UNIVERSITY 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 5488
 
 TIN-TYPES
 
 TIN-TYPES 
 
 TAKEN IN 
 
 THE STREETS OF NEW YORK 
 
 A SERIES OF STORIES AND SKETCHES 
 
 PORTRAYING MANY SINGULAR PHASES 
 
 OF METROPOLITAN LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 LEMUEL ELY QUIGG 
 
 With Fifty -three Illustrations by Harry Beard 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 
 1890, 
 
 By O. M. DUNHAM, 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 Press W. L. Mershon & Co., 
 Rahway, N. J.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. MR. RlCKETTY, ! 
 
 II. MR. JAYRES, 20 
 
 III. BLUDOFFSKI, 43 
 
 IV. MAGGIE 65 
 
 V. THE HON. DOYLE O'MEAGHER, ... 87 
 
 VI. THE SAME (concluded} 107 
 
 VII. MR. GALLIVANT 126 
 
 VIII. TULITZ 148 
 
 IX. MR. McCAFFERTY I/O 
 
 X. MR. MADDLEDOCK, ..... 189 
 
 XT. MR. WRANGLER 211 
 
 XII. MR CINCH 242 
 
 XIII. GRANDMOTHER CRUNCHER, . . .271
 
 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 i. 
 
 MR. RICKETTY. 
 
 MR. RICKETTY is composed of angles. 
 From his high silk hat worn into dulness, 
 through his black frock coat worn into bright 
 ness, along each leg of his broad-checked trow- 
 sers worn into rustiness, down into his flat, 
 multi-patched boots, he is a long series of unre 
 lieved angles. 
 
 Tipped on the back of his head, but well 
 down over it, he wears an antique high hat, 
 which has assumed that patient, resigned ex 
 pression occasionally to be observed in the face 
 of some venerable mule, which, having long and 
 hopelessly struggled to free herself of a despic 
 able bondage, at last bows submissively to the 
 inevitable and trudges bravely on till she dies 
 in her tracks. 
 
 Everything about Mr. Ricketty, indeed, ap 
 pears to have an individual expression. His 
 I
 
 2 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 heavily lined, indented brow comes out in a 
 sharp angle over his snappy black eyes, which, 
 sunk far within their sockets, look just like 
 black beans in an elsewise empty eggshell. 
 
 His nose is sharp, thin, pendent, and exceed 
 ingly ample in its proportions, and it comes 
 inquiringly out from his face as if employed by 
 the rest of his features as a sort of picket sen 
 tinel. 
 
 It is that uncommonly knowing nose to 
 which the prudent observer of Mr. Ricketty 
 would give his closest attention. He would 
 look at the acute interior angle which it formed 
 at the eyes, and think it much too acute to be 
 pleasant and much too interior to be pretty. 
 He would look at the obtuse exterior angle 
 which it formed on its bridge, and wonder how 
 any humane parent could have permitted such 
 a development to grow before his very eyes 
 when by one quick and dexterous strike with 
 a flat-iron it might have been remedied. He 
 would look at the angle of incidence made by 
 the sun's rays on one side of his nose and then 
 at the angle of reflection on the other, and find 
 himself lost in amazement that anything so 
 thin could produce so dark a shadow. 
 
 It is a most uncomfortable nose. It had a 
 way of hanging protectingly over his heavy 
 dark-brown mustache, which, in its turn, hangs
 
 MR. RICKETTY.
 
 4 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 protectingly over his thin, wide lips, so as to 
 make it disagreeably certain that they can 
 open and shut, laugh, snap, and sneer without 
 any one being the wiser. 
 
 Upon lines almost parallel with those of his 
 nose, his sharp chin extends out and down, 
 fitting by means of another angle upon his 
 long neck, wherein his Adam's apple, like the 
 corner of a cube, wanders up and down at ran 
 dom. Under his side-whiskers the outlines of 
 his square jaws are faintly to be traced, hold 
 ing in position a pair of hollow cheeks that end 
 directly under his eyes in a little knob of 
 ruddy flesh. 
 
 Mr. Ricketty is walking along the Bowery. 
 His step is light and easy, and an air pervades 
 him betokening peace and serenity of mind. 
 In one hand he carries a short rattan stick, 
 which he twirls in his fingers carelessly. His 
 little black eyes travel further and faster than 
 his legs, and rove up and down and across the 
 Bowery ceaselessly. He stops in front of a 
 building devoted, according to the signs spread 
 numerously about it, to a variety of trade. 
 
 The fifth floor is occupied by a photog 
 rapher, the fourth by a dealer in picture frames, 
 the third and the second are let out for of 
 fices. Over the first hangs the gilded symbol 
 of the three balls and the further information,
 
 TIN-TYPES. 5 
 
 lettered on a signboard, "Isaac Buxbaum, 
 Money to Loan." The basement is given over 
 to a restaurant-keeper whose identity is fixed 
 by the testimony of another signboard, bearing 
 the two words, "Butter-cake Bob's." Mr. Rick- 
 etty's little black eyes wander for an instant 
 up and down the front of the building, and 
 then he trips lightly down the basement steps 
 into the restaurant. 
 
 A score or more of small tables fastened 
 securely to the floor for many, as Bob often 
 said, "comes here deep in liquor an' can't tell 
 a white-pine table from a black felt hat" were 
 disposed about the room at measured distances 
 from each other, equipped with four short- 
 legged stools, a set of casters, and a jar of sugar, 
 all so firmly fixed as to baffle both cupidity and 
 nervousness. On walls, posts, and pillars were 
 hung a number of allusions to the variety and 
 excellence of Bob's larder. 
 
 It was represented that coffee and cakes 
 could be obtained for the trifling sum of ten 
 cents, that corned-beef hash was a specialty, 
 and that as for Bob's chicken soup it was the 
 best in the Bowery. Apparently attracted by 
 this statement, Mr. Ricketty sat down, and 
 intimated to a large young man who presented 
 himself that he was willing to try the chicken 
 soup together with a cup of coffee.
 
 6 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 The young man lifted his head and shouted 
 vociferously toward the ceiling, "Chicken in 
 de bowl, draw one !" 
 
 "My friend," said Mr. Ricketty, "what a 
 noble pair of lungs you've got and what a fine 
 quality of voice." 
 
 The young man grinned cheerfully. 
 
 "I am tempted to lavish a cigar on you," 
 continued Mr. Ricketty, "in token of my 
 regard for those lungs. A cigar represents to 
 me a large amount of capital, but it shall all 
 be yours if you'll just step upstairs and see if 
 my old friend, Ike Buxbaum, is in." 
 
 "He aint in," said the waiter. 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "I jist seen him goin' down de street." 
 
 "Who runs his business when he adjourns to 
 the street." 
 
 "Dunno. Guess it's his wife." 
 
 "Aha! the beauteous Becky?" 
 
 "I dunno ; I've seen a woman in dere." 
 
 "You're sure Ike has gone off, are you?" 
 
 "Didn't I say I seen him?" 
 
 "True. I am answered. My friend, there's 
 the cigar. There, too, are the fifteen cents 
 wherewith to pay for my frugal luncheon. 
 Look upon the luncheon when it comes 
 as yours. I bethink me of an immediate en 
 gagement," and rising abruptly Mr. Ricketty
 
 CHICKEN IN DE BOWL, DRAW ONE !
 
 8 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 hastened out of the restaurant into the 
 street. 
 
 He glanced quickly through the pawnshop 
 window and made out the figure of a woman 
 standing within among the shadows. He ad 
 justed his hat to his head and a winsome smile 
 to his countenance, and entered. 
 
 "Good-morning !" he said, breezily, to the 
 young woman who came forward, "where 's 
 Ike?" 
 
 "Gone out," she answered, looking him over 
 carefully. 
 
 "Tut, tut, tut," said Mr. Ricketty, as if utterly 
 annoyed and disappointed. "That's too bad. 
 Will he be gone long?" 
 
 "All the morning." 
 
 "Will he now? Well, I'll call again," and 
 Mr. Ricketty started for the door. He stopped 
 when he had gone a step or two, however, and, 
 wheeling about, looked earnestly at Becky. 
 
 "Let me see," he said, "you must be Ike's 
 wife. You must be the fair and radiant Becky. 
 There's no doubt of it, not the least, now, is 
 there?" 
 
 "Well, what if there aint?" said Becky, 
 coolly. 
 
 "Why if there aint you ought to know me. 
 You ought to have heard Ike speaking of his 
 friend Ricketty. You ought to have heard
 
 TIN-TYPES. 9 
 
 him telling of what a good-for-nothing old fool 
 I am. If you are Becky, then you and I are 
 old friends." 
 
 "S'posin' we be," said Becky, "what then?" 
 
 "To be sure," Mr. Ricketty replied, "what 
 then? Then, Becky, fair daughter of Israel, 
 I've a treasure for you. I always lay my treas 
 ure at the feet of my friends. This may not 
 be wise ; it may not be the way to grow rich ; 
 but it is Steve Ricketty 's way, and he can't 
 help it. I have a treasure here now for you. 
 It has taken months of suffering and sorrow to 
 induce me to part with it. Around it cluster 
 memories of other and brighter days. Look !" 
 
 Mr. Ricketty produced a string of large and 
 beautiful pearls. They were evidently of the 
 very finest quality, and Becky's black eyes 
 sparkled as she caught their radiance. 
 
 "See," said Mr. Ricketty, "see the bedaz 
 zling heirloom. Full oft, sweet Jewess, have I 
 held it to my bosom, have I bedewed it with 
 my tears " 
 
 "Oh, yes," interrupted Becky, with a satirical 
 smile, "that's what's made the colors so fine, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "Becky, do not taunt me," Mr. Ricketty 
 answered, reproachfully. "This is a sad hour 
 to me. What'll you give for it?" 
 
 "Where did it come from?" asked Becky,
 
 1 6 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 shrewdly. "We like to know what we're doing 
 when we buy pearl necklaces at retail." 
 
 "It was my mother's," replied Mr. Ricketty, 
 touching his handkerchief to his eyes. "When 
 she breathed her last she placed these pearls 
 about my neck. 'Stephen/ she said, 'keep 
 them for my sake.' ' 
 
 Becky hesitated. Not that she was at all 
 impressed with this story of how the necklace 
 came into Mr. Ricketty's possession. She 
 was fully alive to the risk she ran in entering 
 into any bargain with gentlemen of Mr. Rick 
 etty's appearance, but the luster of the pearls 
 burned in Becky's eyes. 
 
 "Well," she said, with a vast assumption of 
 indifference, "I'll give you fifty dollars for 
 them." 
 
 Mr. Ricketty cast forth at her one long, 
 scornful look and then started to go out. 
 
 "Oh, well," she called after him, "I'll be 
 liberal. I'll make it a hundred." 
 
 "No, Becky, you wont. You'll not get that 
 glorious relic for the price of a champagne sup 
 per. I will die. I will take my pearls and go 
 and jump off the bridge, and together we'll 
 float with the turning tide out into the blue sea. 
 Adieu, Rebecca, so beautiful and yet so cold, 
 adieu ! How could Heaven have made thy 
 face so fair, thine eyes so full of light, thy ruddy
 
 TIN-TYPES. it 
 
 lips so merry, but thy heart so hard ! I press 
 thy hand for the last time, fair Rebecca " 
 
 "Well, I like that," cried Becky; "seeing that 
 it's the first. You're very gay for a man of 
 your years, and you'd best keep your fine words 
 for them that wants' em, / don't" ; and Becky 
 withdrew her hand, detaining, however, the 
 pearls within it. 
 
 Becky was not ill-favored. Her black, silky 
 hair, as fine as a Skye terrier's, curled around a 
 comely head. Her complexion was soft and 
 dark, and her figure light and easy in its move 
 ment. These peculiarities, together with her 
 way of fondling the pearls, did not escape Mr. 
 Ricketty's calculating observation. 
 
 "Becky," he began blandly. 
 
 "Who told you to call me 'Becky'?" she 
 angrily demanded. 
 
 "Daughter of Canaan, lend me thine ear, it 
 self as fair as any of these gems of the Southern 
 Sea." 
 
 "Oh, come off!" said Becky. 
 
 "It has cost me many pangs to bring these 
 jewels here 
 
 "And you're going to sell them at so much 
 the pang, I s'pose." 
 
 "For hours together have I walked up and 
 down the Bowery, trying to rouse my feeble 
 courage. But when I would stop under the
 
 12 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 three golden balls, I seemed to see a sneer on 
 every passer's lips. They were all saying, 
 'There goes Steve Ricketty, about to sell his 
 fond mother's pearls.' The thought choked 
 me, Becky, it burned my filial heart." 
 
 "Don't seem as if it did your cheek no 
 harm," observed Becky dryly. 
 
 "But when I saw your face through the win 
 dow there, so beautiful and sympathetic, I said 
 to myself, 'There is a true woman. She will 
 feel for me and my grief.' Suppose we make 
 it two hundred and fifty. Come, Becky, the 
 pearls are yours for two hundred and fifty." 
 
 "I wont." 
 
 "Am I deceived? No, no, it can't be true. 
 I will not believe 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you two 
 hundred to get rid of you." 
 
 Mr. Ricketty picked up a little hand-glass 
 that lay upon the counter and placed it before 
 her face. 
 
 "Look there," he said, "and tell me what it is 
 that makes Rebecca so heartless. Not those 
 lustrous eyes, so frank and warm ; not that " 
 
 "Oh, now, stop that." 
 
 "Not that sensitive, shapely nose 
 
 "Well, I thank goodness it's got no such 
 bulge on it as yours." 
 
 "Not those refined lips, arched like the love-
 
 TJtf- TYPES. 13 
 
 god's bow and many times as dangerous ; not 
 those cheeks those soft peach-tinted cheeks, 
 telling in dainty blushes 
 
 "Oh, six bright stars!" 
 
 "Of a soul pure as a sunbeam " 
 
 "Now, I want you to stop and go 'way. 
 I wont take your old pearls at any price." 
 
 "Not that brow that fair, enameled brow 
 nor yet that creamy throat. Think, sweet 
 Becky, just how these pearls would look 
 clasped with their diamond catch about that 
 creamy throat. I fear to show you lest their 
 luster pale. But yet, I will ! See!" and catch 
 ing up the jewels he threw them about her neck 
 and held the glass steadily before her. 
 
 Becky looked. It was evidently not a new 
 idea to Becky. She had all along been consid 
 ering just the situation Mr. Ricketty pro 
 posed, and when he finally dropped the pearls 
 and struck an attitude of profound admiration, 
 Becky snatched the prize from her neck, slid it 
 into a drawer under the counter, and drew a 
 leather purse from the safe behind her. She 
 had begun to count out the money, when a fig 
 ure passing the window caught her eye. 
 
 "There !" she said sharply. "You've been 
 bothering me so long that Ike's come back, 
 and we've got to go through a scene. Two hun 
 dred and fifty dollars ! It'll break Ike's heart."
 
 14 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Mr. Ricketty snatched the pocketbook from 
 her hands, coolly extracted bills to the amount 
 of two hundred and fifty dollars, returned 
 the book, and whipped out his handkerchief. 
 As the Jew entered he beheld a man leaning 
 against his counter holding a wad of green 
 backs in his hand and sobbing violently. 
 
 Apparently summoning all his resolution, Mr. 
 Ricketty dried his eyes and fervently grasped 
 the money-lender's hand. 
 
 "Ikey, my boy," he said, "I leave my all with 
 you. I go from your door, Ikey, like one who 
 treads alone some banquet hall deserted. I 
 have sold you my birthright, dear boy, for a 
 mess of pottage a mere mess of pottage a 
 paltry two hundred and fifty dollars." 
 
 Ikey turned pale. "Pecky!" he cried, "who 
 vas der fool mans und vat he means apoudt der 
 dwo huntered und feefty tollars, hey?' 
 
 "Well may you call me a fool, Ikey ; I can't 
 deny it. I can't even lift my voice in protest. 
 No man in his sober senses would have sold 
 that necklace of glorious gems for such a mis 
 erable pittance. Here, Ikey, take back your 
 money and give me my pearls." 
 
 He held out the greenbacks with one hand, 
 while with the other he placed his handker 
 chief to his eyes, of which with great dexterity 
 he reserved a considerable corner for the pur-
 
 BECKY.
 
 l6 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 poses of observation. At the same time, 
 Becky, well knowing that she had bought the 
 pearls for a sum which, though probably more 
 than her husband would have consented to 
 give, was still far less than their value, handed 
 him the necklace. 
 
 The pawnbroker looked from money to 
 jewels and from jewels to money with an ex 
 pression of curiously mingled grief and greed. 
 Finally, taking Ricketty by the coat-tails, he 
 dragged him towards the door, saying, "I nefer 
 go pack by anydings vat mine vife does, mees- 
 ter, but ven you haf shewels some more, yust 
 coom along ven I vas der shtore py mineselluf, 
 hey?" 
 
 Mr. Ricketty shook his hand effusively. "I 
 will, Ikey, I will. These women are very un 
 satisfactory to deal with. Au revoir, Ikey! 
 Au revoir, madam !" and bowing with the ut 
 most urbanity to the genial Becky, he strode 
 into the street. 
 
 It was easy to see, as Mr. Ricketty wandered 
 aimlessly down the Bowery, that his humor was 
 entirely amiable. The knobs of ruddy flesh 
 under his twinkling black eyes were encircled 
 by a set of merry wrinkles, and his mustache 
 had expanded far across his face. 
 
 He had gone as far as Canal Street, and was 
 just about to turn the corner, when he heard a
 
 THE PAWNBROKER.
 
 1 8 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 low, chirping sort of whistle. All in a second 
 his face changed its expression. The merry 
 wrinkles melted and his mustache drew itself 
 compactly together. But he did not turn his 
 head or alter his gait. He walked on for sev 
 eral steps until he heard the whistle again, and 
 this time its tone was sharp. He stopped, 
 wheeled around, and encountered two men. 
 
 One of these was a darkly tinted, strongly 
 built man, with big brown eyes, tremendous 
 arms, and an oppressive manner. To him Mr. 
 Ricketty at once addressed himself. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Inspector!" he cried gayly. 
 "I'm amazingly happy to see you. You're 
 looking so well and hearty." 
 
 "Yes, Steve," replied the darkly tinted 
 man, "I'm feeling fairly well, Steve, and how 
 is it with you?" 
 
 "So, so." 
 
 "I haven't happened to meet you recently, 
 Steve." 
 
 "Well, no, Inspector. I've been West, but 
 my brother's death 
 
 "I never knew you had a brother, Steve?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Inspector; and a charming fellow 
 he was. He died last week and " 
 
 "Was he honest, Steve?" 
 
 "As honest as a quart measure." 
 
 "And did he tell the truth?"
 
 TIN-TYPES. 19 
 
 "Like a sun-dial." 
 
 "Then it's an almighty pity he died, for you 
 need that kind of man in your family, Steve." 
 
 Mr. Ricketty closed one of his little black 
 eyes, and drew down the ends of his mustache, 
 but beyond this indirect method of communi 
 cating his thoughts he made no reply to this 
 observation. 
 
 "I suppose you're not contemplating~~a very 
 long stay in the city, Steve?" suggested the In 
 spector. 
 
 "N n no," said Mr. Ricketty. 
 
 "You seem in doubt?" 
 
 "No, I guess I'll return to the West this 
 afternoon." 
 
 "Well, on the whole, I shouldn't wonder if 
 that wouldn't be best. Your brother's estate 
 can be settled up, I fancy, without you?" 
 
 "It aint very large." 
 
 "Well, then, good-by, Steve, and, mind now, 
 this afternoon." 
 
 "All right, Inspector; good-by!" 
 
 As Mr. Ricketty disappeared down Canal 
 Street, the inspector of police turned to his 
 friend and said : "That fellow was a clergyman 
 once, and they say he used to preach brilliant 
 sermons,"
 
 OOTSEY BIGGS was a Boy. From 
 the topmost hair of his shocky head 
 to the nethermost sole of his tough 
 little feet, Bootsey Biggs was a 
 Boy. Bootsey was on his way to business. 
 He had come to his tenement home in 
 Cherry Street, just below Franklin Square, 
 to partake of his noonday meal. He had 
 climbed five flights of tenement-house stairs, 
 equal to about thirty flights of civilized 
 stairs, and procuring the key of his mother's 
 room from Mrs. Maguinness, who lived in the 
 third room beyond, where it was always left 
 when Mrs. Biggs went out to get her papers, 
 he had entered within the four walls that he 
 called his home. 
 
 20
 
 TIN-TYPES. 21 
 
 Spread upon the little pine table that stood 
 in one corner was his luncheon all ready for 
 him, and after clambering into the big dry- 
 goods box originally purchased for a coal-bin, 
 but converted under the stress of a recent 
 emergency into the baby's crib, and after kiss 
 ing and poking and mauling and squeezing the 
 poor little baby into a mild convulsion, Bootsey 
 had gone heartily at work upon his luncheon. 
 
 He was now satisfied. His stomach was full 
 of boiled cabbage, and his soul was full of 
 peace. He clambered back into the dry-goods 
 box and renewed his guileless operations on the 
 baby. By all odds the baby was the most 
 astonishing thing that had ever come under 
 Bootsey's observation, and the only time during 
 which Bootsey was afforded a fair and uninter 
 rupted opportunity of examining the baby 
 was that period of the day which Mr. Jayres, 
 Bootsey's employer, was wont to term "the 
 noonday hour." 
 
 Long before Bootsey came home for his 
 luncheon, Mrs. Biggs was off for her stand in 
 front of "The Sun" building, where she conduct 
 ed a large and, let us hope, a lucrative business 
 in the afternoon newspapers, so that Bootsey 
 and the baby were left to enjoy the fulness of 
 each other's society alone and undisturbed. 
 
 To Bootsey's mind the baby presented a
 
 22 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 great variety of psychological and other prob 
 lems. He wondered what could be the mental 
 operation that caused it to kink its nose in that 
 amazing manner, why it should manifest such 
 a persistent desire to swallow its fist, what 
 could be the particular woe and grievance that 
 suddenly possessed its little soul and moved it 
 to pucker up its mouth and yell as though it 
 saw nothing but despair as its earthly portion? 
 
 Bootsey had debated these and similar ques 
 tions until two beats upon the clock warned him 
 that, even upon the most liberal calculation, 
 the noonday hour must be looked upon as 
 gone. Then he rolled the baby up in one cor 
 ner of the box and started back to the office. 
 
 It was Mr. Absalom Jayres's office to which 
 Bootsey 's way tended, and a peculiarity about 
 it that had impressed both Mr. Jayres and 
 Bootsey was that Bootsey could perform a given 
 distance of which it was the starting-point in 
 at least one-tenth the time required to perform 
 the same distance of which it was the destina 
 tion. This was odd, but true. 
 
 After taking leave of the baby and locking it 
 in, all snugly smothered at the bottom of its 
 dry-goods box, Bootsey delivered the key of 
 the room to Mrs. Maguinness and descended 
 into the court. Here he found two other 
 boys involved in a difficulty. Things had gone
 
 TIN-TYPES. 23 
 
 so far that Bootsey saw it would be a waste of 
 time to try to ascertain the merits of the con 
 troversy his only and obvious duty being to 
 hasten the crisis. 
 
 "Hi! Shunks!" he cried, "O'll betcher Jakey 
 kin lick ye !" 
 
 The rapidity with which this remark was 
 followed by offensive movements on Shunks's 
 part proved how admirably it had been judged. 
 
 "Kin he!" screamed Shunks. "He's nawfin' 
 i>ut a Sheeny two-fer !" 
 
 Jakey needed no further provocation, and 
 with great dexterity he crowded his fists into 
 Shunks's eyes, deposited his head in Shunks's 
 stomach, and was making a meritorious effort to 
 climb upon Shunks's shoulders, when a lordly 
 embodiment of the law's majesty hove grace 
 fully into sight. Bootsey yelled a shrill warn 
 ing, and himself set the example of flight. 
 
 While passing under the Brooklyn Bridge 
 Bootsey met a couple of Chinamen, and 
 moved by a sudden inspiration he grabbed the 
 cue of one of them, and both he and the China 
 man precipitately sat down. Bootsey recovered 
 quickly and in a voice quivering with rage he 
 demanded to know what the Chinaman had 
 done that for. A large crowd immediately 
 assembled and lent its interest to the solution 
 of this question. It was in vain that the China-
 
 HE GRABBED THE CUE OF ONE OF THEM.
 
 TIN-TYPES. 25 
 
 man protested innocence of any aggressive act 
 or thought. The crowd's sympathies were 
 with Bootsey. and when he insisted that the 
 Mongol had tangled him up in his pig-tail, the 
 aroused populace with great difficulty restrained 
 its desire to demolish the amazed heathens. 
 At last, however, they were permitted to go, 
 followed by a rabble of urchins, and Bootsey 
 proceeded on his way to the office. 
 
 Many other interruptions retarded his prog 
 ress. He had not gone far before he was in 
 vited into a game of ball, and this, of course, 
 could not be neglected. The game ending in a 
 general conflict of the players, caused by Boot- 
 sey's falling on top of another boy, whom he a 
 utterly refused to let up unless it should be 
 admitted that the flattened unfortunate was 
 "out," he issued from the turmoil in time to 
 join in an attack upon a peanut roaster and to 
 avail himself largely of the spoils. Enriched 
 with peanuts, he had got as far as the City Hall 
 Park when a drunken man attracted his atten 
 tion, and he assisted actively in an effort to 
 convince the drunken man that the Mayor's 
 office was the ferry to Weehawken. It was 
 while engaged in giving these disinterested 
 assurances that he felt himself lifted off his 
 feet by a steady pull at his ears, and looking up 
 he beheld Mr. Jayres.
 
 26 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "You unmitigated little rascal!" cried Mr. 
 Jayres, "where've you been?" 
 
 "Nowhere," said Bootsey, in an injured tone. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you to get back promptly?" 
 
 "Aint I a-getting' back?" 
 
 "Aint you a-get whew!" roared Mr. Jayres, 
 with the utmost exasperation, "how I'd like to 
 tan your plaguey little carcass till it was black 
 and blue ! Come on, now," and Mr. Jayres 
 strode angrily ahead. 
 
 Bootsey followed. He offered no reply to 
 this savage expression, but from his safe po 
 sition in the rear he grinned amiably. 
 
 Mr. Jayres was large and dark and dirty. His 
 big fat face, shaped like a dumpling, wore a 
 hard and ugly expression. Small black eyes sat 
 under his low, expansive forehead. His cheeks 
 and chin were supposed to be shaven, and per 
 haps that experience may occasionally have 
 befallen them. His costume was antique. 
 Around his thick neck he wore a soiled choker. 
 His waistcoat was low, and from it protruded 
 the front of a fluted shirt. A dark-blue swal 
 low-tail coat with big buttons and a high collar 
 wrapped his huge body, and over his shoulders 
 hung a heavy mass of black hair, upon which 
 his advanced age had made but a slight impres 
 sion. 
 
 His office was upon the top floor of a build-
 
 " WE'VE CALLED," SAID THE MAN, SLOWLY.
 
 28 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 ing in Murray Street. It was a long, low room. 
 Upon its door was fastened a battered tin sign 
 showing the words: "Absalom Jayres, Coun 
 sellor." The walls and ceiling were covered 
 with dusty cobwebs. In one end of the room 
 stood an old wood stove, and near it was a pile 
 of hickory sticks. A set of shelves occupied a 
 large portion of the wall, bearing many vol 
 umes, worn, dusty, and eaten with age. 
 
 Among them were books of the English peer 
 age, records of titled families, reports of the 
 Court of Chancery in hundreds of testamentary 
 cases, scrap-books full of newspaper clippings 
 concerning American claimants to British for 
 tunes, lists of family estates in Great Britain 
 and Ireland, and many other works bearing 
 upon heraldry, the laws of inheritance, and simi 
 lar subjects. 
 
 Upon the walls hung charts showing the ge 
 nealogical trees of illustrious families, tracing the 
 descent of Washington, of Queen Victoria, and 
 of other important personages. There was no 
 covering on the floor except that which had ac 
 cumulated by reason of the absence of broom 
 and mop. A couple of tables, a few dilapidated 
 chairs, a pitcher and a basin, were about all the 
 furniture that the room contained. 
 
 Being elderly and huge, it required far more 
 time for Mr. Jayres to make the ascent to his
 
 TIN-TYPES. 29 
 
 office than for Bootsey. Having this fact in 
 mind, Bootsey sat down upon the first step of 
 the first flight, intending to wait until Mr. Jayres 
 had at least reached the final flight before he 
 started up at all. He failed to communicate 
 his resolution, however, and when Mr. Jayres 
 turned about upon the third floor, hearing no 
 footsteps behind him, he stopped. He frowned. 
 'He clinched his fist and swore. 
 
 "There'll be murder on me," he said, "I 
 know there will, if that Boy don't do better ! 
 Now, where the pestering dickens can he be?" 
 
 Mr. Jayres leaned over the bannister and 
 started to call. "Boo " he roared, and then 
 checked himself. "Drat such a name as that," 
 he said. "Who ever heard of a civilized Boy 
 being called Bootsey? What'll people think to 
 see a man of my age hanging over a bannis 
 ter yelling 'Bootsey' ! No, I must go down 
 and hunt him up. I wonder why I keep that 
 Boy? I wonder why I do it?" 
 
 Mr. Jayres turned, and with a heavy sigh he 
 began to descend to the street. On the second 
 landing he met Bootsey smoking a cigarette 
 and whistling. Mr. Jayres did not fly into a 
 passion. He did not grow red and frantic. He 
 just took Bootsey by the hand and led him, 
 step by step, up the rest of the way to the 
 office. He drew him inside, shut the door, and
 
 3^ TIN-TYPES. 
 
 led him over to his own table. Then he sat 
 down, still holding Bootsey's hand, and waited 
 until he had caught his breath. 
 
 "Now, then," he said, at last. 
 
 "Yez'r," said Bootsey. 
 
 "You're a miserable little rogue!" said Mr. 
 Jay res. 
 
 Bootsey held his peace. 
 
 "I've stood your deviltries till I've got no 
 patience left, and now I'm going to discharge 
 you !" 
 
 "Aw, don't," said Bootsey. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Jayres, "I will; if I don't, the 
 end of it all will be murder. Some time or 
 other I'll be seized of a passion, and there's no 
 telling what'll happen. There's your two dol 
 lars to the end of the week now, go !" 
 
 "Aw, now," said Bootsey, "wot's de use? I 
 aint done nawfin'. 'Fi gets bounced mom'll 
 drub me awful ! You said you wanted me to 
 take a letter up to Harlem dis afternoon." 
 
 "Yes, you scamp ! And here's the afternoon 
 half gone." 
 
 "O'll have it dere in less 'n no time," pleaded 
 Bootsey. 
 
 Mr. Jayres scowled hard at Bootsey and 
 hesitated. But finally he drew the letter from 
 the drawer of his table and handed it over, 
 saying as he did so, "If you aint back here
 
 TIN-TYPES. 31 
 
 by 5 o'clock, I'll break every bone in your 
 body!" 
 
 Bootsey left the office with great precipita 
 tion, and as he closed the door behind him, Mr. 
 Jayres glared morosely at a knot-hole in the 
 floor. "Funny about that boy!" he said reflec 
 tively. "I don't know as I ever gave in to any 
 living human being before that Boy came along 
 in all my life." 
 
 Mr. Jayres turned to his table and began to 
 write, but was almost immediately interrupted 
 by a knock upon the door He called out a 
 summons to enter, and two people, a man and 
 a woman, came in. The man was large, stolid, 
 and rather vacant in his expression. The wo 
 man was small and quick and sharp. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mr. Jayres. 
 
 The woman poked the man and told him to 
 speak. 
 
 "We've called " said the man slowly. 
 
 "About your advertisement in the paper," 
 added the woman quickly. 
 
 "Which paper?" asked Mr Jayres. 
 
 "Where's the paper?" asked the man, turn 
 ing to the woman. 
 
 "Here," she replied, producing it. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I see," said Mr. Jayres, "it's about 
 the Bugvvug estate. What is your name, sir?" 
 
 "His name is Tobey, and I'm Mrs. Tobey,
 
 32 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 and we keeps the Gallinipper Laundry, sir, 
 which is in Washington Place, being a very re 
 spectable neighborhood, though the prices is 
 low owing to competition of a party across the 
 street." 
 
 "Now, Maggie," said the man, "let me 
 talk." 
 
 "Who's hindering you from talking, Tobey? 
 I'm not, and that's certain. The gentleman 
 wanted to know who we were, and I've told 
 him. He'd been a week finding out from you." 
 
 "Come, come," said Mr. Jayres sharply, 
 "let's get to business." 
 
 "That's what I said," replied Mrs. Tobey, 
 "while I was putting on my things to come 
 down town. 'Tobey,' says I, 'get right to 
 business. Don't be wasting the gentleman's 
 time,' which he always does, sir, halting and 
 hesitating and not knowing what to say, nor 
 ever coming to the point. 'It's bad manners,' 
 says I, 'and what's more, these lawyers,' says I, 
 'which is very sharp folks, wont stand it,' says 
 I. But I don't suppose I done him much 
 good, for he's always been that way, sir, though 
 I'm sure I've worked my best to spur him up. 
 But a poor, weak woman can't do everything, 
 though you'd think he thought so, if 
 
 "Oh, now stop, stop, stop!" cried Mr. 
 Jayres, "you mustn't run on so. Your name
 
 TIN-TYPES. 33 
 
 is Tobey and you have called about the Bug- 
 wug property. Well, now, what of it?" 
 
 "I want to know is there any money in it," 
 answered Mr. Tobey. 
 
 "Now, if you please, sir, just listen to that," 
 cried Mrs. Tobey pityingly. "He wants to 
 know is there money in it ! Why, of course, 
 there's money in it, Tobey. You're a dreadful 
 trial to me, Tobey. Didn't the gentleman's 
 advertisement say there was 500,000 pounds in 
 it? Aint that enough? Couldn't you and me 
 get along on 500,000 pounds, or even less, on a 
 pinch?" 
 
 "But the question is," said Mr. Jayres, "what 
 claim you have on the Bugwug property. Are 
 you descended from Timothy Bugwug, and if 
 so, how directly and* in what remove?" 
 
 "That's what we wants you to tell us, sir," 
 replied Mr. Tobey. 
 
 "Why, we supposed you'd have it all 
 settled," added his wife. "Aint you a law 
 yer?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I'm a lawyer," Mr. Jayres suavely 
 replied, "and I can tell you what your claim is 
 if I know your relationship to Timothy Bug 
 wug. He died in 1672, leaving four children, 
 Obediah, Martin, Ezekiel, and Sarah. Obediah 
 died without issue. Martin and Sarah came 
 to America, and Ezekiel was lost at sea before
 
 34 TIN-TYPES. . 
 
 he had married. Now then, where do you 
 come in?" 
 
 "My mother " said Mr. Tobey. 
 
 "Was a Bugwug," said Mrs. Tobey. 
 "There's no doubt at all but what all that 
 money belongs to us, and if you've got it you 
 must pay it right away to us, for plenty of use 
 we have for it with six young children a-grow- 
 ing up and prospects of another come April, 
 which as regards me is terrible to think of, 
 though, I suppose, I shouldn't repine, seeing 
 that it's the Lord's will that woman should suf 
 fer, which, I must say, it seems to me that they 
 have more than their fair share. However, I 
 don't blame Tobey, for he's a fine man, and a 
 hard-working one, if he hasn't got the gift of 
 speech and is never able to come to the point, 
 though that's not for the lack of having it 
 dinged into his ears, for if I says it once I says 
 it fifty times a day, 'Tobey, will you come to 
 the point?' " 
 
 Mr. Jayres took up his pen. "Well, let's 
 see," he said. 'What is your full name, Mr. 
 Tobey?" 
 
 "William Tobey, sir. I am the son of " 
 
 "Jonathan Tobey and Henrietta Bugwug," 
 continued the lady, "it being so stated in the 
 marriage license which the minister said was 
 for my protection, and bears the likeness of
 
 TIN-TYPES. 35 
 
 Tobey on one side and mine on the other 
 and clasped hands in the center signifying 
 union, and is now in the left-hand corner of 
 the sixth shelf from the bottom in the china 
 closet and can be produced at any time if it's 
 needful. I've kept it very careful." 
 
 "Whose daughter was Henrietta Bugwug?" 
 asked Mr. Jayres. 
 
 "Tobey's grandfather's, sir, a very odd old 
 gentleman, though blind, which he got from 
 setting off fireworks on a Fourth of July, and 
 nearly burned the foot off the blue twin, called 
 blue from the color of his eyes, the other being 
 dark-blue, which is the only way we have of 
 telling 'em apart, except that one likes cod liver 
 oil and the other don't, and several times when 
 the blue twin's been sick the dark-blue twin 
 has got all the medicine by squinting up his 
 eyes so as I couldn't make him out and pre 
 tending it was him that had the colic, and Mr. 
 Bugwug, that's Tobey's grandfather, lives in 
 Harlem all by himself, because he says there's 
 too much noise and talking in our flat, and I 
 dare say there is, though I don't notice it." 
 
 "In Harlem, eh? When did you first hear 
 that you had an interest in the Bugwug 
 estates?" 
 
 "Oh, ever so long, and we'd have had the 
 money long ago if it hadn't been that a church
 
 36 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 burned down a long time ago somewhere in 
 Virginia where one of the Bugwugs married 
 somebody and all the records were lost, though 
 I don't see what that had to do with it, because 
 Tobey's here all ready to take the property, 
 and it stands to reason that he wouldn't have 
 been here unless that wedding had 'a' hap 
 pened without they mean to insult us, which 
 they'd better not, and wont, if they know 
 when they are well off," and at the very 
 thought of such a thing Mrs. Tobey tossed 
 her head angrily. 
 
 "I see," said Mr. Jayres, "I see. And you 
 want me to take the matter in hand, I suppose, 
 and see if I can recover the money, eh?" 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Tobey, in a disap 
 pointed tone, "I thought from the piece in the 
 paper that the money was all ready for us." 
 
 "You mustn't be so impatient," soothingly 
 responded Mr. Jayres, laying his fat finger on 
 his fat cheek and smiling softly. "All in good 
 time. All in good time. The money's where 
 it's safe. You only need to establish your 
 right to it. We must fetch a suit in the Court 
 of Chancery, and that I'll do at once upon 
 looking up the facts. Of course er there'll 
 be a little fee." 
 
 "A little what?" said Mr. Tobey. 
 
 "A little which?" said Mrs. Tobey.
 
 A LITTLE FEE," SAID MR. JAYRES, SMILING SWEETLY. 
 
 37
 
 38 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "A little fee," said Mr. Jayres, smiling 
 sweetly. "A mere trifle, I assure you ; just 
 enough to defray expenses say er a hun 
 dred dollars." 
 
