PRICE 25 CENTS 
 
 Ray Burton 
 
 A Chicago Tale 
 
 "By ?M. TRAIN 
 
RAY BURTON 
 
 a Cbicago ZTale. 
 
 By, M. train. 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 1895. 
 
Copyrighted 1895. 
 By M. TRAm. 
 
To My Wife, 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON Morgan street, between Monroe and 
 Adams streets, is an old, wooden house, 
 which has for many years enjoyed the distinc- 
 tion of standing almost within the shadows of 
 two well-known public buildings — the Scammon 
 school and the Second Baptist church. The 
 house and my birth-place are identical, — the 
 former an unpretentious residence; the latter a 
 matter of so little consequence that, I have 
 been told on good authority, when I was born 
 the lady next door but one did not hear of it 
 for full ten days after the event, and then only 
 through the loquacity of the milkman; and 
 when she called to see me she gave it as her 
 opinion that Mrs, Burton's boy would be in 
 trousers before the neighbors knew of his arri- 
 val. 
 
 Births in general are so common and of fre- 
 quent occurrence that they seldom receive more 
 than a passing notice, and to this one in partic- 
 ular there would a,ttach no interest whatever. 
 
6 RAY BURTON. 
 
 were it not for the existence of a tale, which to 
 be told, must be brought from the beginning. 
 
 As soon as physical conditions would permit, 
 it was apparent that I had gray eyes — possibly 
 light blue, a very scanty supply of hair which 
 was quite silken, a dimple in my chin, small 
 limbs and hands, and a general diminutive ap- 
 pearance, which was in keeping with the six 
 and one-half pounds which had been entered 
 in my father's memorandum book, together 
 with my sex and the date of my birth. I was 
 a fretful child, I have been told, and the unself- 
 ish and loving care shown me by my mother 
 through the first years of my feeble existence 
 is only one example of the same old story, 
 written boldly in the annals of every household, 
 which can be traced out by the seams and wrin- 
 kles on every dear, old mother's face. That 
 blessed mother-love that surrounds us in child- 
 hood and youth like a halo of glory, is too 
 often allowed to pass without due appreciation, 
 and into the reflections that come with maturer 
 years there steals a rueful poignancy that no 
 amount of repentance can quite remove. Oh 
 restless, impatient childhood ! Take time in 
 your youthful days to fall in love with your 
 mother. Make her your sweet-heart, the recip- 
 
RAY BURTON. 7 
 
 ient of your best love and gifts, and in after- 
 days when, perchance, her face will not be 
 among those you see daily, the recollection of 
 having tried to lighten her burdens and brighten 
 her days will follow you like a benediction. 
 
 In writing one's own history, nothing is easier 
 than hastily passing over that period of child- 
 hood in which the memory has received no last- 
 ing impressions, and about which you know 
 nothing, only as it has been told you. I shall, 
 however, recount an incident that occurred in 
 that uncertain period of my life, the recollection 
 of which comes to me now like the burden of 
 some long forgotten song, or what more nearly 
 expresses it, a dream that I might have had a 
 month or a year ago. I was playing by the 
 front door, and by some mishap fell with my 
 face downward on the step, cutting a gash on 
 the under part of my chin, and at the same time 
 biting a hole through my tongue. The screams 
 that I uttered must have been sufficient to arouse 
 the whole neighborhood, for the lady next door 
 but one and my mother arrived on the scene 
 almost simultaneously, and by their united ef- 
 forts succeeded in stopping the flow of blood 
 and soothing the pain. The lady remarked to 
 mother that the neighbors surely knew of my 
 
8 RAY BURTON. 
 
 existence now, if they had not heard of it be- 
 fore, and accompanied the expression with such 
 a good-natured laugh, that I thought I might 
 be persuaded to like her after my tongue and 
 chin were well. This period between non-rec- 
 ollection and recollection differs somewhat in 
 individuals, but I think I must have been at 
 least three years old when this happened. 
 
 About this time I remember of my father 
 coming home one day and in great excitement 
 telling mother of a big fire down-town, but that 
 this part of the city was in no danger. Outside 
 of our grate I had a very limited idea of 
 what a fire meant, and consequently was as 
 ignorant of the magnitude of the conflagration 
 then in progress and its consequent losses and 
 sufferings, as if I had been an inhabitant of 
 some far distant city instead. I recall now that 
 for many days — even weeks afterward a gloom 
 seemed to have fallen over our home, a;id 
 father talked of "no insurance, total loss, ruin," 
 etc., terms that had little meaning to me then. 
 Those terrible days of destruction, broken for- 
 tunes and ruined businesses need no recounting 
 here. That fire stands on the pages of history 
 without a parallel, and every school boy and 
 girl is familiar with it. 
 
RAY BURTON. 9 
 
 My father was a partner in a newly organ- 
 ized business venture, and the amount of money 
 found to be his share after that ruthless and 
 premature dissolver of partnerships, was so 
 small that he found it necessary to seek em- 
 ployment in the reconstruction that immedi- 
 ately set in, until his finances would again 
 permit him to engage in business. He was a 
 native of Pennsylvania, his father being of 
 Scotch parentage and his mother of German. 
 My mother was a native of Scotland, emigrat- 
 ing to this country with her parents when but 
 twelve years old. They met in a social way, 
 by attending the same church, and a friendship 
 grew out of the acquaintance which developed 
 into love and marriage. It is not strange that 
 I should feel a kind of proprietorship in the 
 old church, not only because it was the place 
 where my parents met, but because it was the 
 first and only church I had known in early 
 childhood. It is an old landmark of the West 
 Side, standing on the southeast corner of Adams 
 and Sangamon streets, which was, when it was 
 built, in the quietude of a residence district; 
 but now is almost crowded off its own grounds 
 by that ever restless tide of business that each 
 year extends farther and farther outward. It 
 
10 RAY BURTON. 
 
 fronts on Sangamon street, and the patrol box 
 on the corner stands like a silent sentinel 
 watching the entrance and warning away any 
 who might have evil designs upon the building 
 or the picket fence, that extends the full length 
 of the Adams street side and on each side of 
 the doorway. There is nothing about the 
 structure designed to attract attention, unless it 
 be its extreme plainness, and that is a result, 
 most likely, of the strict economy exercised in 
 its construction, rather than any studied pur- 
 pose to be plain. 
 
 The general appearance within is in keeping 
 with the exterior, — apparently having been built 
 to meet a certain want and when that was 
 reached, it was of little consequence what it 
 lacked in architectural beauty. At what age I 
 first accompanied my parents to services in this 
 church is somewhat obscure in my memory, 
 but I am sure I had gone there many times be- 
 fore I had been impressed with the sermons. 
 From my earliest recollection there had always 
 been the same pastor, the same familiar faces 
 in the adjacent pews, the same psalm service 
 and prayer, the same firstly, secondly, etc., in 
 the sermon, all of which had the humiliating 
 effect of putting me to sleep, unless I made 
 
RAY BURTON. II 
 
 strong efforts to resist the drowsy influence, 
 which I always tried to do, for mother had told 
 me it was wicked to sleep during services, and 
 rebuked me severely when I hinted that deacon 
 W. was a possible sinner. On one particular 
 Sunday, however, I was all attention, so much 
 so that father looked significantly to mother 
 as if to call her attention to the unlooked-for 
 state of my mind. The regular pastor was not 
 in his accustomed place, but in his stead a fath- 
 erly looking old man, with rather large features, 
 moderately long hair parted in the middle, and 
 a plain, conventional coat that insisted on being 
 buttoned quite up to his chin. At this time I 
 had been in school a year, perhaps, and had 
 been taught to read by my mother before I had 
 attended school, and had read several juvenile 
 books, among which was a Pilgrim's Progress. 
 I had formed a very high opinion of the great 
 dreamer. When we reached home after the 
 services alluded to, I am sure my parents felt 
 somewhat disappointed when they found that 
 my unusual interest on that occasion was not so 
 much on account of the scholarly discourse as 
 it was on account of what I insisted was a 
 marked resemblance between the minister and 
 
12 RAY BURTON. 
 
 the picture of John Bunyan, in my copy of the 
 Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 My having learned to read before I had been 
 to school was partly due to my mother's untir- 
 ing efforts to instruct me, and partly to a desire 
 she had to keep me out of school until I should 
 attain to what she termed a proper age, al- 
 though she allowed me to go a term earlier 
 than she first intended, because of my persist- 
 ent pleading to be permitted to enter, so I 
 could be in the class with my play-fellow, 
 Arthur Gray. Who does not remember his 
 first day at school, and the few weeks follow- 
 ing, when everything was so strange, so differ- 
 ent from anything he had ever experienced be- 
 fore? For my part those first few days cling 
 to my memory with more tenacity ,than many 
 of the intervening ones. There was the old 
 school-room with its desks, each one made to 
 accommodate one pupil, and arranged in rows 
 far enough apart to leave the impression that 
 each occupant was expected to attend to his 
 own work; the windows on two sides of the 
 room, with their old-fashioned eight-by-ten 
 panes, the lower ones stained so the inmates 
 could get no glimpse of the outside world; the 
 black-board, that extended across the end and 
 
RAY BURTON. 1 3 
 
 down one side of the room; the teacher's desk, 
 and the large, steel engraving of General 
 Washington that hung on the wall just behind 
 it; the map of the United States on the left wall 
 with each alternate state a different color, 
 giving it the mottled appearance of a crazy 
 quilt; the old eight day clock on the right wall, 
 whose short hand always seemedto move slower 
 as it approached the hours of twelve and four; 
 and of most importance of all, the teacher, a 
 kindly faced woman of rather slight proportions, 
 who, from the happy way she managed every- 
 thing and everybody with whom she had to do, 
 must have had several years of experience in 
 the art of training children. To say that we 
 loved our teacher would hardly express it in 
 sufficiently strong terms. It was a coveted 
 privilege to be permitted to stand by her side, 
 and the little crowd that gathered around her 
 at intermission to show love and to receive 
 notice from her, must have been a source of 
 annoyance; but she never seemed worried with 
 our childish attentions, and usually would take 
 the smallest little girl and the smallest little 
 boy on her lap, and with the larger boys and 
 girls standing around her two and three rows 
 deep, she would tell us little stories, that were 
 
14 RAY BURTON. 
 
 quite as interesting as some fables that I had 
 read in a book my father gave me soon after I 
 had learned to read. Arthur occupied a seat 
 just across the aisle from mine, and his little 
 sister, Florence, a pretty black-eyed girl, who 
 had recently been promoted from the primary 
 department, sat in the row beyond him — in the 
 B grade. She was one of those restless little 
 beings who find it next to an impossibility to 
 sit still, which peculiarity often came near get- 
 ting her into trouble; but Miss Baldwin, our 
 teacher, understanding her temperament, was 
 very lenient toward her. 
 
 I found it hard work in this first term at 
 school to keep with my class in everything ex- 
 pected of me, for, as Miss Baldwin said, I was 
 all out of balance. I could read and do some 
 parts of the work quite well, but was woefully 
 lacking in other branches that were of equal im- 
 portance; so, in order to do the work, I almost 
 always studied at home of evenings, and many 
 times felt discouraged and even wept, when, 
 after having tried harder than ever before on 
 some particular lesson, I found I could not 
 recite as well as some other members of the 
 class who had given it no hard study at all. 
 However, before the year was out and the class 
 
RAY BURTON. I 5 
 
 promoted, I had evened myself up sufficiently 
 to be able to pass the examination with a record 
 that compared favorably with the rest of my 
 class-mates. As I now look back over that first 
 school year with Miss Baldwin I think the 
 retrospect offords me more pleasure than of any 
 succeeding year that it fell to my lot to attend 
 public school. On being promoted from Miss 
 Baldwin's room we all felt that we were leaving 
 a dear friend, but I took consolation in the fact 
 that she had a few times called at my home, and 
 I was sure she would not discontinue her visits 
 because I was no longer her pupil, and ex- 
 pressed myself to her so, and asked her very 
 cordially to continue to call when convenient, 
 which she assured me she would do, and the 
 mutual friendship that sprang up afterward 
 between her and my mother was largely due, no 
 doubt, to this pressing invitation from an admir- 
 ing pupil. 
 
 My father, by strict economy, had accumu- 
 lated in a few years after the fire, a moderate 
 sum of money, sufficient to embark in the com- 
 mission business, having as partner James Went- 
 worth, the style of the firm being Burton & 
 Wentworth. Their place of business was at 
 that geometrically peculiar point just north of 
 
l6 RAY BURTON. 
 
 Lake street, where it requires some acquaint- 
 ance with the locality to determine whether one 
 is on Market or South Water street, although 
 the numbers over the doors convey the informa- 
 tion that the latter terminates at Lake street 
 and the former begins at the same point. The 
 front door faced southeast and the rear one 
 opened on the wharf, where lay the filthy, dis- 
 colored, inactive water of the river, that bore 
 on its sluggish bosom no signs as to whether 
 it belonged to the South, North or Main branch, 
 and emitting an odor that was offensive even 
 in a produce market. On this wharf and in the 
 neighborhood of this rear door lay an unex- 
 plored region that was very inviting to an eight 
 year old boy. I was first allowed to view this 
 forbidden ground from a window, where I 
 would sit for an hour or more at a time watch- 
 ing the busy river traffic. The shrill whistle of 
 the tug boat, the deep bass of the steam barge 
 and the rippling sound of the row- boat as it 
 went sculling by, played a new, wild and fasci- 
 nating music that was quite captivating to me, 
 notwithstanding the vile stench that was around 
 and over all. After I became more accustomed 
 to the place, father took me to walk on the 
 
RAY BURTON. 1/ 
 
 wharf and explained many of the objects of 
 interest to be seen there. Just under the abut- 
 ment of the Lake street bridge was a boat 
 builder's shop which was a veritable "Curiosity 
 shop." Near it were old row boats turned up- 
 side down, rusty anchors that looked like they 
 had lain unmolested for ages, old cordage and 
 plunder of one sort and another lying in such 
 profusion, that the approach to the shop, as well 
 as to the flight of steps leading to the bridge 
 above, was almost obstructed. After this inter- 
 esting visit to this busy work-shop, I resolved to 
 see it again — the next time being in the com- 
 pany of Hankins, a man who helped in the 
 store and who had at one time been a sailor. 
 He answered many questions that I asked him 
 about boats and ships, and became quite didac- 
 tic as he noted the interest I took in it. After 
 that I regarded Mr, Hankins as a remarkable 
 man, and held Mr. Cay, the old boat repairer, 
 in about equal esteem, for every time Hankins* 
 made a clever point Mr. Cay would say, — "Yes,, 
 son, them are facts," and accompanied the ex- 
 pression with a nod that almost dislodged his 
 spectacles, that were hidden away somewhere 
 under his hat. We soon came to be great 
 
KAY BURTON. 
 
 friends, and otten, on leaving the store after a 
 Saturday's visit, I would take the back way so 
 I might look in and shout a parting salutation 
 to him. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE outside appearance of our house was 
 very plain and unattractive, so much so that 
 you might pass and repass it daily for years 
 and then not be able to describe any particular 
 thing about its front. It had been painted a 
 dull color because that was conceded to be 
 the best adapted to the smoky atmosphere of 
 the city, — Chicago could not boast of a char- 
 tered association for the prevention of the 
 smoke nuisance at that time, else it might have 
 been given a gayer dress. The double front 
 doors opened into a hall, that was in no way 
 different from a dozen other halls in the neigh- 
 borhood, with two doors, one leading to the 
 panor, the other to the sitting-room. There 
 was nothing elaborate in the furnishing within, 
 but it made up in neatness what it lacked in 
 ornate qualities, and the well worn armchair 
 and the old fashioned sofa seemed to hold out 
 an invitation to all who entered to recline upon 
 them and rest. From the old piano with its 
 
20 RAY BURTON. 
 
 ponderous legs and dark green cover, to the 
 neatly polished kitchen stove there was evi- 
 dence of good housewifery. 
 
