fitt£»VOL xxxtv MRS. J. E ZIMMERMAN.! Fall And Winter Announcement OF High-Class Novelty Silks, Dress Goods And Millinery. A poeiiivelj p«erleaa collection of high clasß stafla. coufioed exclasircly to us. The firet choice of the world's foremost weaves harried the Caetom House UQiler old tariff duties, we can ofikr yoa valaea at pricea untouchable by any competition, as our orders were all placed with importers tbre? months ago. SILKS. DRESS GOODS. 25c—Beautiful Changeable Silks, all 25c All-Wool Novelty; value 40c. colors; real value 40c. 25c All-Wool Surges; value 40c. 50c —Extra value in Changeable Silts 25c All-Wool 36-inch Ladies' Cloth; •old everywhere at 65c. value 40c. 69c —Elegant assortment of Figured 39c All-Wool Novelty; value 50c. TaiTetta Silks, all shades; real value 75c. 50c —We are showing the largest as „.. _ , ~ sortmcnt of All-wool Plain Cloths, 75c—Black SUin Duchess, sold every- „ „ _ ' . serges, Henriettas and Novelty Dress •w ere or 1.00. Goods ever shown in Butler; quality sold _p elsewhere at 75c. Remember these JACKETS. styles are exclusively our own; cannot be seen elsewhere at 75c, $1 to #a, in The Rothschild Wraps for 1897 are plain and fancy weaves. We are show here in all their superb quality, style ing as fine and exclusive line of pat and finish; the perfect fit of these Gar- | terns as can lie found in the largest city stents is well known to our trade. Note ; stores. The prices on tl.es* fine import the low prices. At $2.98, good quality ed Dress goods 25 per cent less than city Ladies Beaver Cloth Jacket. prices. $5.00, an extra quality of Boucle at;d MII I INF R Y Kersey Jackets, style and figure guaran- J IfllUullltll I » All the new effect" in Hats, Feather 1. $7 50 to sls 00—we are showiug a line Birds, Ribbons and Flowers. Nt that cannot be roatche 'in the city. shapes, new combinations. This w'll U a great Ostrich season. Our Ostricil Cloth Capes and $2 50 to sls 00. . . . ... i Goods were all bought prior to the aa |s 00 —Boucle Cape, lined through- vance Velvets also. Come and visit out, trimmed in Thibet down, front our Mil linery Department; it will p y round collar; also, ume style in I'lush , jou. Values always the best, Prices Capes; real value of these capes, $8 50 always the lowest. We Stall not eoumerate the many classes of gooda we k«y»p Come to oar store, visit evnrv department, ask to see oar Winter Underwear. Blanket*, F.anneis, Yarns, Am , It will cost yon coiiiiotr —to buy ia yoar choice. All g.ioda a*, their lowest price.j, And Everything a Bargain. | Mrs. J- E Zimmerman r T. H. BURTON. % T. H. BURTON. fSTYLE.f Style Everything -Now-a-Hpys And we are glad tiiat it appertains to every article in our stock, for correctness •cd elegance are sure concomitants to artistic development. It Cost* Yoa More to be la Harmony With The Best Expressed Styles of Tbe Season, Than to Constitute "A BACK NUMBER," By taking anything and everything irresponsible dealers may offer you. This es tablishment intends always to keep up with the times and you pre sure of that basis yourself if you will trust us to serve you. T. H. BURTON, 120 SOOTH MAIN ST., BUTLER, FA. J. S. YOUNG, Tailor, Hatter and Gents Furnishing Goods. •Summer heat makes the problem of looking dressy and a bard one u. J. S. YOUNG, Tailor. 101 S. MAIN St., - - - BUTLER, PA I u'j ?T?A Pleasing Prospect^ h * BTO FIND THE COAT so satisfactory at / the first trial. This is the universal testi / 'Yr T l/\ mony of our patrons, who are all lovers of 1 tv \l/v)f 1 1 neat fitting clothes. Without them no man M XY 1 ■ 1 lo.jks well drehsed. 1 J f r I—A COAT WELL MADE is made to fit and JL jKfT —-l l not to set iust hit or-miss; an artist well may JESn'l l \ / aee S la ' le delight in seeing a nest fitting coat, y I|M l\ Good material, gtxxl workmanship and goofl I Vv f*N fits are the proof that have made our tailor \ 1 )||/ \\ ViTi '"K a success. We guarantee this and ask S /VJI |V— Iyoulyou to look at our patterns. Onr prices are 1/ ;i y? Ci cut down to the lowest notch. \ s -\. m \ / P C ucnu MZSCHAHT TAILOK, / If v\ j I KEtK, iaM M^n^t^ntUr^a C. F. T. PAPE & BROS, JEWLERS. Full Stock Of—^ Diamonds, Watches, Rings, I'lateware, etc. : have arrived and we cordially invit.- you to call and examine our stock and get prices before buying elsewhere. Wc can save you money. OUR $3.50 watch is the best in the market. ' 'ert , OUR $4.50 watch is the same as you pay $5.50 and $6.00 elsewlieri:. We have about 15, $4 8 day clocks left, will close them out at $2.35. Stock Of—^ { ~l,adi»*«»»« Gents filled watches is complete. We can save you from *.},<» to fi.'x / " on these goods. We have the finest line of rings in the country, ! Diamond rings from sy 7s to $250. We give our / special attention to watch repairing. We Handle Nothing But The Celebrated 1847 Rogers' Bros. Platewarj. 122 South Main St., Butler Pa. - THE BUTLER CITIZEN. No Gripe fThfn you takr Hood's Pills. The big, old fash ioned, pills, which t#ar you sll to pieces, are not in it with Hood's. Easy to lake Hood's ar.d easy to operate, is true of Hood's Pills, which are _ I I up to date in every respect. 