 "Oh, dear me!" cried Mrs. Tobey. "This is 
 vexing. To think of coming down town, 
 Tobey, dear, with the expectations of going 
 back rich, and then going back a hundred dol 
 lars poorer than we were. I really don't think 
 we'd better do it, Tobey?" 
 
 "Ah," said Mr. Jayres, "but think also of the 
 fortune. Two millions and a half! Isn't that 
 worth spending a few hundred dollars for? 
 Just put your mind on it, ma'am." 
 
 "I've had my mind on it ever since I seen 
 your piece in the paper," replied Mrs. Tobey, 
 "and a hundred dollars does seem, as you say, 
 little enough to pay for two millions and a half, 
 which would be all I'd ask or wish for, and 
 would put us where we belong, Tobey, which 
 is not in the laundry line competing with an 
 unscrupulous party across the street, though I 
 don't mention names, which perhaps I ought, 
 for the public ought to be warned. It's a 
 party that hasn't any honor at all 
 
 "I'm sure not," said Mr. Jayres sympatheti 
 cally. "He is, without doubt, a dirty dog." 
 
 "Oh, it isn't a he," Mrs. Tobey replied, "the 
 party is a her."
 
 THE PARTY IS A HER," SAID MRS. TOBEY. 
 
 39
 
 40 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "Of course, of course," said Mr. Jayres. 
 "And to think that you have to put up with 
 the tricks of a female party directly across the 
 street. Why, it's shameful, ma'am ! But if 
 you had that two millions, as you just observed, 
 all that would be over." 
 
 "Two million and a half I thought you said 
 it was," said Mrs. Tobey rather sharply. 
 
 "Oh, yes, and a half and a half," the lawyer 
 admitted in a tone of indifference, as much as 
 to say that there should be no haggling about 
 the odd $500,000. "What a pretty pile it is, 
 Mrs. Tobey?" 
 
 "I don't know, Tobey, but what we'd better 
 do it," Mrs. Tobey said after a pause. "It 
 aint so very much when you think of what 
 we're to get for it." 
 
 "That's the right way to look at it, ma'am. 
 I'll just draw up the receipt, and to-morrow 
 I'll call at the Gallinipper Laundry to get 
 some further particulars necessary to help me 
 make out the papers." 
 
 Mr. Tobey seemed to be somewhat at a loss 
 to know precisely what was the net result of the 
 proceedings in which he had thus far taken so 
 small a part, but upon being directed by Mrs. 
 Tobey to produce the hundred dollars, he ven 
 tured a feeble remonstrance. This was imme 
 diately checked by Mrs. Tobey, who assured
 
 TIN-TYPES. 4 1 
 
 him that he knew nothing whatever about such 
 matters and never could come to the point, 
 which he ought to be able to do by this time, for 
 nobody could say but that she had done her 
 part. At last two fifty-dollar bills were depos 
 ited in Mr. Jayres's soft palm and a bit of writ 
 ing-was handed over to Mrs. Tobey in ex 
 change for them ; and followed by Mr. Jayres's 
 warm insistence that they had never done a 
 better thing in their lives, the Tobeys with 
 drew. 
 
 It was nearly six o'clock when the door of 
 Mr. Jayres's office opened again and the shocky 
 head of Bootsey appeared. Mr. Jayres was 
 waiting for him. 
 
 "Here you are at last, you wretched little 
 scamp !" he cried. "Didn't I tell you I'd whale 
 you if you weren't back by five o'clock?" 
 
 "I come jest as soon 's I could," said Boot 
 sey. "He was a werry fly ole genTman." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He said he didn't hev no doubts but wot 
 you was a reg'lar villyum an' swin'ler, an' cheat 
 an' blackmailer, an' ef he had de user his eyes 
 an' legs he'd come down yere an' han' you over 
 ter de coppers; dat you aint smart enuff ter 
 get no money outer him, fer he's bin bled by 
 sich coveys like you all he's a-going ter bleed, 
 an' dat he don't b'lieve dere is any sech ting
 
 42 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 as de Bugwug estate nohow, an' ef yer wants 
 ter keep outen jail yer'd better let him an' his 
 folks alone." 
 
 Mr. Jayres scowled until it seemed as if his 
 black eyebrows would meet his bristly upper 
 lip, and then he said : "Bootsey, before you 
 come to the office to-morrow morning you'd 
 better go to the Gallinipper Laundry in Wash 
 ington Place, and tell a man named Tobey who 
 keeps it, that er that I've gone out of town 
 for a few days, Bootsey, on a pressing matter 
 of business."
 
 III. 
 
 BLUDOFFSKI. 
 
 friends of Mr. Richard O'Royster al- 
 1 ways maintained that he was the best of 
 good fellows. Many, indeed, went so far as to 
 say he had no faults whatever ; and while such 
 an encomium seems, on the face of it, to be ex 
 travagant, its probability is much strengthened 
 by the fact that whatever he had they always 
 came into the possession of sooner or later. If 
 he had any faults, therefore, they must have 
 known it. They would never have allowed any 
 thing so valuable as a fault to escape them. 
 
 Mr. O'Royster was sitting, one afternoon, in 
 the private office of his bankers, Coldpin & 
 Breaker. Mr. Coldpin sat with him, discussing 
 the advisability of his investing $250,000 in the 
 bonds of the East and West Telegraph Com 
 pany. It was a safe investment, in Mr. Cold- 
 pin's judgment, and Mr. O'Royster was about 
 to order the transaction carried out, when 
 the office door was thrust open and a long, 
 black-bearded, wiry-haired, savage-looking man 
 walked in. 
 
 His head was an irregular hump set fixedly 
 43
 
 BLUDOFFSKI. 
 
 44
 
 TIN-TYPES. 45 
 
 on his shoulders so that one almost expected to 
 hear it creak when he moved it. His eyes were 
 little, and curiously stuck on either side of his 
 thick, stumpy nose, as if it were only by the 
 merest accident that- they hadn't taken a posi 
 tion back of his ears or up in his forehead or 
 down in his hollow cheeks. His entrance put 
 a sudden and disagreeable stop to the conversa 
 tion. Mr. O'Royster adjusted his eyeglass and 
 looked with a sort of serene curiosity at the 
 man. Mr. Coldpin moved nervously in his 
 chair. 
 
 "Veil," the fellow said, after a pause, "I haf 
 come to sbeak mit you." 
 
 "You come very often," replied Mr. Coldpin 
 in a mildly remonstrative tone. 
 
 No answer was returned to this suggestion. 
 The intruder simply settled himself on his feet 
 in an obstinate sort of way. 
 
 Mr. Coldpin produced a dollar-bill and hand 
 ed it over, remarking testily, "There, now, 
 I'm very busy!" 
 
 "Nein, nein !" said the man. "It vas not 
 enough !" 
 
 "Not enough?" 
 
 "I vants dwenty tollar." 
 
 "Oh, come now; this wont do at all. You 
 mustn't bother me so. I can't be " 
 
 The man did something with his mouth.
 
 46 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Possibly he smiled. Possibly he was malev 
 olently disposed. At all events, whatever his 
 motive or his humor, he did something with 
 his mouth, and straightway his two rows of 
 teeth gleamed forth, his eyes changed their 
 position and also their hue, and the hollows in 
 his cheeks became caverns. 
 
 "Great Caesar!" cried Mr. O'Royster. "Look 
 here, my good fellow, now don't ! If you 
 must have the money, we'll try to raise it. 
 Don't do that. Take in your teeth, my man, 
 take 'em in right away, and we'll see what we 
 can do about the twenty." 
 
 He composed his mouth, reducing it to its 
 normal dimensions and arranging it in its nor-, 
 mal shape, whereupon Mr. O'Royster, drawing 
 a roll of bills from his pocket, counted out 
 twenty dollars. 
 
 Mr. Coldpin interposed. "You may natur 
 ally think, O'Royster," he observed quietly, 
 "that this man has some hold upon me by 
 which he is in a position to extort money. 
 There is no such phase to this remarkable case. 
 I owe him nothing. He is simply in the habit 
 of coming here and demanding money, which I 
 have let him have from time to time in small 
 sums to well, get rid of him. I think, though, 
 that it's time to stop. You must not give him 
 that $20. I won't permit it. Put it back in
 
 IT WOULDN'T HURT HIM TO SHOOT HIM. 
 
 47
 
 48 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 The man did something else in a facial way 
 just as defiant of analysis as his previous con 
 tortion and equally effective on Mr. O'Roy- 
 ster's nerves. He moved toward Mr. O'Roy- 
 ster and held up his hand for the money. It 
 was slowly yielded up, and without so much as 
 an acknowledgment, the man thrust it into his 
 pocket and stalked out. 
 
 Mr. O'Royster watched his misshapen body 
 as it disappeared through the entry. Then 
 he gazed at the banker and -finally re 
 marked : "Can't say that your friend pleases 
 me, Coldpin." 
 
 "To tell the truth, O'Royster, I live in 
 mortal terror of that creature. He followed 
 me into this room from the street one day and 
 demanded, rather than begged, some money. I 
 scarcely noticed him, telling him I had nothing, 
 when he did something that attracted my at 
 tention, and the next minute my flesh began 
 to creep, my backbone began to shake, and I 
 thought I should have spasms. I gave him a 
 handful of change and off he went. Since 
 then, as I told you, he has been coming here 
 every month or so. I'm going to move next 
 May into a building where I can have a more 
 guarded office." 
 
 "Odd tale!" said Mr. O'Royster, "deuced 
 odd. Why don't you get a pistol?"
 
 TIN-TYPES. 49 
 
 "Well, I have a sort of feeling that it 
 wouldn't hurt him to shoot him. Of course it 
 would, you know, but still " 
 
 "Yes, I know what you mean. He certainly 
 does look as if a pistol would be no adequate 
 defense against him. What you want is a nice, 
 self-cocking, automatic thunderbolt." 
 
 They changed the subject, returning to their 
 interrupted business, and having concluded that 
 they talked on until it had grown quite late. 
 
 "By Jove!" cried Mr. O'Royster, glancing at 
 his watch, "it's half-past six, and I've a dinner 
 engagement at the club at seven. I must be 
 off. Ring for a cab, wont you?" 
 
 The cab arrived in a few moments and Mr. 
 O'Royster hurried out. "Drive me to the 
 Union Club," he said, "and whip up lively." 
 
 He sprang in, the cab started off with a 
 whirl, and he turned in his seat to let down the 
 window. A startled look came into his face. 
 
 "It's too dark to see well," he. said to him 
 self, "and this thing bounces like a tugboat in 
 a gale, but if that ourang-outang wasn't stand 
 ing under that gaslight yonder, I'll be hanged !" 
 
 Mr. O'Royster's was the sort of mind that 
 dwelt lightly and briefly on subjects affecting 
 it disagreeably, and long before he reached 
 the club it had left the ourang-outang far in 
 the distance. In the presence of a jolly com-
 
 50 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 pany, red-headed duck, burgundy and cham 
 pagne, it had room for nothing but wit and 
 frolic, to which its inclinations always strongly 
 tended. 
 
 The night had far advanced when Mr. 
 O'Royster left the club. He turned into 
 Fifth Avenue, journeying toward Twenty- 
 third Street, and had walked about half the dis 
 tance when he felt a touch upon his arm. Mr. 
 O'Royster was in that condition when his 
 mental senses acted more quickly than his phy 
 sical senses. Bringing his eyes to bear upon 
 the spot where he felt the touch, he made out 
 the shape of a big, dirty hand, and following it 
 and the arm above it, he presently ascertained 
 that a man was close at his elbow. He spent 
 several minutes scrutinizing the man's face, and 
 finally he said : 
 
 "Ah, I shee. Beg pawdon, dear boy, f'not 
 'bsherving you b'fore. Mos' happy to renew 
 zhe 'quaintance so auspishously begun 'saffer- 
 noon. H hie ! 'ope you're feeling well. By 
 zhe way, ol' f 'Haw, wha' zhure name ?" 
 
 "Bludoffski." 
 
 "Razzer hard name t' pronounce, but easy 
 one t' 'member. Glad 'tain't Dobbins. 'F 
 zenny sing I hate, 's name like Dobb'ns, 'r 
 Wobb'ns, *r Wigg'ns. Some-pin highly uncon 
 ventional in name of Bludoffski. Mr. Bludoff-
 
 TIN-TYPES. 51 
 
 ski, kindly 'cept 'shurances of my rhic! 
 gard !" 
 
 Mr. Bludoffski executed a facial maneuver 
 intended possibly for a smile. It excited Mr. 
 O'Royster's attention directly. 
 
 "Doffski!" he said, stopping shortly and 
 balancing himself on his legs, "are you sure 
 you're feelin' quite well?" 
 
 "Yah, puty veil." 
 
 "Zere's no great sorrer gnawin' chure vitals, 
 is zere, Moffski?" 
 
 "I vas all ride." 
 
 "Not sufferin' fom any mad r'gret, 'r mis 
 placed love, 'rensing zat kind, eh, Woffski?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Feeling jush sanies' ushyal?" 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 "Zen 'sail right. Don't 'pol'gize, 's all right. 
 Zere was somepin' 'n you're looksh made me 
 shink p'raps yu's feeling trifle in'sposed. / am, 
 an' didn't know but what you might be same 
 way. You may've noticed 't I'm jush trifle 
 er, well, some people ud shay zhrunk, Toffski 
 rude 'n' dish'gree'ble people dshay zhrunk. 
 P'raps zere 'bout half right, Woffski, but it's 
 zhrude way of putting it. Now, zhen, I want 
 t'ask you queshun. I ask ash frien'. Look 't 
 me carefully and shay, on y'r honor, Loffski, 
 where d'you shin' I'm mos' largely 'tossicated?"
 
 52 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "In der legs," replied Mr. Bludoffski, prompt- 
 
 ly. 
 
 "Shank you. 'S very kind. 'T may not be 
 alt'gesser dignified to be 'tossicated in zhe legs, 
 but 's far besser'n if 'twas in zhe eyes. 'Spise 
 a man 'at looks drunk in's eyes. Pos'ively 
 'sgusting!" 
 
 They had now reached Twenty-third Street, 
 and following his companion's lead, O'Royster 
 crossed unsteadily into Madison Square and 
 through one of the park walks. Presently he 
 halted. 
 
 "By zhe way, Woffski," he said, "do you 
 know where we're goin'?" 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 "Well, zat's what I call lucky. I'm free t' 
 confesh I haven't gotter shingle idea. But 'f 
 you know, 's all right. Wen a man feels him 
 self slightly 'tossicated, 's nozzin' like bein' in 
 comp'ny of flaw 'at knows where 's goin'. 
 'Parts a highly 'gree'ble feelin' 'f conf'dence. 
 Don't wanter 'splay any 'pert'nent cur'osity, 
 Bofiski, but p'raps 's no harm in askin' 
 where 'tis 'at you know you're goin'?" 
 
 "Home." 
 
 An expression of disgust crossed Mr. O'Roy- 
 ster's face. "Home?" he inquired. "D' you 
 shay 'home,' Toffski? Haven't you got any 
 uzzer place t' go? Wen a man'sh r'duced t'
 
 TIN-TYPES. 53 
 
 th' 'str hie remity 'f goin' home, must be in 
 dev'lish hard luck." 
 
 "Der vhy Ve go home," said Bludoffski, "is 
 dot I somedings haf I show you." 
 
 "Ah. I shee. Za's diff'rent zing. You're 
 goin' t'show me some-'zin', eh?" 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 "Picshur? Hope 'taint pichshur, Koffski. 
 I'm ord'narily very fon' of art, but flaw needs 
 good legs t' 'zamine picshur, an' I'm boun'ter 
 confesh my legsh not just 'dapted t' " 
 
 "Nein." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "It vasn't noddings like dot." 
 
 "'Taint china, is 't, Boffski? 'Taint Willow 
 Pattern er Crown Derby er zat sorter zing? 
 T' tell truth, Boffski, I aint mush on china. 
 Some people go crashy at er shight er piece 
 nicked china. My wife tol' me zuzzer day 
 she saw piece Crown Derby 'n* fainted dead 
 way, 'n' r'fused t' come to f'r half 'n hour. I 
 said I'd give ton er Crown Derby for bash- 
 ket champagne 'n' she didn't speak to me 
 rester 'zhe week. Jush shows how shum peo 
 ple" 
 
 "Nein!" 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 "It vasn't shina." 
 
 "By zhove, you 'rouse my cur'os'ty, WofTski.
 
 54 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 If 'tain't picshur er piece pottery, wha' deuce 
 is't?" 
 
 "You shall see." 
 
 "Myst'ry! Well, I'm great boy fr myst'ries. 
 Hullo! Zis, zh' place?" 
 
 They had walked through Twenty-ninth 
 Street, into Second Avenue, and had reached 
 the center of a gloomy and dismal block. Di 
 rectly in front of the gloomiest and most dis 
 mal house of all Bludoffski had suddenly 
 stopped, and in answer to Mr. O'Royster's ex 
 clamation, he drew from his pocket a latch-key 
 and opened the side door. 
 
 The entry was dark, but the glimmer of a 
 light was visible at the end of the hall. He did 
 not speak, but motioned with his hand an invi 
 tation for Mr. O'Royster to go in. It was ac 
 cepted, not, however, without a slight manifes 
 tation of reluctance. Mr. O'Royster's senses 
 were somewhat clouded, but the shadows of 
 the entry were dark enough to impress even 
 him with a vague feeling of dread. 
 
 Bludoffski shut the door behind them care 
 fully and drew a bolt or two. Then he led the 
 way down the hall toward the light. As they 
 advanced voices were heard, one louder than 
 the rest, which broke out in rude interruption, 
 dying down into a sort of murmuring accom 
 paniment.
 
 TIN-TYPES. 55 
 
 When they reached the end of the hall Blu- 
 doffski opened another door and they entered 
 a large beer saloon. At a score of tables men 
 were sitting, many apparently of German birth. 
 They were smoking pipes, drinking beer, and 
 listening to the hoarse voice of an orator stand 
 ing in the furthest corner of the room. 
 
 He was a little round man with little round 
 eyes, a little round nose, a little round stomach, 
 and little round legs. Though very small in 
 person, his voice was formidable enough, and 
 he appeared to be astonishingly in earnest. 
 
 Bludoffski's entrance created a considerable 
 stir. Several persons began to applaud, and 
 some said, "Bravo! bravo!" One sharp-vis- 
 aged and angular man with black finger-nails, 
 spectacles, and a high tenor voice, cried out 
 with a burst of enthusiasm, "Hail! Dear 
 apostle uf luf!" a sentiment that brought out 
 a general and spontaneous cheer. Mr. O'Roy- 
 ster, apparently under the impression that he 
 was the object of these flattering attentions, 
 bowed and smiled with the greatest cheerful 
 ness and murmured something about this being 
 the proudest moment of his life. He was on 
 the point of addressing some remarks to the 
 bartender, when the little round orator cut in 
 with an energy quite amazing. 
 
 "Der zoshul refolushun haf gome, my prud-
 
 " VE VILL SHTRIKE, MEIN PRUDERS !
 
 TIN-TYPES. 57 
 
 ders!" he said. "Der bowder vas all retty 
 der match to be struck mit. Ve neet noddings 
 but ter stretch out mit der hant und der vic 
 tory dake. Der gabitalist fool himselluf. He 
 say mit himselluf 'I haf der golt urid der bower, 
 hey?' He von pig fool. He dinks you der 
 fool vas, und der eye uf him he vinks like der 
 glown py der circus. But yust vait. Vait till 
 der honest sons uf doil rise by deir might oop 
 und smite der blow vich gif liperty to der mill 
 ions!" 
 
 At this there was a wild outburst of applause 
 and a chorus of hoarse shouts: "Up mit der 
 red flag!" "Strike now!" "Anarchy for- 
 effer!" 
 
 "Ve vill shtrike, mine prudders," continued 
 the little round orator, growing very ardent and 
 red in the face. "Ve vill no vait long. Ve vill 
 kill ! Ve vill burn ! Ve vill der togs uf var 
 loose und ride to driumph in der shariot uf fire. 
 Ve vill deir housen pull down deir hets upoud, 
 und der street will run mit der foul plood uf 
 der gabitalist !" 
 
 A mighty uproar arose at these gory sugges 
 tions, and would not be subdued until all the 
 glasses had been refilled and the enthusiasm 
 that had been aroused was quenched in beer. 
 
 Mr. O'Royster had listened to these pro 
 ceedings with some misgivings. He turned to
 
 58 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 his companion, who stood solemn and silent by 
 his side, and observed : 
 
 "D' I unnerstan' you t' say, Woffski, 't you 
 's goin' home?" 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 "Doncher zhink 's mos' time t' go?" 
 
 "Ve vas dere now." 
 
 "Home?" 
 
 "Yah." 
 
 "Can't say I'm pleased with your d'mestic 
 surroundings, Boffski. Razzer too mush noise 
 f man of my temp'ment. Guesh I'll haffer bid 
 you g'night, Boffski." 
 
 "Nein." 
 
 "Yesh, Boffski, mush go. Cotter 'gage- 
 ment." 
 
 "Vait. I haf not show you yet ' 
 
 "T' tell truf, Moffski, I've seen 'nuff. 'F I 
 wasser shee more, might not sleep well. 
 Might have nightmare. Don't shink 's good 
 f me t' shee too much, ol' flaw." 
 
 "Listen." 
 
 The little round orator, refreshed and rein- 
 vigorated, began again. 
 
 "You must arm yoursellef, my prudders. 
 You must haf guns und powder und ball 
 und " 
 
 "Dynamite!" yelled several. 
 
 "Yah. Dot vas der drue veapon uf der
 
 TIN-TYPES. 59 
 
 zoshul refolushun. Dynamite! You must 
 plenty haf. Ve must avenge der murder uf our 
 brudders in Shegaco. Deir innocent plood 
 gries ter heffen for revensh. A t'ousan' lifes 
 vill not der benalty bay. Der goundry must 
 pe drench mit plood. Den vill Anarchy reign 
 subreme ofer de gabitalist vampire ! Are you 
 retty?" 
 
 The whole crowd rose in a body, banged 
 their glasses viciously on the tables in front of 
 them and shouted: "Ve vas!" 
 
 "Den lose no time to rouse your frients. 
 Vake up der laporing mans all eferywhere. 
 Gif dem blenty pomb und der sicnal vatch for, 
 und ven it vas gif shoot und kill und spare 
 nopoddy ! Der time for vorts vas gone. Now 
 der time vas for teets!" 
 
 "Loffski," whispered Mr. O'Royster, "really 
 must 'scuse me, Loffski, but 's time er go. I 
 have sorter feelin' 's if I's gettin' 'tossercated 
 in zhe eyes. Always know 's time er go when 
 I have zat feelin'. F' I'd know chure home 's 
 in place like zis I'd asked you t' go t' mine 
 where zere's more r hie pose." 
 
 There was a door behind them near the 
 bar, and Bludoffski, opening it, motioned Mr. 
 O'Royster to go in ahead. He obeyed, not 
 without reluctance, and the Anarchist followed. 
 Two tables covered with papers, a bed and sev-
 
 6o TIN-TYPES. 
 
 eral chairs were in the room, together with 
 many little jars, bits of gaspipe, lumps of 
 sulphur, phosphorus and lead. 
 
 "Sit down," said Bludoffski. 
 
 Mr. O'Royster sat. 
 
 "I am an Anarchist," Bludoffski began. 
 
 "'S very nice," Mr. O'Royster replied. "I 
 's zhinkin' uzzer day 'bout bein' Anarchis' 
 m'self, but Mrs. O'Royster said she's 'fraid m' 
 health washn't good 'nuff f such hie heavy 
 work." 
 
 "You hear der vorts uf dot shbeaker und 
 you see der faces uf der men. Vat you t'ink it 
 mean? Hey? It mean var upon der reech. 
 It mean Nye Yorick in ashes " 
 
 "Wha's use? Don't seem t' me s' t' would 
 pay. Of course, ol' flaw, whatever you says, 
 goes. But 't seems t' me 
 
 "You can safe all dot var. You can der 
 means be uf pringing aboud der reign uf 
 anarchy mitout der shtrike uf von blow. 
 Eferypody vill lif und pe habby." 
 
 " Boffski," said Mr. O'Royster, after a 
 pause, during which he seemed to be making 
 a violent effort to gather his intellectual 
 forces. "Zere's.no doubt I'm 'tossercated in 
 zhe eyes. Wen a man's eyes 'fected by 
 champagne, he's liter'ly no good. Talk to 
 me 'bout zis t'mor', Woffski. Subjec's too
 
 TIN-TYPES. 6 1 
 
 'mportant to be d'scussed unner present condi 
 tions." 
 
 "Nein ! nein ! You can safe der vorlt uf you 
 vill. Von vort from you vill mean peace. Mid- 
 outdt dot vort oceans of plood vill be spill." 
 
 "Woffski, you ev'dently zhink I zhrunker 'n I 
 am. I'm some zhrunk, Woffski, I know, some 
 zhrunk, but 'taint 's bad's you zhink." 
 
 "I vill sbeak more blain." 
 
 "Do, ol' flaw, 'f you please." 
 
 "It vas selfishness vot der vorld make pad. 
 It was being ignorant und selfish vot crime und 
 bofferty pring to der many und vealth und ease 
 to der few. Der beoples tondt see dot. Tey 
 tondt know vot Anarchy mean. It vas all 
 rest, all peace, nopoddy pad, no var, no bcsti- 
 lence. Dot is Anarchy, hey? 
 
 "I haf my life gif to der cause uf Anarchy. 
 I haf dravel der vorlt over shbeaking, wriding, 
 delling der beoples to make vay for der zoshul 
 refolushun. Uf dey vill not, ve must der reech 
 kill. We must remofe dem vich stand py 
 der roat und stay der march of civilization. 
 Some say 'Make haste! kill! kill!' I say, 
 'Nein, vait, gif der wretched beoples some 
 chance to be safe. Tell dem vot is Anarchy. 
 Etjucade dem.' 
 
 "Veil, den, dey listen to me. Dey say, 'Ve 
 bow der vill before uf Herr Bludoffski, whose
 
 62 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 vordt vas goot. Ve vait. But how long? Ah, 
 dat I can not tell. But I have decide I make 
 von appeal. I gif der vorlt von chance to come 
 ofer to Anarchy and be save. Ha ! Se ! I haf 
 write a pook ! I haf say der pook inside all apout 
 Anarchy. I haf tell der peauties of der 
 commune, vere no selfishness vas, no law, but 
 efery man equal und none petter as some 
 udder. I haf describe it all. Nopody can 
 dot pook reat mitout he say ven he lay 
 him down, 'I vil be an Anarchist.', 
 
 Mr. Bludoffski had become intensely inter 
 ested in his own remarks. He picked his man 
 uscripts from the table and caressed them 
 lovingly. 
 
 "See," he said, "dere vas der pook vich 
 make mankind brudders. I tell you how you 
 help. I vas poor. I haf no money. I lif on 
 noddings, und dem noddings I peg. Ven I see 
 you und you dot money gif me, I say 'Dis man 
 he haf soul ! He shall be save.' Den I say 
 more as dot. I say he shall join his hand mit 
 me. He shall print him, den million copies, 
 send him de vorlt ofer, in all der lankviches, 
 to all der peoples. Dink uf dot ! You shall be 
 great Anarchist as L Ve go down mit fame 
 togedder'" 
 
 He paused for Mr. O'Royster's reply, trem-
 
 "HE HAF NO SOUL, NO HEART, NO MIND, NO NODDINGS.
 
 64 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 bling with fanatical excitement. The reply 
 was somewhat slow in coming. Mr. O'Royster, 
 when his companion began to talk, had leaned 
 his head on his arm and closed his eyes. He 
 had preserved this attitude throughout the 
 address and was now breathing hard. 
 
 "Veil !" said Bludoffski, impatiently. 
 
 Mr. O'Royster drew a more resonant breath, 
 long, deep and mellow. 
 
 "He sleep !" cried Bludoffski, in scornful fury. 
 "Der tog! He sleep ven I tell him 
 
 He sprang up, ran across the room and re 
 turned with a huge carving-knife. "I vill kill 
 him !" he cried, and, indeed, made start to do 
 it. But as suddenly he checked himself, 
 tossed the knife on the floor, muttering, "Bah, 
 he not fit to kill," and opened the door into 
 the saloon. The Anarchist meeting had ended, 
 but several persons were still sitting around 
 the tables, drinking beer. He called to two of 
 these, and said, in a tone of almost pitful 
 despair: 
 
 "Take dot man home. I not know who he 
 vas. I not know vere he lif. Somebotty fin' 
 oud. Look his pockets insite. Ask der 
 boleecemans. Do any dings, but take him 
 avay. He haf no soul, no mind, no heart, no 
 noddings !"
 
 IV. 
 MAGGIE. 
 
 WRAPPED in contemplation and but little 
 else, probably because his stock of con 
 templation largely exceeded his stock of else, 
 Mr. Dootleby wandered down the Bowery. 
 Midnight sounded out from the spire in St. 
 Mark's Church just as Mr. Dootleby, having 
 come from Broadway through Astor Place, 
 turned about at the Cooper Union. 
 
 There was a touch of melancholy in Mr. 
 Dootleby's expression as he looked down the 
 big, brilliant Bowery, glowing with the light of a 
 hundred electric burners and myriads of gas- 
 jets, and seething with unnatural activity. He 
 stopped a moment in the shadow thrown by 
 the booth of a coffee and cake vender, and 
 looked attentively into the faces of the throngs 
 that passed him. He seemed to be thinking 
 hard. 
 
 In truth, it is a suggestive place, is the Bow 
 ery. Day and night are all the same to it. It 
 never gets up and it never goes to bed. It 
 never takes a holiday. It never keeps Lent. 
 It indulges in no sentiments. It acknowl- 
 65
 
 MR. DOOTLEBY.
 
 TIN-TYPES. 67 
 
 edges no authority that bids it remember the 
 Sabbath Day to keep it holy. But from year's 
 end to year's end it bubbles, and boils, and 
 seethes, and frets while the daylight lasts, and 
 in the glare of its brighter night it plunges 
 headlong into carousal ! 
 
 Mr. Dootleby had a great habit of walking at 
 night, though he seldom came down town so 
 far as this. His apartments were in Harlem, 
 and usually, after he had taken his dinner and 
 played a rubber of whist, he found himself 
 sufficiently exercised by a stroll as far as Forty- 
 second Street. But to-night he felt a trifle 
 restless, and journeyed on. 
 
 Though his hair was nearly white and his 
 face somewhat deeply furrowed, Mr. Dootle 
 by 's tall heavy figure stood straight toward the 
 zenith, and moved with an ease and celerity 
 that many a younger man had envied. With 
 his antecedents I am not entirely familiar, but 
 they say he was always eccentric. I, for my 
 part, shall like him none the less for this. 
 They say he was rich once, but that he never 
 knew how to take care of his money, and what 
 part of it he did not give away slipped off of 
 its own accord. 
 
 They say he was past fifty when he married, 
 and his bride was a young woman, and when 
 they went off together he was as frisky as a.
 
 68 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 young fellow of twenty-three. Then, they say, 
 she died, and after that he took but little inter 
 est in things, spending his time chiefly in such 
 amiable pursuits as the entertainment of the 
 children playing in Central Park, and the writ 
 ing of an occasional article for the scientific 
 papers, on "The Peculiar Behavior of Alloys." 
 
 Despite the dinginess of his costume, Mr. 
 Dootleby was a handsome old man, and he 
 looked very out of place on the Bowery. Not 
 that good looks are wanting in the Bowery, for 
 many a crownless Cleopatra mingles with its 
 crowds. But Mr. Dootleby, as he stood in 
 the shadow of the coffee-vender's booth, 
 seemed to be the one kind of being neces 
 sarily incongruous with the midnight Bowery 
 spectacle. 
 
 Mr. Dootleby stood and looked for full 
 twenty minutes. In some of the faces that 
 passed him he saw only a careless sensuality 
 brightened by the flush of excitement. Oth 
 ers, somewhat older, were full of brazen coarse 
 ness, and others, older still, bore that pitiful 
 look of hopeless regret, quickly changing to 
 one that says as plainly as can be that the time 
 for thinking and caring has gone. Upon many 
 was stamped the brand of inborn infamy, their 
 only inheritance. 
 
 Some hunted souls went by, their manner
 
 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 69 
 
 jaded and hapless, their steps nervous and 
 irresolute, and their eyes sweeping the streets 
 before them, never resting, never closed. A 
 
 THE BOWERY NIGHT-SCENE. 
 
 few as they passed scowled at him even at 
 him, as if there were not one in all this world 
 upon whom they had not declared war. Want 
 had marked most of them with unmistakable
 
 70 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 lines, and crossing these were often others tell 
 ing that they knew no better than they did. 
 
 Mr. Dootleby watched awhile and then went 
 on, pausing occasionally at the corners to peer 
 through the dark side streets, up at the big 
 tenement-houses those ugly nurseries of vice 
 from whose black shadows came many of 
 these that had been christened into crime. But 
 in the Bowery itself there was no gloomy 
 spot. Light streamed from every window, 
 and flooded the pavements. The street-cars 
 whirled along. Even the bony creatures that 
 drew them caught the spirit of this feverish 
 thoroughfare. From every other doorway, 
 shielded by cloth or wicker screens, came the 
 sounds of twanging harps and scraping fiddles, 
 the click of glasses and the shrill chatter and 
 laughter of discordant voices. 
 
 Here and there, in front of a bewildering 
 canvas, upon which, in the gayest of gay colors, 
 mountainous fat women, prodigious giants, 
 scaly mermaids, wild men from Zululand, living 
 skeletons, and three-headed girls were painted, 
 stood clamorous gentlemen in tights, urgently 
 importuning passers-by to enter the establish 
 ments they represented, whereof the glories 
 and mysteries could be but too feebly told in 
 words. And upon the sidewalks all about him, 
 swarms of itinerant musicians, instantaneous
 
 TIN-TYPES. 71 
 
 photographers, dealers in- bric-a-brac, toilet arti 
 cles, precious stones, soda water, and other 
 needful and nutritious wares, urged themselves 
 upon Mr. Dootleby's attention. 
 
 He walked leisurely on, moralizing as he 
 went, until he had passed Chatham Square, 
 and had got into the somberer district below. 
 He turned a corner somewhere, thinking to 
 walk around the block and find his way back 
 into the Bowery. But the more corners he 
 rounded the more he found ever at his elbow, 
 and the conviction began to make its way into 
 his mind that he had lost his bearings. 
 
 The block in which he was now wandering 
 was quite dark and dismal, save for a single 
 gas-jet hanging almost hidden within a dirty 
 globe, over some steep steps that led into a 
 cellar. Mr. Dootleby concluded to stop there 
 and ask his way. As he approached the cellar, 
 he heard what seemed to be cries of distress. 
 They grew more distinct, and accompanying 
 them were the dull sounds of blows and the 
 harsh accents of a man's voice, evidently per 
 meated with rage. 
 
 Mr. Dootleby ran down the steps and flung 
 the door open, presenting his eyes with a spec 
 tacle that made his blood run cold. The room 
 was long and narrow. At one end and near 
 the door was a bar fitted up with a few black
 
 7 2 TIX- TYPES. 
 
 bottles and broken .tumblers, a keg or two of 
 beer, and some boxes of cigars. Along the 
 walls stood a couple of benches, and further on 
 were half a dozen little rooms, partitioned from 
 each other, all opening into the bar-room. On 
 the benches six girls were lolling about, dressed 
 in gaudy tights, and with them were three or 
 four men. The room was hot to suffocation, 
 and the smell from the dim and dirty lamps 
 that stood on each end of the bar, together 
 with the foul tobacco-smoke with which the 
 atmosphere was saturated, combined to make 
 the place disgusting and poisonous. 
 
 All these conditions Mr. Dootleby took in. 
 at his first glance, and his second fell upon two 
 figures in the center of the room, from whom 
 had preceded the noises he had heard. One 
 was that of a girl cowering on her knees and 
 moaning in a voice from which reason had 
 clearly departed. A big, unconscionably bru 
 tal-looking man stood over her, holding her 
 down by her hair, which, braided in a single 
 plait, was wound about his hand. He had just 
 thrown the stick upon the floor with which he 
 had been beating her, and was drawing from 
 the stove a red-hot poker. 
 
 Mr. Dootleby was not of an excitable tem 
 perament ordinarily, but his senses were so 
 affected by the horrors he saw and the pesti-
 
 THE FELLOW WHEELED QUICKLY AROUND. 
 
 73
 
 74 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 lential air he breathed that his head began to 
 swim, and only by an especial draft upon his 
 resolution was he able to command himself. 
 There was a pause consequent upon his en 
 trance, and his quick eyes made good use of it. 
 
 He saw that the girl had already been half 
 murdered, and that her assailant was a short, 
 thick-set old man, with the eyes of a snake and 
 the neck of a bull. He saw that the men on 
 the bench, all beastly specimens, were contem 
 plating her torture with an indifference that 
 would have shamed the grossest savage. Sev 
 eral of the women, too the older ones were 
 looking on with scarcely the sign of a protest 
 in their faces, and only one, a mere child, 
 seemed to feel a genuine sense of terror and 
 sympathy. 
 
 Mr. Dootleby threw open his coat, tightened 
 his grasp on his walking-stick, and said, very 
 quietly: "What are you doing?" 
 
 The fellow wheeled quickly around. He 
 looked with intense malice at Mr. Dootleby, 
 and then shouted at one of the women, "Why 
 didencher lock de door like I toljer, you fool?" 
 
 Mr. Dootleby did not wait for either of these 
 questions to be answered. He sprang into 
 action with all the agility and ferocity of a 
 young panther. The handle of his cane was a 
 huge knob of carved ivory. He brought it
 
 TIN-TYPES. 75 
 
 directly on the head of the ruffian in a blow of 
 tremendous force, and as the fellow staggered, 
 Mr. Dootleby grasped the poker, turning it so 
 that its heated end touched his antagonist's 
 arm. Of course, the man loosened his hold, 
 and in an instant more dropped upon the floor. 
 Then Mr. Dootleby, keenly alive to the neces 
 sity of improving every second, caught the 
 prostrate girl by the arm and threw her behind 
 him toward the open door. "Run for your 
 life!" he said. 
 
 But she didn't run. She couldn't run, and 
 while she was struggling to get upon her feet, 
 the fellow recovered himself and emitted a roar 
 that acted on her terrified soul as if it had been 
 a blow. She fell incontinently upon her back 
 in a dead swoon. 
 
 Mr. Dootleby's situation was perilous. He 
 had hoped by a sudden and overwhelming 
 attack to stun the man and get the girl 
 out into the street. But the man's quick 
 recovery and the girl's exhaustion left him in 
 almost as bad a situation as ever, and he 
 glanced apprehensively at the party upon the 
 benches. 
 