 "Ray, have you seen Arthur?" 
 
 The person from whom this interrogation 
 came entered the sitting-room from the dining- 
 room, a woman of medium height, gray eyes, 
 dark hair, and perhaps at that time thirty-five 
 years old. She had sad but pleasant features, 
 that wore an expression of solicitude, as if she 
 had it in her mind to ask you if you were quite 
 well, or whether you were not too warm or too 
 cold. 
 
 "No, mother, I haven't seen him to-day," I 
 answered, going to her and kissing her, as was 
 my custom when I had been away from the 
 house any length of time. 
 
 "He appeared to be very anxious to see you, 
 and said he would come again later." 
 
 "Didn't he tell you what he wanted, mother?" 
 said I. 
 
 "No, son, but sit by the window, probably 
 you will see him coming soon." I had scarcely 
 seated myself before I saw him coming and I 
 hastened out to meet him. 
 
 "Hello, Ray. I have been looking for you all 
 day. I want you to come to my birth-day party 
 
RAY BURTON. 21 
 
 tomorrow afternoon," said Arthur. "I will be 
 twelve years old and mother told me I should 
 invite my friends, and of course I want you to 
 be one of the party." 
 
 "I can't promise till I ask mother," I replied. 
 "Come and sit in the parlor while I go to see 
 her about it." I soon returned with the intel- 
 ligence that my mother had given her consent, 
 and when we parted at the gate we were both 
 in a state of high good humor and expectancy. 
 
 At the dinner table that evening, after we 
 had finished eating, father remarked, — "Annie, 
 do you remember Mr. Mann, our customer of 
 Champaign, Illinois?" 
 
 "Yes, John, the man who sent us the fine 
 strawberries." 
 
 "I received a letter from him today," father 
 continued, "in which he tells me of a fine, little 
 farm near town that can be bought for four 
 thousand dollars, cash, which he thinks a bar- 
 gain. When he was in our store in the spring 
 I expressed a wish to own a farm, which doubt- 
 less is the reason he wrote me about this one. 
 I have been thinking seriously about it all day, 
 and believe it worth investigating." 
 
 "Perhaps you had better go to see it at once," 
 
22 RAY BURTON. 
 
 mother replied, "for the trip will do you good 
 even if you fail to make a deal." 
 
 After some further talk about the matter, 
 father concluded to go to see the farm, and the 
 following morning took an early leave of us, to 
 be gone two or three days. This new field that 
 had just been opened up to my imagination was 
 almost boundless in resources. I found my 
 mind carrying me on excursions to the fields 
 and wood for wild flowers and berries; I had 
 been to the brook and caught baskets of fish, 
 such, perhaps, as never had been seen in any 
 streamlet in the state; and with my big dog, I 
 had been to the meadows and captured prairie 
 dogs, that had, in reality, retired far beyond the 
 Mississippi river long years ago. Oh, what a 
 wonderful world this would be if the anticipa- 
 tions of youth were ever realized! 
 
 So absorbed was I in thoughts of farm life, 
 that, had mother not reminded me, I would 
 have forgotten to prepare for Arthur's party. 
 When ready to go, she called me to her side and 
 said, — "Ray, I am in doubt whether I used good 
 judgment in granting you permission to go to 
 this party. Before very long you will be twelve 
 years old, and by accepting this invitation we 
 make it necessary to give a party to your friends, 
 
KAV BURTON. 23 
 
 if we are to keep pace with them. Mr. Gray is 
 an alderman, considered wealthy, and it would be 
 hard for us to give you such an entertainment 
 for your friends as he and Mrs. Gray can give 
 to Arthur and Florence. Society draws lines, 
 my boy, beyond which people of limited means 
 can not go, it matters not how respectable they 
 may be. I am not sure that the Grays have en- 
 tered that exclusive circle, or whether they are 
 in society at all, but if they should be, it might 
 be better for you to be under no obligations." 
 
 "Why, mother, Arthur and I just talk of our 
 sports and have fun together." 
 
 "Yes, son, you and Arthur, no doubt, will 
 always be good friends, and perhaps neither 
 will ever be much affected by the set rules of 
 the social world. I wish you a pleasant after-_ 
 noon, Ray, and now it is time to go." 
 
 After a parting kiss I hurried away. My 
 mind was full and I had to check my pace to 
 allow time enough to compose myself. I knew 
 in my heart that one of the anticipated pleasures 
 of the afternoon was to see Florence. I was 
 overflowing, too, with news to tell Arthur about 
 the possibilities of farm life, although I had 
 been told to tell no one about father's business 
 trip. My thoughts would, in spite of me, revert 
 
24 RAY BURTON. 
 
 to what mother told me just before I left her 
 side. I could not refrain from an impatient 
 stamp on the walk, when I thought of fatheras 
 compared with Mr. Gray. I knew he was just 
 as intelligent, and would be just as good an 
 alderman, if he were in the position. (How lit- 
 tle I, a boy, knew of an alderman's duties, and 
 what was required to make a successful one.) 
 It seemed to me, too, that mother was better 
 informed, if any difference, than Mrs. Gray ap- 
 peared to be; and I could not bring myself to 
 look with any allowance upon society, if its 
 mission were to compel the observance of rules 
 that would separate people who were otherwise 
 on visiting terms. 
 
 The residence of Mr. George Gray bore a 
 comfortable appearance. There was a liberal 
 stretch of lawn in front and on the east side of 
 the house, and it, like everything else about the 
 premises, was kept in perfect condition. The 
 house was somewhat old-fashioned, with large 
 rooms and wide halls, but splendid looking 
 withal, and doubtless was, when new, one of 
 the best in the neighborhood. It stood on 
 Monroe street near Aberdeen. 
 
 As I approached the place I saw Arthur in 
 the front yard, who came to meet me, and, as I 
 
RAY BURTON. ' 2$ 
 
 was the first arrival, he took me to see his new 
 croquet set. "You see, Ray," he said, "with the 
 new set and the old one, and the swing, we can 
 accommodate about all the boys and girls who 
 will be here." 
 
 .We chatted incessantly, as we always did 
 when together, and before the others came I 
 had told him a great deal about what might take 
 place sometime, and that, in case it did happen, 
 I was to have a pony and saddle, a dog, and 
 perhaps a gun. Arthur seemed delighted, and 
 said he would come to visit me and we would 
 have a grand time riding on horse-back, hunt- 
 ing and fishing. Just then Mr. Gray came by 
 and stopped to address a few pleasant remarks 
 to us, before passing on to the street. He was 
 a man above medium height, rather portly, with 
 short hair and cropped beard, and a restless 
 eye, that seemed prone to pass rapidly from 
 one object to another in short, erratic glances. 
 The property adjoining belonged to him, and I 
 observed that he walked back and forth on the 
 pavement in front of it, seemingly noticing the 
 effect of a fresh coat of paint that had been 
 given the cornice and casements of the house* 
 with that kind of an admiring look that sug- 
 gested the rubbing together of hands, which he 
 
26 RAY BURTON. 
 
 was doing industriously all the while. Human 
 nature was a sealed book to me then, but later 
 I learned that Mr, Gray belonged to that class 
 of men, who, when they are pleased with results, 
 facetiously pat themselves with a good-for-you- 
 old-boy kind of a pat, that is dearer to them 
 than caresses from loving hands. 
 
 The party passed off pleasantly, and in the 
 evening, after the boys and girls had gone, 
 Arthur accompanied me part way home, when 
 we talked of school, which was soon to reopen. 
 
 Early the following evening father returned 
 from Champaign, and after dinner gave us a 
 description of his trip. It was at that fruitful 
 time of the year when mother earth pays and 
 delivers all that she promised in the flowery 
 time of May. With orchard boughs bending 
 with ripening fruit, barns filled with the choic- 
 est hay and grain, fields of waving corn that 
 was nearing maturity, and pasture lands teeming 
 with well-fed stock, what wonder that father 
 was completely captivated by the scenes; and, 
 as his thoughts went back to his boyhood days 
 among the Pennsylvania hills, his heart longed 
 again for that perfect freedom that can be 
 found only in the country. 
 
 The farm that he had gone to see lay just 
 
RAY BURTON. 27 
 
 without the corporate limits of Champaign, and 
 was perfect in almost every particular. After 
 having told us, in his descriptive way, how he 
 was impressed, he concluded by saying that he 
 had taken preliminary steps toward the pur- 
 chase of the farm, and if mother were willing 
 he would proceed at once to dispose of his 
 business interests and some vacant lots on 
 Western avenue, which he thought would bring 
 more than the required amount. Mother 
 agreed to the plan, and the days that followed 
 were full of preparations and hope. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 IT was in early October when father, having 
 disposed of his business interests and some 
 vacant lots to Mr. Wentworth for a considera- 
 tion that exceeded, to some extent, the amount 
 needed in the deal, announced his intention of 
 going to Champaign soon to close the trade for 
 the farm. Into the days just preceding this he 
 had crowded more work than was his custom, 
 but never had we seen him more cheerful and 
 happy. In those days I was inflated with a 
 great deal of enthusiasm, and told swelling 
 stories of the kind of pony I expected to have, 
 the carriage we were going to buy, and that I 
 was to enter the university, which is an import- 
 ant feature of that place, as soon as I could pass 
 exammation. 
 
 On the Saturday before the Monday that 
 father had set for leaving, I accompanied him 
 to Mr. Wentworth's store where he had some 
 unfinished business matters that would require 
 one or two hour's attention, and while he was 
 
RAY BURTON. 29 
 
 thus engaged, I went to visit my old friend, Mr. 
 Cay. As I drew near his quaint shop I saw, 
 standing by his side, a boy who delivered papers 
 in the neighborhood, and who had formerly sold 
 them near the bridge, where I had first made 
 his acquaintance more than two years before. 
 ,His name was Frank, which was rather appro- 
 priate in his case, for a more honest, open coun- 
 tenance I had never seen among all my associ- 
 ates, and for this reason, doubtless, I became 
 attached to him. After entering and passing 
 friendly greetings Mr. Cay said, — "Ray, me 
 lad, Frank 'as just told me 'ow your father 'as 
 gone and sold hout to Mr. Wentworth and is 
 goin' off to the country a farmin'." I replied 
 that it was so, and entered into a lengthy 
 description of our arrangements, and had not 
 exhausted the subject when father looked in 
 and said he was ready to return home. Mr. 
 Cay asked him some questions about his change 
 of business, and while they were talking Frank 
 said to me, — "You will come down here again 
 before you leave the cit}^ won't you, Ray?" 
 " Yes, Frank," I replied, " more than once, per- 
 haps." As we went away, and I recalled the 
 look that accompanied Frank's question, I 
 could not suppress the feeling that fate, in some 
 
30 KAV BURTON. 
 
 way, was going to retain us in the city, and 
 when I thought of all my playfellows and 
 friends, I almost wished in my heart that it 
 could be so. 
 
 On Monday as we sat at luncheon, father re- 
 marked-'-"General Logan is to address the Grand 
 Army posts of the city at Central Music Hall 
 tonight, and I think I can attend the meeting 
 and then have time to reach the depot for the 
 eleven o'clock train for Champaign," 
 
 "Why, yes, I should think you could, as the 
 depot is so near there," mother replied. 
 
 My father had been in the service during the 
 civil war, and no one knows better than an old 
 veteran, how easy it was to shape business so 
 one could attend a meeting where this loved 
 comrade and commander was to speak. I had 
 gone with father to an evening meeting, on Mar- 
 ket street near Washington, in the summer, at 
 which time Generals Logan and Banks, Hons. 
 S. M. Cullom, Clark E. Carr and Chauncey L 
 Filley, were the speakers. I asked him if I 
 might not go with him to Central Music Hall, 
 but, as he was not coming home, he thought I 
 had better not go. Having numerous business 
 matters to adjust before leaving the city, father 
 took an early leave of us that afternoon, and as 
 
RAY BURTON. 3 1 
 
 he boarded an Adams street car, he lookedback 
 to where mother and I were standing and waved 
 an affectionate farewell. 
 
 The next morning as Arthur and I stood at 
 the corner of Monroe and Morgan streets, where 
 we usually met before going to school, we saw 
 Mr. Cay coming toward us from Madison street, 
 in what seemed an unusually fast pace for him. 
 When he came up to us he said, — "Ray, is your 
 father to 'ome?" "No, Mr. Cay," I replied, "he 
 left the city yesterday to be goneseveral days." 
 After a short pause he continued, — "Is the Mis- 
 ses at 'ome?" I answered mother was at home, 
 and if he wished to see her I would go with him 
 to the house, which was near by. After asking 
 Arthur to wait a few minutes for me, I went 
 with Mr. Cay to see mother on an errand, the 
 purport of which I knew nothing and about 
 which I was beginning to feel inquisitive. On 
 being shown into the house and introduced, he 
 refused the offered chair, and said, — "Mrs. Bur- 
 ton, be you sure that Mr. Burton 'as left the 
 city?" 
 
 "It was his purpose to leave last night," said 
 mother, "but why do you ask, Mr. Cay?" 
 
 "The truth his," replied he, "a man was 
 found in the river near my shop this mornin' 
 
32 RAY BURTON. 
 
 as looked like Mr. Burton, but—." Mother had 
 fallen to the floor in a swoon. The old man, 
 after asking me to bring a bowl of water, told 
 me to bring the nearest physician. I hurried 
 to do his bidding, but in my bewilderment I 
 felt like one going about in a dream. I found 
 Arthur waiting on the corner and told him 
 mother had fainted and he kindly volunteered 
 to go for a physician. As I was returning to 
 the house I looked south and saw Mrs. Went- 
 worth, who had been an intimate friend of my 
 mother ever since Mr. Wentworth and my 
 father entered into partnership, coming as fast 
 as she could walk. When she came up to me, 
 almost out of breath, I briefly related what had 
 happened, and she said, kindly putting her 
 hands on both sides of my face and looking 
 down into my eyes, while tears were standing 
 in her own, — "You will have to be a brave little 
 man now for it is too true, your father is 
 drowned." She hastened into the house to see 
 mother, and I sank down upon the steps in a 
 completely dazed condition. The houses, trees, 
 church spire and all familiar objects around me 
 had taken on a strange appearance. Even 
 Arthur and the physician, who were now ap- 
 proaching, [looked like persons whom I had 
 
RAY BURTON, 33 
 
 never seen. I motioned the doctor toward the 
 door, and, taking Arthur's hands in mine, gave 
 vent to the pent up feelings within me in a 
 storm of sobs and tears. In a short time I was 
 able to tell him what had befallen father. We 
 then went into the house, where we found 
 mother, who had been restored to conscious- 
 ness, lying on the sofa. Her face was pale and 
 its expression painfully sad; and, in looking 
 back over the years of her widowhood, how 
 well do I know that that look was as abiding 
 with her as if it had been a part of herself, and 
 was the silent exponent of a broken heart. 
 
 Mrs. Wentworth, whose home was near us on 
 Sangamon street had been selected to break 
 the sad news to my mother, but Mr. Cay's 
 anxiety had caused him to outrun her in the 
 race to our home, yet the shock to her was no 
 worse, perhaps than it would have been had the 
 intelligence come in a less abrupt manner. In 
 deference to her wish, the funeral was to take 
 place from the house, and the Grand Army 
 post having the matter in charge, arranged to 
 have the remains brought as soon after the in- 
 quest as possible. 
 
