteen cents on the month past. With this foundation laid, she began by saying : “My darling, I have noticed that your appetite is not good ; is anything the matter—are you sick 2 ” “No, mother, I am not sick.” “Then there must be something the matter. Is your mind troubled, or has anybody wounded your feelings P” “No, my feelings have not been hurt by any one.” “Then, my child—my darling ! tell your dear mother what troubles you. You know I will help you any way I can. Are your affections engaged P’’ “No, mamma, it is not that. Haven't you read the heart- rending tales in the papers about the drowning of dogs at the city pound P’’ There was a heavy sound outside the door like that made by a person falling against a wall, and then the words, “The Devil l’’ were heard. The sounds were made by Mr. Cinders, who, as he retreated from his post of observation carrying his medical supplies in the dark, had run against the wall to the stairs and had spilled the wine and broken the glass. “I have,” continued the afflicted daughter, “and I am deeply affected by them. I have been trying for weeks to think of some plan to prevent such suffering. Mr. Bergh has a society to prevent cruelty to animals, and I want to form a society to save those dear dogs.” Mrs. Cinders, though let down, felt much relief. “Well, it may be a good thing to do,” said Mrs. C. “I don't doubt there are many fine dogs drowned at the pound, and as there are no poor people around us for you to help, and as you ought to have some employment, I guess you had better do something for the dogs.” - & 7 HE CINDERS FAMILY. * I81 “There are plenty of people to take care of the poor, and I haven't time to bother with them any way,” replied Miss Cinderella. “Well, I’m glad you are not sick. I will go to bed feeling better.” Mrs. C., after saying good-night, went to her chamber and reported what Mr. C. already knew. He had very little sympathy for dogs, and was naturally disgusted by the result of the interview. He intended to lecture Cinderella next morning, that is, if he could see her before he would go to his office, but his more indulgent wife advised strongly against any harsh reprimand, because, as she said, “it is not best to arrest a feeling of philanthropy.” The daughter, as was her habit, did not rise next day until about eleven o'clock, and as her father was off to business by nine o'clock, no collision oc- curred. Miss Cinderella, encouraged by her mother, started out after her breakfast to put in motion her philanthropic purpose. Being on a mission of mercy and feeling for, perhaps, the first time in her life of twenty years, that she was for the time a business woman, she thought the eternal ſitness of things re- quired her to dress in plain style. Accordingly she dressed in a gros-grain silk trimmed with Valenciennes lace, a Gains- borough hat and a sealskin wrap, with no ornament, except her solitaire diamond ear-drops. Thus plainly attired, she ordered the landau, and told the coachman in livery to drive post-haste to the brown-stone front of Mr. O'Le Margarine. Miss Tabitha O'Le Margarine was at home, of course, for the hour, then one o'clock P. M., was too early in the day for Miss Tabitha to be out. She soon appeared, in a morning gown of blue silk trimmed in front with cardinal velvet and gave Miss Cinders a cordial greeting. Miss Cinders being on business bent, and urgent business at that, did not lose time in the usual interchange of opinion and amiable comments on the cost of the trousseau of the last bride— daughter of a millionaire, of course ; on the estimated cost of the diamonds, silver, jewelry, and mansion presented to her on the wedding day ; on the liberality or stinginess of her father in placing on her plate, or on the drawing-room center- table, on the top of the most attractive bouquet, where all eyes would be sure to wander, his check certified by the cashier of the bank as “good" for five hundred thousand dollars; nor on the probable cost of the trousseau and the presents, including I82 * AZU 7'OCRACY. a dwelling-house on Fifth avenue, of course, and the father's check, to be given to the next bride whose engagement had just been announced on authority of the affiancée herself. Delightful and absorbing as were such subjects of conversation on all other occasions, they must be postponed for the present. The lives of many dogs might be sacrificed even by an hour's delay in the organization of the society for their protection. Miss Cinderella proceeded forthwith to lay before Miss Tabitha the object of her call. “Tabbie—(the name given Miss Tabitha by all her intimate friends)—have you read the reports of the pound-keeper in the city on the drowning of so many dogs ’’’ “No, indeed I never read such things. The truth is, when I get through reading accounts of the operas, balls and suppers here and in Washington and Chicago, and the society news, I am so weary and tired, I throw the papers down and never want to see them again until next morning. They are so stupid, filled with politics and accounts of sufferings of the poor and strikes, that I am disgusted with them. Besides, after I read the society news and the reports of the divorce suits among the nobility in England, I have no time to read any- thing else. It is time then to drive in Central Park, or visit and return calls, and then dinner is ready, and then I must dress for the opera, and after that go to supper and then to bed. You know how it is yourself.” “Yes,” Miss Cinderella admitted, “that is just my case. But in glancing the other day at the account of the burning of two hundred people in a theater, I happened to see the head line just below : “Three hundred curs of high and low degree drowned in North River,’ and I was horrified. But I haven't time to tell you how aggrieved I was. I was so deeply affected, I lost my appetite, and, well, I felt perfectly awful I declare to you, Tabbie, I have made myself sick in trying to think of some way to save these unhappy creatures ; and I have at last come to the conclusion this very day, yes, this my birthday, to form a society for their protection. Won't it be a glorious thing to have a society start on my birthday ? “Now, Tabbie, I want you to come right along with me and let us call to see Fannie Ferrum first, and then several others, and fix this thing up as soon as possible. What do you say ?” “Cindie, I think it is just splendid (Cindie was a contrac- tion of Cinderella.) I will run up and change my dress and join you in a half hour. Tell me, what shall I wear?" 7A/A C/AVDAA'S FAM/Z V. 183 “Oh anything. Dress plain like me. Don't call your hair- dresser, it'll take too long,” answered sweet Cindie. After the lapse of twenty-five minutes Miss Tabbie appeared in one of Worth's latest, that cost five hundred dollars, and the two were soon driving rapidly to Mr. Ferrum's brown-stone front. Miss Fannie Ferrum was told of the proposed enterprise, and she entered into it most heartily. She desired to know a few things, however, “just to understand, you know.” “Will any gentlemen be members of the society 2" “O-oh No-O-O !” came two answers, like the simultaneous discharge of both barrels of a shot-gun. “No, indeed,” said Miss Cinderella, the mother of the great enterprise. “This is for ladies exclusively (with a heavy ac- cent on the ex), and unmarried ladies at that, and my idea (accent strong on “de”) is to make the society very select by confining its philanthropy to pugs only.” “That's a capital idea,” exclaimed the delighted audience of two, with a strong emphasis on the word “capital.” “You see,” continued Miss Cinderella, becoming animated and a little incoherent, as her enthusiasm increased, “if we in- clude poodles and skyes, and black-and-tans and greyhounds, you see, if we take all them in, what a mixture we will have.” “Yes, indeed,” responded the audience. “I don't want my little darling mixed up with poodles, nor anything of the sort,” indignantly remarked Miss Fannie. “I mean by mixing up, not the dogs, but the company,” ex- plained Miss Cindie. “You see, don't you see, we would bring in a great many people in plain circumstances and Some from cross streets, off the avenue. I mean where we don't visit, you know. We don't want any but first-class dogs, dogs in the best society—I mean pugs of course—and that will make the Society exclusive and aristocratic, like the United Loyalty Club, for instance.” Miss Cinders did not mean, of course, that the pug family of dogs necessarily made their owners aristocrats. What she must have intended to say is, that the ownership of pugs was prima facie evidence of the best—the exclusive—the aristocratic class of Society. The audience was heartily in accord with the speaker in every proposition brought forward, as each was the owner of a pug. They then made a list of their friends, unmarried ladies, who enjoyed the blessing of a pug, and in a few minutes they 184 A} {}^OCRAC V. had registered nearly fifty names, qualified for membership. They unanimously agreed on two requisites, only, for member- ship, to wit: the father of a member, or the member herself, to own a million dollars or more, and the member to own a pug. They then agreed, as the hour was too late to call on any other friends to get their co-operation, that they would issue a circular for a meeting to be held as soon as possible. Miss Ferrum moved that the three should meet every day at her house to “draw up a constitution,” and that Miss Cinders should write a poem to be delivered on the day of the meeting to adopt a constitution. Miss Cinders objected solely on the ground that she had not written any poetry for so long a time, she had for- gotten how. “Now, Cindie Cinders what nonsense !” drawled out Miss Fannie. “You Anow you can write be-eze-tiful poetry! Do you sit there and try to make me believe that I could ever forget your poem on ‘The Collapsed Cauliflower,’ that was copied by every paper in the country, even away off yonder in Texas 2 No 1 you must write a poem. You are the very one to do it, because this society was started by you, on your birth- day.” Miss Tabbie supported the appeal, and as they would take no denial, Miss Cinders finally agreed to try, if the other two would issue the call, and do most of the work in drafting a constitution. This being agreed on, the callers departed, and after Miss Cinders left Miss O'Le Margarine at her home, she drove up Fifth avenue and around Central Park, in order to meditate, as she said, “in that rural, romantic spot, to ruminate on the expected poem.” CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND. THE PUG CONVENTION. As the callers of the convention to form a society for the pur- pose indicated in the last chapter had forgotten to agree on a place for meeting, Miss Ferrum and Miss O' Le Margarine decided to hire a room at Delmonico’s “up town,” and also to have an elegant lunch as a surprise to those invited. Miss Fannie Ferrum engaged the room and gave the order for lunch, Accordingly, at 2 o'clock P. M., one week from the day the call was issued, landaus, victorias, coupés and Broughams with coats of arms on the panels, drawn by horses of the first pedigree Some with Cropped mane and tail, some with flowing manes, and with tails, almost silken, Sweeping the ground, and driven by coachmen in buff with gilt buttons, yellow top boots, and glossy beavers, commenced rolling up to Delmonico's Fifth avenue entrance ; and ladies, all young, some handsome, some “ag- gressively fat,” Some lean and angular, but all dressed in costliest raiment, glittering with diamonds and each with a pug in her arms, stepped from the landaus, victorias, Coupés, Broughams, and walked up-stairs to the room designated in the circular of invitation. Miss Forlorn, whose parents had been dead twenty-five years, was recognized as a business woman. It was an undisputed fact, that she, for many years, had made her own tax returns, clipped her coupons and collected the money without assist- ance. She had arrived at an age, which, if not “honorable,” entitled her to the respect of the young. She was considered by all present as the best choice for a presiding officer. She was believed to be a fine parliamentarian, because she was known to have conducted several picnics with great success, and had presided at half a dozen christenings, As Miss Susie Lagér (pronounced with g soft and r silent and e with sound of a) was acknowledged by all her acquaintances to be “the most talkative girl in town,” it was proposed to choose her as secretary. The credit of this move was given to Miss Ferrum, who was seen hurrying from one to another, em- bracing her pug with her left arm, gesticulating with folded fan 186 Pzvzocracy. and shaking her head very rapidly. She was heard to say, “if we don’t bottle her up, we can’t get in a word, so vote for her—hear 2 '' Every one recognized, at once, the force of the argument in favor of Miss Lagér, and she received every vote in the con- vention. The secretary elect, with honor thus thrust upon her, protested, but all in vain. She was led to the desk amid some applause and much laughter. Miss Lagér really did not desire to serve, though chosen by a vote so flattering, because she had spent all the time left to her after sleeping, driving, lunching, attending the opera every night and taking suppers thereafter, in consulting a young millionaire, whose frequent visits to the brown-stone front of Mr. Lagér had started the thought, which started a rumor, which started a report that the two were soon to be married. From the fact that he was a member in good standing (all dues being promptly paid) of all the respectable clubs of the city, the polo, the racquet, the Tally-Ho, and others, Miss Lagér supposed he knew all about pugs, and she availed herself of his knowledge, which was soon exhausted. ---.She begged him to read up on the subject, but he begged to | be excused. - “I never read, it is too much work. It tires my brain, you knaw.” She then insisted that he should confer with a dog-fancier, and he promised so to do. But, when he reached his room, that evening and began to think of the energy and thought required to fulfill his promise, he sank into his satin Smoking chair with a feeling of despair and soliloquized : “Oh I can't do it. It's too much trouble to go and listen and wenember what the fellah says and then to tell it. Oh ! I can't! It'll kill me !” The young gentleman was Tommie Shoddy. As Miss Lagér had crammed herself with dog lore, she was disappointed at the turn things had taken. Still she went to the desk to get ready for business. As she could not write and hold her pug at the same time, she asked aloud her A friend, Miss Ferrum, to hold her pug. As Miss Ferrum was the one who had bottled up Miss Lagér, and that fact was known by every one present except the one in the bottle, there was a simultaneous titter and laugh at the center shot Miss Lagér had made blindfolded. - Miss Ferrum had prepared herself to be one of the fore- most debaters. She had heard that the most elegant Speakers 7A/AE PUG COAV VAEAV7/OAV. 187 gesticulate, first with the right, second, with the left hand and then with both, and when requested to hold Miss Lagér's pug, she realized at once the difficulty of making forcible and graceful gestures, while discussing a great constitutional question, with a pug on each arm. She, at first, thought she might transfer the pug on the right to the left, and so, back and forth ; but she knew that with two pugs on one arm, she must squeeze them very tightly, and that would probably bring on a fight and destroy the effect of her eloquence. So, she declined to favor the secretary, but suggested to her to set her pug on the table and to wrap its silver chain around her left wrist. This happy thought, which was accepted by Miss Lagér, was considered by all as the highest evidence of genius and at once placed Miss Ferrum in front as THE THINKER Of the convention. From that moment, she was ex- pected to be the leading debater. The pug was put on the table upright and facing the convention. The Chair then rose and stated briefly the object of the meeting. She said, in substance, that it was, perhaps, impos- sible to estimate the inestimable importance of the occasion that had brought that assemblage of beauty, refinement, wealth, and social power together ; that from her own knowledge, she could say, there was represented in that convention, not less than two hundred millions of dollars ; that, that was a power which every American recognized and bowed down to, and would be felt throughout the length and breadth of this land more and more, as the chariot of time rolled on ; that it was a sad reflection, that everything and everybody in this broad, free land was protected except the best friend of man, the poor dog ; that the rich were protected by Protection ; the poor were protected by houses of refuge and almshouses established by the bounty of the millionaires of the land; that cats were protected by Mr. Bergh's society ; but no philanthropist had been moved by his milk of human kindness to do anything for the poor pug, until a member of this convention (prolonged applause by tapping of fans on the left palms) was stirred in the innermost recesses of her philanthropic heart by man's in- humanity to the dogs in the city pound, and conceived the great thought. But, as that member was to speak for herself on this momentous occasion, she would not make any more feeble remarks about her, but leave her to make them herself; that the time had come for prompt and energetic action, and in the union there is strength, as was shown by the result of 188 A / O Z'OC/QA CY. the late war; that she hoped the convention would aid her in the feeble discharge of her duties as the chairman ; that she knew she would commit errors, as they were common to all conventions, but hers would be of the head and not of the heart ; and she trusted that every lady present realized the im- portance of remaining silent while the proceedings were going on ; and that all ladies would see that the pugs observed proper decorum while they were addressing the Chair. After thanking the convention for the unworthy honor conferred on her, the President said that any business was then in order. Miss Ferrum rose and stated that the first business she be- lieved on such occasions was to open the exercises with prayer, but as she did not see any one present who was accustomed to praying (a general titter disconcerted the speaker, who sud- denly took on a rosy complexion, but after a pause of a few seconds she resumed)—“I mean who will pray for a conven- tion.” “Mr. Chairman,” another audible smile and she said, “Miss President,” and a laugh followed the smile. “Well, I’d like to know what I must call you, Mr. Chairman " (a burst of laugh- ter followed); shall I say Miss Chairman 2 ” The Chair came to Miss Ferrum's relief by making her first ruling on a point of order by saying : “I think, as I am not a Mister nor a man, that I oughtn't to be called Mister anything, nor even Miss Chairman, for I am not a man, and the best plan, I think, is to Say Miss President, because there is no “man” in a president.” Another suppressed laugh, and Miss Forlorn added, “You can't spell it with “man’ in it.” “But,” said Miss Ferrum, a little resentful from being the subject of merriment, “a president is a man, and as you are not a man, I think we should call you Miss Presidentess.” This was received with a nod of heads, and Smiles of appro- bation all over the room, and expressions of “that's it,” “that's the very thing,” “that is the best thing yet.” It was unani- mously decided that everybody should say “Miss President- ess.” One lady, who was very enthusiastic over the title of address, jumped up and moved “a vote of thanks to Miss Fer- rum for thinking of such a thing, and to the Speaker for the able and impartial manner in which she has presided over this body.” 7A/AE AE’ UG COAV WAEAV 7"/OAV. - 189 The Chair was about to put the question to a vote when a lady, who had once attended a woman's rights convention, suggested that the resolution of thanks is the last business, which suggestion settled the question and the enthusiastic lady together. - The explanation of the untimely motion of a vote of thanks to the Chair lies in the fact that the young lady had studied how to prepare herself to take a prominent part in the conven- tion and, to that end, she had copied from the closing pro- ceedings of the New York Legislature the usual vote of thanks to the Speaker. She had read it over and over for several days to get it “by heart.” While dressing of mornings she kept the copy lying on the bureau, so she could read and repeat it So she did every night for five nights just before she jumped in bed, and would then repeat it until she fell asleep. With all this, being distrustful of her memory, she carried the copy and was holding it open in her hand, watching her op- portunity from the moment the convention met. Miss Ferrum, in her confusion, having forgotten, that she had the floor and was entitled to proceed, and no one knowing what to do next, the Chair inquired of the secretary what was next on the programme. The secretary replied that she had not been furnished with any programme. The Chair thought that a gross piece of neglect. She beckoned to Miss Ferrum, by three quick, short motions of her fan. Miss Ferrum tripped to the chair with light, airy steps, each about six inches in length, wearing a looking-glass Smile. The Chair asked her what was to be done next. Miss Fer- rum then remembered the poem, and that she had risen to speak of it, and returned to her seat, while the Chair said, “The meeting will be quiet, and we'll have something good I’m sure.” Miss Ferrum again rose and said : “The next thing in order, (as if anything so far had been in order), is a poem by Miss Cinderella Cinders, the distinguished poet of Fifth avenue.” The relief from the late suspense, when no one knew what to say or to do, was So great that applause was general. Five ladies, who had spent several years in England and had become very English, instead of applauding by the hand or foot, cried out : “Hear, hear !” At this call, a dozen pugs around them began to whine and bark. They had had no food since breakfast, and the hour being three P. M., they were hungry and mistook the English ap- 190 PLU 7 OCRACY. plause “Hear, hear,” for a call to lunch. The Chair rapped for order, the pugs barked, and one much larger than the average, howled as some dogs do at the blowing of a horn, or when “somebody is going to die.” • The meeting was thrown into confusion that threatene irretrievable disaster. And that effect was produced by those that the meeting was called to serve, just like sinners disturb- ing religious service. The big pug being of opinion that a fight was going on, or Ought to go on, began to growl and show his teeth. A half dozen ladies shrieked and screamed and ran to the opposite side of the room, turning over chairs in their flight. The owner of the big pug soon got him under Control, and the noise of rapping and Screaming having ceased, the pugs became civil. The Chair then remarked that the American method of applause was far superior to and much safer in an assembly composed in part of dogs, and especially when the hour had arrived when that portion of the convention was anxiously awaiting an invitation to lunch or dinner; and the Chair hoped that the English plan of crying, “Hear, hear” (whines were heard all over the room, followed by a prolonged “Hush- she-e-e-e-e”) would not be indulged in any more. One member, forgetting that she had her own pug in her arms, moved that the dogs be sent home. This raised a storm of indignation, followed by such remar's as “She’s perfectly horrid ” “She's an ally of the dog pound !” “She knew that would break up the convention l’” The mover of the proposition sobbed, and would have left the room, had not two ladies sitting by her reminded her, if she went, the morning papers would not contain a description of her dress. But she lost caste with the convention ; and the Chair refused, twice, to recognize her when she rose to speak. Miss Cinderella Cinders, supported by Miss Ferrum on the right and Miss O' Le Margarine on the left, advanced to the secretary's desk to recite her poem. As she was one of the most conspicuous figures in that memorable convention called to form a constitution, “which,” as said by one of the speakers, “was to sail down the corridors of Time, sowing the seeds of . disaster right and left, or to affect the weal or woe of millions of pugs yet unborn,” it is due to posterity to describe Miss Cin- derella, Poet Laureate of the convention, more in detail. In form she was tall and willowy, and with the aids of un- limited cash and skillful modistes, who understood padding 7% PUG COMPAEAV77OAV. for and establishing equilibriums, by filling in here and balancing there, she was always presentable. - In type she was blonde, hair of a light flaxen color, teeth sound but irregular, mouth broad and lips thin, nose long and slightly pendent over the upper lip ; eyes small, forehead rather low, neck long and thin, and shoulders more suggestive of a square than of an arch. Her dress was a lavender silk of most costly material. She wore a Gainsborough hat of black plush, and lilac gauntlets that reached half the upper arm. The poem was on satin, small size, one page for each stanza of four lines. The pages were held together by a delicate silver clasp on the left hand side, so the leaves could be turned like those of a book. Miss Cinderella, before rising from her seat, requested her friend, Miss Ferrum, to hold her pug. To avoid any collision between her own and Miss Cinderella's pug, as well as to pre- vent any distraction of the spell she knew the poem would throw over the audience, she faced the pugs outward, or back to back, resting one on each arm. Miss Cinderella, before opening on her audience, kindly ex- plained to them a few of the delicate points or “hits" in the poem, in order that their full force might be seen and appreciated. She requested her hearers not to applaud as each “hit ’’ was made, but to postpone until she finished, as the noise might confuse her thoughts. But she assured them, that any amount of applause would not be disagreeable to her delicate organiza- tion, after she had finished. She further stated that she had adapted her verses to the tune of “The Old Arm Chair,” in order that the convention might adopt the poem as a battle song, like the Marseillaise Hymn, to arouse and enthuse the nation to rally under the banner that day to be unfurled by that convention. Having thus prepared her audience, she cleared her throat with three tiny “hems,” adjusted her bustle, which had settled a little to starboard, and began : “My subject is: “THE ENNOBLING PUG. I. “I love it ! I love it ! the sable mug pug ; I love to—I love to—feel its gentle tug Upon its golden chain, as on Fifth avenue, He and me meander 'neath the azure blue.’ I92 PZ čj7 OCRACY, 2. “I love it ! I love it ! the black muzzle pug, See where it reposes on its satin rug. Its tail tightly curled, its mug between its paws, So sweetly in accordance with all nature’s laws. 3. “We wash it, we comb it, our mud-colored pug, And to our tender bosoms, its dear form we hug, When fleas do assail it, flea powder we apply, With handkerchief of silk we wipe dear puggy's eye. 4. “When our dear beaux call, wearing slouch or plug, How fondly by the hour we talk of our pug ; We guess how long its tail, if it were unfurled, And then its diameter, as it’s standing curled. 5. “I cover him at night, as snug as a bug. I see if he's warm by feeling of his mug. I enjoy his society of an afternoon— But alas ! he strolled out one day all alone. 6. “The cops, they caught him, oh I’m to blame ! He forgot his collar, and could not tell his name. They hurried him away to the cruel pound ; But there the next morning he was not to be found.” Miss Cinderella paused at the end of the last stanza to breathe, (for she read with great animation and a tremulo that evinced deep emotion), and to prepare the convention for what was to follow. She sponged her eyes three or four times with her handkerchief, and remarked : “It has been said that a poet, or orator, is not the best judge of his own production. And, perhaps, I am not ; but I will venture to say, that I regard the last stanza as even more pathetic than any of the others.” The entire convention at once leaned forward a little, drew out their handkerchiefs and held them up ready, while the poet continued : 7. “Poor Puggy Sweet Muggy for that was his name, Back to his home, never ! oh never ! came ! He's drown-ded, he's drown-ded oh weep for Muggy dear ! For, that he’s bait for catfish, I think is very clear.” 7A/E POWG COAV VAEAV77OAV. I93 Before the poet finished the second line of the last stanza, the convention was sobbing, but at the conclusion of the last line, their feelings were beyond control and they wept aloud. Miss Cinders’ emotion was alarming. Several ladies rushed to her with smelling bottles and fans. One supported her head on her lap, another loosened her corset, a third bathed her face, while a fourth held a smelling bottle to the poet's nose. Thus soothingly nursed, the Poet Laureate soon revived. She languidly opened her eyes, turned her head to one side, and as she closed her eyes again, she asked in a half whisper, “Girls, was it a success P’’ “It was simply immense !” “It was perfectly splendid ’’ “It was just gorgeous !” exclaimed a third. But, that expression not being strong enough, she added, “Yes | it was a perfect gorge / '' “If possible, it was grander than the Collapsed Cauliflower . " answered three of her attendants in a breath. After the usual buzz and exclamatory admiration that fol- low any brilliant address, had nearly subsided and the Chair had waited for the grief of the convention to be gotten under con- trol, and for the last one of the members to come forward and congratulate the poet, Miss Ferrum moved “the thanks of the convention be tendered to the poet for her able and touching poem, and that ten thousand copies be printed on satin and bound in alligator skin for the use of the convention.” Where- upon, Miss Wiggles, the young lady who had moved the vote of thanks to the speaker, thinking the convention was about to adjourn, jumped up and moved, “And to the Speaker for the able and impartial manner in which he has presided over this body.” The lady who had attended a woman's rights convention kindly suggested to Miss Wiggles, that the time had not arrived for her resolution of thanks, and she withdrew it. Miss Buckles said she thought alligator skin was too coarse, “it was such a horrid looking thing.” Miss Ferrum replied that it was all the fashion. Miss Banks asked : “Why not say Russia binding 2 It comes from an empire and is so aristocratic " “That's so,” exclaimed twenty or more, and Miss Ferrum, seeing the majority against the alligator and in favor of the empire, agreed to substitute the word Russia The motion was then carried unanimously. I3 I94 § AZ U 7'OCRAC V. The Chair then inquired if there was any other business to be done before adjournment. - Miss O'Le Margarine said there was a constitution, and about a dozen said : “Oh, yes we like to forgot that l” Miss Ferrum then rose and made a brief statement of what she and Miss O'Le Margarine had done in preparing a crude draft of a constitution. “We were told, the United States Constitution is the best ever made. So we went to the Astor Library to see one and we worked on it a whole week. We found a good deal in it we didn’t want in our constitution. So, we left out all that part about the “Two Houses,” and Congress having power to declare war and regulate commerce, and about trial by jury, election colleges, and ‘the have his corpus.’ Is that right, Tabbie P '’ - - “It’s something like that,” answered Miss Tabitha-‘‘ and a heap more. I don't remember. I have got it in my hand for you all to read it.” The Chair requested all members to endeavor to realize the gravity and dignity of the occasion and to give close attention to the reading of the crude draft prepared with so much care and labor by the committee. The secretary then read: “Constitution of the Eclectic Human Society for the Amelior- ation of the condition, health, and welfare of the American Pug. “A7-fºc/e A77-sf. “Sec. 1.—The name of the organization to be organized by this Convention shall be as stated above, to wit: Constitution of the Eclectic Human Society, and so forth. - “Sec. 2.-Paragraph First.—The officers of this society shall be a president, twenty-five vice-presidents, and one secretary.” Miss Buckles moved to omit the president and vice-presi- dents altogether. Miss Ferrum inquired what she meant. Miss Buckles ex- plained by saying, the Convention had already decided not to have a President. The Chair ruled that the motion was out of order, because, in the opinion of the Chair, the Chair could not see how such a motion could possibly be in order. Miss Buck- les rose to explain, but the Chair said the point of order made by the member, Miss Ferrum, was well taken and the question 7A/AE AE ÖG COM jºAV 77OAV. 195 was no longer debatable. The Convention, except Miss Buck- les, nodded right and left to each other, with a smile, their hearty approval of the wisdom of the ruling. The secretary resumed the reading. “Paragraph Second.—The qualifications for membership shall be the ownership by a member, or by her father, or mother, or guardian, or trustee, or some near relation, of a million dollars or property of that value non-taxable ; (U. S. bonds preferred) because the income therefrom is all net ; and, also, the owner- ship in her own right of at least one thoroughbred registered pug—sex immaterial. “Paragraph Third.—The number of members shall be limited to one hundred, until others apply for admission. No pug shall be counted among the one hundred—they being consid- ered honorary members. “Paragraph Fourth.-The admission fee shall be one hundred dollars, one half to go for the benefit of the regular members, and the other half to the benefit of the honorary members. “Paragraph Fifth.-No member shall be allowed to speak more than ten times to any one question, and it shall be the duty of the President to appoint three tally-sheet keepers for every meeting, whose duty shall be to keep tally of the number of times each member speaks to any one question, and when she speaks ten times, the tally-sheet keeper shall hand her a printed card with the words printed thereon, “You are ex- hausted.” This ordinance shall never be violated or suspended, not even by unanimous consent. And should any member vio- late this ordinance by speaking over ten times, the number of violations shall be subtracted from her constitutional ten times at the next meeting. “Paragraph Sixth.”—As the secretary said “Paragraph sixth,” thereby showing that Paragraph fifth was finished, one member said she wanted to know something. The Chair inquired what it was she did not know. The seeker for information said: “I want to understand that part just read. I want to know what it means when it says ‘not speak more than ten times to any one question.’” The Chair kindly explained by saying : “Suppose you are speaking, for instance, and any member should ask you a ques- tion ; you could not answer it more than ten times.” The lady holding the floor remarked: “I object Ten times is not enough.” The Chair observed blandly : “The Chair is of opinion 196 FZ UTOCRACY. that your objection is too late; you ought to have made objec- tion while the secretary was reading, that is, when she pro- nounced the word “question.’” “But Mr. Chair—Mr. President—no Miss Presidentess, how could I object until I knew all about it 7” The Chair replied that the Chair “had made a special request of every member" to give strict attention to the reading of the crude draft of the constitution (which statement by the Chair was corroborated by a dozen voices saying, “That's so,” “I heard her say so myself”), and members should pay attention and not interrupt the proceedings by asking for information. Mem- bers should come here informed already. The paragraph had been adopted by being read through without any objection. I decide that the objection is too late.” The inquiring member, still on her feet, then moved to re- consider the paragraph. “Which way did you vote on that paragraph ** asked the Chair. “I didn't vote at all,” she answered. “Then you can't move to reconsider, because the motion to reconsider must be made by one who has considered. How can you reconsider without having first considered 2 The fact that you did not vote shows you did not give the amount of consideration necessary, according to parliamentary rules, to reconsider.” Another member desiring to help her friend who had not voted, inquired of the Chair if she could make the motion for her friend. The Chair informed her she could, if the motion was not to re-consider ; that as her friend could not move to reconsider, of course nobody else can do it for her. - The friend then asked, if she could not make a motion on her own account. - The Chair inquired how she had voted, “yes” or no.” The inquirer said she voted “no.” The Chair ruled that no member who had voted “ no,” has a right to move to recon- sider, because her vote showed she was opposed to the para- graph and would vote against it again, if she had the opportu- nity, and to that the majority objected. This was received by the majority with murmurs of approba- tion. Another member then said she had voted “yes,” and asked if she could be allowed to make the motion. £HAE PUG COMWVEAV 7/OAV. I97 The Chair ruled, that any member who voted for the para- graph, was prevented from making a motion to reconsider, “because,” said the Chair, “her vote was an admission that she was in favor of the paragraph only a minute ago, and she had no right, under parliamentary rules, to change her mind.” The majority were delighted with the ruling that a “yea” voter could not move to reconsider, but, when the Chair gave the reason, to wit, that no member had a right to change her mind within a minute on any subject, the convention was in- stantly thrown into angry commotion. Thirty members rose at once, and protested against the tyranny of such a rule. The Chair replied that it was so laid down in the Manual. One member said her Pa had a Manual, and she would drive home and get it. She rushed from the room. Another asked the Chair in what sort of annual she saw such a rule. The Chair replied with wounded dignity, “I did not say I saw it in any Annual, I said Manual.” “What Manual, then, was it in P’’ . The Chair replied, that she did not positively remember the name of the man who wrote it, though she was certain it was a Manual, and was in common use all over the United States. The Chair was of the belief that she read it in Poor's Manual. “Well, Mr. President—Presidentess, I mean,” said Miss Ferrum very much excited, her Gainsborough hanging by the strings around her neck, and resting on the back of her head, “such a rule is against nature and practice, and I am in favor of setting it aside. I am in favor of the decision you make, but I don't like your reason.” This was received with applause all over the room. But, before anything could be done, the member who went for her Pa's Manual returned, red in the face and almost breathless. She walked rapidly up to the secretary's desk saying : “Here it is, I’ve got it !” “What, the rule 2" asked a member. “No, the Manual,” replied the red-faced member. “Hand it to the President and let her find the rule.” “Whose Manual is it 2 ” asked the Chair of the red-faced lady. She looked at the back then for the first time, and read aloud, “It is Poor's Manual on Railroads.” “That is the Manual, I believe,” said the Chair. She opened it and began to search for the rule. The convention sat in almost perfect silence, for at least 198 - AZU 7 OCRACY. ten seconds, looking intently at the Chair, as the Chair uncon- sciously read in a low, but audible tone : “Pennsylvania— funded debt, one hundred and seventy-five million dollars.” “Who is that worth one hundred and seventy-five million dollars 2,” asked several members in chorus. “Nobody,” replied the Chair, “it is a part of the debt of the Pennsylvania Railroad. “Original stock, two millions. Amount of watered stock, two hundred millions. “New York Central—President Vanderbilt ; original stock, one million ; watered stock, one hundred and ninety millions; dividend, six per cent. “Erie—No. shares, unknown. Supposed to be ten million shares. Value, none. Pacific Railroads—debt two hundred millions.” The Chair, after about fifteen minutes’ examination of Poor's Manual, concluded the rule was not laid down in it and that she must have seen it elsewhere. The Chair then said : “I can't find the rule in this Manual about voting ‘yes,' but I know I’m right about the rule on voting ‘no,” because I remember reading the proceedings of at least a dozen boards of directors of railroads, in which the papers stated distinctly, that when some of the directors voted ‘no’ on some scheme or steal the majority wanted to carry out, the majority not only would not allow any reconsideration, but they turned every director out who voted ‘no,’ and elected men who agreed to vote ‘yes.’” This statement alarmed those who had voted “no,” and quieted all further attempt to reconsider. The secretary resumed : “Paragraph Seventh.-Whenever any member, or her father, or mother, or guardian, or trustee shall fail in business, or be worth less than a million, or shall keep, buy, nurse, or send out to board, any Skyes, black-and-tan, bull, greyhound, cur, or any other kind of dog except a pug, she shall resign from this society, or shall be expelled.” Miss O’Le Margarine objected to the words “fail in busi- ness.” She said : “My father failed six times and I’m sure he wasn't any poorer for it. That's no sign of poverty. My father says it’s a sign of good management.” Forty other members indorsed this view. Their fathers had 7A/E AE UG COMW WAZAV 7"ZOAV. f I99 failed from two to ten times, and they just knew their fathers were better off by it. On this overwhelming evidence, based on actual experience of so many members, the words “fail in business,” were so indignantly rejected by the convention that Miss Ferrum felt it necessary to make an apology for their insertion. She said she could not imagine how such offensive words ever got into the constitution, unless it was done by the stupid young man she paid to write a plain and exact copy of her crude draft of the constitution. This humble apology, after some hesita- tion, being received, the secretary continued : “Paragraph Eighth.-The regulation uniform or dress of the pug shall be a silver collar, with Yale lock and gold key, blue silk ribbon, and coat made of velvet, lined with scarlet flannel, for winter; pink velvet, lined with lilac silk, for spring ; and drab velvet, lined with pink silk, for fall.” This was agreed to without dissent. “Paragraph Ninth.-During absence from city, at Saratoga, Newport, Long Branch, or on a visit to any of the nobility of England or of Europe, no member shall board or lodge her pug at any but a first-class pug-hotel : the object of this par- agraph being to maintain the aristocracy of the pug family.” This paragraph was received with Open applause, as it car- ried the implication that some of the convention might pos- sibly be admitted some day to the presence of the nobility of the Old World. “Paragraph Tenth.-No member shall ever, at any time, give her pug permission, directly or indirectly, to promenade on Fifth avenue, or elsewhere, with any other member of the canine species, however respectable or aristocratic its relation by consanguinity or affinity.” No objection being heard, the Chair declared the para- graph adopted. “Paragraph Eleventh.-On the death of any member of the society, all the other members shall attend the funeral, dressed in full mourning, except their noses, which, being black already, need not be dressed. As this is necessary to maintain the aris- tocracy of the society, any member who fails to attend in full mourning dress (noses only excepted), shall be expelled. “Paragraph Twelfth.-Every member shall write in a plain hand, the name and pedigree of her pug, and hand them to the secretary to be read and then recorded in a book of Pug Heraldry, in order that posterity may know their ancestors.” 2OO AZ U 7'OCRACY. Miss Buckles said, as there were fifty pugs present, besides the other members of the convention, and as the pedigree of her pug covered ten closely printed pages in their family his- tory; and she supposed every other pug had a pedigree as long; in fact, she said, as her pug was much younger than the other pugs she saw around her, it being but a pup, its pedigree must be much shorter than that of the older pugs ; and as hers was ten pages, theirs must be a great deal longer; and even suppos- ing they were no longer—why—all put together would be fifty times ten, which would be ten times fifty pages, which would be—would be—a great many, she hadn't time to figure it up. “Five hundred,” suggested the Chair, who had been figuring on the probable number. “Yes, very near that, if not more,” continued Miss Buckles, “ and you see at once, we can’t read all the pedigrees unless all the members are allowed to read their own pedigrees at the same time.” That suggestion was objected to by several members on the ground that some members had louder voices than others and the weak voices could not be heard distinctly, which was con- sidered to be fatal to the suggestion ; “it would not do at all.” It was finally agreed that each member should then and there hand to the secretary the name of her pug, and should within a week deliver the pedigree to the secretary. Each member at once handed to the secretary the visiting card of her pug, with its name neatly printed thereon. The secretary read each name aloud and then passed the card up to the Chair for inspection. “Duke of Wellington ; Duke of Marlborough ; Prince of Wales; Duchess of Richmond ; Princess Beatrice ; Lord Salis- bury; Prince of Wales; Earl Shaftesbury; Lord Dilke ; Queen Victoria; Prince of Wales; Earl Rutland ; Duke of Argyle ; Prince of Wales; Prince of Wails; Prince of Whales; Prince of Wales; Duke of Sutherland ; Lord Churchill ; Princess Louise ; King Calico; Queen Kapiolani; King William ; Prince Bismark ; Crown Prince ; The Zar; Emperor Joseph ; Fmpress Ugenier; Count Blowsoftly ; The Zarena ; Duke Sawmelegzoff; Prince of Wales; Prince of Wails; Lord Dilke ; Lord Dilke ; Duchess of Cinders; Duke of Reckers; Lord of Dux ; Earl Ferrum ; Duchess of O’Le Margarine ; Count Buckles; Lady Forlorn ; Countess Lagér; Gladstone ; Par- nell ; Jno. Sullivan ; Buffalo Bill ; Princess Lorn; Napoleon Third ; General Moltky. 7TP/AE AEUG COMW VAZAV 7/OAV. 2O I While these names were being read there was great excitement among the pugs. As each one heard its name, imagining it was called to dinner, it turned towards the reader, whined and tried to break away from its owner. This produced great activity among the pugs and confusion in the convention. Their empty stomachs caused them (the pugs) to lose sight of the decorum becoming the dignity of the convention, and they were wriggling and twisting to get to their accustomed silver plates and dainties. The last pug, called “Gen. Moltky" (intended for the Ger- man general), was the large pug already spoken of. It had I-4 degree of Irish bull, and was very pugnacious. Napoleon Third sat next to Gen. Von Moltke, and as the former's name was called he sprang from his owner's arms. As he descended, he struck against the gold chain around General Moltke's neck. That jerked the General to the floor and he fell on Emperor Napoleon. The General, feeling that an indignity had been offered to him by the violent wrench of his neck, and being already in a very bad humor by having had to wait so long for the announcement of dinner, no sooner fell on the back of Napoleon than he grabbed the unsuspecting Emperor by the throat. The fight was on in an instant. Terror seized every mem- ber of the convention. Some ran—some jumped up in their chairs—the secretary mounted the table—the president mount- ed the desk behind the secretary's table—every member of the convention employing both hands to hold up her dress from half knee to knee high and screaming at the top of her voice. As they ran or jumped on the chairs, tables or desks, and drew up their dresses, they, of course, dropped the pugs and the chains. In a quarter minute, thirty or more pugs were piled up in one heap, Snapping, biting and fighting. It happened that at that hour a half-dozen “swells " about town were dining in an adjoining room, unconscious of the near- ness of the convention, as the communicating door had been kept closed by order of the proprietor. They were jubilant, full of “the rosy,” and ready for any entertainment. As the members began to fly from the horrible tragedy being enacted on the floor of the convention, they sought safety wherever it was to be found. Some fled to the avenue, some to Broadway. A dozen or more, seeing the door leading to the adjoining room, rushed in, Screaming and holding up their dresses as described above. 2O2 - AZ U 7'OCRACY. The swells, who were regular diners at Delmonico's, spent lavishly and had enriched his exchequer immensely, instantly conceived the thought that their host, gratified by their liberal patronage, had arranged to surprise them by the sudden intro- duction, at the close of their feast, of a ballet troupe. As in duty bound by respect for their host and gratitude for his consideration, they faced about towards the supposed dancers, and remained silent. - The members of the convention, each one imagining she was being or would be devoured by the pugs, continued to scream, wholly unconscious of the presence of any one else. Three mounted a dinner table, while three fell on each other's necks and continued to wail and cry. The spectators, as they supposed themselves to be, brought their critical judgment to bear on the performance. They heard, with deep interest and much bewilderment, voices on different keys which they mistook for alto, mezzo-soprano and soprano, in chorus. The words were: “Qh ! my poor darling Count ” “Oh my Prince—my precious Prince.” “He’s dead | He's dead I know he's dead.” “My dearest Duke . The demons are choking him to death.” . - One swell remarked : “We were wrong. They are not bal- let girls. It's an opera troupe.” - - ‘Yes | and by Jove, they are singing one of Wagner's operas.” gº - “Damn poor music, but a devil of a noise,” said swell No. tWO. “Oh this is only the chorus practice,” said No. three. “Nonsense, man Don't you know better than that 2 Don't you hear them singing ‘The Prince is dead,’ ‘The Duke is dying ' ' This is the murder scene in the play. They are princesses and duchesses, or in love with princes and dukes, and the devil is to pay in the family.” “Yes, you are right,” responded No. two. “Look look 1 at the statue scene on the table ! One with red hose, another with blue, the third with white Red, white, and blue ! The American flag flying—let's applaud ” At that, they began to rap with empty bottles on the table. That aroused the tragediennes who, seeing the men, fled wildly out, while the swells shouted “Come back. Join us, in a bottle of wine !” . 7%. A UG COMW ſyā Ā777OAV. - 203 As the door was opened by the flying princesses and duche esses, horrible sounds rolled back on the ears of the swells. They went to the convention room to see what was the row. The dogs were still fighting. The room was full of men in citizen's dress, and waiters in spike-tail coats and white gloves, Swearing and pulling at the dogs. A fireman was entering the room, nozzle in hand. A fire engine was puffing away at the Fifth avenue door. Gainsborough hats, fans, gloves, bustles, lace handkerchiefs, shawls, were strewn wildly over the floor. The fireman rushed at the pile of dogs and turning the cock of the nozzle, let fly a stream of water that knocked the dukes and princes and counts about the floor as if they had been struck by a catapult. Some of the dukes and princesses were dead. Some of them were dying. A half dozen Princes of Wales were so far gone as to resign all hope of succeeding to the throne, or of ever seeing again their satin rugs and silver platters. The elegant lunch ordered by Miss Ferrum for the conven- tion remained untouched. The convention was dissolved— had been prorogued by the warrior dukes. The Presidentess had fled, leaving her Manual of Railroads behind her. The secretary lost the crude draft of the constitution. The roll of the peerage of pugs and the promised pages of pedigrees were never handed in. The only living issue of the convention was a suit by Del- monico against Mr. Ferrum for the value of the unconsumed viands ordered by his daughter, and for damages sustained by furniture broken, carpet spoiled, and ceiling of the room below destroyed by the flood of water turned on the belligerent princes, dukes, and Counts. To which suit Mr. Ferrum filed the plea : that his daughter was a minor ; that a parent is not liable for any supplies sold to a minor except the necessaries of life ; that food and wine enough for the fifty stomachs of fifty women and fifty hungry pug dogs was more than his daughter had eaten for lunch at one time, so far as his observation extended, and he prayed that the complainant be held to strict proof of the necessity for that much food for his minor child at one meal ; that he despised dogs in general, and had a contempt for pugs in par- ticular; that the damage to furniture, carpet, and ceiling was not his act, but was, as he alleged and was ready to verify, caused by the pugnacity of one General Moltke, who made war on Napoleon the Third ; that the use of water was wholly 204 Pzvzocracy. ill-advised in such a struggle, as neither of them cared for water ; that the firemen could have seized General Moltke by his hind legs and have beaten the brains out of the aforesaid Napoleon the Third and all the princes and counts engaged in that disgraceful and discourteous fight in the presence of So many ladies, CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD. MISS EUCLID AND MISS LOVELACE.--THE VISIT. THE season of Lent was near and, as is the custom everys where with the good people who observe that term of humilia- tion, repentance and denial, gayety crowded on the heels of gayety as rapidly as flesh and blood could bear the chase. The custom of gayety may be founded in wisdom. It may be a necessity to mankind. It has come down to us as a part of the unwritten law, that all who agree to be strictly devout for forty days, reserve the privilege to be devoutly gay for forty nights, or any other period that terminates at Ash Wednesday. They employ that time like those who lay in a bountiful supply of provisions and water, on the eve of a journey over a desert ; or as Joseph used the seven years of fullness to lay up corn for the seven years of famine. At the date referred to above, Washington City was all agog. Mrs. Secretary Nonavie had kindly consented to gratify So- ciety by giving a ball. It was only necessary for Mrs. Nonavie to move, for Society to be moved. Mrs. Secretary carried So- ciety along with her. She also carried the Secretary. In fact, to be terse, intensive and condensive, Mrs. Secretary Nonavie was Society itself ; and as Mrs. Secretary was in favor of the ball, Society intensely and unanimously sustained her. It must be stated, however, that this unanimous support was prior to the date when Mrs. Secretary armed her two young friends (Miss Hattie Holiday and Miss Foracres, daugh- ter of Senator Foracres) with a huge portmanteau and a small silver waiter, and commissioned them to go forth in her lan- dau to fill many hearts with joy and many more with envy and spite. The unanimous support of Mrs. Secretary by Society, was like the unanimous support of a candidate for a high office, by those who expect an office in return. If the candi- date after election cannot fill one office with fifteen applicants, the unanimity is reversed in the ratio of fourteen to one, with the one sometimes doubtful. It was very clear to any architect, mechanic and even child that had learned in School the impossibility of putting an aver- 206 AAE O/7'OCRACY. age-sized elephant into a pint cup, that the dwelling of Mrs. Secretary Nonavie could not hold the city of Washington. But, as it held the head of Society personified in Mrs. Secre- tary, the members of Society would not hear to it for a mo- ment, that the Secretary's immense mansion could not and should not receive and Comfortably accommodate every mem- ber. When the portmanteau was emptied and turned mouth down and hammered on the bottom to make sure that the last invitation had done its work of joy and misery, the election returns that, a day before, were unanimous for Mrs. Secretary Nonavie, were revised and showed an overwhelming, not to say indignant, majority against her. Of course, the millionaires were placed in the portmanteau, as it was to be a Diamond Ball. But it must not be supposed that only those in the Capital were to be there. Invitations by mail sped to Baltimore, to Philadelphia and New York city. Indeed, a few rural cousins who, though poor, were considered right decent, respectable sort of people, were favored ; not to mention the daughters of a very select number of country neighbors who, though very backward in the primer of Society, were known to be well up in the primaries of politics. The last-named, Society, as a special favor, permitted Secretary Nonavie to invite for certain reasons too well understood by him to make it necessary to state them in the letters of invita- tion. Among the favored few in and of Gotham were Mr. and Mrs. Recker and their son Richard, Mr. and Mrs. O' Le Mar- garine and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Ferrum, Mr. and Mrs. Haslet, Mr. and Mrs. Bullock, Mr. and Mrs. Skinner, Mr. and Mrs. De Stilling, Mr. and Mrs. Lagér and daughter, Susie, Mr. and Mrs. Smiling and daughter, Mary, Mr. and Mrs. Cinders and daugh- ter, Cinderella, Mr. and Mrs. Shoddy, and Mr. Thomas Shoddy, Mr. and Mrs. Petroleum and two daughters, Olive and Olea ; the Misses Buckles, Mr. and Mrs. Weaver and son John. From the City of Brotherly Love, Mr. and Mrs. Lacka- wanna and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Pipeline and son, Mr. and Mrs. Amboy and eldest daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Collier. There was one young lady invited, then residing in Wash- ington, who was neither of the family of Dives nor Lazarus; but she possessed in her own right what money could not buy, nor society dispense with. Mrs. Secretary had met her, and was charmed by her grace of manner, strong intellect, self poise, beauty and wit. Mrs. Secretary had led Society long MISS EUCLID AAWD MISS ZO VAEZACE.- THE VIS/7. 207 enough to know its caliber and to appreciate the advantage of reinforcing it with borrowed accomplishments. As royalty can never have the pleasure of genius in its own ranks, and must court it in the ranks below and acknowledge its own infe- riority by requesting genius to assist it in rising to the level of delight where genius has its home, so Mrs. Secretary realized that a congregation of millionaires would be a stupid affair without the light of a few such minds as that of Miss Portia Lovelace. - Miss Lovelace had been in Vassar College with Pythagorea Euclid. They were classmates there and devoted friends. They were bound together not only by the sympathy of sex, but by spiritual sympathy and intellectual appreciation, and girlhood love. Both were generous, charitable and unselfish. They had kept up a correspondence after leaving Vassar. They exchanged thoughts, fancies, views of life, as its vista opened to them, described amusing incidents and experiences, and, in short, did as nearly all School-girls do after separation. How natural it was for Miss Lovelace to wish for the com- pany of her sensible, cheery, spontaneous friend. The invita- tion that included Miss Lovelace would cover her friend as it was to “Mr. Thomasson and ladies.” Besides, Mrs. Secretary had assured Miss Lovelace that she, Mrs. Secretary, would be extremely delighted if she, Miss Lovelace, would only do her, Mrs. Secretary, the very great favor to look around for another brilliant young lady—just like herself—if it were possible to produce her equal—and bring her right along to the ball, as she, Mrs. Secretary, wanted wit as well as wealth to adorn her saloon on that ever-to-be-remembered night. Miss Portia's eyes sparkled and her tongue rattled when she told her aunt, Mrs. Thomasson, of her intention to write for her friend. “Yes, aunt Just think of it ! won't I have a lovely time when I get Py. here—just think of it ! We'll have more fun than a whole carnival. Just wait and see | You don't know Py. You have heard me talk about her so much, you think I am crazy about her, but I have not told you half. I want you to see her when she enters that ballroom and see what a sensa- tion she will make ; and I just wish to be by when some of those army and navy Squirts, or mashers, begin to give her taffy. It will be better than a circus, it will. Why, if she is in the humor, she'll beat their brains out with a stack of logarithms, or a pile of cube-roots, or rhomboids, or an armful of parallelopipedons!” 208 AZ U 7'OCRACY. “What on earth are you talking about, Portia 2 What do you mean 2 ” exclaimed her aunt. . “I mean that Py, is the best mathematician for a woman I ever saw, and her wit is equal to her learning, and when she turns on one of those mashers, he will wish his father had been killed early in the war.” “Why Portia, what an idea . A young man to wish hi father had been killed in the war !” - “Oh That is only a way of saying he would wish he had never been born. - “I am going to my room and write Py. by the first mail.” Miss Lovelace did as she said. She soon returned to the sitting-room and asked her aunt to hear what she had written : “My DARLING Py. : “I have such good news to tell you. I have so often wished for something to come to pass to bring us together once more, so we could have an old time chat—no, not chat, but a long talk. I have so much to tell you that I have been storing it all up, as bees store honey in the comb—and all for you. You are so appreciative, it is a double pleasure to tell you anything. But—nonsense—this is not the good news I set out to tell you— “Mr. and Mrs. Secretary—no, that is not right—Mrs. and Mr. Secretary Nonavie (for she comes first, always) will give a grand ball on the day before Ash Wednesday—and she called especially to say, she wishes me to invite a young lady friend. I promised her I would, and I am writing to you just as soon as I could get pen and paper. “Now, dear Py, don't you sit down, and like certain others, who were invited to a supper, begin to make excuses. You have no oxen to plow with, no new husband to break in—and I will accept no excuse, I don't care what it may be—except death or sickness—and I know you are not dead, and you never get sick. So bundle up and come right along. --- “We will have a jollier time than we ever had at Vassar. In fact we will “break our record '—anybody's record at Vas- sar, for fun, “on that glorious night” (sensation), “when music will rise with its voluptuous swell' (applause), ‘and bright coal gas' (flattened out) ‘will shine o'er fair women' (you and me) ‘and army and navy mashers. That's eloquence not only bor- rowed but spent / * “Now mind what I say ! Please come, I will not love you MISS EöCLID AND MISS ZO WEZACE.— 7 AE WIS/7. 269 a bit if you don't. I will meet you at the depot any day you say you will be there, and I want you to come a week before, if you possibly can. “Write by return mail and be sure to say you will come, and make happy your loving and devoted PORTIA. “P. S. —I don't intend to be a woman and write a long post- Script. I only wish to say that my aunt and uncle join me heartily in this invitation and appeal. If you don’t come I'll never forgive you—never /* The letter was received the next morning by Miss Euclid. It smote on her heart, in its solitude, like the rod of Moses on the rock in the wilderness, and a flood of sweet memories rushed out. During the few weeks of her sojourn in Gotham, she had been almost companionless—Mrs. Clinkers was not company for her. Mrs. Clinkers followed Mr. Clinkers, Mr. Clinkers followed the market, and the market kept moving. Tobe was about the only human being with whom she held daily conversation, and he was only an object of pity and care. Never before had she imagined the force of Byron's descrip- tion of solitude. Her mental resources were inexhaustible, it is true, but even excursionists among the stars grow weary and lonesome unless they can, now and then, meet a stray angel, to inquire the way, or swap a few remarks about the weather. Miss Euclid was delighted at the prospect so suddenly opened. She longed for a season—a day—an hour—out of Cathay—but only for recreation. She was not bent from her purpose to stay in Gotham to study society in the broadest sense—and not society as represented by butterflies with all their brilliancy on their backs, that flutter and flit from house to house, from theater to opera, from opera to ball, from ball to banquet—from banquet to——God knows where. But with a desire to go, came a vivid image of Flora McFlimsy, which was followed immediately by a vision of her maternal ancestor in the direct line—Cinderella, the original proprietress and grantee of that old barony, which has been inherited by so many millions of her descendants—the ash bank in the chimney corner. - Pythagorea Euclid at a ball 2 why “she had nothing to wear.” The Good Fairy did not reside in her neighborhood, nor, so far as Miss Euclid knew, had she ever visited it. If she I4 2ro - PzazzockAcy. had, she moved in and out of the stock, produce, cotton, min- ing, and oil exchanges, blessing some and blighting others. Miss Euclid, after calmly reviewing the situation, decided to write and decline the invitation, though it grieved her to say no to any request of her devoted friend. She therefore wrote promptly : “DEAREST PORT.: Your most welcome letter, of date yester- day, I have received, and I have deliberated tearfully on its Contents. To see you, to be with you, kiss you, hear you speak would be happiness enough for me. The ball would certainly be a relief. It would relax the bow and, may be, preserve its spring for future use, but the attraction is my dear Portia. “But, my dearest friend, as we have always been frank and confiding, I must be so now. I am not arrayed like Solomon, much less like those who surpassed him in all his glory, and I do not consider myself ‘presentable at Court.” “A ball requires fine feathers and educated feet, nothing more. It is one of the rare occasions in human life, when man or woman wins applause by education of the heels and not of the head. It is true, that I could wabble through the mazes without “demerit marks,' even among those who “dance divinely,' but pray ! who, at a grand ball, would wish to caper with a maid in calico, unless she were suspected to be a princess in disguise 2 - “Present my distinguished respects to Mrs. Secretary and assure her that she can be honored by my divine presence, if she will convert the dress ball into a costume masquerade, so I can appear as nurse to the children of the old woman who lived in a shoe. Should she decline my condescending sug- gestion, made solely for her benefit, please remind her that ‘the wind is in the east,’ and she will understand, or you can explain, that rheumatism and Terpsichore, like ac, the unknown quantity, are always in opposition. “My dearest friend, do not think unkindly of me for not going in response to your request, which, under conditions subject to my control, would be law unto me, You know how dearly I love you, and how happy I have always been in, and made by, your presence. I assure you it has brought tears to my eyes to write this letter, and I beg you to accept them as witnesses of my devotion to you. “Please make known to your aunt and uncle my gratitude A/ZSS A, UC///D A AV/D AM/SS / O VAZZA CAE. – 7"AIAE VIS/7". 