111 Safe, certain and sure. All ® drucjlsts. C. I. Hood & Co.. I-oweil. Mass. The '"libr Pills to lake J>ltta Hood's »»r*ap;ir.lU Thin Is Your Opportunity. On receipt of ten eents. cash or irtamps, ■ generous sample will be mailed of the most popular Catarrh ami Hay I ever Cure (Ely's Cream Balm; sufficient to demon strate the great merits of the remedy. ELY BROTHERS, 66 Warren St , Kew York City. Rev. John Reid, Jr., of Great Falls, Mont., recommended Ely's Cream Balm to me. I o»n «nij hasizo his statement, "It is a posi tive cur* for catarrh if nsed as directed."— Rev. Francis W. Poole, Pastor Central Prea. Chorea, Helena. Mont. Ely's Cream Balm is the acknowledged core for catarrh and contains no mercury nor any injurious drug. Price, CO cents. RAILROAD TIME TABLES. P. 11. & L. K. It. It. Sehednlc of Passenger Train* in efleri May 3u, l&y.. ijutler tim* Traine leave Bntler as follows, ("on neaut Lake Fxprtss ~:2~i a. in . Ere Mail 0.55 a. m. and Greenville Ac<"Oin mudation S:UC p. ni. Irainn p.t r>' 'i' follows: Connrtirt Lake Expre.-n p. m., Erie Mai! - j. in. »i.d fir. en ville Accominoi :tioi> n. ui SUNI'A V TIiAINP. CYnmaui i ; k< Kxpn as ltav» s at ?:JC a. u. and fM v<- :•! U:55 p m. Tr u: It; •. i.; 7:25 makes conn tion with Lr i fly. ;:t Siienango. w. • tr:::n lea.in., i i makes conne o with Is. \ 6. I* at Mercer and v-,i iin«- at Sbtu ■ • • • tit; train kavu j *" .*. .i in.-.Lei- ■ l.r iftion with N. Y . it Aierctr i.i ... i:d w,nth A. b CROUCH, Ticket Agent II JTi bhL KG & VY Railw.t) Schedul of IV sender Trains in effect Ma> it, 1897. lsLTr.tR TIME. . I»«*|tnn»«d*ti.»n (J l : > A.M i* 17 A..*: Allegheny "H.vr"> 1; M 'J 3& " New (oftl*- Accommodation 1 V# r.ji n II " Akron Mail H a m 7 (B r.u Allegheny Accommodation 10 <*# " 112 Is Allegheny Exprrw... 3 (ft r.M 4 55 44 Allegheny "Flyer'* • : 3 O r > * Chicago Lxj»nw •' 40 " 1- Ij* " Allegheny Mail 540 44 8W " Allegheny 44 flyer** 7 " EHwicml Arr.*mmodation 5 4') 44 7 «*J 44 Chicago Limited '• 4<> 44 'J 17 AH Kane ami ltradfonl Mail | 9 32 A.M 6 3f» r.» Clarion AcconiUi'xl«ti 3MI a* llullrr JuiK'lmii.. " 7C, *WU <« JS '• lt.itl.-l .1u11.ii.,11. 1..-UVI- 7 :»i H l« IS 17 u •£. SI Nutrunu An Ire 7 3» » 12 '£> a 36 <; i« T.nntum ! 7 42 'J <« 1* »» 3 4S •> 'ft IIW'UHIIII !* S» 1 oO| 4 'HI ft, >!ii.n-l.ui,v . . H <*J « 31J 1 "J; I IS r. M Allnrbeny a 27, • 43' 1 *»! 4 sS •. 4 : \ M.jA.M.jl*. M jl*. M.|P. M. ■SI MIAY TllAlSri Butler for Alli^-lieuv City aii'l |>riiu-i}«l iutcrOK-duri l -tationn at a. in., aim MIJ |i. in. NoKl'll. WEEK IIAYrt A M.,A. M. A M P. M I'. V. Alleglieuy City... ,l«-uvi- 7 m», 11 s'» s6o t. In |.|»ai7«liurK. 7 11( '• Is 11 M 7 3 (i'» ... C> trtrtuont I '.i It* 11 461 3 13! ... .. !'J >'ll S'J 3 3**' !7 l»iMHi.ii. 7 .14 :i IIS IK 143 .. 4 .Natrona 7 »J u 4:: Is 13| 3 61, f. ;.| Ilullcr Juoctiou. .* r;. 7 4'- 4 1- S3| 4 lit'i 7 " buil«r Jum.Li"ii I •■ ■ 7 i- »>• 1- 4 lu. 7 n Haxol.burg 8 In 10 16 Is 4j 4 30i 7 "Jl UUTLI K . M 36 in .in 1 17 6 Of. 7 .V» A M A M 1". M |P Mil.? SUNDAY TKAP. - Iwr All-vl.-t.y « , f,r h ■ l«r au.l prim'l|«l lu'. -r. iate.i-.ti i.. *T i' . pi ~i »:30 p. lu. Mtu Dart. r-jlt THE EAST. Vut 1 P.M. A. Ml i-.M P.J' 2516 r, s6|lT Bun ai 1 17 - T CT'-1 nolle 1 !v IS 2 3J-H) 7 4*". 1 1 v But. ■.l . »r i K > M 7 tvlar K re«|.. !» k > 1 ' . 3*i' i 631 " Aiier* .1 . i -i u,.. " x IS ' a oil 804 - I . ." son :• 4: 4 ° i\ ■ ■ i„iw.,i - 7 trt ' ■ H 61-' .. "73 606 9 fc: '' : . ' 7 ,1 ■ 16 H .l it. • '..tciwtk>n. " 5 I 'l'' 8 do ;; IN " ! • i" : i -» -n 3 4 •• 6 *%■ " ruia>! ' i'l - P. >1 P. M \ V !p. '• On ,Su♦ .I/i 1 I Kutler 7X> a in., f. Mttff 111 J Phi] i Ids In l!i *gh f .ili.r I' . f. «:ut Wiav«- Pltt*->nTx (Ur l'»: liati'iu), an follows: Atlantic Rxjin-SM, daily 3:."V) IV nn *yl van la Limit"! •• 715" Day KxprrM. " T VI " Main Lino " 8 ')0 ** ttillaJHphia Kxprart, ' . 4:kJp.v ""astern Exprtmti, " " Past Lin*, M .8:10 •* .'liila'l'a Mail, KundayN only Bi4o A.M Fl - AM) HhATINGiiTOV 1 ;,YS BURNERS AND FIX. TURKS, HOSE, BATH TUBS 'NAMML AND iNiPRPD WELSKBACH Ui BUHNER, A. H. QBKIENLUN 107 hr>t |efter*o:i bt. BEE KEEPER'S SUPPLIES SUCH AS Ulves, S tr.ua 9, Urood Krauiov f*ectlotih •< •*it-,!»•«. and ir ! • . 'i *-« thu w«es' jKh:;;: It price*. Iz nn' M »;rpli/ Mercer , \V« * » Ntdr a r cer/ tun•, BUTLER THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30. lHi>7 "unn n m [Copyright, iBgC, by J. B. Llpplncott Co.] CHAPTER I. My father.Hugo Livingston,of Mount Livingston, Philadelphia, may be com pared to a superb annual which, tower ing skyward, blooms bravely for a sea son, but dies rootless, leaving "to those who have loved and aJmired it tender memories of beauty and fragrance— nothing more. He inherited early in life a good un derstanding. fine estate, a famous cellar of Madeira, and the handsomest leg's in America. These, in combination, fur nished himself and his friends with an abundance of meat, drink and enter tainment. He spent his money like a prince, and, whenever he went, scat tered broadcast both dollars and jests. Need I add that his purse grew lighter than his laughter?