 There were no startling facts brought to light 
 by the coroner and his jury. Only one person 
 
34 RAY BURTON. 
 
 Hulda Jensen, had seen enough to be consid- 
 ered an eye witness; and as the drowning took 
 placebetween the hours of six and seven o'clock 
 in the evening, the darkness prevented her from 
 seeing very much, and in truth she had been 
 led to make her report to the police more from 
 what she heard than from anything she actually 
 saw. In substance her statement was that she 
 heard a splash in the river, followed by a sound 
 as if someone were struggling in the water, then 
 all was quiet. Immediately after the splash, 
 however, she thought she heard footsteps of 
 persons running north on the wharf. The fact 
 that father had on that afternoon drawn four 
 thousand dollars from the bank, and that all his 
 pockets were turned inside out and everything 
 of value taken, led the jury to come hastily to 
 the conclusion that he had been robbed, and 
 had, while defending himself, either accident- 
 ally fallen into the river, or had been thrown in 
 by the robbers, and had come to his death by 
 drowning. 
 
 Here was a case for the police to take up and 
 ferret out. Between the hours of six and seven 
 in the evening, when so many people must have 
 been crossing the bridge, why had no one but 
 this one woman heard the solash in the river? 
 
RAY BURTON. 35 
 
 Why had there been no drowning cry from the 
 victim? At this day, no doubt, somewhere filed 
 away among old records that had been in use 
 then, is a description of this case, which has 
 never had written beside it one word that would 
 tend to solve the mystery. 
 
 When father's remains were brought home, 
 it seemed to bring mother's sorrow so near to 
 her that it was difficult for her to bear up under 
 it. Never had I witnessed such bitter anguish 
 before; and, out of sympathy, perhaps, more 
 than any realization of my own loss and grief, 
 I wept with her. She was so ill of nervous 
 prostration that it was impossible for her to go 
 to the cemetery. There were no near relatives 
 of either my father or mother residing" in the 
 city, but a sister of my father, whom he had not 
 seen since he came west, lived in Pennsylvania, 
 although no'bne seemed to know exactly where; 
 so, in the' funeral procession that followed all 
 that remained of John Burton to its resting- 
 place in Rose Hill, that October afternoon, 
 there was but one near of kin — his son; but of 
 kind friends, quite a concourse. 
 
 A funeral procession, even to the casual 
 observer, is always a solemn spectacle, but when 
 you are numbered with the mourners, borne 
 
36 RAY BURTON. 
 
 slowly on by its measured movement, with 
 ample time for reflection before it arrives at the 
 cemetery, the solemnity becomes almoststifling, 
 and your whole nature asserts a preference for 
 a burial in the wildwood, where formality and 
 crape are not known. 
 
 It was many days after the burial of my 
 father before mother was strong enough to 
 leave her bed, and much longer still before the 
 physician would permit her to go out of the 
 house. Mrs. Wentworth, Miss Baldwin, Mrs. 
 Gray and many other friends and neighbors 
 called to cheer her and help, if possible, to 
 dispel the gloom that had settled so densely 
 about our fireside; but there was a vacancy that 
 could not be filled, a loneliness and sadness of 
 heart that friendly sympathy could not reach. 
 
 There are no words with which to describe 
 the sorrow attending bereavement. It can only 
 be felt, and once deeply felt, its blighting fire, 
 in some cases, burns within the troubled breast 
 throughout life, and, like a daily sacrificial 
 flame, consumes all earthly desires, until, 
 apparently, only the soul remains. Truly, my 
 mother's cup of sorrow was a full measure, but 
 with Christian fortitude she looked to God for 
 strength to sustain her unto the end. And now 
 
RAY BURTON. 37 
 
 to my mind there can come no more beautiful 
 thought than that of my mother's simple, un- 
 wavering-trust in God. 
 
 It was on the first Sunday after mother's 
 recovery that the funeral sermon to the mem- 
 ory of my father, was delivered in the church 
 where he had so long been an attendant, and by 
 the minister who was one of his earliest 
 acquaintances and friends in the city. The 
 oration contained no extravagant panegyrics, 
 but dealt with the everyday doings of a busy 
 life that had ever been guided by love and 
 duty, and had, for the good of his family and 
 friends, been cut off many years too soon. 
 
 Miss Baldwin accompanied us home from the 
 services and remained that night. Her pres- 
 ence was so consoling and cheering that mother 
 proposed to her to make her home with us, 
 which she accepted on condition that she be 
 allowed to pay the same amount weekly that 
 she paid elsewhere, for board. She belonged 
 to that large army of people, among whom are 
 some of Chicago's most energetic workers, 
 called boarders, and she was not slow to accept 
 a home with a woman for whom she was begin- 
 ning to feel a sister's love, and between whom 
 and herself there existed such an unrestrained 
 
38 RAY BURTON. 
 
 and cordial relationship. Her coming into our 
 home was a blessing in more ways than one, and 
 a home that had suffered such a loss as ours, 
 surely deserved something that could be classed 
 with the good happenings in life. To her I 
 owe what rudimental knowledge I received of 
 the higher common school branches and a few 
 of the sciences. In the years that followed 
 many were the evenings that she willingly post- 
 poned any other employment in order to help 
 me over the rough places, in my efforts to 
 master some new subject. This kindness of 
 her was fully appreciated by my mother as well 
 as myself, and we never lost an opportunity to 
 repay her in like deeds. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MY father died intestate, and, save one va- 
 cant lot on which there was a slight in- 
 cumbrance, he had transferred all his real es- 
 tate and store belongings, to Mr. Wentworth 
 for a sum of money, almost the entire amount 
 of which he had had with him on that fatal eve- 
 ning of the robbery and his death. Our home, 
 with its old-fashioned furniture, was mother's 
 inheritance from her parents, and of course did 
 not figure in the adjustment of my father's 
 property, it being in her name. If she had pos- 
 sessed any business knowledge or experience 
 she could have settled everything to the satis- 
 faction of all parties interested, at a very small 
 outlay, — and the two or three hundred dollars 
 that must have remained after the funeral ex- 
 penses were paid, would have been hers to use, 
 at that time when so small a sum would have 
 represented so much to us. On the recom- 
 mendation of Mr. Gray, however, a young law- 
 yer, Mr. Glynn, was selected to make final set- 
 
40 RAY BURTON. 
 
 tlement of the affairs of the late John Burton; 
 and the greater portion of that remnant of 
 money, that ought to have gone to the widow 
 must have been added to a lawyer's fee for a 
 few hour's work; as there was given to mother, 
 after everything was settled, the small sum of 
 thirty-two dollars. She was not disposed to 
 complain, and it was not until a few years later 
 that she told me the particulars as she remem- 
 bered them; and, by reference to my father's 
 old account book, I was confronted with the 
 fact that along with the knowledge of my father 
 having been robbed and perhaps murdered by 
 villains, stood the unwelcome revelation that 
 my mother had been robbed, in a small way, by 
 friends. As a boy I had been a close observer 
 of persons, but at this time, which is somewhat 
 in advance of my narratiye, I began a careful 
 study of the human animal in all his moods, as 
 I went about my daily duties; and with the 
 passing of the years the interest has in no wise 
 diminished. 
 
 It is surprising, too, how much can be learned 
 of the tendencies of human nature, by placing 
 one's conscience as guard over his own actions, 
 and noting the results. For instance, in ana- 
 lyzing the principle that would allow a con- 
 
RAY BURTON. 4I 
 
 ductor to pass without paying my fare, which I 
 had often done without thinking it wrong, I 
 found that it did not need to be practiced to 
 any considerable extent until it became a near 
 relative to the principle that actuates a man in 
 driving a sharp bargain or permits an adminis- 
 trator to defraud a widow. Thus, is the human 
 heart a strange battle ground, on which is waged 
 an eternal strife for mastery between the good 
 and the bad, and the result depends largely 
 upon one's condition, surroundings and am- 
 bitions. 
 
 Mr. Archie Glynn was of a well-to-do family 
 who resided on Washington boulevard, and 
 Mr. Gray, in describing the young man's bril- 
 liant record in college and his bright prospects 
 as an attorney, could not refrain from touching 
 on the fact that George Glynn, Esq., his grand- 
 fclther, had been at one time officially con- 
 nected with the Bank of England, consequently 
 there clung to the old English name a hint of 
 aristocracy, to which he attached a great deal 
 of importance. This weakness is a matter of 
 little surprise, however, when we think of the 
 great number of our countrymen, who, having 
 reached the very pinnacle of fame and afflu- 
 ence, travel abroad with their families, and in 
 
42 RAV BURTON. 
 
 many instances marry their daughters to the 
 withered, dwarfed and supernumerary scions of 
 gentility, the latter condescending to tolerate 
 their American alliances for the wealth they 
 bring them, and who in turn are endured on ac- 
 count of the sanguinary blue that courses 
 through their refined beings. Hence, Mr, Gray 
 must not be censtired too severely for this 
 peculiarity, for few there be who have not, to 
 some extent at least, this admiration for any- 
 thing high-sounding. 
 
 Whatever may have been the qualifications 
 of young Glynn to entitle him to the confi- 
 dence of Mr. Gray's friends, certain it was that 
 youth had so lingered in the lap of manhood 
 with him, that it really sounded ridiculous to 
 hear him addressed as mister. In years he was 
 somewhat past his majority, but in looks 
 scarcely eighteen; and each individual hair of 
 his incipient mustache showed that careful 
 training, which was to it what the young man's 
 college training must have been to him — a 
 grand encouragement to future possibilities. 
 He dressed in the very latest style, and his 
 clothes fitted him with such stern exactness 
 that they made him look painfully elegant. I 
 chanced to be at home the last time he came 
 
RAY BURTON, 43 
 
 on business connected with the settlement, and 
 among the pleasant remarks addressed to me, 
 while he waited for mother, was this, — "The 
 halcyon days of youth are fraught with more 
 sunshine and gladness than are any others of a 
 whole life-time." The observation would have 
 been more appropriate, perhaps, had it been 
 uttered by an older person, as it seemed to im- 
 ply that the speaker had himself passed far 
 down the western declivity of life. I did not 
 know that halcyon in any way meant peaceful, 
 nor was I sufficiently posted in logic to be able 
 to draw any comparison between my youthful 
 state and the career of a young kingfisher; and 
 being uncertain of his meaning, I said "Yes, 
 sir," in such an undecided tone that he cast a 
 hasty, half-pitying glance toward me which 
 quite humiliated me. 
 
 Although he professed a warm friendship for 
 Miss Baldwin, both being members of the same 
 church, yet he never took occasion to call at 
 our home after that last business visit, and I 
 seldom saw him except when riding his father's 
 spirited horse on the boulevard, which he could 
 perform with the cleverness of .a' jockey. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE long, cold winter of 1 880-81 had drawn 
 to a close, and the mild spring's sun and 
 shower were wooing back to life the trees, flow- 
 ers and lawn. It was at this period of my life, 
 when youthful hopes and aspirations ought to 
 have begun to kindle a flame within my bosom 
 tending toward some high destiny, that I was 
 brought face-to-face with a problem, that has 
 confronted many another youth in this great 
 city who was no older nor better equipped to 
 cope with it than was I — the problem of an hon- 
 est living and how to secure it, independent of 
 charity. 
 
 Mother had received a thousand dollars from 
 the insurance company in which father had car- 
 ried a policy for that amount, soon after his 
 death; but the expenses of the winter had made 
 alarming inroads into it, and I could plainly see 
 that it was a source of much anxiety to her, for 
 I knew it had been her purpose to keep me in 
 school, and now ways and means was a subject 
 
RAY BURTON. 45 
 
 that demanded attention and could not be put 
 off longer. 
 
 Twice in the winter, after Mr. Woodrow'scoal 
 wagon had been to our shed and unloaded coal, 
 had the driver gone away without leaving bills, 
 and as many times had little Grace Wentworth, 
 who was a great favorite in our home, come to 
 visit us and before leaving slipped, each time, 
 a receipted bill into my mother's hand, folded 
 so carefully that Grace was out of hearing be- 
 fore mother knew what the paper was. We 
 tried to accept these tokens of generosity in the 
 spirit that prompted the giver, for it seemed it 
 was more from a kindly feeling Mr. Wentworth 
 had for the family of his old partner and friend 
 than from a disposition to be charitable, and it 
 appeared to be his wish to have us accept it as 
 something he owed us rather than as a gift. We 
 could not, under the circumstances, refuse this 
 kindness, but it made mother feel all the more 
 keenly the need of an income at least equal to 
 oiir expenses, which in truth was the only thing 
 that would enable her to meet her old friends 
 on equal terms as of former days. I had ap- 
 pealed to her on several occasions to allow me 
 to secure work, which earnings in connection 
 with the amount Miss Baldwin paid weekly, 
 
46 RAY BURTON. 
 
 would enable us to meet all bills without draw- 
 ing further on the insurance money, which could 
 be held in reserve to use in any case of emer- 
 gency. 
 
 One Saturday after we had had a talk on ex- 
 penses, and mother had partially given her con- 
 sent for me to secure work after school closed, 
 I walked out upon the street, heedless which 
 way I took and thinking only of the best way 
 to proceed. I seated myself on the steps of the 
 Centenary church and soon was lost to all ac- 
 tivity about me, in my mental pictures of my- 
 self doing duty in one or another of the various 
 positions suitable to a boy of my age. I had 
 not been sitting very long thus wrapped in my 
 own thoughts until suddenly I felt warm hands 
 pressing my ears and holding my head so I 
 could not turn to see to whom they belonged. 
 Presently a voice as musical as the hands were 
 soft asked me to guess who it was, — an easy task 
 for one who had a boyish admiration for the girl 
 and knew her voice almost as well as that of his 
 mother. 
 
 "How could you walk so quietly on these 
 stone steps, Florence?" said I. 
 
 "Why, Ray, when you get into one of your 
 thoughtful moods, it would require the tread of 
 
RAY BURTON. 4/ 
 
 an elephant to attract your attention," she an- 
 swered, stepping out on the pavement in front 
 of me, and giving me a mischievous look that 
 sent little, piercing darts into my already van- 
 quished heart. I longed for someone with whom 
 to talk about my plans, and no one would have 
 pleased me better than Arthur, but out of a false, 
 foolish pride, I had made up my mind not to 
 tell him anything about our circumstances; so, 
 when Florence asked me to play croquet with 
 them, I excused myself for the time, much 
 against my wish, promising, however, to call in 
 the evening for that purpose. 
 
 It occurred to me that Mr. Cay might be 
 able to help me in someway, and acting on the 
 thought, I went directly home to get permis- 
 sion to go to • see him at once, which was 
 granted, and I hastened away feeling that my 
 mission was an important one. It was near one 
 o'clock when I approached the shop, and Mr. 
 Cay was sitting on his work -bench reading a 
 paper, and near him lay his little dog, Trip, ap- 
 parently asleep. Before I was observed, Mr. 
 Cay laid aside his paper, removed his glasses 
 and yawned quite audibly, doubtless a prepara- 
 tory to resuming work. Trip, out of sympathy, 
 yawned, too, a most lusty yawn and closed his 
 
48 RAY BURTON, 
 
 little, red mouth with a peculiar snap that 
 seemed to indicate that he, too, had shaken off 
 the languor of the hour and would look about 
 him for something useful to do. His first work 
 was to discover me just outside the door and to 
 bark at me in a very threatening manner. After 
 seeing that I was an acquaintance, he ran up to 
 me, displaying all the signs of friendship char- 
 acteristic of the dog, and in actions if not in 
 words, bade me welcome. Mr. Cay greeted me 
 in his jovial way, and began tying on his shop 
 apron. He then partly turned over an old row- 
 boat that lay against the wall, from underneath 
 which ran a large, gray rat. It did not run far, 
 however, until Trip had it between his jaws 
 shaking it vigorously. After killing it he 
 brought it to his master for approval. Mr. Cay 
 stooped "down and patted him gently on the 
 head, and said to me, — "That 'ere may be a rat 
 with a 'istory. Many of these large uns 'as 
 crossed the hocean in wessels." Then he went 
 into a lengthy explanation of the habits of the 
 rat and its disposition to steal on board vessels 
 and hide in the cargo, and in that way travel 
 from one continent to another. 
 