2 II for their kind courtesy which, as they and I are strangers, is due, of course, to the love you bear me. - “The old subject, over which you and I so often labored in our rambles and evening chats at Vassar, comes up before me, is ‘called back,' by my situation. “Why is it, in this so-called land of freedom, where every one is equal before the law, that the few are allowed to oppress the many “according to law £ ' Why is it, that the many who are able to make the law, do not rise and make it, and stop this oppression ? Why is it, that the few own nearly all, and the many nearly nothing 2 Why is it, that dotards, dullards own hundreds of millions, and I have not a decent dress 2 I am still studying that question, and I am here for that purpose. You see why it confronts me, in more repulsive form, just at this moment; for my inability to go to you is a sort of corollary to that problem. - “With unabated love – Your PY.” It may be taken as granted that this reply of dearest Py. was wholly unsatisfactory to dearest Port. A little ludicrous it sounds to hear two intellectual women address each other as “Py.” and “Port.” But, how formal and stiff would have been “Pythagorea " and “Portia " on the lips of two women who loved each other as only an unselfish, intellectual, sensitive woman can love. That would have been as ludicrous to them, as it would have been in court circles for those venerated dig- nitaries, George Washington and John Adams, to have called each other Georgie and Johnnie. . No, Miss Portia was not content, nor was she baffled. On receipt of Miss Euclid's letter, she said nothing of its contents to her aunt—lest the latter might discourage any further effort to secure Miss Euclid's presence. She wrote again by return mail : “DEAREST PY.: Your letter is received. Did you not know, when you were penning that “lame and impotent conclusion,' that I would not accept it as sound P Did you really imagine that I would permit you to take shelter in Flora McFlimsy's wardrobe, or to sit in the chimney corner 2 - “Now, I will tell you a secret. The Good Fairy is over here, and she sends word that if you will come, you shall have every appliance necessary to attend the Ball in grand style. The richest attire, the pumpkin and mice all will be at your service. 2I 2 r AZ U 7'OCAEAC V. The adorable ‘ Prince will not be at the Ball, nor will the glass slippers, but there will be a substitute in a real, live, flesh- and-blood Italian Count. He is the lion of Washington just now. Every girl is dressing herself before the mirror of his languid eyes. If they look “lovely in his eyes, all is well. His name and title hinged, together are Count Lazzarone, with ever so much more that I don’t remember. I don’t go on the Street—to say nothing of visiting, or to church, or to a social gathering—that I do not hear everywhere—from every girl's tongue : - “‘Aave you met the count 2 Zsn't he just charming 2–oh!’ (with hands palm to palm, head erect, eyes rolling heaven- ward), “he is so handsome ! I could gaze on the darling creature from morn till night and never get weary or hungry Indeed I could ' ' Hear another : “‘Yes | Ma says, she has called on the Italian Minister and inquired into the count's family and circumstances, and he's all right, that is, the Minister does not know the Lazzarone family personally, but he knows that they are a big family in Italy, and that's enough. About the standing of his family, he —(I mean the Minister) assured Ma, they do more standing than any other family in Italy—if not all Europe. How funny these foreigners do talk when they try to speak English. Ma can't talk Italian and he had to talk English. Think of his saying the Great Lazzarone family “do” more standing, for /haze more standing.’ “Can't you see from this little specimen brick what fun is in store for us? So come—yes—come quickly. I will be at the depot to meet you on the Limited Express Friday at four o'clock P.M. With love, your devoted PORTIA. “P. S. I forgot to say that the “Ma’ spoken of above stated, that the Italian Minister told her, she was the twentieth “Ma’ who had called, or written confidentially, to learn “the standing or circumstances of the count.' He said it was remarkable that not one of the mammas inquired about his character, or habits, or whether a bachelor or benedict, except herself. One of the mammas asked the Minister, ‘what is the coat on the arms’ of the Lazzarone family P’ and he told her it is ‘sans culottes.’ The mamma was greatly delighted, and she went straight home and called her daughter into her bedchamber, shut the door, and then told her that she (the mother) always said, that Providence did not give the family all this immense wealth for nothing, and now she knew it; that she (the mother) M/SS EUCLID AAWD MISS LOVELACE.-7 HE VISIT. 2 13 was now convinced that she would be the grandmother of a real count ; and when her daughter asked what she meant, she explained that their family “Coat on the arms ' was sans rang, and, strange to say, the coat on the arms of the Great Lazzarone family was ‘sans Culotte,’ and she just felt that Providence had intended that the count and her daughter should marry. - |PORT.’’ Miss Euclid debated awhile, after reading the above appeal. She saw at once that her dear friend, Port. was the Good Fairy, and she hesitated. “Shall I go and attend a ball in borrowed plumage 2 But, who will know it except Port. and, may be, her aunt P Besides, do not the rich borrow for state occasions 2 Some borrow, or hire, jewels, gems, silver plate, china, even clothes, and worse still, ideas, thoughts, with which they ‘cram,” themselves, to say something bright—to get off Öon moſs. Why should I decline one of these, only a dress—when I will be in the direct line of my pursuit here, which is to study mankind —to see Society P I'll ask Mrs. Clinkers for a week's absence and go.” All went well. “Certainly, child,” said good, simple Mrs. Clinkers. “I’ll take care of things till you come back.” Miss Euclid went to her room “to pack ’’ her scanty cloth- ing. Tobe, who watched every movement of his good friend, as closely as if he were a bailiff and she a convicted burglar in his charge, followed her, as soon as he had lost sight of an organ grinder, with a monkey in red, around the corner of the Street. As Tobe arrived at the door of his friend's room, and saw her trussing her wearing apparel in her small trunk, his heart jumped so violently, he nearly fell ; and the little color in his naturally pale, wan face disappeared. He staggered into the room, and as soon as he could speak, he said : “Oh, Miss Vassar ! you ain't going to leave me, is you ? What'll I do widout you ?” “Don’t be worried, Tobe. I am not going away to stay— only for a few days, my boy. I am not going far.” “I’m so glad ' when I see you packing your clothes, Miss Vassar, my heart nearly jumped out of my mouf. You certain you come back 2" “Yes, Tobe, I will not be gone long. You must study hard while I am away. I will give you lessons to learn.” 214 -- PLUTOCRACY. “I’ll try, but I’ll be thinking about you all the time. I don't spec I learn much. Won't you take me 'long with you ? I don't want to stay where you ain't.” “No, Tobe,” Miss Euclid, touched deeply by Tobe's devo- tion, gently replied, “I can't take you, I would if I could. You must put your mind on your books and show your love for me by doing what I tell you to do.” “I’ll try. If you don’t come back here, I just feel like I’d die. Enything gone wrong P’’ “No Do you think that I am hiding something from you, TObe P’’ “No’m. You wouldn't hurt a buggerler's feelings if he was breaking in your house, and I jus’ thought you might be going for good, and didn’t want to hurt my feelins, and wanted me to fine it out easy like.” - “Don’t be uneasy, Tobe. I tell you I'm coming back within a week.” “All right. I'm so glad. I’ll study, Miss Vassar. Where you goin’?” - “To Washington,” she answered. “Father of his Country ! Fust in peace, next in war, and last in the hearts—” “No 1 no l you rhomboid ; that's not the way I taught you! Say “First in peace, first in war, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.’” “I’member now. That's the way you taught me—but arter- wards I tried to say it, and I got ter thinking 'bout it, and seemed like he couldn’t be first in all them places at one time; I know I couldn't, I tried it. - I put three cheers all in a row and I got first in one, next in tºother, and last in the last one. That's the way I fixed Mister Washington. I set on one cheer for peace, one for war, and the last for hearts.” This was too much for the teacher, and Miss Euclid laughed until Tobe caught her merry mood and chuckled aloud. : “I am not going to see Mister or General Washington, Tobe, but going to the city named Washington.” “Yes'm ; I see; capital of Mister Washington's country, you said, did'n you ?” -- “No capital of the whole country—the United States. But I will tell you about it, Tobe, when I return. I start to- morrow morning. Now, you run to the livery stable—you re- member where I pointed it out to you ?” - “Yes'm.” - dr M/SS EUCZZD AND MASS ZO VEZACE.— 7A/E V/S/7. 215 “Well—you go there and carry this card. It is for a hack to be sent here at eight o'clock to-morrow morning.” Early next morning Tobe rapped on the door where dwelt his dearest friend and asked what he could do for her. Noth- ing, she would be out soon. Tobe slipped out and ran to the stable to see that the carriage would be on hand. His heart was heavy, but it was grateful and he was bound to do all in his power for his benefactress. Breakfast done—the hack at the door—the little trunk end up on the driver's seat—and Mrs. Clinkers, Tobe and the cook awaiting to godspeed the traveler. She bid all good-bye—Tobe put his little thin hand in hers, but he could not speak. His eyes filled, and he wiped them with his sleeve ; Miss Euclid's eyes suddenly glistened with moisture as they were raised from the face of her pitiable pupil——and she turned quickly, stepped into the carriage, waved her handkerchief, and the rumble of the wheels soon died away. Seven hours after, the Limited Express rolled under the shed at Sixth street depot, Washington. As Miss Euclid stepped to the platform her friend Portia exclaimed—“Why Py. ” and was answered promptly with “My dear Port ’’—and they clasped and kissed again and again——Oblivious of the pres- ence or existence of any other mortal. Not so with the pas- sengers just leaving the train. The enthusiastic and loving greeting of two such women and the words “Py. ” and “Port.” arrested attention. The natty, nobby, Spruce young man of thirty, with a Glad- Stone bag in his left hand, who had been ogling Miss Euclid on the train, looking over the top of a newspaper he used as a screen, stopped dead short. “He had no idea he had been Ogling a pie.” Another traveler ventured to suggest that “if so it was certainly a mince pie, of the highest art of the maker.” Another thought ‘the Port ’ was of the choicest fruit.” Another said he “liked nothing better than pie with good Ort.” p By the time these good-natured, innocent remarks were finished, the subjects of them had moved away, chatting mer- rily arm-in-arm, attracting by their grace and dignified deport- ment after the first Salutation, the eyes of all around them, and especially of the Ogling fellow traveler. He was curious to know who the remarkable looking woman called Py, was, and what the name could represent. 216 Ab/. WTOCRACY. The young ladies were soon at the carriage and Miss Love- lace at once said, “Well, here is your pumpkin, Py!” “You don't mean that, Port. I’ll report you if you do the like of that again.” - “You must remember, you are a fresh import into Washing- ton, and I intend to lay a heavy duty on you.” “Very well, just lay your duty ad valorem on my worldly goods and I can stand it.” “Won't you claim a drawback 2 ” “‘No, but I will need a pullback ’ for the ball. Did you notice a man with a big Gladstone bag standing near us under the car shed 2 ” “Yes, what about him P” “Nothing, except a great degree of impudence. He seemed to be impressed with the notion that he was put aboard the train to watch me lest I might commit suicide.” “Why, what do you mean P’’ asked her friend, in amaze- ment, “I caught him, at least fifty times, eyeing me over a paper he pretended to be reading, in that impudent, vulgar manner so common with our people on our public highways.” “How do you know—he may be in love at first sight.” “If so, when he gets his second sight, he'll know more. I'll disenchant him.” “Here's our little home—and your home, Py.—as long as you will bless us with your presence.” Out of the carriage, into the house, a hearty welcome by Mrs. Thomasson, and Miss Euclid is at home. The next three days—Sunday excepted, were spent in preparation for the great event of the season in Washington society—Mrs. Secretary Nonavie's ball. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH. SOCIETY IN A NEW RôLE. WHILE the correspondence given in the last chapter was going. on between the two friends, Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace, other letters on the same subject were passing to and from Wash- ington and New York city. When Mrs. Ferrum received the invitation to the ball, she at once ordered her carriage and called on a few of her millionaire friends to make known the honor, and her felicity. The first she selected to make miserable, was her dear friend, Mrs. Lagér. “I only called for a moment in passing, to say how glad I am to have your company to Washington. You will go, of course ? " “Go to Washington 2 What for 2 " asked Mrs. Lagér in perplexity. “To the Ball ! Haven't you received an invitation ? Mine came this morning, and I supposed yours had come also,” said Mrs. Ferrum, doubly happy as she discovered that Mrs. Lagér was not among the elect. “No 1" replied Mrs. Lagér crustily, “we have not been in- vited—at least, none has come.” “It is to be a millionaire's ball, as I understand, and I didn't doubt you would be invited. I hope it will come yet and I will see you there. I wish I could sit longer, but I must do some shopping this morning to get myself and daughter ready. Dear me ! I don’t know what to do. The time is too short. It's impossible to order our ball dresses from Paris— and it’s a miserable poor chance to get anything rechurchy here in New York. But, we must try these miserable milliners here —it's the best we can do. “Please let me know if your invitation comes. I must be going. Good-day, my dear Mizez Lagér.” “Good-day, Mizez Ferrum.” O The next call was on Mrs. De Stilling. “Good-morning, Mizez De Stilling. I was passing on my 218 A.E. UTOCRAC V. way to do some shopping for the Ball, and I just stopped in to say we will go together, if you don't object.” “Go where 2'' asked Mrs. De Stilling. “O—o—oh Ain't you going to the Ball in Washington— Mrs. Nonavie's Ball 2 It’ll be the toniest occasion of the season.” “If it's a pay Ball I may go—” “No—oh Indeed . It's given by the leader of Society— that is, of Washington society——a small place, you know, com- pared with New York. Pay Ball 2 No, indeed Secretary Nonavie is a millionaire | He would scorn the idea of a sub- scription Ball. It will be made up almost entirely of million- aires, and that's why I thought sure you were invited. I reckon it will come to-day. But I must be going. Call and see me when you can. Good-bye, Mizez De Stilling.” “Good-day, Mizez Ferrum.” Thus Mrs. Ferrum spent the morning in benevolent deeds. She visited the Bullocks, Petroleums, O’Le Margarines, Stocks, and Buckles, Weavers, Cinders, Sand Bonanzas, Smilings, and other millionaires. Some had been invited and some had not. “And you have been invited, really 2 Y-e-e-s / I am so delighted Hope we may go along together.” This was said to, or rather sung at, Mrs. O'Le Margarine, with the hope that something would turn up to keep that lady at home—a sprain of the ankle, or dislocation of the shoulder would be entirely satisfactory. “Do you know whether the Petroleums are invited 2 The Sand Bonanzas are, of course. They are immensely rich, and have immense diamonds, and plenty of 'em. They are a great acquirement in any gathering.” “I don't know, indeed,” answered Mrs. O'Le Margarine, covering every limb of the inquiry and affirmation of Mrs. Ferrum with four words. Mrs. Ferrum did not linger. Her good deeds were not ended, and she departed to finish her labor of love. She accomplished that morning more than she intended. She gave notice of the Ball to some who would not have heard of it until after the fact, and they set to work to have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Ferrum under Secretary Nonavie's roof. sº Those notified wrote at once to Mrs. Secretary Nonavie, soliciting invitations. SOCIETY IN A ME W RóZE. . 219 “Mr. and Mrs. O'Le Margarine have the honor to say that it would afford themselves great pleasure to attend the ball to be given by Mr. and Mrs. Secretary Nonavie next week, and they will return the favor as soon as possible. “It is proper to say we are all millionaires, and Mrs. O'Le Margarine and daughter will wear diamonds enough to give a claw to the brilliant Occasion. Dresses made to order by Worth. Respectfully, “MR. and MRs. O'LE MARG ARINE, “No. —, brown-stone front, Fifth avenue, New York. “P. S.—Our name shows we are of French extract, but for fear you might not notice it, we use a little French extract above, a claw.” Next came a solicitation from Mr. and Mrs. Lagér : “Mr. and Mrs. Lagér and daughter, an old French family, and a relict of the old Huggernot people, respectfully announce to Mr. and Mrs. Secretary Nonavie, that they would be delighted to get an invitation to their ball next week. We ask it as a loan—not a gift—as we will gladly return it as soon as Lent is over, or any date you may name. As you may not know us, we beg to advertise you that we, that is Mr. Lagér, owns seven breweries worth at last ten million in gold, besides five millions of Government bonds—non-taxable. “Mrs. Lagér and daughter have magnificient diamonds. “We refer you to any of the retail beer deelers for my stand- ing as a gentleman and millionaire. Respectfully, - “MR. and MRs. LAGER, “No. —, brown stone front, Fifth avenue, New York. Next came a note from the Haslets : “To Mr. and Mrs. Secretary Nonavie. “Dear Sir and Madam— “Having accumulated many millions after years of hard work in Wall street, we desire to enter society—and we want you to send us an invitation to attend to your ball to come off Soon. “We are very prompt people. We will not keep you waiting a minute, if you'll just fix your hour. As to that matter, will run over the day before, to avoid delay by accident to train, 22O AZ U 7'OCRACY. “Mrs. Haslet's wardrobe and jewels are simply immense. “We remain ever yours, - - “M.R. and MISTRESS HASLET and daughter. “Direct to No. — Fifth avenue, New York. “You can send by express, as we do not mind the expense.” To these requests and several more, answers were promptly sent containing invitations stereotyped as follows: with change of name. “Mrs. and Mr. Secretary Nonavie solicit the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. Lagér and daughter at the ball to be given at their mansion on the evening of of February next at 9 o'clock.” Numerous requests for invitations were sent by gentlemen and ladies in Washington society, but very many were from poor but respectable people, and were pigeonholed for future reference and amusement. - “And is it true—can it be possible 2 ” “Can what? Be a little more explicit.” “Why, that respectable families wrote and begged for invita- tions, to Mrs. Nonavie's Ball?” - .* “Stop right there, if you please. You are evidently, confess- edly, from a rural district—one really far back—where the Mossbacks, the Hardshells, the Woolhats, and Sunbonnets live ; where the father at early dawn gathers his little flock around the family altar, raises his voice in praise by hymn and prayer, and asks a blessing on the work of that day; and, when the day’s work is done, repeats the Solemn religious rite before the mimic, Sleep, the counterfeiter of Death, puts his mesmeric spell upon that happy group ; where the living mourn for their dead, not in the circumstance of sable shows of woe, but with ivy and cypress and flowers that are symbols of a growing grief ; where the profit of each day, each month, each year, represents just that much honest labor and toil; where, as you advance, your march is not marked by victims of your greed, your avarice and spoliation ; where financial legerdemain has not supplanted manual labor ; where your sons are not trained to get money by their wits, as Old Fagin trained the street boys to get it by their nimble fingers; where your daughters spin and weave, read and reflect, and grow in knowledge as they grow in grace and all the graces, - SOCIETY IN A WE W RóZE. 22 I “You know nothing of Society You must not speak in that disrespectful manner about Society. It is impudent and im- pertinent, sir! It is plebeian, madam. “‘ Respectable people beg for invitations 2' How dare you utter such scandal, even by an inquiry 2 You must learn, that there is respectability, and there is Respectability. And, when Respectability, backed by millions, sees fit to do anything, it is always respectable. Millions does not beg—cannot beg— does not solicit—does not request—does not even intimate. It commands ! What you consider respectable matters not.— millions is a law unto itself. Millions is Society, and Society is Respectability itself. “If you knew Society, were a part of Society, you would blush to ask such a question. Of course, the invitations were solicited —respectably solicited. Rub off the moss, shed your hard shell, substitute a Dunlap beaver for your wool hat, abandon your home in the backwoods, come here and join the advance host called Society, quit work, speculate (that is, gamble), get riches, lay up treasures on earth, pray by proxy, give a penny to your soul, a pound to your body, nothing to the poor. Pro- claim ‘better is a house of feasting than a house of mourn- ing ; ' let your one year's profit of millions represent your liberal contribution of victims to lunatic asylums, to mad-houses, brothels, drunkards' graves, thefts, robberies, burglaries, peni- tentiaries, gibbets, the gallows, suicides. And as your profits roll in, pile up, high, higher, until the vault floor settles, the walls bulge, and every crack and corner is glutted, then make broad your phylactery ; put on the breastplate of hypocrisy, anoint your tongue with cant, take your stand on the highways and preach to the ghastly, ghostly multitudes of the poor, of operatives crawling at your feet, the ineffable blessings to them of Protection that protects them and their children from hunger and cold ; that pours into their laps ingots of gold to educate their children, and you will learn something of Society and Respectability.” - CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH. HOSTESS, HOST AND USHER. ANY description of the far-famed Diamond Ball of Mrs. and Mr. Secretary Nonavie would be wretchedly defective that should not include, at least, a brief sketch of the hostess and the host. True, on the wall, covered with richly embossed gilt paper, were hung their counterfeit presentments; each smiling welcome to every guest that entered the drawing-room of their costly mansion ; but, there is no biography in canvas, even though it may, in the fancy of orators and poets, “breathe and speak.” Mrs. Secretary was of medium height, eyes brown, hair once raven black, but now interlaced with silver threads, figure spare, not beautiful but very pleasing features, and “winning . manners.” - - Her voice was not “soft and low ’’ from the fact that she was forced to pitch it high to enable the Secretary, who was slightly deaf, to hear. She was positive and aggressive as all leaders of fashion and Society must be. Mrs. Secretary had been acquainted with poverty, but on the advent of her husband to station and wealth, she cut its acquaintance. It was inconvenient. Yea, more ; it was down- right annoying. It belonged to too large a circle for her to recognize and give attention to. Hence, she swung off to the rich, who were comparatively few in number and could recip- rocate. Exactly where to draw the line was a source of con- stant solicitude and thought. From one million, up, gave her no trouble ; they were the elect ; but from one million, down, was the rub. At what point one, whose social standing rested on wealth alone, should be of certain or of doubtful respect- ability was the pons asinorum of her life. It was her vade mecum ; she eat with it, dressed with it, slept with—no, she carried it to bed with her and dreamt of it, went to church with it. There was an incessant debate : “Is she, is he, above the line, below the line, or on the line f" “How am I to tell? Society must legislate on this subject— Af0STAESS, HöS7 AAWD USA/AEAE. 223 pass an act—settle it. I can't take the responsibility of decid- ing every case for Society. Dear me ! It's a great responsi- bility to lead Society.” However, she did not base all association on wealth. Rank and intellect were, now and then, admitted, not because they were respectable, but because, on state occasions, they were ornamental. All she required of the indigent males was one regulation suit—that is to say, black trousers, swallow tail, black cloth coat, black cloth vest, open, three buttons, white necktie, standing collar, white or delicately tinted kid gloves, diamond or other studs according to purse or taste. Mrs. Secretary was more exacting of the females. A lady must not wear the same dress to more than one entertain- ment—and be not near so decolletée as the rich. The reason for this distinction, she explained, was —that “poverty must be hid as much as possible. If poverty loses modesty, why, what on earth has it left?” Rank and intellect gave vivacity, dignity, brilliancy, grace, to her salon. They were then dismissed with thanks or implied congratulations on their good deportment and their good fortune in receiving social recognition ; some- what as the dance musicians, who were paid and politely retired at the back door with the comfort of assurance that they “ had played remarkably well, their selections were in very good taste, and she would remember them when her next entertainment came off, she would, indeed she would.” The Secretary measured over six feet in height. His fore- head was high and, from the brow, retreating. His nose was large and long and, while his chest was heavy and deep, his stomach was still more prominent In fact, from the top of his head down his forehead, nose, chest and stomach to the bottom of his waistcoat, his figure was that of a curve, saving only the short recess under his chin. His eyes were dark and set in cavernous sockets—which gave to him the appearance of constantly looking through a field-glass, scanning the hori- zon to find the United States Navy. His hair was very thin and gray, his shoulders slightly humped, back swayed, and legs. not so large as an architect, jealous of his reputation and keep- ing symmetry in view, would construct as pillars to support a superstructure so imposingly massive. Mr. Secretary was rich. He was ranked among the million- aires. Ten years before he was not. How he attained that rank in so short a time, he said, was nobody's business. “If you know, what are you going to do about it 2 '' * 224 Płoſzocracy. Nothing. “But people will talk, you know.” And they did talk. Some friends surmised, that a very rich uncle, or aunt, recently died childless and willed to him immense wealth ; per- haps a gold mine in Ophir ; a diamond mine in Africa, or an old Aztec silver mine in Mexico. One defended the Secretary On the theory, that he had an ancestor who made a fortune in the South-Sea-Bubble speculation—not by buying, but by sell- ing, the stock, and that ancestor died leaving the estate en- tailed and it finally reached the Secretary. J Another believed that story a fiction, and said, he had heard from reliable authority that the Secretary was one of the heirs to One of the many estates running from ten millions to one hun- dred million pounds sterling, which the Court of Chancery in England is constantly receiving and every year distributing, after advertising for half a century for the heirs to come for- ward and prove relationship and title. As it was well estab- lished by agents and lawyers, who keep advertisements for such heirs standing in the daily New York press, that vast estates are constantly being distributed by the English Court of Chancery, this theory gained adherents and was accepted by Some as a solution of the mystery. - But that theory was discussed until it was battered to pieces with chunks of logic. Then another was started, that the Secre- tary had made “a handsome thing of it in Wall street.” But, when the cold, heartless arithmetician stepped up and showed that at least a hundred thousand in Cold cash had to be placed down as margins in order to make a few hundred thousands, the inventor of the theory said he “gave it up.” - A very imaginative young lady—a partisan of the millionaire —who had been reading a story of “Dreadful Devices to Get Money,” worked out the problem one rainy evening, when she had no callers, with the result, that the Secretary had insured his life for a million, then died and afterwards collected the money, and invested it in swamp land in West Washington, in 1873. When, after great difficulty, she was made to see the ab- surdity of the dead Secretary collecting the money, she said, that some relation who was his heir must have collected it, and soon after died and left it to the Secretary by will. A “rounder ’’ about Washington who had the reputation of being a “knowing one ''-‘‘a mighty shrewd guesser ‘’—said, he had not been watching things for nothing ; he didn't waste “his time in guessing,” and he could lay his hands on the proof that the Secretary had embezzled the United States Navy and AOSTESS, HOST AAVD USA/EAE. 225 pawned it. Thereupon a clerk in the Navy Department ruined the reputation of the rounder forever, by reaching for the last annual report made by the Secretary himself, by which it appeared that, after deducting the value of the seventeen hundred anchors belonging to the navy (said value being reckoned on the basis of old iron, as they were useless as anchors), the total value of all the war ships in the United States Navy was only two hundred and twenty-two thousand two hundred and twenty-two dollars and twenty-two cents. Who would lend millions on that amount of property 2 But, when the clerk was requested to read a little further, and was forced to read that the Secretary had urged for “an ap- propriation of ten million dollars or so much thereof as he might want,” to repair the United States Navy, the clerk asked for a suspension of public opinion, which was immediately seconded, on condition that the Secretary be suspended with it. ~. Then, a new discussion arose. A friend of the Secretary saw in the Secretary's urgent request for millions for repairs, a foil against the question, “How did he get all the money 2 ” and he sprung it on the excited public. The friend was a law- yer—that is, he practiced in the Departments as a collector of stale claims. His name was Chance, and some wicked wag christened him “Last Chance,” from his specialty in under- taking stale and hopeless demands. Mr. Chance prepared an overwhelming answer to the scan- dal, “What has become, what will become of the many tens of millions voted, on the Secretary's urgent request, for repairs to the Navy P” The public, as some fox-dogs in full chase will do, when a rabbit jumps up in their course, left the hunt for the secret of the Secretary's millions, to follow the tens of millions voted for repairs. But the chase was brief. When the public was under full cry, Mr. Last Chance stepped in the front and halted the column of the mob. “Ah ! gentlemen and ladies, you don't understand this ques- tion, you don't know the law. Go home, gentlemen, and study the law—the Constitution. The Secretary knows the law. The Secretary is a great constitutional lawyer. Hear the Constitution, gentlemen . The Constitution says in express words — hear them — that “Congress shall have power to provide and maintain a navy.’ Congress alone has the power, gentlemen. The Constitution must be strickly construed. The Secretary is a strict constructionist. If the Secretary had spent all those millions on ships, gentlemen, he would have I5 - ' 226 PLUTOCRACY. built up a navy. That would have been unconstitutional. To build up a navy, gentlemen, is to provide a navy. Uncon- stitutional Gentlemen, the Secretary is too patriotic to violate the Constitution Gentlemen, he had no right to use those ten millions a year in building up a navy. He could only use them for repairing the navy up to the point just short of ‘pro- viding a navy.' Had he fully repaired even one ship, the pa- triotic Secretary would have violated the sacred Constitution | * The argument was unanswerable, and, from fear that a like disastrous overthrow would follow, if pursuit of the first ques- tion were renewed, the public returned home disconsolate. Mr. Chance rose to the top. He floated. He swam. The adherents of the Secretary tendered Mr. Last Chance a public reception, which he took with all et cateras and condiments. Mrs. Secretary sent him a free pass to all her entertainments, indorsed by her own dear hand, “good for the season, or until canceled.” The gentleman usher appointed by the Secretary to receive the guests at the door of the drawing-room, was what was then and is still, for a reason not apparent on the surface, denomi- nated a “colored man.” He is supposed to be of a new and sixth race of mankind. The usher was, until “since the war,” known as one of the negro race. It was a solecism to call him colored, because he was black. Nevertheless, Scipio Thomas was sometimes called or desig- nated as “a gentleman of color ’’—or “colored gentleman.” He often said, “I don't know why white gemmens call me colored gemmen. I'se a nigger—I knows it, and ain't shamed of it—I'se a nigger, I is.” Scipio had belonged to a wealthy family in Maryland, but his slavery was only in the name. He was a house servant ; had every privilege; hired his own time, at a very low figure, from his owner ; did as he pleased with his wages ; was extravagant and wasteful, like nearly all of his race ; and, when sickness or adversity overtook him, he fell back on his master for support, until he could rally for another campaign. His education was very limited, but he made up in style for every other deficiency. Scipio was tall and muscular ; had a low forehead, flat nose, thick lips, fine white teeth, and his features revealed a world of good nature. Having served in his master's house, he had acquired a mannerism imitative of his master's courtesy to guests and visitors, which courtesy was exceedingly graceful and winning. - HóSTESS, HOST AWD USAAER. 227 Scipio tried for years to catch his master's manners and tone, but never succeeded to any one's satisfaction except his own. The other negroes owned by his master had often caught him behind the stable, or barn, bowing, scraping, and talking, in an imaginary reception of visitors He would extend his right hand, turn the door knob, draw back the hand to open the door, hinge himself at the hip, bow to the shape of an obtuse V standing on end, wave his left hand with an over curve, and say : “Good mornin' / Please ter walk in, sah I’ll take your hat, Sah. Inter the parlor, please, sah your card, please.” He was somewhat disconcerted by such surprises, but he would meet the issue boldly. “Go 'long, you corn fiel’ nigger, you ! You can’t bow any more’n er corn stock ’’ One thing his master could never teach Scipio ; that was, to pronounce proper names correctly. If a visitor gave his name as Mr. Sleek, Scipio would be as apt to deliver it as Stick, or Sick, or Quik, as Mr. Sleek. This led to unpleasant episodes in Social meetings. On one occasion Mrs. Higgin- botham, a friend of the family, called on Mrs. Thomas, and Scipio announced to his mistress in an adjoining room, “Misses Pig and Bottom called to see you, Missis.” The visitor heardº the announcement, and the lady of the manor spent the first five minutes of the interview, in ironing out the indignation of Mrs. Higginbotham. After the war, Scipio drifted to Washington, and by his good nature, kindness and mannerism, worked his way up until he reached the high position of major domo to Secretary Nonavie, and, as such, he was appointed to receive the guests at the coming ball. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXTH. THE DIAMOND BALL. THE hour of nine P.M. had arrived. Mrs. and Mr. Secretary were adorned and ready for the distinguished and distinguish- ing ceremonies of the evening. The light shooting from the chandeliers, down upon the neck and bosom of the hostess, was flashed back and in every direction by the diamond neck- lace, and the diamond cross pendent from the necklace in front. Mr. Secretary towered in regulation suit, with bosom studded with three large solitaires. While Mrs. Secretary was engaged in arranging the details incident to all great occasions, Mr. Secretary wandered about the drawing-room, pausing now and then and gazing at the wall, or through a window, with an anxious look that said, “Where is my navy 2 Shall I ever be blessed with a sight of my navy 2 ” Scipio, dressed in regula- tion, stood motionless, like a sentinel, at the outer drawing- room door. He looked like a statue carved of ebony dressed and stationed in a clothier's window. * The musicians, ten in number, were in the recess of the ball- room ready for responsive, sympathetic feet. At a quarter past nine a few guests had arrived. Scipio an- nounced their names, passing names and guests on to hostess and host, with a wave of his right hand and arm, as if he were tossing them gently, like a base ball, for the host to catch. These arrivals, except one, were from the country. They pro- claimed it by going so early. They thought nine o'clock meant just three hours before twelve. The one exception was the arrival of Mr. Haslet and son. Mr. Haslet had pledged his business honor that he would meet the engagement at any hour named, and had given the Secre- tary the special privilege of naming the hour and minute. As his reputation for business was at stake, he was prompt. But not so Mrs. Haslet. At the last minute, she could not leave home. She had eaten “a heavy bait of fresh pork" the day before, which turned against her, and she was too sick to travel. But she charged her husband to be sure and give her love to Mrs. Secretary Nonavie and to be very particular to ex- a- ------- ºr, A. *—- sº--------, *: 7 HE DIAMOWD BAZZ. 229 plain to her, in detail, the cause of her not going, so that Mrs. Secretary would understand it and not think hard of her. And to show her, Mrs. Secretary, that she, Mrs. Haslet, was almost heart-broken, because she could not go and she meant no harm by not going, she had sent her son, Sammie, and daughter, Toodie, to take her place. As Mr. Haslet, son, and daughter approached the gentleman usher and heard Scipio call out “Names please, sah l’’ the dignity of Scipio and the grand sweep of his left hand with which he received them, inspired Mr. Haslet for the moment with an impulse to honor the usher with all the French he knew, and instead of saying Mr. Haslet, daughter and son, he replied, “Messieurs Haslets and Miss Haslet ; ” whereupon Scipio announced to the hostess and host the arrival of a “Mess of Haslets,” and passed them gracefully with his right hand. Mr. Secretary being a little deaf, and Mrs. Secretary being at the moment engaged in delighting one of the country cousins, by telling her how many thousand dollars her diamond necklace cost, how many crowned heads had worn it and how she had obtained it, neither he nor she noticed the necro- mancy of the black juggler by which he had changed the two guests into “a mess of haslets; ” but everybody in the room observed and remarked, “what very florid complexions those two gentlemen have.” Half past nine, Carriages begin to get in line. Before, they came at intervals so wide the patrolling policeman sta- tioned at the door to maintain order had not spoken. Now he has assumed control. The driver dismounts, the carriage door swings back, a gen- tleman in heavy overcoat steps out, a lady in furs follows, the door bangs, and the driver mounts. “Drive up ! make room l’’ shouts the policeman. The warder opens the front door, the gentleman and lady step inside, the door closes, the policeman cries out, “Drive up !” and another carriage stops, like a rich argosy arrived in port to unload its wealth of freight. Meanwhile the freight passes Scipio, so to speak, in bulk, covered, heavily wrapped, giving no indication of its im- mense value ; the packages move up-stairs, separate, one to one room, the other to another room ; the coverings are removed, and living statues stand revealed—how much revealed, let the “chiel amang them, takin notes,” describe. Had Scipio been then and there a collector of customs and conscientious, and had seen the packages uncovered, he would 230 AZU 76CRAcy. have seized every other one as smuggled statuary. But Scipio was not there to enforce the tariff or the rules of modesty. He had been gentleman usher before, and knew his duty was to receive the statues and deliver them as labeled to the Con- signee, the host, in as good condition as he received them. Even if he spoilt the label, he did not injure the statue nor its decoration. gºs Ten o'clock and the arrivals were in compact line, and Scipio was very busy. Two ladies descended the stairway. Scipio noticed they were not so statuesque as all the others. “Names, ladies P’’ “Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace.” Scipio passed them over as “Miss Youslid and Miss Love- less.” - Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace having caught the mistake of the gentleman usher when he announced their names, de- cided at once to take position about six to eight feet from that dignitary and await results. Miss Euclid was in a new world. Her senses, however, were not dazed. On the contrary, they were quickened and alert for every movement and Sound. Two other ladies followed. - “Names, ladies.” “Two Misses Buckles.” . - “Missing Tubercles,” called out Scipio, as he tenderly de- livered them over. The two Misses Buckles turned scarlet, shook hands with the hostess and host, stepped off a few feet and looked daggers at the innocent, busy, happy usher. It should be noted here, in justice to Scipio, that the hum of a hundred voices then in the drawing-room interfered with his accurate hearing ; and further, that many people are very careless in pronouncing proper names. How few people, when introducing others, are careful to call each name sufficiently loud and distinctly to be understood. How many persons in- troduced to each other have to ask the name, or separate with- out knowing it, or slip back and ask “what did you say his name is P’’ all caused by an unpardonable mumbling, pronun- ciation. This little social lecture is not so much to censure as to illustrate and thereby palliate the punctilious usher's mistakes. However, if the lecture will strike in and take effect no one will regret this short diversion from the current of the history. The fun was getting too fast and furious for Miss Euclid THAE DIA A/OAVID BA LL. 23 I and her friend to resist it further. A stratagem had to be resorted to to prevent a scene at their expense. - A friend of Miss Lovelace fortunately passed. She called and introduced him to Miss Euclid. He was a humorist and told a story well. “Mr. Playfair, you must tell us, or pretend to be telling us a funny story,” said Miss Lovelace. “We’ve been listening to that negro, and watching the faces of the guests, and we can’t stand it any longer. We’ve got to laugh or go away. Tell us a story, quick | " - “Anything to oblige you and Miss Euclid, of course, but is it not better to move on and get where you can't hear or see P” “No indeed; like St. Paul, we ‘would not if we could, we could not if we would.’ My friend says she can't move, she's chained to the floor.” - - Mr. Playfair started on a story. Two gentlemen, without ladies, approached. Scipio moved on the hinge, waved the left and they gave him, “Collier of Philadelphia and Petroleum of New York.” As the accent in Mr. Petroleum's name is on the second syllable, Scipio did not hear the last syllable and he introduced, “Callhere, Philadelfy and Patrol, New York 1" Mr. Playfair, just at that moment, reached a very humorous point in his story ; his two hearers were quick to take it, as they were looking at the patrol just entered, who was walking off with the stiff tread of a man, very angry, approaching another to say, “You are a liar, sir!” Two other gentlemen, unattended, approach. “Names, gemmen.” “Messrs. S. Amboy and N. O. Lackawanna.” Scipio bowed, to pick them up with his right hand, as “Mess of Sambo and No lack o' water.” The story evidently reached its climax. The audience, Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace, covered their faces with their tiny handkerchiefs and trembled, while Mr. Playfair violated the fundamental rule of story telling by laughing at his own story. These two arrivals, after the customary handshaking, stepped off looking very youthful in complexion, They both wore very large solitaire diamond studs worth at least a thousand dollars each, but their brilliancy did not exceed that of Mr. Lacka- wanna's eyes as he turned quickly, and glancing at the happy usher, emphasized some uncanonical words with the initials “G. D.” et Caetera. 232 AE/ U 7 OCAEA CV. Next came a short, fat, chubby, red-faced woman, whose husband had come from New York with her ; but, a sudden flurry in the stock market had caused his return on the early evening train. She was elaborately decorated with silks, laces, pearls and diamonds. Besides a necklace of large pearls, from which hung on her bosom a diamond cross, there were twelve diamond rings on the fingers of both hands. She wore dia- monds encircling her dress just above her knees, and a circle two inches across, formed of large diamonds, in her hair just above her forehead. She bore in her right hand an ivory fan, and in and near to the top of each leaf of the fan was set a large diamond. Her husband having gone, she and Mrs. O'Le Margarine went to the ball together. Scipio politely asked : “Names, ladies.” “Mizez O’Le Margarine, with Mizez S. O. Stocks.” “Miss Old Margaret, with old Socks,” called out the usher a little confused, as his hesitation showed. - For once in her life Mrs. S. O. Stocks forgot for at least fif- teen seconds how rich she was, and only because she for- got everything else. She was about to pass the hostess with- out shaking hands. The hostess extended her hand and said patronizingly, - “How rosy you look to-night ! Delighted to see you.” And she was. The guest wore too many diamonds to admit of any deceit in that remark. Meanwhile Mrs. Stocks looked apoplectic, and several gen- tlemen rushed to her with chairs, but she strode away, leaving them unnoticed, to the rear of the room. Mrs. O'Le Margarine also received a cordial welcome, as she, too, was iridescent with diamonds. But she did not feel so indignant as Mrs. Stocks. On the con- trary, she almost lost sight of herself as “Old Margaret” in the thought that her friend was her “Old Socks.” She found the hostess in good humor. The story of Mr. Playfair, at the moment of the last arrival, became uproariously funny, and his audience was so convulsed they retired with him a few feet, and rested on a window-sill. They were soon rested, resumed their position, and Mr. Playfair resumed his story. Next came two gentlemen without ladies. They were Mr. Recker and son. “Names, please, gem'men.” THE DIAMOND BAZZ, 233 “Messrs. Reckers.” Scipio received them with the left, transferred them to his right and pronounced them to be, “ MeSS uv Wretches.” Mr. De Stilling, daughter and two female friends followed. “Names, please.” “Mr. De Stilling, daughter and ladies.” “Mr. Distilled water and ladies 1’’ called out Scipio. Mr. De Stilling put on a double quantity of dignity ; the ladies smiled audibly, the host and hostess received them graciously, and they mingled in the mass of humanity and diamonds. The story was again convulsive; and Mr. Playfair again joined in the laugh. Mr. Sand Bonanza and daughter came next. He had a way of pronouncing his name by accenting the syllable “ an” heavily and pronouncing the last syllable as if spelt “zaw.” This con- fused Scipio, who mistook the “an” for the conjunction “and.” “Names, sah, please.” “Sand Bonanza and daughter.” Scipio in trying to catch the gentleman's name forgot the presence of the daughter, and he proceeded to grind him up and put him together in the best form possible in the time allowed him. He announced them as “Mr. Sand, Bone and Sawder,” and delivered them over in bulk to the host. - Mr. Sand Bonanza would not have cared for the pulveriz- ing if it had been known only by himself. But Scipio attracted the attention of a dozen or more, who had to look away from Mr. Sand Bonanza at something in the opposite direction. That left “Mr. Sand, Bone and Sawder" to blush unseen, ex- cept by the host and hostess and his forgotten daughter. He was wroth. “Did you ever hear such an idiot as that nigger ?” he said to his friend De Stilling. “Damn him do you know he called me Sand, Bone and Sawder, after I was as particular as I could be to pronounce it Sand Bonandzaw P” “What do you think he called me 2 Why, Distilled water. He took the word daughter for water,” joined in Mr. De Stilling. “I’ll go and complain to the Secretary 1” said Bonanza. “What's that P’’ asked Mr. Lackawanna, who was standing near. The two gentlemen repeated what they had just said. “He served me worse than that. He announced Amboy and me together as “Sambo and no lack of water,” 234 AZ U 7'OCRACY. | ſ All three swore lustily, but they agreed not to complain until the ball was over. As they stood facing the door, they saw Mrs. Lagér and her daughter approach Scipio. . Mrs. Lagér was the largest, shortest, fattest, roundest, reddest woman at the ball. She had tried for years to girdle herself into shape, but it was “no waist, or death,” and Mrs. Lagér at last decided she would dispense with a waist and live. Scipio was so impressed by her size that he stepped back to give her the whole doorway. The daughter being small, the contrast had fully possessed Scipio's mind before he asked : “Names, ladies.” “Mizez Lagér and daughter,” answered the mother, and Scipio in a loud voice delivered what was in his mind : “She's Larger 'n her daughter.” - Mr. Playfair said: “Ladies, we must get out of hearing of the darky, or we will disgrace ourselves.” The three irate grumblers seeing another mortal in their discomfiture, began to laugh. Mrs. Lagér passed in, waddling along, looking right and left, and puffing out her wrath. “Of course I know I’m larger 'n Susie (puff), but I didn't come here to have my (puff) my figure advertised by a con- founded black nigger hollowing out about it at the door (puff). I've a good mind to go right home " (puff). This was spoken to her young friends, the Misses Buckles, who had the good sense to dissuade Mrs. Lagér, by telling her she would make a scene, and would offend Mrs. and Mr. Sec- retary, who would never invite her to another ball or party, and that would be a social slur on her which would be awful. In fact, some people might say, that Mrs. Secretary believed Mrs. Lagér's diamonds were paste, and that was the reason why Mrs. Lagér left the ball. It would never do, never / " exclaimed Miss Annie Buckle. “AWever / AVo / Mezer A /mdeed. It would not,” exclaimed Miss Tinnie Buckle. - Mrs. Lagér was so far appeased as to ask for a large chair, and the two Misses Buckles rushed round for the largest chair in the room, which they found occupied by a large gentleman. The large gentleman at once surrendered and carried it in the most gallant style, being under the happy delusion that he would meet and have a gay time with a beautiful young fairy. But, when the large gentleman saw the willowy, graceful Sylph pict- ured in his mind's eye transformed, and standing before him in a shapeless package containing three hundred pounds, his * 7 Hà Đ/AMOND BAZZ, 235 smiling features collapsed so suddenly that his lips puckered for a whistle. He walked off wearing on his face the solem- nity of a professional mourner. As the guests named above received the welcoming hand of Mrs. Secretary, they each received the greeting of a trained leader of Society, who proceeded with a most delicate touch to adjust and smooth out any ruffles in their mental or emo- tional laces or bustles that might have occurred by the awk- ward handling of the usher. “Why, Virginia (Lovelace). I’m so glad to see you ! “And this is your àri//iant young friend you so kindly prom- ised to bring–Miss Euclid | You are most welcome. I know you will both adorn the occasion. “Misses Buckle ! Delighted to see you. I was afraid you might not come. I could not have gotten along without you / Andeed, I could not “M-i-s-t-e-r Collier and Mr. Petroleum ! So glad to have you here. Oh what a pity those Dears did not come What shal/ I do without them 2' Mr. Collier and Mr. Petroleum were unable to advise her. They were sure they could offer no comfort, as they themselves were wholly inconsolable by reason of the absence of those same Dears, to wit, Mrs. Collier and Mrs. Petroleum, whom those inconsolable husbands had purposely forced to remain at home to protect their infants, by discharging their nurses on the morning of the Ball. - “Mr. Amboy and Mr. Lackawanna | So happy to greet you ! But why have you treated me so cruelly as to leave the best half at home 2 I’ll never forgive you ! AWever / " - .Neither Mr. Amboy nor Mr. Lackawanna, as each assured Mrs. Secretary, could be cruel to any lady who possessed not even five per cent. of the charms of Mrs. Secretary, whose charms were incalculably above par. The absent loved ones must answer for their own neglect. “My dear Mrs. Stocks My dear Mrs. O'Le Margarine ! So happy to see you, you look so fresh and bright ! rosy as peaches . If I did not know you were both happily married and have grown children’’ (voice lowered to a whisper at “grown children ") “I'd take you to be sweet twenty / I am too sincere, you know, to say Sweet sixteen / That would sound like flat- tery Oh how lovely you are dressed And those diamonds / Oh I where did you get them 2" “Miss De Stilling ! Why, Sallie Bonanza Well I do 236 PzvröCRAcy, . | declare You have no idea how lovely you look ; both too sweet for anything. You wicked cruel things, you ! You've just come here to break hearts And you'll do it, without try- ing. So glad to see you !” - A very tall gentleman now condescended to draw near to the usher. The gentleman, excepting a slight disproportion in preponderance of girth, was passably well shaped from head to hips—but his legs, like the Secretary's, were painfully maras- matic. As Scipio made his salaam, his eyes seized on the at- tenuated legs. . His nose was very large, expressive of great self esteem, and from the end to the lip inclined downward, or dipped. The septum of his nose was lower than the Outer edges of his nostrils. He wore a pin on an acre of shirt bosom in which flashed a twenty-carat diamond. His right hand holding his nose glasses was raised to a plane with his diamond, as if he were holding a magnifying glass for all to inspect the gem. He had no beard except mutton-chops. He held his head very erect and wore a stereotyped smile. Mr. Nat. Banks paused a moment, set his left foot forward as if to catch step with himself, and then advanced slowly and with great dignity. Scipio was watching him intently, and was evidently sol- emnly impressed with his majestic bearing, for as he stepped forward, Scipio gave an Oriental bow as he said : “Name, yer honor.” As the ghost sepulchrally pronounced “Swear ’’ to Hamlet, so the stalking figure slowly, solemnly dropped the word “Banks’ as if there never had been, was not then, never could be, another Banks. He was right. The figure moved on with measured steps, like that of a thoroughbred ghost of Hamlet’s father, looking above the heads of host and hostess, yet moving directly on them. As he dropped his name the gentleman usher, who had stooped as if to pick it up, and with his eyes still on the figure's legs, passed it in as “Mr. Shanks.” - Mr. Playfair and his audience stepped away to examine a painting of the two dogs lost in a snowstorm. They stood looking at the poor dogs and laughing until several ladies near by remarked, that “they were the most unfeeling, heartless women in the world. How could any one look at that picture without almost weeping 2" Żºłę piańſozyż) BAzz. 23? The fact was, that Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace were, at that moment, looking at the picture and weeping. Mr. Nat. Banks halted himself just in front of the two Secretaries, and brought himself to “parade rest,” to afford the Secretaries opportunity to congratulate themselves, and all assembled there, on “Its presence.” He then stepped away and struck an attitude to give all near the privilege of gazing On It, Mr. Banks possessed the wonderful power of speech with- Out words or Sounds. He spoke through his figure and pose, which were always saying : - “Look upon It. Do not be envious of It. I am not re- sponsible for it. I cannot help it. I did not create It. If I had, I assure you, the contrast should not be so painful. I would not have permitted it. I know that it is painful. But you must try to bear it. Remember, it is irksome to me. I appear at great Sacrifice to appease the public. “Pray ! do not feel hurt if It moves on. It must move on. Others are waiting to see It. They have a right to see It. I must be just to all. Really, I would linger, but do not be unreasonable. I have no right to deprive others of It. It be- longs to all. Indeed, I am not responsible for It. Pray do not insist. It must move on. You will have another oppor- tunity to gaze upon It. You must summon fortitude and try to bear it. All are here to see It. I cannot disappoint them, wound them, grieve them. It must move on 1 '' And It benignly, benevolently, beneficently, bewilderingly, moved on and assumed Its pose, which was, with the left fore- arm across Its back, right hip dropped slightly out of a per- pendicular, right forearm about horizontal, and thumb and forefinger holding Its eye-glasses near but over the dazzling diamond. The next notable arrival was a thrilling sensation. He was no other than Count Campagna Giovanni Borgia Guelph Laz- zarone. It was the subject of remark and wonder, that very few of the mammas and daughters had moved to the rear of the room. The great majority were in front and kept their eyes on the door of the entrance. Scipio had observed this fact—and was thrice happy by the thought of being the object of such marked attention and admiration. The con- sequence was, he doubled the volume of his voice, tripled his salaams and quadrupled his gestures. A few minutes before the count appeared at the door, a 238 * PZUžockAcy. general buzz arose among the mammas. and their young female Isaacs brought there to be offered up, a willing sacrifice, whether acceptable or not. “Oh there he is He's come !” “That’s him " I know his hat.” “Now we will see him Won't I have a jolly time 2" “He’s just too handsome ! I mean to dance with him first Oh ! I wish he'd come along !” - These and a hundred more exclamations fell on the ears of Miss Euclid and her friend, who began to feel a slight contempt for their own sex. g The count, as he appeared for a moment, motionless, stood five feet ten inches. His eyes were black ; hair black and parted in the middle ; mustache long with ends pomatomed ; goatee four inches long ; complexion dark, nose thin, forehead low, lips red and small and figure spare. He was a typical Mephistopheles in ball dress. - “Oh Isn’t he a darling 2" one young lady said in a low, but enthusiastic tone. “Yes,” said a male friend near by, “he may be, but don't you mistake him for a daisy, or a lamb.” “I declare how full of envy you men are ” came back at the male adviser with emphasis. The Count Campagna Giovanni Borgia Guelph Lazzarone advanced slowly, cautiously, as one with such a long train in front of his patronymic might be expected to do, from fear of a collision and telescope. He had one danger ahead he was not prepared for. There was an obstruction on his track the size of Scipio's head, and it was invisible. But the train was in motion—and it finally reached the obstruction. * “Name, sah, please.” The count knew a little English, and understood the call on him to deliver. Scipio had loosened the hinge and stood ready to catch one word as usual, but when the count began to un- couple the train—“Count Campagna Giovanni Borgia Guelph Lazzarone,” at the word “Giovanni,” Scipio straightened up, his under jaw dropped, his hands hung paralyzed and he had a look of utter helplessness. That was too much freight for Scipio's carrying capacity. He leaned back against the facing of the door, a picture of despair. But his pride soon rallied him. He leaned forward and said in a low tone: - “Boss—I'se afeerd I can't hand in all dat at one load, but I'll try. Please say it agin, easy like, sah.” 7A/E /)/A/OAVD BAZZ, - 239 The count understood only the words “say it agin.” He repeated the words. Scipio hesitated, but at length under- took to deliver the count in as good condition as possible. He waved him in as : “Count can gee over any bog cept last one !” Viewed from a psychological standpoint, no sound reasoner will deny, that the wrecked condition in which the gentleman usher delivered over the count, was the result solely of Scipio's consciousness. In other words, he was but giving expression to his own state of mind. He had “geed" and “hawed” (to borrow the ox-driver's technology) among names during the whole evening, quite to his own satisfaction, but when he came to the count's, he felt he was “in the bog,” and he could neither “gee " nor “haw'” over or around it. Hence, it was just as natural that he should say the count could “gee over any bog except the last one,” as for him, while thinking of Mr. Nat. Banks' attenuated legs, to call out “Mr. Shanks.” Mental philosophers need not claim that Scipio had aphasia. His mistake was not in saying one word while attempting to say another. The words received and the words given by Scipio were too near unisonant for it to be accounted for by aphasia. The count, it must be admitted by the supercargo's (Scipio's) warmest admirers, was delivered to the two Secretaries in a very damaged condition ; so much so, that when Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace beheld his mutilation, they went into con- vulsions, fled to a corner of the room and cried. The count was aware of some damage, as he heard the usher's words distinctly, but he did not know the extent. So long as his dress, mustache and goatee were intact, he cared for nothing else. He moved forward and was received by the Secretary with : “Count Lazzarone ! Most happy to welcome you,” and by Mrs. Secretary : “Count you are thrice welcome ! once from myself, once from the Secretary and once from all the guests—especially the girls, who are dying to meet you ! Now, don't break all the hearts here this evening. That would be foo wicked “Cindie Cinders | Come ! Let me introduce Count Laz- Za.I’OIn C. “Miss Cinderella Cinders | Count Giovanni Guelph Lazza- rone !” - Miss Cinders Smiled delightedly and bowed at an angle of 24o AZ U 7 OCRACY. forty-five degrees. ' The count smiled consciously and bowed at an angle of thirty degrees. “Now, Cindie / I’ve done my part. If you fail it's your own fault | mind you ! Hear 2" said Mrs. Secretary in a low tone, shaking her fan at Miss Cinders' nose, as if her nose was to be responsible for any failure. There were many other arrivals between those already noted. A few scientists, artists, litterateurs, ornaments simply, who were to be the caryatides and stand around against the wall to sup- port the dignity of the occasion ; foreign ministers ; officers of the army and navy who were the border or fringe of Society, and now and then a few of the staple—the woof and warp— of Society to wit—millionaires. Among the last : Mr. John Cinders and his daughter Miss Cinderella, who reached Scipio as “Cinders ” and the Secretary as “Sinners; ” Mr. Skinner and daughter, Miss Pattie ; Mr. Weaver and son, John ; Mr. Pipeline, Mrs. Shoddy and her son, Tommie ; Mr. and Mrs. Ferrum ; and a number of millionaires, recent residents of Washington, and other recent sojourners who, having made millions by hook and by crook, especially by Crook, had come- to the national capital “to get into Society.” Among these arrivals not already noted were Mr. Smiling and his daughter, Mary. The daughter was dressed in a dark silk, with a neat ruffle that clasped the base of her neck. The sleeves were full and fell below the elbow. A plain gold ring was worn on her left third finger ; and she wore no other deco- ration except a large white camellia held in her dress just below the ruffle by a plain gold pin. In her left hand was a small bouquet of pinks, heliotropes and a Marshal Niel. Her figure was attractive enough without ornament. It needed nothing extraneous. Besides, she was wholly indif- ferent to, if she had not a contempt for, “barbaric pearls and gold ; ” admiration for which she regarded as a long retro- gression towards barbarism—towards man's savage condition, in which the Indian’s pride is in his painted skin and feathers, and the African's in brilliant beads. Mr. Secretary, after a cordial greeting, stepped away and joined Messrs. Ferrum, Weaver, De Stilling, and several others who were discussing the probable turn stocks would take soon. Some thought up, some down. Mr. Smiling spraddled his legs, put his right hand in his pocket, consulted Comfort, Lux- ury, and Power, and then gave it as his opinion that it was about time for a change, as he had not raked in but ten thousand THE /)/AMOND BAZL. 24? Or so within two weeks. Ferrum then made an original remark about two governors of the Carolinas and the group walked off and disappeared in a side room. Mrs. Secretary received Miss Smiling kindly, because she was a millionaire's daughter, but not rapturously, because her dress being plain, her decorations simple and inexpensive, her presence was not brilliant. A glance around the room satisfied Miss Smiling that she was out of place. Nearly every female figure, as far as it was covered, was a bank of satin or silk, each of different colors trimmed with costliest laces of every width, while the large portion of each figure, uncovered, glistened with diamonds— diamond necklaces, diamond brooches, diamond crosses, dia- mond aigrettes, diamond breastpins, diamond ear drops, dia- mond rings, diamond-mounted combs, diamond-set bracelets, diamond armlets. As a rule the older the figure, the more wrinkled the skin, the more sallow from age the complexion, the more the dia- monds; as if they were intended to dazzle the eyes, so they could not see the age beneath. One “elderly ’’ woman, the Widow Simpers, who had been for many years desperately battling with Time, had built an escarpment of diamonds around her neck, letting it drop as a curtain far down in front and rear to conceal the furrows Time's arrows had made on that part of the works which she had de- fended with sleepless vigilance. The crowfeet and furrows in the cheeks were not covered, only because they could not be. She never admitted that they were wounds inflicted by her enemy, Time. She was always explaining, “You see how my cheeks are worn by burning tears so constantly flowing for my poor dear, my fifth husband, who left me, it's now near two months, I do not remember the exact time, that is, not within a week or two, but the sexton put down the date, at least he said he would, as I left all the arrangements to him. The truth is, I have grieved so much in my life, in fact, I have been so afflicted, I never have got through grieving for one husband before Providence called on me to grieve the loss of another.” Miss Smiling felt lost—she was in solitude. Her good sense, her womanhood revolted. She instantly thought of her friends, her wards, the poor. She wished she had not come, but she had come to please her father, and her sense of duty softened her regret. 