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About Omaha daily bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 187?-1922 | View Entire Issue (Jan. 1, 1905)
mi ii i n "I- ' ' t IB wo mass TP CKTl S"W2.Q iIIKmIGMII! I MOMS 3teiUL &i VJJLik OSS)" mxd aTCerJ ussujc h tQ JACK " TREVELAN, counted among the I k Iwealthltst nf Australia's ranch farmers, mar I I r i -. 1 last m-k Irene Meigs, pour singing girl I jLJr I "' Hnitun. anil they are now going to Australia g J .... ... a 1 : t 1 1 l'Unna UJf I IT' Way OI jliriini, rnilB, rillll, T iciih, an.1 ll.inie. Wealthy Australians havs married IMiur girls Km before thin, but neve under cir cumstances mi earangeiy and weirdly romantic. Trevelan fell In love with a voice a voice In a phonograph and he Searched the world over to find the girl who owned the voice, determined to m.irry her if he found her free to wed. Two year ago .1 din Trevelan h :i I J the voice In the phonograph fur the 1 1 1 time, lie was with a party of rough men mlnets, shet lrlvers, cattle owners, farmers, gam I lers, and camp followers on the way overland from Hock hampton to some in wly discovered i gold workings In the headwaters of the Isaacs river. Trevelan was rich ami was only with the "rush" because he liked the exclt-m. nt " Dig Jack " everybody called him. lie was :l years old. II feet 2 Inches tall, broad shouldered as a Hercules, and muscled like an athlete. He was known all through the length and breadth of Queensland as a man who could outrun, outfight, out wrestle, ouillft any tr.an In Aus tralia, lie had In alen the fleetest sprinters in tli colony. He had whipped the ohampton heavyweight of Australia and New Zealand in a fair fight. He had thrown the Greek wrestler four times out of five In the Athletic club at Adelaide, and was known at Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne, and even clear around to Perth as the best of all that Australia could do In a fair field at any game. One Came He Didn't Know. nut there was one game that Big Jack Trevelan had never learned-the game of hearts. He had never loved a woman, although scores had loved him. On this night in the rough mining camp on the road to the In i u s rlvi r two years ago Jack Trevelan lay on a blanket, smoking his pipe and watching the stars fur lack U fa US O-ee-o-ho O-ee-o-ho l-e'-o-ho!" " ! say. Mose, don t forget to write to me when you get to Saint Louis!" ae not gwlne to forget to write to you, honey 1 11 put your in cents on that 4-11-4-1 ei soon as the boat lands.' Ry this time there was a runh from all parts of tha camp. Somebody In that forsaken, out of" the way corner of the world had a phonograph and the queer voices which had broken the stillness of the darkness were supposed to accom pany the departure of a Mississippi river steamboat from Memphis to St. Louis. The crowd listened while the phono graph continued: " Well, captain, we're off for St. IaiuIs. Can't the boys give us a song?" "Why. certainly; boys, strike up a song!" There was a laughing chorus as the dusky deckhands responded : " Sailing, sailing. Over the bounding main. For many a stormy wind shall Wow Ere Jack comes home again." " Bay, captain, that's great. Give us another, boys." " Down Mobile, down Mobile. How I love my pretty yellow gal Down Mobile!" Obe- a stentorian voice an- " Well, captain. I'd like to see the strong young man that handles that pick!'' Tick? W hy, you Hibernian chump, that' tha anchor!" Phonoqraph Makes a Hit. Two hundred men crowded around the tent to listen to the harsh muflc of the phonograph, and laughed and cheered i.s they begged Its owner to "put In another plate diently the machine was rewound and no u need : " ' In the flood Old Summer Time.' sung by the Hayden uuartet." The phonograph r'ayed the " Good Old Summer Time " three times before the crowd was satisfied. Then the machine announced ' ' pown Where the Wuriberger Flows,' sung by sung by sung by sung by sung by sung by " 'Cut it out." laughed and shouted the crowd as the owner hastened to stop the machine, saying: "That plate got scratched on the way out here from Chi cago, and it would keep on saying 1 song by, Sung by.' till the blamed clockwoik run down," Mid the owner. Finally the phonograph struck a less discordant note. The soft, smooth tones of a violin rang through the air for a moment, and the crowd of rough men Involuntarily be came silent. Then the clear notes of a girl's voice came from tho sounder, singing the words of "The Harvesters." Never tn Australia had so sweet a voice been hoard. The