 It was so interesting to me that I forgot for 
 a time the business that was uppermost in my 
 
RAY BURTON. 49 
 
 mind and for which I had come to see Mr. Cay. 
 He was then called away from his work for a 
 short time, and, as I sat awaiting his return, I 
 could not suppress a shudder, as the recollec- 
 tion of the mysterious death of my father, 
 which must have taken place very near this 
 shop, came vividly to my mind. It occurred to 
 me, too, as I peered down the dark, zigzag 
 passageway leading to the south side of the 
 bridge, that a more favorable spot could not 
 have been found in the deepest solitudes of a 
 wilderness than was this for the perpetration of 
 a crime. [And at this time, many years since, 
 notwithstanding the bridge turns by electricity 
 and the elevated trains rumble over its upper 
 deck, be it said that beneath is the same dense 
 darkness.] I wondered to myself what could 
 have brought my father to this place that even- 
 ing, and whether something or someone would 
 ever reveal the facts connected with this 
 tragedy. Just then Mr. Cay returned and I lost 
 no time in telling him of our circumstances and 
 what I wanted to do. He told me very kindly 
 that he knew of nothing that I could do, but 
 that he would see his son-in-law, who was con- 
 nected with the Western Union service, and 
 probably he would find something for me to do 
 
50 RAY BURTON. 
 
 in their offices. I thanked him and was just 
 taking leave when a tall, rather portly, light 
 haired woman hastened by and up the stairway 
 to the bridge. I observed as she passed that 
 she looked back, first over one shoulder then 
 the other, as if to assure herself that no one 
 was following. I asked Mr. Cay if he knew 
 her. " No," he said, "but she hoften passes 'ere 
 and all's seems in a 'uny," 
 
 The game of croquet that evening seemed to 
 lack spirit, and I think it was because I was 
 withholding my confidence from my best 
 friend, Arthur. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THROUGH the kindness of Mr. Cay's son- 
 in-law, William Bright, I was given employ- 
 ment in the central office of the Western Union 
 telegraph company as a messenger. On the 
 first Monday morning in June, the day I was to 
 report for duty, I issued forth, clad in a bright, 
 new regulation uniform, with my lunch box, 
 also of the regulation pattern, to join the great 
 army of bread winners. Everybody was rush- 
 ing toward the down-town district with all 
 possible haste, prompted, I very soon learned, 
 by the necessity of being on time at their 
 respective places of work. All this was new to 
 me, as I had never before been much on the 
 streets at so early an hour. It appeared to me, 
 as I hurried along Madison street with the 
 throng, that everybody on the West Side had 
 secured jobs the same time I had and were in 
 haste to get to them lest somebody should get 
 there ahead of them. However, I soon became 
 accustomed to the bustle, and up to the present 
 
52 RAY BURTON. 
 
 time I have been mingling with the early morn- 
 ing and late evening crowds, and have noticed 
 little change in that restless mass of humanity 
 that moves cityward in the morning and home- 
 ward at night, save that each year the throng- 
 becomes a little more dense. 
 
 Like myself many people carried lunch, and 
 the variety of receptacles and manner of carry- 
 ing them was very amusing to me. There was 
 the spruce young man, whose box, like mine, 
 was of the folding kind, who carried it with all 
 the nonchalance of a lord in the morning, but 
 who returned in the evening with the box so 
 snugly hid away in his pocket that no one would 
 have suspected but that he had dined at Kins- 
 ley's. The man who hurried around the corner 
 at Canal and Madison streets, with a russet 
 hand bag swung over his shoulder by a strap, 
 might have alighted from the Pennsylvania 
 limited, but after you had seen him morning 
 after morning for a few weeks, always carrying 
 the bag, you concluded that he lived in one of 
 the suburbs and that the bag contained his 
 lunch. The girl who carried what seemed to 
 be a music portfolio in one hand, while with the 
 other she caught up several inches of superflu- 
 ous train, was not a member of some early 
 
RAY BURTON. 53 
 
 morning music class, but a cashier in a down- 
 town store. The food that she could put into 
 that small box must have been in such Homeo- 
 pathic particles that it would have made a scant 
 meal for even a mouse, yet that was her dinner. 
 
 When one travels the same street regularly at 
 a certain hour each day, he soon finds himself 
 meeting others so repeatedly at the same place 
 that a kind of tacit acquaintance springs up, 
 and each looks at the other and smiles, as much 
 as to say "Good morning Mr. Walker! I see 
 you are on time," and pass on, neither knowing 
 anything of the affairs of the other. In my 
 imagination I often followed those in whom I 
 became most interested, and pictured to myself 
 at what and where they might be employed. 
 The man with the pleasant face and full beard, 
 whom I met every morning on the Madison 
 street bridge, I fancied was a ticket agent in the 
 Union Depot, although he might as well have 
 been a salesman in a West Side furniture store. 
 Thus, many things conspired to keep the mind 
 engaged in those trips to and from work, but 
 after all they were only the introductory and 
 finale to a busy matter-of-fact day's duties. 
 
 I enjoyed my work very much, principally, I 
 think, because I realized that I was rendering to 
 
54 KAY BURTON. 
 
 my mother the aid of which she stood so much in 
 need at that time. The first time I met Arthur 
 after I began work was the most trying of all my 
 days in regulation trappings. My pride would, 
 not down. I have thought since that it might 
 have been as much on account of Florence as 
 her brother, but at that time I could not bring 
 myself to that acknowledgment. Arthur was 
 very much surprised, to be sure, when he saw me 
 thus attired and with a blushing countenance, but 
 after I had told him everything — that which I 
 had longed to tell him before — he grasped my 
 hand and said I did right in helping my mother, 
 and that I ought not to be ashamed of doing 
 that which seemed my duty. The greatest dis- 
 appointment to us was the fact that our school 
 days together were ended. I felt relieved of a 
 great burden after having set myself right with 
 him, and I might add that my spirits were 
 further gladdened when Florence said she 
 thought I looked like a young soldier in my 
 uniform. I believed my old friends to be my 
 friends still, and felt that I could face anything 
 in consequence. 
 
 How rapidly time flies for those who are con- 
 stantly employed! The summer had sped by 
 before I could realize that it had more than be- 
 
RAV BURTON. 55 
 
 gun. The games of croquet had been less fre- 
 quent, it is true, than the summer before, but 
 this very fact gave us a richer appreciation of 
 them, and one another, also. The leaves of the 
 maples began to show a decided tinge of red, 
 indicating that the genial days of summer were 
 growing shorter and gradually verging into 
 autumn, — that delightful yet melancholy season 
 that arrays itself in bright colors only to re- 
 mind one that the dress is but a holiday attire 
 too gay and beautiful to last. 
 
 With the coming of autumn came Miss Bald- 
 win, who had been visiting in her native town 
 in New England, to resume her place in the 
 public schools. She reminded me that it was 
 time to lay out a course of study for me to pur- 
 sue of evenings. Nothing could have pleased 
 me better. Throughout the following winter 
 and spring, not only did I keep up the work she 
 laid out for me, but I found time to practice and 
 attain a tolerable proficiency in telegraphy. The 
 boy with whom I practiced this art, I hardly 
 need say was Arthur. As we were seldom to- 
 gether by day, the hours and half hours two or 
 three times a week thus spent together of eve- 
 nings, were regarded as little more than recre- 
 ation. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FOUR years have passed since the happen- 
 ings narrated in the last chapter, and autumn 
 has again appeared in its annual visit, finding 
 me snugly housed in the coop-like office of the 
 Western Union company in the Sherman 
 House. On the particular September afternoon 
 of which I now write, I sat in a half-reflective 
 mood at my post, an open letter before me on 
 the table, so lost to everything about me that 
 my sounder, playing a regular quickstep of 
 "ch" "ch," failed to arouse me. I had been 
 working as an operator for nearly a year, and 
 had been in the office in the Sherman House 
 almost three months. The letter was from 
 Arthur, who had gone to Ann Arbor, Michi- 
 gan, to arrange to enter the university for the 
 regular course. He wished I could enter with 
 him. How my heart longed to do so, and how 
 keen the disappointment that I could never 
 hope to take a collegiate course! I was brought 
 to myself by a rap on the counter. Looking 
 
RAY BURTON. 57 
 
 up I saw a pleasant appearing gentleman who 
 wished to have a message sent, and by the 
 frank he produced I observed that he was a 
 Rock Island official. I immediately sent the 
 telegram, and as he lingered at the counter, ap- 
 parently in no great hurry, we engaged in con- 
 versation. He finally asked me how old I was 
 and how long I had been telegraphing, '^nd 
 added, by way of explanation, that the Rock 
 Island road was extending its lines beyond the 
 Missouri river points, and that many young 
 men, no older than I, were earning from fifty 
 to seventy dollars "per month as station agents 
 and operators, and if I should at any time like 
 to try railroad work, he would gladly arrange 
 the matter for me. Before^ going away he gave 
 me his card, and I thanked him and told him I 
 would take his kind offer under consideration. 
 This was new food for my thoughts. Although 
 Mr. Bright had promised me good pay as soon 
 as I should be able to take charge of a "hot 
 wire," I did not like the prospect of waiting per- 
 haps two or three years before I could hope 
 to reach that proficiency. 
 
 Instead of spending the time in study that 
 evening, as was my custom, I went forth to 
 walk and to think, — bending my steps toward 
 
58 KAV BURTON. 
 
 Jefferson park, partly through force of habit, 
 but mostly, I think, because Florence's home 
 lay in that direction. As I was passing Mr. 
 Gray's residence Florence happened to come 
 out on the veranda, and seeing me motioned for 
 me to come in. When I reached the porch she 
 said, — "Ray, were you going to pass by and not 
 stop? When Arthur was here you used never to 
 pass by without sounding your special call at 
 least." 
 
 "Since he is not at home there probably is no 
 one to answer, or who understands our peculiar 
 whistles," I replied. 
 
 "Oh, yes there is. I knov/ every one of them," 
 said she, and at once began, to repeat some of 
 them in evidence, until my laughter destroyed 
 the pursed condition of her rose-red lips. After 
 showing her Arthur's letter, she remembered 
 that she had started out to call on a girl friend 
 in the next block, and, as it was in the direction 
 I was going, we walked on together. 
 
 We had gone but a short distance, when, be- 
 fore a new residence whose front stood on the 
 modern building line, leaving but a meager strip 
 of lawn in front, Florence stopped suddenly and 
 exclaimed, — "Now, isn't that lovely!" I soon 
 found that the object of her admiration was in 
 
RAY BURTON. 59 
 
 the show window, — that recent innovation that 
 finds a place in almost every residence, and puts 
 to very shame the shop windows in the neigh- 
 borhood. It was not the window itself that at- 
 tracted her notice, but what she called the ex- 
 quisite taste in its appointments. Among other 
 things to be seen in that parlor window was a 
 beautiful onyx clock on a brass stand, so ar- 
 ranged as to accommodate the passer-by with 
 the time of day. When I suggested that the 
 clock would look prettier and certainly be more 
 useful if put on the mantel where they could 
 see its face, she replied, — "That's the way with 
 men. They can't see the beautiful in any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Except in women," said I. 
 
 She pretended to pout at this rejoinder, but 
 in an instant we were walking on and talking as 
 friendly as ever. As she would be detained but 
 a few minutes at her friend's house, she re- 
 quested me to wait and we would go homeward 
 together. 
 
 Most willingly did I forego a trip to the park 
 for the company of this vivacious creature, who 
 every day appeared to become more charming, 
 and certainly every day seemed to be getting 
 farther and farther away from me and boys of 
 
60 KAV BURTON. 
 
 my age. True, I was a few months older than 
 she, but I was a mere stripling while she was 
 developing into young womanhood. 
 
 We went home by Adams street, and as we 
 turned into Aberdeen street, we stopped to ad- 
 mire the beautiful grounds of the old Schuttler 
 residence. Before leaving the place I ventured 
 to contrast the old-fashioned places that have 
 ample yard space to the new place before 
 which we had stopped. She said, — "You and 
 Arthur are very much alike in your tastes and 
 are both inclined to old-fogyism." 
 
 After parting from Florence at her gate, 
 I walked slowly to my own home in a very 
 unsettled state of mind. It seemed that she 
 was becoming more austere than I thought 
 it possible for her ever to be. A spirit of ad- 
 venture appeared to have fastened itself upon 
 me, too, that evening, and before I retired I 
 had resolved to persuade mother to allow me 
 to accept a position with the Rock Island com- 
 pany. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ALONG blast from the locomotive's whistle 
 announced our approach to a station, and 
 my railway folder of the "Great Albert Lea 
 Route" showed all stations checked as having 
 been passed, on the division on which we were 
 then traveling, up to Horton Junction, into the 
 corporate limits of which place we were now 
 slowly and smoothly gliding. A city? No, 
 but a brisk railroad town which had sprung, as 
 if by magic, (of the mushroom variety,) from a 
 Kansas cornfield. 
 
 The Rock Island's lines beyond the Missouri 
 river points were incorporated under the name 
 of the "Chicago Kansas & Nebraska Railroad 
 Co." and continued so for several years, before 
 they were fully adopted and became branches 
 of the mighty parent stem. 
 
 At Horton Junction werethe extensive shops 
 for these western lines, making it quite an im- 
 portant headquarters. The supply store was 
 here; and it boasted also a fine, new union de- 
 
62 RAV BURTON. 
 
 pot, where arrived and departed no trains but 
 those of the C. K. & N. road. Here, too, was 
 a real-estate boom, which, by way of advertis- 
 ihg itself, furnished the electric lights to the 
 place; and furthermore built a street railway, 
 that ran about a mile back from the depot, by 
 the side of certain valuable town lots. It may 
 truthfully be said that in the two bob-tail cars 
 on this line no one ever was seen to ride save 
 the irrepressible small boys. C. K. & N. were 
 magic letters here, their talismanic influence 
 permeating the entire municipality. Banks, 
 newspaper offices and stores regarded them as 
 better omens of good luck than the well-known 
 horseshoe. At the hotel I observed that they 
 had a conspicuous place on the meal tickets, 
 and even at times, seemed to get mysteriously 
 mixed up with the hash. They were to be seen 
 on the caps of all the employes about the 
 depot and on the trains. 
 
 I had just entered the superintendent's office, 
 on the second floor of the depot building, when 
 in came a large, dark man, across the front of 
 whose cap, in white letters, was this word — 
 "porter", who approached the dignitary of the 
 room and proceeded to pull off his shoes and to 
 shine them, while he went on with his pressing 
 
RAY BURTON. 63 
 
 work, a shoeless monarch. [This same super- 
 intendent lent a hand in clearing tracks of 
 wrecked cars in the Chicago yards at the time 
 of the great sympathetic railroad strike in 1894.] 
 
 He spent one and a half — possibly two min- 
 utes of his valuable time looking over my some- 
 what voluminous letter of recommendation, 
 after which, being once more provided with his 
 footgear, he held a hurried consultation with 
 his clerk, then hastened away to catch a train 
 for Topeka, the Mecca of the system. 
 
 Th^clerk informed me that I was to hold my- 
 self in readiness to go out on short notice to do 
 relief work, and as a preparatory step, should 
 spend a short time with trainmaster Bailey, who 
 would catechise me on their order and signal 
 system. 
 