—that he died full of years end honors—a pauper? A brilliant man of the world, he never attempted to make money, because, as he often observed, the catchpenny cares of a merchant or banker wore away, by constant attrition, the bloom of high breeding—that exquisite veneer which distinguishes from the common herd the gentleman of lineage, leisure and culture. My mother —sweet soul! I can scarce recall her face —w&s a Schermerhorn; her full-length portrait (by the younger West) hangs to-day in the gallery of Barabbas Boulde. The curious will please note that it is flanked on the left by a remarkable picture of a sapphire and diamond necklace, a masterpiece of Meissoniet (the great Frenchman has paid but scant attention to the coasae, putty-colored features of Mal tha Boulde, rightly considering that the gems, not the woman, deserved im mortality), and on the right by a Ma donna of Andrea del Sarto. Between these two presentments of things material and things spiritual stands my dear mother, who settled with the nic est adjustment in her awn lovely per son the conflicting claims of body and soul. My father has eaid a thousand times that she loved him tenderly to the day of her death —I was barely ten years old when this great misfortune befell me— and he swore fondly that of all the women he had met she alone had enshrined herself in his heart as the kindest, the truest and the purest of her sex. So much for my elders and betters, Before my father died, he gave me some advice. He had little else to be stow. "Hugo," said he (I was named after him), "what are your plans for the fu ture ?" "The future?" I replied, vaguely; "upon my soul, I've been so occupied with the present"—l had just l>een graduated from Yale—"that the future has not had my consideration." "Hugo," said my father, gravely, "you are young and ardent; and to such the choice of a profession 1h no "You would make a sorry lawyer." "I might go west." "The farmer, Hugo, is the historical fool. Go east. If you wish to travel; the Pierian spring is not to be found in Colorado or California. If you were an Englishman, I should adviee the army or navy; but you are too old, and our officers play but a paltry role. Asa money-grubber you would have to sac rifice on the nJtar of Mammon your youth, your breeding, your conscience" —I quote my father verbatim, neither indorsing nor condemning his words— "and that precious thing, your leisure." "What am I to do?" "Make haete slowly, my dear lad. Tbe small sum you inherit under your mother's will is sufficient to carry you, afoot, all over Europe. Your face, name and wits should prove passports to decent society. Leave this question of a profession sub judice; but don t idle, and, wherever you may be. set apart so many hours each day to seri ous study." Conceding that my father was a man of prejudice, I submit that his advice was sound as a Newton pippin, and came not amiss. I believe in the con servation of energy, and his words chimed harmoniously with my own nebulous ambitions. Accordingly, some two months after his funeral I decided to set forth upon my travels, being reasonably certain that he knew me better than 1 knew myself, and doubting nothing of his affection and solicitude for my welfare. "The Lord help you!" said my moth er's cousin, a famous banker, who had offered me a Btool in his counting house. "You are a bigger fool than your father." "Did you ever tell my father to liis face that you considered him a fool?" I looked him fiercely In tbe eye, and he stammered out: "N-n-no." "I thought not. I have his whip in my possession, sir, and know how to use it." In this Cnmbyaes vein I cut adrift from an influential kinsman who had good-naturedly flung me a tow-line. In his wake I might have steered my bark to fortune, lolling at ease In the stem sheets; but I was no parasite, and my dear father's good name was my most preclouß possession. For two years I jogged cheerily along the high roads of life, avoiding as much as possible the by-paths, the vias tene brosa, and following the finger of Fsncv, surelv the most complaisant courier In the world. The dame, how ever. amused herself at my ex|>enne upon several occasions. I at*- a haggis in Scotland, and some blutwurst in Ber lin; but, thanks to her, I listened to Tanuhauser at Bayreuth. saw the moon rise out of the Adriatic at Venice, float ed down the Danube from Vienna to Bu oharest —an enchanting voyage—trav eled acro«B Norway in u cariole, and skated through Holland. Finally I tied down In London to 18 months' hard work as a journalist. But the tramp fever was In my veins, and the daughters of Themis had a tan gled skein to unravel. Thus it came to pass that In the spring of 'Bl I regis tered my name at the Acropolis hotel of San Francisco. I liad passed leisure ly from state to state, and my small capital had assumed microscopical pro portions. Wth the exception of half a dozen magazine articles —some of them not paid for —1 had done no work. But I carried good letters of introduction, had accumulated plenty of material, and confronted the future