crowd of miners, cow punchers, and roustabouts scarcely breathed until the song was Mulshed " Tlay that aguln play It again!" were the shouts that of something else to do. He had pitched his tent far to tha edge of the camp, away from the noisiest groups. Suddenly on the still night air there cams from a tent In tha darkness a whirring, rasping, wheesing, grating aound and a queer, far away metallio voice broke through tha silence: " Hurry up there you niggers! Get a move on youl Haul that gang plank Int Lively, now!" There was a chorus of dusky voices: a" came spon4aneously a the taM note died away, and every man, without reqtieet, threw a silver ruin on the table uniil several hundred dollars were plied up liefore the eyes of the nstonishiI owner. The phonograph repeated the girl s song once more. After that the crowd dispersed and there was no more rollicking gayety In the camp that nlglit. Haunted by a Song. John Trevelan had heard every song, but h id not Joim-d In the crowd. The song of the girl affected him ntr.mgi l -so otrangely that he visited the tent of the owner nf the phonograph after all the camp had gone to sleep. Th.it w.n the reason why the phonograph didn't play the next nig'it. and it was the reason, too, why the iiueer instrument .n safely packed In John Trevelan's baggage. John Trevelan at the end of a few weiks returned in hi ranch-farm neur Warwick, and lie had the phonogr.tnti wm him. He delighted all his people with it for such a tn h i I never been seen In that imrt of Australia, lint lli.tr one song that the phonograph was never permuted tn i, produce to a crowd. That was "The Harvesters." sung by the girl with whom " Itlg J tck " Trevelan uni oini inuxH li i fallen In love. When he was alone the machine pl.ivid the piece for him constantly. It lulled him to sh ep nt niu'lit and woke him In the morning, lie studied the nice until hi spite of the metallic harshness of the machine, he km v every flexible quality and every swiet. snft txpresMion ...hu Trevelan felt that he would know the voice among ttmus.in N Orudually Trevelnn fitted a girl's features and foun to th voice. He pictured the girl us slight, with nil oval f.n i . clear brown eea. brown hair, with a wistful turn to her soft red lips. Somehow the girl s picture In came Impn shed on John Trevelan's heart, and he felt that had he In i ti an .uti-,t he could have painted her portrait. In fact, be did hav. lie portrait painted, lie went tn MellMiurne and. i intuiting the services of an artist, he sot by bis side hour after hour mid day after day, patiently i xpl. lining and d. scribing the fea tures of the girl of the voice to the urll.-J. who puinbd and erased and repainted time am: again until lie finally e-ai-pleted a portrait to Trevilnn's satisfaction, fur the picture looked Into his eyes with a wlslful appeal for love, sy,, ipatl,) , and even help. Starts Upon His Long Search. John Treyelan took the-portrait home, and day after day the conviction became borne In on his mind that the dti ,(f the voice needed him Somewhere out In the world, lit felt, she was In trouble and looking for him. One day this conviction was so strong that John TiiA. lan went to Sydney and took passage In a steannr for Han I'lan clsco. Once In America, ne began search for the gill. The makers of the oh allograph could aid lilin but little. They made so many records and employed so many tinners. Some of theJr singers were noted men ami women In tlio musical and operatic world. Others were mere unknowns. No, they had no record of the women who hud sung " The Harvesters." Trevelan tried In Chicago ami In Philadelphia. Then he went to New York. Ho found four women who had sunt: "The Hurvestera " Into the phonograph record maker. Threo were already married and the fourth was impossible. Treve lan would not even ask her to sing his song. Trevelan went to Huston with little better success. Al most discouraged, but still unwilling to give up. Finally ho placed a "want ad" In all the dally newspapers'. He want ed to employ a competent vncnl Instructor for his ward, lie explained. He took n suite of rooms nt a family hotel and watted for responnes to his advertisement. Finds the Girl of the Voice. There were responses by the score, and on the last day she came the girl of tho voice. " I have been waiting for you a long time," said Jnlin Trevelan. There was a surprised look In the girl's clear brown eyes as she said: "I'm aorry. I only read your advertisement today, and I was afraid I would be too late, and I wanted the place