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
<sut we've solved it; and for once economy, comfort ?nd fashion go band' in hard
O'ar suuitner suits are finer in fabric, nobbier in pattern and more stylisl. in r.
ban e*er before, tbey fit your curves and yet they're not sweat bath outfits. Th
prices may surprise y >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 . <f>
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»«*|<irt. » Arrive
.tllegtieny Ac<«>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</ti i 1.1 i.M 'J 5. r » A M
Foxbiirg Arciimnc xlation 710 44 8 Off 44
ISI'XDAY TRAINS.
Allegheny Express B IS A.M 9 32 44
Allegheny Accon»TiKidati-m J 5 *4) km 4 55 p.sf
New CaKtli- Acrom initial ion ' H 15 A.M 7 03 44
Clikago
AU'-KIH ii) AccommodHtion , 7 OCi 44
Tmin« going north at tfcS'J a. m. an<l 3:15 |v in. n»ak<*
cl<K»e connwijon at Foxt'Urg for point* on Allegheny
Valley Ky.
For through ti« u* all |M/inti in th<* nortti
**-*i or » uthwe«t apply to
A. 11. CROUCH, Agent,
l(. It. REYNOLDS. Sup'!, Kutler, Pa.
F.f*hurg. Pa. C. W. BASSETT,
A. 0. P. A. Allegheny, Pa
PENNSYLVANIA "SL.i
W' STEN PENNSYLVANIA DIVISION.
HJt'TH. WKEK DAYS
V. )1. A.M. A M. I'. II I" M.
lilll-t.lt lj-avc H •£, h dull 15 ■£ as "> <V»
'ire \r.iv. r, M H iffk It :> 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
F<ir 'l#-taili"l infcrmation, w&drtmn Tho* K Watt, IV*
Apt. Western Lrbitrit-t, <Vjrner Fifth Avenue and Smith
HelfJ Street, I'ittshiirg, Pa.
J B. IIUTf'HIHON, j. R. WOOD,
General Mai.uwt <»en'l PuMr. Agent
j < be Place to Buy
CO< >l
- 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
** • */
p<j i i
ryw
•• Don't be a fool.**
interests, and as g;;od and kindly n fel
low as I could wish to meet. Presently
he said: "1 suppose you're looking for a
berth?"
"I have one already."
"A good one?"
"Ten thousand a year," I replied,
lightly.
"Phew! Ten thou— You're joking,
Hugo."
"Not much." 1 pulled the Enquirer
from mj* pocket, and showed George the
"ad." "I applied for that." I said, "and j
got it."
Poindexter halted, an amazed look in
his hazel eyes. Then he whistled and
laughed.
"Where's the joke?" I demanded.
"Not on you," he replied, "but on us.
The fact is that 'ad' has been running
for six months, and durii.g that time
hundreds have presented themselves at
the. bank, in vain. Now you, an effete
Philadelphisn, carry off the prize. Why,
ineji got tired of applying. Old Gerard
just looked (it 'em and gave 'em the
bounce. I'ut, Hugo, what does tjieold
duck want you to do?"
"That, (ieorge, is a secret."
"Oh! I beg pardon."
"Not necessary. The secret is a se
cret to me."
"It is? You don't mean to *ay you've
accepted the. job blindly?"
I detected a note of anxiety in his
voice which puzzled ine. George, of
course, knew the financier; and ujion
that knowledge I decided t<» draw lib
erally.
"It was there to take or leave. George.
What sort of a man is Gerard? Tell me
about him."
"lie's a holy terror, lingo. And an
other thing, if he. pays you ten thousand
rjollars a year. b*» * II expect to get
value received. You can gamble on
fbftmexrrr «•«= -
voice-and 1 encouraged him to talk. It
appeared that Mark Gerard was a most
singular person. He had accumu
lated a large fortune by sucking—l
quote Poindexter —other men's brains;
and this vampire-like quality endeared
him to few. He was generous as a ca
liph if he liked a man; but he had no
friends. lie was secretive in his busi
ness methods and sensual in his pleas
ures. Certain stories. George added, in
a whisper, were afloat in clubland;
stories that hinted at a double life a
Hyde and Jekyll existence. Gerard had
been known to disappear for months at
a time leaving no clew to bis w here
abouts. Such persons, .ding to
George, should be handled with tongs.
The nature of these communications
was not reassuring: but I had no wish
to cancel my dinner engagement. On
the contrary, I cursed the 1 iggard
hours which yawned between appre
hension and comprehension.
"I wonder." said George, as we part
ed, "if that old fox chose you because
you're a stranger." This hypothesis I
had overlooked.
Upon the morrow I duly presented
myself at the Gerard mansion. I pos
sessed a suit of dress-clothes, in which
I arrayed myself with lively satisfac
tion. I hadn't tied a white cravat for
over a year, and my hand had lost
something of its cunning; but I felt
at home in my sables and —I will not
say a gentleman, for every son of the
Golden West is a gentleman, but —a
gentilhouime.
My patron greeted me with a keen
giance. He wore, what he had worn
the day before, a plain business suit;
and he received me in the library.
"Cocktail?" he asked, abruptly.
I bowed; and tbe butler brought the
drinks.
"To your very good health," said
Gerard, with his queer stare.
"At your service, sir."
"I hope so," he replied, with an odd
chuckle. "You've a fine appetite, eh.'
That's right. And I'm going to gi\«
you a dinner worthy of it. Yes, yes;
a dinner fit for a prince."
He led the way to his dining room,
and we sat clown tete-a-tete. Mr.
Gerard plied me with questions, and his
servants with meat and drink.
"Know many people on this coast?
he usked, as he gulped down his soup,
a wonderful puree of chicken, with as
paragus points In it.
"Not a soul, except George Poindex
ter."
"Ahem!" He frowned. "The less
you see of him the better. I presume
he vas at Yale with you. .lui-t so. A
fool! Leave fools alone. I'm afraid of
fools. Knavivs 1 run handle."
He gobbled up his fish, and he tried a
new tack.
"You ain't engaged to be married?"
he blurted out. "No? Glad to hear
It. And you said you were on orphan—
eh?"
"I don't think so; but I am an or
phan."
"Good! I mean" —he blinked and
grinned at hi.s sli) *'l mean, my boy,
that for the game abend it's better for
you to be —er free.'
"You spoke yesterday of slavery."
"Ha, ha! so I did, so 1 did. Well, well,
we're all slaves, iili. tv. e lin a slave
to my million*; you ought to In- a slave
to your appetite and—er —the exi
gencies of youth. \ou were brought
up in luxury? Your father was a rich
man?"
"Yes."
"I know all obfiut 11. . How does
th ■ Chiii en u Yqtn it your palate?"
I beet nie < t ie In need at* Jy.
y father'scei! J" l:u!el, i.'a were
«. ... lut he ! iii >i 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