with a grin upon my face. In this mood, looking at the world through rose-colored goggles, I sat down to breakfast upon the morning succeeding my arrival at the Acropolis, and picked up tljo morning paper. I was carelessly scanning its columns, when the following advertisement met my eye: "Wanted—A young, strong, healthy mar.graduate of a university preferred, who roust be an athlete, a scholar, and a gentleman. Large salary to right man. Apply Omega, between the hours of ten and eleven, at the Consoli dated savings bank." Reading these lines, I speculated in legard to the number of young men in California w ho would consider them selves eligible candidates for the "large salary," and, pursuing this train of thought, I reflected that it might be amusing to prv*»uiit iuys«;!f between the hours of ten and eleven at the Consoli dated savings bank. Accordingly I did so. It was the gratification of an absurd whim (unless we take into considera tion the daughters of Themis), but it involved me in an amazing adventure. To my infinite surprise, the bank was not surrounded by n crowd of athletes; and the cashier informed me. with a silky smile, that Omega was within and alone. "The San Francisco youth," said I, "must be singularly modest." "Admirable Crichtons," he rejoined, "are scarce m black tulijis. Do 1 under stand, sir, that you are an applicant?" L'p to this moment I had not consid ered this very obvious question. None the less I replied promptly: "\es.' He looked me up and down, a queer smile curling his lips. Then he held out his hand for my card. "My name," I replied lightly, "is —Al- pha." , The cashier nodded pleasantly, and disappeared. When be returned, after an absence of ten minutes, his smile was still more accentuated, "Omega," he murmured, "is in the president's private room. Kindly fol low me." I obliged him, and found myself in flating my chest and squaring my shoulders. Upon such occasions a man wishes to cut as fine a figure as po«- slble.and I'll confess that theenigmatic smile of the cashier piqued me not a little. Feeling that'l had embarked upon a fool's errand, I followed my guide down a corridor and into a hand come room. At a large desk was a small man, out of whose dried-up, wrinkled, pock marked face gleamed a remarkable pair of eyes. 'Hie owner of these waved me. to a chair. I bowed and sat down. "Mr.-" "Alpha." "Mr. Alpha, let me give you my card." Upon it was engraved a well known name —Mark (ierard. I has tened to return the compliment. "Ah—Livingston. Yes, yes; son of Hugo Livingston?" "I am." "Yale." "An athlete?" "1 played right tackle on the foot ball team, and I hold the amateur rec ord for putting the shot." The man of millions lay buck in his padded chair and half shut his eyes. From beneath puffy lids he scrutinized me sharply, stroking the while an im perial which sprouted sparsely upon a pointed chin. "And your scholarship, sir?" "I must refer you to the faculty." He grunted approval. "How are you fixed—financially?" "Two hundred and fifteen dollars and thirty-five cents makes up the sum total of my capital." "Ahem! and a stranger to our city. Well. Mr. Livingston," he chuckled softly, "I'll strain a point and be per fectly frank with you. It happens that I can use a young man like your self jf—jf ),e be prepared to encounter danger—l say danger—in my service. Does the word danger daunt you?" "Not particularly." "I'm willing to pay the right man SIO,OOO a year." "And the nature of the service, Mr. Gerard ?" Jl> held up a'lean hand. "Pardon me. Mr. Livingston, we will discuss that presently. In consideration of the mag nitude of the salary, you reason ably infer that the services required will be out of the common. All your enr ergiea, capacities, potentialities, must be devoted to my interests. 1 need, not to put a fine |>oint on it, a fathful slave." "I think." 1 said, rising, "that I'll wish you good morning." He frowned and tapjied impatiently upon the table. "I've no fancy," I remarked, "for golden chains." "Pooh, pooh, my boy! Excuse an old man's bluntness, but don't be a fool. This is the opportunity of your life. I like your face, I like your name, and I am sure you can put the shot. Your deltoids are admirably developed. You are, possibly, the only man this side of the Bockies who can fill the bill. What, may I ask—now, don't get angry —do you consider yourself worth as an employe?" "I can earn with my pen about two hundred dollars a month." He laughed contemptuously. "What a princely income for the son of Hugo Livingston." "Do I understand," said I, "that you wish to engage me now and instruct me In my duties later?" "Exactly. You are a football player, Mr. Livingston, an expert at the game. You must have taken pairt In many a contest not knowing what the out come would be. You risked your limbs, your life even, for glory. The services I shall require at your hands may de mand the exercise of those qualities which distinguished you on the campus. |I can say no more." My curiobity w-os stimulated. By some freuk of destiny a ten-thousand dollar salary was flung in my face. Pau peremque dives me petit. "You have Raid enough," 1 replied. "I can't afford to let such a chance blip. If you want me, I'm your man." "Good. Will you dine with me to morrow ?" I accepted promptly, and took my leave. The cajsliier eyed me askance, and I nodded carelessly in response to his unspoken question. "So he's given you the job," he mut tered. Then he smiled, derisively, I thought, and sputtered out: "My congratulations." 