 The following winter I spent in Kansas and 
 Nebraska, usually remaining a month at a 
 place, relieving regular agents who wished 
 vacations, and at the end of each month I found 
 myself back at Horton Junction. This unset- 
 tled kind of life was not what I was looking 
 for, so I asked for and received a permanent 
 position the following spring, in a town in 
 northwestern Kansas, which for convenience, I 
 shall call Turnerville. 
 
64 RAY BURTON. 
 
 Here, in the springtime, hope rose to its 
 maximum height in the hearts of the farmers 
 and stockmen, as they watched with expectant 
 eyes the growth of the grass and corn. In July 
 all was changed. What had been a "land of 
 promise" was converted into a Sahara. The 
 hot winds had blown over the ill-fated section 
 and left its inevitable results; and on the farm- 
 er's face, where so lately hope had beamed, 
 now rested a settled look of despair, and on his 
 farm rested, somewhat less settled, the last 
 year's mortgage. The suffering that in some 
 years fell to the lot of man and beast in this 
 district, on account of drouth, has never been 
 fully related. 
 
 The primitive condition of much of the land 
 lying adjacent to Turnerville was quite a study 
 to him who had known of the west only 
 through reading of it. Here was the sod house, 
 or "dugout" of the first settler, in a state of de- 
 cay; the buffalo wallow, now deserted by the 
 monarch of the plains; the half obliterated 
 bridle path of the red man; the long-legged, 
 long-eared jackrabbit; the prowling, cushion- 
 footed coyote, that deceitful trotter, whose 
 mangy, dried-up condition Mark Twain aptly 
 described when he said "a flea. would leave it 
 
RAY BURTON. 6$ 
 
 for a velocipede;" and last, and I might appro- 
 priately say, least, the little socialistic prairie 
 dog, whose municipal traits were hardly over- 
 drawn by Irving, in his graphic description of a 
 prairie-dog village. This last named animal 
 afforded me much diversion. In Mr. Turner's 
 pasture, near my station, was a town of them, 
 and I frequently trespassed upon their domains. 
 They were quite shy, and in order to get a view 
 of them at all I had to approach very quietly 
 and then stand motionless for at least a half 
 hour, when, becoming accustomed to my fixed 
 position, one, some distance away, ventured to 
 put his head and shoulders out of his hole and 
 to bark vigorously; then another on the other 
 side of the town became a little braver and 
 showed more of himself and barked in a more 
 threatening manner; then here another and 
 there yet another, until every little mound in 
 the village emitted a protest against the mo- 
 tionless something that had dared to invade 
 their orderly town. 
 
 I must confess it made me feel very like a 
 culprit to have all their scolding accusations 
 heaped upon me; so, after I had studied their 
 fussy, chubby figures for a time, I brought my 
 hand up, as in giving the military salute; when. 
 
66 * RAY BURTON. 
 
 lo! the town was deserted and quiet, so sud- 
 denly had they disappeared at the first sign of 
 a motion. 
 
 I had been at Turnerville four months, when, 
 in July, at the time when the farmer was griev- 
 ing over his blighted corn, I became similarly 
 depressed by the hand of the company's decap- 
 itator. I lost my position by refusing to pay 
 the extra mileage charges that had been 
 assessed on an empty car that had been mis- 
 routed from my station. I had sent the car ac- 
 cording to telegraphic instructions from the 
 despatcher's office, but had kept no copy of the 
 message, so, when the car accountant traced the 
 matter up, I was left with nothing to show why 
 I had sent the car away from its home lines; 
 and my word, in regard to routing instructions, 
 was not considered. I was constrained to 
 choose between paying the mileage and losing 
 my position, and I chose the latter. 
 
 When the villagers heard that I was to 
 leave, they wrote up and signed, without my 
 knowledge, a petition to the general manager 
 at Topeka, praying him to have me reinstated. 
 They told me what they had done and gave me 
 a duplicate of the papers. I thanked them 
 heartily for their expressed interest in me, but 
 
RAY BURTON. 
 
 67 
 
 told them it would have no weight with railroad 
 officials. Ever since then I have had a tender 
 regard for those honest folks of Turnerville. 
 
 After this misfortune there seemed to be 
 nothing for me to do but to return to Chicago, 
 which I did very soon, and where I have since 
 resided. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I HAD been gone less than a year, and it was 
 not without some sense of chagrin that I re- 
 turned so soon, but when I observed my moth- 
 er's joy at having me with her, the vexations of 
 my railroad experience were soon forgotten. 
 
 In so short a time little changes had taken 
 place which were apparent to me, that no doubt 
 escaped the notice of others. My mother, whose 
 health was never fully restored after the shock 
 received at the death of my father, was notice- 
 ably thinner and paler. The silver in Miss 
 Baldwin's hair showed very much plainer than 
 when I left, — in fact I do not think I had ever 
 noticed it before. Grace Wentworth, whom I 
 had always regarded as a little sister, I was as- 
 tonished to find had grown too large to be 
 kissed by me and had assumed coy and lady- 
 like^ manners. She had made remarkable prog- 
 ress in music in the past year, being almost a 
 musical prodigy, — according to her teacher's 
 way of stating it. Mother remarked, casually 
 
RAY BURTON. DQ 
 
 that she thought Grace was becoming hand- 
 some. No one who knew her doubted it, but 
 one had to be acquainted with her to observe 
 the fact. Florence was as jolly as ever, but the 
 ring of her laughter showed traces of education, 
 and she assumed an unnatural manner of walk- 
 ing. But one must consider that the hearty 
 laugh^ and merry skip of childhood cannot 
 always remain with us. Arthur was home on 
 vacation. In him there was little change, be- 
 ing the same dear friend he always had been. 
 
 On the whole, I felt glad to be at home again 
 and to live within its influence. But I could 
 not long remain idle, I must seek employment. 
 Did you ever seek employment? You found 
 her a coy creature, I dare say! 
 
 I would go to see Mr. Bright, in the Western 
 Union office. 
 
 On my way there my footsteps seemed natu- 
 rally to take the direction of the old boat shop. 
 I am unable to explain just why it attracted me. 
 It was anything but an attractive place. It may 
 have been on account of my early associations 
 with the locality, but most likely because of 
 the kind hearted, fatherly Mr. Cay, who was 
 always to be found busy at work in this shop. 
 
 How narrow the river seemed, now that I had 
 
70 RAY BURTON. 
 
 seen the Father of Waters! Even at the fork 
 north of the Lake street bridge it illy deserved 
 the name of river, as to width, and as to cur- 
 rent, never. 
 
 If there was any change on the wharf near 
 the shop it was probably that a few more rusty 
 anchors had been added to the old time num- 
 ber, that had lain there since my first knowl- 
 edge of the place. 
 
 Mr. Cay and Trip observed me at the same 
 time and both came forward to greet me. 
 
 '"EUo, Ray, me boy, 'ow-do-you-do!" 
 
 I shook the old man's hand with as much 
 eagerness as I could have shown for a near rel- 
 ative. 
 
 Trip held up his paw to be "shook," a trick 
 that I had taught him, and further expressed 
 his delight by wagging his tail in such a rapid 
 succession of raps against the leg of the work- 
 bench, that I was fearful lest he should injure 
 that restless appendage. 
 
 In the chat that ensued I learned that Mr. 
 Bright had been transferred to Denver, on ac- 
 count of his health; the woman never passed 
 that way any more; and Frank was delivering 
 papers over a West Side route. Mr. Cay sug- 
 gested that I should go the Western Union com- 
 
RAY BURTON. 7 1 
 
 pany again. He thought it likely that they 
 would give me my old place. I told him that 
 I had set out to do that very thing, — and was 
 just going, when he said, — 
 
 "Ray, do you remember 'Ankins?" 
 
 "Hankins, the man who once worked in the 
 store?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I recollect somewhat of him! 
 What about him, Mr. Cay?" 
 
 "He was 'ere the bother day, and was bask- 
 ing about you. He is sailing on the lakes now- 
 a-days." 
 
 "I remember he was a sailor. Good-by, Mr, 
 Cay!" 
 
 "Good-day, me boy!" 
 
 I left my application with the telegraph 
 company that day, but was told that they were 
 not in need of help at the time. That done, I 
 began a careful search through the "want" 
 columns of the dailies. 
 
 This means of procuring employment par- 
 takes somewhat of the nature of a game of 
 chance, or lottery. Certainly the number of 
 letters one writes in answer to advertisements 
 before receiving a reply, corresponds very 
 nearly to the usual number of blanks to a 
 
72 RAV BURTON. 
 
 prize. The possibilities that one's mind conr 
 jures up and dwells upon, while waiting for 
 these answers that never come, serve to keep 
 one's courage up to the sticking point. One 
 feels equal to anything, — in fact able to cope 
 with a high salaried bank position, but is not 
 surprised, when, later on, he accepts a position 
 as general utility man in a department store. 
 
 In a few weeks, after having exhausted my 
 entire stock of epistolary lore, as well as my 
 stationery, I secured a position as entry clerk 
 in a wholesale clothing house. This firm, E. L. 
 Warp & Co., did a thriving business in Monroe 
 street, not far distant from the river. 
 __The experience I had received at way-billing 
 and checking way-bills, enabled me to take up 
 the work of entering, extending and billing 
 without any trouble. 
 
 "Why did you take a place in a clothing 
 store, Ray?" Arthur asked, when I told him of 
 my work. 
 
 "Because it was necessary for me to be em- 
 ployed, and this was the first thing that of- 
 fered." 
 
 "If you had waited a little longer probably 
 you could have secured a position at telegraph- 
 
RAY BURTON. 73 
 
 "If I liked that kind of work as well as you 
 do, Arthur, I, no doubt, would have had the 
 patience to have waited indefinitely; but the 
 truth is, I rather wished for something differ- 
 ent." 
 
 Arthur was such an enthusiast on electricity, 
 especially as applied to telegraphy, that he 
 had a battery and instrument in his room at 
 school, and had earned the name of electrician 
 from his associates. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE shipping room of E. L. Warp &. Co.'s 
 establishment was not very different, in 
 most particulars, from other shipping rooms in 
 the neighborhood. My desk, although inclined 
 to be migratory in its habits, was considered a 
 near neighbor to the shipping clerk's desk; 
 and, on account of their common interests, 
 (and I might consistently add, aspects,) the 
 one was very often mistaken for the other. 
 Likewise their respective clerks. 
 
 After one has worked at a certain desk for a 
 considerable time he comes to regard the vari- 
 ous objects on and about it as old acquaint- 
 ances, and is on good terms or quarrels with 
 them in the proportion that they are in or out 
 of their proper places. 
 
 On the end of the desk hung my memoran- 
 dum hook, which had the capacity for an un- 
 limited amount of chaotic matter, consisting of 
 sundry overcharges, undercharges, corrected 
 terms, etc. One needed the patience of Job to 
 
RAY BURTON. 75 
 
 reduce it to anything like order. It never had 
 been entirely cleared of its accumulation of 
 papers; probably because, like the wonderful 
 pitcher of Mother Baucis, it was played upon 
 by some occult means of supply. 
 
 By the shipping clerk's desk hung the 
 Shipper's Guide. It was an universal friend. 
 With its peculiar binding, the square, black ad- 
 vertisement of the Burlington Route on the 
 front cover, its white, green and yellow leaves, 
 very much besmeared with ink, it impressed its 
 identity so firmly upon one's mind that he had 
 but to think of it to see it. 
 
 Suspended from the ceiling near the center 
 of the room hung an immense arc light, which 
 with all the care bestowed by a kindly dis- 
 posed electrician, had a habit of "flickering," 
 often at the very time when most needed. In 
 this particular, I now remember, it was not very 
 differerrt from certain animate objects that held 
 positions in the same house with it. 
 
 The shipping clerk, Tom Bluford, was 
 among the first with whom I became intimate. 
 He was a sort of all-around genius but was ex- 
 ceptionally apt with the marking brush, which 
 he wielded with all the dexterity of Freytag's 
 Herr Pix. He had reached middle life, was a 
 
76 RAY BURTON. 
 
 kind-hearted man and very much liked by his 
 employers and associates. 
 
 Charles Snyder, whose grandfather probably 
 wrote his name Schneider, was order Clerk, who 
 attended to charging the goods. He and I 
 were thrown together very much in our work, 
 Henry Grubb, who helped Charles and who 
 followed him like his shadow, was often jok- 
 ingly called "Friday." 
 
 In the extreme end of the basement near the 
 boilers with scarcely a ray of daylight falling 
 upon it, stood the desk of Herman Pfoutz, the 
 engineer. He had spent his boyhood days on 
 his grandfather's Wisconsin farm, where he had 
 learned to love both the song and the freedom 
 of the robin; yet we find him engaged in a life's 
 work that isolated him from nature's rural vo- 
 luptuousness. 
 
 It occurred to me that certainly in this and 
 like places the employe spends the daytime of 
 his life in a dungeon, from which he emerges 
 at night to mingle with the people of the out- 
 side world. It may be that he is the respected 
 head of a family, and is looked up to with love 
 and pride. He may be "a man among men" in 
 his lodge, town or social meetings. It is pos- 
 sible that he and his good wife occupy reserved 
 
RAY BURTON. 7/ 
 
 seats in the front row at the church or theatre. 
 When morning comes, however, he hastens 
 away, not so much from eagerness as from 
 habit, to again entomb himself, as in a cloister, 
 for the space of another day. He left his home 
 in the morning, a man; he entered upon his 
 duties, a machine. Smooth-running it may be, 
 yet a machine. 
 
 I, too, became a machine of this sort. 
 
 The concern of E. L. Warp & Co. might be 
 compared to a piece of complex machinery, the 
 mainspring of which was Mr. Hildebrand, the 
 manager. He was a small man, pleasant but 
 alert. He had a way of smiling clear through 
 you, (if you will allow the expression,) with- 
 out disturbing your anatomcial construction. 
 Method was everything with him. His initial, 
 as signature on orders, was always placed in a 
 certain position, and looked as much like any one 
 of the other twenty-five letters as it did like the 
 letter H that it was intended to represent. This 
 enigmatical manner of signing is rather a com- 
 mon peculiarity, I believe, in business circles, 
 and, like smoking or wearing creases in the 
 trousers, bespeaks a certain degree of style. 
 However, he could write a good business hand 
 when it was his pleasure. 
 
78 RAY BURTON. 
 
 When standing at the desk referring to ledger 
 entries, one was liable to mistake him for the 
 ofifice boy, but when he turned up pages and 
 jotted down data in true Tim Linkinwater accur- 
 acy and rapidity, one somehow agreed with 
 the office girls, that he was a remarkable man. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 AFTER I had been six months or more with 
 E. L. Warp & Co., I learned incidentally 
 that the shipping clerk was soon to be allowed 
 an assistant. I lost no time in seeing Mr. 
 Bluford about the place for my newsboy friend, 
 Frank. His application was considered and he 
 was given the position. I was glad to be of as- 
 sistance to him, for I knew him to be a worthy, 
 industrious boy; and I had heard M^. Cay say 
 that he had a widowed mother whom he helped 
 to a living, although he seldom spoke of her 
 himself. 
 
 Frank was a strong, well developed boy and 
 soon made himself so useful that he was thought 
 to be indispensable, and was kept, not only 
 through the busy season, but all the year round. 
 
 There was one other employe of whom I wish 
 
 to speak before passing this point, a sort of 
 
 petty manager, of the name of Loftie. He 
 
 prided himself on the fact that he had been born 
 
 New York city, and was so enthusiastic over 
 
80 RAY BURTON. 
 
 anything that bore any reference to Gotham, 
 that, it was averred by some of the boys, he actu- 
 ally doffed his hat on meeting a Knickerbocker 
 ice wagon. 
 