so much." There was that wistful turn to her Hps as ahe spoke, and exultation grew In John Trevelan's heart. The girl eat at the piano and sang "The Harvesters." "You were accompanied by a violin when you sang that before," aald John Trevelan, quietly. She turned suddenly. "How did you know?" she aeked, breathlessly. "I never sang It but once before." " I know," said Trevelan. " You sang It Into a phono graph. And I heard It In a mining camp, I'iX) miles In tho Interior of Australia." Then Trevelan handed her a large photograph of her self In a beautiful evening gown,' with a necklace of pearls clasping her fair throat." The girl gasped In astonishment. " Why, it's me," sha said; " but where " " I had It painted from my heart," said Trevelan. " And I came from AuHtralla to find you, for something told mo you needed me. I am here." The rest of the romance of the girl of tho voice need not be told. But Irene Meigs did need John Trevelan. 33333333333S33SSSS33SSS3 i uny NiqkSt m ftebrldl? Greatest PolieeStatioiu f?W ARRISON street," by day Is a name, only. It HI Is a designation In police circles of the greatest I police station In the world. It has a record of I ft.1,000 prisoners booked In a single twelvemonth. In It la a bureau of Identification where tens of thousands of criminals have had registered their first Bertlllon measurements, and where other tens of thousands have been brought un der suspicion to ba remeasured and stand tho comparison with their photographs. Virtually all the great criminals of the city have been within Ita walls I.uetgert, the sausagemak.fr, who murdered his wife and boiled her body to nothing In a roap vat; Becker, wife murderer, who followed Luetgert's methods; Holmes, of the famous " Holmes castle " of grlzily horrors; the car barn bandits; and, as a crowning notoriety. It waa In the general office of this station that Officer Mes senger of the force was shot and killed, aa he stood, by a prisoner from the street. But to find " Harrison street " by day Is a task that would trouble tens of thousands of the old and law abiding cltlsena of Chicago. Just where Harrison street Itself dlsapiieara under the steel viaduct of the La Salle street railroad station; In the shadow of the train sheds of one of the great passenger station of the world; hemmed In by livery barns on the north, facing the blank dreariness of the streets on two aides, and backed up by some of the most offensive barrel houses, tramps' lodgings, and rat holes of civilisation there la Har rison street police station by day. From the outside Us dull, red brick walla might be any thing other than esthetic. It Isn't a livery stable, at a first glance. It couldn't be a barrel house unless the visitor from tha outside could concede many points for the whims of In novation. There la no algn that It has rooms to let at any pries. But when night haa fallen and when Clark street and Har rison street and Van Buren atreet begin to awake when the lodgers from the cheap houses over dives and saloons and bar rel Joints have come out, heavy eyed, for the associations of the streets and cellars and alleys, " Harrison street " be cornea an entity. It la differentiated In a moment from all Its surroundings. From the outside. Its lights are distin guishing. Inside, cleanliness, order, and system ahow It at sharp variance with any other neighbor than the Ia Salle street railroad station across the narrowness of Pacific avenue. And as the darkness grows and the hands of the clock on the wall move to the monotonous swing of the pendulum, " Harrison atreet " grows wider and wider awake. Walk into Harrison street station any night with the frankest face, in the best of conventional clothing, auave, complacent, devoid of all self-consolousnesa, and you are In the atmosphere of the under world In a moment. It Is felt In the general office at a glance. There Is not a chair In It. Behind a screen of heavy wire the desk sergeant writes and writes, and In a little room oft that of the sergeant's you hear the voice of the operator whom you cannot see. There are dark corridors opening up and down from this sqund room out of which the visitor Is warned by placards in heavy black type. The captain's office and that of tho Inspector have privacy on the doors. It Is only at the barred window of the desk sergeant that the visitor may come up to the unrelaxtd first sharp scrutiny of " Harrison street." It means nothing to Harrison street that you are well dressed. A face counts for nothing, unless it Is known to the officers on duty. The night police reporter comes In, priv ileged to cr.ll the official at the desk by the familiar title " Sarge." A detective In plain clothes come In to be marked In a moment by frame and gait. All others are there to meet with the looked and spoken monosyllable, " Well?" . But the desk sergeant is human after all. He stops writ ing for a moment, gets up from his chair, and moves across the, room: 'And for my Annie Laurie, I'd lay me down and dee." It Is only 10 o'clock and the night has been unusually quiet. 