1 returned to the Acropolis, and or dered luncheon —wometlung worthy of tli«s occasion, to wit: a nice little cold pint of Clicquot, some pom pa no—in llavoir the mullet of tip: Pacific—-a Chateaubriand truffle and a Parmesan omelet. The old Roman proverb—a favorite of my poor father's —spero in festis, metuo seeundis —pricked my sensibilities, ond also my npj">etite. Ten thousand dollars great Scott, what an income!—were not to be light ly earned. A smart tap on my right shoulder dismissed such speculations. "Hello. Hugo," said a familiar voice. "What the deuce are you doing in < ali fornia? Taking care of yourself, I see." He glanced at the debris of my luncheon as we shook hands. I had not seen George Poindexter for many moons and I welcomed him warmly. "Of course," he said, awkwardly, tak ing the chair next mine, "I read of your father's financial troubles and subse quent death. I tru>t. old man, you saved something from the wreck?" "Not a nickel." As we smoked our cif"rs in the court yard, walking up and down beneath the palms, George asked we many ques tions, which 1 answered. He was a na tive son of the Golden West, heir tolurge JliL k ** • */ pi r ov. ied such 4 wiue us this, and I "ud so. He scorned pleased. "I'll giveyo'i a bottle of Lalitte after dinner," he said, solemnly, "which you will appreciate. I'm glad you know the difference between good wine and bad —between dining, as we are dining, and mere eating. You like pictures, eh?" "That one belonged to us," I said, glancing gloomily at a fine Constable. "I'll let you liavc it—w hen you want it—at the price 1 gave for it." He named a considerable sum. "Yon would like" he [>eered at me from behind his glass —"to buy back the old neres?" "Yes," I replied, with energy, "1 would." "Things are coming your way, my boy. Lucky, now, wasn't it, that you read that little 'ad*? How long, at. say, thirty dollars a month, would it take to buy that picture, or a dozen cases of wine even? Eh? eh?" Fifty minutes later the dinner (as he said, a dinner fit for a prince) came to an end, and we returned to the library, w here coffee was served in some won derful Belleek chinacups. Then my host unlocked a grotesquely carved Chinese cabinet and produced some curious ci gars, cigars never seen in the market, long and thin, with outside leaves of velvety fineness, and a fragrance which lingers still in my memory. These we lighted. a:id Gerard, sit ting near me with his back to the lamp, sighed softly. I confess that I was nervous. The elaborate dinner, the rare wines, the talk, turning as it liad upon the glory and desirability of things material, had stirred my senses, but aroused my sus picions. Why, I asked myself, why this |«u-atle of wealth, this worship of the Coldcn Calf? (JerarJ, watching me with his shrewd blinking eyes, inter- j preted my thoughts. "Contrast," he said, abruptly, "color§ our lives." "And the jade," 1 returned, "seems ' to paint blindfold; all the pigments on | her palette lavished upon one fellow, 1 while his brother r-.an, more deserving ixiss'blv. must content h'mself with a , daub of neutral gray." "Your tolcrless man," snapped my j host, "is rot contented; and, take my word for it. the under de-g in the fight —who fee;* . lr- lmve;. ur sympathy— generally i'e-°rves to I e bitten. 1 have •r! ' • • r I ' to r the difference between the rich man i arid the poor man. I have done it—eh?" The sharp "eh?" provoked me. "Yes," I answered, calmly, though my pulse was running riot: "you have | made me realize, in a way I could scaroe- I ly Jiave btdiuved |>ossible, ull that I've lost." "And all, my young friend, that may l>e found again." "Yes," I returned, bitterly, "but the cost, sir?—the moral and physical price which must be paid?" "I'm coming to that. Yesterday, as soon as you had left tbe bank, I wired the president of Yale, and received his answer be fore sundown. It was more than satisfactory. I'm proud to enter tain so distinguished a guest. And now, as my time is valuable, to business! I must confide in you. That confidence, no matter w hat happens, must never be abused." "Not by me," I answered, firmly. "I'm willing to pay you," be said, slowly, never taking his piercing eyes from my face, "the large salary of SIO,OOO a year if you will take upon yourself the duties ar.d responsibilities of being"—ho paused, and the pitch of his voice dropped, "of being tutor and guardian to my only son." "Your son?" I stammered. "I under stood you had no son." "Tin II • OP -I nrettv lad " love well—too well ror my {Kiaeß H! mind or body." "But where is he?" I exclaimed. He ignored my question and contin ued: "The reasons which