 Mr. Loftie would have had more friends 
 among us had he not on all occasions dissemi- 
 nated such an extravagant air of superiority. 
 In conversation he was quite a sputterer, and 
 left one with a sort of confused impression of 
 whiskers and verbosity, and one could hardly 
 determine which was the more crinkled and 
 twisted. 
 
 To hear him job off a lot of odds and ends to 
 a Clark street dealer, led one to conclude that, 
 after all, he was an important man in a small 
 way. 
 
 His introduction to the shipping room, soon 
 after he came to the house, was rather cyclonic 
 in its main features. He came rushing in and 
 exploded in our midst, — these words flying hap- 
 hazard like so many shot from a canister: 
 
 "I say, Mr. Bluford, what's in this bale, and 
 by what road did it come? I want to keep tab 
 on these things, don't you know!" 
 
 "The bale was routed over the Hair line, and 
 contains a piece of 'airline cloth," Mr. Bluford 
 
RAY BURTON. 01 
 
 made answer; and each stared at the other as 
 much as to say, — "I like your style." 
 
 The shipping room was a general resort at 
 noon for almost all the men and boys who 
 brought luncheon with them. Henry Grubb 
 was always ready with a discourse on the deli- 
 cacies that his wife had just made from cer- 
 tain products that he had procured the day be- 
 fore on South Water street, thus making our 
 mouths water, and unintentionally aiding us in 
 the mastication of our dry food. 
 
 Charles Snyder's talk when not of an epicu- 
 rean nature, turned to gunning and fishing. He 
 had gone with certain members of the firm, be- 
 fore their business had assumed very considera- 
 ble proportions, on camping expeditions to 
 Wisconsin, where they had fished from the same 
 boat, slept in the same tent and probably drunk 
 from the same decanter. He told many inter- 
 esting incidents of these outings, and retold 
 many of them each season with clocklike reg- 
 ularity. They were very diverting to the new- 
 comers. 
 
 And the old packer, who had sailed before 
 the mast, and also spent some years in the gold 
 fields of Australia, never lacked an audience 
 when he felt disposed to talk. 
 
82 RAY BURTON, 
 
 Then, too, there was the quiet man, who was 
 an all-around assistant. He had not much to 
 say of exploits abroad, but was full of informa- 
 tion on general topics. At the time of the civil 
 war, he was a lad working on an Indiana farm, 
 when his elder brothers, with thousands of other 
 young men, donned the blue uniform, shoul- 
 dered the musket and marched away to the 
 front. In the last call for volunteers, he him- 
 self, had gone, young as he was, but "Appo- 
 mattox" had been freshly inscribed on history's 
 pages ere they had passed the limits of their 
 own state. 
 
 He had been, all through his life, a close ob- 
 server, and a real student of Nature. He under- 
 stood the habits of animals, and knew all the 
 wild flowers of this latitude and was able to give 
 the medicinal properties of the more important 
 ones. The names of trees and shrubs he told 
 off like reciting a well learned lesson. 
 
 We had walked one afternoon in the groves 
 bordering on the Desplaines river, far away from 
 the city's bustle, where Nature articulates a lan- 
 guage peculiarly her own and far too plain to 
 be misunderstood by her votaries. I here learned 
 that he was a Thoreau woodman. (The reader 
 will excuse what appears to be a pun at the ex- 
 
RAY BURTON. 83 
 
 pense of one of the most unique of American 
 naturalists, when I explain that I mean he was 
 much like that eminent woodman in his care- 
 ful observation.) When in the woods he was 
 altogether a changed man. He seemed to com- 
 mune with the trees and shrubs about him as they 
 appeared to reach out their graceful braches to 
 welcome him. He pointed out trees that were 
 near of kin, so to speak, and explained the char- 
 acteristics by which this relationship was known. 
 The same he did with the flowers. This was 
 the most profitable ramble I had ever taken in 
 the woodland. 
 
 It was my good fortune to spend a half day 
 with this quiet man in Jackson park in the 
 summer of 1893. I had not seen him before 
 that time for several years, nor do I now know 
 his whereabouts. Of course we visited the 
 forestry building, because it was where his 
 inclinations led him, and I was glad of the 
 opportunity of so learned a guide. When we 
 approached Indiana's exhibit, he said: 
 
 "Young man, I'll wager a double round at 
 the White Horse," (which was not much when 
 one recalls the construction of the mugs,) "that 
 I can name any or all of the trees in the collec- 
 tion." 
 
84 RAY BURTON. 
 
 Without accepting the bet, I put him to the 
 test and found him equal to the task. 
 
 But I have digressed. To return to the ship- 
 ping room, it was this quiet man who amused 
 us younger people most of all with stories of 
 his boyhood. Fishing for bass was one of his 
 favorite sports. No lessons in theoretic cast- 
 ing had he ever taken. He laughed at the 
 idea. He told of the wood-pheasant and how 
 it did its drumming; of the opossum and its 
 peculiar manner of carrying its young, and 
 that its nearest kinsman lives in far away 
 Australia; and of the otter and its style of 
 coasting without the aid of snow. He had 
 found many Indian relics, and had played by 
 the grave of Peter Cornstalk, an Indian chief, 
 who is buried on a hill-side by Pete's Run, a 
 small stream that perpetuates his name. 
 
 Thus, were our noonings spent in pleasant 
 chat, and especially interesting they were for 
 the few months that the quiet man was with 
 us. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WORKING day by day with Frank enabled 
 me to observe that there was nothing 
 coarse about his personal appearance or actions, 
 such as one might naturally expect to see in a 
 boy brought up in the street. He possessed an 
 attractive face. There played within his laugh- 
 ing eyes a peculiar twinkle that reminded me of 
 someone else whom I frequently met. It was 
 several days, however, before I found out which 
 of my acquaintances bore the resemblance, and 
 many more before I made an interesting dis- 
 covery, that will have some bearing on this tale, 
 as developments will show. 
 
 Frank had spoken several times about having 
 gone on errands to a certain physician's, which 
 aroused my curiosity and on inquiry I found 
 that his mother had been suffering of lung 
 trouble, and that he had received encouraging 
 words from the doctor. I was pleased to know 
 that he took so much interest in his mother's 
 welfare, but I could not keep my mind from 
 
86 KAY BURTON. 
 
 dwelling on the fact that the physician to whom 
 his mother had sent him was none other than 
 our old family doctor who had lately estab- 
 lished himself in a downtown office for certain 
 hours of each day. 
 
 It was about this time that I became fully 
 aware of the material growth of our old neigh- 
 bors — the Grays. They had shown symptoms 
 of opulence in many little apparently acci- 
 dental ways, which, on close investigation, 
 proved to be a sort of hand-bill advertisement 
 of the fact. 
 
 Florence had once told me in a burst of con- 
 fidence, that her father could make a thousand 
 dollars or more almost with one stroke of his 
 pen; and that, with her limited knowledge of 
 the shrewd diplomacy of her aldermanic father, 
 was a mere shadow of the real earnings of this 
 great municipal legislator. 
 
 Some years before I had heard Mr. Gray re- 
 mark to some gentlemen, who, Arthur had told 
 me, were promoters of a great improvement 
 corporation — whatever that meant — that he 
 would fix that little matter at the next meet- 
 ing. He had now been in his' ward's service 
 for six years, and, after Florence's confidence, 
 I could not help recalling her father's words, 
 
RAY BURTON. 87 
 
 and wondered to myself how many, many times 
 he must have "fixed matters" during his long 
 term in office. 
 
 At that time as well as now, there was sand- 
 bagging in dark alleys by footpads, and there 
 was sandbagging in legislative and commercial 
 halls by the very pillars of our social system. 
 Here, in this city, on whose soil not many dec- 
 ades ago roamed the unlettered savage, (sub- 
 sisting on wild game, seasoned to some extent 
 no doubt with the aromatic vegetable after 
 which it was named,) there has risen a modern 
 savage, whose perfidy transcends that of his 
 dusky brother of half a century ago. The erst- 
 while savage wore beads, — the present speci- 
 men wears diamonds. 
 
 The study of civilization has so many stand- 
 points from which it may be scrutinized, that it 
 becomes a difficult matter to say with any de- 
 gree of certainty that such-and-such were bar- 
 barous ages or that some other is the exemplifi- 
 cation of civilized refinement. 
 
 At the last election, however, Mr. Gray failed 
 of reelection, and, as if to punish his old con- 
 stituents for derelict duties, he had shortly 
 thereafter removed from the ward to a palatial 
 residence on Washington boulevard near Gar- 
 
»« KAV BURTON. 
 
 field park. The acquisition of this valuable 
 property was what led mc to conclude that they 
 were really accumulating wealth. 
 
 1 passed by their old home on Monroe street 
 a few days after their departure. It was 
 tenanted by strangers, and in the front window 
 hung a card bearing this legend — "Rooms to 
 Rent." 
 
 It was not without a feeling of sadness that 
 I looked upon these changes and thought of 
 the childhood joys that positively had termi- 
 nated with them. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ONE evening as I returned rather belated 
 from an errand to the North Side, I 
 stopped by the "Bx" Western Union office, in 
 Wabash avenue near Lake street, to watch an 
 operator in his rush of eastern work as he sat 
 at the New York table. As I stood partly hid- 
 den in the alley, looking through the window 
 at this agile manipulator of Morse, my thoughts 
 went back to the time when I was similarly em- 
 ployed, and when a very good friend of mine 
 occupied a position in this same office. 
 
 How long I stood thus absorbed I can not 
 now recall, but I remember that I became con- 
 scious that some one was near me. I peered 
 cautiously over my shoulder and beheld Mr. 
 Wentworth on the sidewalk on the opposite 
 side of the alley with his back toward me, talk- 
 ing in a low tone to the very woman whom I 
 had seen near Mr. Cay's shop. Evidently I 
 had not been seen by Mr. Wentworth. I could 
 account for his being in this locality, as he had 
 
90 RAY BURTON. 
 
 but recently traded his commission store for a 
 business in River street. I did not want to re- 
 veal myself nor did I wish to eavesdrop. I 
 was an unwillin^^f listener, but the only words 
 that I heard distinctly were these from the 
 woman — "Your sin is greater than mine." Mr. 
 Wentworth placed what seemed to be money 
 in her hand, and they separated, he going south 
 and she north. 
 
 An irresistible impulse took possession of me 
 to follow this woman. Shadowing was a new 
 role to me, and under any other circumstances 
 would have been abandoned. She turned west 
 into South Water street and it being very dark 
 I almost lost trace of her. At Dearborn street 
 she bent her steps southward and paused di- 
 rectly under the lamp by the Commercial hotel, 
 apparently undecided which way to go. I came 
 up and walked on to the opposite corner. I 
 observed in passing that she was older than she 
 appeared to be, seen at some distance, and that 
 her face wore that ghastly look that unerringly 
 marks the consumptive. Her halt was short. 
 She went west in Lake street at a rapid pace, 
 and I, on the opposite side kept a short dis- 
 tance behind. She crossed the street at Mar- 
 ket and passed quickly over the bridge on the 
 
RAY BURTON. QI 
 
 south walk, turned north into Clinton street and 
 passed up a stairway on the east side almost 
 opposite the Chicago shot works. This prob- 
 ably was the abode of this mysterious woman. 
 
 I took a survey of this triangular block, 
 whose longest angle projects northward like 
 the prow of some cumbersome freight vessel, 
 and was convinced that it was the haunts of all 
 sorts of wicked characters. I could not class 
 this woman with such. However I had nothing 
 but looks from which to judge. The little 
 business rooms that might be compared to its 
 forecastle, were occupied by a lager beer ven- 
 der, on whose windows was displayed this 
 somewhat biblical inscription— "The House of 
 David." The struggling gaslight could hardly 
 penetrate the smoky darkness, and the sub- 
 dued moonlight rather imperfectly revealed the 
 top of the majestic shot tower which seemed to 
 enjoy existence in an altogether different at- 
 mosphere from this smoke-begrimed street. 
 Everything was repulsive. Even the very mud 
 in the gutter appeared to hold itself up as a 
 sample of the filthiest of its kind. 
 
 With every step that I placed between my- 
 self and this questionable locality came a feel- 
 ing of relief as if awaking from a nightmare. 
 
92 RAY BURTON. 
 
 I was none the wiser for having followed this 
 woman, and felt heartily ashamed of the act. 
 As I walked homeward, however, these words 
 kept ringing in my ears — "Your sin is greater 
 than mine." I did not understand them, but I 
 resolved to tell no one, and await develop- 
 ments. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A FEW weeks later, Frank failed to put in 
 an appearance one morning, and later in 
 the day sent word that his mother was very 
 sick. That evening on leaving the store I 
 secured his number from the usher, for the pur- 
 pose of looking them up. I was greatly sur- 
 prised when I again found myself in Clinton 
 street and near the shot tower. Excited curi- 
 osity was fast taking the place of friendly inter- 
 est, by this time. Sure enough, there was the 
 identical stairway up the flight of which I had 
 seen the mysterious woman pass. I paused a 
 short time at the foot to compose myself, and 
 then quietly proceeded to the rooms above^ 
 where I saw on a poor but clean bed in the 
 farther room, the wasted form of the woman 
 whom I had but recently shadowed. Frank 
 met me with a kind but sad smile. His mother 
 looked at me rather blankly for an instant, and 
 then, seeming to recognize me, motioned me to 
 
94 RAY BURTON. 
 
 a seat near her, and bade Frank go on an errand 
 to the druggist's. 
 
 " Mr. Burton," she remarked, after Frank had 
 gone, "I have wanted an opportunity to thank 
 you for your kindness to my boy. You look 
 surprised, and well you may. Talking is diffi- 
 cult. Ah, me!" After lying motionless with 
 her eyes closed for a short time, apparently col- 
 lecting her thoughts, she resumed: " How 
 much you resemble your father! You see, I 
 have known you a long time. When you were 
 just a little baby, I lived with my mother next 
 door but one to your folks, on Morgan street. 
 Then I was a proud young woman with bright 
 prospects. By placing too much confidence in 
 the promises of a certain man, all was changed. 
 Humiliation killed my poor mother. You 
 surely will keep this secret from a dying 
 woman. I feel that I can trust you. Mr. 
 Wentworth, your father's old partner, is Frank's 
 father, but the boy does not know it. That is 
 not all, — " Here she was overcome by a fit of 
 coughing, and when she had recovered suffi- 
 ciently to again talk, Frank had returned. I 
 gave them such words of sympathy as my puz- 
 zled brain would permit at that time, and after 
 
RAY BURTON. 95 
 
 assuring them that I would call again soon, I 
 withdrew. 
 
 I took a circuitous way home, so I should 
 have ample time to think about these dis- 
 closures. I now understood the words — "Your 
 sin is greater than mine." How strange it all 
 seemed to me! Grace Wentworth was the one 
 who bore some resemblance to Frank, who was, 
 innocently enough to be sure, so nearly related 
 to her. 
 
 My brain refused sleep that night; and, in the 
 still watches, when I was sorely perplexed 
 about this secret that had been intrusted to my 
 keeping, that poor, outraged life in the rooms 
 in Clinton street, went out. I never heard 
 from her lips what more she had to reveal. 
 Hulda Jansen was dead, and I kept her secret a 
 long time thereafter. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ONE Sunday, several months after the 
 Grays had left our neighborhood, I went 
 to Lincoln park to visit "my pets," as I was 
 wont to style the animals. I never tired of 
 watching the pelican and his wife on a fishing 
 voyage. They are the real fishers of nature, 
 being provided with a sort of dipnet appen- 
 dage, through the meshes of which no fish ever 
 escapes. When one made a sweep with this 
 extended pouch, the other did likewise and in 
 the same direction, giving to their concerted 
 action rather an automatic appearance. When 
 one caught a fish he held his head up and 
 began such a shaking of that capacious trap 
 and snapping of those long mandibles, as to 
 create quite a commotion in the water and to 
 bring further proceedings to a standstill. This 
 was done presumably to kill the fish, or at least 
 to deprive it of a portion of its wriggling 
 power, before swallowing it. 
 