4 Mr. Irving from Racine, Wis., comes in Just a moment later. Goodn -ss only knows how he got there. He has a pair of Inten-ely black eyes that look fixedly nut in front as if they' had been boiled and reset to order. He has one hand pressed Into his side and Is bending over It at a sharp angle, searely alio--tug him to come through tha door. Ills black mustache Is In a tangle, and a blacker stub beard, three days old, covers the rest of his face. " 'M going back home In er mornln'." he says thickly. " Where's your home?" " Racine 'm roln' back home In er mornln'. V He Is acaroely satisfied when tha sergeant has rung for an attendant to show hira downstairs. It has been too easy. He insists on showing a letter addressed to him at his home town, and he pulls out a savings bank bock In further tes timony of U.e fact that he isn't go home till morning, but that he will go by the earliest train. He doesn't know what Is the matter with his side, and when he tries to hit the small door leading down to the lockup. It Is a league " foul," as he careens away from the casing Into the arms of the at tendant. J " Why didn't you get in here an hour ago?" asks the lieutenant on night duty as the two yuuug fellows with eoat collars turned up In regulation tramp style appear af his door with a Jumbled Intonation on the part of the speaker that absolutely Is unintelligible, though both are sober. "Tell the man at the desk," continues the lieutenant, and In a momen the two are on the way downstairs for a bed on the stone floor of a corridor. Their old barrel house corner was closed and darkened at 1 o'clock. The wagon had gone out In response to a call. It haa backed up to the curbstone In Pacific avenue and a man with hatchet face, staring, bloodshot eyes, with arms strapped close to his sides, comes up the steps and into the room with three officers holding and supporting him. " Mad as a March hare," Is the comment of the wagon man. " What's your name?" questions the sergeant at the desk, nt which the prisoner only stares in silence, gulping as If try ing to swallow something. "Take him downstairs," Is the comment of the sergeant, and the four move away toward the door leading to the cell room below. " Looks l -.e the real thing." comments the sergeant, as he appllea a blotter to his lines booking the victim. The pretty young woman comes up to the desk with a flash In her brown eyes. The well dressed man, twice her age, follows with a troubled look showing In every feature. Even the patrolman shows concern In his face. " What is the charge?" asks the sergeant, also with In terest. " Nothing 1 I don't want her locked up I don't want her booked," says the man with the troubled face. " It Is a long story. She is my brother's child my dead brother's and she has no mother. She has -been living, at my home n - for three years. She fell in love with a worthless fellow she came to Chicago, and after a long search I found her and him In a restaurant half an hour ago. He ran when he saw me. She wouldn't come till I called a policeman. Ciui't you keep her, somehow? I don't want her looked up. O. not that!" " O, Indeed!" comments the girl, scornfully. "What do you want, pray? I am of age, I think.?" The sergeant haa rung a bell, and a tall, matronly figure with gray balr and sympathetic face cornea in with keys tn her hand. 8he sees the situation at a glance. "Just keep her In your room till the case la settled, one way or another," he says, and the elderly woman takes the girl by the arm. "Coward!" ahe calls to the uncle, who is looking after her, wistfully. " You arrest me and yet are ashamed to have me locked up. Why?" He has the sergeant's sympathy before he goes. He has not been out of the room five minutes when two night police reporters come In. To an Inquiry the " Sarge " says that all la quiet. One of them consults the book. It Is the old story of the old routine of year in and year out. "Say, that's a bunch for your life," the reporter com ments " an