16 242 Płęż7'OCRACY. Still, she had a feeling of shame for her sex. She solilo- quized, “Why will women be so silly as to lay bare their arms to the shoulder, their backs down to their waists, their bosoms so, so low 2 Why will society tolerate such exposure at a ball, or reception, and frown on it as indecent and vulgar on the street, at Small gatherings, at church, or traveling, and even on the stage P’’ - She wished she was back home ; back and in the tenement on Fiftieth street, seventh story, by the side of the straw pallet, holding the bony hand of the spiritual-minded invalid, the girl who blessed her with her lips when she came, and with her heart when she was gone, and who tried to have faith and trust in a God who, as she thought, lavished unneeded millions on the strong and well, and denied to her health and even the crumbs those rich ones threw from their tables. But Miss Smiling did not feel lonesome many minutes. Her eyes, in scanning the statuary, saw two figures that were cov- ered very like herself and her heart went out to them. They were Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace. She asked Mrs. Secre- tary to give her an introduction, which was given at once. “Virginia and Miss Euclid, I want to make you acquainted with my dear friend, Miss Smiling. “Miss Lovelace | Miss Euclid Miss Smiling. “I know that you three graces will agree, in fact fall in love with each other, if you don't with anybody else. Excuse me now, I must arrange now for the dance. You all dance, of course?” Miss Smiling did not dance, Miss Euclid and Miss Lovelace might after awhile. They preferred “to look on.” The scene was too attractive, too much of a study, to Miss Euclid, for her to lose any time just then in watching her own feet. She was studying Society. She had already thanked her friend Miss Virginia, a dozen times, for insisting on her coming. Miss Euclid and Miss Smiling had not conversed ten min- utes before they found themselves in perfect accord and sym- pathy. Their thoughts, reflections and comments were in the same current, and they “with one consent ’’ stood aside to- gether to be spectators. - Miss Euclid possessed far more vivacity than her new friend. Her sense of ridicule and the ludicrous was keener. She had seen less of the follies and weaknesses of mankind ; less of their sorrows and woes ; less of the grinding, crushing power of money, less of its brutalizing effects. But she was learn- ing rapidly and was deeply interested. 7 'A'A. O/AMOAV/O B.A. Z.Z. 243. Soon the dance was on. Fifty couples were earnestly en- gaged in bowing, advancing, turning, Swinging, in and through the lanciers, cotillion, quadrille. There were glances from soft eyes, tender pressures of the hand, coquettish Smiles. Mammas revived old practices of coquetry and bestowed them on young gallants. Papas, rejuvenated, threw sly gallantries at blooming maidens. Mammas, in groups, exhilarated by the music and the Scene, yet too old or too fat to dance, narrated with enthusiasm how gracefully they, when young, could bow, curtsey, swing Corners, and lead down the center in the old Virginia reel. Mrs. Ferrum said ; “It was given up by everybody that I could just beat the whole neighborhood cutting the pigeon wing.” Whereupon she laughed and shook two hundred thou- Sand dollars' worth of diamonds. Mrs. De Stilling said: “Well, I just tell you what it is, I caught my Old man in a dance at a house-raising, by beating my rival a dancing the ‘henwallow double shuffle.’” Whereupon the whole group laughed, and there trembled and glittered dia- monds that cost over a million dollars. Mrs. Stocks then spoke up : “One time my father was clearing Some new ground and had a log-rolling. We had a big supper and a dance, and my husband has often told me, ‘Samantha, says he, you won my heart that night by the way you danced ‘Jim Crow.’ - “First upon the heel tap, then upon the toe, And every time I turn about, I jump Jim Crow.” Mrs. Lagér said : “I was never much on dancing, but when my Pa lived on First avenue, I had the name of beating every- body in a match in drinking lager beer. My old man bantered me on a bet of a hundred dollars. At it we went, for one hour. He hid twenty glasses, while I hid thirty and then topped off with a schooner. He he he (puff). And what do you think? He said he couldn't pay the bet, but would marry me and call it square. That's the way I won him. He he ” (Puff.) “Well, upon my word, that's too funny ” exclaimed. Mrs. De Stilling, and the group joined in a long hearty laugh. A million in diamonds thereupon gave a long shake, a strong shake, and a shake all together. A fifth said : “When I was a girl I was said to be the most graceful waltzer ever seen in our parts, but " (with a weeping tone), “I have no heart for it now. You see how my cheeks, then so blooming, are now worn by burning tears always flow- 244. AZ U 7'OCRACY. ing for my poor dear—my fifth husband—who left me—it's near three months. I don’t remember the precise day, that is, not within a week or two ; but the sexton put down the day and hour, at least, I suppose he did, as I left all arrangements to him—I was so heartbroken. The truth is, I have grieved so much in my time, in fact, I’ve been so afflicted, I have never got through grieving for the irreparable loss of one husband before Providence called on me to grieve for another.” . . One and a half million dollars in diamonds shook again, but it was by the sudden dispersion of the group. They had not come from New York to attend a funeral. The dance had ceased for a rest. The dancers, paired off, were promenading from right to left around the room. Miss Euclid and Miss Smiling stood near the wall, out of the cur- rent, to see Society. They not only saw, but heard. Mr. Lackawanna and Mrs. Stocks moved slowly, languidly, by. - “My husband says, that stock is watered too much already —the people won't stand any more watering,” said Mrs. Stocks. “The people be ‘hanged It's none of their business. They’ve got to stand it. The income will pay six per cent. on four times the legitimate amount of stock,” replied Mr. Lackawanna. - Mr. Ferrum and Mr. Weaver approached. “The tariff has made our millions, and we must spend mill- ions if necessary to continue it. Our furnaces netted us last year over one hundred per cent.” Mr. Ferrum was speaking. “You know Mr. Recker put me on the Pamphlet and Print- ing Committee, and so we have a hundred hired paupers at a dollar a day, and got’m up in garrets writing away, twisting and turning figurs and facts to prove the blessing of Protec- tion.” The remainder of Mr. Weaver's response was lost by the distance. & Mr. Nat. Banks and Miss Tinnie Buckle came next. Miss Buckle was smiling, happy and silent. She was listen- ing to the figure speaking without words, as it moved and said: “It is passing. Behold It. You are blessed by Its presence once more. Avail yourself of It. Do not be envious of It. I cannot help it. I am not responsible for it. I would veil It, soften It, if I could. It's impossible. Don't beseech It to linger. It must move on. Justice to all demands it. Do not be disconsolate. Do not crowd and hurt each other to get a view of It. It will be around again. Only be patient,” 7TAZAZ /)/A A/OAVZ) BAZA. 245 Next came Tommie Shoddy and Miss Toodie Haslet. “Tommie, dear ! I've been thinking of some sweet, roman- tic name for you to call me. I thought of Pauline, but it's a name of a play character. It's lovely, though. But I have a name. I want you to call me your Darling Porcine. Will you, dearest ?” said Miss Toodie, most languidly, leaning heavily on dearest's arm. “Yes, my sweet, darling Porcine, anything you wish, you knaw.” - The count and Miss Cindie followed. “Ah ! Mees Zindares, parley vous Français ?” asked the COUInt. “No, count. I am ashamed to say, considering father's immense wealth, I have never been to France, but if you will just promise to be there, I'll—” The remainder of the sentence was lost. Mr. Secretary, escorting Mrs. Ferrum, passed, gazing far away, sighting along his nose to catch a glimpse of the United States navy. “If Congress would only put the Treasury at my command, with your husband's iron to help, I could repair the navy in fifteen or twenty years, easily,” said the Secretary, firmly. “I don't doubt it—in thirty years any how,” replied Mrs. Ferrum, enthusiastically and encouragingly. “I’ll speak to my husband about it ! It's a grand idea—worthy of your naval genius ! What is all this fuss about your navy P" “It’s about nothing,” truthfully answered the Secretary. “I suppose you have heard, of course, of the cruel slander of you having pawned the United States navy,” said Mrs. Ferrum, sympathetically. “Yes, my dear Mrs. Ferrum, it only shows how suspicious the public mind is, and how illogical when excited. How could I pawn a thing that is invisible 2 " The Secretary spoke with an expression of great Commiseration for the public mind. Mrs. Secretary and Mr. Collier followed next. “My dear Mizez Secretary Nonavie what a sublime ! ah what a gorgeous position you do occupy as leader of Society,” said Mr. Collier with tender warmth. “Ah well !” remarked Mrs. Secretary, with a sigh, deeply touched by the tenderness with which the compliment was ex- pressed, and shaking her head sadly, “ah me ! how little does the gay, giddy throng know of the sleepless nights I pass under the heavy responsibility I have on me in constantly 246 AZ U 7'OCRACY. watching and directing Society, not only here, but in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and even London. Indeed, you may say, on land and on Sea. It's too much for one poor soul like me.” “Poor soul” was lengthened out in a lackadaisical tone, as a troll to catch a bigger compliment. It came with slight pauses, just as her two yards of train were jerked along at every step. The troll caught, but the train had passed out of hearing. Mr. De Stilling and Mr. Smiling were passing. The former was speaking in a confidential undertone and the latter was listening, while, with his right hand in his pocket, he had waked up Comfort, Luxury and Power, and was putting them through the trapeze practice. “Our Committee on Surreptitious legislation is getting in some good work here. Our head lobbyist reports thirty mem- bers secured by liquor, twenty-three by Welcker dinners, twenty by cards, and nineteen by the so-called female claim- ants rigged up and sent over from New York. He says, it is perfectly lovely to set in the gallery and see those fellows, one after another, rear up on their hind legs, howl for us and grow apoplectic in the face, talking about vested rights and justice and the constitution.” Next came Mr. John Weaver and little Susie Lagér, trotting along by his side, trying to keep step. As they approached, Miss Smiling spoke to Miss Euclid of the contrast in size of the approaching pair. Miss Euclid, whose back was to the pair, turned as they were nearly oppo- site her, and her eyes and Weaver's met. Weaver stopped suddenly. His arm held by Miss Lagér fell to his side. He blanched, looked startled, but quickly assuming an air of disdain, bowed coldly to his acquaintance, Miss Smiling, and passed on. Not a word was said, but Miss Smiling did not fail to see the look and the frigid air of Mr. Weaver the moment Miss Euclid turned. - “Did you notice the haughty manner that gentleman put on the instant you turned towards him 2'' inquired Miss Smiling. “I noticed the manner you describe, but I supposed it to be his—to the man born.” * “No, it is not his manner. Do you know him 7” “I never saw him before this minute,” answered Miss Euclid. “Then I am mystified. He certainly never acted so to me. I imagined you had, at some time before to-night, cut him— 7% AE)/A MÖAVZ) BAZZ. 247 wounded his pride or vanity—and he was mean enough to re- taliate in this large assembly.” - “If he intended that,” reasoned Miss Euclid, “he struck the wrong woman, for he is as much a stranger to me as you were yesterday.” - The eyes of both were following the rude actor, when he and Miss Lagér stopped. His action indicated that he was direct- ing the attention of Miss Lagér to Miss Euclid or her compan- 1O11. Miss Euclid began to feel embarrassed, which being observed by Miss Smiling, she changed the subject by an adroit move. “They are going into the supper room.” CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH. THE SUPPER. AT one o'clock supper was announced. The number of guests and the size of the dining-room precluded seats. The feast was a “Go as you please.” - The late hour (that is, for an American supper) and the dance had put a keen edge on appetite, and the divinity that languished in silks and satins and blazed with jewels, suddenly lapsed to mortality. Trains were quickly packed under arms to prevent wrecks. Fans were held by arms and sides and not by dainty jeweled fingers. Tall men reached over the heads of short men. Short men tip-toed, in vain, to see and to be seen . by the waiters. Waiters behind the table, barricaded, met the assault as best they could. Men without ladies called for salads, boned tur- key, croquettes, champagne, “for ladies,” and when supplied they supplied the place of the ladies. Men with ladies placed them in front to act as snow-plows, and cried out, “Make room for the ladies, please,” which, being interpreted, meant, “Make way for me.” Punch glasses were filled and passed over and to the rear at the rate of thirty a minute, and returned empty as rapidly, like buckets in a grain elevator. Champagne corks kept up a fusilade, suggestive of a skirmish line in battle. Ices, washed down by punch, were followed in close chase by meats and salads and champagne. Cake and cold turkey moved on to- gether without a murmur or grimace to a common, simulta- neous grave. Such a jam could not occur without some mishaps. Mrs. Lagér was early at the feast. She took position and fortified it, evidently with the intention of meeting successfully every advance from the front. But, like some unskillful generals, she had failed to guard the flanks and rear. In latitude Mrs. Lagér was conspicuous. From the center to the extremes of her right and left flanks she occupied a broad field, but as she was deficient in longitude, those behind who were pressing heroic- ally to the front, not being able to see the Corps or the colors 7"HA, SUPPER. 249 of Mrs. Lagér, mistook the apparent vacancy for a hollow square. It was neither a square nor a hollow. The conse- quence was, that the rear column, eight to ten feet deep in close ranks, pressed forward with great eagerness, until Mrs. Lagér, who was devoutly stowing away about three pounds of chicken salad, was driven by superior forces against the table which, being about to give way, was shored up by six strong waiters on the opposite side. Thus hemmed in, and Sorely, not to say violently, pressed on every side, Mrs. Lagér conceiving death to be imminent shouted “ Murder.” At the same instant of time, the hand of an unselfish gentleman, who was passing a glass of champagne with a lump of ice in it over the head of the statuesque Mrs. Ferrum, was struck by another gentleman, who had suddenly reached for a plate of salad, and the wine and ice fell on the spinal column of the statue. As Mrs. Lagér cried “Murder ' " the lady who had involuntarily taken the champagne shower bath, screamed “Great Scott " '' with alarm- ing accent on the word, “Scott.” - By the many who had retreated in despair, or disgust to the ball room, the word “Scott,” following in a second the word “murder,” was mistaken for “Murder I’m shot | " and there was a precipitous rush to the supper room. Then came another dangerous squeeze of Mrs. Lagér, who, by this time, had be- come bellicose, and commenced breaking plates on the bald heads of the rear line of attack. This vigorous assault broke the line and relieved the pressure, Mrs. Lagér ceased firing, but her ire being up, she had to get relief, which she proceeded to obtain by saying : “If this is the way aristocrats and millionaires (puff) are to be treated that they can't eat a spoonful of victuals (puff) with- out being Squeezed in the waist like a wasp (puff), I'll be con- found if I ain't going home and stay there " (puff). She ac- cordingly found her daughter, Susie, and departed. Mrs. Ferrum was very quickly relieved, in part at least, of her icy discomfort by Miss Euclid, who by reaching only two inches inside the dress to Mrs. Ferrum's waist, removed the ice. The count escorted Miss Cindie Cinders to the supper room The count, forgetting for a moment that Miss Cindie had frankly admitted she had never been to France, when asked if she spoke French, led off by asking : - “Mademoiselle ! Quel avez vous 2 Beg pardone. Ave ou Vat P’’ Miss Cinders, just before entering the supper room, having 25o PzvzocRAcy. been engaged in giving the count a description of her Paris dresses made by Worth, supposed he was politely renewing the subject, and she was pleased to answer : “Certainly, count ; I have a great many hats at home, but none here. The wealthy don't wear hats to balls in America. It is not the fashion.” . Miss Cindie “was not hungry. Indeed she had no appetite. She would partake of a very small ice, very little indeed.” She would impress the count that her feelings, emotions, appetite were not of the earth ; that she dwelt in the spirit land and was only there that night to meet a congenial soul—one she had long vainly sighed for communion with. - She asked a waiter for a very small ice, a dainty one, while the count looking at the waiter imploringly and remembering the diet of his native land, said : “ Macaroni P” - “No, sah, don't have dem tings at big ball like dis,” replied the indignant waiter. - As the count had been boarding around in New York at cheap rates and had become familiar with the staple American dish, he withdrew his eyes from Italy, and asked the waiter, “Hash P ‘’ - | The waiter looked at the count with an expression of con- tempt without giving an answer, then turned to another waiter and said : - “Yer hear dat Buckra wid black gimlets on side of his mouf ask for hash 2 He must tink dis a six rate boardin' house.” - One of the caryatides of the occasion standing near, seeing the count’s embarrassment went to his relief, and after a few words with him in French, he asked the waiter what he had to eat. The caryatid interpreted the waiter's reply, and the coun took a salad in lieu of macaroni or hash. - Miss Cinders, as was disclosed in the account of the consti- tutional pug convention, was sentimental. That night she was more. She was dainty, in deference to the divinity she was worshipping in the person of the count. She accordingly adopted the latest fad, which was to use a fork, instead of a spoon, in eating ice-cream. By the time the count could get his salad, the ice Miss Cinders was eating had become soft, and as she was attempting to convey a lump to her mouth, it drop- ped from the fork into, or rather on, her bosom. This precip- itated her flight from the supper room, through the ball room, through the drawing room, up to the cloak room. * - THE SUPAAA’. 251 As she was in company with the count, her excited, distressed manner precipitated chivalrous inquirers on the count, who wished to know what he had said or done “to insult Miss Cin- ders, a millionaire's daughter.” That precipitated the count into a hundred postures, gestures, grimaces, shrugs, and pantomime explanations by using a fork, saucer, and ice-cream, until he finally dropped some cream on his immaculate shirt. - The pantomime being satisfactory, he withdrew from the Supper room. As he entered the ball room, he encountered Mr. De Stilling, Mr. Haslet, Mr. Bullock, Mr. Skinner, Mr. Fer- rum, Mr. Weaver and Mr. Smiling standing in a group. These gentlemen had shown a lingering appreciation of the Secretary's liquors and wine before and at the supper. Mr. Haslet, with both hands behind him and under his coat, and legs far apart—his usual attitude—was narrating some reminiscence in a very jolly mood, Mr. Smiling was the un- conscious manager of an exciting acrobatic performance be- tween Comfort, Luxury and Power, while listening to the story. Mr. Bulloch was feeling in his breeches pocket for his handkerchief to wipe some ice-cream from the back of Mr. Weaver. Not finding it, he used the tail of Mr. Weaver's coat. Mr. Weaver was trying to light a cigar by holding it up to Mr. Ferrum’s nose—mistaking it for a coal on fire, while Mr. De Stilling was pulling away at his cigar as he tried to hold it to a large diamond eardrop of Mrs. Stocks, which he mistook for a jet of gas. The count had been introduced to all in the group, of course, as every man and woman, except Misses Smiling, Euclid and Lovelace, and Mr. Playfair, had eagerly sought an introduction early in the evening. As the count approached, Mr. Haslet greeted him with a slap on the back. “Count old fellow ! you must come out West We've got the biggest country in the world out there. Why, sir, I can show you a hog pen bigger'n your old town. I’ve been there. I've seen it. You've nothing but old Peter's Church and the Colossus ruins and beggars.” - “Why, sir! I can show you a cattle yard bigger'n Rome,” added Mr. Skinner, to arouse still more the count's wonder and admiration. “And as for your paintin's,” resumed Mr. Haslet, “I’ve got one that contains five acres of hogs, and every hoof of 'em mine, sir.” 252 FLUTOCRACY, Mr. Haslet's daughter, who, in common with the other millionaire heirs-apparent, had her eyes and heart on the €ount, was standing near. She frowned and rushed off to her rother. - “Billy, for heaven's sake go yonder and stop pa We've done gone out of the hog business and gone into Society and yonder is pa giving the whole business away. He's telling the count all about his hogs / It's perfectly offal Please go, quick | * - “Yet, sir,” continued Mr. Haslet, “Urup is objecting to our hog meat because you say it has worms in it. It's not so, sir America produces the best family of hogs in the world, and the most of 'em l’’ * * * : * * “Pa, I want to see you a minute,” said his son Billy. “Come here, Billy ’’ answered Mr. Haslet, “You know as much about hogs as me, or anybody. You can corroporate what I just told the count about hogs, and our big hog paintin’.” “Just one word, Pa,” Billy insisted, and got his father away from the count, and the count moved away from the group, in search of a partner for the next dance, and for life. The supper being over, the next thing in order was another dance. - When Mr. Playfair saw the movement for the dance, he ad- vanced to Miss Euclid, who was conversing with Miss Smiling, and requested to have the pleasure of dancing with her in the next lanciers. She was not inclined to leave her companion, but when Miss Smiling joined her entreaty to that of Mr. Play- fair, she consented and the two took position on the floor. As Miss Euclid left Miss Smiling, John Weaver approached her and asked : - - “Do you know the woman who you was talking to as I passed you, now standing there 2'' pointing to Miss Euclid. “Yes, sir, I do, though I had the pleasure the first time to-night. She is Miss Euclid,” replied Miss Smiling. “Miss What P ‘’ “Miss Euclid.” “Does she call herself that * * “She was introduced as such, and I have called her Miss Euclid many times and received no correction.” “Let me tell you, that is not her name. I know her well. When a woman passes under an assumed name—beware l’’ and Mr. Weaver walked back to join Miss Lagér. - “What does this mean P’’ soliloquized Miss Smiling. “A 7"HZ SOAPA’AA’. + 253 girl as intellectual and cultured as she, with a face open and frank, here under an assumed name ! That can't well be. Yet - I am put on notice and must know the truth.” She stepped to Mrs. Secretary and engaged her in conversation. “Excuse me, Mrs. Secretary : Is the name of one of the young ladies I asked an introduction to, Lovelace, or Love- less P” - “Lovelace. Do you not find her very intelligent and sweet?” answered and inquired Mrs. Secretary. “Very. I suppose she resides in Washington,” asked Miss Smiling. “Oh, yes, she is one of our belles and a most lovely girl. I want you to know her well.” “I so desire, I assure you. Excuse me, I wish to speak to her a moment.” “Certainly,” replied Mrs. Secretary with a bow. - “Miss Lovelace, your friend, Miss Euclid—I believe I have the name correct—-” - “Yes,” interrupted Miss Lovelace “—is a very intelligent young lady, and as I am indebted to you for her acquaintance, I wish to know more of her,” said Miss Smiling. - “I was sure you would like her. You would love her dearly if you knew her as intimately as I do. We were schoolmates at Vassar and bosom friends. She is as bright as the morning star.” “I am sure your praise is well deserved and I intend to know more of her. Thank you, I will not detain you as I see the dance will now begin.” - Miss Smiling moved away and stood near Mrs. De Stilling, Mrs. Haslet, Mrs. Stocks, and Mrs. O'Le Margarine, who were in a group whispering, and then looking up at Miss Euclid. Mrs. Cinders seemed excited and rose quickly and whispered to her daughter, who was in the same set, and who looked sharply at Miss Euclid. “I wish I may die,” affirmed Mrs. Cinders, “if you ain't right. That's her shore / She's Mizez Clinkers' house-girl, for I seen her there at tea, one day given by Mizez Clinkers. Mizez De Stilling, you was there ! ” “Certainly I was ” exclaimed Mrs. De Stilling. “Well ” Mrs. Cinders let the word drop at the end of a long expiration, as if it weighed a ton. “This beats all. This is a mice aristocratic, millionaires' ball, upon my word ' a Serv- ant, a chambermaid—she may be a cook for all I know—of 254 - PZUTOCRACY. ‘Mizez Clinkers here—a hired girl, living on wages, a dancing with millionaires' daughters My daughter won’t dance here any more, at least not in that set.” “I wonder if the hostess knows that wages girl is here P’’ remarked Mrs. Cinders. “Of course she don't—you don't suppose she would insult us in that way, do you?” answered Mrs. De Stilling. “Of course not,” was volunteered by Mrs. Stocks. “She knows too well that Society wouldn't stand that sort of indig- nity.” º “No, indeed ” ejaculated Mrs. Cinders, with prolonged ac- cent on the last syllable expressive of her resentment to the very imagination of such a foul indignity to Society. While that indignation meeting was in session within twelve feet of Miss Euclid, she and her partner for the dance were intently engaged in conversation on a subject suggested by the surroundings, and by the indignants especially. - .- “I presume that Washington is not your home, only because I have not, before to-night, had the honor of meeting you,” said Mr. Playfair. “I can scarcely say I have a home,” was the reply. “My local habitation is New York. I came here at the solicitation of my friend, Miss Lovelace, to be ‘a looker on in Vienna.’ This is a strange, suggestive scene to me. It is full of food for thought.” - - “I judge from your conversation that you, if not a philoso- pher, sometimes philosophize on life and its problems.” “Yes, while I may not rise to the plane of philosophizing even,” said Miss Euclid, “I do, and very often, think seriously of the social problem in America. That subject engages my attention more than any other. “My father was a thinking man. He talked to me on sub- jects much above my age. His conversation was like the poetry of the youthful Pope, who ‘lisped in numbers, for the numbers came.’ My father talked on philosophy, Sociology, political science, history as it repeats itself in the rise and fall of na- tions, because those subjects were constantly pressed upon him, he said, against his will. He foresaw decay in what others considered signs of strength and longevity. He saw in ani- mate and inanimate nature rapid growth followed by speedy decay; from the succulent vine, or leguminous plant, to the millennial cedar, or Sequoia ; from the insect that lives but a day, to the quadruped of a century and more. 3. 7 'AAA SUAAAA’. 255 “He said, in the enormous wealth so rapidly increasing, he believed exists our greatest peril. Yet, we hear of nothing everywhere except money—money—money. The rich are grinding up the poor to increase fortunes already exceeding any in history or fiction, and they tell the poor they are their best friends, while stripping the flesh from their bones. “We are rushing on with accelerating centrifugal force. While the force of concentrated wealth is apparently centrip- etal, it is really disintegrating. The rich and poor are in the condition of two negative electric poles; they repel. They are like two atmospheric strata, one hot (the poor), the other cold (the rich,) and a hurricane will break upon the country some bright day, as a cyclone bursts forth on the western plains.” “Very true,” said Mr. Playfair. “To my mind we are like a pleasure party in a boat drifting on the placid bosom of Eastern Lake Erie. All aboard are given up to revelry. The oarsmen have laid down their oars and joined in the riotous dissipation. The boat obeys the tide; the tide is onward, downward, just as unbridled appetites and passions always are. Suddenly the roar of the breakers, the swift water dashing over the rocks, arrest attention ; but it is too late. Oars are vain ; oarsmen are drunk ; the boat shoots rocking and reeling among, against, over the rocks, and plunges into the boiling abyss.” “Your comparison strikes me as very apt,” said Miss Euclid. “It had not occurred to me. But that is not surprising at all, as I am a young observer, and am just on the threshold, so to speak, of the cosmopolitan temple. - “I confess that this scene here is to me a revelation. I never saw Society in this presentation before. It is hardly becoming in a guest to criticise, and I do not—would not—reflect on the host or hostess. But I see no impropriety in drawing conclu- sions from what is called Society assembled here. “To me this is the most hollow, heartless pageant imagi- nable. I have seen three or four women here to-night, and more than a hundred statues.” “Yes, if you will excuse a thought I have had in mind all evening,” said Mr. Playfair, “this looks to me like a com- petitive exhibition of the products of many tyros in the art of sculpture, to which the masters kindly refused to send a statue.” - “To my mind,” added Miss Euclid, “it appears more like a competitive display by jewelers than by sculptors; and that the diamond dealers had borrowed the statues to hang the 256 PZvzocracy. diamonds on, acting on the theory, that the less attractive the statue, the better the chance for the diamonds to be seen. “But, Mr. Playfair, those diamonds, those pearls, those silks and laces are speechless witnesses of more and worse than they tell. Every sparkle of every diamond that glitters a hundred times each minute, has a counterpart in glistening tears, wrung out by them from poverty. In fact, these diamonds are but Crystallized tears. As the millions of superincumbent tons compress the carbon into a diamond—so the incalculable pressure of poverty, distress, agony, press out the glistening tear. - “It so happens (if anything ever happens, which I do not believe), that I know some of the women here. That is, I know who they are. I do not pretend to an acquaintance, for, measuring rank and social position by money (the only American standard soon to be, if not now), I do not belong to their class. I am independent enough to say, I am poor. In- deed, to speak frankly, I am what is called by them a wage- earner, a bread-winner. I fill the humble position of house- keeper for one of that class in New York.” As Miss Euclid made that admission, she held her eyes steadily on Mr. Playfair's face. She saw no shrinking, no sign of shock, or disappointment. On the contrary, he smiled ap- provingly, with an expression of agreeable astonishment. As- sured thereby that he was in sympathy with her, she continued : “Of course my position is not of choice. It is partly from necessity—partly from my desire to study Society in its hotbed, if I may so speak. “Now, the women whom I know, and here to-night, are a blooming type of the Social crust forming over the country. Excuse me for saying plainly, they are ignorant, supercilious, coarse, vulgar, pretentious and heartless, and their husbands are no better. Together, they are the PLUTOCRACY. “They all started life, poor, and the poorer, the more arro- gant and selfish they are now, the harder they are on the poor. Education to them is the arithmetic of money. They learn addition and multiplication only. Subtraction and division are unknown tables.” At this point of the conversation Miss Smiling passed, and Miss Euclid called her. - - “I trust the evening is not wearing heavily with you,” said Miss Euclid. “No, I am never without employment, even when in such a THE SUAEAAER. 257 gathering as this. There is much food for the mind here, though I cannot say there is much play for sympathy.” “We, Mr. Playfair and I, are in full accord with you in that reflection. We were discussing the surroundings here as you were passing.” “In that one particular,” replied Miss Smiling “I am of opinion that we three are in a state of isolation. Heads have vacated to hearts and heels, to-night. Diamonds are trumps in every hand.” “Very true,” said Mr. Playfair. “The hands held are most strangely divided. The young hold the “hearts,’ while the old —I beg pardon for that impoliteness—I mean, while the mam- mas hold a strong suit of “ diamonds.’” “Yes,” quickly put in Miss Euclid ; “but from appearances, after a few more shuffles, their suit will be “spades.’” “That will be when ‘ clubs are trumps, and Death is the ‘dealer,’” retorted Mr. Playfair. “Yes, and then there will be “whist,’ indeed,” continued Miss Euclid. “Well,” said Miss Smiling, “I thought when you got down to ‘spades,' Miss Euclid, you had played the last hand, but I had forgotten that ‘Playfair came after ‘Euclid.’” “And improved the work,” responded Miss Euclid. After such a run of words and wit a break was natural, and in order. It was made by Mr. Playfair. “Miss Euclid ' What has become of Our dance P’’ “You mean our ‘Great Expectation,’” replied Miss Euclid. “As you will. We are the only couple on the floor. No one else seems ready or willing to dance. Let us take seats. I will enjoy a talk with you much more than the dance.” As they sat down, Miss Euclid, in glancing around the room, noticed a dozen or more women staring at her, or Mr. Play- fair, or both. In a minute her friend, Virginia Lovelace, came and proposed, if agreeable to Miss Euclid, that they go home. Miss Lovelace looked serious, in fact, a little annoyed. Mr. Playfair proposed to see them home, if they would ac- cept his services. As they would be pleased to have him attend them, they prepared to leave. - Miss Euclid must say good-night to her new friend, Miss Smiling. “I trust, Miss Euclid, you and I shall meet soon and often. I will call, if you will favor me with your street and number.” Miss Smiling thought that plan the best way to end the doubt 17 258 AZ U 7'OCRACY, lodged in her mind by John Weaver. If he should be in error, Miss Fuclid would be a most valuable, charming companion ; and she believed he must be in error. Miss Lovelace knew her intimately, was in college with her, was her classmate, room-mate—and “she is Miss Euclid.” Strange Passing strange | One was in error, sure. Another Tichborne case. But she would soon know. Miss Euclid was embarrassed. Her social position (what- ever she deserved) was not recognized as equal to Miss Smil- ing's. She was poor—her new friend was rich. She was an employé—Miss Smiling was an employer. Should she leave her new acquaintance under a delusion ? Would that be right —honorable 2 No ; she would be true to herself—fair to Miss Smiling, If Miss Smiling were a Society woman, she would not desire to continue the acquaintance. If she were a sensible woman, and did not weigh wealth or poverty in her estimate of character and merit, to tell her frankly could do no harm. “Miss Smiling, to say I am greatly pleased to know you is an expression purposely limited by my sense of propriety. To say . less, I cannot ; to say more with what else I feel it my duty to make known to you, might expose me to the painful criti- cism of seeking my advantage.” - Did the thought occur to the listener that a confession of an assumed name was about to be made 2 How natural to any one at all suspicious or uncharitable ! But, in the large open eyes of the speaker, and the honest, guileless expression of her face, Miss Smiling saw nothing that suggested such a thought. “I feel it to be due to you, as well as to myself, to tell you that, at present, I am filling the humble position of house- keeper to Mrs. Clinkers, which, as I well know, debars me from social recognition, as Society is organized in New York. “You may wonder how it is, then, that I am here to-night. The whole story is too long to be told at this hurried moment of parting. But, in brief, I am a student of society as well as of books. My presence in New York is accounted for, mainly, by that fact. My school friend, Miss Lovelace, invited me here, and I came as one who goes to a gallery to study art, or goes to See a play. “All the world's a stage and men and women are but the players.’ You may think it indelicate in me to be here, situated as I am ; but I am sure you would not, did you know the facts.” “I am equally sure, Miss Euclid, that your slight acquaint- 7 HE SUPPER. 259 ance with me is the sole cause of your statement. Still, I thank you for making it. I shall call to see you soon, and I have a conviction, that we will be warm friends.” They parted that night, each bearing with her the regret Sweetened by the memory of a joy and the eager anticipation of another meeting, that fills all young souls united by sympathy or love. - The guests were on the move. The old were waiting for the young, who were getting off the bright speeches they had prepared to get Off as impromptu scintillations—a sort of cli- macteric sky rockets, or fireworks, reserved for the last. The group that had arrested the count, and challenged a Comparison between Rome and a hog-pen, were now taking leave of the charming hostess and happy host. Each assured the hostess that he had passed “a most delightful—yes—a magnificent time.” Mr. De Stilling “would say, and he didn't care who 'sputed it, he had never spent a jollier even' in all his born days, and if he could hold the floor he would say—” But Mr. Haslet would not let him keep the floor. In parlia- mentary language, Mr. Haslet “took him off his feet" by abruptly saying : “Mizez Sectry—the fac’ is I’ve 'ad a bully time. I jus’ tell you, I'm goin' to pay you high comp’ment, when I tell you, I don't know anything equal tº it, 'cept hog-killin' time. That y’ know, beats the worl’—spare-ribs, back-bones, sausage, chit- lins, fatty bread— - “Speakin' o' hogs, I shut up that count t” night, in arg’ment on hogs. That 'minds me, my wife tole me be sure to tell you she couldn’ come 'cause she'd eat a big mess fresh pork—an’— an’—Colic—” At the word “colic,” the caryatides remaining, feeling it im- possible to uphold the dignity of the occasion, abandoned their trust and glided from the wall. The ladies ran away to the cloak room. Mr. Nat. Banks, who had sacrificed himself on the altar of duty to the hostess, and had painfully consented, on her solicitation, not to mar the occasion and stampede the guests by withdrawing Its presence, struck a pose in front of Mr. Has- let, with glass to his right eye, staring at him. The sight of IT instantly side-switched the speaker, who was growing pathologically, not to say, pathetically confidential to the hostess. - As soon as Mr. Haslet's eyes fell on It, his features began to . 26o AZ U TOCRACY. relax, a maudlin smile crept over his face and his mouth, slowly opened : “Hello | Old Nat. Att'ude Zat you ? Eh " The last remnant of dignity from dome to base gave way at once. Scipio, who was speeding the parting guests, as he un- consciously received the “tips,” forgot his high and responsi- ble station as lord chamberlain, and made the deserted ban- quet hall echo to an old time plantation Heaw Heaw Heaw Mr. Haslet was stowed away in his carriage. As he fell heavily against the regal cushion, he called out : “Drive—five hund an—, brown-stone front, Fiv’ avnue.” And the aristocratic, millionaire, diamond ball was a part of history and historical. But it had a sequel. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH. A HORRIBI.E SCANDAL. WHAT a boil there was in (not to say on) Society the morn- ing after the Diamond Ball. A pitched battle was raging between the Ins and the Outs—the invited and the uninvited. The latter rose at dawn and made the assault, while the former, overcome by fatigue, wine, Salad, and croquettes, were sleep- ing in their tents, dreaming, perhaps, of the brilliant ball, but waking to find the Philistines upon them. The videttes of the enemy had captured a few drunken stragglers, from whom was learned the demoralized condition into which many of the millionaires were thrown by the presence of a girl at the ball, who was—well—who and what she was, proved to be the point of attack. Mr. Jno. Weaver returning to his hotel, the night of the ball, expressed his virtuous indignation at the presence of a woman passing under a false name. Then followed the report, that she was a governess—then that she was a housekeeper for a New York millionaire. This report gave way, as easily as the air to the hand, to the next, because a worse report, which was, that the girl was a chambermaid—then, that she was a cook; and, finally, that she was a hired woman—living on wages That was too much. The spinal column of Society snapped. The Outs rose in rebellion. That could not—should not be tolerated. They resolved to sack the social citadel of the two Secretaries, to raze it to the earth, and to sow the earth with salt. The news got afloat that Mrs. Lagér, a great millionaire of New York, positively refused to allow her daughter, the charm- ing, beautiful Miss Susie, to dance, because that horrid bread- winner was in the ball room ; that the refined sensibilities of the handsome, noble young prince-of-a-fellow, Jno. Weaver, whose father owned millions in the Lowell Mills, were shocked to find that girl at the ball, and that he shook the dust off his feet, cut the acquaintance of Mrs. Secretary in the most pointed manner, and indignantly left the mansion. It was further charged that this outrage on Society was com- 262 AZ U 7'OCAEA CY. mitted by Miss Portia Lovelace, with the full knowledge and criminal connivance of Mrs. Nonavie. The Outs, who, before the ball, most obsequiously said “My dear Mrs. Secretary,” now spoke of her and the Secretary as “The Old Nonavies.” The press in Washington, Philadelphia and New York con- tained prurient hints at “a very sudden termination to the splendid diamond ball, caused by a strange discovery, to sup- press which all the brilliant diplomacy of the greatest leader of Society that has arisen in the nineteenth century was wholly futile. Startling developments are promised to-morrow. In fact, the thing—we might as well say scandal—cannot be sup- pressed. Murder will out.” Two hours before nine o'clock A. M., the hour at which the feminine Scions of Washington society are usually engaged in having the raveled sleeve of the previous night's care knit again by sleep, they, in carriages and on foot, were dashing here, there, everywhere. Chambermaids threw up window sashes and leaned out, turbaned in white, with dusters in hand, to see what the racket was about. Bootblacks, those aides de camp to Mrs. Secretary, whose duty is to keep their end of Society clean and shining, were watching, first, the carriages and then the shoe, and ask- ing what had broken loose. Miss Charity Pinkeye had risen at dawn to read the descrip- tion of the statues, dresses and diamonds on exhibition at the mansion of Mrs. Secretary Nonavie. The instant she read of the startling developments and hints of a probable scandal, she threw on a morning gown, told the house girl to order the carriage at once ; told her not to keep breakfast for her ; wrapped a Scarf around her head to conceal her paper curls, and drove rapidly for the home of her dear friend, Miss Pru- dence Goodenough. On the way she met three friends, separately, each in a car- riage, driving the horses in a gallop, going to see three other friends, to tell them all about the scandal. These three, each, knew all the particulars, and Miss Charity lingered and heard each one relate the full account. When Miss Charity arrived at the home of Miss Prudie she found her friend asleep. She ran up to her room, waked her, sat on the edge of the bed and commenced the story. Very soon Miss Prudie's mother was in the room. Miss Charity had narrated nearly every detail before the mother A HORAE/BA. SCAAWDA Z. 263 came. She began at the beginning, and was going through it all minutely, only pausing eight times to say she was nearly out of breath. Mrs. Goodenough had heard but little when she begged Miss Charity to stop just a second—just one—till she could send the house girl for about fifteen or twenty of her neigh- bors. Mrs. Goodenough was absent a quarter of a minute, which gave Miss Charity time to take six or eight long breaths, and , thus get her second wind. Before Miss Charity finished, nine of the neighbors arrived, and she started at the beginning and was half way through when the tenth neighbor rushed in with her one-year-old in her arms, and apologized for the delay by saying, the child was not quite dressed when the messenger got there, and the nurse was on the street gazing at the car- riages, and couldn't or wouldn't hear her call, and she had to dress the baby. Miss Charity said, no apology whatever was necessary, as she didn't mind telling the whole story over again, and she commenced at the first and went to the last. She was interrupted during each repetition by a hundred ques- tions, and “I wonder.” “Dear me.” “Sakes alive.” “Who’d a thought it?” “Did you ever ?” “And that's the leader of our Society ’’ “A servant girl at the Big Diamond Ball !” “Worse than that A cook " '' “Worse than a cook A wages girl, hired and paid by the month, it may be by the week, or day, who knows 7 ° Just then the servant of the eleventh neighbor came in and said : “Mrs. Quidnunc says, she is so sorry she can't come. She has rheumatism so bad she can’t walk a step, and she asks if you won't all go over to her house P’’ Miss Charity answered : “You all needn't go. I’ll go right away.” All said “No ; we'll all go, too.” Mrs. Skimmer, who was lean and active, moved off at once. Six others, who were fat and could not compete with the lean lady in a walking-match, suspected her of going ahead in order to tell the scandal, first. The fat ones insisted that Miss Charity Pinkeye had the right to tell it, as she got it first. Mrs. Skimmer got mad and fell out of the procession and went home. The other ten, includ- ing Miss Pinkeye, hurried on. Miss Prudie Goodenough promised to come just as soon as she could put on a wrapper. The one-year-old, though familiar with the whole family of 264 AZ U TOCRACY. eruptions, was not used to such a tumultuous and sudden irruption as eleven excited voices all in discordant chorus ; and being so natural as to put his own comfort above the extreme happiness of any ten people, resented the invasion by an in- stantaneous bawl. The mother resented this disturbance of her delight by calling the cook of Mrs. Quidnunc, and telling her to take the young selfish rebel and stuff him to the muzzle with anything, short of arsenic, to keep him quiet. The ten, in one breath; made Mrs. Quidnunc inexpress- ibly happy by assuring it was the most awful scandal she had ever heard . As Mrs. Quidnunc had tasted some very delicious scandals in her days, which numbered not less than fifty-five years, she rubbed her hands and licked her lips in anticipation of the feast. “You know all about the ball, of course 2 ” began Miss Char- ity. “Well ! You know Portia Lovelace, who lives round the corner on Tenth street in a rented house, and I hear the rent is not paid at that, that she's living on the charity of her uncle, old Thomasson, who made his money as a stage driver or a butcher, I don’t know which, but anyhow, that don't matter, it's all the same to him, I mean to us. Well, she's a great pet of old Mizez Nonavie, who has a friend in New York who, it is said, but I don’t believe a word of it, was once in a college somewhere—the idea of a wages girl being in a college and Vassar College at that -it's perfectly ridiculous, every one knows that's too thin.” “Of course, that’s not so—not a word of truth in it, if she's a wages girl, or servant,” interjected Mrs. Quidnunc, most em- phatically. “Why, of course not ” echoed eleven voices in eleven keys. “Go on,” eagerly requested Mrs. Quidnunc. “Well, that girl—” “You mean the wages girl, of course,” put in five of the audience. “No 1 I mean the Lovelace girl. They say she brought that girl—” “You mean the wages girl now, of course,” interrupted seven voices in chorus. “Yes, I mean the wages girl ; she, they say, was brought over here by Miss Lovelace, but I don't believe a word of it—not a zvord / because, poor as she is, she's got some notion of respec- tability, I would imagine, or old Mizez Nonavie, who is so stuck up—sticks herself up as a leader of Society—I say she A HORA2/B/CAE SCAAVZ) A Z. 265 wouldn't have her at her ball, unless she thought she had some notion, at least, of what respectability is, poor as she is, and we all know she's poor. Somebody did say she's fine looking.” “Who P Mizez Nonavie P’’ “Who 2 that Lovelace girl ’’ The two questions were by inquirers ready to dispute to the death, that is, to the last word, such a statement. “No, I mean the wages girl.” “Oh that is absurd too ridiculous,” was said by at least S1X. “Anyhow, I'm only telling what some people said.” “Well ! as to that, I have a cook that's better looking than I am,” said lady number six, pausing for a compliment. “I dare say ! ” volunteered number two, after scanning number six closely. * “Well, she's a heap better looking than you are, now, I can tell you,” rejoined number six, after giving her tongue an open field by removing her chewing gum. “Let Charity proceed with her scandal,” impatiently im- plored Mrs. Quidnunc, who had forgotten her crutch and was leaning forward nearer to the Charity that, to her just then, was greater than Faith and Hope. “Certainly l’” said number two, who had got enough of number six, and was ready to hear the Scandal repeated a hun- dred times. She already knew the theme by heart, but she was learning the variations, which were introduced at every rehear- sal by the performer. “Well, as I was saying—oh, you bother me so—where did I leave Off P” “You left off at the wages girl,” prompted Mrs. Quidnunc, who was losing not a word of the story. “Oh, yes. She was brought over by Portia Lovelace ; and John Weaver, the great millionaire's son, pointed her out to Miss Susie Lagér, who nearly fainted, the millionaire's daugh- ter from New York, and Mrs. Lagér herself, who weighs nearly 3oo pounds and ain't higher than my shoulder, and I ain't tall, was squeezed around the waist until she nearly died.” “Who Squeezed her ?” asked all at once, drawing still closer to the speaker. Mrs. Quidnunc's nose was within six inches of Miss Charity's. “The men, a whole crowd, pressing her on one side and some niggers on the other.” “Heavens and earth ! ” exclaimed No. I. 266 AZ U 7"OCAEACY. N “Was there ever such a disgraceful scene !” exclaimed O. 3. “I think they might have shown more taste, if nothing else,” thoughtfully suggested No. 4, in a tone of resentment, not to the Squeeze, but to the taste. “And was that done right in the ball room?” asked Mrs. Quidnunc, leaning closer to the speaker, after licking this fresh nectar from her lips. * “No ; in the supper room, right by the table !” “That was awful perfectly outrageous !” shouted a half dozen. “She must have been drunk herself, to allow such a thing,” Suggested Mrs. Quidnunc. “No, indeed. How can you say such a thing 2 Mrs. Lagér is a very wealthy woman—that is, her husband is worth twenty millions. That's impossible.” This was said by Mrs. Good- efough, who was the wealthiest person present. “What did Mrs. Lagér do or say ’’’ asked Mrs. Quidnunc, getting nearer Miss Charity. “She said, so I hear, they squeezed her waist till it wasn't bigger'n a wasp's, and she says now, after it was all over, she “hollered murder ’ and left the house.” “Yes! after it's got out, and people are talking about it ! That's very nice ’’ said No. 4, contemptuously. “Please go on,” remarked Mrs. Quidnunc beseechingly. “You didn’t finish about the cook.” “Oh, she just broke up the ball. Jno. Weaver found her out, and insulted her and a millionaire's daughter she was talk- ing to ; and then insulted old Mizez Nonavie, and left. Then Mrs. Lagér told who she was, that she had seen her actually at work, where she is working on wages, and all the girls re- fused to dance any more and that broke up the dance, of course, and the girl, she saw everybody glaring at her and she put on her duds and Cleared out.” “Tell me,” Mrs. Quidnunc asked, to get every drop of the sweet, “what is that wage girl's name P’’ “That nobody knows. That's where a big part of the scan- dal comes in. Jno. Weaver says, her right neme is Hampton, but Portia Lovelace says, it's Euclid. They say she's dis- appeared, no one knows where. Some say she is still here, but that old Mizez Nonavie will pay her a big sum of money to go away. Some people say she's a big politician's daughter, and she was invited to get votes by the request of a Congress- A HO/e/e/B Z/º SCAAVZ) A Z. 267 man, who is a warm friend of old Nonavie. Others say, old Mizez Nonavie was very quiet and tried to hush up the scandal last night in the ball room, and they say, she knows more about that girl's birth than she's willing for people to know she knows '' - “What do you say to all that, Mrs. Quidnunc P” inquired Mrs. Goodenough, as if she were a judge and Mrs. Quidnunc on trial, and all the evidence dead against her, and she (Mrs. G.) was about to pass sentence ; but would give her (Mrs. Quidnunc) a chance to say something that might possibly justify her (the judge) in reducing the punishment. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINTH. THE CURATIVE POWER OF SCAND ALS. MRs. QUIDNUNC, for many years, had been doubled up by rheumatism. She was confined to her house and could not move about her room without crutches. It was observed by all ladies present at the delightful rehearsals by Miss Charity, that Mrs. Quidnunc, at intervals, drew nearer to the narrator of the scandal; that she dropped her crutches; that she did not for a second take her eyes off the face of the narrator ; that she was restless at every interruption, and frequently licked her lips. These acts were not considered uncommon, under the cir- cumstances. But when Miss Charity rose and Mrs. Quidnunc at the same instant rose, keeping her eyes fixed on Miss Charity's face, and stepped nimbly around wherever the latter moved, their noses almost- touching, the entire household and all the visitors were amazed as well as rejoiced. Miss Charity burst out laughing, and said : “Why, Mizez Quidnunc 1 where is your rheumatism 2 ” “I have no rheumatism,” said Mrs. Quidnunc, seemingly astonished by such a question. Mrs. Quidnunc had been completely cured Her physician, Doctor Hobby, was sent for immediately. All the facts were stated and he was asked to explain. He said it was a case of mind cure, a thing he had never believed to be possible, and explained by saying : “The intense ecstasy produced by the exquisiteness of the scandal acting on Mrs. Quidnunc's nerve-center, the brain, had generated an electric current throughout her whole system for one hour, so thrilling and powerful as to dissolve and dissipate the deposits accumu- lated in and around her joints during all the years of her rheu- matism.” The report of this wonderful cure, by a remedy so delight- ful, spread with the swiftness of a slander. The physician, Doctor Hobby, abandoned all allopathic and homoCepathic remedies, and prescribed nothing but slanders. He was at once overwhelmed with business. Men and TAZAZ CURA 77 WAE AEO WAEA’ OA' SCAA//D24 L.S. 269 women never supposed before to have an ache or ailment in their lives came to him for prescriptions. He monopolized the business of the profession. All other physicians were idle. They took to toboganning and writing attacks on Doctor Hobby. No prescriptions were filled because none were written except by Doctor Hobby, and the druggists did not deal in his remedy—that is, it was not kept in bottles. They sold nothing but tooth-brushes, per- fumes, soda water and cigars. Some claimed that the cure was a miracle, and that started a demand for Bibles by those who were told the Bible contained accounts of several miracles. The spiritualists claimed it to be the work of the spirit of Æsculapius. The disciples of Mes- mer said it was the effect of mesmerism, that the mind and emotions of Mrs. Quidnunc were in absolute subiection to the mind of Miss Pinkeye, as was proven by every witness to the rehearsal. Doctor Hobby's enthusiasm was boundless. He wrote a powerful treatise on the “All-curative Power and Properties of Pure, Unadulterated Scandals.” He selected from a list of papers, periodicals and journals, to publish his treatise in, one that contained in every issue twenty affidavits of unknown men, and sworn to before justices of the peace residing in another State, to prove that that journal had the largest circulation of all periodicals and papers in the United States, which included the world, of course. When his intention to publish was generally known, the clergy and other good citizens appealed to him to desist ; that he would break up all the churches, and everybody, men as well as women, would join the sewing societies. Doctor Hobby finally agreed not to publish, on receiving the written promise of a large number of leading citizens in different sections of the country, that they would have a bill passed by Congress granting him a pension of five thousand dollars a €3.1. y The “leading citizens” were never called upon to perform the promise. A rival physician, after long consideration of some plan to get rid of Doctor Hobby, as a last hope, decided to sue out a writ to inquire into his lunacy. gºv On the trial of lunacy the lawyer for the rival physician proved conclusively, that Doctor Hobby had abandoned all the old systems of medical practice and used no other remedy or prescription than scandals, pure and simple, compounded for 27o AZ, U 7'OCRACY. and adapted to the age and sex of his patients. The judge presiding asked the lawyer “if that was all the proof he could produce to show that any man is a lunatic. If so, the Court would say to the counsel, that his evidence does not show even the slightest eccentricity.” All the jury laughed at the ab- surdity of such evidence to prove lunacy. The lawyer, Mr. Semper, then put in evidence the written agreement of Doctor Hobby to abandon his intention to pub- lish his treatise ; and followed that with undeniable proof that at the time of the agreement to attempt to get a pension from Congress, and for twenty years before, he had been and was a resident of the District of Columbia. The judge at once said, “Stop, Mr. Semper Any further evidence would be a waste of time. Gentlemen of the jury, I instruct you that any man who has no vote, as is the case with the residents of this District, and even imagines he can get a pension, is a natural born fool | And I direct you so to find Doctor Hobby.” And so the greatest benefactor of mankind ; the man who had discovered a remedy for all diseases flesh is heir to, was confined in a lunatic asylum, where, about a year after, he died of inflammation of the brain, brought on by overwork in the service of his fellow-men. He labored day and night, com- posing scandals of varying strength and flavors to suit all ages and temperaments, and both sexes. From lack of space and time the whole list of the great philanthropist's prescriptions cannot be inserted here. Indeed, they would fill a good-sized volume. Only a few can be given as examples by which the intelligent expert in defamation can readily form an opinion of the skill and learning of the great- est psychologist of the age. “For children and adults of feeble constitutions, a mild, gently stimulating Scandal, such as a very decided impropriety committed by the child of a neighbor, who is an enemy.” “For an adult of lymphatic or phlegmatic temperament a strong, active, highly exciting scandal. If the patient be a male, a report that his competitor has committed forgery, or larceny ; if female, that her rival in society is entirely too inti- mate with another neighbor's husband. In the latter case (of the female), if the remedy prove to be too stimulating, an an- tidote must be given in the form of a report that the patient's husband has been seen under very suspicious circumstances with her rival. The doctor makes the following note to this 7TP/A2 CURA 77 PA5 A*O WAER OF SCAAWDAZS, 271 prescription : ‘The antidote may kill the patient, but that's no matter—it will cure the disease.’” “For a bank president suffering from somnia, apathy, or plethora, an eloquent narration, by an excited depositor, of the sudden flight of the cashier loaded down with all the bank de- posits.” -y “For father or mother afflicted with impaired sight, a racy, ludicrous recital of the elopement of the daughter of a neighbor with his coachman.” “For restoration of sight to a blind father, the scandal of the elopement of his daughter with his negro coachman.” Footnote by the doctor, “This remedy has never failed to restore the patient's hind-sight.” “For a whole congregation narcotized, or greatly enfeebled by long indulgence of appetite, or afflicted with priesthood, a satirical account, given with great relish by a man of the world, of the sudden and simultaneous disappearance of the minister and deacon's or elder's wife.” The only general caution to be observed in administering scandals laid down by Dr. Hobby is in these words: “If the patient has a pronounced diathesis towards slander, only half the quantity of scandal must be given, as the whole quantity is likely to produce ‘peripatetic jimjams,' which is manifested by the patient leaving business, or home, and pay- ing hurried visits to all the neighbors.” CHAPTER THIRTIETH. TRIBULATION OF MPS. SECRETARY IN ON AVIE. As Mrs. Quidnunc rose, before she could say anything in extenuation of her guilt implied in the question of Mrs. Good- enough, the carriage of Mrs. Secretary rolled by, bearing the late leader of Society no one knew where. Mrs. Quidnunc at once determined to know, so she sent a servant to watch. The servant soon returned with the gratifying report, that the carriage had stopped in front of Mr. Thomasson's mansion. That meant, of course, that Mrs. Secretary was in search of the wages girl, to pay her to depart ; and the twelve now joined by Miss Prudie, who hastened over to hear the scandal a fifth time, decided to desert their ambush and to take to the open field. They accordingly rigged themselves out, and went forth in search of, and to retail particulars of, the day's sensation. Mrs. Secretary, meanwhile, was having a touching inter- view with Miss Lovelace, who had, but a few minutes before Mrs. Secretary's arrival, returned from the Sixth street depot, where she had gone to bid her dearest friend a sweet good-bye, and to wish her a safe journey on the 9 o'clock express to New York. Miss Lovelace knew as well as any one what had been said of her friend at the ball. She had been that night alternately angry and wounded. She resented to the face of Mrs. Lagér and Miss Susie the reflection on her friend's poverty and humble position. She had told them, that Miss Euclid had more sense in the first joint of her little toes than they ever could have in both of the little heads. Mrs. Lagér said she “didn't care if she did, she was nothing but a white nigger, and had to step up every Saturday and get her wages.” - Miss Susie gave strong support to her mamma, who was fighting on the front line, by curling her upper lip, shaking her little head and chopping out, “Yes, that's just what she is. She'd no business here in an old sateen dress. That showed she's nobody.” “Of course ! Nobody to women who try in vain to cover TRZA ULA 77OAV OF MAES, SECRAE ZAR Y MOMA PAF, 273 their vulgarity with laces and diamonds !” Miss Lovelace shot at the belligerents as she walked away. Miss Lovelace was not in the most amiable of moods, when Mrs. Secretary called. She went at once to the parlor, with the expectation of a lively interview. “Good morning, Miss Lovelace l’’ was the greeting of Mrs. Secretary, who usually met her friend as “Portia.” “I Called to ask you something about the young person who was with you at the ball last night.” “Do you speak of the lady who went in my company ” “Ah ! That is just the question. I said ‘person.’ You say “lady,’ and that is what I called to find out. Whatever she may be, do you know she has inflicted on me a dreadful scandal P” “Will you please explain, Mrs. Secretary 2” “Why, it got out in my mansion during the ball, that she was passing under a false name and—and that—” “Who says that, Mrs. Secretary 2” “Why, it was on the tongue of everybody in the ball room.” “Then, there was a falsehood on the tongue of everybody who said it.” * “Miss Lovelace that is a bold speech for you to make about the Respectability and wealth assembled there last night.” “Yes, and that is a vile speech they made about Miss Euclid.” “But the young millionaire, the highly respectable Mr. Weaver, told me that her name is not Euclid, but is Hampton.” “Then the highly respectable millionaire is a vile slanderer, to use no stronger word. Her name is Euclid. Wasn't I in Vassar College with her ? But, if my word is to be ques- tioned about this, let us drop the subject at once.” Mrs. Secretary saw there was an irrepressible conflict between the statements of Mr. Weaver and Miss Lovelace, and the latter's earnest defiance shook her faith in the former. She began to suspect she had been imposed on, but she had too much pride to admit it. “Are you willing to make an affidavit to what you know, and say ?” Mrs. Secretary was softening. “For what purpose 2" asked Miss Lovelace, sternly. “To be used in the papers? To wound my friend by showing that her identity is questioned ; that she was slandered by Some one last night 2 No, indeed You can prove her identity by a hundred people now at Vassar, if it should be necessary.” I8 274 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. “Well, I assume you are right on that point, but there is another grievous affliction your friend's presence has brought on me, as the leader of Society, and, in fact, on Society itself. Is your friend rich 2 ° “No, madam, she is poor ; but what—” “One moment What is her occupation, or—” Mrs. Sec- retary hesitated, for a moment, for a word, and Miss Love- lace, seeing the drift of the examination she was to undergo, supplied it. * “Or work, you mean.” “Yes, thank you.” “Miss Euclid is housekeeper for a millionaire in New York, but she is a woman of thorough education and of the highest character, and because she is poor, I can't see why she is not as respectable as anybody at your ball.” “Of course, you know, I like to have intelligent people around me. You know, I asked you to bring a bright girl with you, but I never dreamt that you would think of inviting a. why, it is reported all over Washington, that she's a chambermaid, or a Cook, and even a wage earner, and just to think of such a person as that being in such a brilliant com- pany, made up of so much wealth and Respectability, and that you, whom I have always treated so well, should bring all this horrible scandal on me! Why, the whole of Society is up in arms, and the whole attack is on me, as the leader—” “Then I understand that all this row is because my friend has to work for a living, and—” “Portia,” said Mrs. Secretary, who had become somewhat subdued under her calamity, “you must remember that Soci- ety, in fixing rank and association, does not take into account intellect and culture and refinement and character, as you do. You are young yet. The line is drawn on wealth, now, especially on millions. A few hundred thousand would do before the war, but not now. It's millions now ! Before the war, intellect alone was respectable, in fact, was courted. Not so now. Intellect must be accompanied by wealth or high office now to be respectable and received in Society.” “Has character nothing to do with it ; I mean with respect- ability ?” inquired the pupil, with some feeling. “Of course ; but poverty must prove character, while mill- ions always guarantees character,” said the teacher with emphasis. sº “Well, what about that beggar count who was there last TRIBUZA T/OM OF MRS, SECRETARY AWOWA VIE, 275 night 2 Did he bring his certificate of character P’’ warmly asked the pupil. “Portia . I did not expect such a speech as that from you, but you must be excused, as it shows you don't know Society. The count may be poor. That's no matter. His character is in his rank, his title. American Society never so far forgets itself as to call in question the character of a foreign gentle- man of title. Nobility in Europe stands for the same as mill- ions in America. Both represent rank—character. That is the reason they intermarry. You must understand, the nobility of America are the millionaires. They have coats of arms, as many of them in my saloon last night have. “And now, my dear child, don't you see what a great sorrow you inflicted on me last night P Why, if your friend had been, say, only an artist, or a portrait painter, or a professional musician, or a school-teacher, or even the inmate of a charity institution, provided it owned a magnificent building and a large endowment, and had very wealthy trustees, why, it wouldn't have been so bad. I could have justified myself for having her there on the ground of Charity. I could have called Over the names of the millionaires who founded and endowed the charity, and my guests would have forgotten all about your friend. In fact, many of them would have considered her quite respectable by having her name and the millionaires men- tioned in the same breath or the same minute. But, how can I ever get rid of the sin of having the girl there who takes wages for her work 2 My ch-ch-child, I know you did not me- mean it, but you've ru-ru-ruined me !” And the great leader of Society leaned her head on Miss Portia's bosom, and wept bitterly. Miss Lovelace's heart was melted by the grief of her great guest so crushed. All indignation was swept away by the flood of tears, and sympathy turned Miss Lovelace's thoughts into a different channel. She began to think rapidly of some balm for so deep a wound, and it came to her as if by inspiration. “Mrs. Secretary, I am too young to assume to advise you, but if you want me to suggest a certain cure for all this trouble, I will do so.” “Of course I do—anything to suppress this horrid Scandal and give me relief,” sadly replied the wounded heart. “Well, I can give you a sovereign remedy.” Mrs. Secretary looked at her eagerly, and said, “What is it, my child?” 276 AZ, U 7'OCRAC V. “Give another ball !” said Miss Lovelace, triumphantly. “What P* Mrs. Secretary did not see the remedy. “Yes. Go straight home. Send for the local of the Even- ing Star, which has said nothing, of course, about the ball, as that paper has not appeared since. Tell him, the ball was such a success, the guests so charmed, that the hostess, the great leader of all Society, deeply regrets the necessity that forced her to have so few guests, though they numbered over three hundred ; that, as his lordship, the Earl Guzzle, will honor Washington society with his presence in about six weeks, the distinguished leader of Society has decided to give another ball soon after Lent, that, in magnificence, brilliancy, and the number of guests, will surpass any similar festive occasion ever known in America.” “Portia, my darling ! You are a child of genius !” ex- claimed the leader. “Before night every one of your slanderers will be dumb. By to-morrow they will be chanting your praise and swearing they had been defending you. Within a fortnight they will all call to praise last night's ball.” “My dear, I see it all ! You are right. I’ll do it. But, tell me, when did you think of this, why did you not tell me sooner P” asked the great leader of the wise babe. “I did not tell you sooner, because you began by an assault on my friend which I could not permit to pass unresented.” “Do you forgive me?” sweetly pleaded the leader. “I do, because I know she would. She is too grand a char- acter to bear resentment. But, I must now answer your first question. You ask when I first thought of this way out of what you, not I, feel to be a great trouble. I did not think of it at all.” “What do you mean You have told me, and now you say you never thought of it Mrs. Secretary was bewildered. “No, I did not. That poor, abused wage earner is the genius who has lifted the burden from your shoulders. She has applied this balm to your wound.” “Why, how 2 ” inquired the Great Leader. “Last night,” answered Miss Portia, “she spoke of the stares she received from those parvenus from New York, and her wit surmised they were stabbing her on account of her humble po- sition, as they look upon it, and she predicted the storm that has come to-day. She was greatly amused at it, and made me laugh for an hour by her ludicrous description of what would TRZA ULA TVON OF MAES. SECRAE 7"A R Y WOMA VIE. 277 be said. She predicted this visit by you to me because you know, of course, that I had invited her here. And she then said what she would do were she in your place. So you see, Mrs. Secretary, that the despised wage earner is your benefac- tress.” “Well, I do feel grateful to your friend. She is a genius, and I do hope that before the next Ball she will be out of that position and in one that Society tolerates; for I would be glad to invite her again.” “Mrs. Secretary, you need not worry over that, Miss Py- thagorea Euclid will not subject you to criticism again. She came at my urgent solicitation and only because she wished to see Society in a new phase. She has seen it and is content. She wittily said, she had not only seen it, but had seen a much larger area of it than she imagined would be exposed for exhi- bition. She had not expected to see it so realistic, but sup- posed there would be some room left for the play of the imag- ination.” “Well, you must come. I give you the first invitation. Of course I will send a card in due time.” “It is a great pleasure to be your guest at all times. But, if the Lagérs, De Stillings, Haslets, O' Le Margarines, Bonanzas, Cinders and so on, are to be there to entertain your guests with their youthful achievements in dancing the ‘Double Shuffle,’ ‘Pigeon Wing,’ ‘Jim Crow,’ and to describe the effects of eating a ‘bait of fresh pork,' you must not be surprised nor shocked if the buttons of my dress fly off. They nearly killed my friend, Miss Euclid.” “Well but, Portia, you must remember that they are all very wealthy people—worth millions—and whatever they say or do is respectable. A poor person, even supposing such a person was in Society, could not dare do what they can. But I must go. I intend to do what your friend suggests, at once. Good-bye, Portia.” “Good-bye, Mrs. Secretary.” The remedy of the wage earner's genius was applied. It acted like a charm at once. It quieted—hushed—Society. Then it stimulated. Society was aroused. The Associated Press announced the next day that the rumors growing out of the Ball were vile slanders—that nothing unpleasant had occurred. Miss Pinkeye called within three days and told the Leader, that some person, who was envious, she just knew, because she 278 AZ U 7'OCRACY, (or it might be a man) was not invited to the Ball, had started a report that somebody or other had acted disgracefully in the ball room, but she knew it wasn't so, just as soon as she heard it—that it was perfectly ridiculous—and she had given it the lie and put a stop to it. Mrs. Goodenough and daughter called on the Leader the next Monday. The mother said : “We suppose of course, Mrs. Secretary, you heard of the perfectly shameful reports some evil-minded woman started about the Ball, for there's always somebody in every commu- nity to run and tell a person every mean thing said about them We heard it soon the next morning, and we sent for some neighbors, friends of course, and just told them, if they heard any such thing they might know it was all a slander. We just put our feet down at once on the miserable thing.” Mrs. Quidnunc called just after the Goodenoughs de- parted. “I just called to see how you are after the fatigue I know you suffered in making your ball such a grand suc- cess. Your praise is on everybody's lips in the city. What a ridiculous thing that was, to start that report the day after the Ball, about some disreputable person being at the Ball, as if the Leader of Society did not know who is respectable and who is not. “Just to think that anybody could believe for one moment, that you would allow any such carryings on as for a woman to be squeezed around the waist at one of your magnificent Balls It was too absurd for a child to believe.” “That is something ſlew. I don't know what you mean,” Mrs. Secretary remarked, with apparent indifference and some levity. She had heard of the “assumed name * and “wages girl' only. “Why, I supposed, of course, you had heard of that, because bad news always travels on horseback, while good news goes on foot. Why, I hadn't eat breakfast before one of my neigh- bors—I needn't call any names, because it's all past now, and she is very sorry for it—one of my neighbors run over and told me, how a number of men Squeezed old Mizez Lagér round the waist. I knez", there wasn't a word of truth in it. I told her so—it couldn't be so—that it was a slander, because, in the first place, you wouldn't allow such a thing, and in the second place, because Mizez Lagér was a very fat woman, and besides, was a very rich woman, and, therefore, highly respecta- ble—and I gave the whole thing the lie from beginning to end.” TRIBUZA TVON OF MAES, SAE CRE 7.4 R Y AWOAVA WZZ. 279 “Why, Mrs. Quidnunc, all that nonsense grew out of the fact that some gentleman accidentally pushed Mrs. Lagér against the supper-table, which was just the height of her waist, and she was, So it was said, Squeezed or pressed against the table. I did not see it, but a dozen who did told me of it,” explained Mrs. Secretary. “Well, well ! Did I ever ! Some people are as vile as they can live Just think of it ! to manufacture such a slander on you and poor old Mizez Lagér, out of a little accident like that I Ain't I delighted that I nipped the thing right in the bud, and told my neighbor (I almost insulted her in fact), that it was all false, she might depend upon it, that if the men—mind you, she didn't say one man, but men, were going to behave in that indecent way, they were either dead drunk or I know they wouldn't try to reach round Mizez Lagér's waist, Z'm sure. “Ah me ! My dear Mizez Secretary Isn't it a sad commentary on mankind how some people take perfect delight in listening to Scandal about other people, and in spreading it too, besides 2 ” Mrs. Quidnunc while delivering this homiletic monologue sat leaning to the left on one arm of an easy chair, with head inclined to the right, opening and closing her fan, and wearing an expression of the deepest sorrow for the sins of other people. Mrs. Nonavie was once more on top. She was again en- throned as the Leader of Society and Fashion. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIRST. MISS SMILING's LAST VISIT. MISS SMILING did not consider her duty to the Hampton family discharged, by requesting her physician to give constant attention to the invalid - She saw to it that the doctor went. She made frequent in- quiries of him of her patient's health, besides making frequent visits to the seventh story of that dismal tenement, to see what was needed for comfort. Hers was a living, working charity. She “went about doing . good.” She had little faith in that charity which first begs for alms to build for itself a monument of marble, or brown stone, in which to house itself luxuriously, and then begs for more alms to distribute among the poor. She often said, “that is the Charity that begins at home.” The second day after her first visit to Mrs. Hampton, Miss Smiling called again. She desired to see whether all she had ordered had been delivered. Every article was there. Mrs. Hampton had made a list to show her benefactress her orders had been filled. Mrs. Hampton gave a cheerful description of the reception of each article. The neighbors, that is, the ten- ants on the different floors of the tenement and of one or two adjoining, crowded in to see the nice things coming in so plentifully. The sight was novel in that neighborhood. Even the feeble invalid felt a new hope, and wished to assist in arranging these blessings. She knew the good heart and the free hand that had sent them, and she was childishly impatient for the next visit of her “Good Angel,” that she might kiss that free hand and give thanks for its goodness—the only way -she could ever repay such kindness. And when the “Good Angel” went she was repaid “an hundred fold.” Verily, she had her reward. She received it. in the diamond gems that fell, liquid, from the grateful eyes of that helpless girl. She received it in the warm fervent kisses from those ashen lips, which, speechless with emotion, pressed again and again her captive hand. She received it in the graceful words that fell from the lips of the grateful mother, MYSS SMIL/AWG’S LAST V/S/7. 281 like jewels from the mouth of her whom the fairy blessed. But, above all this, she felt it in the consciousness of having done her duty. Oh the immeasurable abyss that lay between her who was finding and clothing the helpless widows and orphans on Fif- tieth street, and those who, at the same hour, were robbing the widows and orphans in Wall street ; an abyss as wide as lay between Dives and Lazarus, a height as great as the heavens are above the earth ! It was, perhaps, two months after the first acquaintance of Miss Smiling and the Hamptons, that the following note was left at the residence of the former : “DEAR MISS SMILING :—If not too busy, please add one more to your many kind acts by coming to see my daughter as Soon as you can. It may be the last time she can thank you for your goodness. She calls for you constantly. I fear she is passing rapidly away. With gratitude. - “Your friend, “MRS. HAMPTON.” Miss Smiling ordered her carriage instantly, and while wait- ing, put into a basket such articles as experience taught her might be useful in cases of extreme illness. She drove to her physician's office, and left word for him to follow as soon as he arrived: A few minutes after she was at the tenement. A gentle tap on the door brought Mrs. Hampton to receive her. As the door swung back, and the two women, two of the noblest specimens of God's last and best work, one in deep poverty and distress, the other in the lap of luxury, stood fac- ing each other, there was presented a picture to which the brush of Michael Angelo could not have given due expression. To have adequately expressed the moral grandeur of the two souls there veiled and dwarfed by earthly tenements, would have required the heavens for a canvas, and liquid stars to paint their brightness and their purity. Tears welled up to the eyes of the humble hostess as she looked on her welcome guest. Miss Smiling was received with voice- less grace and gratitude. She stepped softly to the bed where lay the gentle child. Her eyes were closed. The lids were so thin and pale the deep blue of her eyes was visible. The blue veins looked like streaks of the bluest sky seen through rifts in clouds of white. Her rich auburn tresses lay strewn 282 PLUTOCRAcy. about the pillow as if, conscious of approaching death, they would creep away to escape and save their beauty from the grave. Her thin, starved hands rested on her bosom like one in prayer. Her breathing was slow and deep, attended with slight obstruction. Miss Smiling sat by her on the bed, watching and waiting for her to move without being aroused. She saw a great change since her last visit. The face was thinner and pinched ; the expression, if possible, more spiritual. The invalid soon began to cough. Mrs. Hampton stepped to assist her, and in stooping covered Miss Smiling from sight of the daughter. When the paroxysm was past, the daughter was evidently weaker. She moaned, and laying her left hand Over the left lung, whispered “pain.” She at that moment opened her eyes and saw her friend. Her face expressed surprise at first, then doubt, then joy. She slowly raised her bony hands, stretched towards Miss Smiling, and said in a whisper : “Oh, God | I thank Thee . She's come !” - Miss Smiling extended her right hand, which was drawn to the lips Scarcely warm with life, and kissed again and again. The invalid looked at her friend steadily, still holding her hand. Her eyes seemed to expand and grow brilliant. They appeared to Miss Smiling like two sapphires set in a field of snow. The invalid spoke first : - “I am going soon. But for you, my Good Angel, I would have been under the ground before now. You have been so good—So good, to us. e - “I once doubted God's goodness. It was wicked, but I could not help it. I saw millions owned by other people, and saw my good father die of want, my good mother almost starving without her fault. I thought God was unjust. But I believe He sent you to us—too late to save me, but—take care of my dear mother when I’m gone, will you ?” Her voice trembled. “Mother, raise me up—don't leave me !” She seemed to think her friend was moving from her—though Miss Smiling was still holding her hand. ~. “Stay ! It won't be long ! Don't go into the White Temple. Oh she's going ! Let me go, let me go, too !”. Her mother had raised her, and she was reclining on her mother's arm. She was not heavier than a child of ten years. Her whole frame trembled. Her voice grew loud and clear. M/SS S/M/Z/AWG’S LAST V/S/7. 283 “She's going. The people weep. The veil Oh, my God, she's gone !” As the last words were spoken her hands dropped, her bead ſell forward, a long breath with a slight gurgling sound was heard. The invalid, and not her “ Good Angel,” had gone to enter the great White Temple. CHAPTER THIRTY-SECOND. MR. PLAY FAIR AND MISS EU CLID. A FEw days after the Millionaire Diamond Ball had become a memory, Mr. Playfair rang the bell at the front door of the Clinkers' mansion. The Prince Albert soon appeared, buttons and button-holes properly paired off, and opened the door. Tobe stared at the stranger, and the stranger, with curious inspiration, at Tobe. Tobe was just giving the finishing polish with his molars to a piece of chipped beef when he opened the door. The motion of his jaws and lips and the stolid look at Mr. Playfair, suggested to his fancy the idea of a dwarf ogre, who was warning him, by the action of the mouth, if he entered that castle he would be devoured. That conceit bloomed into a smile, and that relaxed the grim visage of the Ogre, who spoke first. As Tobe spoke the ogre vanished, and a pitiful, pinched- faced boy stood before the visitor. “Want to see somebody ?” “Yes ; is Miss Euclid in 2 ” That question recalled the ogre, but this time he was not Tobe, but the visitor. Tobe's attachment to his friend and tutor had grown day by day, until Miss Euclid had become his world. All his devotion, thought, admiration, reverence, were centered on her. The consequence was, Tobe had begun to fear that a bless- ing so great would some day take its flight. That was his sole unhappiness. He dwelt on it. He would lie awake at night, wondering what he would do—what would become of him --if his good friend should go away. He would be happy if she would only carry him wherever she might go ; and she might go to any land—“way off to Washington ’’—he would not care. He would be happy with her even in that strange, wild country. Tobe's dread of losing his friend made him suspicious of visitors to her ; hence, at the inquiry for her, Tobe became uneasy. “You ain't come to take Miss Vassar away, is you?" Tobe asked, * ,” MA’. P/A VAWA/R AAWD MISS EUCLID. 285 “Oh, no ; I have called to pay a visit, that is all.” “I’m so glad,” said Tobe. “Give her this card.” & “All right,” said Tobe, cheerily, as all fear was gone. Miss Euclid soon appeared. “Good afternoon, Mr. Playfair, I am glad to see you. This is an unexpected pleasure.” “It is the unexpected that always happens, as some philoso- pher has said,” he answered. “Excuse me for joining issue with you and the philosopher. You may not remember my remark to you at the Diamond Ball, that nothing, in my belief, ever “happens.’ So much for the philosopher. “The issue I make with you is, that your remark covers but one limb of my proposition. I said your visit is an unexpected pleasure. You certainly will not say it is “unexpected pleasure ' only that always happens. Besides, may I not “lay the flatter- ing unction that this pleasure to me was intended ?” “You certainly may believe,” answered the lawyer, “that this pleasure to myself was, ‘premeditated and of malice afore- thought,’ as the indictment for murder reads.” T “If you came with murderous intent, it must be to kill time only, and no student can afford that sacrifice,” she replied. “You may think it a savage remark, or the remark of a sav- age, that I delight in such killing, when, as now, I am charmed into forgetfulness of the crime,” gallantly retorted Mr. Play- fair. • * “I supposed, Mr. Playfair, that delight was monopolized by plutocrats, as they employ all their time in killing time, hav- ing nothing else to do,” she replied, evading the compliment, and drawing her collocutor into her field of thought. “If many, I may say the majority of them, only killed time, their own time,” said Mr. Playfair, “the offense might be tolerated, but unfortunately, to become millionaires, they leave in their track thousands of wounded, bleeding, starving victims, who are widows and orphans.” “That is sadly, horribly true,” she assented. “The sudden acquisition of millions without labor must be at a relative loss. to those who produce that wealth.” “Yes,” he affirmed, “when A B C D and all the alphabet down to Z work hard all day, while AND SO FORTH stands by idle, with folded arms, picking his teeth, watching and planning how to get possession of their earnings, and is seen, the next 286 AZ U 7 OCA AC V. day with the earnings in his hands, we know he is a robber. And we see that every day in this land of freedom.” “How does it come about—how is it accomplished P’’ asked Miss Euclid. “I must confess that, as to the methods of making such vast fortunes in a few years, and often 1n a few months, I am one of the ‘babes and sucklings.’” “You need not have made confession. Your question carries the confession. For I am sure you did not, or do not, expect to sit here long enough for me to tell you of all the methods employed by those cormorants to devour the products of the men whose labor alone makes the wealth of the country. You might as well have asked me to go through from begin- ning to end, with the thoughts, plans, devices, deceits, frauds, of bunco-steerers, burglars, thieves ; or of the feints, strategic movements, the Sapping and mining of an army besieging a city.” “Then,” said she, “I propose we defer further discussion of that subject until a “more convenient season ;’ not because, like Agrippa, I would not be converted, but that we may not consume the time of your first call in looking at that Salvator picture.” “Agreed,” said Mr. Playfair cheerfully. “It is a dark picture and we will get out in the sunlight. In order to pass out gradually, as a sudden transition from darkness to light injures the retina, permit me to refer to the boy who met me at the door. He is a curiosity. He looks like a sliver of antiquity.” “You mean Tobe 2 Why he is the warden of the castle,” she explained, with a laugh. “And you are his prisoner, I infer from the reception he gave me.” “How is that P’’ inquired the prisoner. “Why, he stood grim and silent, when he opened the door with a motion of the jaws that threatened me with mastication, if I advanced an inch farther. And when I inquired for you, he seemed to imagine me to be Don Quixote come to rescue you from prison ; to take you from his custody ” “You are right, Mr. Playfair, in saying he is a curiosity. And now let me tell you !” “May I interrupt you just to finish my interview with TObe P’’ “Certainly . Excuse me, I thought you had finished.” “When I asked for you, I thought he would faint. He finally gained his speech and wished to know if I had come MR. P/A YFAIR AWD MISS EUCLID. 287 to take you away ! If I had not seen that the boy was un- happy I would have said, ‘Not this time.' I assured him I had not come for that purpose, and he brightened instantly. That was all. Now tell me of him.” “Really, there is but little to be said, but that little interests me greatly. He was here when I came several months ago. He is Mrs. Clinkers' nephew, and is general house boy, or factotum.” “What l” said Mr. Playfair, pronouncing the word as if it were as long as, and shaped like, a flight of stairs. “This millionaire keeping his wife's nephew as a house servant—a bell boy P” - “His education is limited to what I have taught him in our idle moments, which have been few,” she remarked. “Do you mean that his uncle has never sent him to school?” “Yes, sir. ‘ I speak by the card ' ' I am his only teacher —that dragon so dreaded by children.” “But not dreaded in this instance, I see. I am the dragon Tobe fears,” he remarked. “You are correct as to myself. “Perfect love casteth out fear,’ and I believe his devotion to me is perfect.” “Who shall gainsay his judgment, after that assertion ?” said he with a smile. “Rather, who shall question his ignorance 2 ” she replied. “But, seriously, my kindness to him makes him cling to me with a tenacity that would annoy if not unselfish. I cannot go into the street without distressing him ; while, in the house, one to see me would imagine I am all the time casting a perpen- dicular shadow.” “If you wish Tobe to keep my sympathy, you will change the subject. Sympathy is giving way to congratulation, and that might be followed by envy. As the substance eludes me and I am not given to pursuing shadows, with your permission let me ask how have you been since the now historical Dia- mond Ball 2’’ he inquired. “Oh, the Ball ! Why had we not thought of that before-f I have been quite well, at least I have entirely recovered from the wounds I received that night,” said she laughing. “I suppose you refer to certain remarks made of you that upset Society the next day.” “Yes,” she answered. “You use the word ‘Society’ as the equivalent of Mrs. Secretary Nonavie, I assume.” “Certainly, I am loyal if not reverent. I recognize the 288 * AZö7 OCRACY. Powers that be, always. Mrs. Secretary reigns de facto if not de ſure,” answered Mr. Playfair. “YCur loyalty extends even to the Pretender,” she suggested. “I do not know how you bore those remarks, but I confess I was wrathy and—” “Mr. Playfair, they did not disturb my equanimity. I pity those people. They have nothing except money, and no rea- Sonable person should expect anything of them except vul- garity and plutomania, if I may coin a word. Miſſ ex nihilo fit, a maxim you are familiar with. You must not expect some- thing from nothing. Evolution in the third generation may civilize their offspring, but there is no hope of taming this generation—those women. A woman who cannot dis- tinguish money from merit will imagine a wig to be her own hair. Besides, I consider the source. Those remarks were made by old Moons.” “You mean lunatics, I suppose,” said he. “Oh, no, I mean worn-out planets, whose brilliancy is all on the surface, and borrowed at that. “No, I was much more troubled by the unpleasant situation of my dear friend, Portia Lovelace, than by my own. I sup- pose you heard of the descent Mrs. Secretary made on her the next day.” “Yes, Miss Lovelace told me. I am giad you take the con- temptible affair so calmly. I appreciate you more than I did before, and I thought that hardly possible.” Why, Mr. Playfair l’exclaimed Miss Euclid. “Did you not know I was born a mathematician, and that ‘ Progression' is my forte 2 I would feel humiliated if I thought myself incapable of growth. I am an evolutionist.” The conversation ran on for an hour, when Mr. Playfair took his leave, after asking permission to call that evening. The wage girl assured him she would be pleased to see him. He called again and had a long and delightful conversation. He thought the second visit was more charming than the first. He found that Miss Euclid was progressive. She grew every time he saw her. He had seen all the bright women, first and last, in Washington, but he had never met one so bright as this OI) 62. At ten P. M. he rose to go. “If the stars are auspicious there will not be many moons before I shall again have this delight. I trust your evolution will not before that date make you a heavenly star.” MR. P/CA VAWA/R AAVZ) //ZSS E UCZZZ). 289 “If you are long in returning to this point in your orbit, Mr. Playfair, I may become a planet instead of a star. I may be “a wanderer.’” “With so much of stars and planets, the proper word to say next is good-night,” he answered, and stepped out under the StarS. He entered a Fifth avenue omnibus to go to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. At the Brunswick he went in to get a chop and ale before going to bed. The café was well filled, except one table. He took his seat at it, and gave his order. Within five minutes two men walked in and took seats op- posite to him. Both were tall and fine looking, and both, from dress and freedom and ease of manners, he supposed to be Western men. One looked to be twenty-eight to thirty years old, had large blue eyes, long, dark-brown hair and beard. He was muscular, but not fleshy. His weight was about 180 pounds. His hands and feet were small for his size. As he sat down he began to fumble at his cuffs. He then settled himself in the chair. As he was moving, Mr. Playfair saw a belt around his waist The other stranger was spare, of weight not exceeding 150. He was a thorough brunette, and wore hair and beard both long. Both men sat erect like graceful riders in the saddle. They scrutinized the face of every man in the room and then inspected the room, its finish, the ceiling, the plants. Having given their orders, they entered into a conversation, if it might be called such, when two chat on this and that and seem all the time to be thinking of something else. The one with blue eyes rested his left elbow on the table and cut figures on the cloth with a fork in his right hand. He was meditating. The other, after taking a second inspection of the faces, turned and spoke: “Mass, I reckon we might as well give up the chase.” “No, Miss, not yet,” replied the one addressed as “Mass.” “All things come to him who waits.” “We have waited a long time,” remarked Miss, “and have not struck even a cold trail. I am willing, as you know, to stay any length of time, if I could see any lead. You know my business, and it will go to ruin if I stay away long.” Mass cut the figures—circles, crosses and letters. He was silent for a minute. Then, looking up at Mr. Playfair, he said : I9 290 AZ U 7"OCAEAC V. “Excuse me, sir. May I ask if you reside in New York I mean this city.” “No, sir. My residence is in Washington.” Mass mused awhile and cut a few more figures. “Are you much acquainted here 2 º’ he asked. “Not much. I know a few New Yorkers, but my acquaint- ance with most of them was formed in Washington. Many of them go there in winter for gayety and society during the Session of Congress, and some to special entertainments. For instance, I met a few at Secretary Nonavie's Diamond Ball given a few weeks ago.” Mass said, “Miss, we read an account of that Ball in the 'Frisco AExaminer. Don't you remember some scandal that grew out of it?” “Oh, yes. Let me see. It was about some girl going there under a false name, or somebody's cook. I know it struck us Westerners as very ridiculous.” “You have it right,” said Mr. Playfair. “I was there and was conversing with the “wage girl,” as those snobs and shoddyites called her when they were making their remarks about her, off in a corner. Of course, I did not hear them. If I had they would have had scandal No. 2.” Mass and Miss became deeply interested. They admired the stranger's talk and pluck. ** “Are you in a hurry, sir?” asked Mass. “No, sir. When I leave here it will be to go to bed,” an- swered Mr. Playfair. “Then we would be pleased to have an account of that ball and Scandal if you will favor us. We hear a great deal about Eastern Society, and that will, no doubt, give us some idea of it.” Mr. Playfair consented to give a brief sketch, and Mass called a waiter and ordered a bottle of Clicquot. Mr. Playfair gave a faithful picture of the Diamond Ball in a humorous style. He described the arrivals; gave Scipio's blunders ; an account of Nat. Banks and the count ; Haslet’s apology for the absence of his wife; Mrs. Lagér at the supper; of the old women's comments on Miss Euclid ; of John Wea- ver's remark to Miss Smiling ; of Weaver seeing the newspaper reporter at the hotel after the ball and repeating what he had said to Miss Smiling of the assumed name ; of Haslet, Ferrum and others getting drunk, and of the row in Society and the assaults on Mrs. Nonavie the next day. Åſk. PAEA PFAIR ANZ M/SS EUCZZO. 29ſ - The two strangers were convulsed with laughter, until the narrator came to the attack made on Miss Euclid. Their chivalry was incensed, and they swore as much as they had laughed before. When Mr. Playfair had finished the stranger called Miss inquired : “Does that Weaver live in New York or Washington P’’ “Not in Washington, I can say positively. But, I am not certain that he lives in New York. I know it was stated just after the Ball that he had gone West to his ranche in Wyoming.” “Is he a fair specimen of Eastern Society ; or, let me ask, were those visitors a fair sample of Society here 2 ” “That was a pretty fair sample of the ruling or plutocratic class here. But, that was Society in miniature, a microscopic view, so to speak. You can see it in full size here.” “Well, if what you have described is but a glimpse, I would like to see the whole show,” remarked Miss. “So would I,” joined in Mass. “If that is your wish and you will accept me as your guide, you can see Society as it is to-morrow.” “We thank you warmly for this evening's delightful enter- tainment, and the information. We have learned some facts, we desired very much to know, and are more indebted to you than we can express.” This was spoken by Miss. “When shall we call for you and at what hour 2 ” inquired Mass. * “I propose to show you Society by day, first, and then by night. As it will require time and patience, I suggest that we meet here at Io A. M. sharp.” The two strangers said two of their friends, from the country out West, were with them, and they would ask per- mission to bring them. This was readily assented to by Mr. Playfair. With that understanding the strangers bid good- night and Playfair went to rest. --- Not so the two friends. They went into Madison Square, where they would be undisturbed, and talked in an undertone for more than an hour, and then went to their hotel. CHAPTER THIRTY-THIRD. VIEW OF SOCIETY BY DAY. PROMPTLY at ten A. M. the five gentlemen met at the Brunswick. Mr. Playfair gave his name, and was introduced to the two friends of Mass and Miss. One of the old gentle- men, who wore a broad-brim slouch hat, was fat, with a face beaming with good-nature and jolliness. He was a Western farmer. He wore a gold fob chain, to which hung a big gold key. The other was tall and lean. He was dressed in jeans, and wore a “stovepipe ’’ several years behind the fashion. Mr. Playfair remarked : “As you may prefer not to be called by your real names in the vast multitude you will soon be among, I will, with your permission, address you, severally, as may be necessary, as follows : you, Mr. Mass, as Jones; you, Mr. Miss, as Smith ; you, Mr. Grange, as Woolhat ; and you, Mr. Green, as Jeans. “And now, gentlemen, before we proceed with this inspection of Society, it will aid you in understanding it, if you will pause awhile and hear a few words of explanation. “You must be as little children. You must bring your minds as blank sheets. You have, no doubt, gone through vast manufacturing establishments and halls of exhibition at State fairs and national expositions, and you may imagine they are illustrations of Society. In some respects they are, and in many they are not. “You have seen dirty rags thrown into vats and after going through a dozen processes, come out the finest quality of paper. You have seen dirty, filthy wool thrown into pools here, and come out yonder the most luxurious Wilton or Axminster car- pet, or the finest fabrics for clothing. You have seen the rugged miner down in the earth, digging, picking, blasting the roughest rock, and seen, that rock ground or melted down, and from the powdered or molten mass issue pure gold ; or those rocks come from the lapidary's hands diamonds of the first water. These Sºtº. by you are, to some extent, illustrations of Society. ſº -*. “But they represent its evolution only. You must know that j//Z W OF SOCIAE 7"Y A Y ZXA Y. 293 society not only evolves, but it revolves. Society is nothing without constant revolution, and now and then Revolutions. One kind of revolution affects the individual atoms, the other Revolution involves the mass, or masses. Individual revolution is continuous, constant, and from it comes evolution, slow and irregular, but progressive, and from evolution, at long and irregular periods of time, proceeds, inevitably, Revolution by the masses. So you will observe that the paper, carpet, and wool factories and the gold and diamond mines, and others too numerous to name, do illustrate evolution, of which you or your children may become examples, but there is nothing in those or any other arts that represents the revolution that is Constantly going on in Society. “With these few and necessarily incomplete, because brief, remarks we will now begin the inspection. “This vast gathering you see before you is what you have heard of a thousand times, but never saw before. I mean, So- ciety. We will begin at the top or uppermost layer, and go down. “Those magnificent buildings are churches Hundreds of thousands of dollars, in each building, are dedicated to God and Vanity. Each congregation vies with the other to see which can have the finest temple. Mortgages are laid on God's Temple before it is built. Yet the congregation is not to blame. The condition of Society demands the outlay. “Pure religion and undefiled ' is at such an ebb, that church member- ship depends largely upon the glory of the place of worship. The nearer its glory to that of Solomon's Temple, the larger the membership.” “Where I live we hold meetings in log houses,” remarked Mr. Jeans. “I am talking about Society at the top, Mr. Jeans; Society after evolution, and not in its mollusk state. Did you ever hear of evolution, Mr. Jeans ?” “What That monkey and tadpole business 2" “Yes, exactly that.” “Yes, I have, but it's all bosh,” replied Mr. Jeans, settling the vexed question in a breath. “Before I proceed let me call your attention to the delight- ful atmosphere we are in. How clear ! How bright ! It is full of perfume. There ! That is Jockey Club. That, now, is Heliotrope, that White Rose, that is Ocean Spray; now Violet de Parme ; that is Opoponax ; there, that is Ess. Bou- 294 PZU TockAcy. quet; the last is Attar of Roses, the richest of all. The air is almost sensuous with deliciousness “Stop a moment. Hear that preacher there ! He says some people are bound to be damned, no matter how good they are. Now hear that one just opposite. He says—you hear that ?—that nobody will be damned. There's another. Let's hear what he says. Listen He says, we can’t possibly be saved unless we go head and ears under water. “Here's another, who cries back, ‘That is not true. Sprink- ling is all we need.’ “Let’s stop at this door, and hear what's going on. He says, ‘This is the only Church of Christ.’ “Here's another preaching. Let's hear him a second. Hear that ? He says just what the last one said, ‘This is the only Church of Christ ' Yet, these are churches of different faiths.” “Why, whoever heard the like of that 2 What's a fellow to believe 2 ” asked Mr. Jeans. “In Jesus Christ, and Him crucified is the best advice I can give you. We will move on a little. “Look to the right here at that palace, and that, and that. Then on your left—you see thousands of them.” “Yes. Aren’t they splendid 2 Who owns them 7" asked Mass “Different families, and each family is very numerous. Hundreds of them belong to the Ferrum family. Hundreds to the Weavers, the Reckers, the Lackawannas, the Lagérs, the Clinkers, the Colliers, the Bankses, and many other fam- ilies.” “They are the grandest houses I ever saw,” remarked Miss. “They must have cost millions apiece.” “Yes, but the owners did not pay it. They ordered the palaces built, but the Government paid for them. In other words, the people paid the bills.” “How, in the name of reason and justice, was that done f" asked Mr. Jeans. “It was not done in the name of either. It was done by Congress.” “Is Congress building such palaces for everybody ?” asked Mr. Woolhat, with deep interest. “If so, I’d like to know why my Congressman has voted to build houses up here for people who didn’t elect him, and has neglected me. I’ll see about that as Ccrtain as shootings!" 17/E W OF SOCIE 7"Y BY DAY. 295 * “The way it was done, gentlemen, was this. I will take one family to illustrate how all these families have got these palaces There is a palace of one of the numerous Ferrums. He owns an iron ſurnace. Congress said to him, ‘We will give you thirty-five dollars for every ton of rails you can turn out, and you may have all you can make by selling the rails, besides.’” “Why, where did Congress get the money 2 You mean, every Congressman paid this man so much out of his own money, don’t you ?” asked Mr. Woolhat. “No, sir! Congress gave it to them out of the people's money. Congress said to them, ‘The people shall pay you thirty-five dollars for every ton you make.’” “And that's the way these houses came here, eh? We people paid for 'em, eh? Well, if the people have got to work and turn over their earnings to Congress, for it to give our money to support a few pets of Congress, we might as well quit working SO hard and go to stealing and robbing.” Mr. Woolhat swore lustily while deiivering himself of that burst of indignation. He swore, if his Congressman voted for such a law, he would go home and organize every farmer and laborer of every kind in his district and beat him to death. “Mr. Woolhat, I know members of the Ferrum family who do no work, and yet they get from the people under that law of Congress over a million dollars, each, every year. This robbing has been going on for more than twenty years, and you farmers could have stopped it any day. “You talk of organizing the farmers | Let me tell you what I hear on good authority. You must not get angry. It is disgraceful if true. It is this, that many of the farmers and laboring men in the West and South will not even go to the polls to vote unless paid for the loss of the day's time. And the men who pay them are the very men who are robbing them. They go and vote for a candidate who is pledged to vote to rob them. Yet, you talk of organizing the farmers But I am delaying this inspection. “You see statues and paintings innumerable standing and hanging on all sides. “That is the Madonna. That by it is a painting of a pug. “There is Christ before Pilate. That is the Martyrdom of Stephen. “Near it is a danseuse in stockinet. She appears to great advantage. 296 AZ U 7'OCRACY. S “º “That is the Martyrdom of St. Agatha. The devil only could have suggested such a horrible death. “Next to it is the Nymphs and Satyr. They are nude, but perfectly natural.” “They seem to be, really,” said Mr. Jeans, putting on his glasses and gazing intently at the Nymphs, to be certain. “That is Charlotte Corday in prison. This is a poodle. “There is the Algerian Falconer. “That is Automedon, and that, the Anatomist, the most humbling sermon to woman’s pride that was ever delivered on earth. “This is the original of the Greek Slave. There are not more than one hundred originals of it in the United States. “There is a Jersey cow, and that is Death. “That painting is Christ blessing little children. Christ blessed them. Plutocracy curses them. Look at the thou- sands of them wandering about here !” “Heavens ! There's ten thousand of 'em from five to ten years old, all ragged and dirty. They'll get run over in this crowd What can their parents be thinking about 2" said the fatherly Mr. Woolhat. “Thinking of how to get bread for them.” “Whose children are they, anyhow 7" asked Mr. Woolhat. “They are a few of the offspring of Plutocracy, Mr. Wool- hat.” Mr. Woolhat stopped, took a step backward, gazing in won- der at Mr. Playfair, and finally said, “Why—why—how—I don't understand that Plutocracy is not a man, is it 2 '' “No, no | These are the children of Plutocracy in the sense that Christ said, liars are the children of the devil.” “Then, this is the devil's own work,” remarked Miss. “Not exactly. You came very near it. They are Protec- tion's and Plutocracy's own work. The $800,ooo, ooo annual increase of wealth made by the labor of their parents is swal- lowed up by trusts, monopolies and the protected class, and these parents can't provide for their children as they would. They are not dogs, to let their children run wild if they could help it. They love their children as much as you do. “That is Actaeon and the Nymphs. He is watching them in the bath. He is partly invisible. They are not.” Mr. Woolhat had lagged behind a little admiring the Greek Slave. As he movcd to catch up, his eyes fell on the painting of Actaeon and the Nymphs. He got but a glance. V/AE W OAP SOC/E 7"Y B V DA V. 297 /~ “Mercy I’ve got in the wrong room | Excuse me, ladies,” he exclaimed, as he hastened away, pulling the wide brim of his hat over his eyes, and was about to run over a young man, who stopped him, called his name, and shook his hand most cordially. “This painting is the Repentant Magdalen. Christ forgave her. Society does not forgive her, which shows the advance Society has made in two thousand years. “We will move on a little. Do you see those immense buildings of marble, of brick and of stone 2 They are called Exchanges.” “Exchange what ?” asked Mr. Woolhat. “That is where people outside exchange wealth for poverty, and those inside exchange poverty for wealth.” “That's a devilish queer place,” remarked Mr. Woolhat, running his hand into his pocket to be certain his pocket-book was there. “Who’s fool enough to go into such a place 2'' “Come, let's go in and see how it's done.” “No,” Mr. Woolhat protested, “I am not going in there one foot. See here, Jeans, I have done seen enough of this thing. I believe I will go back to my boardin’ house, and pack up, and go home.” “Oh, no l’” said his three friends at once. “Let's see it through. There is no danger if we stick together, and hold on to our pocket-books. You will never have such a chance again to see Society.” “Very well, then, you all go ahead, and I will stand behind and peep over.” “This, gentlemen, is the Stock Exchange. We will stand here at the door and look in. In fact, we can't go in. They will let our money in all day, but we can't get in.” “Merciful Father l’exclaimed Mr. Woolhat, “Why, Jeans, this is a lunatic asylum ! a mad-house ! And look not one of them chained I am not going to stay here. Draw your knife, Jeans, and let's get away.” “Mr. Woolhat, don't be afraid. I assure you there is no danger. Mr. Policeman, stand by my friend here and pro- tect him. He is afraid these gamblers in here will break out and hurt him.” “Don’t be the least uneasy, stranger,” said the policeman assuringly, “they don't want you. All they want is your money. Hold your pocket-book and you are safe.” Mr. Woolhat held the arm of the policeman, and peeped 298 AZU 7 OCRACY. S. between Jeans' legs. He trembled as he heard the bawling, Screaming, yelling, and saw men jumping, running and pushing each other, as if trying to escape from fire or an earthquake. “Have you seen enough of this phase of Society, gentle- men 2 ” “Yes, too much,” shouted Mr. Woolhat, so as to be heard. “There is another, the Produce Exchange.” “I don't want to see it,” Mr. Woolhat exclaimed. “Mr. Play- fair, do explain what them men are doing in there P’’ “They are betting. I will explain. In there, where you were, all those men you heard yelling so are dealers in the game. They get so much for doing the dealing ; just as men are paid for dealing at faro. Here they bet on stocks. In there they are betting on your crops of grain.” “Do they have cards and chips ?” asked Mr. Woolhat. “No ; they write to you farmers, thousands of you, to get your opinions on the size of the next crop of corn, wheat, cot- ton. Then they sit down and figure and think. One says, a big crop ; another says, an average ; a third, a small crop. Then they begin to bet. One says, I will bet a hundred, two hundred, five hundred thousand bushels of wheat or corn, that there will be a big crop. The short-crop man takes the bet, and thus it goes till thousands of millions of bushels are bet. When you farmers get your crops ready for sale, the men who bet on a big crop, club together and put in millions of dollars to hold prices down. They are called a syndicate.” “What's that 2" asked Mr. Jeans. - “It’s a French word for robbers. Then, prices go down— down. You have to sell to get money to pay interest on the mortgage on your land, which the same fellows hold, and thus you help the syndicate to put prices down and to rob you.’ ‘The devil and Tom Walker,” exclaimed Mr. Woolhat, “why—why—what kind of people is this, that they don't break up this gambling house 2 Where's the police P’’ “Be quiet, Mr. Woolhat.” You are talking about Scoiety. Be careful. Do you expect Society to turn on itself, to break itself up 2 This is Plutocracy—one of the phases of Plutocracy —the very hub of it, I may say.” - “Explain that plutocracy,” Mr. Jeans requested. - “Plutocracy is the Rule of Money, or the Rule of the Rich It is the lowest and last stage of every Government.” “Do this people let betting go on in faro banks and such f" asked Mr. Woolhat. - - pºzz W OF SOCIETY B Y DA y. 299 “No indeed. The police will raid them, destroy the cards and chips, and put the gamblers in jail. Then they are prose- cuted and punished.” “But where's the difference P’’ insisted Mr. Woolhat. “You astonish me. The difference | It's in what you are inspecting—Society. Society Condemns one, and Society ap- proves the other. One is forbidden by law ; the other is established by law. “Besides, while faro, etc., will rob one man, ruin him and his family, drive him to suicide, and his wife and children to the poor-house or to something worse, this style of gambling will do the work of ten thousand faro banks. To kill one man is murder, a thousand makes a hero. One is villainy, the other respectability.” “Well, thank God this thing is not out my way,” said Mr. Woolhat, with an air of relief. “There you are mistaken. This gambling house covers every foot of ground in the United States. Do you own any railroad stock P” “No. I did own some of “Widows and Orphans,’ but it got so low last December, I thought it would go to nothing, and me and several of my neighbors—some of them poor widows— talked the matter over, and we sold out for what we could get.” “There it is . That low price was made right here in that room, last December, by a syndicate. Smiling, Recker, and Weaver of this city were the men.” “Well, durn my eyes, if I don't sue out a warrant, and—” “No, you won't. Why, Mr. Woolhat, Society would laugh you out of town. This is where all classes of people gamble, from the clergy down to black-legs. Why, my friend, many of the men you see in there are pillars of the churches we have just passed.” “Look here, Mr. Playfair, if there is anything ahead here worse than this, I am going back.” Mr. Woolhat looked sad as he slowly uttered these words. --- “I assure you all, gentlemen, bad as some things you will See are, there is nothing worse. You will see effects most horrible, but they are not worse than the cause. But we must go On. “Those, on either side, are factories, foundries, mills, refin- eries, etc. This is a cotton factory. We will look in here a m1 nute. 3óð Aſſ U TOCRACY. “You see those old men and old women 2 Some are sixty, Seventy years old. They have been at work here ever since they were ten years old. They are as poor as they were thirty years ago. That stout young woman, who would be handsome if she had enough wholesome food, is the daughter of the man near her, and that child about ten years old is his granddaughter. “You see young children all through the factory. It is just so in all these mills, stores, etc., you see here. There are hun- dreds of men, women and children in each of them.” “I can hardly breathe in here,” remarked Miss, which was repeated by Mass. “You have lived in a clear, pure atmosphere. These people breathe dust and fine lint and a foul air for twelve or sixteen hours a day, for three hundred days and all through life. Do you wonder at their bloodless, sallow cheeks and dull eyes P’’ “There is a girl coughing. There is another, and another " - “Jeans ! Just listen to that What's the matter 2 Are they choked by this dust?” asked Mr. Woolhat “No, it is that dreadful scourge—consumption. These places breed it. These people stand all day in this hot air in winter, and go out poorly clad in the snow, sleet, cold rain, cutting winds, and catch cold. They can’t stop to be cured. They are too poor to have doctors. They must move on, move on, exposed every day. The cold gets worse, the lungs become inflamed, a cough begins, phlegm forms, suppuration follows, then emaciation and—death.” “They must be well paid for such confining work, and so much danger to health,” remarked Miss. “Well paid 2 The negroes, South, get better pay, considering the work. Why are those little children at work here, if their parents are well paid 2 The parents are so pressed by want, they will write a lie in certifying the age of a child to be over ten, twelve or fourteen, to protect the capitalist in employing the child in a factory or mill, though there are penal statutes to punish the parents for making a false certificate to the child's age.” “Is that possible 7" asked Mr. Woolhat, with a look of in- credulity; “are you talking about facts P’’ “Where are you from, Mr. Woolhat 7” “I am from Kansas.” “And you, Mr. Jeans ?” “I live in Indiana.” jº W OF SOCIE 7 y á y D4 y. 3öf “One would suppose so from your surprise and Mr. Woolhat's question. Look at this printed report, gentlemen, made by authority of the Legislature of one of the most advanced States in the United States. * This is not the language of a mob of paupers, nor of excited declaimers in an open air meeting of the poor ; nor the exaggerations of an anarchist, a nihilist, a com- munist, or socialist, or worthless, lazy vagabond, who will not work, and rails against capital and millionaires. It is the voice of humanity, the revelation of men who, while they did not all express, could not, would not, dared not, all conceal. Will you read a few lines, Mr. Smith ?” “‘The Committee recommends, on physical grounds, that the employment of any child under fourteen, before the hour of five o'clock in the morning, or after the hour of mine o'clock in the evening, be made illegal.'” “Well, I’ll be damned ” Mr. Woolhat roared. “Stop, Mr. Woolhat Remember where you are And whom you are reflecting on. You are reflecting on Society. Society will not permit it. Society is King. The King can do no wrong. You are invited here to look upon Society, and you begin by offending its tender, refined sensibilities.” “Well, I reckon I have a right to say “I’ll be damned '- as that is nobody's business but my own.” “No, sir! You are mistaken. You are talking about something you know nothing about. You have no right to be damned even, unless Society says so. If Society consent, you can do as you please. If Society so desire, it is not only your right, but your duty, to be damned. In fact, you should long for it. “When Society puts the making of money above the value of health, vigorous manhood and womanhood ; above education and honor in men, and chastity in women, who are you that you raise your voice in profanity against the decrees of Soci- ety 2 If you will be more decorous to Society, we will read a little further. “‘The number of children under twelve years of age now employed in factories, etc., during the vacation of the public schools, is very small. The number between ten and fourteen is two thousand nine hundred and ninety-four, and the number between twelve and fourteen is one thousand six hundred and sixteen. It is evident, therefore, that the total number of chil- dren employed either between ten and twelve, or twelve and * Report by a Committee of the Legislature of Massachusetts. 362 AZU TóCRACY, Jourteen, cannot be so large that the proposed legislation affect- ing them can have a very serious effect upon the industries of the Commonwealth.’” “Well !” exclaimed Mr. Woolhat. “Has it come to this, that the industries, the material things, the things of commerce and trade, are to be thus delicately weighed in the balance against the physical, intellectual, and moral growth, and well- being of the children of the poor who are driven to use the labor of their children to get bread to keep off starvation ? Damn me if—” “Stop, sir! You are getting to be impious and sacrilegious.” “What, in saying Damn myself?” “If you were a part of Society, No. As you are not, Yes. You started to curse Society, and that, sir, is sacrilegious. You are cursing what, to you, is the Great Unknown. Why, sir, if you swear in that style, right here at the threshold of Society, so to speak, before you get through this inspection, there will not be a button left on your breeches “Read the Report a little further : “‘Statistics clearly show that the great mass of the vice and crime, which impose so heavy a burden upon the taxpayers of this State, comes from the ranks of the illiterate.’ “The illiterate, as a rule, are the poor and their children. You now see where ‘the mass of vice and crime' starts from. Did you ever before hear of, or think of, a “mass of vice and crime ’2 The Committee knew whereof they affirm.’ You have seen a gorge of ice formed in a northern stream by the frigid touch of winter ; which, in due season, breaks loose and grinds and crushes along the channel, destroying fences, houses, bridges, factories, tearing up by the roots great trees that have stood for ages, shading the glassy stream that mirrored their grace and strength, and moving on to the sea in which it melts and is seen no more. So here you see, in this current of humanity ever flowing on, atoms of it first chilled by icy Pov- erty, then hardened to insensibility and shame, then becoming “massed into vice and crime,’ move out along the channel of human life, tearing away and destroying happy homes as they move, and finally disappearing in the great Sea of human exist- ence.” “But I can’t understand how it is that here in the North, where there is so much wealth, there should be so much poverty ; and such ‘a mass of vice and crime,’” remarked the perplexed Mr. Woolhat. -* VA2 W OAP SOCIE 7" V B Y DAY. 3O3 “You, sir, have not studied the question, the most engaging and dangerous social question of the age. You see nothing of this in your agricultural region. You are not in Society. You are not even in an eddy by its sweeping current. “Great wealth there is, indeed, fabulous wealth—but next door to it is great poverty. Extremes meet here. Both are degrading. Millions degrade no less than extreme poverty. The millionaire preys on the pauper. The pauper, in turn, preys on the millionaire. Each considers the other fair game. Money can buy, does buy, office, votes, virtue, honor. Poverty, driven to desperation, is in the market to sell votes, virtue, honor.” “But this is the home, the paradise of Protection. I have received dozens of pamphlets coming I know not from where or who, that were written expressly to prove what a multitu- dinous blessing Protection, or High Tariff, is to the poor man.” Mr. Woolhat announced this in a tone of indignation, as if he were personally injured, “Yes—the same old cheat and swindle The same paid scribblers in the garret. The same club stolen from the laborer, and now used to beat his brains out. A part of the billions of profit expended to perpetuate the law that made the tens of billions. “One fact is stronger than a thousand theories. Is it money —the love of money, or is it the want of it, that drives a mother to certify to a lie, in order to get her child, not older than twelve years, into a factory, or a mill, or a shop, to work from five o'clock in the morning until nine o'clock at night 2 If Protection has put money in the ſather's purse, why will he deprive that child—that little girl—of education, in order for her to earn, at most, a few pennies a day 2 Is he a brute? Is that mother heartless Why does the Legislature think it nec- essary to investigate that evil, and to pass laws to protect the child against its own father or mother Why is it that the great manufacturing States, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York and Pennsylvania, have found it necessary to make it a penal offense to employ a child under thirteen in any factory, or mill, or mercantile, or mechanical establishment 2 Is this a legislative declaration to the world, that the poor in those States are so mercenary, so heartless, SO degraded, that they love money more than their children 7 No || - That Protection fraud is the greatest social crime of this age But we can’t stop now to talk. ts 3O4. g AZ U 7'OCA' A CV. “That group sitting in those velvet-covered chairs is a syn- dicate. They have just put twenty millions in bonds on the reorganized Widows and Orphans' Railroad, and have issued a confidential circular, announcing that they have reluctantly decided to let a few friends have a very limited number of shares of the stock (not over ten millions at the outside figure) at par. How generous ! - “Those ten men there own a silver mine. It is worth at least fifty million dollars, as shown by the report of the most reli- able and competent mining expert in America. The assay aver- ages five hundred dollars a ton. The capital stock is only ten millions—par value, ten dollars a share. The mine is turning out five thousand dollars a day ! In order to buy more machinery, they will sacrifice fifty thousand shares at two dollars a share. Very kind, are they not “Mr. Woolhat, you walked off very rapidly just now, and I saw you talking with a young man. Do you know him 2 ” “No, but he knows me. He called my name, and told me all about my people. He said he is my nephew. The poor fellow was in distress. He’d just landed from Europe, and lent his last dollar to a poor emigrant who hadn't enough to pay his passage, and he wanted fifty dollars to get his baggage out of bond, and get home in Kansas. He took the number of my boardin’ house, and said he'd be sure to bring the money to-morrow.” “Did you let him have it 7” “Of course I did. He was in trouble, and is my—” “He’s a ‘bunco,” Mr. Woolhat.” “What’s that 2 '' “A man who lives by swindling, just as he swindled you.” “The devil you say ? The infernal—” Mr. Woolhat stood a few seconds staring at Mr. Playfair, then started in a run to hunt his nephew. He soon returned blowing and Swearing. “Mr. Woolhat, it takes all kinds of men to make up Society. Your nephew is one of them. “Turn and look back, gentlemen. Do you notice any dif- ference between this point and where we started in P’’ “Yes,” said all. “The floor is lower. We are lower down.” “..That is true. The decline is so gradual you did not ob- serve it while coming. Now look ahead. The decline is more perceptible. “There are many other features of Society by day, but it is | w ! 