have forced me, sorely against my will, to keep mv child's existence a secret from tbe worlu are these." CHAPTER 11. The reasons, however, remuined for a minute or two longer in his own pos session. An idea, a happy thought, brought a strange sparkle to his eyes, us he lose from his chair, crossed the room and unlocked a dispatch box. From this he drew a red morocco case, which he opened and banded silently to me. It contained a beautiful miniature. "A very lovely woman," 1 said. "My wife, sir." I glanced involuntarily at m.v host's wrinkled face. Was it possible that once he had played the enchanting part of Borneo to such a Juliet as this? Or had she married him for hi wealth? He held out his lean fingers for the miniature, and. leaving it in the palm of his hand, continued: "I met her at Red Gulch, where I bad made so much money. \on have beard of tli- Black Gulch excitement: and you know, possibly, why the place came to be rechristened. No? Well. I'll tell you. It was the scene of n horrible . tragedy, one of those blood-curdling crimes which shock the w hole world j itnd then are forgotten. Any old-timer will give you the particulars: but such details are not to my taste; and to be i honest with you"—he shuddered —"I : cannot trust myself to discuss Ihem. | The crime" —his voice sank ton vvhis(>er | —"made a coward of me for life. Do you know, Mr. Livingston, that one may suddenly lose his grip and never re cover It? That happened to me. The man who was murdered and so horri bly mutilated was my partner, and— (iod!—my emotion will not surprise vou when I add that he was killed by mistake. The assassin Intended to miw- ( der me. My partner had arranged to , visit fan Francisco to buy some ma chinery: but at the last moment be was I j unable to undertake the journey, and I ] went in his stead. That night thedeed | was doi done, too. in darkness, J which. muted for the blunder in iden ( tity. 1 ut the ferocity of the murder I cannot be described. Only a man in | spired by the most malignant hutred I could havt butchered u fellow-creature I as—" , "He was caught red-banded, of course?" "No. lie is still ut large." "And you know him?" "Yes." "But the motive, Mr. Gerard?" He held up the mlnluture and sighed. "Your wife!" I gasped, overwhelmed with surprise and curiosity. "She was not then my wife. She was married at that time to—to —the man— the fiend. I say. who killed my poor friend Ferdinand Perkins. And. fool that I was. I never suspected t he truth; and the devilish cunning of the mon ster threw suspicion upon another. When I learned the real facts, months after the tragedy bad occurred. It was too late—too late!" i His distress moved me profoundly. "The motive was jealousy, the jeal ousy of an Othello. I bad paid atten tion to his wife, a blameless woman, Mr. Livingston, good as gold, und loyal to the ruffliui whose name she liore. She must huvc known that I loved her. for ; he came to me one I :g!;t. t*.v o weeks .ifter the murder, and implored me to tai • her away I jumptd u! the op! or tunily, a d lis! ..I i.u questions tlicu. Vi'.. !.<• TJ-J •» " • * * ..c ,m n u uuicu—it was caueu lieu Gulch because —you understand—be hind the fastest team in the country, bat none pursued. The husbud— I didn't know it at the tlnie —was down with brain fever. a;.d raving. Well, sir, ore year later 1 made that unhappy iady my wife by th? laws of the land, but, at her s|>ecial request, secretly. Siie easily obtained a divorce from hex tirst husband, on the ground of deser tion and failure to provide. He had dis appeared. Hut, to my amazement, my wife refused to live openly with me. Sl.e gave these reasons:" lie paused and wiped his forehead. "This fiend had killed Perkins be lieving him to l>e me, and had betrayed himself to his wife in his sleep. Small wonder! She dared not tell a soul, ftarirg fur her own life; but she con sisted a confidential servant, a Greek, who was rny right-band man and en tirely tr;:rtw ortliy. lietv.een them they ur.ccrt!:cd the evidences of the crime, til? dt.i'.xs 1-e wore. the knife. The '' >■" -; alive, as I told von—hat a streak of insanity in his make-up. lie h;u\ a madman's cunning, a madman's stre-ngth. and a madman's ferocity." 1 began dimly to understand my mis sion. Sooner or later 1 might exj>e*-t to pit myself against this crazy Her cules. The prospect was not pleas ing. "Why did y»" not prosecute," 1 "when you learned the facts?" "Prosecute?" he echoed. "Not a jury- In the laud would have sent him to the gallows. The testimony was purely presumptive, and the fact that 1 had eleped with and married the accusedV wife would have invalidated her evi dence. I submitted the case, bypo ! theticallv, to the greatest criminal "law yer in America, and he laughed at me." "1 understand." "1 supi>ose." he continued, dreamily. | "I might have taken the law into my i own hands; 1 might—l had the op | j)ortunity more than once—have shot ; him down: but, Livingston, it's a dis- I graceful thing to admit, but, u& 1 told | you. 1 am a coward. That awful night's i work destroyed m.v nerve, made a worn ; an of me: and my wife implored me j on her knees to leave the monster alone. | I"—he laughed nervously—"needed no j urging, and appreciated fully my posi j tion. 