 They had scarcely stirred ! One of the 
 men, indeed, had risen, and was standing with 
 his hands in his pockets and something in 
 the nature of an amused smile upon his face.
 
 ?6 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 The others had so far shifted their positions 
 as to be the better able to see whatever went 
 on, and only one of them manifested the slight 
 est desire to take a hand in the proceedings. 
 This was the little girl of twelve or fourteen. 
 She was intensely excited, and in the mo 
 ment's pause that succeeded Mr. Dootleby's on 
 slaught she dashed across the room, and lifting 
 the head of the unconscious girl, rested it on 
 her knee, and stroked it soothingly. 
 
 "Good for you, my child !" said Mr. Doo- 
 tleby. "Try to bring her to." 
 
 The hideous old scoundrel, as he now turned 
 again to confront Mr. Dootleby, was more hid 
 eous than ever. Blood from the wound in his 
 head was trickling over his face, into which 
 the fury of a legion of devils was concentra 
 ted. "Sissy!" he bellowed, "go back to yer 
 bench !" 
 
 "Don't do it, my child," said Mr. Dootleby. 
 "You're all right. Run outside if it gets too 
 dangerous for you in here." 
 
 The fellow gathered himself together, evi 
 dently intending to dash past Mr. Dootleby 
 toward the bar beyond. But Mr. Dootleby 
 lifted the poker ominously. "Stand back !" he 
 cried. 
 
 A slight chuckle came from the man who had 
 risen from the bench. "Dey don't seem ter be
 
 TIN-TYPES. 77 
 
 no flies on dis party, Pete!" he said, with a 
 broad grin. 
 
 Pete's answer was a scowl and an oath. 
 
 "W'y doncher come on, an' help me do him 
 up?" he snorted. 
 
 "Wot ud be de use? I t'ink he kin get away 
 wid you, Pete, an' I wanter see de fun. He's 
 chain lightnin', ole man, an' you better be sure 
 of yer holt." 
 
 "I'll give all dere is on him if you'll help, 
 Dick!" said Pete. 
 
 Mr. Dootleby took his watch, his gold pencil, 
 and a dollar or so in change from his pockets, 
 and tossed them toward Dick. 
 
 "That's all I've got," he said. "Now, let us 
 alone." 
 
 Dick slid the coins in his pocket and care 
 fully examined the gold watch. "Dere's a 
 good 'eal er sportin' blood in de old genTman, 
 Pete; a good 'eal er sportin' blood," he re 
 marked, with the utmost cheerfulness. "Bein* 
 a sportin' man myself I ainter goin' back on 
 a frien'." 
 
 "You're goin' back on your word fast 
 enough !" said Pete bitterly. 
 
 "No, I aint. I toljer I wouldn't bodder 
 you. I didn't guarantee nobody else. You 
 sed she was yourn, and you was goin' to make 
 her promise to quit young Swiggsy. I offered
 
 7 8 TIN-TYPES, 
 
 to match you five dollars agin de gurl, an' I 
 said if you was to win I wouldn't trouble you. 
 You said if I winned I could have her. All 
 right. I lost, an' I give up my good money. 
 Den you went ter work wallopin' de gurl. 
 You'd er kilt her if dis covey hadn't er lit in. 
 All right, dat wasn't no fault er mine. An' fur 
 all me, he kin stick dat blazin' iron clear down 
 yer t'roat, an' I'll set yere an' take it in widout 
 winkin'." 
 
 Mr. Dootleby listened intently to this 
 speech. It afforded him an inkling of the 
 situation. 
 
 "Is this girl your daughter?" he said. 
 
 Pete was in no humor to parley. He could 
 only growl and swear. When he had relieved 
 himself without enlightening Mr. Dootleby, 
 Dick spoke again. 
 
 "She ain't nobody's darter, ole gent, but he 
 sez she's his gurl. She been keepin' comp'ny 
 wid young Swiggsy, an' she wont promise not 
 ter. Dat's de whole biznuss. De harder he 
 walloped, de more she wouldn't promise." 
 
 Mr. Dootleby felt in his arms the strength 
 of a whole army corps. "Look here," he said 
 to Dick, "will you promise me fair play?" 
 
 "Dey wont nobody interfere widjer," Dick 
 replied. "I'll be de empire, an' I t'ink I kin ref 
 eree a mill 'long er de bes'. Sail right in, ole
 
 TIN-TYPES. 79 
 
 gent. The gurl stan's fer de di'mun' belt. If 
 you knocks out yer man, she's yourn. If he 
 licks you, an' has any strength left, he kin go on 
 wid his wallopin'." 
 
 "Sissy's" soothing hand and the fresh air 
 coming through the door had brought back life 
 into the girl's limp body. She was still weak 
 and prostrate, lying at full length on the floor, 
 with her head supported upon Sissy's shoulder. 
 
 She was a brilliant type of the ignorant and 
 vicious population which overflows the tene 
 ments in certain downtown districts and fur 
 nishes the largest element in the city's criminal 
 society. Her eyes were large, and must have 
 been, under better conditions, full of light and 
 expression. 
 
 Even now, when great lumps, dark and burn 
 ing with inflammation, stood out upon her 
 forehead, and heavy sashes of black circled her 
 eyes, while all the rest of her face was white 
 and bloodless and cruelly distorted with pain 
 even now there was a kind of beauty about her 
 that gave her rank above the class to which con 
 ditions, more forceful than laws, condemned her. 
 
 Condemned? Yes, condemned; why not? 
 What did she know of the science of morals, 
 of souls, or revelations, or higher laws? Who 
 had ever mentioned these things to her. What 
 had she to do with questions of right and
 
 8o TIN-TYPES. 
 
 wrong? What was right to her but gratifica 
 tion, or wrong but want? What was passion 
 but nature pent up, or crime but congested 
 nature suddenly set free? 
 
 She spoke a Christian tongue. She wore a 
 Christian dress. Her heart answered to the 
 same emotions that quicken or deaden the beat 
 of other breasts. She had tears to shed, hopes 
 to excite, passions to burn, desires to gratify. 
 Nature had denied her none of the faculties 
 that give beauty and grace and dignity and 
 sweetness to another. Even as she lay 
 stretched on the floor of a dive in the heart of 
 a Christian city, but remoter from influences 
 that encourage the good and repress the bad in 
 her nature than if she were standing in the 
 darkest jungle of Africa even there, degraded, 
 ignorant, and infinitely wretched, she was a 
 martyr to the very virtues, truth and con 
 stancy, of which she knew the least ! 
 
 Some such reflections as these were flitting 
 through Mr. Dootleby's mind as he glanced 
 down upon her, and then turned to his enraged 
 antagonist, who was standing ever alert for a 
 chance to recover his victim. 
 
 "Look here," said Mr. Dootleby. "Let's 
 come to terms about this affair. You can see 
 for yourself that the girl is half dead. You 
 don't want to kill her outright, I'm sure."
 
 TIN-TYPES. %l 
 
 "'Tain't no biznuss of yourn if I do," the 
 old man savagely replied. 
 
 "Maybe not. But cool off, now, and be 
 reasonable. You'll be sorry enough for what 
 you've done already, and if you were to 
 do more you'd have to stand your trial for 
 murder." 
 
 '"Twont be for murderin' her w'en I gits in 
 de jug. But I'll murder you if yer don't 
 leave dis place right off." 
 
 "I'm not going to leave till I take her 
 with me." 
 
 "Den you wont never leave alive." 
 
 Pete whipped a knife from his pocket and 
 rushed at Mr. Dootleby, intending to over 
 whelm him by a sudden and furio'us attack. 
 The ivory cane again came into action. It 
 struck the muscular part of Pete's arm just be 
 low the shoulder. The knife did not reach its 
 destination, but it inflicted an ugly wound in 
 Mr. Dootleby's hand. Without noticing this, he 
 closed in on his foe, pouring all the resources 
 of his powerful frame into a dozen fierce and 
 well-directed blows. The spectators upon the 
 benches, however indifferent while the brute 
 had been maltreating a defenseless girl, were 
 now seized with a panic. Two of the men 
 slunk out into the street. The girls rushed to 
 their rooms, threw on their coats and street
 
 82 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 dresses, and escaped also. The battle continued 
 for several minutes, each man fighting, as he 
 knew, for his life. 
 
 Pete was a great human beast. He was far 
 stronger than Mr. Dootleby, but not nearly so 
 quick and dexterous. The blow on his right 
 arm placed him at a great disadvantage. Mr. 
 Dootleby knew he could not fight long. Every 
 second drew heavily upon his vitality. But he 
 made no useless expenditure of his strength. 
 His blows were intelligently directed toward 
 the accomplishment of a specific object in 
 the disabling of his enemy, and each of them 
 did its appointed work. At last expos 
 ing himself by a sudden lunge, Pete was 
 thrown, and he did not rise. He was uncon 
 scious. 
 
 So was Mr. Dootleby almost. His head 
 swam and he leaned heavily against the wall for 
 support. The blood was dripping from several 
 ugly wounds, but he revived as he heard 
 Dick remark: "Dat was a beauterful mill. 
 All right. Bein' a sportin' man myself, I t'ink 
 I knows a good mill w'en I sees one. De di'- 
 mun' belt, ole man, is yourn. All right. Hello ! 
 W'y, where's de trophy gone?" 
 
 Mr. Dootleby opened his one available eye, 
 and saw that the only persons in the room were 
 himself, his beaten enemy, and Dick.
 
 TIN-TYPES. 83 
 
 "What's this mean?" he cried. "You pledged 
 your word on fair dealings." 
 
 Dick called on all the saints to witness that 
 he did not know where the girl had gone. 
 "De whole crowd cleared out," he said, "w'en 
 de hustlin' begun. But she can'ter gone fur. I 
 reckon if you go out in de street you'll fin' her 
 and de kid wot's helpin' her around somewheres. 
 I'll sponge off Pete, an' try ter patch up wot's 
 lef of him. All right." 
 
 Mr. Dootleby was not slow to act upon this 
 suggestion. He bent over the still prostrate 
 Pete and tried to ascertain if his pulse was 
 beating. It not being immediately apparent 
 whether it was or not, and Mr. Dootleby not 
 caring about it a great deal anyhow, he caught 
 up his hat and coat and hurried away. 
 
 Sissy was watching for him from behind a 
 tree across the street, and she came toward him 
 running. 
 
 "Maggie's in de alley, sir, yonder by de lamp, 
 layin' derean' moanin', an' I t'ink dey's sumpin' 
 wrong wid her," said Sissy. 
 
 She led him to the spot beyond which they 
 had not been able to escape, where Maggie was 
 lying with the light from the street lamp 
 shining full in her face. Her dress was torn at 
 the neck, for she had not been costumed as the 
 others were, and the cold, wintry night-air was
 
 84 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 blowing on her bare throat and breast. Her 
 big eyes had lost their tlimness, and were blaz 
 ing with a fire kindled by a wild imagination. 
 Mr. Dootleby took off his hat and knelt upon 
 the alley stones, and threw his arms around her 
 shoulders, supporting her. She looked through 
 him at some one not present but beyond. 
 
 "I didn't do it, Swiggsy, an' he couldn't 'a' 
 made me if he'd burned my eyes out like he 
 said he was goin' to !" she whispered faintly. 
 "But he used me rough, Swiggsy, an' I'm 
 just a little bit tired." 
 
 "Good God in Heaven !" murmured Mr. 
 Dootleby, "look upon this wavering soul in 
 Thy full compassion. She is tired, so very, 
 very tired." 
 
 "And, Swiggsy, let's go somewheres where 
 he can't fin' me, cause I'm fearful of him. 
 An' you'll get steady work, Swiggsy, tendin' 
 bar, an' then " 
 
 She closed her eyes, and for several moments 
 lay silent and still. 
 
 "Swiggsy" 
 
 The sound was faint now, and Mr. Dootleby 
 bent low to catch it. 
 
 "I suspicion something ails me in my side, 
 an' I'm falling, falling, falling Ketch me, 
 Swiggsy, hold me I'm honest wid you, don't 
 you know it. Tell me so, and say it loud, so's
 
 STARS OF THE NIGHT, ARE YOU WATCHING HERE ?
 
 86 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 I can hear. I'll be good to you when I get 
 rested." 
 
 The street is empty. Not a sound is heard. 
 Not a footfall. Not a voice. The world is 
 sleeping, dreaming of its own ambitions. Stars 
 of the night, are you watching here? 
 
 "You said you t'ought I was pretty, Swiggsy, 
 an' it made me so glad an' happy, 'cause I 
 wants you to think I'm pretty ah ! where are 
 you going! Come back! come back! come 
 back ! Don't leave me all alone, please, please 
 don't, for I'm falling again, fast, faster all the 
 time, an' I'll soon fall- 
 She opened her eyes wide wider than ever. 
 She looked into Mr. Dootleby's face and 
 smiled. She lifted her hand and dropped it 
 heavily into his. Her head dropped on his 
 shoulder. She had fallen out of human sight !
 
 V. 
 THE HON. DOYLE O'MEAGHER. 
 
 AT this particular moment the Hon. Doyle 
 O'Meagher is a busy man. Tammany 
 Hall's nominating convention is shortly to be 
 held, and Mr. O'Meagher is putting the finish 
 ing touches upon the ticket which he has de 
 cided that the convention shall adopt. The 
 ticket, written down upon a sheet of paper, is 
 before him, together with a bottle of whisky 
 and a case of cigars, and the finishing touches 
 consist of little pencil-marks placed opposite 
 the candidates' names, indicating that they 
 have visited Mr. O'Meagher and have duly paid 
 over their several campaign assessments a pre 
 liminary formality which Mr. O'Meagher en 
 forces with strict impartiality. The amount of 
 each assessment depends entirely upon Mr. 
 O'Meagher's sense of the fitness of things. To 
 dispute Mr. O'Meagher's sense in this particu 
 lar is looked upon as treason and rebellion. 
 In the case of the Hon. Thraxton Wimples, 
 the intended candidate for the Supreme Court, 
 the assessment is $20,000. 
 87
 
 88 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Mr. Wimples is a little man of profound learn 
 ing and ancient lineage. Mr. O'Meagher is a man 
 of indifferent learning and no lineage to speak 
 of. Mr. Wimples's grandfather had signed the 
 Declaration of Independence, and had moved 
 on three separate occasions that the Continen 
 tal Congress do now adjourn, while no reason 
 whatever existed, other than the one most ob 
 vious but least apt to occur to any one, for sup 
 posing that Mr. O'Meagher had ever had a 
 grandfather at all. And yet, as Mr. Wimples, 
 though on the threshold of great dignity and 
 power, walks into Mr. O'Meagher' s presence, 
 he find himself all of a tremble, and glows and 
 chills chase each other up and down his spinal 
 column. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. O'Meagher," he says, "good-morn 
 ing! Good-morning! Happy to see you so 
 er well. Charming day, so warm for the er 
 season." 
 
 "Yes," says Mr. O'Meagher, "so it be." 
 
 "I received your notification of the high er 
 honor, you propose to confer on me." 
 
 "Yes," says Mr. O'Meagher, "you're the man 
 for the place." 
 
 "So kind of you to er say so. You men 
 tioned that the er assessment was 
 
 "Twenty thousand dollars," says Mr. O'Mea 
 gher, with great promptness.
 
 JUST SO," SAYS MR. WIMPLES, " JUST SO.
 
 90 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "Just so," says Mr. Wimples, "just so." 
 
 "And you've called to pay it," says Mr. 
 O'Meagher, taking up his list and his pencil. 
 "I've been expecting you." 
 
 "Ah, yes, to be sure, of course. I was going 
 to propose a er settlement." 
 
 "A what?" says Mr*. O'Meagher sharply. 
 
 Mr. Wimples mops his brow. The fact is," 
 he says, "I don't happen to have so considerable 
 a sum as $20,000 at the er moment, and I 
 was thinking of suggesting that I just pay you, 
 say, $10,000 down, and give you two er 
 notes." 
 
 "Twont do," says Mr. O'Meagher, shaking 
 his head and fetching his pencil down upon 
 the table with a smart tap, '"twont do at all." 
 
 "Eh? Indorsed, you know, by 
 
 "Mr. Wimples, that $20,000 in hard cash 
 must be in my hands by six o'clock to-night, or 
 your name goes off the ticket." 
 
 "O er Lud !" says Mr. Wimples, sadly. 
 
 "By six P. M." 
 
 "But, my dear Mr. O'Meagher 
 
 "Or your name goes off the ticket." 
 
 Mr. Wimples groaned, grasped the whisky 
 bottle, poured out a copious draught, tossed it 
 down his throat, bowed meekly, and withdrew. 
 In the vestibule he met the Hon. Perfidius 
 Ruse, the Mayor of the city, whose term of
 
 TIN-TYPES. 91 
 
 office was about to expire, and as to whose re- 
 nomination there was going on a heated con 
 troversy. Mr. Ruse was a reformer. It was 
 as a reformer that he had been elected two 
 years before. At that time Mr. O'Meagher 
 found himself menaced by a strange peril. 
 It had been alleged by jealous enemies that 
 he was corrupt, and they called loudly for 
 reform. At first, Mr. O'Meagher experienced 
 some difficulty in understanding what was 
 meant by corrupt and what by reform. His 
 mission in life, as he understood it, was to 
 name the individuals who should hold the city's 
 offices and to control their official acts in the 
 interest of Tammany Hall, and he had great 
 difficulty in comprehending how it could be any 
 body's business that he had grown rich per 
 forming his mission. But perceiving that a 
 large and dangerous class of voters was clamor 
 ing for a reformer, he concluded to humor it if 
 he could find a good safe reformer on whom he 
 could rely. In this emergency he had .pro 
 duced the Hon. Perfidius Ruse. 
 
 It cannot be said that Mr. O'Meagher regarded 
 the Ruse experiment as entirely satisfactory. 
 Mr. Ruse had certainly reformed several things, 
 and with considerable adroitness and skill, but 
 there were many who said that his reforms had 
 all been made with an eye single to the glory
 
 92 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 of the Hon. Perfidius Ruse, and with a view 
 to the establishment of a personal influence 
 hostile to the man who made him. The time 
 had now come for the test of strength. Con 
 cerning his ultimate intentions, the Hon. Doyle 
 O'Meagher was cold, silent, and reserved. 
 
 "How are you, Mr. Mayor?" said the crest 
 fallen Mr. Wimples, as he came upon the re 
 former in the vestibule. "Going up to see 
 the er Boss?" 
 
 "I was thinking of it, yes. How's he feel 
 ing?" 
 
 "Ugly. He's in a dev'lish uncompromising 
 er humor. If you were going to ask anything 
 of him I advise you to er, not." 
 
 "Thank you. I only intend to suggest some 
 matters in the interest of reform." 
 
 "I wish you well. But er go slow." 
 
 Mr. O'Meagher did not rise to greet his dis 
 tinguished visitor. He simply drew a chair 
 close to his own, poured out a glass of whisky, 
 and said, "Hello!" 
 
 "I thought I'd just drop in, Mr. O'Meagher," 
 said the Mayor, "to say a word or two about 
 the situation. What are the probabilities?" 
 
 "As regards which?" 
 
 "H'm, well, the nominations?" 
 
 "Who can tell," ejaculated Mr. O'Meagher. 
 "Who can tell? What is more uncertain, Mr.
 
 "WHO CAN TELL?" EJACULATED MR. O'MEAGHER. 
 
 93
 
 94 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Ruse, than the action of a nominating conven 
 tion?" 
 
 ' To be sure," responded Mr. Ruse. "What, 
 indeed?" Whereupon each statesman looked 
 at the other out of the corners of his eyes. 
 
 "There's only one thing I care about," con 
 tinued Mr. Ruse, "and that is reform. If my 
 successor is a reformer, I shall be satisfied." 
 
 "Make yourself easy," replied Mr. O'Mea- 
 gher. He'll be a reformer. I've been pay 
 ing some attention during the last two years 
 to the education of our people in the mat 
 ter of reform. My success has been flatter 
 ing. I think I can truthfully say now that 
 Tammany Hall has a reformer ready for every 
 salary paid by the city, and that there's no 
 danger of our stock of reformers giving out 
 as long as the salaries last." 
 
 Mr. Ruse hesitated a moment, as if reflecting 
 how he should take these observations. Finally 
 he laughed in a feeble way and said, "Good, yes, 
 very." Then he added, "But, speaking seriously, 
 I do feel that my duty to the public requires 
 me to exert all the influence I have for the 
 protection of reform." 
 
 "I feel the same way," said Mr. O'Meagher, 
 "exactly the same way. I'm just boiling over 
 with enthusiasm for reform." 
 
 "Then our sympathies and desires are com-
 
 TIN-TYPES. 95 
 
 mon. Now, if I could feel sure that I ought to 
 run again in the interest of reform 
 
 "You've done so much already," Mr. O'Mea- 
 gher hastily put in, "you've sacrificed so heav 
 ily that I don't think it would be fair to ask 
 it of you." 
 
 "N-no," said the Mayor, dubiously, "I sup 
 pose it wouldn't, now, would it?" 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 "And yet I don't like to run away from the 
 call, so to speak, of duty." 
 
 "Don't be worried about that." 
 
 "But I am worried, O'Meagher. I can't help 
 it. By every mail I am receiving hundreds of 
 letters from the best citizens of New-York, urg 
 ing me to let my name be used. Deputations 
 wait on me constantly with the same request, 
 and, as you know, they are going to hold a 
 mass-meeting to-morrow night, and they threat 
 en to nominate me, whether or no. What can 
 I do? I tell them I don't want to run, that my 
 private business has already suffered by neg 
 lect, but they answer imploring me not to de 
 sert the cause of reform just when it needs me 
 most. It is very embarrassing." 
 
 "Very," said Mr. O'Meagher. "It's aston 
 ishing how thoughtless people are. But they 
 wouldn't be so hard on you if they knew how 
 you were fixed."
 
 96 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "That's just it. The)' don't know, and I 
 don't want to appear selfish." 
 
 Mr. O'Meagher coughed, not because he 
 needed to cough, but for want of something 
 better to do. 
 
 "The Tammany ticket," Mr. Ruse contin 
 ued," will be hotly opposed this year, and I'm 
 bound to say that I don't think it is sufficiently 
 identified with reform. They tell me you are 
 going to nominate Wimples for the Supreme 
 Court. Wimples is a good lawyer, but he 
 has no reform record. Neither has Colonel 
 Bellows, whom you talk of for District-Attor 
 ney. McBoodle for Sheriff does not appeal to 
 reformers. Bierbocker for Register might get 
 the German vote, but how could reformers sup 
 port a common butcher? I don't know whom 
 you think of for my place, but it seems to me 
 that there's only one way to save your ticket 
 from defeat and that is to indorse the candi 
 date for Mayor presented by the citizens' mass- 
 meeting to-morrow night. That would make 
 success certain. The public would praise 
 your noble fidelity to reform, and you'd sweep 
 the city! Think of it, Mr. O'Meagher! 
 What a glorious, what a golden opportu 
 nity!" 
 
 "My eyes are as wide open as the next man's 
 for golden opportunities, Mr. Ruse," replied
 
 TIN-TYPES. 97 
 
 Mr. O'Meagher. "But the question is, who will 
 be nominated." 
 
 "Well, 'hem ! of course I can't definitely say. 
 I'm trying to get them to take some new 
 man. But if they should insist on nominating 
 me, I'm afraid I'd have to h'm, what what 
 do you think I'd have to do?" 
 
 "Well, being a pious man and a reformer, 1 
 should think you'd at least have to pray over it." 
 
 The Hon. Perfidius Ruse gave a keen, quick 
 glance at the Hon. Doyle O'Meagher, and 
 slightly frowned. 
 
 "I should certainly consider it with care," he 
 said stiffly. 
 
 "So should I." 
 
 "Is that all you will say?" 
 
 "No, I'll say more," and he picked up the 
 sheet of paper on which he had written the 
 names of the Tammany candidates. " Look 
 here," he continued. "This is my list of nomi 
 nees. The space for the head of the ticket is 
 still blank. I have not told any one whom I 
 mean to present for the Mayoralty, but I will 
 promise you now to insert there the name of 
 .the man nominated by your Citizens' meeting 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 "Whoever he may be?" 
 
 "Whoever he may be." 
 
 "And I may rely on that?"
 
 "I SHOULD CERTAINLY CONSIDER IT WITH CARE," HE SAID 
 STIFFLY. 
 
 98
 
 TIN-TYPES. 99 
 
 "Did I ever tell you anything you couldn't 
 rely on?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "All right. Good-by." 
 
 They shook hands, and Mr. Ruse departed 
 wearing an expansive smile. As he left the 
 room, Mr. O'Meagher smiled also and picked up 
 his pen. "I may as well fill in the name now," 
 he said softly, "and save time," and with great 
 precision he proceeded to write: "For Mayor, 
 the Hon. Doyle O'Meagher. Assessed in the 
 sum of " but there he stopped. 'We'll con 
 sider that later," he said. 
 
 The personal history of the Hon. Doyle 
 O'Meagher strikingly proves how slight an 
 influence is exerted in this young republic 
 by social prestige and vulgar wealth, and how 
 inevitably certain are the rewards of virtue, 
 industry, and ability. I am credibly told that 
 Mr. O'Meagher first opened his eyes in a 
 little ten by twelve earth cabin in the County 
 Kerry, Ireland, though I can not profess to 
 have seen the cabin. Being from his earliest 
 youth of a reflective disposition, he became im 
 pressed, when but a small lad, with the convic 
 tion that thirteen people, three pigs, seven 
 chickens, and five ducks formed too numerous a 
 population for a cabin of those dimensions. In 
 the silent watches of the night, with his head
 
 100 TLV-TYPES. 
 
 on a duck and a pig on his stomach, he had 
 frequently revolved this idea in his young 
 but apt mind, and at last, though not in any 
 spirit of petulance, he formed the resolution 
 which gave shape and purpose to his later career. 
 
 He had communicated to his father his pe 
 culiar views about the crowded condition of the 
 cabin. 
 
 "Begob, Doyley, me bye," the old man had re 
 plied, "Oi've bin thinkin' o' that. Whin the ould 
 sow litters, Doyley, it's sore perplexhed we'll 
 be fer shlapin' room. Divil a wan o' me knows 
 how fer to sarcumvint the throuble widout 
 we takes you, Doyley, an' the young pigs, an' 
 shtrings ye all up o' nights ferninst the wall." 
 
 Doyle waited developments with a heavy 
 heart, and when they came and he found that it 
 required all the fingers on both his hands where 
 with to calculate their number, he took down 
 his hat, dashed the unbidden tear from his 
 eyes, and made the best of his way to Queens- 
 town. 
 
 The opportunity is not here afforded for an 
 extended review of the stages of progress by 
 which Mr. O'Meagher, having landed in New 
 York, finally secured almost a sovereign influ 
 ence in its municipal affairs, and yet they are 
 too interesting to justify their entire omission. 
 He first won a place in the hearts of the
 
 TIN-TYPES. 101 
 
 American people by discovering to them his 
 wonderful fistic attainments. From small and 
 unnoted rings, he steadily and grandly rose until 
 the newspapers overflowed with the details of 
 his battles with the eminent Mr. Muldoon, with 
 Four-Fingered Jake, with the Canarsie Ban 
 tam, with Billy the Beat, and with other equally 
 distinguished gentlemen of equally portentous 
 titles, and at last none was to be found capable 
 of withstanding the onslaught of the aroused 
 Mr. O'Meagher. When he went forth in dress- 
 array, belts and buckles and chains and plates 
 of gold armored him from head to heel, and 
 diamonds as large as pigeons' eggs blazed re- 
 splendently from every available nook and 
 corner all over his muscular expanse. 
 
 Mr. O'Meagher's retirement from the ring 
 was rendered inevitable by the fact that no one 
 would enter it with him, and he found himself 
 compelled to employ his talents in other fields 
 of labor. Reduced to this extremity, he re 
 solved to go into politics, and as an earnest of 
 this intention he fitted up a new and gorgeous 
 saloon. It was a novelty in its way, with its tiled 
 floors, its decorated walls, its costly and beauti 
 ful paintings, its rare tapestries, its statues in 
 bronze and marble, its heavy, oaken bar, and its 
 pyramid of the finest cut glass- and when he 
 threw it open to the public he celebrated the
 
 102 TI.V-TYPES. 
 
 occasion by formally accepting a Tammany 
 nomination for Congress. 
 
 In the halls of the National Legislature, Mr. 
 O'Meagher soon let it be known that he cared 
 not who made the country's laws, so long as a 
 fair proportion of his constituents were supplied 
 with places and pensions, and his aggressive and 
 successful championship of this principle soon 
 won for him a proud position in the councils 
 of his party. He was a friend of the common 
 people, and the commoner the people the 
 friendlier he was, until, having clearly estab 
 lished his claims to leadership, in obedience 
 to the summons of his organization, he gave 
 himself up to the management of its destinies. 
 
 It was as the Boss of Tammany Hall that 
 Mr. Doyle O'Meagher's genius-attained its larg 
 est and highest development. Notwithstand 
 ing the opposition of rival factions engaged in 
 bitter competition with Tammany, Mr. O'Mea 
 gher contrived to let out the offices at larger 
 commission rates than Tammany had ever re 
 ceived before. Under no previous Boss had 
 Tammany's heelers enjoyed such vast oppor 
 tunities for "business." It was all in vain that 
 envious and less-gifted bosses sought to under 
 mine and depose him. Steadily and courage 
 ously he pursued his policy of reducing the la 
 bor of self-government to individual citizens un-
 
 TIN-TYPES. ioj 
 
 til he had placed their taxes at a maximum and 
 their trouble at a minimum. They had but to 
 pay, Mr. O'Meagher did all the piping and 
 all the dancing too. 
 
 He was in capital humor now as he dropped 
 the pen with which he had written his own name 
 as that of the Mayoralty candidate for whom 
 he had finally decided to throw his important 
 influence, and when a boy entered with the 
 information that Major Tuff was below, the 
 Hon. Doyle O'Meagher was actually whistling. 
 "Tuff," he said. "Good, I'm wanting Tuff. 
 Send Tuff up." 
 
 Tuff entered. Tuff's hat was new and high 
 and shiny. Tuff's hair was all aglow with bear's 
 grease. Tuff's eyes were small and snappy. 
 Tuff's nose was flat and wide and snubby. 
 Tuff's cheeks were big and bony. Tuff's cigar 
 was long and black. Tuff's lips were thick and 
 extensive. Tuff's neck was huge and short. 
 Tuff's coat was a heavy blue one that did for 
 an overcoat, too. Tuff wore diamonds as big 
 as his knuckles. Tuff's scarf was red. Tuff's 
 waistcoat was yellow, and every color known 
 to the spectroscope was employed to make up 
 Tuff's copious trousers. 
 
 "Well," said Tuff, "I'm on deck." 
 
 "Thank you, Major. How are things looking?" 
 
 "Dey couldn't be better. I got t'irty-six ten-
 
 104 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 ement houses wid at leas' two hundered woters 
 to de house. Dey's two t'ousan' Eyetalians, 
 five hunered niggers, more'n a t'ousan' Poles, 
 and de res' is all kinds. An' every dern one 
 of em's eddicated !" 
 
 "Educated ! Really, you don't mean it?" 
 "Eddicated! You kin betcher boots. De 
 performin' dogs in the circus aint a patch to 
 dem free and intelligent Amerikin citerzens. 
 I got 'em trained so dat at de menshun of de 
 word 'reform' dey all busts out in one gran' 
 roar er ent'oosiasm. I had eight hunered of 
 'em a-practisin' in de assembly rooms over 
 Paddy Coogan's saloon las' night. I tole 'em 
 de louder dey yelled when I said de word 
 'reform' de more beer dey'd get w'en de lectur 
 was done. Some of 'em was disposed ter stick 
 out for de beer fust, an' said dey could do deir 
 bes' shoutin' w'en dey was loaded. But my 
 princerple is work fust, den go ter de cashier. 
 So I made 'em a speech. 
 
 "I sez: 'Feller-citerzens: Dis is de Ian' er 
 de free an' de home er de brav,' an' den I give 
 a motion wot means 'stamp de feet.' Dey all 
 stamped like dey was clog-dancers. Den I 
 cleared me t'roat an' perceeded : 'Dis is de 
 haven of de oppressed, de pore an' de unforch- 
 ernit from all shores.' I give de signal wot 
 means cheers, an' dey yelled for two minits.
 
 "WELL," SAID TUFF, " I'M ON DECK.' 
 
 105
 
 IO<J TIN-TYPES. 
 
 'Dis is our berloved Ameriky!' sez I, 'where 
 no tyrant's heel is ever knowed,' sez I, 'where 
 all men is ekal,' sez I, 'an' where we, feller-cit- 
 erzens, un'er de gallorious banner of RE 
 FORM ' an' at dat word, dey all jes' got up on 
 deir feet an' stamped, an' yelled, an' waved deir 
 hats an' coats till you'd er t'ought dey was a 
 Legislatur' of lunatics. Oh, I got 'em in good 
 shape doncher bodder about me." 
 
 "Ahem," said Mr. O'Meagher thoughtfully, 
 as he cracked his finger-joints and puffed on his 
 cigar. "You've done well, Tuff, excellent. Ah, 
 Tuff, there's going to be a meeting in the Cooper 
 Union to-morrow night. The people that are 
 getting it up er, well, I'm afraid they're not 
 very friendly to me, Tuff. The doors open at 
 seven. Now, do you think the proceedings 
 would be interesting enough to your friends for 
 them to attend in such numbers as will fill the 
 hall, Tuff?" 
 
 "Say no more, Mr. O'Meagher, dey '11 be dere." 
 
 "In large numbers, Tuff?" 
 
 "Dey '11 jam de hall." 
 
 "Early, Tuff?" 
 
 "By half-past six." 
 
 "Good. I think you'll find the policemen on 
 duty there very good fellows. You might see 
 me to-morrow morning, Tuff, and I'll have 
 something for you."
 
 VI. 
 
 THE HON. DOYLE O'MEAGHER. 
 
 (CONCLUDED.) 
 
 ALL bedecked with light and all ablaze with 
 color, the Cooper Union was fast filling 
 up with the friends of Reform. So enor 
 mous had the crowds in Astor Place become 
 that, although the hour was early, Colonel 
 Sneekins had wisely concluded to wait no 
 longer, but at once to let them in. They 
 poured through the wide doorways in abun 
 dant streams, while Colonel Sneekins led the 
 superb brass band of the /th Regiment, done 
 up in startling uniforms and carrying along with 
 it a tremendous battery of horns and drums, 
 to its place in the gallery. 
 
 Colonel Machiavelli Sneekins sustained an 
 important relation to the Reform movement, 
 and at this Grand Rally of Non-Partisan Cit 
 izens in the Interest of Reform, he had, with 
 great propriety, selected himself to be Master 
 of Ceremonies. Colonel Sneekins was a non- 
 partisan citizen. He looked upon partisanship 
 as the curse of the Republic, and in his more 
 enthusiastic moments had declared that if he 
 107
 
 io8 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 could have his way about it, any man so hope 
 lessly dead to the nobler impulses of the hu 
 man heart as to confess himself a partisan 
 should be declared guilty of a felony and con 
 fined for a proper period of years at hard labor. 
 What the country called for, according to 
 Colonel Sneekins, was Reform. The first step in 
 bringing about the triumph of Reform was to 
 put all the offices in the hands of Reformers. 
 If the public wished to intoxicate its eyes 
 with the spectacle of the kind of men who 
 would then administer the Government, it had 
 but to look upon him. He was a Reformer. 
 As a Reformer he was in possession of a lucra 
 tive municipal office, wherein he was mightily 
 prospering, and which for the honor and glory 
 of Reform he was willing to retain. 
 
 Colonel Sneekins was the leading spirit of 
 this citizens' movement. He had prepared the 
 call of the meeting. He had obtained the 
 1 500 signatures now appended to it, represent 
 ing estimable business men who, in observing 
 that useful maxim of trade, "We strive to 
 please," esteemed it one of their functions to 
 sign all the petitions that came along. Colonel 
 Sneekins had hired the hall and the band ; had 
 made up from the City Directory a formidable 
 list of Vice-Presidents and Secretaries ; had se 
 cured the orators, and finally had arranged for
 
 TIN-TYPES. 109 
 
 the attendance of a sufficient audience. In per 
 fecting these details he had had the valuable 
 assistance of other distinguished Reformers 
 and non-partisan citizens. Editor Hacker, of 
 The New York Daily Sting, had boomed the 
 movement with great zeal and effectiveness. 
 General Divvy, the ex-Governor of South Caro 
 lina, who had grown wealthy reforming that 
 State and had thereafter naturally come to be 
 regarded as an authority on all matters con 
 nected with reform, had written an earnest let 
 ter commending the rally as one of the most 
 important steps that had ' ever been taken in 
 the direction of pure and frugal government. 
 The Rev. Dr. Lillipad Froth, from his pulpit 
 in the Memorial Church of the Sacred Vanities, 
 had taken occasion to say that great results to 
 the community might be expected from- the 
 success of this patriotic enterprise, arid ex-Con 
 gressman Van Shyster, being interviewed by a 
 reporter of The Sting, after expressing his un 
 qualified opinion that all political parties were 
 utterly corrupt and abandoned, whereof his op 
 portunity of judging had certainly been excel 
 lent, since he had suffered numerous defeats as 
 the candidate of each of them successively, em 
 phatically declared that he saw no hope for the 
 city except in the cause this meeting was called 
 to foster.
 
 lio TIN-TYPES. 
 
 No definite purpose had been expressed in 
 the published call as to what should be done at 
 the Rally, but Colonel Sneekins's plans were 
 fully matured. The Hon. Doyle O'Meagher, 
 the Boss of Tammany Hall, had promised 
 that his organization should indorse for the 
 office of Mayor the nominee presented by the 
 Reformers. As to the identity of their candi 
 date there was but one mind among the Refor 
 mers. Who should he be but that champion of 
 Reform, the Hon. Perfidius Ruse? Mr. Ruse 
 was not an experiment. He had already served 
 as the City's Chief Magistrate, and had filled 
 many remunerative offices with Reformers. 
 Being of a modest and retiring disposition, he 
 was now holding aloof from the honors sought 
 to be thrust upon him. He had begged his 
 friends to take some new candidate, he had 
 pleaded his well-known dislike of office and the 
 pressing demands of his private affairs. But, 
 nevertheless, zealous as he was in the Reform 
 cause, he had consented to furnish a delegation 
 of 500 citizens from his morocco factories in 
 Hoboken to swell the Grand Rally in the 
 Cooper Union, and had given his friend, 
 Colonel Sneekins, an ample check wherewith to 
 procure portraits and pamphlets presenting to 
 the public the features and the services of the 
 Hon. Perfidius Ruse. It was Colonel Sneekins's
 
 TIN-TYPES. in 
 
 intention totally to disregard Mr. Ruse's plea for 
 rest from official cares, and as he now from be 
 hind the wings contemplated the great crowd 
 that was surging into the Cooper Union, he 
 rubbed his hands and gleamed his teeth with 
 such intensity of emotion that the Rev. Dr. Lil- 
 lipad Froth, who was standing near by, felt his 
 flesh a-creeping. 
 