77E W OF SOC/AE 7"Y A. W. Z)4 y. 365 growing late and we must return. After dinner we will take the night view. “Now we are back again on the high level. There is Cen- tral Park. Look at the handsome equipages, blooded horses— hundreds moving by us. Do you notice the occupants of the carriages, what a languid, weary look they wear 2 And every lady has a pug dog in her lap.” “Why that weary look 2 ” asked Mass. “Because they are tired of themselves. They have so much money they can't spend one-tenth of the income. They go to Europe to kill time. When there, they soon tire and wish to return. They return and the same demon—Ennui-pursues them. “They are not educated in the broad sense of the word. Hence Europe, with its historic fullness, its luscious legends, its classic ruins, its ecstatic romances, its heroic memories, its genius immortal in canvas and marble, its dying tongues, Sweeter in their lingual twilight than Memnon's music at the Sun's first rays, the mute eloquence of Macedon, Sparta, Athens, Rome, uttered from the grave and reaching us through the misty shroud of time to warn us of our fate, have no attractions for them. What do Recker, Banks, Ferrum, Lagér, De Stilling, Weaver & Co. know or care about such things 2 Living within themselves, to themselves, and for themselves, no wonder they are fatigued, sick, disgusted.” “I hear,” said Mr. Woolhat, “there are over a million poor people in this one town, and those people could get rid of some of their surplus by giving it to them.” “Mr. Woolhat, it requires great courage to return to a man what one has robbed him of. As a rule, we hate those whom we have wronged.” g During a sumptuous dinner Mr. Grange talked about nothing except his new nephew. Mr. Playfair told many stories of “bunco '' and “confidence ’’ men. Mass fell into himself and stayed there. Miss asked many questions about the factory hands and their wages, and Mr. Green was planning some way for the farmers and laboring men to combine and break up the Exchanges and reduce the tariff which, he plainly saw, were the wolves and bears that were devouring their flocks. 2O CHAPTER THIRTY-FOURTH. VIEW OF SOCIETY BY NIGHT. AT nine o'clock they re-entered the vast caravansary to see Society by night. “Stop here a moment, gentlemen. Is not that exquisite music? That is the Metropolitan Opera House. Listen | What a wonderful voice That is the great prima donna.” All list- ened. Mr. Woolhat said : “I don't hear your music, but come ! I hear a woman in distress I Don't you hear her hollering 2 Let's go in there and defend her. She's in pain. I know the holler. Come !” and he started off in a hurry. “Stop | Stop ! Don’t go there !” Mr. Woolhat was arrested by Miss and brought back. “My friend, that is music—the finest singing on earth ! The people in that house pay her $3,000 a night to sing.” “There, Jeans ! This whole thing is a lunatic asylum ! I told you so,” remarked Mr. Woolhat, with an air of pride that he had made the discovery. “No I This is a mild phase of Plutocracy. Recker, Banks and others here have so many millions they do not know how to get rid of them, and they put up this irnmense building, and own their seats in it, just as you own your house. But we must move On. “Here are the theaters for tragedy arid comedy. There is the Theatre Comique. “Look through that window at those two men and two young women. They are gambling. You see how red the girls' faces are 2 They are drunk. One is dealing the cards, while the other, you see, drinks from a goblet They win or lose thousands of dollars a night.” “Mr. Playfair, you are not serious, are you ?” inquired Mass, with a look of disgust. “Serious ! Of course I am . They are gambling in dead earnest. They are sons and daughters of millionaires seeking pleasure, because they have nothing else to do. They are a part of Plutocracy.” ſ \ V/AE W OF SOCIAE 7" V Aº V AWAGAZ 7. 3O7 “Well, that sight makes me sick. It is the worst I have seen,” remarked Mass, with a sigh. “Look in here. Those fellows are putting poison in can- dies and food.” “They might as well go and shoot the enemy they wish to kill. It would be less cowardly at least,” said Miss. “Do you suppose they are doing that to kill an enemy 2 No, indeed It is to kill anybody—you—me—our children.” “Kill me for what P’’ inquired Miss getting angry. “To get rich. To become millionaires. They are imitat- ing millionaires who got their money by gambling in the Ex- changes, by wrecking railroads, by ‘Salting' mines, by robbing laborers, etc. These murderers kill by poison, while they kill their victims by Sorrow, misery and want. Look here, gentle- men, quick ' " “Mister I’ll give you some points You just sell gold and buy Erie. You'll double your fortune if you will.—Come along, darling ! We'll find her—we'll find mother. They say she's dead—dead and buried God's too kind to take her from you—from her little babe—my precious darling. She's not dead. We’ll find her yet. Come along, darling !” “What on earth does that mean, Mr. Playfair 7” inquired Mr. Jeans, to whom the “points" were given. “That is a wreck by Recker. He is called ‘Crazy Points,’ —a case in point of those killed by Sorrow, misery and want inflicted by millionaires gambling in the Exchanges. He is a victim of Black Friday—a wreck that has floated on the cur- rent of Society ever since.’ “Now we are Coming to the beer-gardens and concert halls. Walk in a minute. You see women handing around cigars, beer, wine, whisky. “Do you see that man with a slouch hat sitting at that cor- ner table with a girl whose cheeks are flushed Don't you recognize him 2 ° None of the four remembered him. “Why, he is the center man of the railroad syndicate I pointed out this morning. He has changed his hat. This morning he had on a sleek beaver.” As the party walked out of the beer-garden a large throng was moving up and down, a large majority of them young women. Mr. Woolhat took off his hat and backed against the wall. Mr. Playfair missed him and, looking back, saw him with hat off bowing politely to nearly every woman passing. 308 AZ U 7'OCRACY. “Mr. Woolhat What are you doing 2" “I am giving way for this procession of ladies to pass. I am surprised to find so many of them know me. Nearly every one spoke to me !” Mr. Playfair spoke to Mr. Woolhat in a tone so low it was drowned by the thousands of voices and feet around. “Merciful God ’’ exclaimed Mr. Woolhat, “can it be pos- sible !” He turned and looked back a minute or more in silence. The other three gentlemen stepped back to see what was the matter. Just then Mr. Woolhat turned and said : “What are we coming to ?” “You had better ask where we are going ” “Where do they come from ?” asked Mr. Woolhat. “From the protected factories and mills, shops, stores, garrets, tenements and cellars. They are the legitimate off- spring of Plutocracy.” While Mr. Playfair was giving a brief account of the “pro- cession of ladies ' Mr. Woolhat spoke of, a fair, handsome young girl came staggering by and near Mr. Woolhat. He jumped and caught her to prevent her from falling. “Mr. Woolhat Come away ! Don't do that l” The im- perative tone of Mr. Playfair relaxed Mr. Woolhat's grasp, and the girl staggered off. “You must not act in that way ! Society does not permit it. You will be punished by Society—Plutocratic Society. If you do that, Society will not recognize you. Society lets the girl go down, down, until she becomes a drunkard, and then takes care of her. Society has kindly provided an organization to take care of all such women.” “Well ! I,et's take the poor soul to that organization right now,” suggested Mr. Woolhat, “What and where is it 7” “That humane organization is the Police. Look there ! One of them has her now by the arm, dragging her to prison But we must move on. “Here, gentlemen, is a hole in the earth. Don't go near it.” “What is it for P’’ asked Mr. Jeans. Just then Mr. Woolhat, who was peeping into the hole, stepped back and said, “Why, there’s a nigger coming out of that hole ” “Wait a second. He is not a negro. That is the shaft to a coal mine. The miners are coming up. Look at them ” They kept rising up till a hundred or more were moving off, V/AE W OAP SOCIE 7"Y BY AWAGAZ7. 3O9 black as coal-dust, towards their little huts stuck about on all sides, each with a little bucket in one hand. “These, gentlemen, are miners of anthracite coal. That coal is limited in quantity and locality. It is all owned by a syndicate, who control the price as easily as an engineer regu- lates the steam-gauge of his locomotive. When they get a big supply, they stop work and discharge these men, who sit idle until called again.” “What do they sit down idle for, instead of going off and getting work somewhere else?” asked Miss. “Go off 2 My friend these are our Siberian slaves. They are a fair sample of American White Slavery, or the effects of Pro- tection and Plutocracy. The Plutocrats demanded of Congress to pass a law sentencing these beings to perpetual slavery, them and their children after them. Slavery has always existed somewhere, in some form, and, you see, when the Executive issued his proclamation freeing the black slaves, the Legislative Department issued its decree in 1861 to establish white slavery. These beings are a few of the white slaves.” “Why don't they strike, or run away—do something to be free ?” inquired Miss. “Are you from the South P’’ inquired Mr. Playfair. “Yes, I am.” “You know, then, that the negro slaves, now and then, would rise in insurrection, but they were always put down and punished. These slaves, now and then, rise by getting up Strikes, but, like the negroes, they are put down, starved out, and punished. You said ‘run away ' What mockery ! Run where 2 Where is any underground or overground railroad to carry them 2 Who will help them 2 The men who own these white slaves used to help the negroes to escape from their masters, but who is there now to help these slaves to escape P “You don't understand that these people work here under- ground, in darkness except a liftle lamp, in coal-dust, damp, and dirt, from year to year, from early manhood to old age, for about two hundred dollars a year, and have to buy all they want from their bosses' stores at exorbitant prices. Besides, they know nothing but mining. They could not go if they would, and they could do no other work if they should go.” “I am willing,” said Mr. Woolhat, “to let some of these wretched beings I see here have a farm free on my land, if they will go,” & 3 Io AZ U 7'OCK-A C V. S “But, my friend, they can't go. They have no money. There is not one in a hundred passing us now who has ten dollars in the world. How can they go 2 They are impris- oned here by Poverty, the most cruel jailer of the strongest jail ever built, and Plutocracy built it ! So we will drop that subject, and go on with the inspection.” While Mr. Mass heard much of Mr. Playfair's remarks and explanations, he was not closely attentive. He was looking at every face that passed, and seldom spoke. “Gentlemen Turn and look back.” “I,ook Jeans !” said Mr. Woolhat, “I can’t see the churches and palaces at all !” “That's so,” said the other three. “The decline, you observe, has been great and rapid. It began right this side the churches. Now turn, and we will go On. “Here, right and left, are what are called ‘dives.” Men and women walking along here suddenly disappear. They dive in there—underground. We will go to the door only and look in. “There is a negro on the stage pulling away at a wind- broken accordeon. A woman in tights and almost no skirts is singing an obscene song.” “No | No 1 Mr. Playfair That's a young girl in short dress—but very, very short, I am Sorry to say : " moaned Mr. WOOlhat. “No | You are mistaken. She is painted and rigged up. She is forty years old at least, and about as hardened a sinner as Plutocracy ever turns out. Look at the surroundings. Those old red-nosed topers in rags, and dirty at that ; the room full of tobacco smoke ; the air filled with whisky and beer fumes ; those girls with dresses almost low enough in front to be en regle at Mrs. Nonavie's Diamond Ball.” “Well, this is too sad for swearing,” said Mr. Woolhat, with a long sigh, “ or I’ll be damned if—” “Mr. Woolhat You have been requested not to do that Please remember that you are in Society—I mean, a portion of Plutocratic Society. It is not of a very high order, I admit, but, as the Offspring of a man is a part of himself, so this, a part of the outcome of Plutocratic Society, is a part of it. So, be respectful and humble even in the presence of this end of Plutocratic Society. Let us move on. “On the right, sitting in that little den, are five burglars. That one talking is giving a diagram of the premises they in- V/AE W OAP SOCZAZ 7 V Aº V AV/GAZ 7. 31 I tend to break into to-night. Those on the left are dividing what they got last night. They are of the most cunning at this end of Society. You see, the upper end of Plutocracy robs the people, and the lower end robs the upper end. “Here is a group. Look | Did you ever see such malig- nant expressions on the human face They are dividing money. They found a countryman in the city yesterday with a big roll of money. He was fool enough to go to a theater and pull out that roll to buy a ticket. One of that group standing by spotted him and ran off for his pals. As the countryman left the theater, the spotter or decoy, well-dressed, approached the Countryman politely, said he was a detective, was thoroughly acquainted with the city, his business was to show Strangers around for a small sum—would be glad to wait on him. He then exposed a badge under his coat collar. “The stranger assented, was led into a den, three men seized him, gagged him, strangled him to death, took his money, put his body and a fifty-pound bar of iron in a sack, and threw the sack into North River. “They are quarreling, you see. The decoy claims he should ‘have half for flushing the game.’ That stout, low-browed fellow claims half for ‘bringing the game down.” The third wants half for the risk in hauling and dumping in the river. There ! Heavens ! The stout fellow has stabbed One, and cut the other's throat, and is running off with all the swag.” “It’s getting dark here, Mr. Playfair, and this place is declining rapidly,” remarked Mr. Mass, who discovered the darkness by his inability to see faces distinctly. “Yes. We have not far to go now. There is much to be seen, but it is late, and we will hasten on.” “What noise is that ahead of us, Mr. Playfair It is a strange, Confused sound,” said Miss. “I will answer by leading the way to the place. It is steep and slippery here ; so, keep your footing. Stop now. We are near enough. You notice just ahead that this steep incline suddenly turns straight down. Now look closely, just be- yond.” The strangers gazed eagerly for a few seconds, when Mr. Woolhat inquired : “What are they 2 Are they human beings 2 " “Yes and no. They are the wrecks of human beings. You See a vast multitude of men, women and children. The chil- dren are mostly girls, a very large majority. There are several 3íž - AAE Ö7 OCRACŞ. reasons for that. First, girls, through poverty, are exposed to more dangers. Their lot, by the decree of Society, is harder. Their sex is a snare to them The Plutocrats prey on them. Some of these very Plutocrats will not give them work except on terms of dishonor and degradation. “Second : the dead-line for a girl is farther back, higher up on this plane, than the dead-line for boys. It is way back beyond where you met the procession, Mr. Woolhat. “Third : When a girl once slips over that dead-line, both men and women drive her on, down, farther down, until she falls over into that pit, from which she can never rise. “But boys and men often get back above their dead-line. They seldom fail when they get riches by inheritance, by strik- ing oil, or by gambling on the green baize, or in the Exchanges. But enough of that. “That group is composed of women You see old hags, shriveled, wrinkled, and from that stage on to fair blooming girls as young as fifteen, fourteen, thirteen years old. Look at their unkempt hair, that loving mothers and doting fathers so fondly combed and dressed ; lips on which parental and frater- nal love had impressed ten thousand kisses ; their once fair blooming cheeks with which their treacherous lovers coyed ; eyes red and flannel-bound from drink and sleepless debauch- ery ; fair bosoms, once veiled by native modesty, now as open as their faces; clothes torn, feet bare and soiled and covered with slime. “Listen to their ribald jeers and demoniac laughs as they look at you. They are amused at your plain clothes, Mr. Jeans. The brief time they possessed charms to hold their lovers they dressed in silks and purple and plumes—and they, to some extent, live still in the past, some in memories of their gay plumage, and hence they laugh at your plain attire, oblivious of their present degradation, shame and utter ruin. “You ask where this class comes from. A very natural in- quiry by one who has lived in the woods amid the innocence and purity of nature, and has never supposed such things pos- sible. “They come from all grades of society. Do you see that blonde about twenty-five years of age 2 She was tenderly raised, educated in the highest Schools, was taught music thor- oughly, and at nineteen was the toast of a large and wealthy circle. She was permitted to associate with her father's coach- man—a mulatto—‘fell in love' with him, as the phrase goes, PZAZ Jº OA. SOCZZ 7" V AE V AV/GAZ7. 313 eloped, married, and was disowned by her family, deserted by the mulatto, and—well, here she is. Had she a piano in this den of criminals and fallen she could sing the ‘Miserere' or “Home, Sweet Home ' with a pathos that would make that group of hardened, shameless women weep. No, she could five years ago; but not now. Wine, whisky, profanity, dissipation, disease have unstrung that melodious throat, though swan- like in beauty still. Like her other charms it, too, is in ruins. That brunette near her was, a few years ago, a delightful mezzo-soprano. She sang in character and drew large houses. The male plutocrats, young and old, fêted her, drugged her night after night with wine after the entertainments in which she sang, flattered her, fooled her, ruined her, dropped her, as her habits of dissipation and extravagance, which they had nourished, grew. She fell back gradually, back to the theatre Comique, back to the gilded lager-beer saloon, back to a lager- beer saloon in a cellar, back to a ‘dive,’ back to the lower end of Thirty-first street, West, back to the street at night, and back and down into this pit. “You linger and suggest that, of all that innumerable group, an outline of the lives of only two has been given. True— they are examples of thousands. “There is a group of murderers, fratricides, mothers who murdered their children, burglars, forgers, counterfeiters, thugs. “There are hundreds of women drunk, staggering and push- ing through the dense crowd, their hair hanging loose and clothes torn. “Here in front is the body of a dead child lying on some straw. The mother sits by, resting her chin on her palms, staring towards us. That rough fellow, with part of a shirt on, has stumbled over the corpse.” “Why don't you bury the brat 2" he says, storming at her. “It’s no good now.” “How can I bury it and haven't got a cent, you infernal brute?” the mother replied. “Then carry it out and throw it to the hogs,” the brute answers. “I will throw her some money to bury it,” said kind Mr. Woolhat, and at the word threw five silver dollars to her. In an instant fifty men were in a pile, grabbing for the money, swearing and fighting over it. The mother of the dead child cried out it was for her to bury her child, but no one heeded her. 3I4 Pzvzocracy. One of the men got some of the money, rose and stag- gered off towards a corner where a man was selling whisky. A hundred men and women followed him, shouting, scream- ing, laughing, and tearing shirts and skirts to get to the whisky. - “You have done more harm than good, Mr. Woolhat.” “Mr. Playfair, I never imagined that hell was as awful as that ’’ said Miss. “Now you see, Mr. Woolhat, what you have done. Here are a thousand wild faces staring at you. The men are knock- ing the women down, crushing them in the mire and slime. There are girls, not over fifteen years, screaming at you for money to buy whisky.” - “Gentlemen, I meant well ; I wanted to help that poor mother,” said Mr. Woolhat apologetically. - “You must know, Mr. Woolhat, that these tens of thousands you see here are the castaways of Society. Society has pushed them over that brink so steep, into that pit so deep, they can never escape or rise again. They are shameless, fearless, heart- less, reckless. They know their doom when once in that pit.” Just then they heard a wild scream to the right. They looked and saw a beautiful girl, with hair streaming and arms outstretched, falling over the brink into the pit. “There's another gone ! There's another I will catch the next one and try to save her,” said good-hearted Mr. Woolhat. “Stand just where you are. You cannot change the decrees of Society. You could not hold her back, while the whole of Plutocracy is pushing her in. You would fall in with her. There come several. Mr. Jones, hold Mr. Woolhat. Don’t let him move.” “Oh, God . This is too horrible !” exclaimed Mr. Woolhat, as the woman went over uttering a wail of despair. - ‘‘Tell me one thing, and then I want to leave here,' remarked Mr. Jeans. “That pit keeps filling up ; what becomes of that multitude P’’ “I will tell you. Listen a minute and try to become insen- sible to the noise made by those in front, and to hear the wild shrieks and screams in the dark beyond. You can just see the forms of men, women, and children in the rear. You hear their hoarse cries, their oaths, their Screams, as they surge and sway like a vast, dark wave. They are struggling for life— struggling, fighting to get to the front, to the little light even that is here ; but those constantly coming and falling in, press JZZZ W OF SOCZAZ 7" V Aº V AV/GAZ7. 3 I5 them back and back into a river in whose black waters they sink never to rise again. “Thus, my friends, you have had a very imperfect view of Plutocratic Society. You have seen the extremes, but not near all that lies between. At the upper end you were regaled by perfumes sweet as those of ‘Araby the Blest.’ You find here foul, fetid, sickening Smells that make your gorge rise. “You saw at the upper end millions wasted in riotous dissipa- tion. Hundreds of millions buried in stone, marble and mor- tar, equipages, paintings, statues, Sacrificed to appease Ennui, to gratify Vanity. You see here squalor, misery, hunger, nakedness, disease, danger, drunkenness, crime and death. “You heard a preacher cry as we passed a church : “‘Though you have all these things, and have not Charity you are become as Sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal.’ “Oh, for the heroism that would demand of the Plutocrats in those congregations to assemble on this brink, and would point out to them this pit and say to them : “Oh, ye generation of hypocrites and robbers | Spin your false theories ; run your printing presses; buy your scribblers; weave your Sophistries ; juggle with figures, falsify balance sheets ; delude your victims ; rob labor ; roll your millions up to billions; but remember, ‘for all these things,’ sooner or later, the People “will bring you to judgment ' ' And may they show that mercy they have not received ” Mr. Grange and Mr. Green hurried to their lodgings, packed their trunks, and took the first train that was leaving for the West. - Mass and Miss returned to their hotel and talked over the horrors they had witnessed. They congratulated themselves on living in the far, free West, where if money was scarce, manhood and independence were not. Miss said to Mass : “How fortunate it was that I insisted we go into the Brunswick and get a cup of coffee. That carried us to Playfair, and now we have a clue. Our search here is ended. We can return.” The next day they followed the setting sun, and Mr. Playfair returned to Washington. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIFTH. MINERS’ CAMP, THE CHASE. NEAR the southern border of the Territory of Arizona, at the point where the Santa Cruz River and valley sweep round the southern base of the Patagonia mountain, there was, at the date of this history, a camp of miners. The camp was located near the head of a small Cañada on ground nearly level and about a hundred feet in diameter. There were three tents of large size in which the six miners slept, and a fourth that was used as a kitchen. At the base and on the foot hills of that mountain an oak abounds that in leaf and bark resembles the eastern white oak, but in shape and height looks more like a large black-jack than any other of the guercus family. A group of these Oaks, standing close together, as if they had fled to that small canyon and nestled for mutual support against some furious storm, served as a shelter for the sleeping tents. Down the cañada a few hundred feet was a natural spring of water, a rare treasure in that arid region. These six miners were all young men, their ages ranging from twenty to thirty years. All, except one, were strong, vigorous, active and above medium height and size. From constant practice they were fine riders and superior marksmen. Inured to dangers, they were fearless. Their camp was not far west of the trail those human devils—the Apaches—generally took when on their deeds of butchery in Arizona. Hence, these fortune seekers were always alert. They slept with pistols under their rude pillows and Win- chesters swung in reach. They had a password, which one absent must give as he approached the camp. About two weeks after the visit of Mr. Playfair to Miss Euclid four of these young men were in their camp. The day's work was done, supper was over, and they were sitting or lying around, smoking and chatting. The Camp fire was dying out ; only an occasional flash leaping from a half-burnt log. The moon, more than half full, was turning the crest of the left or eastern peak of the mountain divided by the Cañada, and in that crystal atmosphere a sheen of silver light gilded rock, leaf and tent. MIMERS’ CAMP, THE CHASE. 3I 7 The four young men were known by the names Horace, Moore, Mary, and Texas. These, of course, were not their names. They were the convenient or appropriate titles sug- gested by nativity or habit, or prominent trait of the person. This is the custom in the Far West, especially in mining camps. Men have formed friendships and become intimate before they knew each other's names. Sometimes it was because neither desired his name to be known. Oftener the custom came from the causes named above. Horace was so called because he had a copy of the poems of Horace in Latin, which he read and quoted constantly. Moore was an admirer and quoter of Tom Moore. Mary was called from the State of his nativity, Maryland. Westerners waste no breath intentionally. “Maryland ’’ was too long. Texas was from that State. Even the last was called, simply, Tex. Names in that country are small matters ; things are immense. As they were lounging thus, Moore quoted from Don Juan, Byron's satire on fair Luna. Mary was telling of a flirtation he had with a beautiful señorita at a fandango in Tombstone the week before. “Of course, she was beautiful ; that goes without saying,” remarked Texas. “Don’t waste time in superfluous words— ‘on with the dance.’” “No, Tex.; you hold on,” said Moore. “Never mar the beautiful. That is the ravishing part of the story. We all know she was some greaser's daughter. We don't want reality, we want imagination. Tell me, Mary. Oh, tell me ! was she a Nourmahal Pan Araby's daughter 2 ‘‘ ‘Was she a form of life and light, - That seen becomes a part of sight 2''' “You go to the devil and I’ll go on with—” “Send me, Mary, not to thy father, but rather to the vale where sleeps your dark-eyed Houri " interrupted Moore, wav- ing his arms towards the moon, as he lay on his back with his head on a saddle for a pillow. “Mary, had she minimos pedes et labias me//iſłuas 2'' in- quired Horace. “Yes, yes,” said Mary impatiently. “One was so, and the other looked so ; but I didn't get a chance to taste the other.” “Oh my soul | " moaned Horace, rising on one elbow, “you say ‘one zwas so." Had the angel but one foot 2 '' “Confound you ! You asked if she had small feet and sweet 3.18 A/, U 7'OCRAC V. lips, and I answered that one of the things you inquired about, to wit, her feet, were small.” - “How was her breath, Mary 2 Any onions wafting their rich perfume around that ruby portal of Paradise P” asked Texas in a tone of sentimental recitation. “Oh, the devil ” exclaimed Mary, disgusted with the lack of sentiment his hearers exhibited. “When under the inspi- ration of a scene like this ; this mountain overhanging here, pointing us to yon star-Spangled canopy ; the Sweet melody of yon Coyote, as he bays the pale-faced moon and smells our fresh beef, if ever I attempt again to charm a set of savages by depicting to them the rapture of a flirtation, you may call me an ass.” Mary had risen, and he delivered that little speech in heroic style. , “We use no unnecessary words here, Mary,’ drowsily. “All right !” said Texas. “Now, Moore, get out your guitar, and you, Mary, your dear Amati, and give us some music.” “So say I,” chimed in Horace. Moore and Mary got their instruments. Both were good per- formers and both instruments were fine. Mary claimed that his violin was an Amati. Whether true or not, his bow and touch inspired it with the spirit of an Amati. He was a musi- cian by nature, had been instructed in early youth by a master. He was strong. His nerves were steady and quick. That gave to his musical expression great compass, from the softest, sweetest tones to those strong and loud. - Moore's execution was fine, but, of course, the effect of it was limited by the instrument. His voice was a weak but Sweet tenor. It lacked nothing but volume. “What will you have 2" asked Moore, who usually led, while Mary played second. “Something lively like my fandango- angel danced, or something sentimental P” “I don't feel gay to-night,” remarked Texas. “I am wor ried about our friends staying away so long. I fear something serious has happened to them. How long, Horace, since we had a letter from them 2 '' - “The last was two weeks ago yesterday, I believe—yes, yesterday. And they said they would return soon. They were disheartened.” e “That troubles me. They did not expect to be away over two weeks, and this is the fifth week,” said Texas. “Let’s hope all is well,” replied Horace. “If they don't 3. said Horace M/AWAERS’ CAMP, 7//Z CA/ASAE. 3 IQ know how to take care of themselves, we had better never ven- ture away from camp.” “But those infernal red devils are on the war path,” said Texas. - - “Yes, but this time they are waking up New Mexico. The last heard of them, they were below Deming, heading towards Organ Mountains. They had killed over a hundred miners, including women and children, and were near the Mexican line. Don't you worry about them. The United States Government is no doubt moving by this time. It has sent, or soon will send a message of thanks to them for not killing more than they did, and an apology for pursuing them, with an assurance that the pursuit was by no means hostile, but that our troops were try- ing to overtake them to deliver to them their blankets, rations and horses, they forgot in their haste of leaving. Our boys are all right. So let's have the music.” “Boys, give us ‘Then You'll Remember Me,’” asked Texas. Moore Sang to the guitar and Mary played a soft second. Before the Second stanza was finished, Texas, who was lying on his back, turned on his side, his face away from the musicians. - When the song ceased, there was silence for a half minute. Horace at length requested them to play “Ben Bolt.” Horace was sitting near and facing Moore, who began in a low, plaintive voice. As he sang the words “sweet Alice,” Horace leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked at the ground. When Moore sang in his most pathetic form, “And sweet Alice lies under the stone,” Horace rose and walked thirty to forty paces away in the direction of the spring. He stood motionless, except in using his handkerchief to dry his eyes. The music ceased—Moore rested the base of his guitar on the ground, leaned forward and was silent, while Mary con- tinued with a brilliant yet careless rehearsal of the “Carnival of Venice.” Texas had not moved since turning his face away. As the Carnival ended, he asked Mary, in a husky voice, to play “Sweet Spirit, Hear My Prayer.” Mary did not answer. Texas, thinking he had not been heard repeated the request. “Tex.,” said Mary slowly, “I have not played that in years. The air is to me the saddest on earth, and there are memories—well—never mind, I will play it once more,” 32O APA, U 7'OCAEA CY. - He had been sitting, while playing with Moore. He rose and adjusted his violin with as much care as would Joachim in the presence of crowned heads. In truth, the artist's spiritual eyes, at that moment, were resting on a loved but long lost head that was then wearing a crown. He looked serious. His face had never looked so sad before. His gaze was far away, and upward to the stars. He raised the bow slowly, seemingly unconscious of the move, and lowered it gently on the sleeping strings. Before he had finished the first line, his lips quivered and his eyes glistened with tears. He was struggling against some sad memory, while moving on under an irresistible inspiration. The bow rose and fell with a grace that suggested it pos. sessed life and reason. The artist stood as if he were the sovereign of sound selecting with his scepter his richest gems and flinging them lavishly to the waiting, enraptured air. The Amati, in harmony with its master's soul, yielded up its sweetest, saddest song. There was in its voice more than song. There was deep emotion—sorrow that had slept and gath- ered strength and pathos by its slumber. The Amati wept, it wailed, then moaned and sobbed in melody. Its voice rose at times in one long, thrilling cry, then slowly fell into a tender, pleading tone which came like the far-off voice of Pity swept away and drowning in the melodious flood that had just rushed by. When the first trembling notes floated, weeping, up the mountain side, Texas looked up to know whence came the voice. He could not realize they came from anything inanimate. He raised himself and sat up, gazing at the wizard performer. He had heard Mary often, but had never heard any music from him approaching that. An illusion took possession of him and held him to the close—until the last sound died away. The performer was a father, the violin, his child, his daughter. The father, with grief that made him weep, yet driven on by an irrepressible sense of duty, was chastising his beloved child. Each stroke was punishment greater to the father than his off- spring that now cried aloud, and now entreated with moans and sobs. As the first notes of that almost supernatural music rang out and went echoing along the mountain crags, two men mounted were turning a bend in the Cañada less than four hundred yards from the camp. - “Listen ” said one in a loud whisper, as he reined up his AZZAVAERS’ CAMP, TAZAE CHA SAE. 32 I horse. “Merciful Heaven | That is her voice . The last song she sang for me. Oh, my God . She's dead | That is her spirit !” “Oh, no, my friend. Don't be so excited. That is not a human or a spirit voice. It is the violin in camp.” “No that is not a sound from anything earthly ” said the other. “Yes, it is. You are excited over the finding of that devil to-day.” “But Mary never played that song, and I’ve heard him for a year ! That is her voice I can hear it, as I heard it last. IDon't you note the weeping tone Only the human voice can weep and cry in Song like that ” “There ! It is hushed.” “Yes | Sweet spirit, I hear your prayer,” exclaimed Mass, with a strong but trembling voice, as he lifted his hat from his head. “I hear your wail. It has rung in my heart for years, and whether you be of earth or in the spirit land, sweet spirit I hear, and I will heed your prayer “Miss, I thought, before this hour, that I was resolute in my purpose. But, Compared to what I am now, I was as clay to granite Spur your horse. Let's be on.” Within three minutes the password was given, and the camp was in joyous commotion. The four forgot, in an instant, the girls they had left behind them, and whose memories awakened by the songs had made them all weep, except Moore. He was sentimental, it is true, but, to quote his favorite author, of whom he was a disciple, he could “sport awhile with beauty's chain, then cast it idly by,” and could also “be happy with either when 'tother dear charmer's away.” A hundred questions were asked. Four tongues were in a race. Mass said but little, while Miss was kept busy. At length Mass said : “Boys, I must leave Miss to give you an account of our trip, our object, our search and hardships. It is more becom- ing in me not to speak of all those things, as you will see before he ends the story. I am jaded, have been under great mental strain, and I will sleep until two o'clock.” The five sat in a group with Miss in the center, who told the story of their friend's family and their great sorrows; the object of the trip ; and of the search the two had made. After giving the interview with Playfair, he continued : “We left by the first train after seeing Society, of which I will 2I 322 AZ U 7'OCRACY, tell you hereafter, and proceeded to Cheyenne. By making Inquiry, so as not to arouse curiosity, we learned that his ranche lay a hundred miles north. We bought two horses, two Winchesters and cartridges, and started for the ranche. By riding day and night we arrived there in fourteen hours, only to learn that he and a party of friends had started seven days before by buckboards, to take a long trip which would wind up in the Mexican Sierras. They were to hunt on their way and look for land, as several of them wanted to buy ranches. We concluded at first to sell our horses and take the rail by 'Frisco and head them off on the Southern Pacific, but, on reflec- tion, we saw the impossibility of knowing at which point they would cross. So we decided to “punch the breeze' and get on their track. “It was a big undertaking—a long, dreary ride to come eight hundred miles on horseback, but Mass was determined, and I was ‘in for the war.” We would have taken a buckboard, but we knew we could make better time riding, and make almost two laps to their one. “We got a map and studied it to get their probable course. We struck out and covered two hundred miles before we got on even a cold trail. A rancher told us he heard of such a party passing down some twenty-five miles west of his place. We then bore off southwest for a hundred miles and reached a ranche about dark next day. “The rancher was a rough-looking customer. We learned from him that a party of six or seven men passed his ranche about four days before, but he could not tell where they were going. We were so fatigued, and our horses so tired we had to stay there that night. But we did not sleep a wink, for just as we were going to bed three bad-looking fellows came in. There was no lock on the door to the room we occupied, and we could only bar 1f by putting our saddles against it. We did not wish to go to sleep, but we were so worn out it re- quired a constant effort to keep awake. “As soon as we lay down, they commenced a game of Cards in the adjoining room. They were drinking mescal, and in about an hour they became noisy and quarrelsome. We had no doubt they intended to murder us for plunder, but fortu- nately for us, their purpose was defeated. “They had been playing three hours, perhaps, when one suspected another of cheating. We heard him say in an angry tone : M/A/AEAES’ CAMP, 7A/E CAE/ASAE. 323 “‘Don’t you touch that money. You can't rob me by cheating.’ “At that they began to quarrel and swear, all four, and soon, as we expected, shooting commenced. We jumped and seized our rifles and pistols and stood near our door. The house was adobe, of course, and we did not fear bullets coming through the wall. “I guess at least twenty shots were fired, and then the omi- nous silence we understood so well followed. After waiting some ten minutes we moved the saddles — opened the door about an inch and looked. As we saw two men lying on the floor, we ventured to open the door and step out. “Three of them were stone dead. The fourth was groaning and crying ‘Mercy.” We raised him up, found he was shot in his right arm and leg ; was bleeding profusely, but he was not, as we thought, dangerously hurt. “We were in a devilish bad fix—guests in a ranche, and three men dead on the floor and one who might die. Our policy was to try to keep the fourth man alive as a witness. So, we set to work on him—stanched his wounds—dressed them the best we could, gave him some good whisky and got him easy. He rallied rapidly after the first nervous shock passed off, and we got him to talking. I drew up a statement in writing of the whole situation there that night and got him to sign it, so we could use it in the event he should die. “His story of himself was briefly this. He was a stone cutter on an island in Ohio. At an election he was told by the superintendent he must vote for a certain candidate. He asked the superintendent by what authority he talked to him in that way. The answer was—‘The boss says so.” He replied, ‘You tell the boss I am a free man or I claim to be, and he don't own my vote.' The result was, he was discharged the next day without explanation. “He says he lingered around there, tried everywhere to get work in a quarry; was told they had no use for him or his kind, as he knew too much. He then struck out to the West, rode till his money gave out, and then took it afoot. He came to a ranche in Wyoming and asked for work to get enough money to carry him to a newly discovered mine. The owner questioned him closely, where he had worked, why he was not there yet, etc. He told the rancher, frankly, why he had been discharged. “Then I have no use for you about me. You can clear out,’ said the rancher. That rancher is the very man we have been hunting. 324 - AZ U 7'OCAEAC V. “He then turned south, and on his way fell in with two tramps. - - --- “‘The men lying there,' he said, ‘got me to drinking that poison and to playing cards. Gentlemen, I’m not a bad man. This is all against me, I know, but I am not bad at heart. I was out of work, hungry, hardly any clothes and H was des- perate. You don’t know what it is to be in this world without money, without friends, without work. Why, a man, and a woman too, will take up with anything, a dog, when in that fix. It makes a man wicked—bad at heart. I tell you, friends, HUNGER IS THE WORST ENE MY OF RELIGION AND SOCIETY ON THIS EARTH. “‘If that rancher who turned me away because I told him I was discharged for refusing to surrender my freedom, who passed me three days ago with his friends coming this way, had given me work, I would not be here now in this awful scrape.” “A few questions and answers satisfied us he spoke of the party we were following. We told him we would take him out of that place and to the nearest house. We paid the occupant enough to feed and nurse the man for two months and con- tinued on Our pursuit. “We soon became satisfied we were behind the party only three days. We pushed on to Prescott. They were ahead two days. At Phoenix a day and a half. When we arrived at Tuc- son they had started that morning for Hermosillo. We pushed on and overtook them in camp near Fort Crittenden. “And, now, Mass intends to start at three in the morning. He is going for business and he wants us to go with him, be- cause he don’t know what will turn up. All he asks is fair play.” “For one,” said Texas, “on the issue you have described I am with him, if it is to go to hell.” “So am I,’” came from the other three. “When do we start P’’ asked Texas. “At three. We must ride thirty miles before they can strike their tents,” replied Miss. Each man took down his Winchester, charged the magazine, oiled his pistol, and then lay down for a four hours' sleep. * * * * . . . * * * CHAPTER THIRTY-SIXTH. MET AT LAST. A LITTLE before two Mass rose and dressed. He put on dark trousers, a white flannel shirt, with wide flowing collar, a blue necktie, and top-boots. A cartridge belt encircled his waist. He arranged his dress with more care than was his habit. His rich brown hair was combed behind his ears, and fell to the collar of his shirt. By three A. M. the six were in the saddle, and at the word “All ready,” from Mass, they filed down the canyon, as the moon was coating with silver the peak of the eastern hill, that rose hundreds of feet above them. Not a word was spoken for miles. At La Noria, an almost deserted adobe village, Mass hailed a Spaniard, and requested him to go at once and guard the camp for the day. They rode almost in silence the whole way. They passed the old Mowery mine, the scene of bloody battles between miners and Apaches, but a few years before ; passed by graves of miners killed by the Apaches, and buried almost in the road; by the Alta mine ; by Harshaw ; by the well at the Senoita Valley ; up that valley by Hughes' ranche. There they saw the sun's first rays gild the highest peak of the Santa Rita mountain on their left beyond. In a few minutes more they arrived at Fort Crittenden. The camp of the hunters was astir. All were up—had taken their breakfast—and were nearly ready to move. The horse- men halted about thirty paces from the camp and dismounted. Mass advanced, and bowing politely to the party, inquired, “Gentlemen, is a Mr. Weaver of your number 2" He was answered in the affirmative. “Is he Mr. Jno. Weaver ?” asked Mass. “That's my name,” answered one of them, as he stepped from behind a fine pair of blooded horses that had covered him from sight. “Will you step aside with me one moment 2 I have some- thing to say to you, privately " said Mass, motioning with his head the direction he wished Weaver to step, • 326 A/C U 7'OCAEA C V. Weaver was puzzled. The man was a stranger. He had a rifle resting on the ground, with a belt and pistols on, while five men were standing like statues near by. The circum- stances were suspicious, in that region at least. But he could make no excuse for refusing to go. He stepped out and the two walked off about forty steps. Mass turned and looked Weaver full in the face. He drew from an inner pocket in his shirt a package, unfolded it, took from it a photograph and held it square to the view of Weaver. “Do you know that photograph, Mr. Weaver ?” “Yes, certainly. It is one of me.” Mass then drew from the package a plain gold ring. “Do you recognize that ring 2 ” gº Weaver looked at it and answered in the negative. “Look at the inner side, at the initials. They may assist your memory,” said Mass. Weaver turned the ring and saw the initials “E.H.” He looked up at Mass. His memory was assisted. He saw large blue eyes very like eyes he had seen before. He saw an ex- pression in those eyes and that face that swept him back, in an instant, to a moment of time and a spot where stood a young woman pleading to him with burning tears flowing from eyes like those not to desert her, because she was—he had made her—his wife. - Weaver's face blanched and then flushed ; then blanched, but flushed no more. “Do you now remember these tokens?” inquired Mass. “Why do you ask me 2 Suppose I do remember them, what then P” Weaver was trying the game of bluff he knew so well at cards. “Will you answer my question, Mr. Weaver ? Did you not give that ring to Eugenia Hampton P” “Yes, I did. Now, what of it? What is it to you ?” asked Weaver evincing nervousness, but assuming bravado. “I am the brother of Eugenia Hampton, the woman you betrayed Is it necessary for me to explain further the pur- pose of this call on you ?” John Weaver looked bewildered, dazed. He was speechless, His body was in a tremor and he unconsciously moved a step. “Don’t move, Mr. Weaver,” said Mass firmly. “If it is neces- sary that I shall say more, then know, that I have worn that picture, loathsome as a viper to me, in my bosom for twelve long years, watching for its original. I have found him at _j MAE 7" A 7" Z.A.S 7. 327 last, and all I have to say to you is, get ready to meet me within a reasonable time and with your own choice of weapons. I require an answer in thirty minutes. My friend standing there on the right, Mr. Grafton, will settle details with any friend you name.” “But, Mr. Hampton,” remarked Weaver in a confused manner, “is there no other way to settle this unhappy affair than what you intimate 2 Can't I make some reparation, in some way ?” “Reparation ’’ replied Hampton in a tone heard by all. “You speak of reparation for a Wom AN’s HONOR / You should be thankful for the equal terms I give you instead of shooting you in your tracks ’’ Hampton walked back to his friends and requested Grafton to step forward and be ready to arrange the terms of the meeting. Weaver returned to his friends, who had gathered - towards him as Hampton began to speak so loud. They asked : “Weaver, what in the name of heaven does this mean P Who is that fellow 7 What did he say ? What's he mad with you about 2." “Oh, well,” answered Weaver agitated and pale, “it’s all about a little love affair I had twelve years ago.” “Very well ! What does he want 2 ” asked a stout blonde with big mustache, blue eyes, and puffy cheeks, who looked jolly and good natured and had a striding, waddling gait. “He wants a duel. Says nothing else will do,” nervously answered Weaver. “Nonsense ” said the blonde. “A duel about a little love affair that happened twelve years ago | Why, I have had a hundred and forgot every woman in six months ’’ “Williams, go out and see that man standing in front of the others and try to settle this matter. It's ſearful,” said Weaver, looking at his hands as if they were bloody. Williams was from Louisiana and was a duelist. He had been on the field and went West to avoid a trial. He con- versed with Grafton for ten minutes and returned to Weaver. “How does he talk, Williams ?” asked the blonde, who was from New York. “Talk 1" answered Williams. “There is no talk, it's business. This is a very serious affair.” “Weaver, that man says you betrayed Hampton's sister, under a pretense of marriage—at least you afterwards treated it as such—and after treating her as your wife in a Country 328 AZ U 7'OCRACY. village, in Massachusetts, you deserted her. Is that true P” asked Williams, with a strong emphasis on the last word. “I suppose I might as well say it is, in the main, true,” answered Weaver, “but that is nothing uncommon, and I don’t see why I should fight a duel about it here so many years after I had forgotten it.” “That may be the social view of the question with you, Weaver, but in the South they don't look at it that way. For the offense you have committed when done among us, there is no atonement except blood. You would have been shot like a dog, down there. But this is no time for discussion. This thing is horrible.” “Be Gad, it begins to look like it's time for percussion,” said the blonde, in the most serious tone. “Great Heavens ! Williams, can’t you fix this up some way 2" continued the blonde. I’ll go and talk with Mr. Hamp- ton. He looks like a good fellow.” At that the blonde, whose name was Timothy Tump, walked briskly up to Hampton. “My dear friend,” he began, I am very sorry—” “If you are to represent Mr. Weaver, please speak to Mr. Grafton who stands there,” said Hampton, pointing to Grafton and turning his back. Grafton was “Miss.” “No. I have just come to see—” “See Mr. Grafton, if you please. This matter is not in my hands,” replied Hampton, seeing the man was simply an igno- rant intermeddler. Tump talked with Grafton for five minutes, and returned to Weaver. There were six men of the Weaver party. They held an earnest consultation for ten minutes or more, and de- cided that one of two results must follow ; that Weaver must meet Hampton on equal terms, or there would be a general fight. Tump strongly opposed a general fight. During this conference Weaver was sitting on a large rock, pulling at the corners of a large silk handkerchief. Hampton and four friends were standing by their horses. Hampton looked at his watch and spoke to Grafton : “Only three minutes remain.” He then requested Thornsby (Texas) to lead the horses a few yards to one side, out of range of fire. Grafton called Williams to him. “Has Weaver decided ? Three minutes are all that are left.” Williams stepped to Weaver and said, “You must say what you will do, Weaver.” Weaver rose and said : MAE 7" A T LAST. 329 “This is hard I may be killed. I have so much to live for-so much to enjoy life with. If I was a poor devil, I wouldn't care so much. But I must do as you all say.” “I tell you what let's do,” said the blonde. “Tell 'em Weaver will fight him, and then while we are pretending toget ready, let Weaver pick his chance and skip.” “ Tump, you’re a fool and a coward,” said Williams, with disgust and contempt. “Would you disgrace a friend in that way ?” “Disgrace the devil who cares for that sort of disgrace, if he saves his life 2 If I had Weaver's millions I wouldn't care a damn,” Snorted out Tump. “Williams, if I fall you take this diamond pin, and you, Tump, this diamond ring,” said Weaver. “Tell the scoundrel I’ll fight him.” Weaver, like many a coward, decided to fight because there was no possible escape. Once having resolved, he saw his hope was in desperation, and he nerved himself to meet the inevita- ble. He took a large drink of whisky. Williams and Grafton soon arranged the terms. Williams demanded a cessation on the first blood. Grafton said it was idle to speak of it. The meeting was for one only, or neither, to leave the field alive. Williams yielded. Rifles were chosen at forty paces; after the first fire, both to advance with rifle or pistol. Weaver won the choice of positions. The place agreed on was a low mesa just south of Hughes' ranche, on the left in going to Harshaw. This mesa is a natu- ral terrace as beautifully shaped as art could have made it. It looks like a vast theater where giants had held assemblies to listen to an orator whose stage was a few yards east, where a high hill rises precipitously from the ſnesa. The western side or wall of the mesa or step to the hill is most artistically beveled down to the narrow, arable valley that stretches for a quarter of a mile between the highway and the mesa. Both parties of six repaired to the ground, distant but a few minutes' walk. The seconds stepped off the ground. There was a difference of two feet in their measurement, which was settled by a line dividing the two ſeet of difference. Williams was to give the word. The principals took posi- tion, and Williams stood half way the distance, ten paces west out of the line, near the edge of the terrace and facing the eastern hill. Hampton was south. He faced the hill over which the sun 33o AZ U 7 OCRACY. was about to peep He drew his broad brim close over his eyes, stood like a soldier at present arms, with face to Weaver. As he stood erect, straight, in dark pants, top-boots, white shirt, blue necktie, broad-brim hat, with rifle perpendicular, he was a picture of manhood seldom equaled, never surpassed. The friends of either principal stood a little to the rear of their principal and near the hill. Williams, glancing quickly at both, called in a loud voice : “Are you ready ?” From the hillside opposite to Williams came in an instant in syllables almost as distinct as his own : “Are you ready ?” All eyes were turned instantly to the hill. There was no human being visible. The terrible ordeal, the majesty of nature around them, the high nervous tension in every one present were such, that the voice from the hill sent a thrill of awe through every frame. Hampton forgot his perilous situ- ation, and gazed searchingly along the hill. His first thought was of the voice he had heard the night before. He was partly unmanned. Williams, to test the mystery, or to solve it, called out, “Who's there?” and the same response came, “Who’s there P’’ It was only an echo. “Are you ready ?” The hill asked the same question, and two voices replied : “Ready ” “Ready ” “Fire | One two three stop !” At the word “one,” both rifles rang loud and sharp, and the hill sent back both reports in one. Hampton's ball struck the muzzle of Weaver's rifle, and he was knocked to the ground. The Smoke prevented Hampton from seeing him fall. All the spectators thought Weaver was killed. Weaver’s shot broke Hampton's left forearm, and glancing, broke the guard to his rifle and went whizzing by and near his friends. Hampton, unable to hold his rifle, dropped it instantly, drew a revolver, and advanced rapidly. Weaver, being un- hurt, rose in a second, rifle in hand, aimed at Hampton, but could not fire. He dropped the rifle, drew a pistol, and fired hastily. Hampton was then within fifteen paces. Weaver's ball pierced the crown of Hampton's hat in a line shot. Before MAE 7" A 7" L.A.ST. 33 I Weaver could place his second shot, Hampton fired. Weaver's hand flew up, his pistol went ten feet in the air, and with his left hand clasped on his leſt breast he fell on his back—DEAD. Hampton turned towards the hill, and raising his sombrero slightly from his head, he murmured : “Whether you be in heaven or on earth, Sweet Spirit, I heard the voiceless prayer you made to me at parting, and you are avenged ” He referred to the moment when Eugenia handed to him the photograph and ring. It was agreed that no one should leave the ground before the inquest was held except Hampton, who was to be carried to Tucson for surgical aid. The whole story of the dead man and the sister of his slayer was told, and the verdict of the jury was, “JUSTIFIABLE HOMICIDE.” CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENTH. THE DAY AFTER THE DUEL. THE Press of the large cities, North, the morning after the duel, was red hot with accounts of “the foul assassination of the noble, brave Jno. Weaver, son of the distinguished William Weaver, the many times millionaire, of New York city.” A leading daily in New York contained the following: “Young Weaver, intending to benefit the people in Arizona by investing a few million dollars among them and by the privilege of associating with him for a few months each year, was met on the highway and literally butchered by a gang of Outlaws, cut-throats and escaped convicts from the South and West. His body was mutilated and robbed. Diamonds worth many thousands presented to him by the lovely, the intellectual, the beautiful Miss Sophronia Wiggles of this city (his betrothed now irreparably bereaved, to whom he had been exclusively and chivalrously devoted for twelve years), were stripped from his lifeless hands and bosom crimsoned with his blood drawn by the assassin's knife. “Any further attempt to redeem that people from the barbar- ism of slavery would be utter folly. Not one dollar from the North should be allowed to go to them until they are taught the rudiments of civilization, at least. If the noble, generous, honorable, inoffensive, charitable young Weaver could not pass along the highway, at noon day, in company with five friends, without being assassinated without a moment's warning, then the United States Government is right in its historic policy of protecting the Apaches when they take their recreation by shooting, scalping, skinning and burning such barbarians. “The body of the heroic martyr to his own beneaolence and philanthropy will be embalmed (as his memory will be in all Christian hearts) and shipped from Tucson to-day. We trust that a kind Providence will lovingly sustain the millionaire father and, we will add, the mother also, under this crushing affliction in the loss of his only child, and that the broken- hearted betrothed, Miss Sophronia Wiggles, the only fair one 7A/E DA V AA77 AA 7"A/A2 D UAE Z. 333 º to whom the noble deceased ever breathed a syllable of love, will find Consolation in the thought that his many virtues give assurance of a happy reunion beyond the skies, where assas- sins “cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.’” Williams and John Weaver's other friends, except Mr. Tump, superintended the embalming and shipment of their friend's body. Mr. Tump was too busy to assist. He was preparing himself for shipment out of the Territory without embalming. “Damphf I don't leave by the first train, if I’m alive,” said he to Williams. “Be Gad, who knows 2 There may be fifty brothers and husbands, this minute, going round here with arsenals on 'em and photographs and cheap rings I have given away, looking for me ! Gad I’m so scared, I’m ready to vomit ! I'm afraid to turn a corner I want to go to a bar- ber's shop to have my head and mustache shaved, and put on a wig and false whiskers, but I'm afraid I'll meet an arsenal and a photograph in there ! Lord ' This is a horrible place. I didn't know hell is in the United States before. But it's here —right here, and damphf I don't jump it before dark, if some arsenal don’t jump me ! “Williams For mercy's sake go in that barber's shop and send one to my room. Be sure he's a barber, though. Ex- amine his pockets for pistols and photographs before you send him. Ask him if he has a sister. If he has, I don’t want him.” Williams, while feeling a contempt for Tump, pitied him, and sent a barber. Tump had his mustache shaved off and his hair clipped to the scalp. The barber had no sandy whiskers, Only a pair of red and a jet-black wig. Tump wanted them put on so they would stick until he could reach Chicago. The barber assured him he could induce the wig and whiskers to stay with him as far as Chicago, at least. He thereupon pre- pared a pot of glue, mopped the inside of the wig and whiskers and slapped them on. Tump determined to disguise himself further by assuming lameness in one leg. But he was afraid if he came suddenly on an arsenal, or saw any one with a photograph, he would for- get to limp. So, to have a reminder at every step, he put a buck shot and some sharp gravel in one sock. He said, after- wards, he never forgot to limp a single step before he reached Chicago. t In Chicago, two surgeons and a taxidermist worked for a 334 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. whole day on Tump's head, trying to Scalp him. They gave it up, and advised him to lie up until his hair grew out and pushed the wig off. He protested that he could not stand the confine- ment. They advised him to take a trip to China. That he could not do, as he must be in Wall street at work, and he could not appear there with red whiskers and jet black hair. The amount of talking necessary to explain the phenomenon to his fellow-brokers would make him sick. He explained it to the Surgeons by saying he found the Indians out hunting scalps, and he put a wig on to fool them in case they caught him. As a last resort they advised shaving the wig and rubbing it every night with postage-stamp mucilage. In the course of a year or So, they said, the roaches would eat up the wig. The friends of Hampton returned to camp where he soon joined them, and the work in the mine went on, by day, as be- fore, and the evenings were cheered by wit and song, and the sweet Amati. But, from regard for Hampton, and at his request, the weeping Amati never again awoke the memory of that Sweet Spirit. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHTH. RE- ASSEMBLIN G OF THE BILLION. AFTER the lapse of two months from the meeting of the Billion Dollars at Mr. Ferrum's, Mr. Clinkers, according to the understanding had that evening, issued his invitations to about one hundred millionaires to honor him by their presence at 8 o’clock on Friday evening to take a hand in a game of whist. At the hour named thirty arrived, and by 8:15 seventy-three were assembled. After a desultory conversation, in which the day's operations in the Stock Exchange were talked over, and many had stated the amounts they, severally, had hauled in, some by a “put,” some by a “call,” some by a “straddle,” some by a square pull on the “short,” and the “long " side of the market (the aggregate of which several amounts was a little over a million dollars), Mr. Banks rose and rapped gently on the table. He stood for a minute with his eye-glass over his diamond pin, in a statuesque position that announced to his co-conspirators: “Look upon it. It is before you. Do not lose the oppor- tunity. It was never more glorious. Its charm will soon be veiled. It must be hidden for a few minutes that business may proceed.” He then remarked : “I would inquire of our host for this evening, whether all due precaution has been observed by him to prevent another surprise.” Mr. Clinkers explained at length all the steps he had taken to insure perfect secrecy, that he kept no man-servant, that the only male in the house was an uneducated, ignorant little boy who, if in the room, could not understand what might be said ; that the only other person in the house, except his wife, was a servant girl from the country, who was with the boy in the fourth story trying to teach him “who made him.” “That's a good girl,” said Mr. Bullock, “but there is no danger from her, she can’t know much, or she wouldn't waste her time in such nonsense. She'd better be teaching him how to add up and hold fast to what he gets.” All being satisfied of secrecy, Mr. Banks moved that Mr. 336 AZ U 7'OCAEA C V. Recker take the chair. Mr. Recker took his seat at once, and announced that the first business was to receive reports from the several committees, and the first in order of time and im- portance was the Committee on Finance. Mr. Banks, chairman of the committee, rose and elevated his eye-glass to his bosom. After giving the spectators a brief but unsatisfactory time to “behold It,” he began : “Mr. Chairman : Your committee has not had opportunity to see many millionaires, but we have collected in cash, so far, a little over two million dollars. We have not called on any who are not rated by Bradstreet at over a million. The truth is, Mr. Chairman, the millionaires are so numerous, and in- creasing so rapidly, it was impossible for your committee to communicate with all. It is true, that a vast majority of them reside in the nine manufacturing States, but, if you will think for a moment, you will see what a task it will be to write to even half of them. We sent out fifty ‘solicitors,' as we politely call them, each one with a list of names of millionaires resid- ing within a certain territory. They traveled constantly for a month and did not have time to see more than half the million- aires. They reported that they had found more new million- aires in each territory than the list contained. They further reported, that the number of men with small factories, mills, and so forth, who are rated between a half and one million is simply enormous.” “Did you go or send into the other twenty-nine states, I mean those classed as ‘agricultural states ?’’’ asked the chair- II1211. “No, Mr. Chairman, we would not waste time in sending there. We lend money to those people, and it was useless to look there for millionaires. What is the use for us to send a man among them to ask for money to help whip the people in this contest, when we are every day sending agents and lawyers among them to collect mortgages 2 Besides, Mr. Chairman, it would require much cheek to ask the farmers and other pro- ducers to give money to be used to rob them.” “That’s drawing it very fine,” said Mr. Weaver. “You are asking the millionaires for money, and they made it by the tariff out of the very people you are so delicate about. So, it's the people's money after all we are collecting to fight 'em with.” | “I am not prepared to say,” replied Mr. Banks, “that you are not right. But, be that as it may, it is a waste of time to AºA:2-4 SSAEMAZ/AVG OA' 7"HAZ A/ZZZOAV. 337 go to farming people for money. We have trouble enough to get what they owe us for borrowed money. “I confess the amount collected is small, far too little, for the purposes we have in view. A U. S. Senatorship alone sometimes costs from one to two hundred thousand dollars. It will require over a half-million for pamphlets on the tariff. Then, to beat certain men in their districts who favor silver ; to keep certain others in Congress who represent us on the tariff, on gold, Corporations, trusts and monopolies ; to carry certain close states in the next presidential election ; to supply Our Committees on Surreptitious legislation and strikes, will re- quire many millions.” “Did any man you called on pay or contribute in proportion to his millions 2 " asked Mr. Smiling. “No,” answered the chairman on finance, “owners of real estate would not contribute at all. They say their property is not affected by tariff or free trade; by legislation, by Congress; or by a Democratic or Republican President. Some, who have retired from business and cannot spend their income, say they did their share in paying to keep up a tariff, and to carry elections, when they were in business and making their money by the tariff. Now they no longer manufacture, and they don’t care.” “Well ! that's a nice piece of impudence,” put in Mr. Fer- rum. “We helped them, when they were in business, to fill their vaults with gold gathered out of the people by the tariff ; and now, because they got their bags full first, and were satis- fied to retire on non-taxable bonds, they are not willing to help us !” “Oh I never mind, Ferrum,” said Mr. Smiling, “we are making enough to bear the burden. You know very well the tariff pays us every year over eight hundred million dollars. Even my daughter, a woman, knows that. It's wasting time to grunt because retired millionaires refuse to chip in. They paid the piper when they had the music ; we must do it now. We are raking in the hundreds of millions and we can afford to pay.” “Mr Chairman,” resumed Mr. Banks, who had enjoyed the colloquy, because it gave him a fine opportunity to pose and receive admiration and homage, “I have only to say in Con- clusion that your committee has delivered over to several of the other committees, and largely to the Committee on Printing and Pamphlets, about one million dollars of the sum collected. They will account for its use.” 22 338 PZU 7 OCRACY. The chairman called next for a report by the Committee on Elections. Mr. Sam Bonanza was chairman of the committee. He was appointed because he was from a section of the Union where, it is well known, elections are carried by money. “Mr. Chairman,” said he, “the Committee on Elections has made some progress. We employed a detective for seventy- seven Congressional districts. Their duty is to find two dis- creet men in each district, a Democrat and a Republican, into whose hands we can safely trust money. The two men are to be used to beat the candidate for Congress opposed to our in- terests, that is, to the tariff, monometalism, monopolies, etc.” “Why do you hire a Democrat and a Republican P’’ asked Mr. Skinner. “I will explain,” said the speaker. “We millionaires, as you all know, have no politics. Money is our politics. We don't care a cent whether a Democrat or a Republican is elected Rep- resentative, Senator or President. Jeffersonian doctrines, strict construction, States' Rights, and all that stuff, will do for young Fourth-of-July orators. The fact is, those doctrines are in our way. We have nearly killed them, however. But, what I mean is, we don’t care what a man thinks on them, if he is all right with us on the tariff, gold, and monopolies. “Now you can easily see, why one Democrat and one Republican. If the Republican candidate is not orthodox, we give money to the Democrat to beat him. If the Dem- ocrat is not orthodox, we give the Republican the money to beat him.” “How do you manage when both candidates are of the same party 2 ” asked Mr. Skinner. “That is never the case, except in the South. But, that is easily arranged. We send money to elect the one who favors our views ; or, if they both have views opposed to us, our detect- ive finds out the characters of both, and we help the one we can buy. When he comes to Congress, we turn him over to the Committee on Surreptitious Legislation, to use one of the many methods employed by that committee.” “Let me ask you, San B.,’” said Mr. Bullock, using a familiar address he had for San Bonanza. “When you find two fellows, one in favor of high protection and against gold and monopolies, and the other fellow against high protection, and in favor of gold and monopolies, how do you do in that case ? Which one do you help ?” A&AE-A SSAEA/A/C/AVG OA' 7"Aſ/º AP/ZZZOAV. 339 “The man in favor of high tariff, always,” promptly answered Mr. San Bonanza. “Now, why so *" inquired Mr. Bullock, in a disputatious tone. “For the reason,” answered San B., “that there is more money in the tariff for us; because we make more millions by the tariff in one year than we make by monopolies in two years.” “Oh that's nonsense,” exclaimed Mr. Bullock. “If you think so, let us hear from you,” answered San B. “I am willing to be convinced. What we millionaires are after is the money. If there is more in the other way, let us know, and we will be unanimous with you and go for it.” Mr. Bullock was not a trained dialectician, nor an orna- mental-phrase maker, but he was not timid in discussing any proposition that promised a dividend. “Mr. Chairman, I am surprised at my friend San B. He's not posted. I know the tariff pays big, but, Great Halifax think of our railroads and telegraphs and patents and inven- tions, machines, national banks, and so forth. Then, think of how much more we’d be worth, if we could kick that pale- face dollar out of doors and have only the mulatto one ! I am not up in the figures, but I'll be hanged if San B. ain't off the track. Don't you think so, Mr. Chairman 2 ” “I am willing to leave it to the chairman,” said Bonanza. “If he doesn't know what a monopoly is, and which yields the most money, we never will find out.” Mr. Recker, bowing his recognition of the compliment to his learning and rapacity, remarked : “The difference between you two, it seems to me, is the very common difference between disputants, of words and not things. One says the tariff is our biggest bonanza—I trust, Mr. San Bonanza, you will permit the use of your fascinating name—and the other that monopolies are. You are both con- tending for the same thing. “What you, Mr. Bullock, named, are monopolies, and what Mr. Bonanza spoke of, to wit, the tariff, is a monopoly. Mon- opoly means exclusive right to sell or trade. It is usually granted by a king, or a government, but a trade may become a monopoly by a person acquiring possession of all the goods in the trade. A railroad is a monopoly, or not, according to its charter or the way it is used. The Western Union Telegraph, when it shall swallow all other lines, will be a monopoly, because it will have all the business, 34O AZ U 7"OCAEA C V. “The Standard Oil Company is a monopoly because it con- trols the price of oil. “The Gun Shell Company is a monopoly because it controls the manufacture, the sale and the price of every gun shell in the United States. But the best example of a monopoly that can be imagined is the TARIFF.” “Mr. Chairman, you are called the Little Joker. It’s a mis- take. You're the biggest joker of the age.” This was Mr. Bullock's comment. “You are a bullock, but you will admit you are something else if you will lend me your ears,” retorted Mr. Recker. “I repeat, the Tariff is the most complete monopoly in the United States. Now hear me for a few minutes : “There are over fifty million people in the United States. They must wear clothes, cotton or woolen. They must have bedding. They must have iron, steel, wagons, houses, etc. It is a necessity to have them. But we have made Congress pass a law that compels every one of the fifty-five million to pay us an average of 47 cents on every dollar's worth of these neces- saries of life. “If people could live without clothes and houses and tools to work with, to make food with, then they would not be forced to buy our goods, and the tariff would not be a monopoly. But, as they cannot, and as they must buy from us and must pay that 47 per cent., we, who manufacture those necessaries of life, own a monopoly. “Suppose, Mr. Bullock, this were a walled city, and we had a king, and I owned the only factory for making cloth in the city. Traders come to the gates of the city with clothing and blankets. The king, through my persuasion or the money I pay him, issues a decree that no inhabitant shall buy of the traders unless he first pay the king 47 per cent, more than the goods are worth, or pay me 47 per cent. On my goods. What would you call that 2" “I would call the king a damn tyrant and you an infernal robber,” exclaimed Mr. Bullock. “Very well. So far, so good,” said Mr. Recker. “Now suppose that the goods brought to the city by the traders will supply only one-tenth of the inhabitants, and the other nine- tenths cannot get clothes or bedding from any one except my- self, what would you call my business, Mr. Bullock 2" “A damnable monopoly of the most tyrannical sort,” cried Mr. Bullock, grinding his teeth. RAE-A SSAE/MA ///VG OA” TAZAZ /3/ / / /OAV. 34. I * Well, can you draw any distinction between that king's de- Cree and the act of Congress called the Tariff Law 2 Can you point out any difference between the position we manufacturers Occupy towards the people, under the decree of Congress, and my position, in the case supposed, towards the inhabitants of this walled city, under the decree of that king you call a tyrant 2 ” “No, I can't, I confess; but I'll tell you, I don't feel as mad with Congress as I would with the tyrant,” said Mr. Bullock. “Ah ! Well, Mr. Bullock and gentlemen, we are talking to ourselves here in strictest confidence. —What we say is not for the people. We are against them in interest. We are for money and power and dominion, in short, for AEmpire when the time, now near at hand, is ripe. We can afford to speak the truth to each other. As I said at our first meeting, we should not try to fool each other. Let us not be hypocrites and say, here, we think the people are benefited by the tariff. We know it is false. The best we can say is about what Mr. Bullock said a minute ago : “We despise the traitor, but love the treason.” We abhor the tyrant king, but rejoice in his decree giving us the monopoly and spoils. We have a contempt for Congress as our slave, but we love the law that compels over fifty million people to pay tribute to us and to clothe us in purple and fine linen ; that makes us the one favored, petted, exclusive class ; that has made us the P/utoc- racy of this late Republic ; but now, under our control, in all essentials, an Empire. “But let us go back to business. I apologize for consuming so much time in this digression.” “I don’t regret it one bit. You've learnt me something. I see now you are right about the tariff being a monopoly, but I am a prohibitory-tariff man all the same,” remarked Mr. Bullock. “But, Mr. Chairman, you did not decide the question in dis- pute submitted to you,” remarked Mr. Bonanza. “That is true,” said Mr. Recker. “I was led away by the monopoly idea—” “Very natural thing, Mr. Chairman, unless you are a much slandered man,” said Mr. Bullock, a little spiteful, because convinced, against his will, by Mr. Recker that the tariff is a monopoly, “The tariff is far more profitable to us. The railroad capital is about seven billions. Some roads pay nothing and nobody 342 AZ, O'7"OCAEAC V. except the officers. Some pay a little, and some pay a large dividend. The Western Union, which is almost an absolute monopoly, pays not more than twenty per cent, on its capital of eighty-six million dollars. That is only seventeen million two hundred thousand dollars a year. The dividends from all the railroads do not exceed four hundred million dollars. “But the tariff pays us an income that varies from nine hundred million dollars to one billion every year. That in- Come is rapidly increasing, because the increase of population increases our sales annually. There is a slight annual fluctua- tion caused by imports. If imports fall off, our income from the tariff is more, and vice versa. The reason is that, con- Sumption being very near a fixed quantity each year, with a given population (the demand varying as crops are large or Small), when the Supply of imported goods is small, our sales are larger to meet the deficiency in supply.” “Are you through with your report, Mr. Bonanza 2" asked the chairman. “Yes, sir, except one thing I omitted to state. We will need more money. There are several senators who are rebellious, and we will have to slay them (unless they behave better) when they offer for re-election. They don’t seem to catch on. They don't understand their duty to us. They haven't learned yet that they must quit talking about ‘the rights of the people.’ And, should they not submit to discipline, we must take off their heads. That, as you well know, will require money. That is all I wish to add.” “The next committee is ‘The Farmers’ Association and Poor Man's Friend,' or ‘Bankrupt Scribes and Cheap Print- ing.” Submit your report, Mr. Chairman,” requested Mr. Recker. *. “Our report,” said Mr. Lackawanna, chairman of the com- mittee, “is short. We rented a small room on the second floor of a cheap house on Twenty-third street. That is our distrib- uting office. We ther found an old man, a farmer, in Kansas, whose home and land had just been sold under foreclosure of a mortgage held by a loan association in Providence. We em- ployed him at thirty dollars a month to stand around the door and play proprietor of the establishment.” “That job for the old man was providential,” remarked Mr. Stocks. “Probably so,” said Mr. Lackawanna. “But for Providence and the mortgage he would now be in his home on his farm, AºA:2-A,SSAEMAE Z/AVG OA' 7"Aſ AE A/ZZZOAV. 343 “We then hired a hundred broken-down fellows to write tariff pamphlets. Some were once accountants and bookkeepers on our railroads, but we discharged them because they were too old. Some were cashiers in banks, who went crooked. Some called themselves Professors of Statistics. That means, men who supply any kind of facts on either side of any question, to Support any theory. “We supply all the stationery. The price we pay is a dollar a day each, if they furnish their own baked beans and skimmed milk; or, seventy-five cents a day, if we furnish the rations. Nearly all take the dollar a day. Each must turn out ten Octavo pages of printed matter a day. e “We have among them ten, five of whom call themselves ‘ Professors of Dirges and Obituaries.' We engaged them to do up the pathetic in describing the horrors of pauper labor in Europe. The others call themselves ‘Masters of the Dismal.’ They prepare their minds for their work by swallowing a pint of raw beans, and then drinking the skimmed milk. Their agony and inspiration set in strong in about two hours. “We also have ten who are ‘Specialists on Honeymoons,’ and on the ‘Beauty of Brides.” Their work is to portray the joys and bliss of the laborers in our factories, foundries, mills and mines. Their imaginations are the finest we could find on the market; in fact, they are something frantic. “Before we hired these two classes, we made a ‘Master of the Dismal’ exhibit his powers. He apologized by saying he was not at his best, as he was hungry and had not had his mor- phine and whisky. He also said, ‘I get in my heavy horrors at night, the witching hour when grave-yards yawn.' He then gave a snort and strutted across the room. He planted one foot a little forward, glared, clenched his hands and teeth, tore his hair, all the time depicting a scene of such woe and horror that, in two minutes, I wanted Congress to declare war against all Europe to free her paupers. “We then set up one of the fiction writers on honeymoons, and he drew such a delightful picture of the life of the opera- tives in our factories and Coal mines under the blessings of the tariff, that I thought I would give all I'm worth, if I could only be a workman in an American factory, or in a coal mine. “Our work is progressing rapidly. We expect to print about twenty million pamphlets, so as to present to laborers the beauties and advantages of a high tariff, in every possible light, by the next presidential election.” 344 AZ U 7"OCA’AC P. “The ‘Committee on Wages and Strikes comes next,’” the chairman announced. The chairman, Mr. Bullock, stated that his committee was in communication with about ten thousand employers, and they had about concluded a secret agreement to pay uniform wages, as far as the difference in the cost of living would allow. The Committee had, also, selected certain men to organize strikes, when notified by the committee. Those men were, likewise, to advise the strikers to surrender, when notified. In that way a large saving to us will be made. We can shut down and throw the responsibility on the strikers. The next committee was on Surreptitious Legislation. The chairman was Mr. Recker. He said : “This committee has the most difficult of all our work. We must deal directly with the people's agents, who have become shy. Time was when we could approach them, money in hand. The ‘Credit Mobilier' has done us great damage. Now, we must use cir- Cumlocution, circumvention, and circumspection. I will give you an example of the first two. * “One of our paid agents approached Congressman Smith, whose services we wanted. “‘I hope you will have no trouble in your re-election, Mr. Smith.” “‘I don't know about that, it will be very close, I fear,’ said Smith. “‘You surprise me. It would be an outrage not to return you. Oh, you are in no danger. I am so certain of it, I’ll guarantee your return for five hundred dollars; no cure, no pay.’ “‘ That's cheap enough, if you could do it,” said Smith. “‘I mean business. Say the word, and you can pay when you please.' “‘Are you in earnest ?’ asked Smith. “‘Never more so in my life “‘All right, if you can do it. I'm your man,’ said Smith. “Our agent wrote at once to our local agent in Smith's dis- trict, and asked what amount would elect Smith. He answered, ‘five thousand dollars.' We sent the money, and Smith was re-elected. “When our bill came up, our Washington agent simply told Smith he had an interest in that bill, and Smith supported it, and got enough votes to pass it. Now, an instance of cir- cumvention. AºA:-ASSEMB//WG OF THAE BAZZZOAV. 345 “A certain influential Congressman refused to help us. We picked out an old worm-eaten claim which an old woman had been following up for twenty years. We rigged up a beautiful female in mourning. I then informed her as gently and as tenderly as I could, that the claimant was her mother, and in great poverty, and that she herself was a poor widow, and the mother of nine dependent children. That all she had to hope for on earth was what her mother would give her out of the money due on that claim. My communication to her, that the claimant was her mother, and that she herself was a widow, and the mother of nine young children, took her by surprise, and she wept bitterly. I told her she was premature ; that she must keep that in until she met the Congressman. She said, she wished she had not had as many as nine children, as she was only twenty-three years old. On examining her face, I saw she was very young ; that nothing short of three pairs of twins, at least, could explain the situation. So I asked her how many I must drown. She said, at least three. I said I would drown the youngest, as she had not been acquainted with them long, and it would hurt her feelings less. “‘No, no,' she protested, ‘you stupid man.' I saw the point. It was a good point, and I took it. The three oldest had to be murdered, of course. “I told her that was fortunate, because the three oldest were girls. She could not see why, and I explained that in China the drowning of a girl child was not thought to be a misfortune ; and as we are gradually approaching the Chinese system of government, where classes or castes are widely separated, and a few own the many who are called Coolies, this drowning of the girl children was a very trifling matter. “She went to Washington, saw our obstreperous Congress- man, aroused his sympathy, and he called to see her. She informed our agent of his visits. The agent met our man, told him with deep regret, that a man in Newspaper Row had just informed him that he, the newsman, had just gotten a nice piece of Scandal about the Congressman, and had written it up for his paper. The Congressman begged him, for Heav- en's sake, to go and stop it ; that he would do anything on earth for him, if he could. The agent said, as a special favor, he would try, and thought he could succeed, if the letter had not been mailed, or the scandal telegraphed. The urgency was so great, our agent hurried off in a carriage, drove around awhile, and returned beaming with joy, and almost breathless, ~/ *r 346 PZU TOCAEACY. He said, he had driven an hour to find the correspondent, and got to him just as he was handing the telegram to the opera- tor. He had hushed the whole thing up. “When the bill to rob us of our land grant came up, the agent told the man whose reputation he had saved, that he, our agent, would be thankful for his vote against the bill. He worked hard and defeated the bill. “There is now less drinking, less gambling, less dissipation by Congressmen than twenty, or ten, or even five years ago, and the work of this committee is, therefore, increased, and is more difficult. .. “Those we call our ‘chain-gang’ give us no trouble. They do all we want. It's the “people's ' men who provoke us, and make us spend too much money. We have lately concluded that it is cheaper to spend our money at the elections by the people and by the legislatures, and elect our own men. We know in advance what we are buying, and we have no further trouble.” - “I believe we have heard from all the committees. Is there any general business to be done 2 ” Mr. Weaver rose. “Mr. Chairman, there is one very important matter we must arrange for. We see that there is to be a mass-meeting of the lowest class (the workingmen of the United States) in this city very soon. We must do something to prevent it, or to break it up in some way.” “Let’s buy off the leaders,” suggested Mr. Haslet. - “Yes, if we can,” replied Mr. Weaver, “but, there are some we can't buy.” - “Nonsense !” said Mr. Bullock. “Somebody said, every man has his price. It was Shakespeare, I believe, as he said so many good things.” “But,” continued Weaver, “there is one leader we can't buy.” “Then, he's a fool or a fanatic, and a fanatic is next door to a fool,” said Bullock. “This man is neither a fanatic nor a fool,” said Weaver. “He is George Otis, of Lowell.” “We all know him,” said Bullock, “ and he's smart and dan- gerous, but how do you know we can't buy him 2 Have you tried it 2 '' “No, and I would never try it, I know him too well. Did you ever see him 2 " asked Weaver. “No, and I don't want to, if we can't buy him.”. A&AE-A SSAE/MA/C/AVG OA’ ZTAZA, B/ZZAOAV. 347 “Then you don't want to see him. I will tell you all about him. He is as fine a specimen of a man as you ever saw. He is about six feet one inch high, straight as an Indian, has a large, coal-black eye, every feature regular and handsome, a broad, full, high forehead, with no beard except a full, long mustache, and hair black as jet. If you see him once, you will never forget him.” “Well, all that don't show that he can’t be bought,” remarked Mr. Bullock. - “But I will tell you a little thing that will show you what kind of a man he is, or what kind of a boy he was. When he was sixteen years old at school in Lowell, one of the rules was that boys shouldn't fight, and if any scholar saw two boys fighting, he must tell the teacher. One day, a big strapping boy jumped on a smaller boy. Otis was present, and told the big fellow to stop. He didn't, and Otis laid hold of him to part them. The big fellow struck Otis, who did not return the blow, as he excused the fellow on account of his excitement and anger. The fellow struck Otis again. Otis saw he meant fight ; so he told the little fellow to stand back. Otis, without showing anger, whipped the big boy in twenty seconds so bad that he begged for mercy. 4. - “Otis went home, and told his father all the facts. His father told him he did right, and to think no more about it. His son said, ‘I have broken a rule of the school, and it is my duty to inform the teacher, and take the punishment.’ His father told him it would be time to do that after the teacher found it out ; but the son said: “‘I have broken a rule. Discipline is right. I must not set a bad example. I will not wait for some one to tell the teacher. I am the guilty party, and it is my duty to confess, and submit to the discipline. I shall tell the teacher, and say I am willing to take the punishment, but not a brutal whip- ping, and that, when I say my punishment is sufficient, he must stop.’ - “He walked up to the teacher in school the next morning, told him all the facts, and said he would submit to reasonable punishment before the whole school. He took the whipping cheerfully and without wincing ; and he has shown the same spirit to defend the oppressed and to observe order and obey the law, ever since. - - “Do you think, now, Mr. Bullock, the man can be bought 2 ” “He’s a fanatic | " said Mr, Bullock, “He’s a dangerous 348 - PZUTOCRACY. man, and must be taken care of. We can bribe some doctors. to swear he's a lunatic and have him locked up.” “The trouble there is, we must have a jury, and they would not believe the doctors,” answered Weaver. - “Can't one of us hire him at any price to go to Europe on some business 2 ” asked Mr. Stocks. w - * , “That's been tried,” said Mr. Smiling. “I know the man. My daughter was in School and saw him take the whipping. We can’t do nothing but fight him. He won't yield an inch. He believes we are crowding the people, and he is by them just like he was by the small boy. He thinks he's defending them, and he'd die in his tracks, if a whole army corpse was charging on him. I never saw a man with such qualities for a leader. There isn't a bit of bluster about him.” “Then what are you going to do with such a hard-headed fool as that 2 ” asked Mr. Haslet. “Something has to be done.” What was that something 2 Silence fell on the Billion. It was ominous. Had a mind-reader been present, he could have read a marvelously similar line of thought. Yet, each hesitated. It was a horrible suggestion. Who had the nerve, the daring, the cold blood to speak 2 Mr. Ferrum was the first to break silence. - - . . . “Well, gentlemen, you all seem to be afraid to say what you think. All I say is, Something must be done—s/a/Z be done. This is no time for mincing matters. We are in a desperate fight, and all's fair in war. I’ll have him taken care of ſ” r - * "... Smiling sat silent. He knew the admiration of his daughter for George Otis. He knew it dated before the incident told by Mr. Weaver. He knew that that proof of a grand manhood was one of the chief inspirations of his daugh- ter's admiration. She had never said she loved young Otis. . Still the father had dreaded such a passion for years. His wish for years had been for something to occur that would for- ever remove that dread. He said, “That's been tried.” Yes, he had tried, through a friend, to induce George Otis to en- gage in business in China, in Japan, in London, or in Cali- fornia. This was to rid himself of the dread. Otis was poor, and his sympathies were with the poor ; but, were not his daughter's just as much Yes, but she was his second idol, of his blood, “bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.” He loved her ; he despised Otis. He sat silent. A dreadful thought came to him. A slight A&AE-A SSAEA/A/LAWG OA' 7TA/A2 A3/ZZZOAV. 349 shudder followed. He felt dizzy, but that feeling soon passed. The thought, however, did not It was followed by another, and still another. He became self-absorbed. “Suppose Mary does love him. They are very much alike in character and feelings. If harm overtakes him, how would it affect her ? She'd go and nurse him, then marry him.” Another, a stronger shudder came. “Bah What am I sitting here imagining such nonsense for 2 I may as well im- agine a hundred other things.” The thought came again. “Mr. Chairman, are we through 2 I move we break up. I don't feel so well,” said he, abruptly. “What do you say to Smiling—” “With pleasure,” said half the number. “You did not let me finish. What do you say to Smiling's motion to adjourn ?” “I move to amend by inserting ‘to the sideboard,’” said Mr. De Stilling. “When and where shall we meet next 2 '' asked the chair- man, whose rule of life was to make a finish of everything he was doing, before going to something else. The motion to adjourn, as amended, was carried. It was agreed to meet, on call, at Mr. Recker's palace, and the Billion slaked their thirst and scattered. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINTH. MISS SMILING HTEARS SOMETHING. IT was not many days after the Diamond Ball, when Miss Smiling called at Mr. Clinkers' to pay Miss Euclid a visit. Their first impressions of each other were deepened Miss Euclid soon returned the call, and visits were frequently and informally made. They soon became devoted friends. It was impossible for two such women to meet and not love. The first visit by Miss Smiling to her friend produced a sen- sation in the Clinkers' household. When Mrs. Clinkers heard a female voice at the door asking Tobe “Is Miss Euclid in 2 ” she supposed a servant had come on business. She was in the parlor intently listening to Mrs. Lagér's rattling, incoherent account of her last trip to Europe. As the door bell rang Mrs. Lagér had just said, “I also saw the ruins of Pompey,” and Mrs. Clinkers had just expressed her wonder and asked, “Is it possible that his ruins have been kept all this time and rot de- cayed 2 But I guess they must a been wrapped up in some sort of gum like they used to use to preserve them little niggers in Egypt. I saw one of them once, but it looked very sad and motherless.” When Miss Smiling entered the parlor, she put to flight Pompey's ruins and the little niggers in an instant, and without a blow or word. “Why, Miss Smiling, I am glad to see you. I heard the bell, but I heard some one ask for my housekeeper and didn't move. I didn't hear you ring afterwards. You know Mizez Lagér, of course.” This was Mrs. Clinkers’ salutation. The two ladies knew each other, of course. “Well I’m so glad to see you. You are looking so well,” continued the hostess. Miss Euclid entered at that moment, and advanced to greet her friend. They met cordially and kissed. Mrs. Clinkers looked amazed. Mrs. Iagér uttered a little scream, and fell back in the big rocker. She had fainted. Her arms fell limp by the chair, her fan dropped, and, with a kick, her feet stretched out wide apart, M/SS SM/ZZAVG HAEA RS SOMAE TH/AVG. 35i Miss Euclid ran for hartshorn, Miss Smiling fanned, while the hostess hurried out for water. Mrs. Lagér soon revived, but seeing the wage-girl near her she fainted again. Her con- dition was so alarming the hostess had to call in a physician, who ordered a carriage and bed to convey her home. The two friends expressed deep sympathy for Mrs. Lagér, and then floated away in the most charming current of conver- sation that the hostess ever listened to. Both were natural, easy, graceful. Their tongues, hands, eyebrows, eyes, lips, all spoke. Mrs. Clinkers sat entranced ; she had never heard music spoken before. She had never heard such beauty in words. She understood every word better than ever before, and yet she scarcely recognized the language as English. It Sounded sweeter, clearer, stronger than she had ever heard it. Miss Euclid rose, like the market, fifty, one hundred, two hundred, five hundred per cent. in her estimation. She had never seen grace—such grace—before. She felt ashamed of speaking of her to Miss Smiling as her housekeeper. She did not know what to call her now. If she called her governess, she would have to raise her wages. She listened to their voices, and then the musical, rippling laugh. She was delighted. Yes, she would raise the wages, and call her “governess; ” she deserved it. tº But governess of what 2 she thought. No child except Tobe. She couldn't have a governess of a bell-boy, a bootblack. That wouldn't do. She would have to abandon “governess.” But she could not fall back to housekeeper. She had cut loose from that base. Justice required it ; so she listened again. Certainly Py. was the pertest, smartest woman she ever did see. She would raise her wages and make her “Lady's Companion.” The result of that visit by Miss Smiling was the advance- ment of her friend to a position that paid her fifty dollars a month. Mrs. Clinkers called the next day to inquire after Mrs. Lagér's health. She was shocked to learn at the door that Mrs. Lagér was very ill, and had several physicians in attendance. She would faint every time she thought of the wage-girl kissing the millionaire's daughter. Mrs Clinkers heard, a few days after her call, that the doctors had decided that the only hope for Mrs. Lagér's life was to give her cocaine until she should become insane, so she could not think of the kiss. They hoped after she should forget the kissing to restore her to Sanity, She was accordingly sent to a lunatic asylum. 352 A £ (77 OCRACY. The day after the meeting of the Billion under Mr. Clinkers' roof, Miss Smiling called to see her friend. Miss Euclid was tardy in appearing. She apologized and gave, as her excuse, the fact that her duties that morning were more than usual ; that there was a meeting of at least seventy gentlemen there the night before, and they had left the floor “decorated with cigar ashes, cigar stumps, and other litter.” She had been supervising the cleaning and airing the room, and hence her toilet had not been made when her friend arrived. “That is a large number of gentlemen to assemble in a private dwelling,” remarked Miss Smiling in a tone of curiosity. “They must have been a big syndicate, or on politics.” “I do not know. From what Mr. Clinkers said, they must have intended to play whist, but there were no tables in the room suitable, and this morning the chairs were arranged in rows and tiers, as in a hall for an audience.” “There were too many for whist,” Miss Smiling remarked. “I believe it was a political meeting,” said Miss Euclid. “What I tell you now is sub rosa. I should say, that the boy, Tobe, tells me of everything he hears and sees. “He came to me this morning and told me he was lying wake last night, and he thought he heard the front door bell. . He was so impressed, that he dressed and came to the door. He opened it, but saw no one. Just then he heard loud laugh- ing in the dining-room, and he went to the door to listen. He never saw whist, and thought he might see it through the key- hole. He could not see, but he could hear. He told me that one man (I made him say gentleman) spoke of a big meeting of workingmen to come off in this city, and about a Mr. Otis. Then another gentleman asked in an angry tone, ‘what they should do to him, that they must do something.’” “Did he pronounce the name Otis distinctly f' inquired Miss Smiling. “Yes, several times. There is no mistake about that name. I suppose they were discussing Otis, as he is so prominent, and as stated by the press, is to be here at that meeting.” “I know Mr. George Otis well,” said Miss Smiling. “Was that all the boy said 2 ” “That is the substance. He was some minutes in telling it in his rambling way.” “Yes, I knew him well. I went to school with him,” re- marked Miss Smiling musingly, while looking at the floor. “By the by,” said Miss Euclid, “ Tobe said the gentleman M/SS SM/Z//VG HAEA R,S SOMAE 7"H/AVG. 353 who talked so long was telling about Otis being at school and being whipped for fighting. That amused Tobe greatly.” Miss Euclid changed the subject, supposing she had dwelt on Tobe long enough. Her friend was not responsive. This did not escape Miss Euclid's notice. Her friend returned to the meeting, or rather, had not left it, She asked : “Do you know any who were here last night 7” “Not one. I was in my room early and saw no one.” “My dear friend, I must go. I have something to do, and I must hurry. Come soon to see me. There is no one I wish more to see.” Miss Smiling drove rapidly home. When her father was at dinner she mentioned her visit to the Clinkers, and remarked : “I heard there was a large meeting of gentlemen there last night. Were you there, father ?” “Yes. Some of us had a business matter to talk over.” The daughter had gotten the fact she desired. It was that her father was present. Could he be the one who spoke angrily of Otis 2 She could not ask. That would betray con- fidence, involve her friend. Let it go. She would act. She believed that her schoolmate was in danger. 23 CHAPTER FORTIETH. SKETCH OF GEORGE OTIS. IT was believed by all who knew George Otis, that he was a descendant of James Otis, of Boston, the Revolutionary ora- tor and patriot. The belief was founded on marked resem- blance and not on genealogy. So far as known there was no tie of blood, but in intellect, high resolve, lofty aim, indomit- able will, unflinching courage, they were akin. He loved his fellow-man more than he loved himself. He knew no word SO strong in the lexicon of youth or man as DUTY. Had he been Czar of America, contentment would have covered the land, as the waters cover the deep. While wronging none, he would have permitted no man to wrong another. He stood amid and above the host of Mammon around him, like Moses looking down upon the hosts of Israel worshiping the calf of gold ; and he descended to attempt to stay the de- grading Orgy. He organized all the elements available. He called men together and spoke with eloquent admonition and strong appeals. At the age of ten he began work in a factory in Lowell. He worked half the year and attended school the other half. The little he earned contributed somewhat to the comfort of his parents, and the knowledge of that made him proud and happy. He was doing some good in the world. He left school at the age of sixteen—the year he was so de- lightfully associated with little Mary Smiling. He then entered upon a course of training to learn the details, and to master the arts of spinning and weaving. He rose rapidly, for he acquired full knowledge of every department without effort. At twenty, he was competent to manage any and all departments of a fac- tory that wove the finest fabrics. When he was eighteen, his father died of consumption pro- duced by long years of confinement in the factory where George was at work. The son then became the head of the family, and the support of his mother and two sisters devolved upon him. He labored all day and taught his sisters at night. Though not a member of any church, he instructed them in * --- - ŠK Ž7'CH OF GEORGE 077S. 355 Bible lessons, and attended divine services with his mother and sisters every Sabbath. Before he was twenty-six, both sisters had married steady, industrious men with their brother's consent and blessing. He had never failed, whenever the moment was opportune, to talk to them on the marital relation ; to impress on them the solemnity of it ; the circumspection they should use in the Company of young men ; the characteristics to look for as the surest guaranty of happiness ; and never to allow the thought of pecuniary advantage in marriage to have a feather's weight. He would tell them of the fatal mistake made by so many in believing wealth brought happiness. He pointed to hundreds of instances, some within their own acquaintance, others of a social rank supposed to be above them, where wealth was the wedge cleaving the two hearts asunder, and where life was gilded misery. It was at the age of twenty-one, he began, in earnest, his active labors to relieve the condition of the poor. He had been trying from the age of eighteen to detect the true cause of the dangerous disturbance of the monetary equilibrium in this coun- try. He saw the wealth of the country increasing annually at an average of eight to nine hundred millions, and he saw it all gravitate one way. He knew, that increase was from the soil and from skilled labor ; that none of it, as years ago, came from the sea, because American shipping had been destroyed by an act of Congress; and yet he saw nearly all that immense net increase flow out of the hands of labor and go directly to capital. He saw skilled labor accumulating nothing, and farm labor not only not gaining but calling yearly for help, and passing daily under mortgage. Such an anomaly he considered due to some cause that must be unjust, monstrous, ruinous. He saw manufacturers springing up millionaires, building city palaces for winter, Country palaces for summer ; and at the same time increasing their plant, their spindles and looms. Where did they get the money P He saw the same men joining others, pooling tens of millions, each, to form “Trusts" to rob the people. Where did so much money come from ? He saw foundry men start to-day with a hundred thousand dollars, and in five years draw a half million in dividends. How was it done He saw iron men start with a small plant and, in fifteen 356 Pzay 7 OcRAcy. years, draw one million dollars in annual dividends. How was that possible 2 He saw iron men, factory men, oil men, club together, invest nearly a hundred millions in a Trust to compel farmers and laborers to sit in the dark, or pay them their price. Where did they get the money 2 He saw those men pooling hundreds of millions to form loan associations to lend money to farmers. Where did such a vast surplus come from ? He knew that real estate in farms is the last security such men will take. Why would they take it 2 He saw men borrow money to buy a seat in the Stock, or Produce Exchange, and blossom into millionaires in four, three, two years, without producing a dollar by labor. How was it done P He saw those men, within ten to twenty years, worth from One to two hundred millions without work. Where and how did they get that money P He saw men poor to-day, doing no work, within ten years own a thousand miles of railroad built with farmers' money, and the farmers borrowing money to make a crop. How was that done 2 He saw farmers who had produced most of these millions, borrowers of the very money they had made the year before. How was that brought about 2 - He saw farms in the West and South mortgaged for three thousand million dollars, and the mortgages owned by the man- ufacturers. How did that come about 2 He saw millionaires multiplying, tramps multiplying, paupers multiplying, mortgages multiplying, Suicides multiplying, pros- titution multiplying, and he saw at the same instant the wealth of the country multiplying, nearly one billion dollars annually, by the muscle of farmers and skilled labor. Who got the an- nual billion ? What trap had been set to catch it 2 Into what hole did it sink every year 2 No wonder George Otis searched for a cause for such an evil, such a crime, such peril to his country. He was patriot and philanthropist. .# He sought diligently and he found the causes and pro- claimed them, denounced them with tongue and pen. He cleaved to the marrow. He unveiled the Mokanna of Pro- tection of the poor and of labor ; the crime of imprisoning the people and forcing them to pay tribute to wealth on the ŠK Ž 7 CAE OF GEORGAE O 77S. 357 sham of diversifying labor ; the tyranny of permitting the protected goods to have the world as a market, but compelling the farmers to buy the protected goods. He satirized with contempt the pretense of necessity to diversify industries, and the taxing of labor nearly a billion dollars every year, in order to be prepared for foreign war. He showed by figures, that labor has been taxed by Protection, in favor of capital, since the war of 1861–5, an amount five times greater than the total cost of that war, and that, too, on the pretext of being prepared, in the event of a foreign war. He ridiculed without mercy the driveling cant about “infant industries.” He showed that the vile old Mormon, Protection, was begetting children faster than they could be christened and baptized ; and that, by the Protectionists' Bible, Reuben, the oldest, was no older than Benjamin, the last born. He showed that foreign- ers, aliens and bastards were coming in and claiming Protec- tion as their father. He cited instances of men starting factories to manufacture imported raw material that can never be raised in the United States, with full knowledge that the manufacture of the material here would cost one thousand per cent, more than abroad, and petitioning Congress to protect that infant industry, or they would be ruined Multitudes gathered to hear Otis. His tongue was a flame of fire. The hewers of wood and drawers of water began to see the cause of their burdens. The factory operatives began to see that their hands had been used to pull the chestnuts out. The miners, the workmen in foundries and furnaces began to think. They looked around them. They saw behind them thirty years of Protection ; before them, near the door, old age and want. They saw the same little huts they camped in thirty years ago still bare, no furniture, cracks open, roofs leaky, while over against them stood glittering palaces that cost mill- ions. How was that 2 Both protected—the tenant of the hut and the millionaire of the palace—one stationary or going down, the other high advanced—millions ahead of want. He saw the secret. It was the difference between one receiving from the other $1.oo, $1.5o, or $2.o.o a day, and the other receiving from the people, through Congress, $1,000, $2,000, $5,000, a day as a bounty, a pension without service / It was the TARIFF . PROTECTION | CONGRESS FAvoRITISM CLASS LEGISLA- TION | | WEALTH LEGISLATING FOR ITSELF | | | Thus was Otis turning on the light. Was this insubordi- nation in George Otis to be borne He was overthrowing 358 Płu TöcRAcy. Society He was dangerous to capital He was disturbing the peace . He was a malcontent, a disorganizer—in fact, a Communist “If he be allowed to go on, capital will lose its grip on Congress—Congress will reduce the tariff—take from us our bounty, our pension It will never do ! That fellow must be silenced ’’ Buy him, they could not. As well might Agrippa have tried to buy Paul's faith. To scare him would have been as impos- sible as to have scared the prophet Daniel. To convince him that he was in error, would have been to make logic, sophistry; truth, a lie. CHAPTER FORTY-FIRST. THE MEETING OF TWO SCHOOLMATES. Miss SMILING and George Otis were at school together in Lowell. She was then twelve, he was sixteen years of age. They had not met since they parted at school, but she had watched him ; read every notice of him in print ; felt pride in his achievements and praise. They were much together when at school. He did not fail to notice her sedate manners, her thoughtful mood and delight when with him. Often while the other children were at play, they would sit together and he would tell her stories of foreign lands. He noticed that she was always deeply interested in tales that illustrated self- sacrifice and benevolence ; in stories of missionaries, their good works and heroism. She would sit before him and keep her large hazel eyes fixed steadily on his with an expression of admiration and content. He grew to love the woman-girl. He could have had no other feeling for one so beautiful in spirit, so unaffected, so womanly. He found himself always watching for an opportunity to be with her during the hours of recess and play. Athlete as he was and fond of all manly exercises, he would refuse to join his playmates when he saw her not at play. He took to school one day a Jacqueminot, a bud just ready to open. They sat together during recess, and he told her a part of the history of the war of Roses ; of how the two Houses fought ; of the useless, wicked destruction of life ; and how they were at last united and the roses blossomed together. She wore that day a white rose pinned over her left bosom. When he finished the story he gave her the red rose, and she pinned the two together. When she returned home her mother asked her, in the pres- ence of her father, where she got the Jacqueminot. She told, and her father commanded her to throw it away. Dutiful and obedient she did so, but not before she bedeved it with tears, and bid it good-bye with a kiss. She told young Otis the next day what had occurred—she would not have told him, had he not brought another flower for * * *-* -º - -- --- -** *-*. - 36o AZ U 7'OCRACY. her, She had to explain her refusal to accept it, to prevent giving offense. His attachment was wholly disinterested. He had no dream beyond the day and hour. He knew there was a gulf between him and her ; and he had no thought of ever attempting to cross it. He was poor. Her father was even then a rich man; then, ten years before the day he dispatched Power to cheer Luxury and Comfort ; twelve years before the day he sat waiting for Margin, his broker, and saw nothing in the swirling, whirling, hurrying snow ; the cold, furious, fitful blast, except drops of water crystallized and a miserable rheumatic wind. Yet, the schoolboy lover had never ceased to look back with delight on those happy hours. He had not lost sight of a being, whose shadow to him was sunshine. He kept himself informed on her deeds of charity, and he saw in the woman only the child expanded, developed. He, too, had expanded. His promi- nence in his field of labor was often the subject of comment by thc press. Such had been, such were the relations between Mary Smiling and George Otis, up to the day when she, for the first time in years, had heard his name spoken and then by the lips of a stranger, wholly ignorant that she was touching the chords of an instrument deep-toned, Sweet and strong, that for long years had rested silent, but in tune. As soon as her father said he was at the meeting, Miss Smil- ing resolved on her course of action. She feared for Otis' safety. Who was there to act except herself f For weeks she had desired to visit a school friend, Miss Josephine Weathersbee, who resided on Beacon street, Bos- ton. The information given by Miss Euclid decided her. She wrote to her friend she would be with her, Tuesday, the second day after date, at six P. M. She wrote a note to George Otis, of which the following is a copy: “M. R. GEORGE OTIS : “DEAR SIR –I shall visit a friend in Boston next Tuesday. I have written to her to call for me at the Tremont at four P. M. I shall be at the hotel in the parlor at three P. M. to give you information which I believe concerns you deeply. •p. “Your school friend, “MARY SMILING.” At 2.30 of the day named Miss Smiling was in the parlor of \ \ THE MEE 7/wg of TWO SCHOOZMA TES. 361 \ the Tremont. She sat indulging in reminiscences, recalling many incidents that had lain in the storehouse of memory un- noticed for many years. As they were taken up, they were as bright as when last she viewed them. In fact, they had be- come sweeter, like unripe fruit laid away to mellow. Time had imparted a charm they never before possessed. Why was it Other memories connected with other boys, with girls dearly loved, came up fresh and bright in company with those associated with young Otis, but they were not so delightful. She put them aside and dwelt on the latter. It might have been because he was so soon to be present. It might have been because he was now a man of high character, of almost national distinction. Whatever may have been the Cause, the woman waiting for her school companion felt great anxiety lest something would prevent his coming. Promptly at three the card of “George Otis, Lowell,” was handed to her, and within three minutes she was admiring the figure and manly gait of a very handsome man approaching. “Why, Miss Smiling, this is a surprise and a pleasure I never expected to be a part of my good fortune.” “Mr. Otis, I assure you it is a great pleasure to me to meet again one of my girlhood friends.” “What a lapse of time,” said he, “since we last met, last parted. It is not necessary to count the years. I have only to remember. I was sixteen years old, and now I am twenty- eight.” “And counting years by what you have accomplished, as we are wont to reckon time by our suſferings, you might say, you are much older,” remarked Miss Smiling. “Ah ! Miss Smiling—may I call you Miss Mary 2 It seems so formal, and places you so distant, to say Miss Smiling.” “Certainly, just as you prefer.” “Thank you. I much prefer to say Miss Mary. It takes me nearer to the blessed days when I called you ‘Mary.’ “I was going to say, I am filled with regret that verges on despair, when I think of what there is to be done in this life— what can be done—and realize how little I have accomplished. Still, I feel that the shortcoming is not wholly my fault. I have worked under disadvantages. I have not had the appli- ances. I have been like one contending with flames without the means to extinguish them. I have been leading raw re- cruits, poorly drilled; Scantily equipped, loosely organized, against regulars trained, perfectly organized and armed with 362 AZ U 7'OCRACY. f every appliance and device that intense interest, backed by billions could suggest and procure. However, I would not Speak of myself. Let us talk of something else. And natu- rally my mind turns to the cause of this interview, as delight- ful to me as it was unexpected. Am I premature in referring to that P” “No On the contrary, quite right,” she answered. “I heard something last Saturday that I thought you should know, and yet you may see nothing in it when told. I knew no one whom I could ask to tell you, and to write was not prudent.” “I am deeply grateful to you, Miss Mary, whether the matter be important or not. It is the intent that gives value to deeds, and not results.” She then narrated in detail all the facts and circumstances of the meeting of the Billion at Mr. Clinkers' mansion as she had them from her friend. When she finished, Mr. Otis, who had listened intently and in silence, asked if Miss Euclid knew any of the party. “Not one. I asked her,” she answered. “I suppose, of course, that you do not know,” he remarked. She answered, after some hesitation : “Yes, I know one— only one.” He said no more. He was looking at her as she answered. His eyes were at once directed to the floor. He saw the deli- cacy of the situation and left that line of inquiry. “If the boy, Tobe, heard the angry remark in the connection he stated, I suspect that they mean mischief,” remarked Otis, still looking at the floor. “In what way I cannot imagine. Those men have untold devices for success, and crushing out all opposition is their favorite one. “But,” said he, looking up at her, “safety lies in the path of duty. I have walked in that path so far without harm. I shall continue in it, without regard to safety or harm. On either side of that path are brambles, briers and covered ditches. I have never raised voice or finger to harm a human being. My efforts have been to help the weak, to reach the truth and do justice. I know I have fallen short of my aim, but never purposely. “The pending struggle was not brought on by the poor. Nor will I say it was intentionally started by the rich. They may not mean to crush. The increasing degradation is not the object, but it is the inevitable result of this unthinking, heartless Plutocracy. I doubt that the man exists who would 7"HE MEETING OF TWO SCHOOLMA 7ES. 363 seize the reins and lay on the lash, intending to ride down and crush pedestrians in the street. Yet, if he should, the law says he is as guilty as though he so intended. The injury or death is the same.” “You and I are laboring in the same field,” said Miss Smiling. “You are trying to prevent the weak from being crushed, while I help them in my feeble way, after they are crushed.” “If the remark did not imply that one so good as you needed mercy, I would say, ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’” “We all need mercy, Mr. Otis,” was the meek reply to the compliment so admiringly given. “But let us not drift into theology. We will leave that to the cloth.” “I heartily approve your suggestion ; for after so long a separation I wish to talk of things past and present. How many thousand times have I recalled our school-days and each time with increased pleasure. I have as often wished I could see you.” “Well, that was a wish very easily gratified,” she said. “You have been within a half day's journey for twelve years.” “True. Time and space were nothing. May I confess why I have denied myself that happiness 2 ” said he. “Confession implies guilt, or a sense of guilt. Suppose you state why, and not confess—that is, unless you feel guilty,” she jestingly remarked. “I do not feel guilty,” he replied. “I only feel, as I every year and day have felt, my loss. Had I felt free to visit you, my chiefest joy would not have been self-denied.” “Perhaps I anticipate your reason. May I name it to give you assurance that I have felt and appreciated your embarrass- ment 2 ” she asked. “Certainly, for it would lessen my burden to know you had seen it.” “Do you remember the Jacqueminot you gave me 2 ” she asked. “You would not ask me if I remember, did you know that I have forgotten nothing of word or act that you were party tC). “I am glad you see it all. You see now, Miss Mary, the shadow under which I have walked for ten years past. I knew the feeling of your father towards me, and though I felt it was without foundation, it was my duty to you to submit in silence. 364 AZU / OCRACY, f I did, however, send you a paper now and then to bring me back to your remembrance. - “I sent them for two reasons. I desired, above all else, to have you not forget me ; and second, I wished the mature woman to see, that the boy, who had been happy in her confi- dence when she was a child, was bearing himself in manhood so as still to be worthy of her esteem.” “You would not have been forgotten though you had sent nothing,” she said. “‘Of all the friends who were schoolmates then,' I am sure you contributed most to my pleasure and information. I have not forgotten the tales you told me ; and when I have read many of them since, my delight was greatly increased by the association of yourself with them. I always sent you a paper in return as a messenger to announce the receipt of your paper. And I should not omit to say, that the notices of your advance- ment and of your good deeds were read with pleasure and pride.” These words fell on the heart of Otis like the “quality of mercy,” or the dews of Hermon. They inspired a hope. He had not been forgotten. Yea, more, his youth, his life were some of her “pleasures of memory.” “You do not know, Miss Mary, how comforting those words are to me. They are a reward I never hoped to receive. They have removed a doubt, a fear, I may say, that, for these long years, has been a burden. I feared I was not remembered ex- cept as one of the great mass of mankind. “May I ask whether, in your opinion, your father thinks more kindly of me than he did, when he requested you to throw away that innocent bud I gave you ?” “I have no reason for thinking his views have changed,” she answered. “His dislike was not to the person. He had no cause for that. It was based on condition, or position, alone.” “I understand,” he said and paused. “I am led to believe by my knowledge of you and by your last words, that you do not agree with your father in his views of social distinction. Am I not right 2 ” “I must admit, Mr. Otis, what to me is a great sorrow, that our views on certain subjects are as opposite as the earth's poles. His devotion to me is his strongest sentiment. But, it is in constant conflict with that passion now SO Common, SO dangerous, the acquisition of riches. “Were that all, you could judge of the probability of any ~ Žiž MEE 7/wg of fivo SCHOOZMA 7'Es. 365 change in his feelings on that subject. But there is another fact. He knows your prominence in the pending contest to arrest the concentration of all wealth in the hands of a few and the consequent and inevitable reign of Plutocracy. He and all plutocrats look on you as an enemy. They will never change. You would have to join them and be their instru- ment to get their sympathy, such as it is. That, I know, you could never do—nor would I have you do.” “Never ! never !” said Otis slowly. “I am as firmly set in my purpose to devote my humble life to the relief of my coun- trymen, as is yon monument * on its base, or as were the heroes whose deeds live in its lofty column. I am more fixed, I regret to say, than the principles of Freedom enunciated in yon Hall are now in the hearts of the American people. “Miss Mary, my dear friend (for you are both), this act, this interest in my safety, proves your friendship, and makes it un- speakably dear to me. - “There is one remark I wish to make. I am anxious that you, Of all beings on earth, shall not misconstrue my motives. I wish you to know what I have proposed, and now propose, to do. In other words, you know who I am. I wish you to know what I am. “I have no sympathy with anarchists, nihilists, socialists or agrarians. They are enemies to society, to law, to even them- selves. I would not disturb what are called vested rights, even though I know the investment has been by legal robbery. * “But, I would, by law, prevent further robbery. I would repeal every law of Congress that favors any class. I would make all citizens bear equally the burdens of government, in proportion to their wealth.” “I have never misconstrued your motives, Mr. Otis,” she kindly assured him. “I see no difference in our views on these questions. I am as unalterably opposed to the tariff and other class legislation as you are.” “Miss Mary, our views and action are running in lines sin- gularly parallel, and yet we have been moving on, so far, apart. Could they converge, if only enough for me to be nearer, that I might see you, converse with you, have the benefit of your good counsel, how much would be taken from life's burden, how much added to its bliss. But—well, I will not dwell on that longer. I indulge the hope that you will be here several days, will you not ?” *Bunker Hill Monument. # Faneuil Hall, 366 AZ čy 7'OCRACY After assurance that his views were understood and ap- proved, Mr. Otis' voice was softer, sweeter, than it had been before. His last words were uttered in a tone of entreaty. The “hope ’’ was but the veil of a strong desire. “Yes, I came to remain a few days. I provided for my sick and needy several weeks in advance, so I could have time to make this long-promised visit.” “I beg to ask if I may call to see you during your stay 2 ” “I will be glad to see you whenever it may please you to call,” she answered. “With sincere thanks, I will be happy to call next Saturday. I will now reluctantly leave you, as the hour is on for your friend to call for you.” CHAPTER FORTY-SECOND. A SECONID MEETING. WITHIN a minute after George Otis left the parlor, Miss Josephine Weathersbee, with one arm around Miss Smiling's neck, was playing horizontal supple-jack on her lips. Such kissing—“forward one " then “back "→would have been pro- voking to men who think the osculation of two women is sweetness wasted on the-well, any kind except the “desert air.” After a running chat for five minutes Miss Josephine rushed into a rhapsody. “Oh You don't know what a handsome young man I saw step out the elevator, as I was getting in. I declare he was an Apollo. I wish I knew who he is.” “Describe him Perhaps I can tell you,” remarked her friend. “He was tall, handsome figure, large, liquid, black eyes, and a lovely mustache.” “That is a general description of Mr. George Otis, of Lowell,” calmly remarked Miss Smiling. “And you know him 2 ” “Yes. He and I were schoolmates. He had just left a minute before you came in.” “Ah, ha! And he knew you were coming, and called to see you, before you could see me, eh? Well, it's all right. But, I wonder I never heard of him before. You never spoke Of him.” “No, I had not seen him in twelve years. I was only twelve and he sixteen, when we were at school. But he will call to see me, and I will gladly introduce him to you, if you wish.” “Of course, I will be pleased to know him.” The two ladies then departed for Miss Weathersbee's luxuri- ous house on Beacon street. On Saturday, at one P. M., Mr. Otis visited his friend. He was introduced to Miss Josephine, and astonished her by mak- ing no remarks about the weather. “I congratulate myself on knowing any one whom Miss / 368 AZ U 7'OCRACY. Smiling esteems so much as to leave her post of duty to visit. If you know as well as I do the strength of that sense of duty and her arduous work, you can measure the depth of her love of you.” “Miss Smiling and I have been devoted friends for years, Mr. Otis, and yet you are teaching me something of her in your first words to me—I mean, about her work.” “Really, Josie,” said Miss Smiling, “I pray you and Mr. Otis not to make me the staple of your first interview. I am a poor substitute for even the weather, and had you dropped into that, I would have drawn on you both an original ode to Spring.” “That would have been charming—I mean your drawing the ode—unless, it might be “long drawn out,’” remarked Miss Josie. “Odes, Josie, are sometimes long or short without regard to length Yesterday, my ode would have seemed short to you. To-day, it would be long after the first word, ‘Hail l’” “Yes, Mary, I do not admire poetry that begins with a storm. It is pitiless,” said Miss Josie, laughing. “You see, Miss Weathersbee, that Miss Smiling has military genius, as well as poetic divinity,” remarked Mr. Otis, smil- 1ng. “How so 2 ” asked Miss Josie. “By a masterly flank move, she drove you back nearly three hundred years to Shakespeare.” “But not until she fell back over one hundred years to Thomson,” retorted Miss Josie. “Very true, Miss Weathersbee, and now by a ‘forced march let us return to the original base,” said Mr. Otis. “If we can without fatiguing our ‘forces,’” remarked Miss Josie. - “I see very clearly that yours are as untiring and as in- vincible as Stonewall Jackson's,” was Mr. Otis' compliment. “Come, now. It is time for a truce,” remarked Miss Mary. “It is unnecessary. I ‘surrender at discretion,’” humbly remarked Mr. Otis. “We will be magnanimous and let you retain your “Damas- cus blade,’ only because we are not able to disarm you.” Miss Josie having thus returned to Mr. Otis his graceful compli- ment, the three drifted into general conversation that ran for a half hour. Miss Josie, knowing that the visit was to her friend, excused herself on the plea of domestic duties and withdrew, A SAECOM/D A/ASA. TXAVG. 