'lf he finds us out.' said she, 'he will kiil us.' And I believed her. "I made my arrangements, my boy. with that astuteness for which"—his " Tbu uiuila Intended to mnrdar ana." eye twinkled—"l'm somewhat famous. Money cau work miracles, and I hedged In my poor Lucy with twenty-dollar gold pieces." "Your wife is alive?" "Yes," he replied, gloomily; "but anxiety has made an old woman of her. Ber beauty has gone. She is the wreck of what she oace waa. The Greek lie cannot leach the lad much longer!*" "And the name, Mr. Gerard, of the murderer?" "Burlington." "What? The writer? The social ist?" "That is he. I meet him." he whis pered fearfully, "at banquets, at the clubs—everywhere." 1 thought of that familkir figure. Damocles and the sword; of the wretch In the iron chamber, whose torture Poe has described; of many others whose ! sufferings have stained the |>age of history; and, noting the haggard fea tures of the man beside me. his twitch ing fingers, his prematurely gray bead, his sunken chest. and in Hal lent cotv trast to these his love of life and pleas ure, his great wealth, his power and fame—noting this and more. 1 con sidered my own future, and trembled. I make certain, looking back, that dur ing this interview I bode good-by to my youth. The realities of this world, stripped of gloss and glamour, grinned sourly In my face, cackling derisively, "lie cannot be mad." I exclaimed. "He is mad," persisted Gerard. "Walt till j'ou see him. The glare of insanity is i. his eyes—others have noticed It —but his self-control Is marvelous. What" —he leaned forward and | touched my cheek with his clammy | finger»—"what will happen w hen that i self-control gives way ?" The SIO,OOO salary began to shrink. "IJut your son," I said, impatiently; "you wish me to bo tutor to your son. What has he to do with this man?" "Burlington." returned my host, in | somber accent*, "will slay my boy as he slew my friend. lam certain of It." "Then he knows of your marriage?" "He does." "Of t he birth of your aon ?" "Yes." "Of the sanctuary?" "I don't know. I fear the worst." "Mr. Gerard," I said, "are you sure that you are not the victim of your nerves? Possibly this man never com mitted the crime your wife charges him 1 with. Time ha*—" "Tut, tut!' he retorted, peevishly. "!>o you take me for a fool? Burling i ton knows what he is doing. Ix>ok here —and here." lie drew from his pocketbook half a dozen sheets of paper. These were soiled and utained from use. The man nust have read and re-read them a thousand times. He spread one out upon his knee, and without glancing at it. repented to me from memory the contents. " 'You cannot escape me." he mur mured. 'but 1 know how to wait. 1 shall strike you down when you least expect it." " He handed me the paper, but I oould not decipher the words upon It. It l*,re u date. March 17, 1873. and was written upon a printed telegram form. "A telegram!" I exclaimed. "Yes. and written in cipher, a ci pher several of us used at Red Utildi. i and one familiar to Burlington. Here is another message, of later date. It runs: "You have a child. Take good care of it.' When I received this." said Ger ard, tapping the faded |>apcr. "1 went i.early crazy with terror. I had solved the problem which had puzzled me for five years. My life. In the opinion of this demon, was not worth the taking, lie had reserved for himself a sweeter revenge. Nothing would glut his appe tite but the blood of my Innocent chil" <*>f rrair-« I I v' ' but I removed liar at once to a safer i [jluoe. and for months ceased to visit 1 her. With the aid of my written dl i lections she escaped the lynx eyes of ! our enemy, and as time passed 1 be ' gin to forget bis VlvwU. Ha had )* ll San Francisco, and my secret agents knew nothing of his w hereabouts. Then Le reappeared one day. and greeted I me on Market street with a dia bolical stare. A few days later I received this: 'You are lookingtoo weß. Dow Is your boy?" My friend, I fear you despise me. but I. God help me, had seen this man's handiwork. I—I—" "Mr. Gerard." I said, earnestly, "you have my deepest sympathy. Such ter rorism is infamous. But, pardon me, I cannot but hope that this villain is playing with your feelings, destroying not your body, which might bring him to the gallows, but your mind. This cruel anxiety will—" I "Drive me mad. I know it, and then those defenseless ones will be at hi* mercy." "With your immense wealth," I said, slowly, "you could hare bribed men to—" "Kill him for me?" he said hurried ly. "Yes. yes; I have thought of that; | j but I couldn't do It, my lad—l couldn't j do It." With these words fled my lingering doubts as to whether or not 1 should accept tho perilous position of tutor to young Gerard. My reception, the words of Poindexter, the appearance of my host, had filled me with misgiv ings. These misgivings were ban ished by pity and indignation. "I insulted you, sir, by the sugges