 It was certainly an extraordinary crowd. It 
 had assembled almost in an instant. Scarcely 
 had the policemen taken their places at the 
 doors of the Cooper Union when a bulky, varie 
 gated young man stepped up to one of them. 
 
 "Hello!" he said. 
 
 "Hello, Meejor," responded the officer. 
 
 "When'll yer open de door?" 
 
 "Air ye wantin' t' git in, .Meejor?" 
 
 "Doncher know I got a gang to-night?" 
 
 "So ye have, Meejor, so ye have. Oi was 
 hearin' about it, av coorse. It's the Tim Tuff 
 Assowseashun, aint it?" 
 
 "Now, looker yere !" said Tuff sharply, 
 "Aincher got no orders 'bout dis meetin'?" 
 
 "Oi have that, Meejor. Oi was towld that 
 you an' some friends av yourn moight be 
 a-wantin' seats, an' Oi was ter see that ye got 
 'em." 
 
 "Dat's all right, den. Me an' my frien's 'II 
 be along in about ten minutes, an' dey'll be
 
 HE RUBBED HIS HANDS AND GLEAMED HIS TEETH. 
 
 112
 
 TIN-TYPES. H3 
 
 enough of us ter fill de hall, an* dere's one t'ing 
 yer wants ter keep in yer head, and dat's dis 
 ef me an' my frien's don't get a chance ter jam 
 dis house before anybody else is 'lowed inside 
 de door, de Hon'able Doyle O'Meagher '11 be 
 wantin* ter know de reason why !" 
 
 Having thus delivered himself Tuff sauntered 
 down the Bowery, and presently from all points 
 of the compass a tremendous rabble began to 
 pour into Astor Place and to mass itself in 
 front of the Cooper Union. Tuff himself re 
 appeared in a few moments, and when Colonel 
 Sneekins gave the signal for the doors to be 
 opened Tuff and his friends took easy and com 
 plete possession of the house. 
 
 Meanwhile the Hon. Perfidius Ruse stood in 
 a little room at the rear of the stage receiving 
 the invited guests of the occasion. Mr. Pickles, 
 the well-known Broome Street grocer, assumed a 
 look of intense morality and importance, as the 
 Mayor asked him how he did and expressed his 
 gratification at seeing the honored name of 
 Pickles a power in the commercial world en 
 rolled among the friends of reform. The ap 
 pearance of General Divvy put the Mayor in 
 quite a flutter, and when the General told him 
 that he positively must consent to run again, 
 and that he was the only hope of the Reform 
 ers, the Mayor was much affected.
 
 114 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "I fear I am," he replied, with a mournful 
 shake of the head, as much as to say what a 
 commentary that was on the absence of virtue 
 in public life. 
 
 Editor Hacker was equally earnest in his ap 
 peals. He said the Mayor must come right out, 
 and referred to a conversation he had had with 
 the President only last week, in which the Presi 
 dent had confidentially said he was as much 
 in favor of Reform as ever. Dr. Punk, who 
 stands at the very head of the medical profes 
 sion, informed the Rev. Lillipad Froth that it 
 was his deliberate opinion, should Mr. Ruse 
 desert them in this crisis, all would be over. 
 Something like dismay was created by the 
 ominous remark of ex-Congressman Van Shyster 
 that others might do as they pleased, but as 
 for him, his mind was made up. At this criti 
 cal juncture the Hon. Erastus Spiggott, the 
 orator of the evening, opportunely arrived, 
 and upon being told that Mr. Ruse was still 
 hesitating, he boldly declared that the only 
 thing to do was to take the bull by the horns. 
 Fired by the cheers elicited by this observa 
 tion, he proceeded to say that the occasion 
 which had brought together the large and 
 representative" body of citizens assembled in 
 the hall beyond, and waiting only for the 
 opportunity to indorse the wise and safe
 
 TIN-TYPES. 115 
 
 and honorable administration of Mayor Ruse 
 (loud cheers) and to place him again in nomi 
 nation, would live in history. (Cries of "good ! 
 good !") That vast and intelligent audience was 
 not there to record the edict of corrupt and 
 selfish bosses, but as thoughtful, independent, 
 and patrotic citizens, free from the shackles of 
 partisanship (loud applause), they had come to 
 gether to promote the honor and the prosperity 
 of this imperial metropolis. 
 
 Mr. Spiggott was entirely satisfied that 
 among them there was no division of sentiment 
 as to the course that should be pursued to se 
 cure this noble end. They knew as well as he, 
 as well as any of the gentlemen about him now, 
 that the Reform cause stood in peril of but one 
 misfortune the retirement of the great, unsel 
 fish, popular, and devoted man who had already 
 led the Reformers to victory. (Rapturous ap 
 plause.) He did not fail to appreciate the 
 modesty that led Mr. Ruse to undervalue his 
 magnificent services to the city. He could 
 well understand his (Mr. Ruse's) desire to return 
 to his counting-room and his fireside free of the 
 burdens and anxieties incident to a great trust. 
 But and here Mr. Spiggott's bosom swelled 
 and his eyes flashed with a noble fire he was 
 not here to-night to consider Mr. Ruse's feel 
 ings and wishes ; he was here, as they all were, in
 
 Il6 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 the discharge of a public duty. (Cheers.) That 
 duty required of Mr. Ruse an act of self-sacri 
 fice. He must accept the nomination. He 
 could not, he would not dare desert the Banner 
 of Reform. (Cheers.) 
 
 Mr. Spiggott paused, wiped his brow and his 
 eyeglasses, and continued. He might say in 
 this small and select company of Reformers 
 what it might be imprudent to assert later in 
 the evening, when he came to address the great 
 assembly in the outer hall, that the outcome of 
 this meeting was being keenly watched by the 
 spoilsmen. They were a cunning and sagacious 
 lot. The one thing they most dreaded was the 
 very thing this meeting was going to do. He 
 had the best reasons for knowing that Boss 
 O'Meagher mightily desired to nominate a can 
 didate of his own at the Tammany Hall conven 
 tion. Who had been selected by this unprin 
 cipled partisan, this arrogant and odious dictator 
 (loud and long applause), he did not know. But 
 he was certain to be a partisan, a spoilsman, a 
 tool of Tammany Hall and its corrupt boss. Mr. 
 Ruse's nomination to-night would deal a deadly 
 blow to that plot. Tammany Hall would not 
 dare risk the defeat of its entire ticket by nomi 
 nating a candidate against the Hon. Perfidius 
 Ruse. (Immense enthusiasm.) Indeed, Mr. 
 Spiggott had reason to believe that Boss
 
 "OF THIS IMPERIAL METROPOLIS." 
 
 117
 
 Ii8 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 O'Meagher, cunning trickster that he was, would 
 seek to avail himself of Mr Ruse's popularity 
 and would indorse the nominee of this meeting. 
 Under these circumstances it was folly to think 
 of permitting Mr. Ruse to retire. (Cheers.) It 
 could not be done. 
 
 Mr. Ruse was deeply affected by these re 
 marks, and at their conclusion he touched his 
 handkerchief to his eyes and said he did not 
 think it would be right for him to resist any 
 longer. Thereupon Colonel Sneekins, in a tone 
 of voice that highly distressed the nerves of the 
 Rev. Lillipad Froth, cried out "Hurrah!" and 
 forthwith led the way from the little dressing- 
 room in which they were assembled out upon 
 the stage. 
 
 The Reformers had been so busy bolstering 
 up the shrinking nature of Mr. Ruse that they 
 had given small heed to the enormous con 
 course of citizens in the hall. Indeed, Colonel 
 Sneekins, having ascertained that it would be 
 sufficient in point of numbers for the purposes 
 of a "grand rally," had not bestowed a further 
 thought upon it, so that when he and his vice- 
 presidents and his distinguished guests finally 
 got upon the stage and began to look about 
 them, the spectacle that met their eyes was as 
 unexpected as it was bewildering. From the 
 reporters' tables to the remotest recesses of the
 
 TIN-TYPES.. 119 
 
 gallery the hall was packed tight with a motley 
 mob, in which the element of born cut-throats 
 largely predominated. It was the kind of 
 crowd that could only have been gathered from 
 the three-cent lodging-houses in Chatham Street. 
 A dense volume of tobacco smoke, produced 
 from pipes and demoralized cigar-stumps, 
 choked the room. The evening being rather 
 warm, all surplus clothing had been disposed of, 
 and so far as could be observed through the 
 hazy atmosphere, the audience was attired only 
 in shirts. In one sense it was a highly repre 
 sentative audience. It represented every na 
 tion and every clime on the face of the earth. 
 Had it been selected for the purpose of show 
 ing the cosmopolitan character of the popula 
 tion in the tenement-house district surround 
 ing Chatham Square, it could not have been 
 more picturesque. Bristle-bearded Russians 
 and Poles, heavy-bearded Italians, dark-visaged 
 Hungarians, and every other manner of un 
 washed man had been drawn into this Grand 
 Rally of Non-Partisan Citizens in the Interest 
 of Reform. 
 
 Colonel Sneekins looked aghast at General 
 Divvy, and whispered hoarsely, "There's been 
 a mistake !" Drawing Mr. Spiggott, Editor 
 Hacker, and ex-Congressman Van Shyster about 
 them, a hurried consultation took place. It
 
 120 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 was quickly decided that retreat was now impos 
 sible and that the meeting must go on. They 
 were assisted in coming to this conclusion by 
 the chorus of lively and altogether friendly 
 apostrophes that came from the audience in 
 cries of "Wot's de matter wid Reform? Oh, it's 
 all right !" 
 
 "Let's go right ahead," said Editor Hacker. 
 "This is a democracy, and it is not for us to 
 assume that even the humblest citizen lacks 
 lofty aspirations." 
 
 Colonel Sneekins thereupon advanced to the 
 footlights, and was greatly reassured by the 
 hearty applause which his appearance evoked. 
 
 "Gentlemen !" he said, and immediately a 
 storm of cheers arose, delaying for several min 
 utes his further utterance. "It affords me 
 pleasure to propose as your chairman to-night 
 the Hon. Cockles V. Divvy." 
 
 General Divvy came forward, and as he 
 bowed and smiled in answer to the wild wel 
 come he received, the band played a few bars 
 from "Captain Jinks." When quiet had been 
 restored, the General said that this was the 
 proudest moment of his life. He should not 
 venture, however, to make a speech. The oc 
 casion was one that called for a power of elo 
 quence he could never hope to attain. (Cheers.) 
 He would, however, advert for one brief mo-
 
 THE HON. COCKLES V. DIVVY.
 
 122 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 ment (more cheers) to the significance of 
 this great assembly. He was rejoiced to see so 
 representative a gathering of intelligent citi 
 zens, drawn from every walk of life, brought 
 here to consider how best to fix and establish 
 upon the government of the city the great prin 
 ciple of Reform ! 
 
 The roar of applause that greeted this declara 
 tion was simply deafening. For full five min 
 utes the audience cheered and shouted, while 
 Sneekins opened his lips and gleamed his teeth 
 with such vigor as to compel the Rev. Dr. Lilli- 
 pad Froth to take a more distant chair. 
 
 General Divvy called upon Editor Hacker 
 to read the resolutions, which Mr. Hacker, 
 having procured them from Mr. Ruse a mo 
 ment before, at once proceeded to do. The 
 first resolution, being a declaration in favor of 
 Reform, was instantly carried. The second, 
 which indorsed Major Ruse's administration, 
 was likewise put through with entire unanimity. 
 The third declared that this meeting of non- 
 partisan citizens, anxious to continue to the 
 city the unexampled prosperity it had enjoyed 
 for the past two years, hereby placed in nomi 
 nation for a second term the Hon. Perfidius 
 Ruse ; whereupon, to the horror and dismay of 
 the Reformers, from all parts of the hall came a 
 deafening roar of protesting "noes!"
 
 EDITOR HACKER READS THE RESOLUTIONS. 
 
 123
 
 1^4 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 In an instant confusion and uproar possessed 
 the house. General Divvy pounded the desk 
 before him frantically and screamed for order 
 until he was black in the face. Above all the 
 din arose the shrill shout, of Colonel Sneekins, 
 as he called upon the police to clear the room. 
 In the body of the house men were shaking 
 their fists and waving their hats and coats, and 
 calling, "O'Meagher! O'Meagher! 'Rah fer 
 O'Meagher!" So unbounded was their enthusi 
 asm for O'Meagher, so unanimous and deter 
 mined were they to listen to nothing but 
 O'Meagher, and so fierce and bloodthirsty did 
 their devotion to O'Meagher appear to make 
 them, that General Divvy, warned by the sudden 
 contact of a projected cabbage with his mallet, 
 ceased at once to hammer and picked up his 
 hat and coat. The Reformers about him ac 
 cepted this as the signal of retreat, and they 
 fled precipitately through the door at the rear 
 of the stage. Of them all only four tarried in 
 the wings, Ruse, Sneekins, Divvy, and Hacker; 
 and as they grasped each other's hands in sor 
 row and sympathy, they saw the stalwart figure 
 of Major Tuff mount the stage. Immediately 
 the hall was quiet. 
 
 "Gents!" said Tuff. "Fer reasons dat I don't 
 see an' derefore can't explain, our leaders 'pear 
 ter hev deserted us and ter hev left dis gran'
 
 TIN-TYPES. 12$ 
 
 rally of non-partisan citizens in de int'rust of 
 Reform (cheers) in de lurch. Dis is werry 
 unforchernit, but we, as Reformers, must hump 
 ourselves ter meet de crisis. I nomernate fer 
 Mayor of New York de Hon. Doyle O'Meagher ! 
 Long may he wave!" 
 
 A cyclone of cheers swept the hall, and as 
 it echoed and re-echoed around them, the 
 four stranded Reformers betook themselves 
 away. "O'Meagher said he would accept the 
 nominee of this meeting as the candidate of 
 Tammany Hall," said Mr. Ruse sadly, "and I 
 guess he'll keep his word."
 
 VII. 
 MR. GALLIVANT. 
 
 O RIGHT and gay was the smile of Mr. Juni- 
 JL) per Gallivant. Merry and artless was the 
 flash of his bright blue eyes. Brisk and chip 
 per was the step at which his dainty feet bore 
 him along Broadway. Warm and impulsive 
 was the grasp of his hand. 
 
 Mr. Gallivant was a young man, surely not 
 over forty. He was a little fellow with just 
 the slightest perceptible tendency toward stout 
 ness. He could say more words in a minute 
 than any other man in New York, and he, at 
 least, always believed what he said. 
 
 Most men, I suppose, believe in themselves, 
 and largely for the reason that most men are 
 but superficially acquainted with themselves. 
 But Mr. Gallivant had been on terms of long 
 and ardent intimacy with himself, and the 
 implicit trust he placed in his own words was 
 therefore as surprising as it was beautiful. 
 
 Mr. Gallivant was born a gentleman and 
 educated a lawyer. He had an office in the 
 Equitable Building, and, during his periods of 
 126
 
 TIN-TYPES. 127 
 
 ill-luck, a large and paying clientage. For it 
 was only when luck was against him that he 
 consented to practice at his profession. When 
 it was known that he was in distressed circum 
 stances, clients flocked to him in large num 
 bers. Other less eloquent attorneys retained 
 him to try their cases for them. He had busi 
 ness in plenty. 
 
 But when fortune favored him, Mr. Gallivant 
 didn't bother with musty old law books. Not 
 much. He spent all his time spending his 
 money. He had the most novel and ingenious 
 ideas on the subject of loafing. He loafed 
 scientifically, and with great enthusiasm. He 
 put his soul into it, and when Mr. Gallivant's 
 soul got into anything it straightway began 
 to hum. Mr. Gallivant's soul was in many re 
 spects similar to a Corliss engine. 
 
 Just now, Mr. Gallivant was in very poor 
 circumstances a condition of things all the 
 more hardly felt because it succeeded, and suc 
 ceeded suddenly, upon a period of bewildering 
 prosperity. Early in the year 1888 it was ob 
 served that Mr. Gallivant's dark red mustaches 
 were curling away at the ends with a lightness 
 and vivacity that they only displayed when 
 things were going well. The quality of the 
 curl in the ends of his mustaches invariably 
 indicated to his friends the state of the market.
 
 128 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 They could tell exactly whether stocks were 
 up or down and how much so. The sensitive 
 rhododendron is not more surely responsive to 
 the temperature of its environment than was 
 the curl in Mr. Gallivant's mustaches to the 
 tale of the ticker. 
 
 In no other way, mark you, did he reveal his 
 interest in the Street and its doings. By not a 
 single quaver was the cheeriness of his snatchy, 
 racy, merry voice affected. By not the frac 
 tion of an inch nor a second was his gay little 
 trot altered. But when the ends of his mus 
 tache stood out straight, his friends, no matter 
 how slight was their acquaintance with finan 
 cial matters, knew they were safe in conclud 
 ing that the country was going to the dogs, 
 while, on the other hand, when those same mus 
 taches finished off in a sprightly little twist, the 
 fact that we were living under a wise and benef 
 icent dispensation was too clear for argument. 
 
 Early in 1888, as I said before, Mr. Galli 
 vant's mustaches began to curl. They became 
 elastic. They twisted themselves this way and 
 that in graceful good-humor. They twined 
 themselves lovingly about his nose and danced 
 in constant ecstasy. Mr. Gallivant's office 
 in the Equitable Building saw less and less of 
 him. He left his lodgings in Harlem and took 
 a suite of large and beautiful apartments in a
 
 TIN-TYPES. 129 
 
 fashionable hotel. Every afternoon he drove 
 a pair of superb black horses over the Boule 
 vard and through the Park. All his friends 
 were happy. They asked and it was given 
 them. He lavished diamond buttons and scarf- 
 pins among them as if he were a prince and 
 they were pugilists. He got up a party and 
 made a palace-car excursion to the Yellow 
 stone Park. He purchased a stock-farm in Cal 
 ifornia. He hired a steam yacht and cruised in 
 the Baltic. From the middle of March until 
 the end of September he used the world as if 
 it were his. 
 
 But then, a change came o'er the spirit of 
 his red mustaches. They ceased to sport 
 about his nose. They were distinctly less 
 playful than they had been, and by degrees 
 they became positively stiff. In the mean time, 
 Mr. Gallivant had returned to his law office. 
 He had also gone back to live in Harlem, 
 and one night last December he shut him 
 self in his room a hall bed-chamber on the 
 third floor, rear sat himself upon the only chair 
 at hand, stretched his legs in front of him, 
 thrust his hands in his pockets, and murmured : 
 
 "I feel curiously like writing an essay on 
 the 'Vanity of Human Wishes' ! 
 
 "Let me see, let me see," he continued in a 
 ruminating tone, "what's to be done?"
 
 'LET ME SEE WHAT'S TO BE DONE?' 
 
 130
 
 TIN-TYPES. 131 
 
 He ran his hands through his pockets and 
 produced a handful of change. Inspired by 
 this success he rose and went to the closet and 
 continued his search through a choice collec 
 tion of coats, waistcoats, and trowsers that hung 
 upon its hooks. "Nine dollars and seventy-six 
 cents !" he said, when he had counted the pro 
 ceeds of his investigation. "Well, I've had a 
 great variety of ups and downs in my short but 
 checkered career, but I never thought the sum 
 total of my cash assets would be expressed in 
 nine dollars and seventy-six cents ! After all, 
 life is but an insubstantial pageant, so I think 
 I'll take a pony of brandy and go to bed." 
 
 The next day Mr. Gallivant was at his office 
 bright and early. His face shone with its per 
 ennial radiance, but his mustache told a cheer 
 less tale. Mr. Gallivant had a number of prin 
 ciples. That which led all the rest was his 
 steadfast refusal to borrow money. He sat 
 down to the contemplation of ways and means, 
 therefore, without the usual recourse taken by 
 impecunious gentlemen with a large circle of 
 wealthy acquaintances to relieve temporary 
 embarrassments. He drew his check-book 
 from his desk and made a careful calculation. 
 "There's the judgment and costs in the 
 Gauber case," he said, "the interest of Rob- 
 bins's mortgage, the $3000 paid to settle
 
 I3 2 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Riker vs. Buckmaster, and the money Hunt 
 paid my client Frabsley. Deduct these from 
 my balance in bank, and I have left of my own 
 money the munificent sum of $2.17. There's 
 no way out of it I must draw on Thwicket !" 
 
 It must be owned that in the privacy of his 
 office this conclusion brought something very 
 like a frown upon Mr. Gallivant's brow. "It'll 
 ruin me!" he said. "It'll show Thwicket that 
 I'm as dry as Mother Hubbard's pantry, and 
 when a man loses credit with his broker he 
 might as well shut up shop. But, gad ! there's 
 no other way. I must have that balance, positive 
 ly must, can't wait an hour longer. I've got 
 $380 with Thwicket $380, all that remains of 
 well never mind, there's no use grumbling over 
 what's gone. I had a royal good time while it 
 lasted, so I'll just think of the good time and 
 not of what it took to get it. But that $380! 
 H'm, I'll step down and see Thwicket!" 
 
 Mr. Gallivant slid into his overcoat, prinked 
 up his scarlet tie, and walked breezily into Wall 
 Street. He chanced to meet Thwicket on the 
 street, and they greeted each other effusively. 
 
 "Where under the sun have you been for the 
 last month or so?" exclaimed the broker. "I 
 haven't seen a thing of you." 
 
 "Oh, I've been around," answered Mr. Galli 
 vant, with a general wave of the hand,
 
 TIN-TYPES. 133 
 
 Mr. Thwicket's face assumed a reproachful 
 look. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Gallivant, responsively, "I 
 haven't been doing business with anybody 
 else. Fact is, old fellow, I think I've got a bit 
 flustered. I don't seem able to get the hang 
 of the market. Gad, I've lost a whole fortune 
 since September must have lost every dollar 
 of a hundred thousand. Now I can't go on 
 like that forever, you know. I give you my 
 word of honor I couldn't stand another such 
 loss. It would put me in a hole." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Thwicket ; "come, walk 
 down to the office and we'll talk it over. By 
 the way, where are you living now? I dropped 
 in at your hotel and they said you'd given up 
 your rooms and gone into the country. Queer 
 time o' year to go to the country?" 
 
 "Um well, dunno 'bout that. Found my 
 rooms stuffy. Like country, sleighing, skat 
 ing, ice yachting, don't you know. Fine air, 
 healthy. Think I'll buy a place up the Hud 
 son. Fact is, negotiating now." 
 
 "Really? How's your stock farm?" 
 
 "Oh, sold it long 'go. Got tired of it. 
 Can't play with one toy forever, you know. 
 How's the market?" 
 
 "It looks to me a little queer to-day," re 
 plied the broker.
 
 134 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "That's it ! That's what I say. That's the 
 reason I haven't been in lately. Found I was 
 getting rattled. More I figured, further away 
 I got from real conditions." 
 
 "It's time to try again." 
 
 "H'm; not so sure." 
 
 "Luck must change." 
 
 "Think so?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm certain." 
 
 "How's Hollyoke Central selling?" 
 
 "It closed yesterday at 86|." 
 
 "Good time to buy." 
 
 "I doubt that, Mr. Gallivant. It seems to be 
 slowly going the wrong way for buying. But 
 you might sell to advantage." 
 
 "There, now, that shows you. I tell you 
 I'm rattled. You see, the very first thing I 
 suggest you discourage. Think I'd better 
 hold off." 
 
 They had now reached the broker's office, in 
 which Mr. Gallivant was presently ensconced 
 at ease. 
 
 "You are right," said Thwicket, handing out 
 a case of cigars, "in saying that the market is 
 queer. Something very curious has got hold of 
 it. As you know, I avoid giving advice to my 
 customers, and I'm not going to advise you; 
 but if you will notice the state of affairs with 
 regard to Snapshot Consolidated, you will see
 
 TIN-TYPES. 135 
 
 something that ought to make you open your 
 eyes." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Didn't you read the market reports in this 
 morning's papers?" 
 
 "Haven't looked at a market report for three 
 weeks." 
 
 "I guess that explains why you don't under 
 stand the situation, then. Well, Snapshot 
 Consolidated opened at 42. At about noon it 
 began to mount, and it rose peg by peg till it 
 closed at 57^. Now, what do you think of 
 that?" 
 
 "I think it's a warning for discreet men like 
 me to keep away from Snapshot. I have no 
 overweening desire to monkey with Mr. Gould, 
 Thwicket." Mr. Gallivant jingled the remnant 
 of six or seven dollars in his pocket and softly 
 added, "He has more money than I." 
 
 "You're your own best judge, of course. But 
 if that stock opens this morning above the 
 point at which it closed last night, there's 
 going to be more fun to-day in Wall Street 
 than we've had for many a year. It looks to 
 me like a rock-ribbed corner." 
 
 Mr. Juniper Gallivant bowed his head as if 
 in deep reflection. As a matter of fact, he was 
 fermenting with excitement. He looked at 
 his watch. It was within fifteen minutes of
 
 13 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 the time for the Exchange to open. "A cor 
 ner!" he softly exclaimed to himself. "A cor 
 ner, ye gods ! and my balance in the Chemical 
 Bank is $2. 17. A corner, and I not in it!" 
 
 Mr. Gallivant's fingers began to itch vicious 
 ly, and the perspiration broke out copiously 
 under his thick red hair. By a great struggle 
 he managed to suppress all outward signs of 
 his emotion, while he continued to commune 
 with his own mind. "It's no use," he thought. 
 "I must give up all idea of laying in with a 
 corner when I haven't got money enough to set 
 up a decent champagne supper. No, I must 
 draw that $380, and the question is, how to do 
 it and keep my credit good. Ha! an idea 
 strikes me!" He turned quietly to the broker 
 and said aloud : "Give me a pen, Thwicket !" 
 
 He took a blank check from his pocket- 
 book a check on the Chemical Bank, wherein 
 $2.17 reposed peacefully to his credit. 
 
 "I don't think you have very much money 
 of mine here, Thwicket?" he continued, as he 
 slowly wrote the date-line in the check. 
 
 "Don't think we have. Robert, what is Mr. 
 Gallivant's balance?" 
 
 The clerk turned over his ledger and pres 
 ently replied: "Mr. Gallivant has a credit of 
 
 22 " 
 
 t&^rt 
 
 'I don't think we'll bother with Snapshot
 
 "ROBERT, WHAT IS MR. GALLIVANT's BALANCE?" 
 
 137
 
 I3 8 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Consolidated, Thwicket. Truth is, I'm afraid 
 of it. My wits haven't been working right 
 here lately. But I'll just give you a check for 
 $20,000, and you can buy me a nice little 
 block of Michigan Border say a hundred 
 shares, just to see how the cat jumps, you 
 know." 
 
 Thwicket took the check, but with a troubled 
 air. "My dear Gallivant," he said, "why do a 
 thing like that? I'm very glad to have an 
 other order from you, but I don't want to see 
 a valuable customer like you lose any more 
 money. Michigan Border was doing very well 
 a month ago, but it is declining now, and for 
 good reasons. Let's take a flyer in Snapshot !" 
 
 "Hand me that check!" said Mr. Gallivant 
 in a most decisive tone and with a profoundly 
 irritated air. "Hand it back, Thwicket ! Hand 
 it right over, and draw me a check for my 
 balance of $382.22. I'm going to cut the 
 d d Gordian knot and get out of this! No 
 use talking, my head's all bemuddled. 'F I 
 was to go into the Street to-day I'd lose my 
 whole fortune. Now, don't argue with me, old 
 man, I'm out of sorts, and the best thing for 
 me to do is to stop right short till I get clear 
 headed again. Draw me that check. Let me 
 have every penny I've got on your books. I'm 
 going up to my place in the country and spend
 
 TIN-TYPES. 139 
 
 a month reading Greek plays. If anything '11 
 calm me, that will." 
 
 The broker looked vastly disappointed, but 
 smiled consentingly. He returned the $20,000 
 check, which Mr. Gallivant tore to pieces with 
 a great show of nervousness and irritation, and 
 in another moment, possessed of his precious 
 $382.22, he departed gloomily. 
 
 But a long and cheery smile, that reached 
 nearly to the tips of his mustache and almost 
 sufficed to give them a faint curl, spread itself 
 over his face as he turned from Wall Street 
 into Broadway. He caressed the check with 
 his fingers and softly observed, "H'm, I flatter 
 myself that was well done. I have the money, 
 and Thwicket has an abiding confidence in my 
 wealth, but oh, ye gods ! what would I give to 
 be able to put my fine Italian hand into that 
 Snapshot corner!" 
 
 Mr. Gallivant returned to his office and en 
 deavored to fasten his attemtion upon the rec 
 ords of a title search prepared by his clerk, 
 but he found himself ever going over the fig 
 ures, 57fc 57, 57f 
 
 "Heavens!" he said presently, "I can't stand 
 this any longer. I must see the ticker. I 
 must find out how it opened to day. Gad, I'll 
 go crazy if I sit here all day mumbling '57^!' " 
 
 He started up and had half put on his coat,
 
 140 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 when the office door was flung open and 
 Thwicket rushed in breathless. 
 
 "Seventy-two," he shouted wildly. "Opened 
 at sixty-five ! Leaped right up to 68, then to 
 70, then to 72. Now's your chance, old man. 
 Say the word and say it quick. Never mind 
 about the $20,000. We'll settle up when the 
 day is over, and every second you lose now 
 will cost you hundreds of dollars. It's sure to 
 go to 1 60. Don't keep me waiting say the 
 word?" 
 
 Mr. Gallivant jammed his hands deep into 
 his pockets to prevent their betraying his ex 
 citement, and hemmed and hawed. 
 
 "Do you really think it's worth while, 
 Thwicket !" 
 
 "Great guns, man ! You make me " 
 
 "Now, don't be nervous, Thwicket. When 
 I trust a man to spend my money for me I 
 want him cool and calm." 
 
 "But you're losing valuable time ! It's jump 
 ing up every minute. The Exchange has gone 
 wild ! Everybody's in a furor. You can make 
 a mint if you go right in." 
 
 "All right, drive ahead. But use judgment, 
 Thwicket. Remember I don't want to invest 
 more than $20,000, and you should preserve 
 your equanim " 
 
 But Thwicket was gone, and when the door
 
 "SEVENTY-TWO," HE SHOUTED WILDLY. 
 
 141
 
 14* TIN-TYPES. 
 
 closed behind him Mr. Gallivant gave a leap 
 from the floor where he stood to the sofa eight 
 feet away! Then he leaped back. Then he 
 picked up a pair of dumb-bells and swung 
 them fiercely at the imminent risk of his head 
 and the furniture of the room. Then finally 
 he drew from his desk a bottle of brandy and 
 took a long, strong pull. 
 
 "Ah," he said, smacking his lips, "now I'll 
 get ready and go to the street and watch the 
 tumult." 
 
 Disposing, as soon as he could, of the corre 
 spondence on his desk, he presently made his 
 way to Thwicket's office. The broker was still 
 at the Stock Exchange. He grabbed at the 
 tapes and looked for Snapshot. There was 
 nothing on them but Snapshot. "Snap. Col. 
 93," "Snap. Col. 96!," "Snap. Col." even as he 
 stood by the ticker and watched the machine 
 roll out its stream of white paper "Snap. Col. 
 108!" 
 
 Mr. Gallivant's eyes blurred. He felt queer 
 in his knees. The perspiration broke out 
 fiercely all over his plump little body. "Why 
 the mischief doesn't Thwicket come in?" he 
 murmured. "Why don't he sell and get out 
 of this? Ten, twenty, thirty great guns! I've 
 made $50,000 already! It can't go on like 
 this much longer. It'll break in half an hour,
 
 TIN-TYPES. 143 
 
 'gad, I know it will I feel it in my bones! If 
 Thwicket doesn't sell inside of thirty minutes 
 I'm a goner, and what's worse, he'll be a goner 
 with me! What's this! 117! By the great 
 horn spoon, I must get hold of Thwicket ! 
 Thwicket! Thwicket! My kingdom for 
 Thwicket !" 
 
 Mr. Gallivant dropped the tapes and rushed 
 frantically into the street and across to the 
 entrance of the Exchange. He dispatched a 
 messenger across the floor to find his broker, 
 but who could find which in that tumultuous 
 mob? The Exchange floor was crowded with 
 a crazy body of yelling men, their faces boiled 
 into crimson, their eyes glowing with a fierce 
 fire, their hats banged out of shape, their coats 
 in many cases torn into shreds, jostling, tumb 
 ling, jumping, stretching all over each other 
 in riotous confusion. Fat men were being 
 squeezed into pancakes, little men were being 
 covered out of sight, tall men were being clam 
 bered upon as if their manifest destiny were to 
 serve as poles, and every man of them, big, 
 short, thin, fat, lank, and heavy, was flourishing 
 his arms in the air and howling at the top of 
 his voice ! 
 
 Mr. Gallivant's messenger returned in a few 
 moments with the report that Mr. Thwicket 
 could not be found. Quivering with excite-
 
 144 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 ment, Mr. Gallivant started forth in further 
 search. At the door of the Exchange he met 
 his office-boy, who told him the broker was 
 searching for him high and low had been at 
 the office and vyas now in the Savarin cafe. 
 Thither Mr. Gallivant rushed as fast as his legs 
 could carry him, only to learn that Thwicket 
 had just gone out asking every man he met if 
 he had seen Gallivant. The lawyer was in 
 despair. He glanced at the ticker "Snap. 
 Col. I34 1 !" 
 
 "Heavens!" he shrieked, "will nobody seize 
 that crazy Thwicket and hold him till I come !" 
 
 He ran at full speed to the broker's office. 
 Thwicket had left two minutes before, hav 
 ing learned that Gallivant was at the Savarin. 
 He turned around again and started once more 
 to dash forth, when he saw the broker coming 
 along in reckless haste. 
 
 In an instant Mr. Gallivant was all repose 
 all serenity and ease. He dropped quietly into 
 a chair and picked up the morning paper. In 
 rushed Thwicket, disheveled, frantic, breath 
 less. 
 
 "At last!" he cried. "It's 136. It'll break 
 in another ten minutes! Hadn't I better get 
 from under?" 
 
 "Still excited, Thwicket?" answered Mr. 
 Gallivant reproachfully. "My dear boy, I'm
 
 "YOU'VE DONE VERY WELL, TH WICKET. 
 
 145
 
 146 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 afraid you've not got a proper hold upon your 
 self. Yes, probably you'd better unload. Per 
 haps now's as good a moment as any. But 
 be" 
 
 Thwicket did not wait for the rest. He 
 fled. When he returned half an hour later 
 his face was radiant, but his collar wilted. 
 "Sold!" he cried, "at 148, and busted at 
 152!" 
 
 By a quick, spontaneous motion, Mr. Galli- 
 vant's mustaches drew themselves in a loving 
 curl around his nose, but for the rest he was 
 merely cheery gently cheery as he always 
 was. 
 
 "You've done very well, Thwicket," he said 
 commendingly. "You've quite justified my 
 confidence. You 're a knowing fellow, and I '11 
 er what's the proceeds?" 
 
 "A hundred and thirteen thousand rather a 
 fair day's work." 
 
 "That it is. Send around your check for 
 the hundred, and let the thirteen stay on 
 account. By-by, I'll see you again in a day 
 or two." 
 
 Mr. Gallivant walked out into the street 
 upon his usual ramble. "Strikes me," he said 
 musingly, "that I ought to do something 
 handsome for Thwicket now I really ought. 
 My profit is $i 13,000, I doubt if his will reach
 
 TIN-TYPES. 147 
 
 even $500. That doesn't look quite fair, seeing 
 that he did the business all on his own money. 
 The deuce of it is, though, that it's demoraliz 
 ing to make presents to your brokers. After 
 all, business is business !"
 
 VIII. 
 TULITZ. 
 
 WITH the circumstances that brought Tu- 
 litz into trouble we have nothing to do. 
 Indeed, whatever I may have known about 
 them once I have long ago forgotten. I 
 seem to remember, but very vaguely, that he 
 stabbed somebody, though, .at the same time, 
 I find in my memory an impression that he 
 forged somebody's name. This I distinctly 
 recall, that the amount of bail in which he was 
 held was $5000 a circumstance strongly con 
 firmatory of the notion that his assault was 
 upon life and not upon property. In this 
 excellent country, where property rights are 
 guarded with great zeal and care, and the sur 
 plus population is large, we charge more for 
 the liberty of forgers than of murderers. Had 
 Tulitz committed forgery, his bail bond would 
 scarcely have been less than $10,000. Since, 
 beyond all question, it was only $5000, I think 
 I must be right in the idea that he stabbed a 
 man. 
 
 It was in default of that sum, $5000, that 
 Tulitz, commonly called the Baron Tulitz, alias 
 148
 
 TIN-TYPES. 149 
 
 d'Ercevenne, commonly called the Marquis 
 d'Ercevenne, was committed to the Tombs 
 Prison to await the action of the Grand Jury. 
 At this time Tulitz I call him Tulitz with 
 out intending any partiality for that name over 
 the alias of d'Ercevenne, but merely because 
 Tulitz is a shorter word to write. I doubt if 
 he had any preference between them himself, 
 except in the way of business. He was just as 
 likely, other things being equal, to present 
 his card bearing the words "M. le Marquis 
 d'Ercevenne," as his other card with the words 
 upon it "Freiherr von Tulitz." It has been 
 remarked frequently that when he was the 
 Baron his tone and manner were exceedingly 
 French, while when he was the Marquis he 
 spoke with a distinct German accent. None 
 of his acquaintances was able to account for 
 this. 
 
 But as I was saying, when Tulitz was sent to 
 the Tombs he was in hard luck. Formerly he 
 had whipped the social trout-stream with great 
 success. As the Marquis he had composed 
 some pretty odes, had led the german at Mrs. 
 de Folly's assembly, had driven to Hempstead 
 with the Coaching Club, and had been seen in 
 Mrs. Castor's box at the opera. As the Baron 
 Tulitz, he had attended the races, and had 
 been a frequenter of all the great gaming
 
 15 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 resorts. The newspapers called him a 
 "plunger," and a story went the rounds, in 
 which he was represented to have wrecked a 
 pool-seller, who thereupon committed suicide. 
 The Baron always denied this story, which the 
 Marquis often repeated. Indeed the Marquis 
 was often quoted to the Baron as an authority 
 for it. 
 
