WHEN THE BANK CRASH CAME.
I?y JAMES S. EVANS.
’ (Copyright. 1908, by DaJ»7 Etory P^ib. Co.)
Thorraa Jefferson Bradley Herndon
ftas born with a silver spoon In his
mouth. His father was a prosperous
business man and Thomas attended
the best of schools aud colleges. He
bad clothes enough to fill a box car.
a valet, a stable of horses for private
purposes only, an unlimited hank ac
count and a chest that measured 42
Inches, long before be had arrived at
tho age of majority.
He became an athlete at college and
when he returned home he was the
pride of tho town. He tried law. got
tired; took up medicine, became
wearied; wrestled with the teller's
desk in his father's bank where, by
his carelessness, the cash was short
every night; abandoned tho bank and
took a whir! at farming; ga.e that
up and then fell head-over-hcels in
love with Grace McKee, one of tho
belles of Ohio. Miss McKee was r.ot
wealthy. Her father was a lawyer
who got, just enough money out of his
practice to settle accounts with the
butcher and baker. But the faintly
could trace its blood back to the
kings of Scotland, and Miss McKee
showed in every movement of body,
In every flash of her blue eyes, that
she was of royal lineage. The family
stood aloof from its neighbors and
that Is one of the reasons old man
McKee got so little practice.
Thomas Jefferson Bradley Herndon
met Miss McKee at a ball one even
ing and he did not sleep for two
nights afterward. He Bent her a
bouquet of flowers tho next day, tried
to see her tho next, wrote her fool
ish verses and walked by her house
treaty times every night after din
ner; called on the old man at his
office, where he was uncivilly treated
a lid men went ouis:ae unu uegan
drinking high-balls until he finally
shot up straight in the air. When he
i ame down he went to a hospital out
of town, got sober and then returned
home with the name of Grace McKee
ringing in his oars.
Eventually ho got a friend to take
Mm to her house where she received
(hem lu a little parlor where a log fire
burned brightly in the wide grate.
She was dressed in a thin, muslin sort
jf an affair, cut low enough to show
the white skin below her neck. On
her corsage she wore a bunch of vio
lets; in her hair was a rose as red
as her lips. Her manner was some
what strained and repressed, and it
soon became apparent to Herndon
(hat she did not like him. They
talked on common place subjects for
awhile; then she went to the piano
and played while Herndon sang. His
voice was good and presently she join
ed hers with his, which was a glori
ous, rich contralto. Before Herndon
had Idd her good night he was in bet
ter favor than whon he was first
received. But at that Miss McKee did
not invito him to return.
Once or twice afterward Herndon
met her at social functions to be
treated with respect, and nothing
more. Ho battered at her gates of
dignified indifference with all the im
plements of a devoted lover. It was
clear to those that slyly watched the
affair that Herndon might as well
attempt to make a cannon ball out
of a straw bat as to win any sort of
admiration from the idol of his heart.
One night he said to Jim Batley,
his chum: “I am going away to-inor
row; to Europe. When I'll return, I
don't know. I can not remain here
loving this girl with the entire
strength of my heart, to be treated
with (he indifference that I receive.
Why. hang it, man, I'll go crazy in
another month!"
"Giazy in another month?" replied
Batley. “Humph! Two thirds of the
Inmates of the asylum for the insane
at Columbus are philosophers com
pared to you now. Iteally, your case
deserves sympathy. You’ve been
going around here for the past month
without enough gray matter in your
head to grease a pair of shoestrings.
It's time you were going somewhere;
and. when you get on the other side,
Elay until you have forgotten her."
"Oh. you needn't worry," replied
I-lerndon. "When I come back I'll be
ua free from her as a billiard bail is
of hair. But it's going to be hard.
This thing you call love, what is it?
Why God gave us that passion, I can
cot understand. Still, it is an inexor
able law that long before man has
■ 1
Her Manner Was Somewhat Strained
and Repressed.
reached the legal nge. he finds some
woman that will make him look like
3 he mouki y wards of a Zoo. You read
Crons poets that it Is the sublime of all
ipaaslons, that, love will conquer all
things; make honest men of
ithleves and temperance lecturers of
drunkards. Rah! It’s a disease, worso
than yellow fever or the black chol
era. Once it has seized you, it
clings and stifles every ambition. It
gnav/s at one’s very vitals; it’s wmrse
than swallowing powdered glass; and,
if I should ever recover from this at
tack I’ll avoid women as I would a
pestilence.”
He hesitated for awhile and then
continued: “Do you know what I
think? No, and I don’t suppose you
give a continental. But I’ll tell you
just the same. You know my daddy
Isn’t what you’d call one of the F. F.
V.’s. Ho has about as much style as
a corn cob pipe; short on society's
ways, but long on raking in the
almighty doiiar. He’s rich; he could
"To Marry You Is Out of the Ques
tion."
buy a ccnnty and then have change
left. And that la the reason of Miss
McKee's aversion to my society. Now,
if I had a family tree it would be dif
ferent; if a name, a family crest, I'll
bfef I cculd ride up to her house with
an old hat that had seen service be
fore the war, a pair of breeches
thrice turned, boots that had been
used for candle cases, an old sword
with a broken hilt, my horse hipped
with a mothy saddle, possessed of tho
spavin, troubled with the glanders,
rayed with the ‘‘yellows," short of
breath becauEe of the hives, stark
spoiled with the staggers, full of wind
galls, begnawn with the bets, swayed
in the back, near-legged before and a
head-stall of sheep's leather, one girth
six times patched with a woman's
crupper of velour containing my ini
tials and crest, why. I'd bet seven dol
lars that she would run to the gate
to meet me. It's this blamed, silly,
stiff-necked family pride that holds
her in restraint. That might be all
right for Virginia or Brandon, Miss.,
hut these characteristics have no
place in Ohio, the state, sir, that has
given to the country its noblest men,
its bravest soldiers, its four presi
dents and Us—”
‘‘Oh, cut that out," replied Batley,
hastily. “And go to bed, or take a
drink, or shoot craps or kick the cat.
or do something. You talk like a
glass of water. If you keep on with
your ravings I'll he constrained to
send for the doctor."