tion; pardon me. If my poor service® are required, they are yours." He held out his hand, which I clasped firmly. "You are very strong," be said, wist fully. "Will you stand, if necessary, between my son and Burlington?" "That," I replied, grimly, "is in the bond." * "Blood tells," be continued, still clasp ing my hand. "I have some qualities which men value, but a bastard strain flows in my veins. I should have cut A poor figure in the middle ages. Well, well, you have put new life into me"— the tones of his voice strengthened per ceptibly—"and I shall not be ungrate ful. If you do your duty, as I know you will, the reward will be commensurate." "Yes," I said, heartily, "the prize is worth working for." Be glanced at me queeriy. "1 was not thinking of the money," he muttered. The streets were empty of foot-pas lengers as I trudged briskly (the night was chilly) to my hotel. A fog, held at bay by a high wind, was impending and likely to roll in from the ocean before dawn; but the sky above the city was clear and starlit. In my pocket was an address, my destination on the morrow; in my heart was hope; in my head were a score of surmises chasing each other into blind alleys. I had walked aome 75 yards, when an impulse moved me to halt and look backward. Gerard'sman sion, its mansard roofs sharply out lined against the purple firmament, crowned the top of the hill; and its massive proportions, in such striking contrast to the bodily presence of the owner, impressed me sadly. The very stoues of his palace proclaimed the Titanic efforts which had piled one upon another. The lust of millions, like a monstrous bat, had sucked from x its victim vitality and virility. To the right and left were other palaces; and I recalled the histories of the men wlio built them, and shuddered. The loneliness of the spot, a solitude grim with spectral activities, waa awful. Suddenly I became aware that an other beside myself waa intently re garding the house above. In the shad ows across the street, leaning against a lamp-post, stood a man absorbed in contemplation. Fancy urged me to 1 recognized him at once from Gerard's description. His eyes coun tered mine savagely; then the heavy lids fell. "A fine night." said I. "Ay." he returned, coldly. "The temples of Plutus," I continued, "make a brave showing by starlight." He jerked his hand In the direction of Telegraph Hill. "There, sir. Ilea Dago town; there, the Greek quarter. Hard ly a stone's throw from us is China town. where opium fiends and pesti lence run amuck; and her#" —he laughed harshly —"is Nob Hill." The somber significance of his words could not be misunderstood. Once in Chicago I had heard a famous an archist address his associates. At my urgent request, a Pole whom I had be friended stood my sponsor and saved me a broken head, possibly a broken nsck. The dominant note of the speech bad been a truly demoniac sug gestion. The actual words of the speak* 1 er were void of offense (from an official point of view); but beneath the velvety periods was the 6norl of the wild beast. Burlington's apostrophe, commonplace enough, brought to mdnd the Chicago den, with Its flaming gas jeta and brutal odors. "Come." be said. abrupUy, "we shall both catch cold loafing in this bitter wind. I'm chilled to the marrow al ready." We paced a few steps in silence. "We might wear each other's clothes," he said, answering my unspoken thoughts; "but I," be signed, "am past 1 my prime. By the by. I've seen you ' before. Your name Is Livingston—Hugo Livingston?" "Yes." "And you write—fairly well for a be ginner; but there's nothing In It; not bread and butter. My name is Burling ton. You are a stranger here? Just so. As a brother craftsman let mc welcome * you to Coamopolls. There is lots of material here, hard and soft. Do you propose to work it up?" ' His questions, and a certain warmth Df manner, put me ou my guard. I wondered If he had seen me leave the house of his enemv. "My plans are uncertain." "Curse It, I'm frozen. Will you ' pledge me In a glass of hot brandy -end water?" 1 "Thank you, no. I'm past due at my 1 hotel. Good night." "We shall certainly meet again," he ' returned, carelessly; "and so, Mr. Liv ingston, au revolr." The next morning, sipping my coffee, ■ paragraph in one of the dallies sea ' boned my reflections. It proclamed 1 briefly the immediate departure of Bur lington for lands unknown. At 11 1 o'clock I bad left this man at the oor -1 ner of California and Kearny streets; ' and the forms of the Enquirer went to pretß at three. Talk, according 1 to Dr. Holmea, ia spading up the ground for crops of thought. Assuredly my conversation * with Burlington had brought forth ' already an abundant harvest. [TO SB COSniTUSD.) I " —- r Aa Arstt Attack. t "I don't see how Lodger can find tlm« for so many secret societies." r "Well, what I don't understand is how he finds time for his business."—Chi cago Journal. Too Zealoas. ' "Prosperity, they say. is just ahead of us" "Is that so? Well, I've been chasing r it so hard I'm afraid that I've run past Louisville Courier-Journal. » ' N0.38