 The somewhat circumscribed prairie-dog 
 
RAY BURTON. 97 
 
 village is another interesting spot, but its little, 
 saucy denizens are as different from their wild 
 kind as are the urban newsboys from their 
 country cousins. 
 
 On this particular visit I lingered by the bear 
 dens longer than at any other place. I ob- 
 served that the polar bear, in his monotonous* 
 semicircular motion, appeared to place his feet, 
 at each repeated swing, in his former tracks, 
 which seemed to have worn depressions in the 
 cement and stones. Among the black bears 
 was one uglier than the rest, that betrayed the 
 faculty of appreciating applause. It performed 
 many cunning tricks to the constant delight of 
 the on-lookers. Among other pranks it 
 actually tried to embrace a stream of water 
 that the keeper saw fit to turn upon it; 
 
 As I turned away from these diverting scenes, 
 whom should I meet face to face but Florence 
 Gray escorted by Mr. Archie Glynn. That Mr. 
 Glynn should not remember me was no sur- 
 prise, but to be looked at blankly and passed 
 by unrecognized by an old acquaintance and 
 schoolmate, was more than I could endure. I 
 seated myself on a bench near by and took up 
 a train of thoughts that may have lasted for 
 
98 RAY BURTON. 
 
 hours for all I now remember of the lapse of 
 time. It marked a turning point in my life. 
 
 I then and there resolved to take up the 
 study of stenography. I realized fully that the 
 girl for whom I had cared, in a shy sort of way, 
 for so long a time had out-grown me to the ex- 
 tent that she associated with a man who was ten 
 years my senior, and was ashamed to recognize 
 me in his presence. I felt that I could do noth- 
 ing to bring my maturity up to her ideal, there- 
 fore, with a feeling of discontent, born of a 
 desire to rise, I took this method of bettering 
 my condition, not, however, with a hope of ever 
 attracting Florence Gray's attention again. 
 
 To any one who has gone through the task of 
 learning the multiplicity of meaning to be had 
 from a few deflected, inflected, curved, vertical 
 and horizontal lines, punctuated, as it were, 
 with a sprinkling of dots and dashes, an ex- 
 planation of the hard work that I encountered 
 is unnecessary. 
 
 During the winter following this resolution I 
 made rapid progress in shorthand by working 
 at night. When spring came, many a Sunday 
 morning found me, with other would-be report, 
 ers, seated high up in a certain religious sanc- 
 tuary, endeavoring to "take down" the deliber- 
 
RAY BURTON. 99 
 
 ately enunciated sermon. I found this to be 
 excellent practice, however much it appeared 
 to divert the gospel truths from their wonted 
 channel. 
 
 I can say truthfully, as a sort of apology to 
 my conscience on this score, that many times 
 after those days of practice, did I resort to that 
 same sanctuary, attracted thither by the logical 
 as well as the ethical purity of the sermons. 
 
 Early in the following summer I went to Val- 
 paraiso, Indiana, where I spent a term in the 
 Northern Indiana Normal School, devoting all 
 my time to speed exercises in shorthand. I 
 went there on the recommendation of a friend, 
 not because I could not have had the same 
 training here, but because I wished to get away 
 from the city, where there would be nothing to 
 attract me from the subject in hand. There I 
 made rapid advancement, and quit the place 
 with feelings of regret, because of the warm 
 friends among the teachers and students whom 
 I should most likely never see again. This oft 
 repeated aphorism of one of the professors was 
 like an inspiration to me — "You will be success- 
 ful in your work just to the extent that your 
 honest efforts merit success." These remarks 
 were directed more particularly to those stu- 
 
100 RAY BURTON. 
 
 dents who were preparing to become teachers 
 in the public schools, but appropriately applied 
 to any of us. 
 
 Hundreds of boys and girls of limited means 
 have gone there and received such instruction 
 as enabled them to help themselves, who prob- 
 ably never could have gone beyond the district 
 schools, had it not been for the low tuition and 
 cheap board offered at this institute. Few in- 
 deed there were, who, after having spent some 
 time in this workshop, left without taking with 
 them some of the magnetic sparks of enthusi- 
 asm that permeate the atmosphere of the school. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I WAS very agreeably surprised on my return 
 from Valparaiso, to learn that Mr. Went- 
 worth had arranged with Judge L — , with whom 
 he was intimately acquainted, to give me a trial 
 at court reporting. I went to work at once and 
 soon became accustomed to the routine. I 
 found it more to my liking than anything I had 
 yet done. 
 
 Mr. Wentworth, who now owned a snug home 
 on Jackson boulevard, had but recently pur- 
 chased a new surrey, and nothing seemed to 
 please him better than to drive by and take 
 mother, or some one of our family with them 
 when they went driving. He appeared in his 
 best mood, however, when only Grace and 
 myself were with him. He, at such times, in- 
 sisted that we should occupy the rear seat while 
 he sat before and attended to the driving. 
 Grace and I pretended that we were wealthy 
 folks and that Mr. Wentworth was our coach- 
 man. In all of our jokes and fun he took as 
 
102 RAY BURTON. 
 
 much interest as though he were a boy. He said 
 it made him feel young to be with such chick- 
 ens as we were. 
 
 When I called at their house, he invariably 
 took us off to the parlor where he would turn 
 the music while Grace played her latest pieces. 
 Often he said, — "Now Grace play just one more 
 for Ray before he goes" — always leaving the 
 impression that it was expressly for me. 
 
 Mother, Miss Baldwin and I had many rides 
 that summer and fall, all because of Mr. Went- 
 worth's new carraige. I was pleased most of 
 all on mother's account, as she was in poor 
 health and it seemed to do her so much good 
 to get out. Late in the fall she had gone with 
 them to Jackson park, and thus got to see the 
 World's Fair buildings, then nearing comple- 
 tion, although the fair itself she was not per- 
 mitted to see. 
 
 One day when we were remarking about Mr. 
 Wentworth's attentions to us of late. Miss 
 Baldwin said,— "I think, Ray, that Mr. Went- 
 worth's intentions are to have you and Grace 
 marry, providing he can have his way 
 about it." 
 
 "Why, Miss Baldwin, what a fertile imagina- 
 tion you have!" 
 
RAY BURTON. IO3 
 
 "I imagine notiiing, Ray, but I have observed 
 many actions that have to me but one meaning. 
 I should be very much pleased myself, because 
 I always wish the best for you, and I think 
 Grace a jewel." 
 
 There can be no doubt but at that time I 
 felt growing upon me a fondness for Grace's 
 society. It came unsolicited. We enjoyed 
 being together because we were untrammeled 
 by any stiff rules, and felt at liberty to talk 
 and act almost with the freedom of a brother 
 and sister. I am quite sure Grace regarded me 
 in no other light than that of a brother. Her 
 refined sensibilities would have received a se- 
 vere shock had she suspected that which Miss 
 Baldwin's penetration fathomed. It would 
 have appeared to her like trafficking, in futures 
 with human souls as a commodity. 
 
 I knew enough of Grace to know that if I 
 should awaken to the realization that I loved 
 her, I would have to woo and win her. She 
 was not of that disposition to be just simply 
 given away by her parents. 
 
 Just how nearly correct my surmises were 
 will be seen further on. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 I AM constrained to insert the subject matter 
 of this chapter, however much I should pre- 
 fer to omit it. One cannot expatiate on his 
 own grief. That is not to be expected. It is 
 too sacred to him — too peculiarly his own to be 
 published, yet it seems necessary here, in order 
 to complete, to some extent, the narration of 
 this somewhat kinked chain of happenings. 
 
 Toward the close of December, 1892, my 
 mother died. She had not been in good health, 
 as I have before stated, and she contracted a 
 severe cold which developed pneumonia, and 
 being too weak to withstand its vigorous rav- 
 ages, she fell an easy prey to it. I was left 
 alone. She was my nearest and dearest friend, 
 and the only relative of whom I had any knowl- 
 edge. My sorrow was keen. I thought if I 
 could but have her back again, I would do any- 
 thing within my power that would add to her 
 comfort and happiness. I thought, too, of the 
 many, many little deeds that I might have 
 
RAY BURTON. IO5 
 
 done, that I had left undone. Then it was that 
 I was truly thankful that I could recall many 
 acts and deeds of love that I had bestowed 
 upon her; often from a sense of duty, it may 
 be, yet more frequently, I now think, from the 
 promptings of a loving heart. Without these 
 thoughts to console me, I believe that my sor- 
 row would take on an accusative form and 
 would haunt me throughout life. 
 
 She was buried by the side of my father in 
 Rose Hill cemetery. There, on that bleak De- 
 cember afternoon, I lingered for a time. "I 
 have two graves now," I soliloquized, "and one 
 is a fresh one. There is room for one more 
 here. There can't be any question as to who 
 will be the next to lie down within this en- 
 closure." 
 
 Ah, how we living folks juggle with Death, 
 so to speak! We anticipate him, we measure 
 him, we cut garments to fit him. 
 
 It now is my custom to visit this beautiful 
 burial ground frequently. Whatever may be 
 our theories, as to the destiny of the soul, we all 
 have our graves. Of them we are certain. The 
 one who believes in re-incarnation has his, and 
 erects, it may be, a towering shaft of granite 
 thereon. The one whose belief is that the soul 
 
I06 RAY BURTON. 
 
 rests within the grave until called by the resur- 
 rector of the dead, may be seen to train roses 
 over the tomb. To him, who thinks that the 
 soul dies with the body, there comes a silent 
 prompting to grave upon the slab, a tender 
 sentiment. And that one, who inclines to the 
 belief that immediately after death the soul 
 wings its way to some realm of bliss, may be 
 impelled to plant upon his mound of mould, a 
 shrub of arbor vitae. Forgetting for a time our 
 creeds and isms, we theorists treat our graves 
 in very much the same manner. We mark them 
 with stones, variously carved and lettered. We 
 decorate them with flowers in summer. They 
 are charges, in a certain sense, left to our keep- 
 ing. Then, too, each one represents a recollec- 
 tion that we would not have put from us, al- 
 though sorrow be so profoundly blended with it. 
 
 Here, by these mounds of mine, I often sit 
 alone of summer evenings and recall words and 
 deeds of the departed ones. It is a sort of 
 relief, too, to think that the turmoil of life has 
 not the power to disturb that peaceful rest into 
 which they have passed, after a comparatively 
 short participation in the mysterious drama of 
 life. 
 
 On some occasions, when I got furthest away 
 
RAY BURTON. I07 
 
 from myself and deepest into reflection, it oc- 
 curred to me that then, if ever, was an oppor- 
 tune time tor departed spirits to commune with 
 the living. I have heard well-remembered 
 voices and songs, not with my ears, however, 
 but through my memory. At some times I 
 have fancied myself under a sort of beneficent 
 spell that held me as by the influence of a 
 strangely beautiful unwritten prayer. It is true, 
 I never was permitted to hear the flutter of 
 angelic wings, but I have felt the warm tears 
 start forth, caused by the tacit power of a ten- 
 der recollection. At such times, however, a 
 sense of peaceful resignation steals in upon 
 him, who can, by the faith that is within him, 
 discern for these silent sleepers, through the 
 dim vista of the future, the radiance of a glori- 
 ous resurrection dawn. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 I SHALL have to digress far enough to say- 
 that at the time I was at Valparaiso, a fash- 
 ionable wedding took place in a certain Wash- 
 ington boulevard residence, in Chicago. The 
 newspapers had much to say about it at the 
 time. One in particular had written it up in a 
 style, the unique descriptiveness of which must 
 have caused the live-stock editor to turn green 
 with envy. I procured a copy of this same 
 paper and read and reread the article. All the 
 while there was a perceptible fluctuation in the 
 operations of my physical economy, — a con- 
 gestion somewhere within me that must have 
 caused me to lose color, for my room-mate re- 
 marked, "What has happened. Burton? You 
 look as pale as a ghost." 
 
 I evaded his question, but it was quite a 
 while before I regained my normal condition, I 
 am sure. 
 
 Somewhere, folded away in the bottom of 
 my trunk is that same paper, I have no doubt 
 
RAY BURTON. IO9 
 
 with blue pencil marks indicating that article. 
 The callow youth is prone to preserve such 
 things, it seems. It is remarkable though, how 
 soon they become "back numbers", so to 
 speak. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to explain that the 
 principals in this social event were Miss Flo- 
 rence Gray and Mr. Archie Glynn. 
 
 Arthur had been at home a short time, lo be 
 present at his sister's marriage, but had gone 
 again before I returned. He was graduated 
 that year, but did not come home until in the 
 winter, so that I had seen but little of him be- 
 fore my mother's death. I remember that on 
 the day of the burial, it was the grasp of his 
 warm hand that brought me back to the real- 
 ization that I was a temporal being and needed 
 shelter and food. 
 
 I was always welcome at Arthur's home, but 
 it was owing to his personality that I felt in the 
 least at ease, for the surroundings were so dif- 
 ferent from those of the home of our boyhood 
 days. 
 
 Now, that my own home was broken up, 
 there was no other place that seemed as much 
 like it as that of kind-hearted, motherly Mrs. 
 Wentworth. There was extended to me a wel- 
 
no RAY BURTON. 
 
 come, the sincerity of which could not be 
 equivocated. Then, too, Grace's vivacity was 
 stimulating. I visited them often. Here it was 
 that Arthur found me one Sunday, that winter, 
 and here it was that he and Grace met for the 
 first time for several years. She was in her 
 best mood, and entertained us for a short time, 
 despite the fact that he had called to take me 
 right away with him. After that casual meet- 
 ing that Sunday afternoon, each of these friends 
 of mine had asked me about the other repeat- 
 edly, until I found myself a sort of speaking 
 tube between two souls that had for each other 
 a strong and mutual attraction. I had observed 
 it from the first, and, reading it in the light of 
 the truth as I did, I could but bow to the in- 
 evitable. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 EARLY in March, 1893, 1 secured a position, 
 through the kindly directed offices of Mr. 
 Wentworth and Judge L — , to do certain work 
 at the World's Fair, for a city newspaper. 
 
 A few days before going to take charge of 
 my new duties, however, I went to call on my 
 old friend, Mr. Cay, remembering that I had 
 not seen him for several weeks. 
 
 The old man received me with the same ex- 
 clamation with which he had greeted me for 
 years, — '"Ello Ray, me lad, 'ow do ye do!" 
 And old Trip, now grown quite gray and de- 
 crepit, opened his little red mouth and fawned 
 upon me with as beaming a smile as I had ever 
 seen on human face. 
 
 How I loved those old-time friends — man and 
 dog! 
 
 "I've sold me shop, Ray, and goin' to quit 
 work — gettin' too hold, ye see. The doc says 
 this river'U be the killin' o' me ef I don't git 
 away from 't." 
 
112 RAY BURTON. 
 
 "You are not going away from the city, I 
 hope, Mr. Cay?" I asked. 
 
 "No. I'll be tinkerin'in the shop at 'ome, on 
 Carroll avenue, ye know." 
 
 "I've been lookin' for ye these several days," 
 he continued. "'Ere's a small box as was left 
 'ere by 'Ankins. 'E told me to sec that ye got 
 it, and now I 'ave kept me word with 'im." 
 