 But the tide had turned, and now Tulitz was 
 on his back with never a friend to help him. 
 "Fi* t'ousan* tollaire !" he exclaimed, as the 
 Justice fixed his bail, blending both his French 
 and his German accent with strict impartiality, 
 "V'y you not make him den, dwenty, a hun- 
 tret t'ousandt !" 
 
 A penniless prisoner in the Tombs is not an 
 object of much consideration, as Tulitz discov 
 ered to his profound disgust. For two days 
 he paced his cell with the restless, incessant 
 tread of a caged hyena. He disdainfully re 
 jected the beef soup, the hunk of bread and 
 the black coffee served to him more or less fre 
 quently, and for two days and nights he 
 neither ate nor spoke. The Tombs cells are 
 built of thick stone, entered through a heavy 
 iron door, that is provided with a small grat 
 ing. Tulitz's cell was on the second tier. 
 Around this tier extends a narrow gallery, 
 along which the guard walks every now and
 
 Fl' TOUSANT TOLLAIRE ! VY YOU NOT MAKE HIM A 
 
 HUNTRET TOUSANT ? "
 
 15 2 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 then, to see that all is as it should be. The 
 guard annoyed Tulitz. Every time he passed 
 he would peer in and give a sort of grunt. 
 This became painfully exasperating to the 
 Baron. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the second day of 
 his imprisonment, Tulitz, desperate with hun 
 ger, rage, and despair, sat down upon the stool 
 in his cell and glared viciously at the grating. 
 The guard's face was there. 
 
 "Ha!" cried Tulitz, in a shrill voice, "keep 
 avay ! You tink I von tarn mouse, and you ze 
 cat, hey? You sit outside ze cage viz your 
 claw out and your tail stiff, ready to pounce 
 on ze mouse. Mon Dieu ! How I hate !" 
 
 The guard unlocked the iron door and 
 stepped inside. "Don't make sech a racket 
 over nawthin'," he said. "De warden says yer 
 gotter do some eatin'." 
 
 "I kill ze warden if he keep not his mechant 
 chute!" 
 
 "Wotcher goin' ter do? Starve?" 
 
 "If I choose starve, how you prevent him, 
 hey? How make you me eat? Voil&, btte!" 
 Tulitz drew himself to his full height, turned 
 up his shirt-sleeves and bared his great, muscu 
 lar arm. 
 
 "Oh, all right," said the guard. "It's all one 
 to me. Starve if yer wanter. I'm agreeable."
 
 TIN-TYPES. 153 
 
 "I vant netting, rien, rien /" said Tulitz. "I 
 vant to be leave alone." 
 
 "Dat aint much. Mos' people wat comes 
 here is more graspin'. Mos' people wants ter 
 git out." 
 
 "Ha!" said Tulitz. 
 
 "De warden said fer me ter come in here an' 
 tell yer' he'd send fer anybody yer wanter 
 see." 
 
 "Zere is nopotty." 
 
 "Aincher got no friends?" 
 
 "Ven I haf money, I have friend beau- 
 coup, more friend as I know vat to do viz. I haf 
 no money now." 
 
 "Wot's your bail?" 
 
 "FT tousant tollaire! Bah! Vat is ft" tous- 
 ant tollaire? Many time I spend him viz no 
 more care as I light my cigar. A bagatelle ! 
 But," and he added this with a curiously grim 
 expression, "I haf no bagatelle to-day." 
 
 The guard sidled up to Tulitz and whispered 
 in his ear, "What'll yer gimme if I gitcher a 
 bondsman?" 
 
 "Ha!" said Tulitz, "you haf ze man?" 
 
 "I knows a man," replied the guard reflect 
 ively, "who might do it on my recommend. 
 Sometimes, w'en a man aint got no frien's, 
 but kin lay aroun' 'im an' scoop tergedder a 
 couple er hundred dollars, I mention him ter
 
 1 54 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 my frien' wid a recommend, an' dat settles it, 
 out he comes." 
 
 "Two hundret tollaire !" cried Tulitz, almost 
 piteously. "Ven I efer t'ink my liperty cost 
 me two huntret tollaire and I haf not got him. 
 Zis blow kill all zat is to me of my self-respect ! 
 Je suis hors de moi-meme /" 
 
 "Why, you orter be able to raise dat much 
 tin," said the guard. 
 
 Tulitz jumped from his bed to the floor with 
 a cry such as a wild beast might have given as 
 it sprang from peril into safety. He demanded 
 pencil and paper, and with them he scribbled 
 a message. "Send for me zat note !" he said. 
 "Bring me a. filet de bceuf, a pdte de fois gras, 
 and a bottle of Burgundy, and bring him all 
 quick ! Corinne ! La belle Corinne ! Chdrie 
 amie, vot I haf svear I lofe and cherish ! I haf 
 not remember you, Corinne !" 
 
 A throng of people, big and little, young and 
 old, were waiting in the corridors of the war 
 den's office the next morning, eager for the 
 bell to strike the signal that would admit them 
 into the prisons. They were were mostly 
 women. Here and there in the crowd was a 
 little boy carrying a tin can with something in 
 it good to eat, sent, doubtless, by his old 
 mother to her scamp of a son. The little beg 
 gar has his first experiences of a prison admin-
 
 TIN-TYPES. 155 
 
 istering to the comforts of his big, ruffianly 
 brother, probably a great hero in his eyes. 
 
 For the most part, the crowd is made up of 
 young women. There, muffled closely, is the 
 wife of a defaulter, who was caught in the act. 
 Three days ago she held her head as high as 
 any. Now it is bent low and hidden with 
 shame. Yonder, terrified and broken-hearted, 
 is the sister of a man who shot another. He is 
 no criminal. There was a quarrel about a mat 
 ter of money. The lie was given, a blow fol 
 lowed, and then a shot. Her brother a mur 
 derer! Her brother, all kindness, docility, and 
 goodness, locked up in a place like this with 
 thieves and hardened convicts ! It was a fatal 
 shot ah, me, so very fatal, so widely fatal ! 
 
 Many of them, though, are laughing and 
 joking with each other. They have got ac 
 quainted coming here to look after their hus 
 bands, lovers, brothers, fathers, and sons. 
 They bow cheerily as they come in, and say 
 what a fine day it is, and how they missed you 
 yesterday, and they hope nothing was the mat 
 ter at home. Among them are brazen jades 
 who chatter saucily with the guards, and these 
 are the best treated of all. They are asked no 
 gruff, surly questions, but with a wink and a 
 jest in they go. 
 
 On the outer edge of the crowd, among those
 
 156 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 who waited till the first rush was over, stood a 
 dark, wiry little woman with a face remarkable 
 alike for its resolution and its innocence. She 
 could not have been more than twenty-five 
 years old. She looked as if she had seen much 
 of the world, but had illy learned the les 
 sons of her experience. This combination of 
 strength and simplicity had wrought a curious 
 effect upon her manner. There was no timid 
 ity about her, but much gentleness. She was 
 modest and clothed with repose, and yet the 
 outlines of her face plainly informed you that 
 in the presence of a sufficient emergency she 
 was quite prepared to go anywhere or do any 
 thing. 
 
 "I want to see Monsieur Tulitz," she said to 
 the entry clerk, when her opportunity came. 
 
 He gave her a ticket without asking any 
 questions, except the formal ones, and then 
 turned her over to the matron. 
 
 The matron of the Tombs has been there 
 many years, and she knows how to read faces. 
 
 "Your ticket says you are Madame Tulitz?" 
 said the matron. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I must search you." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "It must be thorough." 
 
 "Very well."
 
 "I WANT TO SEE MONSIEUR TULITZ," SHE SAID. 
 
 157
 
 158 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "Please take off your hat and let down your 
 hair." 
 
 She did as she was bidden, and a great mass 
 of dark hair tumbled nearly to her feet. The 
 matron immediately and with practiced dexter 
 ity twisted it up again. Then her shoes, dress, 
 and corsets were removed, until the matron was 
 enabled to tell that nothing could by any pos 
 sibility be concealed about her. 
 
 "It's all right," said the matron. "I'm sorry 
 to trouble you so much, but I have to be very 
 careful." 
 
 "You needn't apologize. Now can I go?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She adjusted her hat and proceeded through 
 the long corridors out into the prison yard, and 
 thence into the old prison where Tulitz was 
 confined. The guard who had sent her Tulitz's 
 letter led her to his cell, and brought a stool 
 for her to sit upon outside his grated iron door. 
 
 "My ravissante Corinne !" cried Tulitz. 
 
 She put her fingers through the bars, and he 
 bent to kiss them, coming, as he did so, in 
 contact with two little files of the hardest 
 steel. 
 
 "Diable!" he said. 
 
 "I had them in my hat. I made them serve 
 as the stems of these lilies." 
 
 "Ze woman she make ze wily t'ing. How
 
 TIN-TYPES. 159 
 
 young and charmante she seem for one so like 
 ze fox! Ah, Corinne, my sweetest lofe " 
 
 "You don't mean that." 
 
 "Not mean him ! Man Dieu! How can you 
 haf ze heart to say ze cruel word. Corinne, 
 you are ze only frient I haf in ze whole bad 
 worlt." 
 
 "Yes, I know that. But not the only wife." 
 
 "Why you torture me so, Corinne?" 
 
 "I wont. We'll let it go. You need me, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 "You use all ze cold word, Corinne. I neet 
 you ! Out, 0ui, I efer neet you. I neet you ven I 
 stay from you ze longest. I neet you ven ze bad 
 come into my heart and drive out ze good and 
 tender, and leave only ze hard, and make me 
 crazy and full of dream of fortune. Zen I am 
 out of myself and den I neet you ze most, 
 Corinne. Zat I haf been cruel and vicked, I 
 know, but I am punish now. Now, I neet you 
 in my despair, but if you come to speak bitter, 
 I am sorry to haf send for you." 
 
 "I'll not be bitter, Tulitz. I don't believe you 
 love me, and I never will believe it again. So 
 don't say tender things. They only make me 
 sad. Tell me what " 
 
 "You do pelief I lofe you." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "C/te'rie,"
 
 160 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "Don't, Tulitz!" 
 
 "You know I haf a so hot blood. It tingle 
 viz lofe for you and I am sane. Zen I dream. 
 I see some strange sight power, money, ze 
 people at my feet ze people I hate, bah ! I 
 see zem all bend. Zen I am insane and my 
 very lofe make me vorse. Ah, Corinne, if you 
 see my heart, you vould not speak so cold. If 
 I could preak zis iron door zat bar me from you 
 and draw you close to me, Corinne, vere you 
 could feel ze quick beat zat say, 'lofe! lofe! 
 lofe!' if I could take your hand and kees " 
 
 "Tulitz!" 
 
 "My sveetheart!" 
 
 "Hush, please, Tulitz. Don't say those 
 things now. I can't stand them. I shall scream. 
 Tulitz, I love you so !" 
 
 "Ah, I know zat. You haf no dream zat rob 
 you of your mind. And I shall haf no more 
 soon. Ven ze trial come, and ze shury make 
 me guilty, and ze shudge " 
 
 "No! no! You must escape." 
 
 "Ze reech escape, little von. Ze poor nefer. 
 Zat is law. Ha! ha! you know not law. 
 Law is ze science by vich a man who has 
 money do as he tarn please and snap his ringer 
 so ! and shrug his shoulder so ! and say, 'You 
 not like it? Vat I care, Monsieur?' and by vich 
 ze poor man, vedder he guilty or not, haf no
 
 TIN-TYPES. i6l 
 
 single chance, not von, to escape. I haf not 
 efen ze two huntret tollaire zat gif me my 
 liberty till ze trial come." 
 
 "Neither have I, Tulitz, and the only way I 
 can get it is to part with something I love bet 
 ter than never mind, you shall have the two 
 hundred dollars." 
 
 "You mean our ring, Corinne?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You shall not sell ze ring. Nefer!" 
 
 "But I must. We will get it back." 
 
 "No, I forbid! I stay here first." Corinne's 
 face fairly glowed with tenderness. 
 
 "Let me do as I think best, darling," she 
 said. "The first thing is to get you out of 
 this wretched place. Now tell me all about it." 
 
 He told her all, or, at least, all he needed to 
 tell, and she left him with the understanding 
 that she should meet the guard in the City 
 Hall Park two hours later and arrange about 
 the bail-bond with a man whom he should 
 present to her. She hurried up-town and col 
 lected in her lodgings half a dozen valuable 
 pieces of jewelry. These she took to a pawn 
 shop and upon them she realized something 
 more than the sum necessary to obtain Tulitz's 
 bondsman. At the appointed hour she was 
 walking leisurely through the Park, and soon 
 found herself approaching two men. One she
 
 162 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 recognized as the guard. The other was an 
 elderly man dressed in a black suit of broadcloth 
 which, in its time, had been very fine indeed 
 But it was made for him when he was younger 
 and less corpulent than now, and he bulged it 
 out in a way that was trying to the stitches 
 and the buttons. His silk hat was shiny, but 
 exceedingly worn, and the boots upon his feet, 
 despite his creditable efforts to make them ap 
 pear at all possible advantage, were in a rebel 
 lious humor, like a glum soldier in need of 
 sleep. His hair was bushy and gray, and his 
 mustache meant to be gray, too, but his habit 
 of chewing the ends of his cigars had resulted 
 in its taking on a yellow border. 
 
 "Dis is the genTman wot'll go on Mr. Tu- 
 litz's bond, mum," said the guard. "His name's 
 Rivers." 
 
 "Madam Tulitz, I am your humble and obe 
 dient servant. Colonel Rivers, Colonel Ed 
 ward Lawrence Rivers, and most happy in this 
 unfortunate emergency to serve you. I have 
 read in the papers of M. Tulitz's disagreeable 
 er situation. It is a gross outrage. The bail 
 is $5000, this gentleman tells me. Infamous, 
 perfectly infamous! The idea of requiring 
 such a bond for so trivial an affair. When I 
 was in Congress I introduced an Amendment 
 to the Constitution providing that no bail
 
 ' MADAME TULITZ, I AM YOUR HUMBLE AND OBEDIENT 
 
 SERVANT." 
 
 163
 
 1 64 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 should be demanded in excess of $500. It 
 didn't get through ; the capitalistic influence 
 was too much for me. However, I'd just as 
 lief, to tell the truth, go on M. Tulitz's bond 
 for five thousand as for one. I know he'll be 
 where he's wanted when the time comes, and 
 if he isn't, the bail-bond will. They'll have 
 that to console themselves with, anyway." 
 
 "Where are we to go?" asked Corinne. 
 
 "To the police court. I'll show you; but 
 when we get there you mustn't ask me any 
 questions. Ask anybody else but me. I'm 
 always very ignorant in the police court 
 never know anything, except my answers to 
 the surety examination. Those I always learn 
 by heart. Now ' he turned to the guard, 
 and said parenthetically, "All right, my boy," 
 whereupon the guard disappeared. "Now, just 
 take my arm, if you please ; you needn't be 
 afraid, ha! ha! I'm old, and wont hurt you. 
 You see, we must be friends, old friends. Bless 
 you, my child, I've known you from a baby, 
 knew your father before you, dear old boy, and 
 promised him on his dying bed I'd be a father 
 to his er by the way, my dear, what's your 
 name?" 
 
 "Corinne. Do you want my maiden name?" 
 
 "No, never mind that. I always supply a 
 maiden name myself when I deal with ladies,
 
 TIN-TYPES. 165 
 
 on the ground, you see, that it's much better 
 to keep real names out of bail-bonds, even 
 where they don't signify. In fact, the less 
 real you put in, anyhow, the better. My sig 
 nature must be on as many as a thousand bail- 
 bonds first and last, in this city, Boston, Chi 
 cago, San Francisco, and other places, and I've 
 never yet experienced the slightest trouble. I 
 think my good fortune is almost wholly due 
 to the circumstance that I never repeat myself. 
 I always tell a new story every time." 
 
 "Do they know you at the place where we're 
 going?" 
 
 "I fervently hope they don't, my dear. It 
 wouldn't do M. Tulitz any good, or me either, 
 if they did. No, no, you must introduce me. 
 I am your friend, your lifelong friend, Colonel 
 Edward Lawrence Rivers. I am a retired mer 
 chant. Formerly I dealt in hides perhaps 
 you had better say in skins, my dear ; on sec 
 ond thought, it might be more appropriate to 
 say in skins, and then again it would be more 
 accurate. I like to tell the truth when I can 
 conveniently and without prejudice to the 
 rights of the defendant. If I haven't dealt in 
 skins as much as any other man on the face of 
 the earth, then I don't know what a skin is. 
 Ha! ha! my dear, I think that's pretty good 
 for an old man whose wits are nearly given out
 
 1 66 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 with the work that has been imposed upon 
 them. Let me say right here that the clerk of 
 the court is a knowing fellow, and you want to 
 mind your p's and q's. You want to be very 
 confiding and affectionate in your manner 
 toward me, and I'll do all the rest." 
 
 "Is there any danger, sir? Will we be found 
 out? Oh dear! I'm dreadfully nervous." 
 
 "Well, now, you needn't be, my child, you 
 needn't be. I've had a great deal of experi 
 ence in delicate matters of this kind, and I 
 guess we'll fetch your husband out all right. 
 As for the danger, it's all mine, and as for get 
 ting found out, that will come in due time, 
 probably ; but when it comes we'll all of us 
 endeavor to view it from a remote stand 
 point, where we can do so, I dare say, with 
 comparative equanimity. So keep up your 
 spirits, my dear, and trust to your old friend, 
 the friend of your childhood, Colonel the Hon. 
 Edward Lawrence Rivers, formerly a dealer in 
 skins. Ah, here we are! Just take a look at 
 my necktie, child. Is it tied all right? And is 
 my diamond pin there? No? Well, where the 
 mischief can it be? Ah, yes, here it is in my 
 pocket. My jewel cases are all portable. 
 There ! Now, we're ready. Look timid, my 
 child, but confident in the final triumph of 
 your just and righteous cause. Come on,'*
 
 'TIN-TYPES. 167 
 
 They entered the court-room. Seated in an 
 inclosure in the custody of an officer was the 
 Baron Tulitz. His sharp face lighted when he 
 saw them approaching, and, as Corinne took 
 her seat by his side, he pressed her hand. 
 Presently his case was called, and his lawyer 
 arose to offer bail. He presented Colonel 
 Rivers. The old man was a spectacle of grave 
 decorum. He answered the questions put to 
 him about his residence, his family, his place 
 of business and his property, which he conveni 
 ently located in Staten Island, Niagara County, 
 Jersey City, and Morrisania. He was worth 
 $300,000. He owed nothing. He displayed 
 his deeds. He had never 'been a bondsman 
 before. He didn't know Tulitz, but was will 
 ing to risk the bail to restore peace to the 
 troubled mind of this poor little child, the 
 orphan of his old friend and neighbor. Never 
 was there a bondsman offered more unfamiliar 
 with the forms and ceremonies necessary to 
 the record of the recognizance. He had to be 
 told where he should sign, and even then he 
 started to put his name in the wrong place. 
 But at last it was done, and Tulitz was free. 
 
 Corinne's eyes were full of tears when the 
 old man gently drew her arm within his and 
 led her from the court-room, with Tulitz and 
 his lawyer following. He walked with them
 
 i68 
 
 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 as far as Broadway, and then he turned to say 
 good-by. He kissed her hand gallantly, and 
 called Tulitz aside. 
 
 "Skip!" he said, "and be quick about it!"
 
 IX. 
 
 MR. McCAFFERTY. 
 
 AN incident of the late municipal election has 
 recently come within my knowledge, which 
 I hasten to communicate to the public, in the 
 hope that an investigation will be ordered by 
 the Legislature, and, if the facts be as they are 
 represented here (this being a faithful record of 
 what I have been credibly told), in the further 
 hope that the men who have tampered with the 
 honor of Dennie McCafTerty and his friend, The 
 Croak, will speedily be brought to justice. 
 
 Late one night toward the close of Septem 
 ber Dennie was walking down Houston Street 
 toward the Bowery, when he suddenly espied 
 The Croak walking up Houston Street toward 
 Broadway. As suddenly The Croak espied him, 
 and both stopped short. They looked at one 
 another long and intently, and then Dennie 
 wheeled around and without a word led the way 
 into a saloon near at hand. 
 
 "Dice!" said he to the bartender. He 
 rattled the box and threw. "Three fives !" he 
 cried. 
 
 169
 
 DENNIE M'CAFFERTY. 
 
 170
 
 TIN-TYPES. 171 
 
 The Croak handled the dice-box with great 
 deliberation. Presently he rolled the ivories 
 out. "Three sixes," he said slowly, "an' I'll 
 take a pony er brandy." 
 
 "That settles it !" cried Dennie joyously. 
 "It's you, Croaker, sure pop. My eyes did not 
 deceive me. I thought they had, Croaker. I 
 thought I must be laboring under a mental 
 strain. When I saw you coming up the street 
 I says to myself, 'That's The Croak.' Then I 
 took another look, and says, 'No, it can't be. 
 The Croak's in Joliet doing three years for 
 working the sawdust.' Then I looked again and 
 I says, Tt must be The Croak. There's his cock 
 eye looking straight at me through the wooden 
 Indian in front of the cigar-store across the 
 street.' Then I looked once more, and says, 
 'But it can't be. Three years can't have passed 
 since The Croak and I were dealing faro in old 
 McGlory's.' Once again I looked, and I says, 
 'If it's The Croak, he'll chuck a bigger dice 
 than mine and stick me for drinks, and he'll take 
 a pony of brandy.' There's the dice, there's the 
 pony, and there's The Croak. Drink hearty !" 
 
 They lifted their glasses and poured down 
 the liquor, and Dennie continued, "How'd you 
 get out, Croaker?" 
 
 "Served me term," said The Croak shortly. 
 
 "What! Then is it three years? Well, well,
 
 TOZIE MONKS, THB CROAK. 
 
 172
 
 TIN-TYPES. 173 
 
 how the snows and the blossoms come and go. 
 We're growing old, Croaker. We're nearing the 
 time when the fleeting show will have flet. And 
 hanged if I can see that we're growing any 
 wiser, or better, or richer hey? Thirty cents! 
 Ye gods, Croaker, that man says thirty cents ! 
 Thirty cents, and my entire capital is a lonely 
 ten-cent piece that I kept for luck. Thirty 
 cents, and my last collateral security hocked 
 and the ticket lost ! Croaker, I'm in despair." 
 
 The Croak dived into his trowsers pocket, took 
 out a small roll of bills, handed one to the bar 
 tender and another a ten-dollar greenback 
 to Dennie. 
 
 "Dear boy!" said Dennie, expanding into 
 smiles. "What an uncommon comfort you are, 
 Croaker. Virtues such as yours reconcile me 
 to a further struggle with this cold and selfish 
 world. It has used me pretty hard since I saw 
 you last, Croaker. Not long after you left for 
 the er West I met an elderly gentleman from 
 Bumville, whom I thought I recognized as a 
 Mr. Huckster. I spoke to him, but found my 
 self in error. He said his name wasn't Huck 
 ster, of Bumville, but Bogle, of Bogle's Cross 
 Roads. I apologized, left him, and at the cor 
 ner whom should I see but Tommy, the Tick. 
 Incidentally I mentioned to Tommy the curi 
 ous circumstance of my having mistaken Mr.
 
 174 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Bogle, of Bogle's Cross Roads, for Mr. Huck 
 ster, of Bumville. 
 
 "'Bogle!' said Tommy. 'Bogle! Why, I 
 know Bogle well. He's a great friend of my 
 uncle's.' Whereupon Tommy hurried off after 
 Bogle. I am not even yet informed as to what 
 took place between Bogle and Tommy, further 
 than that they struck up a warm and agreeable 
 acquaintance ; that they stopped in at a dozen 
 places on their way uptown; that poor old 
 Bogle got drunk and happy; that they went 
 somewhere and took chances in a raffle, and 
 that they got into a dispute over $2000 which 
 Bogle said Tommy had helped to cheat him 
 out of. A couple of Byrnes's malignant min 
 ions arrested Tommy, and not satisfied with 
 that act of tyranny and oppression, they act 
 ually came to my lonely lodgings and arrested 
 me. What for? you ask in blank amazement. 
 Has an honest and industrious American citizen 
 no rights? Must it ever be that the poor and 
 downtrodden are sacrificed to glut the maw of 
 that ten-fold tyrant at Police Headquarters? 
 They charged me with larceny, with working 
 the confidence game, and despite my protes 
 tations and the eloquence of my learned coun 
 sel, who cost me my last nickel, a hard-hearted 
 and idiotic jury convicted me, and that sandy- 
 haired old flint at the General Sessions gave
 
 TIN-TYPES, 175 
 
 me a year and six months in Sing Sing. Now, 
 Croaker, when you live in a land where such 
 outrages are committed upon a man simply 
 because he is poor, you wonder what your 
 fathers fought and bled and died for, don't you, 
 Croaker?" 
 
 "I dunno 'bout dat, Dennie, but 'f I cud talk 
 like er you I'd bin an Eyetalian Prince by dis 
 time, wid a title wot ud reach across dis room 
 an' jewels ter match," and The Croak looked at 
 his friend in undisguised admiration. 
 
 But Dennie's humor was pensive. "Croaker," 
 said he, drawing the ten-dollar bill out of his 
 pocket and nodding suggestively to the barten 
 der, "look out there in the street. See that 
 banner stretched from house to house. It 
 reads: 'Liberty and Equality! Labor Must 
 Have the Fruits of Labor !' Now what infer 
 nal lies those are ! There's no liberty here ; 
 and as for equality, that cop blinking in here 
 through the window really believes he owns the 
 town. That stuff about labor is all humbug 
 molasses for flies. They're going to have an elec 
 tion to choose a President shortly. What's an 
 election, Croaker? It's political faro, that's all. 
 The politicians run the bank. Honest fellows, 
 like you and me, run up against it and get 
 taken in. The crowd that does the most cheat 
 ing gets the pot. Ah, Croaker, what are we
 
 176 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 coming to?" This thought was too much for 
 Dennie. He threw back his head and solaced 
 himself with brandy. 
 
 "As I remarked a moment ago, Croaker," he 
 said, "I have just returned from er up the 
 river. You have just returned from er the 
 West. Our bosoms are heaving with hopes for 
 the future. We want to earn an honest living. 
 But when we come to think of what there 
 is left for us to do by which we can regain the 
 proud position we once had in the community, 
 we find ourselves enveloped in clouds." 
 
 "I was t'inking er sumpin', Dennie," The 
 Croak replied, reflectively, "jess when I caught 
 sight er you. Your speakin' bout polertics 
 makes me t'ink of it some more. W'y not get 
 up a 'sociashun?" 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A 'sociashun. Ev'rybody's workin' de per- 
 litical racket now; w'y not take a hack at 
 it, too?" 
 
 "Anything, Croaker, anything to give me an 
 honest penny. But I don't quite catch on." 
 
 "Dey's two coveys runnin* fer Alderman over 
 on de Eas' Side. One of 'em's Boozy- you 
 knows Boozy. He keeps a place in de Bowery. 
 De udder's a Dutchman, name er Bockerhei- 
 sen. Boozy 's de County Democracy man, 
 Bockerheisen's de Tammany. Less git up a
 
 TIN-TYPES. 177 
 
 'sociashun. You'll be president an' do de 
 talkin.' I'll be treasurer an' hoi' de cash." 
 
 "Croaker, you may not be eloquent, but you 
 have a genius all your own. I begin dimly to 
 perceive what you are driving at. I must think 
 this over. Meet me here to-morrow at noon. 1 ' 
 
 The district in which the great fight between 
 Boozy and Bockerheisen was to occur was 
 close and doubtful. Great interests were at 
 stake in the election. Colonel Boozy and Mr. 
 Bockerheisen were personal enemies. Their 
 saloons were not far apart as to distance, and 
 each felt that his business, as well as his 
 political future, depended on his success in 
 this campaign. A third candidate, a Republi 
 can, was in the field, but small attention was 
 paid to him. A few days after Dennie and The 
 Croak had their chance meeting in Houston 
 Street, Dennie walked into Colonel Boozy 's 
 saloon. Boozy stood by the bar in gorgeous 
 array. 
 
 "How are you, Colonel?" said Dennie. 
 
 "It's McCafferty!" cried the Colonel, "an' as 
 hearty as ever. As smilin', too, an' ready, I'm 
 hopin', ter take a han' in the fight fer his ould 
 frind." 
 
 " I am that, Colonel. How's it going?" 
 
 "Shmokin' hot, Dennie, an' divil a wan o* me 
 knows whose end p' the poker is hottest,"
 
 COLONEL BOOZY. 
 
 I 7 8
 
 TIN-TYPES. 179 
 
 "It's your end, Colonel, that generates the 
 heat, and Dutchy's end that does the burn 
 ing." 
 
 "There's poorer wit than yours, Dennie, out 
 of the insane asylums. I'll shtow that away 
 in me mind an' fire it off in the Boord the nexht 
 time I make a speech. If I had your brains, 
 lad, I'd a made more out av 'em than you 
 have." 
 
 "You've done well enough with your own," 
 said Dennie. "They tell me it's been a good 
 year for business in the Board, Colonel." 
 
 "Not over-good, Dennie. The office aint 
 what it was once. It useter be that ye cud 
 make a nate pile in wan terrum, but now wid 
 the assessmints an' the price of gettin' there, 
 yer lucky if ye come out aven." 
 
 "The trouble is that you fool away your 
 money, Colonel. You ought not to hand over 
 to every bummer that comes along. You 
 should be discreet. There's a big floating vote 
 in this district, and you can float still more 
 into it if you go about it the right way." 
 
 The Colonel looked curiously into Dennie's 
 ingenuous blue eyes, and said with an indifferent 
 air, "Ye mought be right, and then agin ye 
 moughtn't." 
 
 "Oh, certainly, we don't know as much before 
 election as we do after."
 
 180 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "Is yer mind* workin', Dennie? Air ye fig- 
 gerin' at somethin'?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I happened to meet The Croak this 
 morning you know The Croak, he's in the 
 green-goods line?" 
 
 "Do I know him? Me name's kep' on his 
 bail-bond as reg'lar as on the parish book." 
 
 "Yes, of course ; well, I met him, as I was 
 saying, and, to make a long story short, I found 
 that Bockerheisen had got hold of him, and 
 they've packed a lot of tenement-houses with 
 Poles and Italians and organized an association. 
 There are about 600 of them. Dutchy keeps 
 them in beer, and that's about all they want, 
 you know." 
 
 Colonel Boozy had been about to drink a 
 glass of beer as Dennie began this communica 
 tion. He had raised the glass to his lips, but it 
 got no further. His eyes began to bulge and his 
 nose to widen, his forehead to contract and his 
 jaws to close, and when Dennie stopped and 
 drained off his amber glass, the Alderman was 
 standing stiff with stupefied rage. He recovered 
 speech and motion shortly, however, and both 
 came surging upon him in a flood. He fetched 
 his heavy beer-glass down upon the bar with a 
 furious blow, and a volley of oaths such as 
 only a New York Alderman can utter shot forth 
 like slugs from a Catling gun. When this
 
 TIN-TYPES. l8l 
 
 cyclone of rage had passed away he was left 
 pensive. 
 
 Dennie, who had remained cool and sympa 
 thetic during the exhibition, now observed : 
 "It is as you say, Colonel, very wicked in 
 Dutchy thus to seek to win by fraud what he 
 never could get on his merits. It is also most 
 ungrateful in The Croak. Well, I've told you 
 what the facts are. You'll know how to man 
 age them. So-long," and Dennie started for 
 the street. 
 
 But the Colonel detained him. "Don't be 
 goin' yet, Dennie," he said. "I want ter talk 
 this bizness over wid ye. Come intil the back 
 room, Dennie." 
 
 They adjourned into a little private room at 
 the rear of the bar, and the Alderman drew 
 from a closet a bottle of wine, a couple of 
 glasses, and a box of cigars. 
 
 "Dennie," he said nervously, "we must bate 
 'em. That Dootch pookah aint the fool he 
 looks. Things is feelin' shaky, an' you mus' un 
 do yer wits fer me an' set 'em a-warkin'. If the 
 Dootchy kin hev a 'sosheashin, I kin, too. If 
 he kin run in Poles an' Eyetalyans, I kin run in 
 niggers an' Jerseymen." 
 
 Dennie contemplated a knot-hole in the floor 
 for several minutes. "No, Colonel," he said, 
 at last, "that wont do. There's a limit to the
 
 1 82 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 number of repeaters that can be brought into 
 the district. If we fetch too many, there'll be 
 trouble. Dutchy has put up a job with the 
 police, too, I'm told; they're all training with 
 Tammany now. Besides, if you get up your 
 gang of six or seven hundred, you don't make 
 anything; you only offset his gang. You must 
 buy The Croak; that'll be cheaper and more 
 effective. Then you'll get your association and 
 Dutchy will get nothing. You will be making 
 him pay for your votes." 
 
 Boozy grasped Dennie's hand admiringly. 
 "It's a great head ye have, Dennie, wid a 
 power o' brains in it an' a talent fer shpakin' 
 'em out. I'll 1'ave the fixin' av it in your hands. 
 Ye'll see The Croak, Dennie, an' get his figgers, 
 an' harkee, Dennie, if ye air thrue to me, Den 
 nie, ye'll be makin' a fri'nd, d'ye moind !" 
 
 While Dennie was thus engaged with Boozy, 
 The Croak was occupied in effecting a similar 
 arrangement with Mr. Bockerheisen. In a few 
 gloomy but well-chosen words, for The Croak, 
 though a mournful, was yet a vigorous, talker, 
 he explained to Bockerheisen that a wicked 
 conspiracy had been entered into by Boozy and 
 McCafferty to bring about his defeat by fraud, 
 and he urged that Mr. Bockerheisen "get on 
 to 'em" without delay. 
 
 "Dot I vill!" said the German savagely. "I
 
 MR. BOCKERHEISEN. 
 
 183
 
 184 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 giv you two huntered tolars for der names of 
 der men vat dot Poozy mitout der law regis 
 ters !" 
 
 "I aint no copper!" cried The Croak, 
 angrily. "Wot you wants ter do is ter get 
 elected, doncher?" 
 
 "Veil, how vas I get elected mit wotes vat 
 vas for der udder mans cast, hey?" 
 
 "You can't," said The Croak, "dey aint no 
 doubt 'bout dat." 
 
 "If dey vas cast for him, dey don't gount for 
 me, hey?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Den I vill yust der bolice got und raise der 
 debbil mit dot Poozy." 
 
 "Hoi' on!" the Croak replied. 'If dey was 
 ter make a mistake about de ballots, an' 
 s'posen 'stead of deir bein' hisn dey happens 
 to be yourn, den if dey're cast fer you dey 
 wont count fer him, will dey?" 
 
 Mr. Bockerheisen turned his head around 
 and stared at The Croak in an evidently pain 
 ful effort to grasp the idea. 
 
 "If Boozy t'inks dey're his wotes " 
 
 "Yah," said Bockerheisen reflectively. 
 
 "And pays all de heavy 'spences of uni 
 forms an' beer " 
 
 "Yah," said Bockerheisen, with an affable 
 smile.
 
 TIN-TYPES. 185 
 
 "But w'en dey comes to wote " 
 "Yah," said Bockerheisen, opening his eyes. 
 "Deir ballots don't hev his tickets in 'em " 
 "Yah !" said Bockerheisen quickly. 
 "But has yourn instead " 
 "Yah-ah !" said Bockerheisen, rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 "Den an' in dat case who does dey count fer?" 
 
 Mr. Bockerheisen leaned his head upon his 
 
 hand, which was supported by the bar against 
 
 which they were standing, slowly closed one eye, 
 
 and murmured, "Yah-ah-ah." 
 
 "I t'ought you'd see de p'int w'en I got it 
 out right," said The Croak. 
 
 "How you do somedings like dot?" 
 "Dat aint fer me to say," The Croak diffi 
 dently remarked. "But dey do tell me dat 
 dat McCafferty has a grudge agin Boozy, an 
 if you wants me ter ask him ter drop in yere 
 an hev a talk wid ye, I'll do it." 
 
 Mr. Bockerheisen did not fail to express the 
 satisfaction he would have in seeing Mr. Mc 
 Cafferty, and Mr. McCafferty did not fail 
 to give him that happiness. The associa 
 tion sprang quickly into being, and its rolls 
 soon showed a membership of nearly 700 
 voters. Two copies of the rolls were taken, 
 one for submission to Alderman Boozy and one 
 to Mr. Bockerheisen. This was in the nature
 
 1 86 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 of tangible evidence that the association was in 
 actual existence. In further proof of this im 
 portant fact, the association with banners repre 
 senting it to be the Michael J. Boozy Cam 
 paign Club marched past the saloon of Mr. 
 Bockerheisen every other night, and the next 
 night, avoiding Mr. Bockerheisen's, it was led 
 in gorgeous array past the saloon of Colonel 
 Boozy, labeled the Karl Augustus Bocker 
 heisen Club. As Mr. Bockerheisen looked out 
 and saw Colonel Boozy's association, and 
 realized that w^hereas Boozy was planting and 
 McCafferty was watering, yet he was to gather 
 the increase, a High German smile would come 
 upon his poetic countenance, and he would bite 
 his finger-nails rapturously. And, on the other 
 hand, as Colonel Boozy heard the drums and 
 fifes of the Bockerheisen Club, and saw its tran 
 sparency glowing in the street, he would sum 
 mon all his friends to the bar to take a drink 
 with him. It is said that even before election 
 day, however, the relations between Dennie 
 and the Colonel on the one hand, and between 
 The Croak and Bockerheisen, on the other, be 
 came painfully strained. It is said that Boozy 
 was compelled to mortgage two of his houses to 
 support Bockerheisen's club, and that Bocker 
 heisen's wife had to borrow nearly $10,000 from 
 her brother, a rich brewer, before Bockerheis-
 
 TIN-TYPES. 187 
 
 en's wild anxiety to pay the expenses of Boozy 's 
 club was satisfied. Dennie acknowledged to 
 the Colonel a couple of days before the election 
 that he had found The Croak a hard man to 
 deal with, and that it had been vastly more ex 
 pensive to make the arrangement than he had 
 supposed it would be. The Croak's manner, as 
 I have said, was always subdued, if not actually 
 sad, and in the presence of Bockerheisen, as 
 the election drew near, he seemed to be so 
 utterly woe-begone and discouraged that the 
 German told his wife he hadn't the heart to 
 quarrel with him about having let McCafferty 
 cost so much money. Besides, as the Colonel 
 remarked to Mrs. Boozy on the night before 
 election, when she told him he had let that 
 bad man, McCafferty, ruin him entirely, and as 
 Bockerheisen said to Mrs. Bockerheisen when 
 she warned him that that ugly-looking Croak 
 would be calling for her watch and wedding- 
 ring next as they both remarked, "What is 
 the difference if I get the votes of the asso 
 ciation? Business will be good in the Board 
 of Aldermen next year, and I can make it up." 
 Who did get the votes of the association 
 I'm sure I can't say. All I know is that the 
 Republican candidate was elected, and a Central 
 Office detective who haunts the Forty-second 
 Street depot reported at Headquarters on Elec-
 
 1 88 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 tion Day night that he had seen Dennie McCaf- 
 ferty, wearing evening dress and a single glass 
 in his left eye, and Tozie Monks, The Croak, 
 dressed as Dennie's valet, board the six o'clock 
 train for Chicago and the West.
 