Italian, Austrian, Jew, Englishman, Irishman, negro, German, negress, Hollander, Swede, Chinaman, Swede, negro, American, American, Englishman, Arabian, Irishman " how Is that for a cosmopolitan bunch?" It Is 3 o'clock In the morning. Everywhere, save under the sheds of the great railroad station across the street, there Is silence that comes with the advent of day. Several news paper wagons are unloading for the fast malls and the ex press wagons dashing over the hard streets echo for blocks In every direction. In front of several lodging houses sleepy potters are shaking the dust of rugs Into the street. Here and there water Is sliding away across the pavements from the brushri of the early window cleaners. The floor of a big barrel hnusu is getting a scrubbing. In a cheap res taurant the floor is receiving the same treatment, with chairs piled over the tops of the tables. Clark street. Pearborn, Fifth avenue. Harrison. Polk. Van Buren, Sherman street, and Jackson boulevard are dead. The early garbage wagons are out. In the streets there Is one human figure where six hours later there will he Sou. There Is one wagon where at 9 o'clock there will be fifty. In the lockup downstairs the hatchet faced man with the red eyes is sitting in a chair in a cell with his hands In leather wristlets fastened to his sides until he cannot move. He is wide awake, but silent as the dead. In the next row there are strange cries and yells, and the hard, rasping breathing of a man undergoing violent exer tions and excitements. "He's len that way all night," says the lockup man, aympathetically. ' "Crazy?" asks the visitor. " No snakes." Is the sententious answer. A peep Into the cell shows a powerful man braced with his hands against the wall, holding It with the tension of the demented, and sweating from every pore In the close air. "My God, It's going to .fall look out can't you give me a hand here, for the love of mercy? Htlp! Help!" He may die on us before daylight," says the lockup man, seriously. " If I'" wears out first he may go to sleep. Give me a crazy man every time to one of these who has the hor rors. There's no place he can go. We are scored If we take such a case to the detention hospital. There Is no sanitarium that will take him without pay. There are places enough for a crazy man. but no place for a man who I.s wilder Hnd crazier than the one who may have lost his reuson for all time. It doesn't look right, does It?" Mr. Irving from U.tclne is sleeping soundly on a blanket in the corridor. The two men With the turned up collars are awake and talking together In low tones. A young man with hla shoe off one foot and a white rag bound round it brings his face close to the bars as the keeper comes up. "Say, partner," he says, with a note of trouble In his voice. " was this Just a plain drunk-I didn't do anything else, did I? Good God, when I'm sober and know what I'm doing 1 wouldn't hurt a cat!" "I guess It's Jutrt a drunk," says the lockup man. show ing some sympathy, at which the prisoner settles down on his hard bench, mumbling hla thanks. " Sometimes I don't let 'em off as easy as that," ex plains the officer. "Fellows come In here who have it com ing, and when they spring that old story I give 'em a bud fifteen or twenty minutes," smiling. J o Daylight Is strong through the dusty, barred windows on the south of the cellrooms. A little old man with a kind, sober face, stepping briskly, with an overcoat under on arm, apiroaches the open door at the foot of the Btalrs leading to the street. " Well, Charley?" Is the comment of the lockup man, pleasantly, "Oood-by," says the little old man, shaking the hani of the officer briskly. " I got the Job out there." "flood thing good," ruturns the lockup ktepir, heartily. "Good luck come In and see us sometime." "That I will," says the little man as he disappears up stairs. "Many thunka to you, sor." "Mighty nice old chap," explains the keeper. "He got In hard luck and came to us two months ago asking to work for a place to sleep In. He picked up a little to eat here, and now he's got a Job at the stockyards. He's all rlght-you Bee, he's up and going at half past four, too." But It Is broad daylight !r. the atreets. The first suburban trains are rumbling over the viaduct Into tho train sheds. The Hquadroom upstairs, with Its pictures of Christ liefore Pilate," of the "Angels Over Bethlehem," of "The Good Bhopherd," of "The Bridge Across the I saguadro, Lolivia." has grown too light for the sputtering arc globe. "Harrison street" outside has melted and disappeared Into day again.