 I took the parcel, but before quitting his shop, 
 perhaps for the last time, we had a long chat 
 about his future arrangements, my prospects, 
 and some past happenings that took us back to 
 our first acquaintance. After promising to call 
 to see him sometimes at his home, I took leave 
 of him. I went directly to my room so I might 
 be alone when examining the mysterious box, 
 left me by one Hankins, whom I had not seen 
 for many years. As I removed the coarse paper 
 that was wrapped around the box, I must con- 
 fess I experienced some queer misgivings, I 
 thought of all the infernal machines of which I 
 had ever read, and even gave the dynamite 
 bomb a serious reflection. These fears were 
 but momentary, however, and left me when I 
 remembered that I was no monarch, nor pro- 
 moter of a trust, nor even a railway president. 
 No one could have designs on my life, so, with 
 
RAY BURTON. II3 
 
 a Steady hand, I proceeded to undo the parcel. 
 I first came to a small pasteboard box, within 
 which was a smaller box of the same material, 
 and inside this one was yet another. You can 
 hardly imagine to what a pitch one's curiosity 
 gets wrought by undoing such a series of con- 
 cealments, unless you have passed through a 
 like experience. I felt certain that this third 
 box contained the thing itself that Mr. Han- 
 kins would have me see, whatever that might 
 be. I opened it carefully, and with my pencil 
 parted some cotton that was on top, and re- 
 vealed to my astonished eyes, my father's 
 watch. I recognized it at a glance. 
 
 I had often dreamed that father had come 
 back to live with us again, and that same feel- 
 ing of glad surprise which I experienced on see- 
 ing him, in my dreams, was now partly realized 
 on beholding once more his watch, which I 
 never expected to see again. My earliest 
 recollection of it was when he used to place it 
 against my ear, and sometimes allowed me to 
 hold it in my hands. I wept and laughed by 
 turns, like any girl. 
 
 In the bottom of the box was a piece of 
 writing paper, folded rather clumsily, which I 
 opened and read. The composition bore marks 
 
114 RAY BURTON, 
 
 of laborious effort in every particular. It was 
 written by Mr. Hankins and addressed to me 
 personally. He explained that he had received 
 the watch from two sailors, and recognized it 
 by my father's initials on the inside of the case. 
 
 They confessed to having taken it and a 
 small sum of money from my father, but pro- 
 tested that they had not thrown him into the 
 river. They said that he had fallen in, when 
 trying to free himself from their grasp. 
 
 He further explained that this took place on 
 an out voyage in the upper lake region and that 
 after they landed at Duluth he never saw any- 
 thing more of these men. 
 
 In my own mind, I concluded that Hankins 
 had been an accomplice in this dastardly crime. 
 He probably knew of my father's plans and 
 saw him get the money at the bank. The more I 
 thought of it, the more firm I grew in my opin- 
 ion that he was connected with it. I resolved 
 to do some sleuthing on my own account. I 
 kept the matter of the watch a secret, but told 
 Mr. Cay to be sure to tell Hankins that I wished 
 to see him, if he chanced to call on him again. 
 
 But after all, why a robber should return an 
 old watch, the intrinsic value of which could 
 
RAY BURTON. 
 
 115 
 
 not exceed ten dollars, after so many years, was 
 more than I could understand. 
 
 I prized the old time-piece highly, notwith- 
 standing that the return of it caused me to sus- 
 pect the man who had taken the trouble to 
 return it to me. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I HAD rented the old cottage on Morgan 
 street to a small family soon after my 
 mother's death, and Miss Baldwin, my kind- 
 hearted teacher, had gone to live with friends 
 on the North Side. I had been to see her just 
 before I began work in Jackson park, at which 
 time she told me that she intended spending a 
 large portion of her time at the World's Fair 
 during the summer, after which she thought 
 she would return to her New England home. 
 
 She owned two vacant lots on the north 
 shore, that she had bought some years before 
 as an investment, she said, and was now quite 
 elated over the fact that they had appreciated 
 considerably of late, largely because they had 
 appended to them that mysterious yet highly 
 valuable something that obtains only on abut- 
 ting property, styled "riparian rights." And 
 that reminds anyone who may take the trouble 
 to look into the matter, that there is not much 
 said about those same rights by real estate 
 
RAY BURTON. II7 
 
 people on the South Side, — probably because 
 the larger portion of them was gathered in by 
 a certain incorporation, (whose porcine pro- 
 clivities it is pretty generally conceded are 
 abnormally large,) long before there was 
 much value attached to them on the outlying 
 north shore. 
 
 It was a source of much satisfaction to me 
 that Miss Baldwin's investment had proved to 
 be a good one, for she was so industrious and 
 deserving that it seemed to me that there could 
 come to her no fortune so good but that she 
 would fully merit it. She displayed good judg- 
 ment, too, in disposing of her lots that spring, 
 since the depreciation that set in that fall has 
 hardly yet reached the bottom of the scale. 
 
 About this time it was that I called one day 
 at the store of E. L. Warp & Co., to greet my 
 old associates, and Frank in particular. 
 
 Poor boy, I felt sorry for him! He was work- 
 ing on, just where he began, with no prospects 
 in sight for anything better. True, his salary 
 had been increased a time or two, yet there 
 seemed to be no place open to him for advance- 
 ment. Mr. Hildebrand had taken a sort of dis- 
 like to him, too, despite his honesty and faith- 
 fulness. His antipathy partook somewhat of 
 
I I 8 RAY BURTON. 
 
 that same spirit that sometimes leads a man to 
 step out of his way to kick a faithful, yet fawn- 
 ing dog. 
 
 I made up my mind to try to find something 
 better for Frank, and by securing the co- 
 operation of some of my friends, we were 
 enabled to place him as shipping clerk in a 
 wholesale furnishing goods house, where he is 
 to-day, a valuable and trusted employe. 
 
 Arthur had taken the law course in the Uni- 
 versity of Michigan, and had now set up as a 
 lawyer. He was associated with an old friend 
 of his father, who had an extensive practice. 
 His prospects, therefore, were somewhat better 
 than those of the average beginner. 
 
 At this time Arthur was a frequent caller at 
 the home of the Wentworths. Grace was 
 highly pleased, I was sure, because she had 
 asked me questions about him and his pros- 
 pects in the most innocent way possible. I 
 was the older brother, you see, and she treated 
 me as such. Never did I allow this artless 
 little sister to know that any other kind of love 
 had ever found lodgment in my heart. Mrs. 
 Wentworth was just too tickled to conceal the 
 fact, — but that was quite motherly and natural, 
 for Arthur was good, manly, rather prepossess- 
 
RAY BURTON. IIQ 
 
 ing in appearance, and back of all that was the 
 fact that his father was a wealthy man. Mr. 
 Wentworth, I believe, was rather passive on the 
 subject, but of course he could raise no objec- 
 tions. Arthur had interrogated me, too, quite 
 as artlessly as had Grace. There seemed to be 
 open to me a remarkable opportunity — a double 
 role of "Brother." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 UpLYSIAN FIELDS" would have been a 
 lL good name for Jackson Park during the 
 summer of 1893. "White City" was very ap- 
 propriate, "Dream City" was much written of, 
 but "World's Fair" was the everyday name by 
 which it was called, notwithstanding the fact 
 that officially it was the "World's Columbian 
 Exposition." 
 
 Here it was that I put in six or seven 
 months of steady work that came more nearly 
 to being amusement than anything that I had 
 ever done. Not because my work was light, 
 certainly, but on account of the surroundings. 
 I think this was pretty generally the case with 
 all classes of workers on the grounds. A 
 position here was looked upon as an opportun- 
 ity and not as a task. Why, I was told that 
 among the sweepers in the Illinois building 
 was an ex-congressman. If that were the case 
 I am confident that he never has had occasion 
 to regret the fact that he accepted, for a time. 
 
RAY BURTON. 121 
 
 SO humble a position. He is none the less re- 
 spected to-day because he worked out his tu- 
 ition in that greatest of universities. 
 
 That Columbian guard whom I knew only 
 as "Cap," doubtless has finished his college 
 course, and may now occupy an enviable 
 position in life. I have no doubt however, that 
 when he looks back over his past life for "red 
 letter" days, he finds that many of them oc- 
 curred in the summer of 1893. 
 
 Among my chair-pusher acquaintances was 
 one young man in whom I became much inter- 
 ested. He was so intelligent and well-bred 
 that one could not help liking him. He was 
 not a college student. Most likely he had a 
 better knowledge of Jersey cattle and Clydes- 
 dale horses than he had of Latin roots and 
 logarithms. It was his ambition, however, to 
 prepare to enter the University of Chicago and 
 sometime to be graduated from it. Whether 
 he followed up that plan and is now a student 
 in that institution that borders on the once 
 famous Midway, or was led by circumstances 
 along some other path of duty, in his country 
 home, I shall always think that he found those 
 days spent at the "push" end of a chair an ex- 
 cellent preparative. 
 
122 RAY BURTON. 
 
 In this delightful place one never grew tired 
 of the scenes about him. The eye could follow 
 those beautiful perspectives that displayed fa- 
 cades of magnificent architecture, greenwood 
 isles, and sparkling lagoons, and in a short time 
 review them with renewed interest. The one 
 who feasted much on these outdoor scenes and 
 afterward traveled abroad, marveled little, it 
 seems to me, on beholding for the first time the 
 streets of Venice or the celebrated Champs 
 Elysees, — nor did he manifest much surprise at 
 the magnitude of the Coliseum. 
 
 Volumes might be written in a reminiscent 
 way by any one who spent much time at that 
 great exposition, as, indeed, much has been 
 published aside from of^cial statistics; but I 
 must beg pardon for this slight digression, and 
 pass on to that part that relates to the tale. 
 
 One of my evening duties was to report 
 casualties from a certain number of emergency 
 hospitals, as well as from the regular ones- 
 There was one day, I remember, that they were 
 taxed beyond their several capacities. With 
 the imaginings of an old schoolmaster, ! see, in 
 my mind, a hundred hands go up, displaying 
 their owners' eagerness to explain that my 
 
RAY BURTON. ^ 1 23 
 
 meaning is anticipated. Yes, it was the 9th of 
 October — "Chicago Day," if you so prefer it. 
 
 When one stops to think of it, there certainly 
 are many people in this big world who have a 
 vivid recollection of that particular day and its 
 throng. 
 
 I had but started on my round that evening 
 when I noticed the men lifting a patient from 
 an ambulance at one of the hospitals, who 
 looked familiar. I stepped nearer and saw that 
 it was Mr. Wentworth, very pale and appar- 
 ently dead. He had been caught in the jam 
 at the terminal station and trampled upon and 
 otherwise seriously injured, the wagon attend- 
 ant explained. I sent a messenger to the office 
 for a relief; and, being acquainted with the 
 head attendant at the hospital, was permitted 
 to remain near Mr. Wentworth, and finally to 
 assist in caring for him, as there was a dearth 
 of nurses. I had not long to watch, however. 
 Once, just before the physician got around to 
 his cot, he opened his eyes and fastened them 
 upon me. There was in them a look of an- 
 guish that cannot be described. He seemed to 
 recognize me and made an effort to speak, but 
 no sound could he utter. He squeezed my 
 hand for an instant, then relaxed his hold, 
 
124 RAY BURTON. 
 
 closed his eyes and relapsed into a sort of 
 comatose condition, from which the physician 
 was unable to arouse him. He was dead. It 
 thus became my painful duty to convey to Mrs. 
 Wentworth news as sad as was that which she 
 once brought to our home on Morgan street. 
 Permit me to draw the curtain here. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 TWO years have passed since Mr. Went- 
 worth's death, and it is again October. 
 Time has wrought its usual number of changes, 
 although the economy of nature goes on, un- 
 disturbed by the hopes and fears, the joys and 
 sorrows of men. 
 
 Archie Glynn's father had failed financially 
 soon after the marriage of that fastidious 
 young man, which threw him upon his own 
 resources — or his father-in-law. Having some 
 of the American grit mixed with his affected 
 make-up, he got down to real work, developing 
 the former, to the everlasting detriment of the 
 latter. By making what he could of his some- 
 what neglected law business, and teaching for 
 several months in the night schools, he suc- 
 ceeded in getting upon his feet, so to speak, by 
 the end of the first year after the disaster, and 
 is now doing fairly well, Arthur tells me. 
 
 Arthur and Grace were married a year ago, 
 in a very quiet manner. They are a congenial 
 couple in the strictest sense, and it would be 
 
126 RAY BURTON. 
 
 a hard matter to find a happier pair anywhere. 
 I enjoy a brother's privileges in their home, 
 which is no small consideration to a man whose 
 home is where he takes off his hat — allowing 
 this to be descriptive of one's standing in a 
 boarding house or hotel. 
 
 Among Mr. Wentworth's papers in his strong 
 box, was a sealed envelope addressed to me, 
 and which was delivered to me soon after his 
 decease. The contents has been kept a pro- 
 found secret by me until now. Omitting the 
 date and address, it read thus: 
 
 "Doubtless you are aware of the fact that it 
 has been my wish that my daughter, Grace, and 
 you should marry. If this desired wish should 
 ever be realized, will you not, for her sake, 
 keep the contents cf this letter forever a secret? 
 Should your marriage with her never take 
 place, however, then it is my wish that you use 
 this letter as a voucher in securing an equitable 
 adjustment of matters hereinafter explained, in 
 which my wife and daughter will co-operate, 
 when they come to know the facts. 
 
 You probably remember some of the circum- 
 stances connected with your father's death. He 
 drew four thousand dollars from the bank in 
 the afternoon, and came to my place about 
 four o'clock. There he found a telegram 
 
iwaiting him which informed him that the 
 man with whom he was about to close a deal 
 would be away from home for a few days and 
 that he should come on a stated date later. 
 After reading the message he went away to at- 
 tend to some business, but returned again later 
 in the evening, at which time he expressed a 
 wish to leave his wallet in my safe, as the banks 
 were closed. On leaving he went out at the 
 back door, as he had often done before. I 
 closed it after him and immediately locked up 
 for the night. The next morning I went to the 
 store earlier than usual, and saw some men 
 dragging the river near the bridge. They soon 
 hauled a body ashore which proved to be your 
 father. I was so thoroughly excited that I did 
 not think of the wallet until late that day. 
 Then it was that the tempter said 'Let it remain 
 in its hiding. The supposition is that it was 
 taken by the robbers.' I was weak enough to 
 delay, and each day that I procrastinated made 
 an explanation all the more difficult, until I 
 gave up in despair. There was but one person 
 who suspected me, and that one is now dead. 
 
 I have led a miserable life ever since. I have 
 suffered much and I have deserved to suffer 
 much, I beg your forgiveness." 
 
 After reading this letter, and reflecting on 
 
28 ■ RAY BURTON. 
 
 the rigid economy that my mother was com- 
 pelled to practice after father's death, I liter- 
 ally gnashed my teeth and tore my hair. 
 
 This man would have me marry his daughter 
 so that his family should never know what a 
 rascal he really was, and, at the same time, 
 square matters to a certain extent with his con- 
 science. 
 
 I meditated upon this letter for* many days. 
 That four thousand dollars was mine by right, 
 to say nothing of interest. Here arose a diffi- 
 culty, however, that was not easily bridged. 
 These were my nearest friends and how could 
 I apprise them of this obligation without ruth- 
 lessly throwing open ffle door of their family 
 closet and revealing the grewsome, grinning 
 skeleton therein concealed? 
 
 I, too, procrastinated. 
 
 This, secret, however, has become burden- 
 some to me. I have longed to tell it to some 
 one, and thus relieve my mind; so, my patient 
 reader, I have told the facts to you in a tale, a 
 stray copy of which I earnestly hope may 
 never fall into the hands of these dear friends 
 of mine. 
 
 The End. 
 
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