 X. 
 
 MR. MADDLEDOCK. 
 
 MR. MADDLEDOCK did not like to wait, 
 and, least of all, for dinner. Wobbles 
 knew that, and when he heard the soft gong of 
 the clock in the lower hall beat seven times, 
 and reflected that while four guests had been 
 bidden to dinner only three had yet come, 
 Wobbles was agitated. Mrs. Throcton, Mr. 
 Maddledock's sister, and Miss Annie Throcton 
 had arrived and were just coming downstairs 
 from the dressing-room. Mr. Linden was in 
 the parlor with Miss Maddledock, both looking 
 as if all they asked was to be let alone. Mr. 
 Maddledock was in the library walking up and 
 down in a way that Wobbles could but look 
 upon as ominous. Again, and for the fifth 
 time in two minutes, Wobbles made a careful 
 calculation upon 'his fingers, but to save his 
 unhappy soul he could not bring five persons 
 to tally with six chairs. And in the mean 
 while, Mr. Maddledock's step in the library 
 grew sharper in its sound and quicker in its 
 motion. 
 
 189
 
 19 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 There was nothing vulgar about Mr. Mad- 
 dledock. His tall, erect figure, his gray eyes, 
 his clearly cut, correct features, his low voice, 
 his utter want of passion, and his quiet, reso 
 lute habit of bending everything and every 
 body as it suited him to bend them, told upon 
 people differently. Some said he was hand 
 some and courtly, others insisted that he was 
 sinister-looking and cruel. Which were right I 
 shall not undertake to say. Whether it was a 
 lion or a snake in him that fascinated, it is cer 
 tainly true that he impressed every one who 
 knew him. In some respects his influence was 
 very singular. He seemed to throw out a 
 strange devitalizing force that acted as well 
 upon inanimate as upon animate things. The 
 new buffet had not been in the dining-room six 
 months before it looked as ancient as the Louis 
 XIV. pier-glass in the upper hall. This subtle 
 influence of Mr. Maddledock had wrought a 
 curious effect upon the whole house. It oxy- 
 dized the frescoes on the walls. It subdued 
 the varied shades of color that streamed in 
 from the stained-glass windows. It gave a 
 deeper richness to the velvet carpets and 
 mellowed the lace curtains that hung from the 
 parlor casements into a creamy tint. 
 
 Mr. Maddledock's figure was faultless. From 
 head to heels he was adjusted with mathematical
 
 IN THE MORGUE," SAID MR. MADDLEDOCK, " WELL, THAT'S 
 THE BEST PLACE FOR HIM." 
 
 igl
 
 192 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 nicety. Every organ in his shapely body did 
 its work silently, easily, accurately. Silver- 
 gray hair covered his head, falling gracefully 
 away from a parting in the middle of it. It 
 never seemed to grow long, and yet it never 
 looked as if it had been cut. Mr. Maddle- 
 dock's eyes were his most striking feature. 
 Absolutely unaffected by either glare or shad 
 ow, neither dilating nor contracting, they 
 remained ever clear, large, gray, and cold. 
 No mark or line in his face indicated care or 
 any of the burdens that usually depress and 
 trouble men. If such things were felt in his 
 experience their force was spent long before 
 they had contrived to mar his unruffled coun 
 tenance. Though the house had tumbled 
 before his eyes, by not a single vibration would 
 his complacent voice have been intensified. 
 He never suffered his feelings to escape his con 
 trol. Occasionally, to be sure, he might curl 
 his lip, or lift his eyebrows, or depress the 
 corners of his mouth. When deeply moved he 
 might go so far as to diffuse a nipping frost 
 around him, but no angry words ever fell from 
 his lips. 
 
 Five, seven, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes had 
 passed since the hall clock had sounded the 
 hour and Wobbles's temperature had risen to 
 the degree which borders on apoplexy. What
 
 TIN-TYPES. 193 
 
 might have have happened is dreadful to con 
 jecture had not Dinks, the housekeeper, come 
 to his relief with the sagacious counsel that he 
 wait no longer, but boldly inform Miss Emily 
 that dinner was served. Wobbles was just on 
 the point of acting upon this advice when 
 the library call rang, and he hurried to 
 respond. 
 
 "You said this note was left here by a tall 
 man, didn't you, Wobbles?" said Mr. Maddle- 
 dock. 
 
 "Yezzur," said Wobbles. 
 
 "And he said he would call for an answer?" 
 
 "Yezzur, at seven be the clock, zur." 
 
 "But it's past seven, Wobbles?" 
 
 "Yezzur, most 'arf an howr, most 'arf." 
 
 "That will do, Wobbles and yet, stay. 
 Did you ask his name?" 
 
 "Yezzur. Hi did, zur, and 'e says, sezee, 
 'Chops,' sezee, 'you need more salt,' sezee, 'go 
 back to the gridiron,' sezee." 
 
 "Well, that's curious," said Mr. Maddledock; 
 "was he sober?" 
 
 '"E 'med be in cups, zur, but they be quiet 
 uns." 
 
 "Yes well, if he calls during dinner, Wob 
 bles, you may show him into the office and 
 stay with him, Wobbles, until I come." 
 
 "Yezzur, hexackly, zur, I see, zur. Dinner is
 
 CHOPS,' SEZEE, 'YOU NEEDS MORE SALT ! " SEZEE. 'GO 
 BACK TO THE GRIDIRON,' SEZEE.'"
 
 TIN-TYPES. 195 
 
 served, zur, but Mr. Torbert be not come. 
 Shall I tell Miss Emily?" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure. How absurd of Torbert! 
 Why, it's quite late. When I go into the par 
 lor, which will be in another minute, Wobbles 
 you may announce dinner." 
 
 Wobbles bowed himself away and Mr. Mad- 
 dledock sat himself down. He picked up, the 
 note to which he had just referred, and read it 
 through carefully. Then he rubbed his eye 
 glass, stroked his nose reflectively, crumpled 
 the note in his hand, and tossed it into the 
 grate fire before him. He rose and stood 
 watching it burn. "Only two things are pos 
 sible," he said, quietly. "I must shoot him or 
 pay him, and I don't feel entirely certain which 
 I'd better do." Then he walked into the 
 parlor. 
 
 "You're almost as bad as Mr. Torbert, 
 father," said Miss Maddledock. "I've been 
 waiting long enough for you, and now we'll all 
 go to dinner." 
 
 "Torbert 's late, is he?" said Mr. Maddle 
 dock, as if this were the first he had heard of it, 
 bowing gravely to the others. "How's that, 
 Linden?" 
 
 "I'm sure I can't account for it at all, sir," 
 answered the young man. "We took break 
 fast together, and at that hour he was in full
 
 I9 6 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 possession of his faculties. His watch was 
 doing its accustomed duty, and there was no 
 sign of any such condition in or about him as 
 would suggest the possibility of preposterous 
 behavior like this." 
 
 "Perhaps his business keeps him," said Miss 
 Maddledock amiably. 
 
 "Ho, ho," chuckled Mrs. Throcton, in her 
 jolly way, "if he depended on that to keep 
 him, he'd be ill kept, indeed." 
 
 "Why, mamma," said Miss Throcton, reprov 
 ingly, "how can you?" 
 
 "And why not, Nancy, my child? Bless me ! 
 how perfectly absurd to think of Torbert, all 
 jewels and bangs, with a business. I'll leave 
 it to Mr. Linden if he ever earned a penny in 
 his life." 
 
 "But that is not the test of having a business, 
 dear Mrs. Throcton," Linden replied. "I know 
 some wonderfully busy men, whose earnings 
 wouldn't keep a pug dog." 
 
 "Now more than likely something's the mat 
 ter with his clothes," remarked plump Miss 
 Nancy, in tones of deep sympathy. "I've 
 often been late because I couldn't get into 
 mine." 
 
 "While we speculate the dinner cools," said 
 Miss Maddledock suggestively. "Father, will 
 you give your arm to Mrs. Throcton? Mr,
 
 TIN-TYPES. 197 
 
 Linden, there stands Miss Nancy. I will go 
 alone and mourn for Mr. Torbert." 
 
 "Now, this is really too bad," said Linden, 
 when they were seated at the table. "It is a 
 form of social misconduct which goes right at 
 the bottom of Torbert's character. When he 
 comes I'll tell him the story of a friend of mine 
 who never was late for dinner in his life, and 
 who consequently 
 
 "Died!" interrupted Mrs. Throcton. "I know 
 he did. Any man who never was late for din 
 ner in his life must in the nature of things 
 have had a short time to live." 
 
 "Come to think of it," said Linden, "he did 
 die, and I never suspected why before. He 
 was the last man in the world whom I should 
 have thought the dread angel would want." 
 
 "Oh, you never can tell," Mrs. Throcton 
 cheerily declared. "I'ts all luck, pure luck. 
 This man died because it isn't in fate for any 
 man who is never late to dinner to live long, 
 but still living is all luck. If the 'dread angel,' 
 as you call him, happens to look your way and 
 fancies you, why, off you go plunk! like a 
 frog in the pond." 
 
 Mrs. Throcton had scarcely concluded this 
 genial doctrine before the belated guest, all 
 bows, smiles, and graceful attitudes, was ren 
 dering homage to Miss Maddledock,
 
 198 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "Sir!" she said, "you will kindly observe 
 that my aspect is severe. You are indicted 
 for for what is he indicted for, Mr. Lin 
 den?" 
 
 Linden was a lawyer, and he answered 
 promptly: "For violating Section One of the 
 Code of Prandial Procedure, which defines tar 
 diness at dinner as a felony punishable by ban 
 ishment from all social festivities at the house 
 where offense is given, for a period of not less 
 than two nor more than five years." 
 
 "You hear the the what are you, Mr. 
 Linden something horrid, aren't you?" 
 
 "He is, or his looks belie him," interjaculated 
 Torbert. 
 
 "The prosecutor, your Honor," replied Lin 
 den, "prepared, with regard to this prisoner, to 
 be as horrid as I look." 
 
 "May it please the Court," began Torbert, 
 with mock gravity, "I find myself the victim 
 of an unfortunate situation, and not a con 
 scious and willing offender against the Prandial 
 Code. Justice is all I ask. More I have no 
 need for. Less I am confident your Honor 
 never fails to render." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Prosecutor, where's my judicial 
 temperament gone that you compliment me 
 upon so often?" demanded Miss Maddledock, 
 turning sharply to the lawyer. "I had it a
 
 TIN-TYPES. 199 
 
 moment ago, together with a frown ; where 
 have they gone?" 
 
 "They will return directly I call your Hon 
 or's attention to the flagrant nature of the pris 
 oner's crime," said Linden "a crime so utterly 
 atrocious " 
 
 "True, you do well to remind me. Justice 
 you called for, sir. Very well. Justice you 
 shall have. Go on !" 
 
 "Your Honor is most gracious. That part 
 of the indictment which charges me with hav 
 ing an engagement to dine with your Honor at 
 seven P. Ml is admitted. I left my house in 
 plenty of time, but 
 
 Mrs. Throcton (sotto voce). Does the pris 
 oner live in Harlem? 
 
 Miss Nancy. Or in Hoboken? 
 
 The Court (with great, dignity) If the pris 
 oner is going to put his trust in the saving grace 
 of the elevated cars or the tardy ferry, the Court 
 would prefer not to delay its consomme listen 
 ing to such trivial excuses. The Court's soup 
 is growing cold. 
 
 A roar of laughter greeted this observation, 
 and Mr. Linden remarked, "The prosecutor 
 feels it his duty to suggest that the prisoner 
 enter a plea of guilty, and throw himself at 
 once upon the Court's mercy." 
 
 "The distinguished assistants to the prosecu-
 
 2oo TIM-TYPES. 
 
 tor," said Torbert, turning with an extravagant 
 bow toward Mrs. Throcton and Miss Nancy, 
 "think to throw contempt upon the defense 
 by associating it with Harlem and Hoboken. 
 Let them beware. Let them not tempt me to 
 extremities. There are insults which even my 
 forbearing spirit will not meekly endure. Had 
 they said Hackensack " 
 
 The Court Well, what then? 
 
 "Then, your Honor, I should have objected ; 
 and had your Honor ruled against me, I should 
 have been reluctantly compelled to demand an 
 exception ! But let me come at once to my 
 defense. My offense, if offense it is, was 
 caused by the necessity which was imposed 
 upon me of unharnessing a man." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Of unharnessing a man, please your Honor! 
 A man coming north and a horse going east 
 endeavored to cross the street at a given point, 
 at one and the same moment. It proved an 
 impossibility, and they er intersected." 
 
 "Dreadful!" cried Miss Maddledock. 
 
 "It so impressed me, else I had not dared to 
 risk your Honor's displeasure by pausing to 
 unharness the man." 
 
 Mrs. Throcton, merry soul that she usually 
 was, had grown quite serious when Torbert 
 spoke of a collision and an accident. Her
 
 TIN-TYPES. 201 
 
 voice was earnest as she said, "Now, Mr. Tor- 
 bert, stop your jesting right away and tell us 
 what you mean." 
 
 "It was as I have said, and all done in a sec 
 ond," Torbert replied. "You never can tell 
 just how a thing like that is done, you know. 
 The horse was a runaway. It must have 
 come some distance, for it had broken away 
 from the vehicle to which it had been attached, 
 and its torn harness was held upon it by only 
 one or two feeble straps. 'The man was a tall, 
 queer-looking fellow, rather seedily dressed, 
 and possibly not quite sober. He had been 
 walking just ahead of me for several blocks. 
 I can't say what it was about him that first 
 attracted my attention. Possibly it was a 
 peculiarity in his walk." 
 
 Mr. Maddledock, who had not spoken a 
 word since they sat down to dinner, now 
 glanced up, and said, in an inquiring tone, "A 
 peculiarity in his walk?" 
 
 -"Yes," answered Torbert, dropping into his 
 seat and picking up his oyster fork, "and I am 
 somewhat at a loss to describe it. I don't 
 think he was lame, or wooden-legged, or 
 afflicted with any hip trouble. As I recall the 
 step now, it seems to me that it was merely a 
 habit. I think he took a long and then a 
 short step, long and short, long and short."
 
 "HE WAS AN ODD-LOOKING FELLOW," SAID TORBERT, "ODD 
 AND BAD." 
 
 202
 
 TIN-TYPES. 203 
 
 "Urn," said Mr. Maddledock. 
 
 "Just as he approached the crossing where 
 the accident occurred he turned his head, and 
 I don't think I ever saw a more Mephistophe 
 lean countenance. The only thing that broke 
 the dark-angel shape of his face was his nose, and 
 that, with slight alterations, would have made 
 an excellent shepherd's crook." 
 
 Mr. Maddledock took up his wine-glass and 
 drained it at a single quaff. "A shepherd's 
 crook," he repeated ; "an odd nose, truly." ' 
 
 "He was an odd-looking fellow all over," 
 Torbert continued, "odd and bad. I never 
 was more disagreeably impressed with a human 
 face in my life. Well, when we reached the 
 corner we both heard the clatter of the horse's 
 hoofs on the cobbles and looked up. He was 
 coming on at a fearful rate, and people were 
 shouting at him in a way that must have 
 increased his frenzy. Quite a crowd had col 
 lected, and this fellow and I were jostled for 
 ward upon the crossing. I shouted to the 
 crowd not to push us, and pressed back with 
 all my strength. He was just ahead of me. 
 He had two means of escape to hold back as 
 I had done, or to dash forward. He hesitated, 
 and that second's pause was fatal. The horse 
 plunged forward, struck him squarely, knocked 
 him heavily upon the stones, and left him
 
 THE HORSE PLUNGED FORWARD, STRUCK HIM SQUARELY, AND 
 KNOCKED HIM HEAVILY UPON THE STONES. 
 
 204
 
 TIN-TYPES. 205 
 
 there, covered with the remnants of its harness, 
 which having become caught in his coat, some 
 how or another, were drawn off its back." 
 
 "Terrible !" cried Miss Maddledock, "Was he 
 much hurt?" 
 
 Mr. Maddledock leaned forward and bent 
 his ear to catch the answer. 
 
 "I don't know how much, but certainly 
 enough to make his recovery a matter of 
 doubt." 
 
 Mr. Maddledock slightly frowned. "A 
 matter of doubt?" he repeated, pausing with 
 singular emphasis on each word. 
 
 "Yes, of grave doubt," answered Torbert, 
 "and dread too, for even if he gets well again, 
 he must be maimed for life, and he was the sort 
 of creature that ought not to have a deformity 
 added to his general ugliness." 
 
 Emily Maddledock had been leaning her 
 chin upon her hand with a thoughtful look in 
 her face for several minutes. As Torbert 
 paused, she said : "Your description of that 
 man brings a face to my mind that I saw re 
 cently somewhere. I can't seem to remember 
 about it clearly, though the face is very dis 
 tinct." 
 
 " Indeed?" said Torbert. "Now, that's curi 
 ous. If you've ever seen the beggar you ought 
 to remember it. There's one other mark upon
 
 206 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 him that may serve to place him still more 
 clearly before you. Directly over his left 
 cheek-bone there is a long rectangular mole 
 
 "Yes! yes!" cried Emily. "I remember. 
 Why, father" 
 
 Mr. Maddledock had been sipping his wine. 
 As Emily suddenly looked up and addressed 
 him, he twirled the glass carelessly between his 
 thumb and ringer, remarking, as if this were 
 the only feature of the story that at all im 
 pressed him, "A mole, did you say? What a 
 monstrosity!" 
 
 "Um, well, is it?" Torbert replied. "Can't 
 say I'd thought of that." 
 
 "Don't think of it !" sharply remarked Mrs. 
 Throcton, as if annoyed at the interruption, 
 "but go on." 
 
 "Several of us sprang forward from among 
 the crowd and set at work trying to free him 
 from the confining straps. How in the world 
 they contrived to get around him and to tie 
 him up as they did is a mystery. We cut 
 them loose, lifted him up, and found him quite 
 unconscious. Somebody thoughtfully rang 
 for an ambulance. Before it came we carried 
 him into a drug store close by and the drug 
 gist plied him with restoratives. I supposed 
 he was dead, but the drug man said he wasn't. 
 He had shown no sign of life, however, when
 
 TIN-TYPES. 207 
 
 the ambulance arrived. They took him off, and 
 I, having made myself somewhat more present 
 able than I was, called a carriage and am here." 
 
 Then turning to Miss Maddledock he smil 
 ingly continued : "I now move, please your 
 Honor, for the dismissal of the indictment 
 against me on the ground that the evidence 
 does not show any offense to have been com 
 mitted." 
 
 "I think you'll have to grant the motion, 
 Emily, my dear," said Mr. Maddledock, fixing 
 his gray eyes upon his daughter in a way that 
 always riveted hers upon him and drew her 
 mind after them to the complete exclusion of 
 everything except what he intended to say. 
 "Mr. Torbert's defense strikes me as all we 
 could demand. You remarked a moment ago 
 that his description suggested a face to your 
 mind, but you couldn't remember where you 
 saw it." 
 
 "I know now," she said. "It was this very 
 afternoon ' 
 
 "Exactly," said her father, interrupting 
 rather adroitly than quickly. "It was while 
 we were standing together at the parlor win 
 dow." 
 
 Emily's face flushed, and had any one been 
 looking at her intently he might have had his 
 doubts whether or not that was the time. She
 
 208 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 did not answer, however, and before any one 
 had begun the conversation anew, Wobbles 
 entered with a card upon his tray which he 
 delivered to Mr. Maddledock. 
 
 "Since your Honor is so indulgent," said 
 Mr. Maddledock, as he glanced at the scrawl 
 upon the bit of cardboard and bowed to his 
 daughter, "and with the approval of the prose 
 cutor, I am constrained to ask the Court's con 
 sent to a further violation of the Prandial 
 Code. I don't know whether the punishment 
 for leaving the table before the dinner is con 
 cluded is greater or less than for a tardy ap 
 pearance, but I fear I must risk it." 
 
 "I suggest, in view of this prisoner's pre 
 vious good character," said Linden, "that your 
 Honor suspend the sentence." 
 
 Mr. Maddledock bowed himself out and 
 walked directly to a little room just off the hall 
 which he used as a private office. A timid 
 young man was waiting for him. 
 
 "Well, sir?" said Mr. Maddledock. 
 
 "I am an orderly, sir, if you please, at the 
 Bellevue Hospital. A man was brought there, 
 this evening, sir, pretty well done up by a run 
 away. After he'd been fixed a bit he asked 
 me for his coat, and when I fetched it he took 
 out this bundle of papers and put them under 
 his pillow. The doctors didn't bother him
 
 TIN-TYPES. 209 
 
 much, for they saw he was a goner, and when 
 he asked if he could live they told him no. 
 He didn't say no more, but when we was alone 
 he asked me to take out the papers from under 
 his pillow. I did it, and he asked me if he died 
 to fetch them here and give them to you in 
 your own hands, and said you'd give me ten 
 dollars for my trouble. So as soon as I was 
 off duty I fetched 'em, and here they are, 
 sir." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Maddledock, adjusting his 
 eye-glasses and examining them slowly one by 
 one. "Yes. They appear to be all here. Ten 
 dollars, did he say? Well, here it is. Good 
 night." 
 
 "Good-night, sir." 
 
 "And the man? Wait a bit. What became 
 of him?" 
 
 "Oh, he's dead, sir. The horse done him 
 up. He's dead and in the Morgue by this 
 time. Good-night." 
 
 The orderly went out, and Mr. Maddledock 
 stood quietly with the bundle of papers in his 
 hands until he heard the click of the vestibule 
 door. Then he struck a match and fired them 
 one by one, watching each until it was entirely 
 consumed. 
 
 "In the Morgue," he said, as the last pale 
 flame flickered and died away. "Well, that's
 
 210 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 the best place for him. There's no doubt in my 
 mind, not the least, but that that amiable 
 horse saved me from being the central figure 
 in a murder trial. What an odd world it is, to 
 be sure !"
 
 XI. 
 
 MR. WRANGLER. 
 
 ON your way to the Cortlandt Street Ferry, 
 which is on everybody's way to every 
 where, and on the left-hand side of the street 
 when you turn out of Broadway, and not very 
 far from the ferry-house itself, there is a little 
 old, low brick building which has stood there 
 a good many years and is going to stand a good 
 many more if Billy Warlock knows himself, and 
 he thinks he does. You may talk about 
 progress all you please, but Billy will soon give 
 you to understand that the only kind of prog 
 ress which will take that house from him, or 
 him from it, is the progress toward the stars, 
 and that, while he hopes to take it in the 
 Lord's good time, he isn't ready for just yet. 
 Billy Warlock owns that house and lives in it 
 and does business there, and the great big heart 
 that thumps in Billy's great big body and gives 
 strength to Billy's great big arm, loves every 
 individual square inch of brick and earth and 
 planking and plaster in that old house from 
 cellar to scuttle. Part with it ! Speculate on 
 it.' Sacrifice it to progress! Well, scarcely. 
 211
 
 212 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Not if you were to offer him its weight in solid 
 gold. Not if its neighbor on one side were a 
 Mills Building and its neighbor on the other 
 an Equitable. Not if you were to build an 
 elevated railroad around it and run ten trains 
 per minute, day and night. So long as Billy 
 Warlock can keep himself above ground, so 
 long will that old house keep him company, and 
 so long will his forges blow fiery sparks in the 
 cellar, while he hammers and hums and hums 
 and hammers on the anvil by his side. 
 
 It was just twelve years ago on Christmas 
 Eve that Billy Warlock bought the smithy in 
 the cellar of that little old house. Billy had 
 been working for the man who owned it, and 
 the man who owned it, being a little short of 
 wind and a trifle weak in his legs, had decided 
 to sell and retire. Billy had become the pur 
 chaser, and not without many qualms and 
 doubts as to the wisdom of assuming such 
 heavy responsibilities. Billy knew he was a 
 good mechanic, and could put a tire on a wheel 
 or a shoe on a horse as quickly and as well as 
 the next man. But it took a good big pile of 
 dollars, as Billy counted dollars, to get those 
 forges, and before he turned them over to his late 
 employer Billy scratched his head a good many 
 times and did a power of thinking. But at last 
 he let go the dollars, and laid his big fist on
 
 TIN-TYPES. 213 
 
 the biggest forge and blew a blast through the 
 coals that made them glow brighter than ever 
 they glowed before. For it was the master 
 and not the man who sent the draught through 
 them. 
 
 He bade the men good-night and wished 
 them a Merry Christmas, closed the doors, 
 locked them tight, and looked his property 
 over. It was worth being proud of, make no 
 mistake. It was all any man need wish for. 
 It was well stocked and in prime condition. 
 The house, in the cellar of which his smithy 
 stood, was mainly let in lodgings. On the first 
 floor, raised just far enough above the street to 
 give his customers a fair passage out, there 
 was a saloon and eating-room. Back of these 
 were Billy's own rooms, two nice big rooms 
 where his mother took care of him and cooked 
 his meals and washed his clothes and aired his 
 bed as only good old mothers can. Over this 
 floor were two others, let, as I have said, in 
 lodgings to whom, who knows? Who ever 
 knows to whom lodgings are let in this big, 
 crowded city? 
 
 Billy finished his dinner and drew up his 
 chair and one for his mother by the stove, and 
 filled his huge mug with beer, and his huge 
 pipe with tobacco, and talked it all over with 
 his mother. She was a fine woman, was Billy's
 
 214 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 mother, and she drew a straight, steady rein 
 over her big, burly, good-natured boy. She 
 was Billy's best friend, and he knew it, and 
 when she told him she would stand by and 
 help him, and save for him and look out after 
 him, Billy reached forth his brawny arm, and 
 drew her over on his knee and danced her up 
 and down, smoothing back her gray hair and 
 kissing her old cheeks as if she were a baby. 
 
 Then, when the clock struck nine, she got 
 up to wash the dishes, and Billy took his lan 
 tern to go down among his forges again. Not 
 that he had anything particular to do, though 
 there never was a time when Billy couldn't 
 find something, but the novelty of owning a 
 business was strong with him, and he wanted to 
 hammer just for the fun of hammering. He 
 descended into the cellar through a side-door 
 which opened from the back hall upon a short 
 ladder. The street doors were barred and 
 bolted. He set his lantern on the ladder steps 
 and lit an oil lamp that hung over his anvil, 
 picked up his iron and his hammer, thrust the 
 one into the coals and laid the other on his. 
 anvil, and blew away. Oh, what an arm that 
 was of Billy's ! How it made the bellows bulge 
 and the wind roar up the great chimney ! 
 How the black coals reddened and flamed and 
 blazed ! How the iron glowed and whitened
 
 OH, WHAT AN ARM WAS THAT OF BILLY'S ! 
 
 215
 
 216 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 with the heat, and when Billy drew his great 
 hammer down upon it with a hoarse grunt 
 accompanying each blow as if to give it effect 
 iveness, how the sparks scampered about in a 
 furious effort to escape ! 
 
 Billy was hammering and grunting at a 
 great rate, and the forge fire was throwing 
 upon the ceiling fantastic illuminations and 
 causing a thousand still more fantastic shad 
 ows, when, wholly without preliminary warning 
 or greeting, Billy felt a slight touch on his arm. 
 It was a slight touch, as I said, but a cold one, 
 a very cold one indeed. Billy turned swiftly 
 around with his hammer in one hand and his 
 red-hot iron in the other. Standing almost 
 beside him, with the glare of the fire working a 
 curiously weird effect upon one-half of him, 
 while the other half was almost hidden in the 
 dense shadow beyond, was a tall, spare, angular 
 man with queer little snappy eyes that flashed 
 like diamonds in the light of the forge. His 
 hand was stretched out in a friendly way, and 
 a bland smile stretched across his face, follow 
 ing the lines of his wide, extended lips. 
 
 "Aha!" he said cheerily, "how d'ye do? 
 But I forgot ! You don't know me and I don't 
 know you. Awkward, eh? But soon fixed, 
 soon fixed. My name's Wrangler, and yours 
 is er what by the way, is yours?"
 
 TIN-TYPES. 21? 
 
 "Warlock," said Billy, laying down his iron 
 and his hammer, and gazing amiably at the 
 stranger "Billy Warlock." 
 
 "Warlock," Mr. Wrangler repeated. "Ex 
 actly. Well, then, Warlock, Wrangler. Wrang 
 ler, Warlock. And now the formalities have 
 been observed. I don't know how it is with 
 you, Warlock, but I'm a great stickler for the 
 formalities. Ton my life, I consider them 
 the web upon which the social fabric hangs 
 together. They're not to be dispensed with 
 upon any account whatever. While I was 
 abroad recently, the American Minister and I 
 were walking along the Mall together. 4 Ah,' 
 he suddenly said, 'My dear Wrangler, here 
 comes the Prince. Of course you know him.' 
 Now, it so happened that H. R. H. and I had 
 never met. I didn't have time to reply, for 
 just as I was about to speak the Prince 
 stopped us, and, after greeting the Minister, 
 utterly regardless of the formalities, he told me 
 that he hoped he saw me well. I gave him a 
 look, Warlock, my boy, that he will never for 
 get, and coldly replying, 'Sir, I have not the 
 pleasure of your acquaintance,' I walked on. 
 That afternoon the Minister sent me an apol 
 ogy, but for which damme if I'd ever have 
 spoken to him again." 
 
 During this speech, to which Billy listened
 
 AHA ! " HE SAID CHEERILY, " HOW D'YE DO ? ' 
 
 218
 
 TIN-TYPES. 219 
 
 with great attention and some little awe, 
 he examined Mr. Wrangler carefully. Mr. 
 Wrangler's clothes were harmoniously seedy. 
 In the degree of their wornness his hat was a 
 match for his coat, and his coat a match for his 
 trowsers, and his trowsersa match for his boots. 
 Although the weather was desperately cold, 
 and a heavy Christmas snow had fallen, he had 
 on neither overcoat nor overshoes. He did 
 not appear to notice Billy's inspecting glances, 
 but having caught his breath, he went cheer 
 ily on. 
 
 "I am glad and proud to know you, War 
 lock, old fellow, and I want you to be glad and 
 proud to know me. And you shall be ; you 
 shall be ; 'gad you sha'n't be able to help it. 
 And you'll find as you know me better that 
 while you won't know any great good of me, 
 you won't know any great harm." 
 
 Billy contemplated Mr. Wrangler for a few 
 moments more, and then amiably replied : 
 "Well, that's all right. What more could a 
 man ask?" 
 
 "Precisely so," answered Mr. Wrangler, dust 
 ing off the anvil and sitting down upon it. 
 "That, I take it, is quite enough. I have not 
 broken in upon your privacy, Warlock, old 
 fellow, without serious occasion. In fact, I'm 
 troubled sorely troubled."
 
 220 TIN- TYPES. 
 
 "I'm sorry for that," said Billy. 
 
 "Of course you are, dear boy, and well you 
 maybe. The trouble I'm in is a sad one sad and 
 novel. Not that trouble in itself is a strange 
 experience to me, for I've had my ups and 
 downs. My life hasn't been one of unmixed 
 gayety, I assure you, not by a long shot. But, 
 you see, I have a habit of bowing to the inscru 
 table will of Providence. Some people expe 
 rience a great deal of difficulty finding out 
 what the inscrutable will of Providence is. 
 That doesn't bother me in the least. Having 
 ascertained what my own will is, I know the 
 chances are ten to one that the Providential 
 will is exactly the reverse. That is simple and 
 direct enough, isn't it?" 
 
 Billy was very much interested in this glib 
 but melancholy stranger, and he resolved, if it 
 came in his way, that he would do the man a 
 favor. So he turned his hammer with the han 
 dle to the ground, sat himself upon the head 
 of it, and remarked : "It's right enough, Mr. 
 Wrangler, to make the Lord's will yours. I try 
 to do my best in that line too. But still, there 
 is a point, you know, where it comes hard." 
 
 "True, dear boy, very true ; and how much 
 harder it is to find yourself in a situation which 
 you did nothing to bring about, for which you 
 are in no sense responsible, which is wholly in
 
 TIN-TYPES. 221 
 
 conflict with your own will, and to the best of 
 your belief with the will of Providence also ! 
 This is my unparalleled situation at this partic 
 ular moment, and it all comes of being the 
 uncle of a little girl baby." 
 
 "No?" said Billy inquiringly, "you don't 
 mean it?" 
 
 "I knew you'd be surprised," said Mr. 
 Wrangler, edging up to the forge, which Billy 
 had kept going at a gentle heat to warm their 
 hands now and then. "It ought to be an occa 
 sion of unalloyed happiness to be the uncle of a 
 little girl baby. But I was not intended for 
 such a position. It was clearly a mistake to 
 thrust me into it." 
 
 "I don't scarcely see how you could help it," 
 said Billy. 
 
 "No, I couldn't, could I? It came upon me 
 suddenly and without my knowing it. I had 
 no time for preparation. My brother, who was 
 one of the evils to which, under the will of 
 Providence, I have bowed, called me to him 
 recently, and without so much as a drop of 
 brandy to break the force of the blow, he 
 said : 'Cephas,' said he, 'you are the uncle of 
 a little girl baby !' 
 
 "Pale and for a moment speechless, I leaned 
 against the wall and shook with emotion. 
 'Courage, old man !' said he, 'bear up ! bear up !'
 
 222 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 At first I refused to believe him. 'It is false, 
 Orlando/ I said, 'it can't be so.' But he shook 
 his head sadly. 'It is true, Cephas,' he replied, 
 'and I guess I ought to know.' That argu 
 ment was of course conclusive. It admitted of 
 no reply. I only asked him how could he so 
 have wronged me. He said nothing in de 
 fense of himself. He could say nothing. He 
 simply bent his head and cried for pardon." 
 
 "Well, well," said Billy, "this is queer. It 
 seems to me like a big to-do over a very little 
 matter." 
 
 Mr. Wrangler looked up with an expres 
 sion of dismay. "Little!" he cried. "Little! 
 May I ask, Mr. Warlock, if you have ever been 
 the uncle of a little girl baby?" 
 
 "No," said Billy, "I never was." 
 
 "Ah, well, that explains it. Then you can't 
 know the bitterness of that hour. You can't 
 put yourself in my place. I forgave him. I 
 told him with a sob that it was all right. 
 Then, in the name of our mother, he implored 
 me to do him a favor. The infant was in Cali 
 fornia. He had left it there to er learn the 
 language, I reckon. He bade me go and fetch 
 it. At first I hesitated all but refused. But 
 who can withstand an appeal made in the 
 name of his mother? I pressed his hand in 
 silent acquiescence and took the next train
 
 TIN-TYPES. 223 
 
 West. I found the child and folded it to my 
 heart. I bought it a milk bottle with a fancy 
 nozzle, a bull's eye, and a rattle. It wept, and 
 I dried its tears. Then I brought it back with 
 me. Fancy my feelings, Warlock ; picture to 
 yourself my lacerated, bleeding heart, when 
 upon reaching town this afternoon I learned 
 that my brother was dead ! Yes, Warlock, old 
 man, dead and buried and cold in his grave, 
 and another party living in his flat. It was all 
 in vain that the tears streamed from my eyes 
 all in vain that I begged him at least to take 
 the child. I called him brother, kinsman, royal 
 Wrangler, and bade him remember that this 
 was a matter of honor between him and me. I 
 begged him to think of the situation he had 
 placed me in, for I feared the laugh of callous 
 cynics as much as the cry of the innocent child, 
 but the ungrateful dead answered not." 
 
 Mr. Wrangler paused and touched his hand 
 kerchief to his eyes, while Billy gazed at him 
 in amazement, uncertain to what category of 
 disease his case should be assigned. "I don't 
 know as I ever heard a queerer tale than 
 this," he said at length. "What did you do 
 about it?" 
 
 "I'm doing now," answered Mr. Wrangler. 
 "It is on a special mission that I'm seeking 
 you. Warlock, dear boy, you don't happen to
 
 224 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 have a bottle of paregoric with you, do you, 
 now?" 
 
 "Paregoric!" exclaimed Billy. "Why, is the 
 child sick?" 
 
 "Hanged if I know!" Mr. Wrangler replied, 
 with evident sincerity. "I'm not what you'd 
 call a connoisseur in infantile disorders, but 
 I guess she's sick. Anyhow, something's the 
 matter. It may be malaria, or chills, or meas 
 les, or whooping-cough, or Bright's disease. 
 But whatever it is, it keeps her very wakeful 
 at night. It disturbs her rest sadly. That 
 might, perhaps, be overlooked ; but as an inti 
 mate consequence it also disturbs mine. At 
 first I supposed it was because she did not get 
 enough nourishment, so, as she wouldn't drink 
 any more milk from her bottle, I bought a 
 syringe, and filling it with milk, I played it 
 down the little darling's throat." 
 
 "Great Scott!' cried Billy, "it's a wonder 
 she didn't choke to death!" 
 
 "Is it?" asked Mr. Wrangler innocently. 
 "Well, to tell the truth, she did come dev'lish 
 near it, and so I inferred that I hadn't cor 
 rectly diagnosed the case. After she had got 
 done coughing her spirits seemed more than 
 ever depressed. I went to bed in the vain 
 hope that her supply of tears would in time 
 become exhausted. As the hours drew along
 
 TIN-TYPES. 22$ 
 
 and that hope died away, I concluded she 
 must have headache. I had one, and I thought 
 it only natural that she should, too. The 
 question was, what remedy should I apply? In 
 a happy moment paregoric occurred to me. I 
 seemed indistinctly to remember that when I 
 was a child paregoric did the business. How 
 fortunate one is, dear boy, in such moments 
 as that to have the memories of his boyhood 
 to fall back on. I got up, dressed, and went 
 out to hunt a drug-store. Unfortunately, the 
 only two I came across were closed. I 
 returned disconsolate, but as I entered I heard 
 the sound of your hammer and saw the glim 
 mer of the lantern on your ladder. I de 
 scended hither. I looked upon you and said : 
 'Here is a friend.' Warlock, old fellow, find 
 me some paregoric !" 
 