369 Mr. Otis then sat near Miss Smiling, and they conversed earnestly on affairs of life that daily engaged their thoughts and hands. Under the current of his thoughts expressed was, all the time, running one thought. It was like the rosy lining to a rich fabric that was rendered warmer and richer by the hue beneath. Miss Mary saw it without surprise or regret. Indeed, it was more an emotion than a thought, and she could not escape its influence. She did not wish to escape. It had been with her for twelve long years. It would rise in her path, when on her rounds of duty, in comparisons between him and all other men to their detraction, and in the chamber counsels with her heart. George Otis wove the fabric strong and fast. He knew it was necessary, for the color beneath was increasing. He felt that the time had not come. It was not delicate, so soon after twelve years of unbroken absence, to disclose what had been kept alive, nurtured more by memory than by hope. He forced himself back, away, into discussions general and foreign to his one thought. Among subjects thus foreign was his disappointment in men with whom he had come in contact. His standard was certainly czacting. He measured women by the one he most admired, one he would have passionately loved, had he dared permit himself to even hope. He measured men by his own sense of right, duty, his power of will, his unselfish- ness, his love of justice. He, at one time, decided to express his views in verse, on the age, on men, women, politics, and religions. He began a poem, and wrote many stanzas, but he found the subject grew so rapidly, he despaired of getting time to follow it to a rounded finish. He told her of what he had attempted to write, to show how deeply he had been impressed with the subject, and not to speak of any attempt at literature. Miss Smiling was looking into the eyes of her friend, while he was speaking. Her face never looked so radiant and beau- tiful. He felt a thrill he had never felt before. His face grew pale ; his frame trembled. He realized, if he looked upon that face a minute longer, his will would yield. The time was not yet. He rose suddenly, and with a husky voice remarked : “Miss Mary, I am admonished that I must go—yes, reluct- antly go.” “You need not hurry. It is early yet,” she replied. 24 - 376 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. “True, but I must leave. Will you call your friend that I may say good-bye to her ?” She started and was at the door, when Mr. Otis spoke. “Miss-Mary ! One word before we separate.” She stepped towards him, and looked confidingly in his eyes. Mr. Otis felt his resolve weakening the instant his eyes met hers. Judgment was yielding to emotion—to the same impulse. “When will you return to New York 2 ” he asked. “I shall go next Monday.” “Then, the happiness of seeing you again will be denied me —I mean, before you depart.” “I trust I may see you again,” she said. He hesitated—was silent for a few seconds. He took her right hand in his, raised and clasped it gently between his palms. “Miss Mary,” he said, with visible agitation, “I thought I should go without expressing what I would now say, but were I to do so, I should be unhappy until we might meet again.” Her head drooped, and she turned her eyes to the floor. “Truly, we know not what a day may bring forth, and I can better bear the pain of parting, when I shall have said, not all I would, but all at present I dare to say. “Whatever of pleasure or pain it may give you to hear, I know not, but it will at least unburden my heart to say, that under every trial, in the performance of every duty, the ever present memory of you has been my strength—has been to me like ‘the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.’ If so, them, what will you not be—are you not—since this, to me, most happy meeting 2 I see in you all the rich fruition my vivid fancy, stimulated by partiality, pictured for you when a girl. I see no change from the sweet friend of the days so long ago, except the development of the young bud into the full flower, and, as I cherished you then far more than ever you dreamed, so do I now infinitely above all I could express. “As once already said, our lives, though separate in action, have been one in aim. I have resolved in weakness; you have performed in strength. While I have only cheered, you have given comfort. The weak I have tried to support, you have raised when fallen. Guided by your wise benevolence and aided by your counsel, I could do more, do much ; and now I ask of you, not to be answered on the instant, unless justice to yourself or others, or mercy to me demands, to grant me the happy privilege to hope, that our lives may, henceforth, draw near and in fullness of time be one. A SAE COAV/O /l/A2A2 7T/AVG. 37 I “I thank you, dear friend, for hearing me with patience, and, with one request, I am done. Will you kindly consent to cor- respond with me?” Miss Smiling had not raised her head. She had stood like a statue, except a sudden rosy flush followed by unchanging pallor, and a stronger, quicker, deeper bosom-heave. After a minute of silence so complete that Mr. Otis heard the muffled beat of both their hearts, she raised her eyes to his, and spoke with deep feeling, and in a tone of tender sympathy : “To say this revelation is to me a surprise would not be strictly true. You have kindly excused me from making a prompt reply, and it is well. Now is not the hour—this is not the place. “I can only say, when I decide on that most momentous of all questions to a woman, the views of others should not, will not, be weighed against my view of duty. As we must stand or fall alone, on individual responsibility, it must inevitably be the right of each to determine what is right or best, for his or her happiness. More than this I need not say at present. Shall I call my friend ?” “Yes, Miss Mary, after I express my gratitude for what you have said, and ask your reply to my request for permission to write.” “I will be pleased to hear from you when it is your pleasure to write,” she answered, and left the room to call her friend. Miss Weathersbee came in promptly as she had nothing to do but to lay down Spencer's Sociology which she had been read- ing. She was surprised that Mr. Otis was surrendering such a charming companion so soon ; hoped he would call again, and during his absence would not allow his side-arm to rust in its Scabbard. Mr. Otis, after a few sallies with his Damascus blade, bade both ladies adieu and hurried away to Lowell. CHAPTER FORTY-THIRD. THE BETROTHAL. “Who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since, on night so sweet, such awful morn could lise ?” SOON after Nemesis, armed by Justice, had meted out the re- ward due to the young millionaire, who had spent his time and money in wrecking the lives of many women, as his father had used his millions in wrecking fortunes and families, another young man unknown to fortune though not to fame, and of the same town as young Weaver, was spending a part of his time in the earnest effort to secure the happiness of one woman and himself. The day after the parting at Mr. Weathersbee's, George Otis availed himself of the blessed privilege of writing to Miss Smiling. What a joy I Had any one told him, a week before, that he would be in correspondence with the woman for whose heart and hand he would give up all else earthly, he would have called it a madman's dream. Yet there was the reality. Many letters were written to Miss Smiling and as many answered. He touched on many subjects, but they were always subordinate to and in harmony with the one absorbing passion. He reviewed the days of their childhood ; recounted hundreds of incidents seemingly then insignificant ; repeated many little sayings, now by her forgotten, that fell like sun- shine and shower on his wistful, aching heart; told her how time and again he was nearly swept away by an impulse to declare his devotion, and was each time arrested by the gulf between them. But the following copies of two letters found a few weeks after they were written form the most important part of their correspondence. To the sixth letter received from Miss Smil- ing, in reply to his, he replied : “My DEAREST FRIEND : Your most welcome letter is just received, Whatever may betide, it will ever be dearly cherished, .* 7A/A2 A3 AE 7TA’O 7TA/21/. 373 not only for the author, but for the noble thoughts therein expressed. Would that I had the mastery of words to express my happiness, produced by the consciousness that in views, sentiments and aims there lies no gulf between us. The main and, if not presumptuous, I would say the only, difference I can discover is the higher plane your noble nature occupies. The divinity that is woman's by chivalric concession, and is yours by right, consigns you to a lofty elevation I do not hope to attain. “And, truly, am I happy in the thought that man instinct- ively and gladly looks upward when he worships or adores. Never could I feel content unless, in contemplating you, my thoughts should ascend from my own level, however exalted by Fate or Fortune it might be. “The spirit of your letter, more than your words (elevated as they are above aught I could express), awakens me to a nobler effort, by convicting me of my shortcomings. It breathes a charity I could not conceive, and inspires a hope of usefulness of which I thought myself incapable. And, yet, I imagine I detect, as your words reach the hardened surface of the times, an echo of despair. If I am in error ; if, like Moses of old, you, from your lofty elevation above all obstacles that obstruct my lower view, can see the promised land, or a prospect less gloomy than I behold, I shall feel happy, even though I know that I shall not live to reach the one or see the other. “I say “I know ' and why It is impossible without a Pen- tecostal miracle for a healing change to come during our lives. The evil is too wide—too deep. It is the one passion, to amass wealth without regard to means. The end—wealth— justifies the means—from imitating goods to counterfeiting money ; from doubtful ethics to complacent perjury ; from robbing a wayfaring man to robbing widows and Orphans ; from adulterating wine to poisoning food ; from bribery of men to induce them to attend primary meetings, to bribery at the polls, bribery of legislators, bribery of Congressmen, bribery of judges. “If there could be a limit set at which greed would be gorged, that would be some relief, infinitesimal though it be. But the appetite grows by what it feeds on. Think of one man the owner of three hundred millions in real estate, and a cor- morant still / “Think of another who has robbed until he has hid away two hundred millions, and who is still “on the road'ſ 374 A Z U 7'OCRACY, “Think of tariff pensioners who receive a million each a year, and who are so shameless as to tell the world, under oath, that Congress will bankrupt them if it disturbs the tariff “Think of many men owning five hundred thousand, yes, a million acres, and juggling with Congress for more “I confess my impatience (and therein I fall so far below yourself who see all I see) when I behold around me the grow- ing evils of this vast and rapid segregation, instead of seeing a fair community of wealth. My greatest grief is that this curse falls heavier on your sex. Poverty grinds women and girls harder than men. They are the first to feel, because the first denied. If boy or girl must be deprived of education, the girl is chosen for the sacrifice. If either must be cribbed at home, the daughter is the recluse. If drudgery is to be borne, the tender maiden must bare her fair shoulders for the burden. And when, as with millions of families, Hunger stalks in and sits down at the head of the table and demands its meal, and the fair child, uneducated, a fledgeling, is driven to the factory, the mill, the shop, she goes forth a helpless prey to pitiless Plutoc- racy. “It is this that is destroying us. With a grand, lofty, pure womanhood a people is invincible, and freedom assured. “But, my dear friend, I did not intend to drift so far into this sea of sorrow. My apology must be that your thoughts sug- gested mine; and my comfort is that I know your zeal in charity and good deeds will make my observations not un- welcome. “I will write you to-morrow on a subject which I pray may not be less agreeable to you than this is rendered, I know, by your devotion to the poor. I remain, now and ever, your devoted friend. GEORGE OTIS.” The promised letter read as follows: “My DEAREST FRIEND :—Whether it be permissible for mortals at any time to be consciously selfish, I know not. Yet there is an hour in the lives of all men when they are selfish, and my hour has come. “That I have any power or virtue in me to contribute to your happiness, I would not dare believe, but that you are necessary to my own, has been my unchangeable conviction for years, 7"AA. AEA 7"RO 7"AAAE. 375 “When I have walked almost through the ‘valley and the shadow of death,' I have thought if I were only grasping your hand the gloom would become radiance. Yet, if I could be- lieve that a closer walk with you could dim the acknowledged glory of your presence or cast a shadow across your path, it would be my sorrowful pleasure to hold in perpetual silence the thought I now express. Could I feel that, with my feeble efforts guided by your hands, the efficiency of your ministra- tions would be impaired, a painful sense of duty to your almoners would compel me to forego the happiness that other- wise would be mine. “Selfishness may blind my judgment. The unspeakable joy that I feel by anticipation may overwhelm my reason, and make me underrate my weakness and deficiencies. Whether this be true or not I must leave to your generous decision, as I can abide no other. “I trust you have not forgotten the hurried and imperfect expression of my devotion at the moment of our parting, and that you will not consider it indelicate in me to indulge the hope that you are prepared to let me know whether I am to be the happy possessor of your heart and hand—a possession I would value infinitely above all earthly gifts. It is needless to say that all I am, and all I hope to be, are subject to your will. Begging you will not think me importunate in soliciting an early reply, I am, and shall ever remain, your devoted “GEORGE OTIS.” The following was the answer to the foregoing letter : “MR. GEORGE OTIS : “Dear Friend:—Your letter of the sixth instant is received. If our acquaintance had begun at the date of our last meet- ing in Boston, a reply to your declaration could not possibly be more than cold consent to a continuance of that acquaint- a DCC. “My views of that relation are rigid. It is, in my opinion, the most perilous one on earth. There are more wrecks within the sacred banns than lie outside. There are more wrecks from collision when two set out together on ‘life's solemn main,” than when each goes alone. The fault, however, is not with the banns or main. It is in precipitancy in starting, and con- tentions for mastery between the voyagers. tº “But we were not strangers. We were friends long years 376 AZ č77 OCRAC W. ago, and the admiration of your manly qualities awakened in the mind of the girl, has been transmitted undiminished to the WOIO a 11. “I have thought hourly of what you said at parting. I had not before seriously contemplated the relation you would have me form. My life for six years past has been given so ex- clusively to the help of those in want and sorrow, I did not pause to dwell upon myself. Besides, I have been a close observer of men, and I had not met one who inspired me with the desire to assume what I know is the only true relation of every woman—that of wife. That self-abnegation essential to the unity, the harmony, the Oneness of thought, feeling and pur- pose in the marriage relation, is the rarest possession or quality in woman or man. “I believe you possess it. Your conduct in youth evinced it. Your course, your aims, your unselfish devotion to the weak, during your manhood, have demonstrated it. And thus con- vinced that a union of our efforts to aid others would enlarge the field of our usefulness, and that our individual happiness would be advanced, I consent to Commit my destiny to your keeping. May this resolve conduce to your happiness is the prayer of your affectionate “ MARY. '' That simple missive bore a freight of love richer than the golden fleece of Jason, sweeter than the lips of song, lovelier than the golden apples of Hesperides, strong as that charity which endureth all things. The reply of George Otis to the words that bestowed on him, in anticipation, as rich a legacy as ever fell to man was not found among the other letters. CHAPTER FORTY-FOURTH. STRICTLY B USINESS.—N O TRUSTS. AT the hour of 12 M , on the fifth day of June, in 188—, Abram Pryer, the Professor of Detection and acknowledged burglar of the classics, into which he was always breaking, stepped briskly from the front door of the Detective Police into a close carriage and was driven rapidly down Broadway. An acquaintance standing at that front door, after close inspection, would not have recognized the Professor. As before remarked, he wore no beard. That was to enable him to cover his face by any kind of disguise. That night he was wearing a full black beard, low soft hat, and a suit of coarse, dark shoddy. At a quarter to 1 A. M. he left the carriage, at the corner of Broadway and Chambers, and directed the driver to wait for him at that spot. Mr. Pryer, with pistol in hand and cautious step, moved down Chambers, then down Roosevelt to Cherry Hill, and stopped at the mouth of a dark alley. He listened, and hearing no one, he gave a slight whistle between his fingers. In a minute he heard a stealthy step down the alley, and he moved a few feet inside. A low voice said “K. O. ; ” Pryer responded “O. K.” and approached. “And you are here according to promise,” said Pryer in a low tone. “Did you ever know Lone Jack not to turn up when he give his word 2 You are not doubting me, are you ?” said the man addressed. “Oh, no. That was my salute, that's all. Now, give me your hand and lead the way,” replied Pryer. Lone Jack started like one walking in open day, but Pryer, not knowing the ground, held back. “Come erlong. You needn't be skeerd. I know what I'm doing,” said Lone Jack. Pryer afraid to show timidity, followed with a confident step. They soon came to a cellar door. Jack stooped and raised one side of the shutters to the opening. “Now,” said he, “hold tight. It's slickery here.” He 378 AZ U 7'OCRACY. descended slowly and Pryer followed, holding Jack's right hand with a tight grip. When Pryer reached the last of eight steps, he saw a dim light at the far end of a passage that appeared to him a hundred feet long. It was a faint ray from an oil lamp that Jack had left there to guide them. “Did you put on them water-proof boots as I told you?” asked Jack. “You’ll need 'em.” “Yes. The devil what's this 2 ” said Pryer. “You forget where you are,” Jack remarked in a whisper. Pryer had stepped into slush, and was miring. The ground or floor was wet and slippery. The air was damp, chilly, and heavy with the foulest odors he had ever smelt. The whole passage suggested a hog-pen of years' use without airing, Sun- light or cleaning. They waded through, and reached the foot of a flight of stairs. Jack took the lamp in his left hand and led the way. Pryer, after trying to wipe his rubber boots on the edge of a step, followed. They ascended about fifteen steps and came to a door. “Walk easy,” whispered Jack, putting his mouth to Pryer's ear, and started up another flight. When at the top Pryer asked Jack : “What was all that swearing about in that room where you said “walk easy 2 ''” “Them's Light Fingers,” answered Jack. “They're quar’l- ing over last night's swag. They never make a haul without quar’ling 'bout it. They don't do heavy work like we're on.” Up another flight, and another, and Pryer stopped to blow. “Two more and we're thar,” said Jack. When up the last flight Jack gave three raps, the first on the wall, near the right of the door, the second on the wall to the left, and the third on the door, a signal, Pryer said, that had never occurred to him, and he had never before heard of. He said that if Jack had rapped on the left first, the door would not have been opened. As they entered, Pryer saw three men sitting on stools. The room was not furnished. There were four wooden stools, nothing more. It was evidently not for sleeping, and seemed to be for meetings to arrange the kind of business followed by the occupants of that floor. Jack was stout, but not tall, had small black eyes, and black stubby beard. One addressed by Jack as “Slug” was heavy bodied, very muscular, and of quick nervous speech and action. His fore- S7R/CTL V B US/AWESS—AVO 7"RUST.S. 379 head was low, cheeks high, and his nose and mouth indicated brutality. - The second, called “Cap" by Jack, was tall and spare. His frame showed strength and agility to a remarkable degree. He wore a short sandy beard and short hair. His eyes were gray with a sinister expression. The third was the oldest. His dark hair was sprinkled a little with white. All his features were heavy, and had a dogged, determined look. Two upper front teeth were out, and a scar from a cut showed plainly on his bare neck. He was called “ Blink.” As Pryer and Jack entered Jack closed the door, and said in a careless way : “Boys, this is the man what wants us for the job I told you about. Take a seat,” he said to Pryer. Pryer sat on a stool and looked around at the three. No one spoke for a half minute. Pryer had given his name to Jack as “Daily.” At length Pryer spoke : “Well, men, I suppose you all know why I am here.” “Guess you're right, or you’d never bin here,” said Blink. “You bet,” said Slug. “Jack,” said Pryer, “Have you explained this business fully to these men P” “Told 'em all you told me,” said Jack. “Did you tell them the time, the place, when to act 2 ” “Yes, all about it. All we need to know is the man, and what you want done. Them are no pokes. What's the use follering a business unless you can do it 2 And as for gettin' on a hunt and gettin' their man, they can’t be beat.” “Did you tell them the terms ?” “Everything, Misser Daily,” Jack answered, comprehen- sively. “Are you men satisfied to do the business to a finish for the amount Jack named P’’ asked the late Mr. Pryer, now Mr. Daily. “Yes,” answered Blink, speaking for the four ; “but we want to know some things first. You plank down so many thousand, and we git the game for you ; what we want to know is about the balance.” - “Can't you trust me for that 2 '' asked Daily. “I’m trusting ou.” - yo Them stagers you have on," said Blink, meaning Daily's Whiskers, “don’t look much like trusting us. We use 'em so 38o ALU 7 OCRACY. much, we can tell 'em as far as we can blink 'em. This ain't no trust business, Mr. Daily, as you call yourself. We're no millionars. If we was, and this case was only robbin' like they do, we'd form a Trust wid you. But this business must be done right under two posts and a cross beam, and we take all the risk. We've done talked this over. We understand it. It's some millionar’s work. He's done robbed till he's got millions, and some fellow's in his way in getting more, and he's willing to throw away a little to get a heap. We know 'em better'n you. “You see these pals here 2 We all worked for 'em. Cap thar was in a factory. He was fired because he wouldn't vote for Protection, that is, protection for Spinner, his boss. Slug thar was in a coal mine. He was getting ninety cents a day. I don't say he didn't get more some days. I mean it averaged up ninety cents, counting the days they knocked him out to stop the supply of coal. He refused to trade at the ‘pluck-me’ store, and they fired him out. “I was in Ferrum's foundry, Pennsylvania. I was getting a dollar and a quarter a day. I had a big family—wife and six . children. I couldn't live. I asked for ten per cent. more. I needed it bad. I thought I was worth it. I worked hard in dust, smoke, soot and heat. My wife took sick. My hut, rented from the boss, was in a low, damp place. I complained about it being sickly thar, but got no satisfaction, not even a cent off my rent. Doctors' bills kept coming in. They was charged up to my wages. I got behind till I couldn't buy bread. I went to the boss one day (he come thar now and then to look around), and told him my case. - “He hardly listened to me. He said, I was one of them grumblers, and was trying to make trouble in the camp. He was then drawing out of that foundry a clean five thousand a day and I hadn't five cents to get bread. “He told me to clear out. The devil leaped into me in a second, but I kept my grip. I at last said “clear out where, Mr. Ferrum ? Don't you know I’ve not got a cent to hire a wheelbarrow to move wid P’ He said that was none o' his business and started off. I came nigh doing the work right then and thar, but I knowed if a poor man killed a millionar like him, he had nothing to do but pray till his tongue was choked out of his mouth by the rope and hung down on his chin. So I thought of my wife and little uns and walked off. “I fell back every day. I couldn't get work, I went home S7R/C 7'Z V B US/AWAESS—AVO 7'A' US 7"S. 381 one day and my wife was crying. I asked what was up. She said “Nothing.’ My little uns come to me crying for bread—crying from hunger. I saw then why my wife was crying. I needn't tell you any more. “By seeing me here, just out of Sing Sing for burglary, you can read my history in between. “Now, I guess some millionar after robbing us, may be Ferrum, who knows? and pushing us back, and down, and hounding us into this sky hole ('bout as near heaven as we expect to get), and hard’ning us by hard licks, till we’re as hard as Ferrum’s iron, wants us now as his tools to do his business. Well, thar's one satisfaction about it, we get some o' the money he robbed us of and make him pay for it. But thar's no trust in this business, Mr. Daily. Now, say, how’s the balance to be made sure ?” “You know old Bilgewater Rat, whose hole is under the wharf, don't you ?” asked Daily. “Of course,” said Blink. “Thar's where we run in, some- times, when the cops are after us hot, Old Bilge opens the Dead panel at the rear of his den and we swim out and hide behind a pile till Bilge claps his hands to let us know the cop's gone.” “What do you say to my leaving the balance with old Bilge to be paid to you, if you do the business right ; if not, to be returned to me?” suggested Daily. “No, that won't do,” replied Blink. “We may have to go under cover for months. Old Bilge might get in hock, or peg out, or be raided, and the Swag bagged. The best way is to give us the name of your man, or give us your face—take off your stagers—and promise to meet us when we call for you by a line through the post-office.” “You know I can’t give up my man,” said Daily. What- ever Daily might have done before, he would not have dared to give the name of his man, after what he had heard in that den. “But to show you I am dealing square, I will remove my disguise.” - He thereupon took off his false whiskers and permitted each man, with a lamp, to inspect his face. “Now plank down the thousand apiece and we're ready, We don't want big bills. You know the likes of us can't use 'em without being watched, specially if a big bank haul's just bin made,” remarked Blink. “I thought of all that,” said Daily, as he drew out two wal- 382 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. lets from his two hip pockets and counted to each man his thousand in twenties. “That's not all,” said Blink. “We’re to have fifty apiece for clothes and gilt watch-chains.” “You are right, I forgot,” Daily remarked, and handed each that amount. . Within ten minutes Daily, still disguised, was again in his car- riage, and hurrying back to headquarters to become Abram Pryer once more and go to bed. CHAPTER FORTY-FIFTH. THE EXTREMES OF PLUTOCRACY HARMONIOUS. THE day before the Grand Mass Meeting of Knights of Labor, Labor Organizations, Unions, Trades Unions and Broth- erhoods referred to by Mr. Weaver, in the last gathering of the Billion at Mr. Clinkers', was to be held, two men boarded the early train at the Grand Union depot in New York, with tickets for Boston. They represented themselves to be Rich- ard Harrison, master workman from Milwaukee, and Paul Rich- ter, master workman from Chicago. At Hartford two other master workmen boarded the train. They were Jacob Jacob- sen and Thomas Schwarz, both from St. Louis. Harrison and Richter were zealous knights of labor, and were anxious to see Otis before the mass meeting. They were deeply concerned about the starving miners, and must See and have a talk with him. - - Jacobsen and Schwarz were also going to see Otis for the Sal (162 TeaSOI). - The train arrived at Lowell early in the afternoon. Harrison and Richter passed the afternoon in a stroll among the mills and along the bank of the Merrimac. They knew that Otis was busy during the day and they would not interrupt his work. They would call on him at his dwelling after the day's work was done. They inquired of a small boy where Mr. George Otis resided. He pointed out a neat tasty cottage near the river. . It was, in outward appearance, a delightful home. The cottage had two stories. The yard, beautiful with shrubs and flowers, was the eighth of an acre. The front gate stood near twenty yards from the dwelling. Harrison and Richter called early after dark. They desired to have a long and full interview with Otis. They introduced themselves, stated who and what they were, and explained the object of their visit. Mr. Otis received them cordially, ex- pressed his delight at their deep interest in the cause of hu- manity, on which he spoke with deep feeling. Within twenty minutes Jacobsen and Schwarz called. They were strangers to all three. They introduced themselves to 384 - AZ U 7'OCRACY, Otis, who introduced them to Harrison and Richter. The urbane host offered his welcome guests cigars, with the apol- Ogy for not setting before them wine or other drink, that he never used either, and, therefore, never kept them in his home. The guests never drank, but they would enjoy a cigar. As the four guests said they knew very little of the great issues involved in the contest between capital and labor, they preferred to hear the views of their host on that all-absorbing question. They were there to learn, not to teach. The host, with the modesty native to him, but with words breathing love for all men, and with that earnestness which is a part of eloquence, depicted the evils threatening American Society and institutions. He pointed his guests to the un- bridled, because legalized robbery of the people by means of trusts, the various exchanges, by the wrecking of railroads, the protective tariff, and then took them into the slums, the dens, the panel-houses, the sinks of thieves, robbers, burglars, mur- derers, who had become such because they are stripped to nakedness and hunger by legalized robbers. He contrasted the Condition of the two classes of robbers, one constituting the uppermost, the other the lowest grade of society. - He unconsciously revealed to his hearers the magnanimity, the charity that actuated him in trying to raise, help, redeem the lowest class. He described men who had been driven from work because they would not do their bosses' bidding, who would not vote as they were ordered to vote, who were receiving starving wages and driven away because they humbly requested a small increase—driven by men who were receiving thousands of dollars a day as a gift from the Government. If he had heard Blink recounting to Pryer the wrongs he and his pals, Cap and Slug, had suffered, the host could not have given a truer picture of their condition. ^*. So far as the host could judge, his hearers were deeply impressed by his views. They thanked him, applauded his determination and benevolence, and wished him God speed in his great work. At the end of an hour Harrison, who had had most to say, remarked that it was time to go, as he and Richter desired to take the night train to New York. Jacobsen said he was glad to have their company as he and Schwarz would go on that train. The courteous host rose and walked with them to the door, expressing his pleasure at knowing them, and his wish to meet them the next night at the mass meeting. His guests THE EXTREMES OF PZUTOCRACY A/ARMONZO US 385 promised faithfully to see him after they should have the pleasure of hearing his speech. As the host and guests stood on the velanda talking, Schwarz remarked that when he and Jacobsen entered the yard, they saw a man lying on the ground near the gate. He said he would step out and see if he was still there. He soon called and said : “He’s here, and seems to be hurt.” That touched the host's sympathy, and he moved promptly to see who the sufferer was and to give relief. When Otis passed the gate, Jacobsen and Richter were by him, on either side, and Harrison in his rear. “Here he is,” said Schwarz. As Otis got within arm's length of Schwarz, Harrison, from the rear, struck Otis on the right temple with a two-pound billet, Schwarz seized him in front by the throat to prevent him from crying out, while Jacobsen and Richter seized his arms. Each movement was made at the same instant. The blow paralyzed every nerve and muscle in Otis' body. This was expected. Hence the conspirators arranged to pre- vent him from falling and making any mark on the ground. While Schwarz held the throat with an iron grip, Harrison slipped a leather band two inches wide around the neck and drew it with a quick jerk so tight that the throat was completely closed, the jugular vein ligated, and Otis' tongue protruded. Harrison and Richter had, that afternoon, selected a spot on the bank of the river to throw the body in. Harrison got in front, and he and Schwarz held, each, one leg while Jacobsen and Richter supported the body by the arms. They hurried away with it to the spot selected, and reversing the body they held the head under water. Harrison held his fingers on the pulse of one wrist while Richter opened the vest and pressed one hand over the heart until satisfied that life was extinct. They then pushed the body into deep water and fled. At nine o'clock, the usual hour for the mother of George Otis to retire for sleep, she went to his little study to give him a mother's nightly kiss and blessing. He was not in. He could not be far, she thought, for his hat was hanging on the rack. She would wait a while. She read on his desk the notes for his speech to be made in New York. At this hour the next night, she thought, her son would be addressing that vast audience with his heart full of tender sympathy. Ten o'clock. He must have stepped over to see a neighbor and is engaged in conversation. 25 386 AZ U 7'OCAEAC V. * Half-past ten. She would sit up until eleven. She had been reading her Bible that day, as was her rule. She had read the account of Sisera. Though he was as wicked as her son was good, yet she recalled the anxious mother waiting and watching through the lattice for the return of her son. “Why tarry the wheels of his chariot 2" came to her mind. At eleven she looked from the veranda, and all houses in sight were dark. She went to bed, but not to sleep. George had never stayed out so late before without telling her in advance. At dawn she rose and knocked on the door to his room. She opened it. The bed was undisturbed. As soon as the neigh- bors were up, she made inquiry. No one had seen her son. He was so exemplary as son and citizen every one was surprised. A neighbor passing near the paling picked up a pocket-knife. Mrs. Otis recognized it, at once, as her son's. Soon, a little farther, was found his pocket-book. This excited uneasiness. By noon it increased to alarm. Telegrams to New York brought no information. Lowell was aroused. The mother gave all details she could of the four men who called. Search was made for them by detectives, police, and citizens. The hotel regis- tries showed nothing. Two well-dressed gentlemen wearing gold chains were seen by many around the mills the day before, but they were evidently strangers and men of wealth, probably looking for an investment. They even inspected the river to judge of the water power. Besides, there were four men at the house of Otis that evening. Seven o’clock P. M. had come. It was not dark yet, but night had closed around the Otis cottage. Thick gloom had settled on the palace of Galusha Smiling. The afternoon press of New York had published all the suspicious circumstances attending the sudden disappearance of George Otis, and the Raven was perching over the heart of the Queen of that palace. She had, by intuition, reached a conclusion that no detective had yet reached. But, there was hope, as the truth was unknown. If the horrible suspicion were not removed by morning, Mary Smiling, the betrothed, would enter the field with all the energy of her strong nature stirred by a love un- bounded, and now growing wild under suspicion of a wrong —a crime—for which no atonement could be made. At that hour of night in the cottage, and of gloom in the palace, the hosts of knights of labor, labor organizations, miners, and brotherhoods were forming a heavy column along 7A/B EXTRAEMA'S OF AZU 7 OCRACY AAAEMONZO U.S. 387 Fifth avenue, with the head resting on Thirty-second street. All organizations in the United States were represented. Eighteen bands of music were in the line, one at the head of each division. The procession was to move at 7:30 to Union Square. Orators of distinction had promised to be present. Grave questions were to be considered. Several strikes were then going on. In the coal region of Pennsylvania, one had been on for months. The miners were about to starve. They were calling to their brethren for help. The capitalists refused to make any concessions. A reduction of wages had been or- dered, as agreed on by the owners, the strike followed, and neither side would yield. Bread riots had occurred, but the military shot down some of the rioters and drove the others back to their huts. A part of the work of the mass meeting was to give relief to the starving miners. Among the Orators to address the meeting no one stood so prominent as George Otis. His fame was national. His name alone aroused enthusiasm. Thousands, who had never heard him, were going hundreds of miles for no other purpose than to hear him. At 7:30 the Grand Master gave the order for the procession to march. The command was passed down the column, and at the words “Forward, march 1” eighteen bands struck up an air in march time, and ten thousand voices pealed forth the Song prepared for the occasion : In the days when I was young and strong, 'Twas the negro I fought to free ; Now that I'm weak, and my shadow long, It's myself that’s in slavery, I was told to fight, the Union to save, As bounties and pensions were sure For wife, or child, if I lay in my grave, Or myself, if life should endure. The pension's paid, but I pay it myself By the tariff on clothes and food, That that Union adds to the rich man’s pelf, From the poor man’s labor and blood. The last big fight was the black man's war, But the next shall the white man’s be ; With ballots for balls, on a day not far, We'll abolish white slavery. 388 AX U 7'OCRAC37. * The Square was packed with human beings. Six stands for speakers had been erected. Every one desired to hear young Otis. The manager had heard nothing of him. They hoped to the last he would appear. The hour for speaking had arrived and the crowd was getting restless. At every stand the men surrounding 16 began to call for Otis. º As he did not appear, the people at one stand hearing those at another calling “Otis Otis Otis ' " would move off and Squeeze through the intervening crowd to that stand. Thus the tens of thousands kept in constant motion and confusion. . There were speakers on every stand who spoke. A few of the crowd gave attention, applauded and cheered, but there was a sense of embarrassment in every speaker produced by his knowledge that the audience was attentive through politeness only. It was found to be necessary to announce from every stand that Otis could not be at the meeting, that a good reason ex- isted as every one must know ; and his absence would be ex- plained to the satisfaction of every laboring man in the United States. Many speeches were then made, the audiences became deeply interested ; the Resolutions prepared for the meeting were read from each stand and unanimously adopted. In every in- stance, as it was known that the Resolutions were penned by young Otis, the meeting was closed by “Three cheers for the Leader of the People, George Otis of Lowell.” The press the next morning contained every particular relating to the mystery Surrounding Otis, but no solution had been reached—no discovery made. A ragged, dirty boy who slept in a swinging bunk under a wharf, crept out early that morning, passed through the dead panel door into Bilgewater's den, thence up into the air, bought a morning paper and disappeared. Some one in the den desired to know the news ; what was going on in the upper world. He may have had a contract in hemp “futures,” and wished to know the state of the market Miss Smiling, early that morning, took the first train for Lowell, and went directly to the cottage of her betrothed. Was it improper, indelicate 2 If you would know, ask not the mother who smirks and smiles as she searches each pleasure resort, and consults the tax digest for an advantageous match for the daughter she has on the market. Ask not the daughter whose affections are weak or strong, as their object is hand- THE EXTRAEMES OF PAE UTOCRACY HARMONIO U.S. 389 Some, or rich, or sought by rivals. Ask not her whose delight is measured by the elegance of her wardrobe, and frequency of her social dissipation. But ask the woman whose soul, like the great deep, reposes in strength and beauty within its natural limits, yet ever in healthful motion, showing not more than a ripple at the breath of adulation, but when swept by strong emotion, bounds forward in majesty and power to achieve grand results, or failing, to expire in moans upon its own con- fines, or dash against overhanging fate and fall in ruins. Such a woman was Mary Smiling, the betrothed. When the man and the hour came ; when, by a touch, he removed the barrier that held her love in check, he became her all, her world. Arrived at the cottage, she at once assumed direction. The hope of life threw into every act the energy of despair. She summoned detectives, gave out her theory, infused every man with some of her zeal, and offered a large reward for the dis- covery of the secret. That day brought no relief. After putting the whole force into the field, she returned to New York, to do the same work there. Taking Miss Euclid with her to the headquarters of the detective police, she asked for the most efficient detective. She was speaking to a Professor of Detection—a man who was “ a jimmy for opening burglaries, and a recognized Daisy on Divorces, from Boston to Chicago.” She made known her theory. Mr. Pryer listened with painful attention. His sympathies were deeply moved. In fact, he was willing to undertake the delicate task for one-half of what he would ask under other cir- cumstances. As silent assurance of his sincerity and sympathy he stealthily drew out his handkerchief and wiped from his cheek the burning evidence of his grief. It was unmanly. It was too tender. It was effeminate. It was against the rules of his profession. He was not in a closet, where only he was permitted to pour out his soul, so to speak, with utter reckless- ness on the floor. After Miss Euclid had finished the whole story, which was frequently but politely interrupted by Mr. Pryer, who evinced great solicitude to gather every detail to assist his judgment, he looked thoughtfully at the floor for some time, and then gave his opinion of the case. “I am pained to say, ladies, indeed it grieves me to say, that I think we will have to abandon that line. I see nothing in it. Let me run the case down and see. A large number of 396 - AZ č77 OCRAC V. millionaires meet at a private residence. First, they are million- aires—strongly against us. Second, one man, called the name of Mr. Otis. We don't know who that man was. Third, a man said ‘something must be—shall be done.” No doubt every man there said something must be done about something. Fourth, that remark was heard by a small boy. The boy knew nobody there. Lastly, the boy is not intelligent. Nobody would believe him.” “I would,” remarked Miss Euclid with energy. .* “Very true, Miss,” replied Pryer, “but you would not be the jury. We must look at the end as well as the beginning. No- body would believe even a man of good character and intelli- gence who would swear such a thing against a millionaire. You see the difficulty 2 * “My sympathy is painfully aroused. I wish I could allay it by aiding you. I see no hope—that is, in that line. I will gladly go to Lowell and do the work, cheap, as I feel so deeply for you. Our Profession is one of Confidences, you see, and of—” “Never mind about that,” said Miss Smiling, growing im- patient. “I have all the detective force in Lowell and some from Boston at work. I do not need you there.” The ladies retired. Night was near. Miss Smiling left her friend at the Clinkers' and went home to plan, to suffer, but not to sleep. Before the dawn she was dressed. She was listening for the first cry of the passing newsboy. Her maid, Bridget, was already at the door. Soon the cry was heard, and Bridget handed in the Herald. Miss Smiling eager to see, received it with tremulous hand. The tension for two days had been fearful. The first words her eyes fell on, in large head line, were—“The body of George Otis found !” The paper flew across the room, Miss Smiling uttered a wild scream, clapped her hands to her temples and fell insensible to the floor. CHAPTER FORTY-SIXTH. A SEARCH FOR THE LOST. THE press that contained the account of the finding of Otis' body had full particulars of another notable event. It was the burning of a train of cars and many passengers. Among those who were killed in that horrible disaster were William Weaver, the millionaire, and his wife. They had gone to Wyoming after the death of their son to sell the ranche. Mr. Weaver's lawyer owned a ranche adjoining, and was then on it. The death of his only child made it necessary for a change in Mr. Weaver's will, and he had taken it with him to see his lawyer. The will was burnt with the body of Mr. Weaver. The following announcement by a Daily of the death of Mr. Weaver was in the largest type : “The sad death of our beloved and distinguished fellow-citizen, the millionaire, William Weaver. “We once heard of a saying of some one whose name is now forgotten, but who is supposed to have been a reputable person for his day (otherwise we would not admit his observa- tion to our columns), that ‘the ways of Providence are past finding out, and somewhat inscrutable.” In the light of recent events we are almost prepared to indorse the sentiment. “Truly in the midst of life we are in death. But yesterday, and our beloved, charitable, humane and distinguished fellow- townsman was in the full enjoyment of all the blessings that millions can confer. What more could we say ? To-day, the places that had so often seen his benevolent countenance will know him no more forever. “All who ever had the distinguished honor of being in his service will mourn as those without hope, and will never be comforted, because he is not. Never did he turn one needing help away without a penny. Never did he during the forty ye urs he was the distinguished proprietor of his vast establish- ment at Lowell discharge a man, woman or child. Indeed, but for his unbounded charities, which aggregated several hundred dyllars per and um, his estate, now estimated at only twenty million dollars, would have been at least double that amount, 392 AZ U 7'OCRACY. *º “But a few weeks ago, our distinguished fellow-citizen had to bear the crushing bereavement of the death, by assassination the most foul of even the South or West, of the most noble, honorable, unselfish of Sons, his only child ; and now he is suffering—we mean, he is no more. “It is believed that our distinguished fellow-citizen departed this life without making disposition of his moderate estate by will. This may open the door to interminable litigation, as there is no known heir. That would be a great misfortune to society. Our observation is, that the only sure method of cutting off the possibility of litigation over estates, even of the moderate size of our late distinguished fellow-citizen, is to make a Will. t “Taking all the facts into consideration, to wit : The assas- sination of the only child, the horrible death of our distinguished fellow-citizen, but especially the neglect to bestow his estate, though moderate, by last Will and Testament, we are on reflec- tion about prepared to admit that ‘the ways of Providence' have been, so far at least, ‘past finding out.” But, in making this quasi admission, it is but just to ourselves to add, that the genius of America has not yet been turned in that direc- tion.” The notice of George Otis was as follows: “After search for two days, the body of the missing young Otis of Lowell was found by dragging the river. There was no mark of violence on the body, except a contusion on the right temple and a faint red line about two inches wide encircling the neck. There are various surmises as to the manner of his death. Some of his partial and intimate friends (and he had a few) suspect foul play, but the public, generally, who had watched the erratic young man's career, do not hesitate to call it suicide. “It is believed, he first attempted hanging, which explains the mark on his neck, and that, having failed by the breaking of the ligature, he rushed conscience-stricken to the river and drowned himself. Fearing he might in the moment of drown- ing try to save himself, he decided to strike a deadly blow on the temple just before he plunged into the river. This theory is undoubtedly true, because his friends are forced to admit that the suicide was right handed, and the deadly blow was on the right temple. “But his suicide is not a surprise to any one except, perhaps, his aged mother, who through natural affection was blind to A SEARCH Fok 7:HA Losz. 393 (w- the outrageous conduct of her wayward son. That he was able, brilliant, and possessed a will that succumbed to nothing, all must admit. But therein was the danger to society. Withal, he was a crank, a fanatic, almost a lunatic. He imag- ined that everything in our political and social organisms is not absolutely perfect. This is enough to show he was a lunatic. “He believed, no doubt honestly, that notwithstanding every dollar made in this country, annually, is kept here, it makes a difference to the comfort, happiness and intelligence of our people, whether the money is all owned by a few hundred of our rich citizens, or by the many millions. And he had another strange conceit, which was, that he might do something towards relieving the distress, the hunger, and nakedness of the poor, and, possibly, elevate them to a condition approaching morality and virtue. How absurd ' Who wants any more proof of lunacy 2 We will, however, give a few more facts that will settle the question. “He imagined that there is a want of equity and equality in the act of Congress that gives a big ‘gratuity to a few rich men and nothing to the millions of poor. He could not see, that if all the millions of farmers, lawyers, doctors, preachers, women and children only had sense enough to quit their present occupations and would build factories, mills, foundries, etc., they, too, could get the same Gratuity, or gift, from Congress. If farmers, for instance, will persist in farming, which they know can pay nothing as long as they have to give 47 per cent. of the value of all they buy to the manufacturers, then they deserve to be paupers . It is the law of the land that they can get the Gratuity through the liberality of Congress, and they will not take it. “Otis believed this state of things had produced an unhealthy, a perilous state of society. This shows his ignorance. He knew nothing of history. If he had, he would have known that in every kingdom, monarchy, empire, in the history of the world, there was an aristocracy that owned the wealth and ruled. Why should there not be an aristocracy here 2 It is historically logical that there must be. “But, while we regret any suicide, the end of this misguided genius is not surprising. He chose a fitting time, the day before he was to Ventilate his vile heresies in New York. It seems he had a lucid interval and became conscience-stricken, We hope so. He would have done mischief had he lived He 394 AZ U 7'OCRA C V. * ), would have agitated until Congress would have changed that ‘ Gratuities Law under which, for a quarter century, all the annual increase of wealth has been distributed so equitably and Satisfactorily among the manufacturing classes. We have devoted more of our space to this young man than we intended, or he deserved. But we wished to read a lesson to all who fancy Our Social organization is not perfect, or that our law- makers do not deal equitably with all capitalists. They all have an equal chance at the Gratuity, or bounty, given by Congress in proportion to the amount they produce of pro- tected goods.” Very different was the opinion held of Otis by all who knew him. His funeral was an ovation. The poorest, the well-to- do, the families rich enough to be beyond want, all who were patriotic, loved mercy and justice, admired true manhood, virtue and truth, lifted their hats and bowed their heads as they saw the lifeless body or the passing cortege or stood by his grave. An elderly lady in the crowd surrounding the grave burst into tears and said: “The dear, good boy I have held him in my arms a thousand times | He was so gentle and kind and tender-hearted. He wouldn’t have spoken un- kindly to a dog. And to think he should be murdered in this way and thrown in the water of the mill, where he worked so faithful for the millionaire, to support his aged mother.” On the day of the funeral of George Otis, a stranger from the West arrived in New York city. He had gone there in the almost helpless search for some relatives. He had not seen or heard from them for many years ; indeed, not since he was a youth. Not wishing, for a reason he kept to him- self, to be prominent in the search, he directed a note to Mr. Ernest Playfair, of Washington, D. C., requesting his presence in New York at once. Mr. Playfair recognizing the name signed to the note, went by the first train. After an interview in which the stranger stated all the facts of a very sad family history, Mr. Playfair inserted a notice in the N. Y. Herald under the headings of “Personals" and “Wants.” The first day brought no response. He then offered a large reward to any one who would give information of the person wanted. The next day, an old woman called at the Hoffman House, where Mr. Playfair was boarding, to see him. She gave her name as Eliza Thornton. She had seen the adver- tisement, and had come not to get the reward, but to know why Mr. Playfair had advertised. Being satisfied of his well A SAEAA’CA/ AEO/8 7"Ay AE ZOS 7. 395 'ºur- meaning, she gave him the name of the street she resided in, number of the house, and requested him to call at eight o'clock that evening. A half hour before eight, the stranger and Mr. Playfair started from the hotel. They went up Broadway to Fifty-third street, turned west until they reached Ninth avenue, and knocked at the door of the number given. The old woman opened the door, and the visitors walked in. Very soon Mr. Playfair saw a lady in black approaching. He rose suddenly. “Merciful heaven my dear friend, what does this mean * * he exclaimed, stepping back. The lady had stopped at the first word, with a look of bewilderment. The old lady rose to her feet. The stranger was amazed at the words of Mr. Play- fair, who continued : “How changed you are Oh, how changed ” Mr. Play- fair's voice trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He recov- ered himself, and advanced with his right hand extended, to grasp her hand, but she drew back. “My dear Miss Euclid, my friend what does this mean P Do you not know me 2 ” “I do not, sir, " came a calm, soft, sweet voice. “Oh, that voice I know it,” shouted the stranger, spring- ing forward. “Sister Eugenia Do you not know me 2 Your brother, your lost brother I did not know your face, but your voice brought you to me—took me back to our home. And you don't know me? Here is your picture, darling sister, you gave me the night we parted.” Recognizing the picture instantly, she looked eagerly into the stranger's eyes, and, with a shriek, threw up her arms and fell against him. Mr. Playfair, overcome by the scene, had turned away to the door and was standing on the steps. At the call of George Hampton, when his sister fell, he returned to give assistance. Her brother laid her on a lounge near where he stood. Ten minutes elapsed before the sister became conscious. The first sign of returning life was a moan as of one in pain. Soon she breathed more freely and her eyelids slowly moved. She stared eagerly at her brother's face, as if trying to trace some memory of the boy-brother. She clasped his neck, drew his face to her, and wept in such piteous tones, that Mr. Play- fair was forced again to leave the room. At Mrs. Thornton's request, he took a seat in the adjoining room where she and he conversed. 396 #2 L U TOCRACY. “Oh, my brother you have come at last to claim me—call me sister as in the old times | I thought you had thrown me away ; forgotten me ; I could not tell why ; there was no rea- son. I told mother everything.” º “Sister Don’t talk yet awhile, you are weak. Let me place you in this easy chair and fan you while you listen to my story, and then I will let you talk.” When she was comfort- ably seated, he sat on her right, facing her. He took her right hand in his, and gave her a sketch of his exile. “I left the old home a few days after you went away. I went as far as Ogden by rail, and then struck out south. I joined a party of prospectors (that means men hunting for mines), and finally got down into Arizona. I went to work in a mine ; got two dollars a day, which I thought immense for a boy. I worked there a year and saved enough to go to school the next year. I worked in this way until I was twenty- one years old. Now and then I would get a grub stake and prospect. A grub stake is provisions furnished by some one to a prospector, and the two, generally, divide whatever is found. “I finally struck a ledge near what is now Tombstone, but the Apaches were roaming around that section, and they soon came down on our camp. They killed every one in camp (nine altogether), except a friend and myself. That friend is as noble a man as lives. I wish you to know him some day. His name is Grafton, from Mississippi. We were both shot, but we got to our horses before the Indians could catch us. We escaped and had to abandon Our claim—that is, our mine.” His sister drew his face down, kissed him again and again, and told him to talk on. “I then went back, near Tucson, and after a year's tramp I found a good property; developed it for six months, and sold it for five thousand dollars. With that I bought an inter- est in a mine in Harshaw district, that is below Tucson, over sixty miles. I worked on that two years and sold it for fifty thousand dollars. “You wonder why I did not try to communicate with some one of our family. I must explain, because it does look strange and undutiful. When father was driven out by Weaver because he would not vote for a high tariff candidate, and your sorrow came on us, I felt desperate—wild. I resolved to go away, not to be a burden, and to make a fortune to raise us again, or die in the attempt. A SEARCH POR 7HAE LOST. 397 “After I arrived in Arizona, I wrote often to father and mother at Lowell and received no reply. I knew not what to think, and I wrote no more. I could not write to you, as you said, before leaving home, you would be buried to your family. Now, a few words on another matter, and I will stop and let you talk a little. “You handed me at parting the ring that villain gave you as the pledge and symbol of his love, and, also, his photograph. Though you expressed no wish, I understood you had one. From that day for fourteen years I compared the features of every young man I met with that photograph. I showed it to every friend I had (without giving reasons, of course), with the request, that if he ever met the man, or any one he believed to be the man, to telegraph me, or write, and keep on his track until I could get to him. “Finally, a few weeks ago, I came here with my friend, Grafton, in search of him. We accidentally met the gentleman in the next room, Mr. Playfair.” “Brother, how strange his greeting of me ! Do you un- derstand it?” asked Eugenia. “No, sister. Be quiet. You just rest, let your mind be calm. He will explain when he comes in. I will finish my story.” The brother then gave full details of everything that oc- curred as recorded in this history, in relation to John Weaver. She listened with closed eyes and shuddered when he referred to the duel. He did not give the particulars of that, nor speak of the weird sounds he had believed were her voice in song. He avoided everything that might excite her, except the duel. She knew of it through the press, and was prepared to bear any reference to it. When he spoke of it, she remarked that she did not censure him, but, if she could have been with him, she would have asked him to let the creature live for the sake of his son. “Son | " exclaimed the brother. “Whose son 2 John Weaver's SOn 2 “Do you mean, sister, that — ing over her. “Brother Do not speak so Do not look angry at me ! You know—” “Sister—my darling sister | Forgive me ! I am not angry with you. God forbid I was surprised, not angry. No, no Could I be angry with you—the innocent, the wronged P’’ 5 y He had risen and was lean- 398 A £ U 7'OCAEA C V. He knelt by her and folded her in his arms, kissed her, pressed one cheek to his and tenderly caressed the other with his hand, saying, “No, never, never; I was blaming myself, not you—my Sweet sister. I need not say why just now, but will tell you by and by. I am done now. As you spoke of a son, I wish now to hear about yourself.” Eugenia said she felt too weak to dwell long on her own his- tory; it was as much as she could bear to think of it when strong ; but she must tell him a few things, at least. Before she began he said to her most tenderly : “Have you not noticed that I have not, so far, asked you of Something it would be most unnatural for me not to Inquire of 2 Before you speak let me explain. My heart has been aching to know, but your feebleness prevented me from asking. Do you understand 2 If it would distress you to speak now, wait.” “I see, brother, what you would know, and, as it has been known by me for years, I will speak. Our father is not living. He died two years after you left Lowell.” George hung his head, pressed his temples, and murmured in mingled tones of grief and bitterness : “Oh, that vile wretch, Weaver ! No | I take that back, he's dead— “Father and son, dead gone to account for lives worse than wasted, because they desolated others’ homes and broke others' hearts. But what am I doing 2 And mother l’’ he asked, holding his breath in fearful suspense. “Is living,” she said. “Thank God ’’ he murmured, kneeling again and embracing his sister. “She's alive and here in this city,” continued Eugenia. “Then, God be praised I feel I have not been spared in vain, since I can be son and brother to comfort two such women.” “But Sallie, our blessed sister, is at rest, dear brother.” “Oh cruel flow and ebb Sister living, father dead, mother living, sister dead : thankful am I the roll is called. Were there any more, I would dread to inquire.” “There is one more,” the sister said. He looked astonished, confused to think he had not remembered his own blood. His sister seeing his feeling relieved him at once. “You did not—do not, know her. She is your sister, born soon after you went West. Her name is Lucy. You will be proud of her.’ A SEAAECH AEOR 7"HE ZOS 7. 399 “That breaks the ebb. It is joyful news. A blessing found, but no compensation for those I’ve lost. But, sister, I wish now to hear your story.” She began : “The stormy night I left home was a symbol of what my life has been ever since. To-night, brother, is the first joyful, or even peaceful hour I have known since I realized I was a deserted wife. I arrived here the next morning, and, for the first time, I felt the extent of my desolation. Being in this vor- tex, without money, friends, or acquaintance, I went to an Jntel- ligence office. There I met my second mother, the noble woman in that room. She was inquiring for a young woman as “help,' to live with her without pay. I almost jumped at her, to offer myself to her. She was plain, but her face was benev- olent and I trusted her at sight. She was not inclined to accept me because, as she afterwards told me, I looked too refined, and above the position. “Within a week we were warm friends. After she became attached to me, I told her my history and what she might ex- pect Her love did not abate, and she took as tender care of me as my own mother could. When my child was born I named him George for you. I intended he should be called George Hampton, but my good friend in there said, ‘No you are married, and -he must bear his father's name.’ It was a bitter thought, but I saw the wisdom and justice of it to myself and child. I call him George, though he has not been chris- tened. I have delayed that, because I thought, if I should ever meet you, and you were not pleased with the name, I would change it out of my family entirely.” Just then the front door opened, and a manly looking youth entered, walked straight to his mother and kissed her. He had just returned from his work in Brooklyn. He was intro- duced to his uncle, took a seat by his mother, and listened with delight to some of the experiences of his uncle in his Western travels. He soon kissed his mother good-night, and she re- sumed her story. * I soon got a little work. I did sewing, sometimes washing. I made crochet and needlework, and my second mother sold them for me. “One day while returning from a house where I had been sewing, I saw a woman passing near me, and I came near faint- ing. I did not see her face, but her figure and gait were those of our mother. I turned back, dropped my veil, which I always wore in the street, and followed her until she turned into a 4oos AZ U 7 OCAEA C V. door. I got a view of her profile, and she was our mother I was so overcome, I leaned against the house near me to keep from falling. I did not make myself known, because I had resolved, as I told her before I went forth in that storm, that I would bury myself from sight of my family to save them any further humiliation. I resolved though to help her, and every month I send her money enough, as I suppose, to pay her rent. She does not know who sends it. “Now I come to an episode which I fear you will condemn. I struggled on for years. I saw our mother's bereft condition, I knew of sister's failing health, dying of consumption. I could not help them. I saw little Lucy in rags on the street. I saw the Weavers rolling in wealth. I knew the father and son were the cause of all our woe and sufferings, and I became desperate. “One night when Snow was falling, the wind blowing, and the snow blinding me, and cutting my face even through my veil, as I was going home, after a day of hard work, I passed Weaver's dwelling. I saw the man who had flattered, deceived, and deserted me bowing to and smiling at a girl in his father's parlor where a dance was going on. All my power of resist- ance could not restrain my desire for revenge. I then and there resolved to kill him. I bought a pistol and carried it for days. I had been one night to nurse a child of a lady who had given me work. I was detained till near one o'clock. As I crossed Fifth avenue, I passed two drunken men. I heard one call the name of John Weaver. Thinking one of them was Weaver, I stopped for a second and scanned their faces. I was disappointed and hurried on. I was in the street of Weaver's home. As I came near his house, I saw my betrayer going up the steps. I ran to get to him before he could enter the house, and fired. He fell with a scream. I ran nearly to Sixth avenue, and then walked rapidly home. Fortunately for me the hour was late, and no policeman on the street. After the deed was done, I repented in sackcloth and ashes, and was rejoiced that I did not kill him. Did I do wrong * * “My dear sister, it is not in my heart nor head to condemn your act. We are half Southern and half Northern blood by birth. I am all Southern by education and belief. I have been the intimate of Southerners for twelve years. I have heard them discuss social problems a thousand times, and this one, often. Their religion is, that the man who, by importunity and promise of marriage, Seduces an innocent, trusting girl, and then deserts her, forfeits his rights as a social being, and his life A SEARCH AEOR 7"HE ZOS 7. 4o I is at her mercy. They regard him as worse than a murderer, because he has chained his victim to a condition worse than death. She is socially dead, driven into outer darkness by her own sex, hunted down, trampled upon by men, and yet she is left to live and suffer. While that is not your condition, the wretch intended it to be so. The registration by him at the vil- lage hotel of yourself and him as man and wife (as mother told me) is all that saved you from that social death, though you were and are as pure as an angel. “Here, at the North, they condemn this view. They resort to courts for redress, for damages measured by dollars and cents, to punish the villain by fine, or imprisonment. Hence the difference seen here, everywhere, and notably on the streets at night. At the South, their women, “from the nettle, Danger, pluck the flower, Safety.’ It may be a nettle that grew out of the so-called Night of Slavery, but it bears a flower of wonder- ful potency in preventing social disease.” “I am very happy to know you do not condemn my act,” said Eugenia. “I felt as you say you feel, but it was instinct with me, while you show strong reasons for your approval.” She then resumed her story. “I have given you a meager outline of my life here—it has been a solid period of suffering. I have passed thousands of hours sitting in this chair, thinking of you, thinking of mother, of our sisters, of their poverty and sufferings, of our happy childhood, of the songs I used to sing for you, and of the one you said was sweetest and saddest of all—‘Sweet Spirit, hear my prayer l’” * She ceased speaking, for she had touched a fountain that had to flow. At the recollection of that song, her brother broke down. He laid his head on his sister's bosom and wept as a woman weeps. He at length begged she would say no more and he would go. He promised to call early the next morning to go with her to see their mother. Hampton called his friend, Mr. Playfair. As he came in, he said to Mrs. Weaver, he wished to apologize for his action at their meeting that even- ing. “When you entered the room, I mistook you for another lady, a friend living in this city. You remember, I called you Miss Euclid. The young lady is a Miss Euclid, and you are as much alike as twin sisters.” “That is strange,” said Mrs. Weaver, “my mother was a Miss Euclid, but I do not know any other family of that name. Brother, do you ?” He knew none. sº 26 4O2 ! AZ U 7'OCRACY, •º “I am certain you are related,” said Mr. Playfair. “Such resemblance cannot be accidental. It is from blood.” “I remember hearing my mother say, when I was small,” said Mrs. Weaver, “she had a brother who went from South Carolina to the West, but she thought he was dead.” “Miss Euclid is from a Western State,” said Mr. Playfair. “You are cousins, you may be sure. I will see her to-morrow and you two must meet. I will be pleased to be the means of making two such ladies happy, as you will surely be, to know each Other.” * Hampton thanked Mrs. Thornton many times for her kind- ness to his sister, and Mrs. Thornton insisted that she was the one indebted to his sister for a love as sweet as one woman ever gave another. Hampton kissed his sister tenderly, and he and Mr. Playfair bade the ladies good-night. On the street again, Hampton at once laid before his friend his resolve formed that night. He told Playfair that William Weaver had three days before died intestate; that his estate was many millions; that he left no child ; that his only grand- child was the youth he saw that night, who was his sister's child. He then narrated all the particulars of the conduct of John Weaver, of the marriage, of the sojourn at the village hotel and of the desertion. He engaged Mr. Playfair to take proceedings at once to establish the heirship of young George Weaver to the estate of his grandfather. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVENTH ILLINESS OF MISS SMILING. WHEN Miss Smiling fell to the floor unconscious, Bridget rushed below to arouse the parents. They hurried to the room and found their daughter still insensible. The father lifted her and placed her on the bed. Bridget had run for their physician. He soon came, exam- ined the patient, and detected the current of life running deep and slow. He used all restoratives and stimulants resorted to in sudden prostration, meanwhile inquiring into all attendant circumstances. Bridget could tell nothing except the shriek and fall as soon as her young mistress received the morning's paper. “Strange—very strange,” remarked the doctor. “Had she been complaining P’’ “Not at all,” answered the mother. “She never complained of an ache nor fatigue. She never was real sick in her life. She's always on the go. No longer’n two days ago she made a flying trip over to Lowell. She looked very serious, but did not speak of being sick a bit.” “It's very remarkable,” said the doctor. “There's some cause for this that is more than physical. Let me see that paper.” He examined it carefully, and read the head-lines. “The death of our beloved fellow-citizen,” etc. “The body of young Otis found.” “I see nothing here that accounts for this. I can’t under- stand it,” said the doctor in wonder. Within a half hour, the patient became restless, threw her arms from side to side and moaned. All were rejoiced. She soon gave a feeble answer to her mother's pleading call. She opened her eyes, gazed listlessly awhile, and with a cry as from agony, swooned away. The doctor was baffled. He saw a serious effect, but no cause. Mr. Smiling stood bewildered. His second idol, he feared, might be broken. For the moment it took the first rank in his heart. He forgot the first in the presence of danger to the second idol. As soon as he could think, he began to cast *...* 4O4. AZ U 7"OCAEA C V. about-for Some cause. He concluded to examine the paper. He had seen nothing of the mysterious disappearance of George Otis given in every paper for two days. He never read such news. The financial column was all he read. His eyes fell on the notice of Otis' body. He dropped the paper and turned to a window. A newsboy was crying under the window, “MURDER OF OTIS 1 BODY FOUND !” Quicker than he had ever reasoned on his first, he reasoned about his second idol. “Otis dead Murdered . The meeting of the Billion. Ferrum ! Childhood School-days . The red rose ! Trip to Lowell two days ago Heavens ! Can it be possible 2 " His hands trembled. His knees gave way. He sat down on a chair. He forgot that the doctor was in the room. He forgot he owned a dollar. Comfort, Luxury, and Power were exiled. His gorge rose. He gulped and groaned. “What if she loved him 2 What if Ferrum did have him taken care of 2 What if it gets out 2 Great God l’’ “What did you say, Mr. Smiling 2" asked the doctor. “What is it, husband 2 ” asked the wife. “Nothing,” answered the idol worshiper, aroused to con- sciousness ; and, quickly sheathing his thoughts, he rose and approached the bed. “Husband, how pale you are Doctor, don't you think my husband looks very pale 2 ” asked the wife. The doctor knew he was pale, but being more discreet, re- marked : “Sudden dread will make any one pale.” The doctor intended to be discreet, and would have been, had he not blundered on the word “dread.” It drove Mr. Smiling back to the dread he had just left. He left the room to wrestle alone for mastery over his own emotions. That day —-one day—he did not go to Wall street. There had suddenly been a wall thrown up between his palace and that street, as an earthquake, in a night, throws up a mountain from the plain. The next day the dailies announced, “The sudden and dan- gerous illness of Miss Mary Smiling, daughter of the great financier, whose genius, as a great leader in the grand struggle over Widows and Orphans, in which he, with only two others under his command, achieved such a brilliant victory over many hundreds opposed to him. Never will that glorious triumph be forgotten—never ! Her attending physician nonplused. No possible cause can be assigned.” This notice was not given of Miss Smiling, but of the daughter of a millionaire. J///VAE,SS OA' //ZSS S///Z/AVG. 405 By ten o'clock, Miss Euclid called. She was known by Mrs. Smiling, but not by her husband. The daughter was too ill to See any one. Would she call again 7 At eleven a woman, plainly clad, timidly rang the bell at the front door of the palace. Bridget recognized the lines of sorrow in the well- known face of Mrs. Hampton. “Miss Mary is too sick to see anybody.” “I am so sorry ; I did not expect I would be admitted ; I mean, that I could see her. I only called to know the truth. Please tell her, when well enough for you to speak to her, that Mrs. Hampton came to express her deep sorrow.” As Mrs. Hampton walked down the steps, two women poorly clad walked up. Bridget had not closed the door. “Good morning ! Will you be so kind as to tell us,” said one, “if it can be true that our dear lady, Miss Smiling, is sick 2 ” Bridget repeated her reply to Mrs. Hampton. “We are so distressed We’ve walked two miles to know if it could be true,” said the other of the two. “We said, coming along, it must be a mistake, as, shorely, the Blessed Lord would not lay a heavy hand on One so good. It seems cruel, indeed it does. But His will be done ! Please say, Miss, will you ? that Mizez Wilson and Mizez Furlong came to make their respects, and say they are so distressed.” By noon the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, in front of the palace, was covered by women and children plainly but neatly dressed. They stood looking at the palace, up at one and another window, as if wondering in which room the blessed body that held that noble soul was lying. They had heard Bridget's answer, and would not ring the bell to inquire, lest the sound might disturb their beloved friend. Thus the first week wore away The third day the wall was removed, and Mr. Smiling's coupé drove once more over the plain to Wall street. He went to be going—to get away from himself, not from his daughter. On the twelfth day Bridget placed an easy chair by a window, and induced the invalid to rise and sit there. The patient was wan and pale. Her large, hazel eyes were sunken and looked as if twin calamity was cradled in them. Not a day had passed without calls at the palace by the poor —those who knew the invalid through her deeds of love and charity. Her father was annoyed by them. He despised the sight of them even on the opposite sidewalk, but, knowing why they were there, he said nothing. & 406 PLUTOCRACY. In many churches prayers were offered up the first Sabbath after her prostration. The young pastor of a plutocratic con- gregation, uptown, wearing lavender kids, with a boutonnière, and delicate bouquet in his left hand, extended his right to the Lord and remarked : “Lurd we are really pleased to have Thee with us at this hour, in this our temple, as we have a request to make of Thee. And as Thou art here, we will inform Thee of the sudden affliction of one of the distinguished pillars of this, our temple —we mean Galusha Smiling, who, it is important to state, is many times a millionaire. The affliction to him, Lurd, is in the illness of his child—a female, if we are not misinformed. We are grieved, Lurd, to have to inform Thee that the invalid is not one of us, not one of the Elect. She is still in outer darkness. Her soul is still benighted. That Charity we rejoice in has not been vouchsafed to her. Lurd, we delay the business of the hour for a moment, only to request that Thou wilt not grieve the distinguished father—and we will add, the mother —by removing their child. Having, Lurd, brought this matter to Your notice, we leave it to Thee, with unimpaired confidence, in Thy justice and discretion. Lurd, we will now proceed with the business of the hour, which is to take up a collection to pay off the million-dollar mortgage on this our temple.” At the same hour, in a little church around the corner, a servant of the Most High was uttering the following prayer : “Thou All-wise, All-merciful, Infinite Being ! We, Thy creat- ures, servants to Thy will, humbly beseech Thy loving mercy on one of Thy servants, whose body is prostrate in affliction. Thou alone knowest the secrets of all hearts. Thou saidst, ‘Faith without works is dead.” Thou saidst, “Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick.’ Thou saidst, ‘The fulfillment of Thy commandments is in “visiting the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and keeping unspotted from the world.' Her life has been one of works. She has walked robed in charity. The hungry, naked and sick rise up this day and call her “Blessed ' ' To the widow she has been a comforter. To the orphan she has been a mother. To Thy church she has been an example worthy of all imitation, though not a professor of any faith. She seeks and helps the distressed, encourages the desponding, sustains the weak, pours balm into wounded hearts, speaketh no evil, and loves her neighbor as herself. God of Love, have mercy on Thy poor by showing mercy unto her | * * - * - CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHTH. THE LAST INTERVIEW. THE third week the invalid took drives through Central Park, always attended by her faithful, devoted maid. She would leave the carriage and wander alone, sit motionless on rocks in covered places where weeping willows drooped ; then rise and seek another resting place, pick twigs and grasses without aim, or even consciousness, and returning, drive in silence home. Her mother occasionally attended her, but she seemed to prefer solitude, and went oftener alone except her maid. Her parents tried to draw her into company. They saw too plainly the alarming change. She made known to her mother the cause as soon as she became convalescent, but told her mother, she herself wished to tell her father at the proper t1me. Her charities did not cease. As soon as able she made her rounds among the needy and sick, but that did not bring relief, peace, contentment. The iron had entered her soul. The brutal murder of her Beloved, her One of all the world (the only One for whom she had ever felt the emotion of love), the shutting of the gate to her Paradise, full in her face ; the insatiable greed, the gluttony, that prompted, planned and prosecuted to the bloody end the devilish purpose ; the horror of the con- nivance, or, at best, the guilty knowledge of her father, all weighed on her, pressed her down, were crushing her to death. She would drive through Prospect Park, pausing under the stately Oaks and elms. And she thought, as she looked upon them, “You have stood erect against storms and held your rough arms strong beneath the cold, cold icicles that tried to weigh them down. But the blessed sun came to your relief. You have no heart. You never had a love—were never torn and rent by cruel murder ’’ She fed the fishes in the lake ; watched the deer at play ; went on—looked upon the beds, the crescents, the rainbows, the mounds of flowers and variegated plants, all so beautiful, so tender. They only intensified her grief, by telling her how 408 - PZ U 7"OCRACY, much they were once loved by her Beloved. They brought up the familiar lines: “There's not a garden walk I tread, There’s not a flower I see, But brings to mind some hope that's fled, Some joy I’ve lost in thee.” Oh the cruel greed that crushed her lover's temple and her bosom at one blow ; that set free one noble spirit, but imprisoned, buried another beneath, within a living ruin It would, but could not, escape. It knew not where to fly. . No refuge had opened, had invited—lured it. It wanted, asked for, longed for, rest, peace—a hiding place where it might bear its dead and live with, love, his spirit. Where 2 Where 2 was the monotone that was ever sounding—never answered. But the answer came at last. As she slumbered uneasily one night, two months after the blow that crushed her, her spirit rose and robing itself went forth on a mission of charity and good deeds. It visited many hovels, huts, tenements, speak- ing cheering words and leaving many comforts. It entered the little room in the seventh story of the tenement. It greeted Mrs. Hampton with a kiss—spoke words of comfort to her, and stood by the bedside of the sinking, dying child. It took her hand, cold, clammy, trembling, thin – so thin, it seemed a skeleton in a glove. The invalid gazed on the spirit with eager look, then whispered : “Good Angel ! How strange you look You have on a Veil 1 '' Instantly the spirit flew back, entered its shattered tene- ment, and crept to its place among the ruins. She was awake. “The dream The invalid's dream | The Great White Tem- ple ! The vision as the spirit fled from the cold, clammy skeleton that had held it a restless prisoner so many years " For the first time in all her sorrow the thought of Taking the Veil came to her. The novelty of the thought excited her. She could not sleep again. She weighed the thought till dawn. She decided to seek information, and learn what hope of peace there was in that refuge. That morning she inquired of Bridget the name and resi- dence of a priest, and taking her, drove to his dwelling. She had an interview of more than an hour and returned home. That afternoon her friend, Miss Euclid, called and was in- formed of the step contemplated by Miss Smiling. She heard . Żºłż Z.A.ST WAV 7/2/8 W/AE W. 4O9 with deepest interest the story of her friend's love, and with horror indescribable of the murder of her lover. This was a double revelation. Miss Euclid had never dreamed that her friend was betrothed ; she had never imagined that Plutocracy would slay except by starvation. When her friend had declared her inclination to take the veil, Miss Euclid said : - “I am overwhelmed. All I feel at liberty to say in the pres- ence of such grief and momentous issues is, that I shall be utterly cast down by a loss I cannot measure.” “I am deeply grateful, my dear friend, for your sweet love. You have mine in the fullest measure. But, the heart knows its own sorrow ; and in this, as in all things, each must decide on her or his own course.” Miss Euclid went away to pass a sleepless, unhappy night. At the end of the week from the interview with the priest Miss Smiling had resolved. For the first moment since her lover's assassination she felt some relief. But there was a sore trial lying between her and “The Veil.” She felt it deeply. It was the effect the communication might have on her parents. But, they were not bearing her burden. They were not crushed. Their hearts did not need what hers must have or break. The day she resolved, after her father went to Wall street, she went to her mother and informed her of her purpose. The mother wept, and took her daughter in her arms. The whole story was told, the daughter's state of feeling, and the necessity for relief. The mother pleaded, but in vain. She at last began to see that her daughter's feelings, as well as her own, should be considered. After an hour's interview, in which the mother was deeply, painfully affected, the daughter returned to her chamber. After dinner, at which the daughter did not appear, her father entered her room in an excited manner. He was alarmed. His wife had told him of his daughter's intention. He sum- moned all the tact and caution at his command, to meet what he knew to be a resolute opponent. “Daughter,” he said as gently as he knew how, “are you feeling better to-day ?” “Yes, father, I feel better than I have since—since my attack.” “I’m very glad to hear it, I hope you’ll improve steady from this on. I think a trip to Eurup will mend you entirely. Would you like to go this summer ?” “No, father ; I have been over the continent. It has no attraction for me. Besides, I have taken my last journey. My next one will be when I am taken never to return.” • , 41 Ó £7 (77 OCRAC V. “What do you mean, daughter 2 I don't understand.” “I am glad you came up. I intended to seek an interview with you. I will explain. Please sit down by me. You know the cause of my illness, do you not * * “I can't say I do. The doctor didn’t know,” he answered evasively. “Then, as you do not know, I beg you to listen to me pa- tiently, calmly. You know, I have always been a dutiful child. In all our variance of opinions, I have been respectful and obedient. That difference has been on one subject only. On it we could not—never will agree. Your views are fixed, so are mine ; I trust that you know my persistence grew out of my sense of duty. But, no more of that. “You remember George Otis, my schoolmate. I became attached to him when we were children. We separated and for twelve years I did not see him. But I watched his career, saw it in the public prints, and my admiration and attachment grew with years. - “You told me you were present at the meeting held at Mr. Clinkers' home.” (The father moved, uneasy, in his chair.) “I heard of a threat made by some one in that meeting against Mr. Otis. I feared he was in peril and I informed him. He called to see me during my visit to Miss Weathersbee. That was followed by a letter correspondence ; and several weeks after we became engaged.” “You engaged to George Otis, daughter ’’ exclaimed the father, rising to his feet. “Why—why—” “Father please be seated and hear me calmly. What I shall say may give you pain, but I do not so intend. What I say is from my wish that you know the reasons for the course I have determined to take.” - “Your mother says you talk about going into the Catholic Church.” “Father, let me proceed, please. Conclusions should fol- low, and not go before, reasons. Let us be logical, even in an hour so trying as this. You express wonder at my engagement. That is because you look at it from your standpoint. Your objection was his poverty. But let us not speak of that, Yes, we were to be married. He was my ideal man. I loved him with a devotion that rendered secondary everything else on earth. And, when that—that blow conceived in that meet- ing fell on him, it shattered your daughter's heart.” (Miss Smiling's voice almost gave way under her strong emotion.) TÉÉ ZAST /AV7 ER WIAE W. 4ii “Had he gone in the course of nature, it would have been terrible, but his cruel assassination by brutal thugs, hired— hired 1–bought by bargain paid the price of blood butch- ered for gold ! Oh, God how can I live, when to live seems like dishonor to his memory 2" The daughter had risen, with her hands raised. She pressed them to her temples. Her eyes looked wild, and her body shook from head to foot. “Daughter daughter | don’t do so. You’ll run me mad ” She sat down trembling and deathly pale. “Oh the heartless, cruel, fiendish, murderous love of money that robbed me of my heart, and left me nothing but hollow life and misery.” The father was pale and trembled. There was much more he feared besides the loss of his child. She knew the secrets of that conspiracy. What if her grief should subside to bitter- ness, then to wrath, then to vengeance 2 He was reasoning again from his own standpoint—from his OWn nature. - - “I am not reproaching you,” she continued. “I know not— do not wish to know—what you said or did.” “I didn't say or do anything, daughter,” he protested. “That gives me some comfort, only because it removes a doubt, and I will say no more of reasons, or feelings, but tell you what in part you already know. I have tried in every way to escape from this woe, but I find it is impossible. My heart is dead—yes—dead and buried. It was murdered by avarice and for money ! It is in the grave. My light is put out, and I am left in the blackness of darkness. There is nothing left to me but burial ; and as the world is nothing to me now, I intend to leave it—I intend to take the Veil.” - Though the father had heard this from the mother, he had hope until he heard it from lips he never knew to speak an idle word. The words fell on him like a falling house. He felt that the House of Smiling was falling. Its only prop was going. She for whom, unconsciously, he had thought, planned, specu- lated, was about to be lost. His pride was humbled, his love wounded, his ambition aimless, What were his millions now 2 Why had he not heeded that gentle, pleading, warning voice now trembling and choked by anguish and despair He rose in all his strength to meet the dreadful issue, to prop, to save the falling House. - “My child, don't grieve your father by talking in that way ! 412 PLU 7'OCRACY. You are all I have I’ve worked hard these many years—all for you ! I have millions to give you when I'm gone, you can have 'em now, if you want 'em.” He had knelt by her and was Speaking in a pleading tone. She interrupted him to break the mercenary thought. “Father, I have had all the money I ever wished, and I have given it to the hungry and naked, but—” “Take more, daughter, and give to them ’’ “It is too late, father, to speak of that. Only two short months ago I would, but not now. I leave you to give to them what you would give to me. Excuse me, father, for saying, much of it was taken from the poor—the widow and the orphan ––and it is meet that you return it to them. I do not want it.” The earth quaked beneath the House of Smiling. He felt the throe. It was tottering. One idol was in peril. The hands of the idolater were clutching both, one in each hand. Should he throw away one to save the other ? No he would part with neither. The words, “I do not want it,” so sadly but firmly spoken, smote his stony heart and, for the first time in thirty years, he wept—wept bitterly—wept aloud. “My God My darling child ! will you crush your poor old father ? My heart is breaking ! What can I say—what shall I do to keep you from leaving me forsaken in my old age P’’ The daughter threw her quivering arms around his neck, and prayed for mercy—for tears. After a minute she raised her head, and taking his right hand in hers, and looking up- ward, her eyes dry and stony, she moaned out : “Oh, father How often have I pleaded against the cause of this calamity But how little did I dream the monster would one day reach down into a den of thugs to get an iron club to crush my breast ! It's I that's crushed—not you—I am the forsaken Oh it's too late—too late my heart is break- ing. Oh that I could weep—'twould ease this pain Lord have mer—” The word was not finished. The daughter clasped her left breast, sprang to her feet, gasping, and the broken idol fell at the feet of the idolater. Grief had opened the prison door and freed the spirit that “entered into the Veil”—into the Great White Temple. CHAPTER FORTY-NINTH. THE TRIAL ON HEIRSHIP. GEORGE HAMPTON and his sister went early the next day after their happy reunion to see their mother and little Lucy. They climbed the many stairs and knocked at the door. As Mrs. Hampton opened it, Eugenia rushed in, clasped her, kissed her, fell on her knees weeping and begging forgiveness for her long, undutiful absence. George followed, but was not recognized at first. His mother fell on his neck, with one arm around Eugenia, and weeping aloud, thanked her God for his goodness in restoring her long-lost children. It was the first happy moment she had had since Eugenia eloped with Weaver. - Little Lucy stood amazed, but only for a few seconds, for Eugenia turned and took her in her arms, for the first time in her life—called her “sister,” and almost smothered her with demon- strations of love. George soon turned and lifted her to his broad chest, and caressed her with the tenderest affection. The day was spent in narration by each one of his and her experience during the long separation. George at once resolved to gather the family under one roof and into comfortable apartments. That was to be his work the next day. As he looked around at his mother's room and saw the evidence of her poverty, he felt the strongest self- reproach for his long absence, for not coming East years before in search of her. But how would he have felt, had he seen that room and her circumstances, the first day Miss Smiling saw them 2 The next day George rented a comfortable little house on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth street, East ; bought neat furniture and within a week had it ready for occupation. All the little household property of his mother, except the pieces given by her friend, Miss Smiling, were given to a give shelter to Crazy Points and his little child, Grace. As soon as the mother, three children and grandchild, George, were comfortably settled in their new home, Mr. Play- fair, called and escorted Miss Euclid to make a visit to them. } $ t | { 4I4 AZ U 7'OCRAC V. When Mrs. Hampton entered the parlor and was introduced by Mr. Playfair to Miss Euclid, she embraced her and began to weep. - “My child,” she said. “I know you are my brother's child. I want no other proof. You are the twin resemblance to Eu- genia as she was fourteen years ago.” Mr. Playfair instantly recalled the brutal speech of John Weaver to Miss Smiling at the Diamond Ball. As he knew the history of Eugenia, he saw that Weaver had taken Miss Euclid for her, or more correctly, for his own wife. Miss Euclid also recalled the speech, but being ignorant of her cousin's history, she did not understand its brutal meaning. He looked at the cousins as they conversed, and could see no difference in size, features, hair, expression, except what time and sorrow had worked in the lines of one's face, and in the few silver strands in her rich brown hair. After a delightful chat for several hours, Miss Euclid said she must go to her household duties. The happy group broke up and Mr. Playfair escorted the newly found cousin to her place of sojourn—Mr. Clinkers'—saying to her many sweet and precious words. . Frequent were the unions of the Hamptons, their cousin and Mr. Playfair under the roof of that now happy home. George bought a piano. The cousins were both fine musicians, and Mr. Playfair had a good tenor voice. Time went by with tink- ling bells, while Mr. Playfair was detained in New York prepar- ing his case and waiting for the day set for the Surrogate to hear it. The claim of heirship became public. There was a stir— indignation—among the plutocratic friends of the Weaver family. “The idea of them poor trash setting themselves up to get all the millions of good old Mr. Weaver ! Whoever heard of such a thing 2 And the boy an illegitimate at that, and no kin whatever to the Weavers | It's an outrage on Society . " The friends of the Weavers entered the fight to protect Society—that is, themselves—from such an outrage. They scoured the country to find heirs to the estate. They advertised for heirs, claimants, to come forward. A number came, cousins, nieces and nephews, never before heard of, who said they could prove kinship. The day for the hearing soon came. The death of William Weaver and wife was admitted. It was necessary to establish, first, the death of John Weaver the only child, and, Second, the 7A7A, 7A*/A Z OAV AIAEAA’SAE/ZA'. 4I5 heirship of the claimant, young George Weaver. Mr. Playfair summoned Mr. Tump to prove the first. When the subpoena was served on Tump, he jumped up from his office chair and skipped around the room with his hands on his stomach, groan- ing, as if he had a griping colic. “Oh ! this thing will be the death of me yet ! Photographs Rings | For pity's sake let me out o' this Why, sir, just look at my head looks like parchment a thousand years old full of holes, gullies and cracks I’ve talked a whole Astor Library explaining—explain- ing—and this thing ain't done yet ! Can't you let me skip— get out o' this, some way ?” The sheriff told him he would be fined for contempt and put in jail, if he did not go and testify. Mr. Tump not having seen the “thing ” in that light, submitted, but made the sheriff promise to stand by him. When Tump was sworn as a witness, and was asked : “Did you know John Weaver, son of the intestate, William Weaver, the millionaire 2 ” he looked around at the sheriff to stand by him, and answered : “Yes, but I swear I had nothing to do with the photograph or ring, Judge ” “Never mind about the photograph and ring,” said Mr. Playfair. “Is John Weaver alive or dead 2 ” “Alive Why mercy on his soul, he's as dead as last-year flies Dead as my scalp, Judge l’’ “How did he die P’’ asked Mr. Playfair. “Died from a photograph But I’d nothing to do with it. I never gave a woman my photo in my life I swear to that, most positive l’’ º “In what manner did he die 2 " asked the lawyer. “O-o-o-h That's what you mean He was killed in a duel, in hell ! I saw it with my own eyes, Judge ” “What l” roared the Surrogate with a scowl. - “I mean, Judge, I was so frightened, I thought the whole place was as bad as the ‘Bad Place —-that's all. The duel was in Arizona. I didn't see the photograph—” “That will do, Mr. Tump,” said the lawyer, and Mr. Tump, attended by the sheriff to the door, left in double quick. Mr. Playfair then proved by the registry book of the village hotel the entry of “John Weaver and wife ; ” proved the hand- writing to be Weaver's ; proved by the keeper of the hotel the identity of Eugenia, and the woman who was with Weaver as his wife ; proved by Mrs. Thornton and a dozen other females that 416 AZ U 7'OCAEAC V. the claimant was Eugenia's son, and was born nine months and four days after the date of the entry on the registry. With that proof he closed his case. He knew he would have a fearful con- test ; that thieves and blackmailers would not let even John Weaver, if alive, get an estate of millions, if perjury could pre- vent him. He knew the history of Will cases in New York; that every caveat begins with the invisible prayer, “Buy me off,” and usually ends with the public announcement, “Bought off.” The Cousins, nieces and nephews made a concerted attack. They offered to prove that the mother of George Weaver was a vile character. The Surrogate checked that assault by saying the question was the heirship of the child, not the character of his mother. George Hampton was almost blue from rage. Playfair told him to be quiet. The second mother, Mrs. Thorn- ton, could not hold in. She called them “a pack of thieves.” The next point of attack was, that the claimant was not Eugenia's child. They introduced witnesses no one knew, or had ever heard of, who swore Eugenia's child was stolen when a babe, and another (the claimant) left in the cradle as her child. One woman swore she stole the child when three months of age. Playfair was prepared for the attack. He proved by at least twenty women that they saw the claimant when not a month old, and he had a “strawberry mark ’’ on his left shoulder. The claimant was stripped and the mark was exhibited. The woman (witness) then swore that her child had a like mark. She was asked by Playfair if her child had any other mark at his birth. She said “no.” Playfair then proved by the same witnesses that the claimant at his birth had a “liver '' mark inside his left knee. The mark was shown to the Court. The next attack was on the claimant's paternity—that he was not John Weaver's child. The “Buy-me-offs' introduced a beastly looking villain, who swore to a Scandalous state of facts, the date of which he set as a day before the date in the hotel registry. George Hampton sprang to his feet with an oath and rushed at the witness Playfair caught at him, but he was out of reach at the first bound. The sheriff and three others arrested and held him. The Surrogate was about to send him to jail, but being told he was the brother of the woman whose character had been So brutally assailed, the Surrogate's sympathy was aroused, and he requested Hampton, kindly, to sit down and be quiet. On that evidence of the “Buy-me-offs,” the Surrogate ruled *- 7THE 7'R/A/ OAV HEMA’SAE//A. 4I 7 that marriage being proved, the law presumes legitimacy unless incontestably controverted. The assailant's lawyers then made their final onslaught. It was to disprove the marriage which rested on the genuineness of the registry, and testimony of the proprietor of the hotel. They introduced witness after witness, who swore they knew John Weaver's handwriting ; that the entry of “John Weaver and wife " was not in his handwriting ; that they saw the woman who was with Weaver at the hotel; that Eugenia Hampton Weaver, then in court, was not that woman ; and that they would not believe the proprietor of the hotel on oath. Mr. Playfair was not prepared for this assault. He asked for a postponement for two days. The Surrogate granted it against the fiercest opposition. Mr. Playfair promised five thousand dollars to five detectives to find Out who the men were that had sworn against the handwriting and the character of the proprietor. He sent the proprietor home by the first train to bring at least fifty neighbors to prove his credibility. One of the detectives, after taking a description of each witness, said he thought he could tell who they were ; that he thought the offer very small, but as his sympathies were pro- foundly moved—in fact, painfully so—though he was not per- mitted by the rules of the profession to deluge the floor with his grief, still he would undertake the job for five thousand dollars. After Mr. Playfair left, he told the other detect- ives who the men were, but that he could not possibly be present at court to testify. He would be busy at that very hour on a heavy divorce—“fat fees—money no object.” When court convened, Mr. Playfair first proved by fifty respectable, well-known men, the high character of the proprie- tor of the hotel. He then called one of the detectives, who testified : - “That man sitting there, who assailed Mrs. Weaver's character two days ago, is called ‘Blink.” He was in Sing Sing for burglary at the time he says he was with Mrs. Weaver. The other three men sitting on Blink's right are called “Lone Jack,” ‘Cap,' and ‘Slug.” At the date they said they saw the woman with John Weaver, Slug was in Sing Sing for manslaughter, and Cap and Lone Jack were in the penitentiary in Vermont. The four are the murderers of young George Otis, and I have war- rants in my pocket for their arrest.” The proof being complete, and the Surrogate being con- vinced the contestants were pretenders and their witnesses 27 4.18 - ** AZ U 7'OCAEAC V. suborned, judgment was given pronouncing George Weaver the heir. The mother desired her brother to be guardian for her son, but he refused, solely on the ground that as John Weaver fell by his hand, he would never have or handle a dollar of the eState. - When young Weaver entered the family of millionaires, those who had fought his heirship so lustily, changed front instantly, and Mr. Clinkers and Mr. Ferrum became sureties on the guardian's bond. Possession of the whole estate was taken at once. The Hamptons refused to live in the mansion once occupied by the Weavers. They sold it and the Lowell mills and invested in real estate. - - Mrs. Weaver insisted that her cousin should leave Mrs. Clinkers and become a permanent member of the Hampton family, and that her second mother should share her hom until death should claim her. - It was not so easy to secure the presence of Miss Euclid as was at first supposed. What was in the way? Miss Euclid's refusal 2 No, she was rejoiced to go. But she could not leave her shadow ; that is, her shadow was not willing to be left. She knew that. It required no trial to convince her. What Tobe content in that dungeon—and his sun forever gone ! It would break his heart—and Miss Euclid knew it. She would go, but she could not go and crush the life of her poor, pitiable, clinging, devoted boy. Miss Euclid made known to Mrs. Clinkers her intention to go. Good Mrs. Clinkers, always amiable and kind-hearted, expressed sincere regret at parting, and wished her young friend, of whom she had grown very fond, all blessings and happiness. But, when Miss Euclid mentioned her desire to have Tobe, Mrs. Clinkers demurred. Miss Euclid spoke of Tobe's devotion and of her fear of the effect on him of her de- parture. She said, she did not wish to take him, she was think- ing only of his happiness. Mrs. Clinkers could not think so, and to test the matter, she called Tobe into the room and told him that Miss Euclid was thinking of leaving them. She was soon convinced. The effect was instantaneous—the evidence overwhelming. Tobe sank to the floor, crying : “Miss Vassar ! you won't leave me, will you ? Aunt don’t let her go let me go / It'll kill me ! I don't want to live if she leaves me !” . - The eyes of the two ladies filled with tears. Mrs. Clinkers was choked with grief. She muttered out : * 7A/AE 7TRZAZ OAV AZAZZ RSA IAE’. 4 IQ “There, there, Tobe Don’t cry I guess she won't go. Go on to the kitchen.” Tobe withdrew sobbing and wiping his eyes. The kind, gentle aunt was greatly distressed. It was hard to give up her kin, but it would be cruel to make him suffer. A conference with her husband resulted in a decision to let Tobe go for awhile, as he would probably get Over his attachment and be willing to return. Not so, kind aunt. You were kind but not sympathetic. You had not treated your blood as he deserved. You were good natured, it is true, but like Martha of old you were “troubled about many things,” and Tobe's welfare was not one of them. You followed Mr. Clinkers. Mr. Clinkers followed the market, and the market kept moving. The wage-girl - the big hearted, sympathetic, gentle, educated stranger, without effort or intention, had won the heart of your kin. She was a stranger in blood, but a kinswoman in mood. What if she did call Tobe a “rhomboid,” a “scalene triangle,” a “parallelo- pipedon,” a “craft without compass or ballast,” a “Pope's head,” “my Prince Albert " ? What if she would call him her “scare- crow, * stick feathers in his bristling red hair, paint his cheeks red, black his face with burnt Cork and make him march around the room with a broom, in quick time, while she whistled a slow dirge ; and cut a Small apple in two, put the halves in his cheeks, make him say “plums, prunes and prisms,” while she would laugh until she wept her eyes red 2 It was all done in such a cheery, captivating manner that she was every hour winning the boy's heart, never to be lost. CHAPTER FIFTIETFH. AIDIEU. MR. PLAYFAIR received as his fee for establishing the heir- ship, five per cent. of the estate. He was at once a millionaire. He had as much of this world's goods as he desired. There was but one other possession he needed to make him happy. He already had the promise, he now set to work to hasten the possession. It was the hand of the wage-girl. He begged her to set the day as Soon as possible, and as no reason for delay existed, she appointed the anniversary of her birth, which was but a month off. Mrs. Clinkers, when told of the coming nuptials, conferred with her husband on the advisability of a handsome wedding gift. He thought a couple of napkin-rings would “just fill the bill.” She thought, as Miss Fuclid would be a millionaire's wife, they could strain a point, and give a costlier present— say a set of table silverware, triple plated. As Mr. Clinkers had just “made a turn in the market ’’ of two hundred thousand dollars and felt unusually liberal, he gave in to the wiſe's selection. The expected marriage of Mr. Playfair and Miss Euclid set Gotham Society wild. All the twaddle about the wage-girl was repeated. But, when it was published that the groom was a millionaire, every tongue rang, or ran, in praise of “the brill- iant, accomplished, beautiful Miss Euclid, who had just emerged from Vassar College with its highest honors.” While the events just described were passing into history, Mrs. Lagér was still held in the lunatic asylum. The superin- tendent had pronounced her hopelessly insane. She had not a lucid interval. She had a marked disgust for chicken salad —why, no one could tell. A visitor one day in passing her re- marked that she was a millionaire. For the first time in months she gave attention. The superintendent noticing her, repeated the word “millionaire.” She stopped and listened. He re- peated it again, and she inquired “who is a millionaire P’’ and seemed to be deeply interested. He reported the facts to the physician in charge, who at once conceived an experiment for her restoration to Sanity and Society. A DZZ U. 42 I He reasoned that, as her malady started from seeing a wage- girl kiss the daughter of a millionaire, she could be restored, if she could be made to understand, the girl was not poor, but was a millionaire. The only danger was, if she was told “the wage-girl is a millionaire" in slow speech, she would become a raving maniac on hearing “wage-girl " before the remaining words could be pronounced. But the experiment was worth a trial. She was insane already, and to be a maniac would be very little worse. The physician sent a shrewd man to find the fastest talker in the city. He visited all the sewing societies, the auction houses, Courts, exchanges and magical Soap and razor strap venders, using all the time a sportsman's stop-watch. He de- cided in favor of a magical Soap man who could say eight hun- dred words in a minute, in a monotone, without winking or breathing. He was engaged to talk the lunatic back to her SC1) SéS. Her eleven physicians were sent for to advise and assist. The magical soap man began by saying the words from right to left. He engaged her attention by repeating “millionaire" one minute. She was soothed, and evinced great pleasure. He then took up “a millionaire” for a minute. Then “is a millionaire.” She showed delight, and asked “who 2 " He then added “girl’ to the other words, and rattled them off until the old lady smiled and began to rock and pat her foot. As no two present could hold up half her weight, the physi- cians had seated her, so, if she fainted, she would not fall. The critical moment had come. The physicians stood breathless. One held a bottle of hartshorn, another a lancet, a third a schooner of beer. The magical soap man was sitting, looking the old lady in the eyes, and running at about seven hundred and ninety words to the minute without blink or wink. The head physician was unfortunately given to slang, and was always shocking the sensibilities of refined people by using it on the most solemn occasions. Even at that Solemn moment he horrified every one present by crying out, “Let her go, Gallagher ’’ and the soap man shouted, “THE WAGE- GIRL Is A MILLION AIRE” in the tenth part of a second. The effect was marvelous. The old lady smiled, nodded and said, “Is she Well, confound ! why didn't you tell me that be- fore ?” Looking around she asked : “Where am I? I ook here ! give me that beer and my traps, and l’ll go home.” Mr. Tommie Shoddy, a few months after the Diamond Ball, 422 AZ U 7'OCRACY. led his “Dearest Porcine" to the altar, and “the twain were made one " His “two intellectual dorgs" were held up in the arms of a lackey to witness the ceremony. The bride led her pug by a silver chain to the altar, gave the little black-nosed darling the first kiss, and then kissed Tommie. The father of the bride (Mr. Haslet) presented her with a check for a mill- ion dollars as her bridal gift. It was suspended from the Chandelier by a gold clasp, and greatly admired. To make it Safe from theft it was made payable to the order of Mrs. Tommie Shoddy only. Mr. and Mrs. Secretary Nonavie retired to private life. He called for heavy appropriations every year to repair his navy. He always said in his report, he felt confident his navy would be in when the wind changed and the tide was flood. When- ever he saw any of the committee on appropriations approach- ing his office, he would gaze wistfully along his nose, through a window, to find his navy. He was just expecting it in. The appropriations came in heavy, yearly, but the navy—never ! It is supposed by nautical experts that the heavy appropriations sunk the navy. They certainly sunk the Secretary and carried down a large part of the public treasury. Mrs. Secretary grew lean and weary in “leading the gay and giddy throng,” called Society. She longed for rest and got it. The second Diamond Ball in honor of Earl Guzzle was the most brilliant ever given in the metropolis, because there were more diamonds. It pacified many of the Outs, but after it was enjoyed, she was again assailed on the wage-girl scandal. That was too bad—after the second Ball. Society would not forgive it. It violated all the proprieties and decency. Mrs. Secretary declined ; she bated, she dwindled, she shrunk into obscurity and passed out. Mr. Nat Banks, when last heard from, was still posing. He did not often appear in public. “IT * was too rare to be made common. When any great occasion required “Its Presence,” he would make a sacrifice and appear. For instance, if patriot- ism reached a low stage, he would come forth, pose a few minutes and raise it to enthusiasm ; or, if a new Bank was opened, he was entreated to be present to enhance the sense of obligation in borrowers by gratitude for “Its Presence ’’ and Its supposed paternity of the Bank. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIRST. THE UNHAPPY SPECULATOR. THE Billion met often to renew the game of whist. The stakes were high, being nothing less than Congress, all Wealth, the Presidency and then, Empire. This was at night. By day, they were wrecking railroads, forming Trusts, pro- ducing strikes, and encouraging charity through the Exchanges, by the large increase of widows and orphans’ homes, and lunatic asylums for fathers and husbands. They were doing a great work—in Charity. Now and then, as they bowled along the streets, they would See an apparition. It was a middle-aged man, very old in form, features and hair, bowed down by woe, leading a little girl in rags by the hand, but throwing fortunes at the feet of every man he met by giving him “Points.” But the ghastly horror was soon forgotten until it appeared again. It was “out of business,” therefore dead ; of no use, for it could not rob a bank, nor steal, and then bet in Plutocracy's faro-banks. But, at the late gatherings of the Billion, there was missing a familiar face. It was the face of Galusha Smiling. He had lost all interest in the game. He did not care to play a hand. A change had come over the spirit of his dreams. In fact, he had ceased to dream. He had waked up—waked up terribly, with a shock—never to dream again. The dream had been so long, So thrilling, so ecstatic, he looked around him for it as he waked. But it was gone—gone like the Spirit of Poesy after crowning Scotia's Ballad Bard—gone never to visit his couch again. But it had not left him alone, however lonely he might be. He had a constant companion—one faithful in attendance, if not in ministering to his wants and joys. It never deserted him by day or night. It was always clothed in Sable—gloomy sable—so black, it was plainly visible in the darkest night. It was ever before him, facing him, waiting for him. Mr. Smiling, after his idol fell, shattered at his feet, did not go to Wall street within two weeks. He was looking around to get his bearings. He had time to think. He tried to reason 424. AZ U 7'OCRAC V. himself out of his grief. Without knowing he was “quoting Scripture " (for he knew as little of it as of astronomy), he thought, “‘it is appointed unto men once to die,” then why grieve so much for her ?" The sable minister would answer the question by staring him in the eyes—motionless until he moved. He went to Wall street—talked with brokers on business, but the black imp stood between them with its stare fixed on him. He engaged in speculation once—only once. He expected relief from it, but it came not. He traveled to escape it, but when he sat in the palace car, the faithful attendant stood before him black as ink. It would speak to him, so no one but him- self could hear. It would assume the voice of Ferrum in the meeting and repeat “I’ll take care of him ' " It would then, in the voice of his dead idol, plead with him for the poor—for the widow and orphan. It would assume her shape, her sweet, sad Smile, and in her voice and tones, beseech him not to drive beggars and paupers from his door not to rob the widows in that Exchange of their pittance not to make an idol, a God, of money. Then, it would draw the sable covering round it and, silent, motionless —until he moved, stare him in the eyes. It would assume the figure of young Otis with temple crushed -—ligature around its neck—tongue hanging out. Then, again, it was his daughter standing before him, her body quivering, her face pale as death, eyes hollow, dry, Stony ; then utter a cry of agony, clasp its left side and fall at his feet. He would shut his eyes ; the daughter was gone, but the black figure was there motionless and staring at him. He would rave and strike out at it. His hand, or his cane, would go through it— and it stood as before. If he drove to Wall street, the black attendant kept pace and was at either window of his coupé. It would change sides as quick as he could glance from one win- dow to the other. Mrs. Smiling saw that her husband was losing flesh, looking pale and haggard. His physician was called in. He dis- covered no disease, but saw great change. He prescribed travel, diversion. Both had been tried and neither brought relief. The physician did not know a tithe of what his patient l; new of his own disease. He did not know of the meeting of the Billion ; of George Otis ; of the many appeals made by the daughter for many years. He did not know that the father felt he was accessory to his daughter's death. He did not know of the stab she gave her father to his heart, as she fell ; 7:HE UNHAPPY SPECULA TOR. 425 “Your money was taken from widows and orphans—I do not want it.” His remedy was idle. Why did he not prescribe Money Where were Comfort, Luxury and Power all that time Why were they not doing their duty 2 Why did they not amuse, entertain, divert their master P Why were the king's jesters not called into his royal chamber 2 Why did they not spring out and drive away that sable demon that was staring their master to death P Why did not those other millions of slaves he owned and had at work in mills and mines and banks, rise and rush to his rescue 2 They had come. Did he not order out Comfort, Luxury and Power as soon as Greenwood Cemetery took from him—hid away forever—his second idol 2 Did he not then call out under arms all his legions 2 He did, and they fled at the sight of the sable monster. He tried again and again to rally them, but they refused to serve. The doctor's patient grew worse under his eyes. He walked the floor day and night. His period of sleep grew less every night. He was rapidly becoming the victim of insomnia. His appetite was failing. His clothes hung loose on him. Some nights he would not undress. He would walk until a late hour to get fatigued, then throw himself on a lounge and sleep till daylight. He dreaded to see the dawn, as it was but the edge of a dreary waste—a fiery desert—he had to tread until stopped, relieved by sleep. In this condition he started one day to Wall street. Driving along Broadway, his brain overwrought by want of rest and sleep, the sable attendant staring through the window at him, or from the seat in front, he attracted a hundred gazes by crying out, “Go 'way, you black devil l’” It was the first time he had given way in public to the power of his malady. He turned back and went to bed. The driver, John, told 1Mrs. Smiling of the incident on Broadway. His wife sent for the physician and told him. He conversed awhile with the patient, then said he would call again in a few minutes. That was to get out to speak to Mrs. Smiling. He told her to tell the faithful servant John to remain in the sick chamber ; that “the symptoms were not favorable,” putting it as gently as he could to the distressed wife. Several days wore away, or rather, wore away the patient. He had lost all appetite, insomnia had increased, and he was looking yet more pale, thin and haggard. By that time another attendant appeared. 426 AZU 7 OCRAC V. “John ” he cried out, “what are you dressed in black for, staring at me 2 Get out and change your clothes 1’’ “I am not dressed in black, sir. Don't you see I have on gray clothes 2 Look please, sir,” said John, as he walked to the side of the bed. “Look there ! Don't you see another black devil standing by tºother one It has no eyes | Drive 'em away !” He lay down and closed his eyes. In a few seconds he called : “John Get my vault key, go down and bring me my strong-box.” John Soon brought the box. It was opened, and the mill- ionaire commenced to count his bonds. He laid them on the bed by his side, next to the wall, out of John's reach. He Counted with interest up to twelve millions, when looking up he saw the sable twins very near, as if they were there to Supervise and verify the count. He forgot the bonds and dashed the box at the black twins, with a scream and an oath. The box struck the footboard. John handed it to him at once, and called Mrs. Smiling. She assisted in replacing the bonds, and locking the box, she put it in the wardrobe. The wife sent at once for the physician. Mr. Smiling told John to hand him Comfort, Luxury, Power and Empire. John handed his pantaloons to him. He nervously fumbled until he got out the three coins. He caressed them for a minute or more with trembling hands and voice. “Oh you precious pets Do you love your master | Your sick master | You won't leave me, I know. You've stood by me twenty years I know you won't leave me !” He then counted the coins and called their names—Com- fort, Luxury and Power. Suddenly pausing he looked up and cried out to John, “Where's Empire, you rascal ?” John re- plied, he did not know what he meant. “You liar ! You stole it ! Give it to me ! You lying thief Here's Comfort, Luxury, Power—give me Empire, you dog l’’ Mrs. Smiling tried to convince him he had but the three coins, but he still demanded Empire. The doctor came in, and his thoughts were diverted from the coins. He said : “Oh, doctor doctor I’m so tired—so weak Give me something quick, or I'll die—drive off them devils | There they are—right before you ! Don't you see 'em staring at me —one of 'em blind—no eyes | " “Here, take this, my friend,” said the doctor, handing him a 7A7A2 UAVA/AAA’ V SAE AECULA 7'OA’. 427 dose of two grains of morphine in brandy. He swallowed it, and continued to rave about the black demons. He lay down and closed his eyes—but in a few seconds he sprang up. He called for Mary—his daughter, to come to him. “I’ll give you all I have on earth if you’ll come kiss me—— call me father—forgive me ! Don't forsake your poor old father in this horrible hour.” He was wringing his hands, looking up, as if she were in sight. After that paroxysm he fell back exhausted and pant- 1ng. By that time it was dark. The gas was burning just bright enough for every object in the room to be distinctly seen. His bed stood with the foot towards the two large windows on Fifth avenue. On the left of the room stood a large wardrobe with mirror door of French glass. He soon sat up again. He gazed or glared around at every one in the room, then looking towards the windows he screamed : “Look at 'em staring through the windows Women and children, pale, lean, ghastly, hollow cheeks and eyes; dry, thin lips, hungry looks—skin and bones | Go 'way! you wretches | Take that dead child away ! I know you ! You are the widows and orphans. You lie I haven't got your money. Go to Recker he's got it ! Recker's got it ! He planned the rob- bery He starved your dead child ! I won't give it up ! You shan’t have it !” The three coins were lying on the bed by him. He grabbed them and gripped them like a vise, while shouting to the widows and orphans whose faces filled both windows. His emaciated face was as pale as death. His eyes were as wild as a maniac's. He trembled and gasped for breath. A change came over him suddenly. The sight of the widows and orphans recalled his daughter's last words which he re- peated : “Much of it was taken from the widows and orphans. Give it to them ; I don’t want it.” He shouted ; “Go 'way! I'll give you back all I got. Give me my box—I’ll give it to ou.” The doctor thought his mind might be relieved if he imagined he had made restitution to those he had robbed. He told the wife to get the box. The husband was crying for it and gazing at the windows. Mrs. Smiling pulled back the door to the wardrobe. As it swung back Mr. Smiling got full view of him- self in the mirror. He imagined the image was Death. He 428 - - AZU 7'OCRACY. cried with a wild scream, “DEATH ! DEATH !” and summon- . ing every energy of soul and body for the combat, he hurled Comfort, Luxury and Power at his foe. 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