 "I don't know much about babies, Mr. 
 Wrangler," said Billy, slowly and rather 
 sternly, "for I never had one, and I never was 
 throwed with 'em. But I think the chances is 
 that you'll kill your'n before morning." 
 
 Mr. Wrangler was standing in the shadows 
 where Billy couldn't see him very well, but his 
 snappy little eyes were shining in a way that 
 Billy didn't like. 
 
 "How old is the baby?" asked Billy. 
 
 "I haven't an idea not one," answered Mr.
 
 226 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Wrangler, laughing merrily, as if his not know 
 ing were a monstrous joke. "But she can walk 
 and talk." 
 
 "And you trying to feed her on milk in a 
 bottle?" exclaimed Billy. "How'd you like to 
 be fed on iron filings? I rather think they'd 
 make a good diet for you !" Billy was indig 
 nant, and he fetched his hammer down on a 
 log that lay near with a blow that split it 
 through and through. Mr. Wrangler stepped 
 back into the shadows still further, and his 
 little eyes glowed in the darkness like a cat's. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" he laughed; "good, very good. 
 But you mustn't make fun of me, old fellow. 
 It isn't fair, now, really." 
 
 "Where is the child, anyhow?" 
 
 "Upstairs." 
 
 "Here, in this house?" 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 "Come on, then ; take me to her, and let's 
 see what the matter is." 
 
 "That's a good fellow!" cried Mr. Wrangler. 
 "As soon as I saw you I knew you would prove 
 to be my deliverer. Come." 
 
 The forge fire had now gone out, and direct 
 ing Mr. Wrangler to stand on top of the lad 
 der, Billy took the lantern, blew out the hang 
 ing lamp, and both ascended from the smithy 
 into the hall of the house. Billy locked the
 
 TIN-TYPES. 227 
 
 door behind him and followed Mr. Wrangler 
 upstairs into the third story. They paused 
 before the hall bedroom and bent forward to 
 listen. Not a sound broke the night's stillness, 
 and softly Mr. Wrangler turned the key and 
 opened the door. Billy moved noiselessly 
 ahead and lit the dull gas. 
 
 Upon the bed, with one hand under her 
 cheek and the other one, small and dotted with 
 dimples, resting lightly on her plump neck, lay 
 as pretty a child as he had ever seen. Her 
 eyes were closed, for she was sleeping heavily, 
 as if repose had come to her only when her 
 little frame was utterly worn out. A great 
 mass of thick, tangled curls clustered on the 
 pillow about her head. A dark line down her 
 flushed cheek marked the course of the tears 
 she had been shedding, and the pillow that 
 supported her was still wet with them. 
 
 Billy stooped down and kissed her parted 
 lips and her white forehead, while Mr. Wrang 
 ler, leaning jauntily against the door, hummed 
 in low strains a melodious lullaby. 
 
 "Nothing ails this child," said Billy, when 
 the sound of Mr. Wrangler's voice had died 
 away. "Nothing at all." 
 
 "Warlock, dear boy," replied Wrangler, "I 
 think you told me you had never been an 
 uncle. The man who has not drank the bitter
 
 UPON THE BED LAY AS PRETTY A CHILD AS HE HAD EVER 
 SEEN. 
 
 228
 
 TIN-TYPES. 229 
 
 waters ot an uncle's experience for himself is 
 pardon me, but I must say it wholly incompe 
 tent to speak as to the woes of childhood. 
 How often have you wooed sleep amid the 
 wailings of an infant voice? I'm disappointed 
 in you, Warlock !" 
 
 "Don't talk so loud, you'll waken her." 
 
 "Spare us that. Let me have my hat and 
 stick. I'll get that paregoric if I have to com 
 mit burglary !" and Mr. Wrangler started back 
 as if fully prepared to carry out his threat. 
 
 "Be quiet," said Billy, "and look here. My 
 rooms are downstairs where I live with my 
 mother. It's too cold in here for the child. 
 That's one thing that ails her. I'll take her 
 down with me, and when she's had her 
 breakfast in the morning, you can come for 
 her." 
 
 Mr. Wrangler seized Billy's hand and shook 
 it fervently. "Dear boy," he said, "you're the 
 kind of a friend to have. Take her and give 
 her a good night's rest." 
 
 Billy leaned over the bed, lifted the soundly 
 sleeping child tenderly in his big arms and, fol 
 lowed by Mr. Wrangler, he carried her down 
 to his own room and deposited her upon the 
 bed. Then he turned to Wrangler. 
 
 "You'll come for her in the morning, you 
 know?" he said.
 
 HE CARRIED HER DOWN TO HIS OWN ROOM. 
 
 230
 
 TIN-TYPES. 231 
 
 "Certainly, old fellow. Good-night, I must 
 get some sleep." 
 
 "Good-night," said Billy, "and a Merry 
 Christmas to you." 
 
 Mr. Wrangler waved his hand with a grand 
 farewell flourish, blew a kiss toward the little 
 form upon the bed, and passed out into the 
 hall. He waited there an instant, as if unde 
 cided what course to pursue. Then he ran 
 upstairs to the hall room, hurriedly crowded 
 his personal effects that lay scattered around 
 the room into his valise, and ran down again 
 into the street. The front door closed with a 
 sharp bang behind him, and he quickly disap 
 peared in the snowy night. 
 
 Billy could not help confessing to a sense of 
 relief when his curious new acquaintance left 
 him. Not that he felt any definite fear of Mr. 
 Wrangler. The human being had yet to be 
 born of whom Billy Warlock was afraid. But 
 there was a something about Mr. Wrangler 
 that he didn't fancy. "It's them eyes," said 
 Billy "and he don't make no noise when he 
 walks." His own bed being occupied by the 
 child, he piled a lot of blankets on the floor, 
 stretched himself upon them, and was soon 
 asleep. 
 
 The Christmas sun was peeping obliquely 
 into Billy's room and making, with the aid of
 
 232 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 his shaving-glass, all sorts of fantastic colors on 
 the wall, when a slight tug at the blankets 
 which covered him moved him to start, turn 
 over, open his eyes, stare blankly before him, 
 shut them, open them again, rub them desper 
 ately, and finally gaze with awakened conscious 
 ness up at the object which had disturbed his 
 slumbers. She was leaning half over the bed, 
 her little fat arms, shoulders, and throat all 
 bare, her bright, tangled hair knotted in bewil 
 dering confusion all about her head, and her 
 big blue eyes looking down upon him with a 
 curious interest. How long she had been 
 awake he could only conjecture, but evidently 
 her patience had at last been exhausted, and 
 she had set about premeditatedly to arouse 
 him. Billy was charmed by the little picture 
 above him, and smiled a cheery greeting. She 
 smiled too, right merrily, and said, "What's 
 your name?" 
 
 "Billy," said he. "What's yours?" 
 
 The smile straightway faded from her face 
 like the color from a withered blossom, and she 
 glanced hurriedly and anxiously around the 
 room. 
 
 "Where's the black man !" she whispered. 
 
 "The black man !" cried Billy. "What black 
 man, my dear?"
 
 TIN-TYPES. $3$ 
 
 "Don't you know him? He's had me ever 
 so long." 
 
 Billy was puzzled. "A black man had you?" 
 he repeated. Why you don't mean your 
 uncle, do you?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, "that's him, and he says if I 
 don't call him 'uncle' he'll cut off my big toe !" 
 
 Billy Warlock jumped upon his feet like a 
 shot. "The devil he did!" he cried. "I'll 
 punch his head for that !" 
 
 "And his knife has got six cutters in it !" 
 
 "I guess he was only funning," said Billy. 
 "He didn't mean it." 
 
 "That's what he said," she insisted. 
 
 "Yes, my dear, but he didn't mean it. He 
 was joking." 
 
 "That's what he said !" Her accent was 
 very positive, and she added as if conning it 
 over, "His knife had six cutters." 
 
 Billy felt himself somewhat at a loss to deal 
 with this well-formed impression, so he con 
 tented himself with the remark, "But you 
 haven't told me what your name is yet?" 
 
 She rose upon her knees in the bed and 
 leaned over toward him. "My really name 
 is Lotchen." 
 
 "Lotchen what?" 
 
 "That's all just Lotchen." 
 
 "Where's your mother, Lotchen?"
 
 234 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "I don't know; do you?" 
 
 "There's something queer about this busi 
 ness," said Billy to himself. "And if that 
 Wrangler man don't make it plain he'll find 
 hisself in trouble. What is your father's name, 
 Lotchen?" he inquired aloud. 
 
 "Who's that?" 
 
 "Your father. Haven't you a father?" 
 
 "I don't know. The black man says he can 
 turn me into a toothpick if he wants to." 
 
 Billy doubled up his fist and looked at it 
 grimly. 
 
 "Well, he won't want to," he said. "Don't 
 you be afraid. I'll take care of you." 
 
 "Oh, will you?" 
 
 "For a little while, anyhow." 
 
 "How long?" 
 
 "Well, till you get your breakfast." 
 
 "Where's he gone?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "The black man." 
 
 "He's upstairs in his room. You can go to 
 him after breakfast." 
 
 "I don't want to go. I'm afraid of his knife. 
 I sit and hold on my big toe all day. Have 
 you got a knife, too?" She looked at him 
 with an expression he could not understand. 
 Perhaps her natural trust in mankind had been 
 somewhat shaken.
 
 TIN-TYPES. 235 
 
 "My knife wont hurt you," he said. Lot- 
 chen crawled to the edge of the bed, leaned 
 over and put her two hands on his, and said, 
 "Then let's you and me run away from the 
 black man." 
 
 Billy looked much amused. "No," he 
 replied, "we won't do that, Lotchen ; but I 
 shouldn't wonder if he was to run away from 
 us. Don't your uncle love you?" 
 
 "He loves his nose better," she replied. 
 
 "His which?" 
 
 "His nose. He's all the time rubbing it up 
 and down." 
 
 "But don't he love you, too?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What makes you think that?" 
 
 "'Cause I'm afraid of him." 
 
 "When did you see him first, Lotchen?" 
 
 "Oh, ever so long. He's had me, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know that. What's he been doing 
 with you?" 
 
 The expression on her face was so blank that 
 Billy saw, whatever Mr. Wrangler might intend, 
 she knew nothing more than that she was 
 being "had" under circumstances that caused 
 her constant fright. He did not question her 
 further, but went into the kitchen where his 
 mother was getting the griddle hot for the 
 buckwheat cakes and the spider hot for the
 
 236 TIN-TYPES, 
 
 sausages, and he told her of Wrangler and the 
 child. She went in to see Lotchen, and snug 
 gled the little one up to her close and tight, 
 and told her she should have a merry Christmas 
 and she mustn't be afraid of anybody, for her 
 Billy, that is, Billy's mother's Billy, could whip 
 anybody on earth, she didn't care who he was, 
 and nobody should frighten this dear little 
 soul ; and the old lady began now to express 
 her ideas in that strange language which is 
 hidden from the wise and prudent but revealed 
 unto grandmammas and babes. "B'essings!" 
 she said, "b'essings on 'e dear heart an' e' 'ittie 
 body, wiv 'e 'ittie youn' nose, an' 'e ittie b'u' eyes, 
 an' 'e ittie youn' cheeks, an' e' ittie youn' evysing, 
 an' nobody s'all bozzer her at all, not 'e 'east 
 ittie bit, 'tause s'e was a sweet ittie fwing, and 
 Billy, wiz him big fist an' him date big arm, 
 Billy dust take 'e b'ack mans an' all 'e uzzer 
 mans wot bozzer zis ittie soul an' 'e frow 'em 
 yite in 'e Norf Yiver, yite in, not carin' 'tall 
 bout 'e ice, but dus' frow 'em in an' yet 'em det 
 out e' bes' way zay tan. B'ess ittie heart !" 
 
 Then Lotchen smiled and put up her pretty 
 face to be kissed, which she didn't have to do 
 twice before it was kissed by them both, and 
 Billy who hadn't slung hammers all his life for 
 nothing, rolled up his shirt-sleeves and doubled 
 up his fists, and sparred away at the air as if to
 
 TIN-TYPES. 237 
 
 suggest what would happen to any one who 
 laid as much as his little finger on her. 
 
 All through the breakfast Billy kept his 
 eyes on that round, pretty face, and wondered 
 what he should say and do when the "black 
 man" came to get her. He began to grow 
 moody and sullen as the buckwheat cakes dis 
 appeared, and when thirty of them had been 
 disposed of Billy felt himself ready to meet 
 Mr. Wrangler. He had some questions he 
 desired to ask Mr. Wrangler, and the oftener 
 he thought them over the more he felt his 
 fingers itch to close themselves around Mr. 
 Wrangler's long and scraggy neck. He waited 
 an hour, two hours, but no Mr. Wrangler came, 
 and at last Billy concluded to mount the stairs 
 and to interview Mr. Wrangler in the hall 
 bedroom. 
 
 He told Lotchen to go into his room, where 
 she had spent the night, and on her assuring 
 him that she wasn't afraid, he locked her in 
 and stowed the key away in his pocket. Then 
 he shot upstairs to the hall bedroom. He 
 knocked, but no answer came. He opened 
 the door. The room was empty. The bed 
 was just as he had left it the night before with 
 the impression upon it of the little form he 
 had carried away. It had evidently been 
 without a tenant during the night. All that
 
 238 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Christmas Day he waited and watched for Mr. 
 Wrangler, but he waited and watched in vain. 
 
 Two days afterward an express wagon drew 
 up before the smithy, and a box was delivered 
 to Billy marked with his name. It contained 
 a liberal supply of child's clothing, which 
 Lotchen recognized as hers. Little by little 
 Billy and his mother drew from her fragments 
 of her history. She remembered a big house 
 by the water, and a little bed of lilies-of- 
 the-valley under a couple of pear-trees. She 
 remembered a colored man named Pete, but 
 there was no response in her memory to the 
 words "father" and "mother," and the only 
 woman who appeared to be impressed on her 
 mind was one who called her "Lassie" and gave 
 her horrid stuff from a bottle in a wooden 
 spoon. 
 
 Days and weeks and years went pn, and Billy 
 Warlock's purse grew plumper and his heart 
 grew lighter with each of them. His smithy 
 in the cellar grew in dimensions and gradually 
 he absorbed the little old house over it. The 
 saloon disappeared, and the room it had occu 
 pied became a parlor for Lotchen. The lodg 
 ers went out one by one until the whole house 
 was Billy's dwelling. 
 
 One day when she was nearly fourteen years
 
 TIN-TYPES. 239 
 
 old, Billy received a letter that worried him 
 a good deal. It was dated at the Newcastle 
 Jail in Delaware. It read : 
 
 MY DEAR WARLOCK : 
 
 It seems to be definitely settled about my 
 being an error of judgment. You can see by 
 the enclosed newspaper clipping that I ought 
 not to have been involved in the scheme of the 
 creation. You needn't mention it to anybody 
 else. I forget what name you knew me by, but 
 I think it was 
 
 CEPHAS WRANGLER. 
 
 The newspaper clipping contained these 
 words : 
 
 Nothing, therefore, remains for the Court but 
 to pronounce the sentence which a jury, almost 
 wholly of your own selection, has adjudged 
 your fitting doom. The crime you have com 
 mitted is the most dreadful known to the law. 
 For it there is but one penalty, the requisition 
 of your life in forfeit for the one you have 
 taken. The sentence of the Court is that you 
 be conducted hence to the prison from which 
 you came, and that you be confined there until 
 Friday, the i8th day of March, following, and 
 that you then, between the hours of 7 and 1 1 
 in the morning, be hanged By the neck until 
 you are dead, and may God have mercy on 
 you ! 
 
 This is all that Billy Warlock knows or cares 
 to know of the circumstances under which
 
 24 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Lotchen became his child. He never made 
 the slightest effort to discover more. It didn't 
 interest him, and he didn't wish it to interest 
 her. She was his child, and that was enough 
 at least, it was enough for several years. The 
 precise moment at which it ceased to be 
 enough is not fixed in Billy's mind, but last 
 Christmas, when Lotchen found a gold watch 
 in her stocking, and when she came and put 
 her arms around his neck and kissed him, 
 which she hadn't done very often of late, and 
 when she whispered that she wished she had 
 something to give him, Billy turned his eyes 
 to the floor and stuck his big fists in his trow- 
 sers pockets, and did a power of thinking. He 
 knew then, if he had not fully known it before, 
 that for her to be his child was not enough. 
 So he said very solemnly, "Are you sure 
 you mean that, Lotchen? Now, don't answer 
 without you know, for you might have some 
 thing you wouldn't want to give me, and if I 
 was to ask for it and you was to look hesita- 
 tin', I well I don't know what I should do." 
 
 "I don't have to think, Billy," Lotchen an 
 swered promptly, "for I've been thinking a 
 great deal and wondering whether you ' 
 
 She stopped there short, and her face her 
 pretty face, her dear, round, dimpled face, 
 her truthful, honest, womanly face got very
 
 TIN-TYPES. 241 
 
 red, and she jumped up and ran out of the 
 room. 
 
 After that last Christmas, Billy and Lotchen 
 talked and walked with each other on a differ 
 ent footing from that on which their inter 
 course had previously been conducted. He 
 said nothing to her, nor she to him, that 
 referred to their interrupted conversation until 
 October came, and then one day he said : 
 "Lotchen, is my Christmas gift ready?" and he 
 held out his hand to her both hands and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Yes, Billy," she answered. 
 
 And on next Tuesday morning, Christmas 
 morning, when the bells are ringing merrily 
 and all the world is glad, Billy Warlock, as I 
 said at the very beginning of my story, dressed 
 in his big frock coat and the whitest of snowy 
 neckties, will but you know the rest, so 
 what's the use of my telling it?
 
 MR. CINCH. 
 
 IN the construction of Mr. Cinch nature had 
 been generous, not to say prodigal, of mate 
 rials, but certainly a wiser discretion might 
 have been exercised in using them. The centre 
 of Mr. Cinch's gravity was much too far above 
 his waist. All the rest of him appeared to have 
 been fitted out at the expense of his legs, which, 
 unable to endure so oppressive a burden, had 
 spread. 
 
 To say that the shape of his legs was a source 
 of unhappiness to Mr. Cinch would be a feeble 
 and inadequate expression of his feelings. 
 "Them bow-legs" was a phrase into which he 
 poured a degree of self-contempt altogether 
 pitiful. They were, of course, homely to look 
 at and not in the least serviceable. Unaided 
 by his stout hickory stick, they could not trans 
 port Mr. Cinch across the room. But there 
 was no evidence that their shape or size was 
 due on their part to any motive of malice or of 
 indolence, and it seemed quite unreasonable 
 that he should feel toward them so harshly. 
 242
 
 TIN-TYPES. 243 
 
 His disgust for them did not, indeed, origin 
 ate with himself. It is entirely probable that 
 he would never have thought of despising 
 them as he did but for Mrs. Cinch. That ex 
 cellent lady, with all her many virtues, could 
 never forgive those 'legs. Their degeneration, 
 as she regarded it, had not begun when she 
 married Mr Cinch. He was then a slight 
 young man and his legs were unexceptionable 
 in size and shape. They had become bowed 
 and insufficient within comparatively recent 
 years, and she had never felt quite able to ac 
 cept Mr. Cinch's assurances that he was not at 
 fault in the matter. 
 
 Let it not be thought that this excellent 
 couple were wanting toward each other in those 
 sweet graces which so beautify the marriage 
 relation. They had lived and loved together 
 nearly a quarter of a century, and had shared 
 in those years their full measure of joys and 
 sorrows. But Mrs. Cinch was not without her 
 humors, and when she was entertaining an acid 
 humor she could not get her husband's unfor 
 tunate legs out of her mind. 
 
 No matter what may have been the subject 
 that had originally vexed her, it was the inva 
 riable experience that those legs became the 
 focus to which her excited wrath was drawn, 
 and then, indeed, it must be owned, she was
 
 244 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 exceedingly hard to deal with. She would re 
 call in bitter phrases the fact that he had mar 
 ried her with other and honester legs, and she 
 would plainly intimate that in substituting 
 these he had acted in an unfair and unmanly 
 way. 
 
 This was naturally distressing to Mr. Cinch. 
 He keenly felt the injustice of the insinuation, 
 but at the same time his mind was filled with a 
 supreme loathing of his legs, and he was only 
 deterred from going to a hospital and from 
 having them straightway taken off by the reflec 
 tion that an entirely legless husband was not 
 likely to be more satisfactory, upon the whole, 
 than one whose legs were bowed. 
 
 It was from a domestic scene such as these 
 sentences have indicated that Mr. Cinch issued 
 one morning recently, and passing out through 
 his hallway into the street as fast as he could 
 wobble, he tumbled into his waiting coupe and 
 hurried down to business. Mr. Cinch was the 
 keeper of a livery-stable, an establishment held 
 in much esteem by the public and the trade, 
 and yielding an abundant revenue. His busi 
 ness was one of the largest of its kind in New 
 York, a fact which, with many others equally 
 important, was set forth in unmistakable phrases 
 upon Mr. Cinch's business cards, copiously il 
 lustrated with cuts of prancing horses and
 
 TIN-TYPES. 245 
 
 handsome vehicles and of the extensive prem 
 ises in which they were kept. 
 
 The appearance of the coupe as it rolled into 
 the stable fetched from the inner office Mr. 
 Cinch's manager, a bald-headed young man, 
 with red eyes and a hopeful soul, who dexter 
 ously assisted his employer to alight, and aided 
 him into the main office and into the huge arm 
 chair, so placed as to command a fair view of 
 the entire establishment. From this armchair, 
 Mr. Cinch rarely moved throughout the live 
 long day. 
 
 "Well, Bob," said Mr. Cinch, so soon as he 
 had caught his breath, "how's things going?" 
 
 "Fair to middlin', sir, fair to middlin'. The 
 regulars is 'bout the same, but the casuals is 
 light." 
 
 "Well, a man can't always have things the 
 way he wants 'em, Bob; ef he could there 
 wouldn't be as much trouble as they is." 
 
 "No, sir, that's very true, sir, nor so much 
 fun, neither, come to think of it." 
 
 "How do you make that out, Bob?" 
 
 "Well, sir, ef everybody could have whatever 
 they wanted, there wouldn't be much excite 
 ment going on. They'd get tired o' wanting 
 before long fearful that the time 'ud come when 
 they wouldn't be nothin' to want." 
 
 Mr. Cinch was quite impressed with the
 
 24 6 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 force of this philosophy. Bob's views on men 
 and things often entertained Mr. Cinch. He 
 had a good deal of respect for Bob. Bob's cir 
 cumstances had denied him many of those 
 early advantages which are so useful in culti 
 vating the habit of profound thought, and yet, 
 to his greater credit, it must be said that he 
 not infrequently performed a deal of subtle 
 cogitation. In this he pleased Mr. Cinch, who 
 was by no means all a man of beef and brawn. 
 Mr. Cinch had read a considerable quantity of 
 poetry and was a subscriber to a scientific peri 
 odical. He had a decided tendency toward 
 occult speculation, and had reached that point 
 in his orthodoxy where he believed there were 
 a good many more things that we don't know 
 than that we do. 
 
 He had turned over Bob's remark once or 
 twice in his mind, and was about to say 
 something by way of rejoinder when the 
 office door was opened and a young woman 
 entered, observing that she wished to pay her 
 bill. 
 
 She was a tall, well-dressed, stoutly built 
 young woman, with large, strong features, and 
 an abundant supply of blonde hair, partially 
 covered with a sombre brown bonnet. Her 
 eyes were big and blue, and her voice quite 
 pleasant to hear.
 
 TIN-TYPES. 247 
 
 "This way, miss," said Bob, from his high 
 stool behind the desk. "What name, please?" 
 
 "Frances Emiline Beeks." 
 
 "Beeks, miss? Yes, miss. Let's see BA to 
 BE, Barker, Becker, Beech, Beeks! Frances 
 Emiline Beeks. Eighty-seven dollars and fifty 
 cents, if you please." 
 
 "That seems like a good deal of money," 
 observed Miss Beeks. 
 
 "Well, now, it is, miss," said Bob. "But you 
 use a kerridge a good deal, miss, mostly every 
 day and sometimes oftener. You've called 
 more this month than ever. Why don't you 
 keep a hoss, miss? That ud be the cheapest." 
 
 "It certainly would if my bills are to run 
 up like this. However, I'm too busy now to 
 talk about it. Let me have your pen while 
 I fill out this check. There is that right?" 
 
 "Yes, miss, thank you. I think that sorrel 
 would suit you nicely. He's only " 
 
 "Well, I'll think it over. Good-morning!" 
 
 Miss Beeks went out and Mr. Cinch, who had 
 been regarding her over his glasses, inquired, 
 "Who's the young woman, Bob?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir, hardly," said Bob, "but I 
 think she's some kind of a doctor." 
 
 "She seems to be makin' pretty good bills." 
 
 "And they gets better all the time. What 
 ever she doctors, it's a good business, for she
 
 24 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 pays her bill the day after she gets it every 
 time." 
 
 "What makes you think she doctors?" 
 
 "She said so, as near as I could make out. 
 She come in here one day last month it was 
 when I had that staving big bile on my elbow, 
 you remember?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I was settin' here huggin' that bile, 
 and it was just thumpin'. Seemed to me 's if 
 they was a whole bag o' carpet-tacks stuck in 
 that arm. I was so used up I couldn't walk 
 around, and so stuck full of pain I couldn't set 
 still. Well, 's I said, she come in and ordered a 
 coach, and while it was being fetched around 
 she give me a look and she says, 'What's the 
 matter?' I says 'I got a bile.' 
 
 " 'A what?' says she. 
 
 "'A bile,' says I. 
 
 " 'Oh, no,' says she. 
 
 ' 'Well, if you don't think so/ says I, 'look 
 there,' says I, and I prodooced the bile, which 
 'peared to me to be pretty good evidence. 
 
 "She looked at it and then says, as cool as 
 you please, 'Well, what of it?' 
 
 "'Don't you call that a bile?' says I, 'and if 
 you don't think it hurts you'd better.' You 
 see, bein' nearly crazy with the hurts of it, and 
 her so unconcernin', I thought she was workin'
 
 'A WHAT?' SAYS SHE. 'A BILE?' SAYS I. 
 249
 
 250 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 a guy on me. But she says, 'I see what you 
 call a bile, and maybe you think it hurts, but I 
 know it don't. Why, what is it?' says she ; 'it's 
 nothing but a little lump of red flesh. It don't 
 hurt. It can't hurt. How can it? Flesh don't 
 live any more than wood or stone, and if it 
 don't live, how can it feel? It's you that feels 
 and hurts, and you have made yourself believe 
 it's this little lump of red flesh, and you've gone 
 and painted it and greased it and wrapped it 
 up and fooled with it when there's nothing the 
 matter with it, and everything the matter with 
 you.' That's what she said, looking me dead 
 in the eyes." 
 
 Mr. Cinch had grown very much interested 
 in Bob's account of this peculiar conversation. 
 As Bob went on he had screwed around in his 
 arm-chair, and had drawn his brow into a reflec 
 tive knot. 
 
 "I don't know as I understand what that 
 means, Bob," he observed, cautiously. 
 
 "It took me a good while to get it through 
 me," replied the manager, "but I think I see 
 what she was driving at. She means that a 
 man's body is just like any other matter and 
 don't make feelings, and that's it's his soul that 
 does the feeling, and that when his soul feels 
 bad he says he has a bile or the colic or the 
 rheumatism, and begins to put on plasters and
 
 TIN-TYPES. 251 
 
 take pills when he ought not to do anything of 
 the kind, but ought to talk to her and get her 
 to cure his soul. That's the way she give it to 
 me, anyhow. She talked here for half an hour. 
 She said that it was silly to set your feelings 
 down to this or that place in your body. She said 
 she could talk to me awhile about the er, let's 
 see, gravity, no, yes, gravi oh, I know ! about 
 the gravitation of the soul, and my feelings 
 would get good and the bile go down." 
 
 "Oh, rats !" remarked Mr. Cinch. 
 
 "Well, I don't know, sir," replied Bob, doubt 
 fully. "I don't know but what I think there is 
 something in it?" 
 
 "Stuff! Bob, how kin there be? Do you 
 mean that she made out 'at she could cure any 
 thing by just talking to you?" 
 
 "Not exactly; no sir. Her p'int is that what 
 we call biles or malaria, or " 
 
 "Bow-legs, mebbe," put in Mr. Cinch both 
 jocosely and ruefully. 
 
 "Yes, sir, bow-legs." 
 
 "What !" 
 
 "Bow-legs, too why not? Just as easy 
 bow-legs as biles." 
 
 "Well, go on." 
 
 "All such things, she says, is appearances. 
 Our souls being sick, they look through our 
 eyes in a sorter cock-eyed way and see some-
 
 252 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 thing they call a bile or a pair of bow-legs. 
 The bile and the bow-legs aint really there, 
 you know ; we only think so, which is just as 
 bad as if they was there. If we was to go to 
 her and get our souls well, we'd look out of our 
 eyes straight and wouldn't see no bile or bow- 
 legs. Neither would nobody else. This is the 
 best explaining I can do, sir. I understands it 
 pretty well, but I can't talk it. She's a daisy 
 talker, though. She can talk like a dictionary." 
 
 "Bob," said Mr. Cinch, solemnly, "do you 
 mean to tell me that this young woman can talk 
 me into believing that I aint got bow-legs?" 
 
 Bob hesitated. He looked at Mr. Cinch long 
 and seriously. Mr. Cinch took up his walking- 
 stick and slowly lifted himself upon his feet. 
 
 "Look at them legs, Bob. You can shove a 
 prize punkin through 'em without touching. 
 Can this young woman make me believe them 
 legs is straight? If she can, Bob, if she can, she 
 don't need to buy no hoss, nor pay no coach- 
 hire any more." 
 
 The responsibility of this awful moment was 
 too much for Bob. "If I was you," he said dis 
 creetly, "I'd talk to her about it the next time 
 she comes in." 
 
 Mr. Cinch made no reply, but he continued 
 for several minutes to look ruefully down where 
 he believed his legs to be, and then he resumed
 
 " LOOK AT THEM LEGS, BOB ! " 
 
 253
 
 254 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 his chair. Bob returned to his accounts and a 
 heavy tide of business flowed in to engage their 
 attention. Business was always well done in 
 Mr. Cinch's office, and it suffered that morning 
 no more than on any other morning, and yet 
 there was a certain influence in the room which 
 seemed to be affecting both him and Bob. 
 They talked together less than usual and in ad 
 dressing others were short and sharp. When 
 Bob got off his stool and said he was going to 
 luncheon he broke a silence which might al 
 most be called ominous. 
 
 He was not long gone, but upon his return 
 the office was empty. It was so unusual a cir 
 cumstance for Mr. Cinch to go out that Bob 
 wondered not a little what had happened. His 
 wonderment increased as the afternoon drew 
 along and Mr. Cinch did not return. Nobody 
 could tell where or when he had gone or in 
 what manner his departure had been effected. 
 He had not made use of his coupe or any other 
 vehicle. No scrap of writing could be found 
 that threw the least light upon so startling a 
 proceeding, nor did any one turn up with 
 whom a message had been left. 
 
 Evening approached and numerous misgiv 
 ings entered Bob's mind. He knew that Mr. 
 Cinch's domestic life was not without moments 
 of bitterness, and he was satisfied that one of
 
 TIN-TYPES. 255 
 
 them had preceded his appearance at the office 
 that morning. The vague suspicions that crept 
 into his head were strengthened when, just 
 before 6 o'clock, a messenger came from Mrs. 
 Cinch loaded with inquiries. Mr. Cinch's life 
 was as regular as the movements of the stars. 
 He had gone home at 4:30 P.M. for twenty 
 years. Bob was really alarmed. He made a 
 careful search throughout the stables. That 
 failing to give him the slightest clew, he went 
 to see Mrs. Cinch. 
 
 When he told that excellent woman that her 
 husband had disappeared, she precipitately 
 swooned away. The unhappy incident of the 
 morning was still fresh in her repentant mind, 
 and she could have no doubt that her over- 
 worried lord had sought in the North River the 
 peace of mind she had denied him in his home. 
 Bob could not comfort her. He could only 
 apply a wet towel to her heated temples and 
 beg her to be calm. This he did with praise 
 worthy diligence during the greater part of the 
 evening, and when he left it was with the under 
 standing that, if the missing man were not seen 
 or heard from by the next morning, he would 
 notify the police and have them send out a gen 
 eral alarm. 
 
 This, indeed, had to be done. Mr. Cinch 
 had disappeared. His affairs were all right, his
 
 256 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 fortune untouched and no motive anywhere ap 
 parent why he should have taken so reckless a 
 step. The police could get no trace of him. 
 Fat and bowlegged men were encountered here, 
 there and everywhere, were seized and sharply 
 questioned, but from none of these incidents of 
 the search was the slightest hope extracted. 
 Two days passed, and still another, but the 
 mystery continued to be dark and impenetra 
 ble and Mrs. Cinch was wrapped in an envelope 
 of grief. 
 
 Bob's story about Miss Beeks and her novel 
 views had profoundly impressed Mr. Cinch, and 
 being so constituted that when he got hold of 
 an idea he had to give himself up to its consid 
 eration, Miss Beeks and the possible effect of 
 her conversation upon his legs kept revolving 
 before his eyes all the morning. He was not 
 able to form any very definite idea of what she 
 might be expected to do, but he thought it 
 quite within the possibilities for her to improve 
 the situation. The notion that in ailments of 
 all kinds there was a large element of imagina 
 tion had occurred to him frequently when lis 
 tening to Mrs. Cinch's accounts of her numer 
 ous physical tribulations, and he was by no 
 means sure that his legs were as bad as they
 
 TIN-TYPES. 257 
 
 had been represented. He thought it might 
 well be that he had obtained an exaggerated 
 notion of their deformity, and if Miss Beeks 
 merely succeeded in convincing him of that the 
 gain would be something. He picked up the 
 address-book during the morning and ascer 
 tained that she lived in a large apartment-house 
 in Broadway, distant from his stables less than 
 a block. While Bob was at luncheon he got 
 upon his feet, went to the door and looked 
 down the street at the big flat. An irresistible 
 desire to go and talk the matter over with Miss 
 Beeks took possession of him, and almost before 
 he knew it he was seated in a little reception- 
 room waiting for the appearance of the remark 
 able young woman who professed to be able to 
 talk away a boil. 
 
 She did not keep him waiting long, and 
 when she held out her hand and wished him 
 "Good-morning," he was quite captivated with 
 her cheery voice and smile. 
 
 Mr. Cinch proceeded directly to business. 
 First he took from his pocket-book one of his 
 large and profusely illustrated business cards 
 and delivered it with something of pride by 
 way of introduction. Then he remarked that 
 he had heard of her and of her way of doctor 
 ing and he thought he'd just drop around and 
 see what she could do in his case.
 
 258 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "Why, what ails you?" she asked. "You 
 look very comfortable." 
 
 "So I be," replied Mr. Cinch, much gratified, 
 "but it's all along of my legs." 
 
 "And what of them?" 
 
 "Well you see, they're bowed, and 
 
 "Don't say what I see, Mr. Cinch. We see 
 with our minds and only through our eyes. 
 My mind is healthy, and as I see your legs 
 there's nothing the matter with them." 
 
 "You don't say so!" 
 
 "To be sure I do. At the same time if you 
 say your legs are bowed, there is, of course, 
 trouble somewhere." 
 
 "Of course," assented Mr. Cinch. 
 
 "The question is, where? Some people 
 would say, in the legs. They would try to 
 make you believe that your legs, mere combina 
 tions of flesh and blood, could go off by them 
 selves and get bowed, or knock-kneed, or long 
 or short, or slim or fat, or gouty, or palsied, or 
 paralyzed, or rheumatic, or shriveled or any 
 thing else just as they wanted to and all of 
 their own option, as though they were a living 
 soul with a living will and not simply so many 
 square inches of inanimate matter. Now, Mr. 
 Cinch, that's all nonsense. Don't you believe 
 a word of it !" 
 
 "Well, now," replied the old man slowly, "J
 
 OUR BODIES ARE BUT GHOSTS," SAID THE SCIENTIST. 
 
 259
 
 2 Go TIN-TYPES. 
 
 never thought of it that-away. It don't seem 
 as if they could go and get bowed all of them 
 selves. But," and he looked down toward them 
 dubiously, "they do 'pear to be bowed, now, 
 don't they?" 
 
 "Maybe they do. We'll come to that pres 
 ently. But first let me prove that, if they are 
 bowed, they didn't do it. Suppose you were 
 to have them cut off at your hips, would they 
 go on and bow more?" 
 
 "Why, no." 
 
 "Of course not," said the Scientist, triumph 
 antly. That shows they didn't bow themselves. 
 Then who did bow them? I'll tell you. You 
 have done it, Mr. Cinch, you, yourself." 
 
 "Mebbe I did, mebbe I did. I won't deny 
 it. But this I will say that I didn't go for to 
 do it." 
 
 "Perhaps not. But, consciously or uncon 
 sciously, your mind became well, for want of 
 a better word, sick. In that sick condition it 
 began to look around for a place in your body 
 to reflect its trouble upon. It chose your legs, 
 and straightway your eyes, prompted by your 
 diseased mind, began to tell you that your 
 legs were bowed." 
 
 "Well, really!" cried Mr. Cinch, "how very 
 plain you make it." 
 
 "It's plain enough to such as will see. Mat-
 
 TIN-TYPES. 261 
 
 ter, Mr. Cinch, does not act. Matter has no 
 will. It doesn't feel, or get tired, or wear out 
 or do any of the things attributed to it by 
 thoughtless people. Matter is inanimate and 
 takes form only as the mind, the soul, the Vital 
 Force, wills that it shall. It responds to the 
 soul. Therefore, if your legs are bowed, your 
 mind is at fault." 
 
 "What a very uncomfortable thing your 
 mind must be !" said Mr. Cinch. "It's 'most 
 as well not to have none !" 
 
 "Better," exclaimed the Scientist, earnestly, 
 "if it is to be out of harmony with the Mind 
 Universal. And now we come to the real point. 
 The thing to cure is the thing that is sick. 
 The bowness of your legs is the reflection of 
 your bowed mind. Straighten your mind and 
 your legs will be as straight as your walking- 
 stick. Shut your eyes, Mr. Cinch, and think 
 only of what I say. Nothing is real except the 
 ideal. The corporeal realm of created being 
 corresponds precisely to the condition of the 
 ideal. Do you see the point?" 
 
 "Sorter," replied Mr. Cinch, feebly, "but I 
 b'lieve I could see it better if I was to open my 
 eyes." 
 
 "No, no, no!" cried the Scientist. "It is 
 highly necessary to keep them shut and turned 
 inwards,"
 
 262 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 "I don't b'lieve I can come that, mum," Mr. 
 Cinch rejoined, apologetically. "My eyes is 
 getting a bit old." 
 
 "Sink them far into your soul! Look there 
 to find your bad and ugly ideals! Give me 
 your hand, Mr. Cinch. Thus, with our hands 
 clasped, will our spiritual understandings com 
 mune. Together we will pursue our investiga 
 tions into the recesses of your ethereal nature, 
 and with the clean new broom of inspired rea 
 son, will we sweep away the dusty cobwebs of 
 bad ideals!" 
 
 Mr. Cinch heaved a huge sigh? But he shut 
 his eyes vigorously, and received into his big 
 hard fist the Scientist's little white one, and 
 murmured, "All right, mum ; whip up lively." 
 
 "Our bodies are but ghosts," said the Scien 
 tist, "combinations of symbols. The combina 
 tions change as the soul that they symbolize 
 changes. I look at your body and it tells me 
 of your soul. I see a soul full of doubt and 
 darkness, and the doubt and darkness are sym 
 bolized in the curved and ugly form of your 
 legs. Brush away the doubt ! Dispel the dark 
 ness ! Aspire toward the Life of the Spirit, and 
 as your aspirations are tenacious they will draw 
 your legs into the shape which, like the spirit it 
 typifies, will be all beauty. Does your soul 
 respond, Mr. Cinch?"
 
 TIN-TYPES. 263 
 
 "Well, mum, I dunno. I'm trying hard, 
 but" 
 
 "Ah, there is unbelief there. I see it a black 
 mountain-cloud of unbelief. Faith, Mr. Cinch, 
 is the ethical law of gravitation. You already 
 feel its influence. It draws you to the Spiritual 
 Center of Essence. Your soul still walks in the 
 shadow, but toward the light. You are being 
 drawn away from the doubt. Don't you feel 
 yourself being drawn, Mr. Cinch?" 
 
 "I b'lieve I do, mum; I really b'lieve I do. 
 That left leg give a kinder twitch just as you 
 spoke." 
 
 "Of course it did ! Of course it did ! You 
 are in the sea of Infinite Thought, floating, 
 floating like a chip on the water. The evil 
 ways of falsehood, doubt and unbelief are try 
 ing to beat you away from the Current of 
 Truth, but no ! it shall not be ! I will stand 
 by to fight them back, and to urge on those other 
 waves that will bear you into the current. One 
 is approaching now the Wave of Harmony. 
 It touches you gently, lifts you on its crystal 
 bosom, and, ere it leaves to do the same duty 
 to another floating chip, it moves you many 
 paces nearer to the current. And now, as you 
 rest, another comes. Lo, it is intercepted by 
 the discordant ripples of suspicion, and a strug 
 gle ensues! But, look! Oh, prythee look!
 
 2 64 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 From the white caps of conflict the wave, 
 larger, purer than ever, emerges, and comes on 
 apace. It is the Wave of Joy! It moves 
 quickly ! It takes you upon its sparkling crest ! 
 Whence the diamond lights of happiness flash ! 
 Merrily flash ! It heaves you swiftly on ! On ! 
 On! Ah! Yes! Nearer! Nearer still! One 
 more impulse and you are there ! It lifts its 
 glittering form again ! And NOW ! Oh, Mr. 
 Cinch! you are in the Current ! the CURRENT! 
 Do you not feel its swift influence? The 
 Current of Truth ! Brightly, joyously, swiftly 
 does this Spiritual Gulf Stream bear you to 
 ward the Great Central Calm ! Ah ! ah !" 
 
 The Scientist was evidently in a great state of 
 excitement. Her voice had risen to a keen 
 soprano key, and her eyes sparkled wildly. 
 When she had finally succeeded in getting Mr. 
 Cinch into the Current, she fell back in her 
 chair, quite exhausted. 
 
 Neither spoke for several minutes, and then 
 Miss Beeks finally said : "Open your eyes, Mr. 
 Cinch !" The old man looked at her with evi 
 dent curiosity. "You talk beautiful," he said, 
 earnestly, "and I really think I feel better!" 
 
 "Don't say 'feel,' Mr. Cinch. Cultivate 
 thought and not sensation. I know you are 
 better and that means, of course, that the sup 
 posititious curvature of your limbs, never real, is
 
 IT WAS A GOOD DEAL, MR. GROANER. 
 
 265
 
 2 66 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 less apparent. You must put yourself under 
 my treatment from this moment. The advan 
 tage gained already must not be lost. You 
 must not go home, or to business, or out of 
 this room until your mind is thoroughly healed. 
 You must not get out of the Current until you 
 are safely in the Calm Centre." 
 
 It was the fourth day after her husband's 
 strange disappearance, and Mrs. Cinch was 
 seated in the back parlor of her desolate house, 
 receiving spiritual consolation from an elderly 
 clerical gentleman. "Oh, sir," she was saying, 
 "he was such a good man, so gentle and easy to 
 get along with. He had no harsh words, no 
 matter how much he had to bear. And I'm 
 fearful it was a good deal, Mr. Groaner, I'm 
 fearful it was a good deal." 
 
 Mr. Groaner sighed with much feeling, and 
 said she must not repine, adding in a comfort 
 ing way that the world was full of sorrow. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Cinch, as though greatly 
 consoled by that fact, "I know it. We all have 
 our burdens and I s'pose we need 'em." 
 
 "Indeed we do, Sister Cinch," Mr. Groaner 
 replied, "but for our burdens we should grow 
 vain and worldly." 
 
 This disastrous result being in Mrs. Cinch's 
 case rendered less menacing through the sup-
 
 TIN-TYPES. 267 
 
 posed death of her partner, the good man pro 
 ceeded to show her the necessity of "bearing 
 up," and of counting all things good, and of 
 drawing from these mournful visitations the 
 valuable lesson that earthly affections are 
 empty and void. Much had been accomplished 
 toward reconciling her to the unhappy situa 
 tion when a familiar click was heard in the 
 front door latch. 
 
 Mrs. Cinch started. 
 
 The click was repeated and then the door 
 was flung open, and a heavy footfall sounded 
 in the hallway. 
 
 "William!" cried Mrs. Cinch. "It's Will 
 iam, Brother Groaner! Help me up! Help 
 me to run and meet him ! William, my dear, 
 good, sweet, bow-legged old William ! O, 
 Brother Groaner, I shall go crazy with happi 
 ness ! Hear his old feet, stuck on them dear 
 bow-legs of his, making a sound that I'd know 
 'mong ten thousand ! Come along, Brother 
 Groaner, come long." 
 
 They got into the hall with as much speed 
 as possible, and there, coming toward them 
 was Mr. Cinch, his round face lighted with a 
 peaceful smile. He paused, and there was 
 something in his manner and attitude that 
 caused them to pause as well. He brought his 
 pudgy feet closely together and straightened
 
 268 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 his figure to its loftiest possibility, as if to call 
 attention to its perfect beauty. 
 
 "Maria, my dear," he said, in deep, low tones, 
 "I float in the Calm Centre of Infinite Truth." 
 
 A look of profound alarm came upon Mrs. 
 Cinch's face, and she glanced at the Rev. Mr. 
 Groaner. He shook his head sadly. 
 
 Mr. Cinch observed the dubious looks and he 
 hastened to dispel them. 
 
 "I am in harmony with the Universal Mind," 
 he said. "Look at them legs!" 
 
 They looked. "Yes, William," answered Mrs. 
 Cinch, profoundly disturbed, "I see them legs, 
 and dear, sweet, precious old legs they are, 
 William, and if I ever said they wasn't, I told a 
 story and goodness knows I've suffered enough 
 for it in the last three days and nights. I love 
 them cunning old legs, William, better'n all the 
 rest of you put together, and I don't care 
 where you're floating nor what you're in har 
 mony with, I only just know you're back again 
 with the same beautiful, chubby, round old legs 
 you took away, and I'm downright crying happy, 
 and the rounder they gets the more I'll love 
 them !" 
 
 And, unable longer to restrain herself, the 
 good old lady rushed upon him and hugged 
 him black and blue. 
 
 Mr. Cinch may still be floating in the Calm
 
 26 9
 
 270 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Centre of Infinite Truth, or he may not He 
 may still be in harmony with the Universal 
 Mind or he may not. He hasn't mentioned 
 lately. But this is sure truth that wherever 
 he floats, Mrs. Cinch is floating with him, and 
 whatever else he may be in harmony with he 
 is certainly in harmony with her. He wobbles 
 and toddles up and down just as he used to do, 
 but never a word does he hear to the prejudice 
 of his legs. And whether they be as crooked 
 as a ram's horn or as straight as a rifle-barrel, 
 he can't see them and she won't so what's the 
 odds, anyhow?
 
 XIII. 
 GRANDMOTHER CRUNCHER. 
 
 TONY SCOLLOP'S great point was enter 
 prise. When he looked at anything it was 
 always with the query running through his 
 mind, how can this be turned to account? The 
 beauty of utility was the beauty which Tony's 
 eyes detected and which his heart valued. 
 
 There may be a want of true and pure senti 
 ment in this way of considering the world and 
 its contents, but Tony's lot had been cast in a 
 sphere where necessity encroaches upon senti 
 ment. Bread was dear and babies cheap in the 
 tenement where Tony was born, and his char 
 acter was greatly affected by this circumstance. 
 
 And yet Tony was not unmindful of the fact 
 that sentiment is a powerful stimulant. As 
 such, he prized it. His acute perception dis 
 closed to him that people would pay freely to 
 have their sentiments fed, and Tony was will 
 ing to do almost anything not specifically men 
 tioned in the Criminal Code, for pay. It had 
 been early impressed upon his mind that the 
 271
 
 272 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 profitable sentiments of a great proportion of 
 mankind were reached through their curiosity. 
 This lesson was first enforced upon Tony by a 
 Monkey. 
 
 The monkey was a particularly clever knave. 
 He was in the retinue consisting, besides him 
 self, of a woman, two babies, a hand-organ and 
 a tin-cup, appertaining to a dusky Neapolitan 
 who infested the tenement district in which 
 Tony's boyhood was spent. That monkey had 
 on several occasions seduced a penny from 
 Tony's unwilling hand. Thereby he had 
 earned Tony's respect and had caused Tony's 
 reflections to dwell upon him. That monkey 
 had a large place in the circumstances which 
 led Tony to go into the dime-museum busi 
 ness. 
 
 As a dime-museum manager, to which ex 
 alted station Tony finally arose and in which 
 he was now engaged, he was a remarkable suc 
 cess. He seemed to have found just the field 
 for his talents. They led him into a great 
 variety of speculations, but from one and all he 
 emerged plethoric with dimes. His museum 
 had grown until it now occupied the three floors 
 of one of the largest buildings in the Bowery. 
 
 It was in the very height of his great career, 
 when his enterprise was most conspicuous, his 
 curiosities most numerous, his patronage most
 
 TIN-TYPES. 273 
 
 extensive, and his self-appreciation most com 
 plete and complacent, that he was called upon 
 to face a singular emergency. 
 
 A gentleman in Hoboken had boiled his 
 mother-in-law. It is of no moment now why 
 he had boiled his mother-in-law, though at the 
 time the consideration of this question had 
 filled columns upon columns of the daily news 
 papers. There had been a controversy between 
 the gentleman and his mother-in-law, prolonged 
 and distracting, and the long and short of a 
 very painful conjunction of circumstances is 
 that the gentleman had felt himself reduced to 
 the necessity of doing something serious to his 
 mother-in-law, and, thus moved, he had boiled 
 her. It would have been wiser, doubtless, had 
 he taken some other course, though that is a 
 matter of judgment into which I refrain from 
 going. The only fact needful to be mentioned 
 here is that the event had taken up a vast 
 amount of space in the papers, which had 
 printed large maps of the room wherein the 
 boiling had occurred, together with striking pic 
 tures of the gentleman, the mother-in-law, the 
 kettle in which the boiling had been done, the 
 cat which usually slept in the kettle, and other 
 important accessories of the event. 
 
 Among these was the gentleman's grand 
 mother, a venerable lady living in Wisconsin,
 
 274 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 who, upon being informed that her grandson 
 was in jail for boiling his mother-in-law, had 
 come on to Hoboken to comfort him. She 
 was met at the depot by a considerable com 
 pany of reporters, and by Mr. Tony Scollop, 
 who, with an enterprise all his own, provided 
 a coach for her, went with her to the jail, re 
 mained during the sad interview that took place 
 with her unhappy grandson, and gave her a gor 
 geous bouquet with which to assuage her grief. 
 He took her to a hotel, and did not leave her 
 until she had signed a ten weeks' contract to 
 appear in his dime museum. These, with many 
 other facts illustrative of Tony's generosity and 
 gentle sympathy, appeared in many of the 
 newspapers the next day. 
 
 Whatever may have been their general effect, 
 there were bosoms in which they produced dis 
 agreeable sensations, and among these was the 
 bosom of Billy O'Fake, the Wild Man from 
 Borneo. Indeed Mr. O'Fake was positively 
 angry when he saw that Grandmother Cruncher 
 was to be exhibited from the same platform 
 with himself. He stuck his pipe in his mouth, 
 his hat on his head, and his feet on the foot 
 board of his bed, and said emphatically that he 
 be domned if he'd shtand the loikes av this 
 gran'mother business any more at all. It had 
 gone the laste bit too fur, an', bedad, he'd lay
 
 TIN-TYPES. 275 
 
 the hull matter before the Brotherhood and 
 Sisterhood of Animated Frakes that blissid 
 marnin' ! 
 
 The more Mr. O'Fake thought it over the 
 more outraged his feelings became. At last, 
 unable longer to contain himself, he strode from 
 his room, descended into the Bowery, passed 
 into East Broadway, and clambered aloft to 
 the fifth story of a rickety flat. There he 
 knocked loudly at a door and responded in 
 something of violent haste to the invitation to 
 enter. 
 
 Seated in one corner of the room, over a 
 small, red-hot stove, was a queer-looking little 
 man. There was a tin plate on the stove from 
 which the odor of melting cheese arose, and 
 mingling with the odor of burning tobacco, con 
 tributed from the little man's pipe, burdened 
 the atmosphere with dense and by no means 
 delightful fumes. The little man had a fork in 
 one hand and a mug of beer in the other and 
 he was snatching the cheese from the plate, 
 shoving it into his mouth and washing it down 
 with the beer at a rate and with a disregard of 
 heat and cold that were wonderful to observe. 
 
 He was anything but a pretty little man. 
 His head was big and his body small and his 
 legs very short and very thick. He sat upon 
 a keg, the top of which he quite amply cov-
 
 'SIT, IS IT? WHERE?" SAID BILLY. 
 
 276
 
 TIN-TYPES. 277 
 
 ered, but his feet came scarcely half-way to the 
 floor. His gray eyes twinkled from holes sunk 
 far into his head, and twinkled so brightly that 
 you had to look at them, but so sharply that 
 you wouldn't if you could have helped it. He 
 peeked quickly at Mr. O'Fake, and cried in a 
 shrill voice : 
 
 "Hi! hi! Billy! Come in an' sit down !" 
 
 "Sit, is it? Where?" said Billy. 
 
 "Vhere?" repeated the queer little man. "If 
 I vos to tell you vhere, Billy, your hingenuity 
 vouldn't be drored out. Von o' the uses of 
 hexperience, Billy, is to dror hout the hingenu 
 ity. You're lookin' summat doleful, Billy. 
 Cheer hup, me boy, cheer hup ! I'd like to in- 
 wite you to this 'ere feast, but there's honly 
 von 'elp o' cheese left, an' honly von svaller of 
 beer. But pull hout yer pipe an' vot's on 
 yer mind, Billy?" 
 
 Mr. O'Fake was standing with his back 
 against the door, his arms folded, his hat on the 
 side of his head, and an ominous expression on 
 his face. 
 
 "Have ye seen the marnin' papers, Runty?" 
 he inquired. 
 
 "Papers, Billy, papers? Vot do I vant wid 
 the papers. No, Billy, I shuns 'em. No man 
 can be a 'abitchual reader huv the papers, 
 Billy, vidout comin' to a bad hend."
 
 278 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Mr. O'Fake drew from his pocket a copy of 
 "The Daily Bazoo," and pointing at a certain 
 paragraph, said: "Rade thot, Runty!" 
 
 The queer little man stuck his fork under the 
 tin plate and flipped it off the stove upon the 
 floor, heedless of Mr. O'Fake's wishes. "Hex- 
 cuse me, Billy," he said, "I never wiolate my 
 princerples. I 'ave no use for papers an' I 
 never reads 'em. Wot's it say?" 
 
 "Bedad, I'll tell ye pwhat it says. It says 
 outrage. It says another wan o' thim ould 
 women has come bechune me an' me daily 
 bread. It says that Tony Scollop's been and 
 hired some ould hag av a gran'mother to shtep 
 in an' discredit the perfession. I was a lad av 
 tin years, sor, when I furst shtepped upon the 
 boords av a doime moosaum in the well-known 
 characther av the Son av the Cannibal King. 
 From that day to this, sor, I have exhibited my 
 charrums to the deloighted eyes av the popu- 
 lus fer tin cints per look. I have been a Zulu 
 Chafetain, a Tattooed Grake, a Noted Malay 
 Pirate, a Bushman from Australier, an' afther a 
 public career which there ben't no better, I am 
 to this day, sor, to this day a Wild Man from 
 Barneo. Widout the natcheral advantages 
 which a ginerous Heaven has besthowed upon 
 you, sor, or upon my honored frind, Misther 
 Kwang, the Chinaze Giant, or upon Maddle-
 
 TIN-TYPES. 279 
 
 merzelle Bristelli, the bearded Woman, or upon 
 Ko-ko, the T'ree-Headed Girrul, widout sich 
 natcheral advantages, sor, for to raise me at 
 wanst to the front rank av Frakes, my coorse 
 has been wan av worruk, sor. That worruk 
 has been done ; my name as the greatest living 
 Wild Man from Barneo is writ, sor, in letthers 
 av goold upon fame's highest pin er, pinister ! 
 There, sor, it is to-day, and shall I now 
 
 "Billy," replied the queer little man, "you 
 shall not. Your vords is werry booterful an' 
 werry true. This 'ere bizness of bringin' in 
 Nurse Connellys, an' Marie Wan Zandts, an' 
 the huncles an' hants an' neffies an' nieces an' 
 gran'mothers belonging to influential murder 
 ers an' Young Napoleons uv Finance an' sich, 
 is a-puttin' the persitions uv legitermate Freaks 
 in peril. I speaks as the Gran' Worthy Sub 
 lime an' Mighty Past High Master uv the 
 Brother'ood an' Sister'ood uv Hanimated 
 Freaks, an' I says hit vont' do ! Our rights an' 
 liberties is not thus to be er is they, Billy?" 
 
 "Sor, they air not. They 
 
 "Veil, then, Billy, you shall come before the 
 Brother'ood an' say so. You shall say it this 
 werry mornin' vith your best langwidge. Vith 
 that tongue o' yours, Billy, an' that 'ere him- 
 posin' presence, ef you honly ad' a crook in yer 
 back or ef yer heye vos honly in the middle -uv
 
 HEXCUSE ME, BILLY," HE SAID, "l NEVER WIOLATK MY 
 PRINCERPLES." 
 
 280
 
 TIN-TYPES. 281 
 
 yer 'ed, Billy, you'd be the leadin' Freak on 
 berth !" 
 
 With this genial and deserved tribute, which 
 Mr. O'Fake received most graciously, the dwarf 
 tumbled from his keg, which tumbled also in 
 its turn, raked a heavy overcoat and a rough fur 
 cap from a dark closet, and having got himself 
 into them, he begged Billy to accompany him 
 without delay. 
 
 The Brotherhood and Sisterhood of Anima 
 ted Freaks was and is one of the most impor 
 tant and distinguished of the labor organiza 
 tions of New York. Its membership is com 
 posed, as its name implies, of the ladies and 
 gentlemen actually engaged in the entertain 
 ment of the public by the exhibition of their 
 interesting bodies. Its purposes are to encour 
 age social pleasures among its members, and 
 to protect them against the encroachments of 
 domineering managers. Such an organization 
 was made necessary by the continued aggres 
 sions of the managerial classes, who were led by 
 their unbridled greed to resort to all kinds of 
 unjust expedients whereby to grind down and 
 trample under foot the poor and needy Freak. 
 This sort of foul injustice went on from year to 
 year, rendering the Freaks more and more de 
 pendent on the opulent and tyrannical mana 
 gers, until the wrongs resultant from it cried
 
 282 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 to heaven for vengeance. At last, from the 
 depths of their misery the Freaks arose and 
 with one masterful effort they threw off their 
 base shackles and declared themselves free. 
 
 It was truly a majestic movement. The 
 Brotherhood was firmly established in all parts 
 of America and Great Britain, and it duly re 
 solved that no one should hereafter be a Freak, 
 or be tolerated in the society of Freaks, who 
 was not a member of the Brotherhood in good 
 standing. It resolved that no manager should 
 employ any one claiming to be a Freak who 
 was not thus rendered legitimate. It resolved 
 to various purports, and in phrases most solemn 
 the majesty of the manhood and womanhood 
 of the freakly profession was vindicated. 
 
 The managers, of course, retaliated in kind. 
 They organized a trust. They classified the 
 Freaks and rated them. The relations between 
 labor and capital engaged in the museum in 
 dustry became thereby greatly strained, but as 
 yet no actual rupture had occurred. All hoped 
 in the public interest to avert such a catastro 
 phe, but each side felt that a fierce struggle 
 was imminent. 
 
 Only some such incident as had been sup 
 plied in the enterprising stroke of business ac 
 complished by Tony Scollop was needed to fan 
 the sparks of resentment into a flame. The
 
 TIN-TYPES. 283 
 
 flame was already burning in the bosom of 
 Mr. Billy O'Fake, and when he and the dwaTf 
 reached the Brotherhood's headquarters they 
 were ready to perform the functions of a 
 torch. 
 
 The Executive Council of the Brotherhood, 
 District No. 6, F. I. M. X. T. S. Z., was about 
 to hold a meeting. The Council was composed 
 of seven eminent Freaks Sim Boles, the 
 Double-Jointed Wonder; Bony Perkins, the 
 Ossified Man ; Duffer Leech, the Man with 
 the Phenomenal Skull ; Miss Tilly Boles, the 
 Beautiful Mermaid of the Southern Sea; Mrs. 
 Smock, the Bearded Circassian Beauty ; Mr. 
 Billy O'Fake, the Wild Man from Borneo, 
 and the President of the Brotherhood, Runty, 
 the Dwarf. These ladies and gentlemen were 
 the leaders, nay, the fathers and mothers of the 
 organization, distinguished for their sagacity, 
 resolution and prudence. 
 
 The arrival of Mr. O'Fake and the Dwarf 
 completed the council, which proceeded 
 promptly to business. Runty took the chair, 
 and in a few earnest and well-chosen words, 
 he dispatched the Ossified Man for a pitcher of 
 beer. The transaction of other routine busi 
 ness occupied the attention of the council for a 
 brief while, but it soon gave way to the press 
 ing business of the hour. This came in the
 
 284 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 shape of a resolution presented by Mr. O'Fake, 
 in these words : 
 
 Whereas, Mr. T. Scollop, manager of the 
 Universal Dime Museum of Natural Wonders, 
 has seen fit to involve our honorable profession 
 in disgrace by the employment for exhibition 
 as an Animated Freak of Grandmother Crunch 
 er, so called ; and, 
 
 Whereas, The said Grandmother Cruncher is 
 not a member of this Honorable Brotherhood, 
 nor a Freak, but merely a person of vulgar 
 notoriety; and, 
 
 Whereas, The said employment by the said 
 T. Scollop of the said Female is in violation of 
 Paragraph 13 of Article 210 of Section 306 
 of Chapter 194 of Book 8 of the Constitution 
 and By-Laws of this Honorable Brotherhood, 
 therefore be it, 
 
 RESOLVED, That a committee of three mem 
 bers of this Council be appointed by the Grand 
 Worthy Sublime and Mighty Past High Mas 
 ter to see the said T. Scollop and to inform 
 him of the displeasure which his course herein 
 set forth has excited in this Council, and to 
 insist upon the immediate discharge of the said 
 Cruncher. 
 
 "Wid the Chair's permission," said Mr. 
 O'Fake, when his resolutions had been read, "I 
 will spake a worrud wid regard to the riser- 
 looshuns. Sor, I hav no apolergy to make for 
 thim riserlooshuns. They manes business. 
 We are threatened, sor, wid a didly pur'l. It
 
 TIN-TYPES. 285 
 
 has not come upon us uv a sudden, sor, not 
 to wanst. It is a repetition, sor, av an ould 
 offince, an' I am here, sor, in this reshpicted 
 prisence, sor, to say that the toime has come 
 fer this Brotherhood to make its power filt!" 
 
 Mr. O'Fake brought his clinched fist down 
 upon the back of the Chair in front of him with 
 a smart tap and looked proudly at the admir 
 ing faces of his fellow-members. Mr. O'Fake 
 was eminent for his attainments as a speaker, 
 and well he knew it. A murmur of applause 
 broke out as he stopped, but he stilled it with 
 a majestic wave of the hand. 
 
 "Sor," he continued, "I am wan av those 
 which belaves that the managers nades a les 
 son. They nades to be towld, sor, that Frakes 
 is not dogs. They have gone on in their 
 coorse 
 
 At this point a shrill "Mr. Cheerman !" 
 sounded out from the rear of the hall, and to 
 the great indignation of Mr. O'Fake and to 
 everybody else's surprise, Mr. Duffer Leech, 
 the Man with the Phenomenal Skull, was ob 
 served to be standing with his arm lifted and 
 his index finger extended towards the Chair. 
 
 Mr. O'Fake was much too astonished at Mr. 
 Leech's audacity to express himself. The 
 Chair looked from one gentleman to the other 
 in perplexity, mysteriously winking at Mr.
 
 286 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Leech and nodding at Mr. O'Fake as if to 
 call the attention of the one to the fact that 
 the other was already addressing the council. 
 These repeated gestures having produced no 
 other effect than to draw another "Mr. Cheer- 
 man !" from Mr. Leech, the dwarf was moved 
 to inquire, "Veil, Duffer, vot's hup?" 
 
 "I wants to know wot's all dis talkin' about. 
 I ain't got all day to sit here and listen to chin- 
 moosic. Wot's de trouble?" 
 
 It was easy to see that Duffer had been 
 drinking. No man in his senses would have 
 ventured so rudely to have checked the flow of 
 Mr. O'Fake's oratory. Duffer had clearly been 
 drinking, and the lion whose anger he had 
 roused turned upon him quickly. 
 
 "Phwat's the throuble !" he repeated, sarcas 
 tically. "I should say the throuble was plain 
 enough. If the gintleman has any difficulty 
 seein' it now, he won't long. It'll take the 
 farm av snakes, sor, an' little rid divils wid long 
 tails in doo toime !" 
 
 Mr. O'Fake spoke with much dignity and 
 great effect. In the roar of laughter which fol 
 lowed Duffer perceived he had been vanquished 
 and in some confusion he sat down, while his 
 victor proceeded : 
 
 "The offince minshun'ed in me riserlooshuns 
 is a blow at the daily brid av us all, sor. If any
 
 TIN-TYPES. 287 
 
 ould woman kin be placed in the froont rank av 
 Frakes fer the rayson that her gran'son killed 
 another ould woman, wull ye tell me, sor, 
 phwat becomes av our janius an' harrud work? 
 Sor, I am bould to say that yersilf, honored as 
 ye are fer hevin' the biggest hid on the shmall- 
 est body in the world, had yer hid been as big 
 as a base dhrum an' yer body as shmall as a 
 marble, ye would be regarded as av no impar- 
 tance in comparison wid this ould witch av a 
 Gran'mother Cruncher." 
 
 The impression produced by Mr. O'Fake's 
 remarks was evidently deep and painful. He 
 sat down amid silence which was presently 
 broken by the shrill voice of Duffer. 
 
 "Mr. Cheerman," said Duffer. "I rise to a 
 p'int o' order." 
 
 "Pint o' vot?" inquired the Chair. 
 
 "Order, sir, order!" cried Duffer,who had long 
 been a member of an East Side debating club. 
 
 "Veil, I hunderstands you, Duffer, hall as 
 far's you've vent. But it's wery himportant, 
 me boy, vot you horders a pint of. If it's a 
 pint of vhisky, vhy, all right ; but if it's honly 
 a pint of beer vhen there's seven hon'able 
 ladies an' gents " 
 
 "I bigs the Chair's pardon," interrupted Mr. 
 O'Fake, "but the Chair labors under a slight 
 misaper ahem !" Mr. O'Fake finished the
 
 288 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 word with a cough. It was a cough which he 
 always kept ready for use in that way when 
 ever needed. "The gintleman manes he ob 
 jects to the persadin's." 
 
 "He does, does 'e? Veil, if that's vot 'e 
 means, 'e hexpresses hisself in a werry poor 
 vay," answered the Chair, directing a look at 
 Duffer which precipitated him at once into his 
 seat. 
 
 Mrs. Smock, the Circassian Beauty, said very 
 decidedly that she didn't want any Grand 
 mother Crunchers on the platform with her, 
 and what was the use of having a Brotherhood 
 if you didn't stop such things, which was de 
 basing as everybody knew, and made her blood 
 just boil every time it happened for she couldn't 
 stand having her rights took away and wasn't 
 going to. These energetic remarks decided 
 the Chair to act. 
 
 "Veil," he said, "it happears to be a go. 
 The Chair happoints hisself an' Billy an' Sim 
 Boles, an' the sooner ve sees Tony the sooner 
 vill the band begin to play. If you don't think 
 there'll be moosic as '11 make your ears 'um, 
 you don't know Tony Scollop." 
 
 The Chair thereupon descended from its 
 lofty place, and with characteristic promptness 
 worked itself into its hat and coat. The oc 
 casion was felt by all to be somewhat solemn,
 
 289 
 
 and murmurs of advice arose to each of the 
 committee as to the best method of proceed 
 ing. It was agreed that the other members of 
 the council should remain in the headquarters 
 until the committee's return. 
 
 Runty considered himself something of a 
 diplomat, and he let it be understood while on 
 the way to Mr. Scollop's office that he would 
 present the case. They found Mr. Scollop in 
 an amiable humor and most happy to see them. 
 There was a pause after the greetings, and to 
 relieve it Mr. Scollop remarked again that it 
 was a fine day. 
 
 "So it is," rejoined Runty, "vich in combina 
 tion with the natur' of hour business haccounts 
 for hour smilin' faces." 
 
 "That's right," said Tony. "Only if I was 
 you I wouldn't smile in the sun. Three such 
 smilin' faces as yours turned right up at him 
 would produce a shadder, Runty. Now, what 
 are you fellows up to? Some Brotherhood 
 game, I'll bet a hat." 
 
 "Wot a werry hactive mind !" cried Runty 
 admiringly. "If you vos to guess again you'd 
 hit the game itself an' save us playin' it." 
 
 "No, you'd better lead off." 
 
 "Veil, then, clubs is trumps, an' we have got 
 a big von vith a knot on the hend for Gran'- 
 mother Cruncher see?"
 
 290 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Mr. Scollop smiled thoughtfully and said he 
 saw. "I see a long ways," he added. "Crunch 
 er is upstairs now, and 'the public is piling in 
 head over heels to see her. Her portographs 
 is selling like hot cakes and the more you kicks 
 the more she'll be worth to me. Fact is, I wish 
 you would raise a disturbance. There's noth- 
 in' like judicious advertisin' in this mooseum 
 business. It would be worth a little some 
 thing to have a nice, hard strike. Now, then, 
 do you see?" 
 
 Runty smiled in his turn and also said he 
 saw. "If that's vot you vant," he said, "you've 
 got it. The strike is on, an' afore you gets 
 through with Gran'mother Cruncher you'll have 
 so much o' the same kind o' notoriety that you 
 an' her '11 make a team, an' you both orter 
 grow rich by just hex'ibitin* of your two 
 selves!" 
 
 "Capital !" cried Mr. Scollop in much excite 
 ment, ringing his bell vigorously. "This is the 
 best thing 'ats happened to me in ten years. 
 Hey, there, you, Dick! Rush around the cor 
 ner an' get a canvas painted make it big 
 fifteen by twenty feet, and great big black 
 and red letters. Come now, be quick ! Take 
 down the words: 'Strike!' Make each letter 
 two feet long! 'Our Freaks Fight Grand 
 mother Cruncher! They Refuse To Exhibit
 
 THERE STOOD THE NOBLE OLD LADY IN ALL HER PATHETIC 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 2 9 I
 
 292 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 Along With The Old Lady ! Jealous Of Her 
 Dazzling Beauty ! Manager Scollop Stands 
 Firm! Says He Will Be Loyal To Grand 
 mother Cruncher Till The Heavens Fall ! Not 
 A Freak Left ! But Grandmother Cruncher 
 Remains Nobly At Her Post! Thousands 
 Shake Her By The Hand ! She Is Now Mak 
 ing A Speech To The Multitude! Hurry Up 
 To Hear Her Thrilling Words! Come One! 
 Come All ! Only Ten Cents !' 
 
 "There, got it down?" continued the Man 
 ager, breathlessly. "Got it all down? Then 
 rush off, Dick ! By the great horn spoon ! 
 Was there ever such a stroke of luck as this! 
 Now, Runty, you fellows hurry up to your 
 headquarters, so's to be there when the report 
 ers come. Tell 'em the whole business. Tell 
 'em you'll never give in ! Tell 'em it's a battle 
 to the death! I'll send up a couple o' kegs o' 
 beer and a lot o' cigars. Be lively, now." 
 
 Mr. Scollop sprang from his chair and ran 
 upstairs in frantic haste to give directions for 
 rendering the exhibition-room as commodious 
 as possible, leaving Runty and his fellow-com- 
 mitteemen in quite a state of mind. 
 
 "Veil!" said the dwarf, drawing a prolonged 
 breath and elevating his eyebrows with a curi 
 ous expression of mingled surprise and dismay, 
 ' 'ere's vot I calls a go !"
 
 293 
 
 Bony Perkins rubbed his ossified eyes with 
 his ossified knuckles and observed that it looked 
 as if somebody was going to get fooled. 
 
 Mr. O'Fake arose majestically from his chair, 
 and looked grimly at his colleagues. "Gintle- 
 men," he said, "he'll be talkin' in another tone 
 within a wake. Bedad, we'll tache him phwat 
 he don't know. We'll send out an appale fer 
 foonds, an' we'll give him all the fight he 
 wants." 
 
 Mr. O'Fake's hopeful tone was needed to 
 brace up the drooping courage of his friends. 
 They immediately returned to the council and 
 briefly reported that their grievances had been 
 ignored, and that the strike was on and would 
 be general. Orders were at once issued and 
 forwarded to every museum in New York di 
 recting all Freaks straightway to quit exhibit 
 ing and appeals were issued to the public and 
 to all labor associations for financial aid. The 
 headquarters were soon in a state of commo 
 tion. Mr. Scollop's kegs of beer had arrived 
 and aided greatly in increasing the ardor of 
 everybody's feelings. The Ossified Man sur 
 rounded himself with the Fat Woman, Little 
 Bow-Legs and the Chinese Giant, and lectured 
 them long and earnestly on the rights of labor 
 and the tyranny of class rule. Mr. O'Fake de 
 livered a full score of beautiful orations, and
 
 294 
 
 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 the entire Brotherhood agreed that its power 
 should be exerted to the last extreme. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Scollop's museum was the 
 scene of an even greater tumult. The enor- 
 
 THE OSSIFIED MAN LECTURED LONG AND EARNESTLY. 
 
 mous "Strike!" placard had been posted and 
 had produced an immediate effect. Vast 
 crowds of people, wild to see Grandmother 
 Cruncher, besieged the ticket-office and packed 
 the exhibition-room, where, upon the platform, 
 elsewise deserted, stood that noble old lady in 
 all her pathetic beauty. Mr. Scollop, in a con 
 dition of rapture scarcely possible of portrayal, 
 stood all the afternoon in his private office 
 opening wine for the gentlemen of the press
 
 TIN-TYPES. % 295 
 
 and giving them the fullest information. He 
 truly said he had nothing to conceal. He had 
 made an honest man's contract and he would 
 stand by it till he dropped in his tracks. He 
 was not the man to desert a poor old woman 
 in her sorrow at the bidding of an irresponsible 
 clique of labor bosses. The Freaks did not 
 want to strike, anyhow. They were nagged on 
 to it by their leaders, who were not genuine 
 Freaks at all, but professional agitators. Aside 
 from his duty to Grandmother Cruncher, he 
 was not going to have his business run by 
 outsiders not if he knew himself! There 
 would be no abandonment of principle or 
 position on his part, the public might depend 
 on it. 
 
 Mr. Scollop professed the deepest sorrow at 
 the annoyance and vexation to which the pub 
 lic was exposed by the unfair conduct of the 
 strikers, but he couldn't help it. It was not his 
 fault. He knew he would have the sympathy 
 of all fair-minded people. He would do his 
 best to satisfy his patrons even under these 
 trying circumstances. The museum was open 
 now, as the reporters could easily see, and 
 would be kept open. Grandmother Cruncher 
 would exhibit and would be the great and per 
 manent feature of his show hereafter, Brother 
 hood or no Brotherhood !
 
 296 TIN-TYPES. 
 
 These remarks, amplified and extended, ap 
 peared in the papers, together with interviews 
 with the strikers and many thrilling incidents 
 of the struggle. Public interest was aroused in 
 the most general and intense degree, and Mr. 
 Scollop's cashier made daily trips to the bank 
 with a bushel-basket full of dimes. How long 
 the contest would have continued and what the 
 final result would have been are problems too 
 deep for me. But at the end of the first week 
 Grandmother Cruncher's rheumatism was too 
 much for her and she was compelled to retire. 
 Short as was her professional career, it gave 
 her undying fame. In labor circles many ugly 
 rumors are floating about concerning the man 
 agement of the strike. It is broadly intimated 
 that the whole thing was a "sell," and signifi 
 cant remark is made upon the fact that Runty, 
 the Dwarf, shortly after the strike was ordered 
 off, appeared upon the street scintillating under 
 a new diamond pin. One of the leading daily 
 journals editorially explained the matter by 
 stating that the rheumatism story was a ruse, 
 that public interest in Grandmother Cruncher 
 began to wane, and that thereupon Manager 
 Scollop "fixed the matter up" with the strikers. 
 Tony, however, declares that the Brotherhood 
 gave in, while Runty says it is stronger than 
 ever and more than ever determined to protect
 
 TIN-TYPES. 297 
 
 the rights of its members. Where the exact 
 truth lies it is far from me to say, but it may 
 be pertinent to mention that Runty and Mr. 
 O'Fake have started a saloon in the Bowery. 
 
 THE END.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
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