Two hours later Herndon was in
bed. But ne did not sleep. At G
o’clock he was up; at 7 his trunks
wore packed; at 12 he took a train
for New York and sailed for London.
On the decks at night he paced to and
fro muttering to himself: "Anywhere,
anywhere, to ret out of her sight.”
Once in England, he plunged in all
serts of gaiety; he went to Nice and
lest more money than Ills father had
made the year previous; at Paris he
spent the nights in high revelry; In
Madrid he went to bullfights and in
South Africa he went Into the gold
mines. Nothing satisfied him and
again he went traveling. Two years
later, when he was satisfied in his
mind that Miss Grace McKee of
Bladon Springs, Ohio, might marry a
Siowash Indian for all he cared, he
took a steamer and sailed for home.
When he met his father it did not
take that gentleman fifteen minutes
to tell him that he was a bankruptand
that he was liable to go to the wall
any moment. He had Invested bin all
in copper stock only to see the market
slide down hill with swiftness so cruel
and so strong that al! of his money
had been used in margins, hoping for
a brighter day. Instead of getting
better, the market had gone wild and
he was at the end of his resources.
Tho young man went out of his
father’s office greatly sorrowed. True,
he did not have a thing, possessed
not a single professional accomplish
ment that was convertible into cash.
But he was strong, he said to him
self; he could do something; Ills
father should not want in his old age
if he could prevent it. So thinking,
he went to one of the most prominent
law firms in the city and offered his
services as a clerk. A clerk? No
one knew of the elder Herndon's
financial straits except his creditors
in New York. Why, they would be
glad to take tho young mar. in as a
partner. And so, the following morn
irg another name was added to the
influential Arm of Caruthers & Lee,
attorneys at law.
A month elapsed after his return be
fore young Herndon saw Miss McKee.
Sne was at the residence of Mr. Ca
ruthers. the occasion bc-ing the debut
of Miss Caruthers.
“I am delighted to see you !>cm3
again,” she said, with cordial frank
ness. “Really I have missed you. W#
have discussed you quite often, and 1
| have never forgotten your excellent
voice.”
Her smile, the cordial grasp of her
hand, the honest look of her clear
eyes, went through him like a volt of
electricity. In twenty minutes he
was as deeply enmeshed as he was
the night he left for Europe two years
before. That night, while tossing be
tween the fheeta, he cursed himself
until he was black In the face; he
should have remained In Africa; if
not that he should have married—
married if he had to take even a
fttoix squaw. Then he would have
ncen at least free from Ailsu McKee.
Now the disease was on him again
with full force, and he could not
leave again, run away from her as
he had done before, for the crash in
his father’s affairs was expected at
any minute. But before the morning
he had made resolutions; he w'ould
steel himself pgainst her; he would
avoid her; be would learn to hate
her. All of which resolves were
broken within fourteen hours, for at 8
o’clock that evening he was violently
ringing the bell at her father’s door.
He proceeded with his case as if he
were a lawyer at the bar. He told her
of his love; why he had gone away;
his determination not to see her
again; the sufferings he had experi
enced. “1 have loved you with a pas
sion that knows no understanding.
For why, I do not understand nor do
I try to understana. We have seen
little of each other and I am, I know,
presumptuous in speaking to you as
I am doing, 1 have followed you, un
observed by you, with doting persist
ence; have engrossed opportunities to
meet you; have pursued you as love
has pursued me, which has been on
the wing of all occasions. The result?
Scant courtesy. 1 have had nothing
fiom you unless it be experience—a
jewel that 1 have purchased at an in
finite rate, and that has taught me
to say this:
“ ‘Love, like a shadow flies when sub- 1
stance love pursues,
Pursuing that that Hies, and flying
what pursues.’ |
“You have dv;eit so securely upon
the excellency of your honored fam
ily's name that I have braved myself
that my soul should now present
Itself.”
While Herndcn spoke Miss McKee
stood with bowed head. When she
looked at him her eyes were dim
with tears. She struggled with her
self for a moment before replying.
“You do me great honor, Mr. Herndon, j
This confession was not unexpected. 1
By a woman's intuition I have known \
that you love me. But to marry you
i? out of the question. At first I im- |
agine(l you uncouth; that riches had
made you vulgar; that associations |
had caused you to forget the finer
sensibilities, qualities that are essen
tial to a gentleman. But I know bet- !
ter now. I sincerely and honestly j
prize your friendship. Ours is a poor j
family; yours at the top of fortune's '
wheel. I have heard of the many gen- j
erous and noble deeds you have done;
1 know your worth as a man, and
were our stations equal I should hesi
tate before sending you away. But as
it is you must go. Please leave me.”
When Herndon reached his father's ,
residence, he saw that a number of
men were in the study. When his
lather came out his face was blanch
ed. As he went upstairs to his room
tears were flowing freely from his
eyes while he muttered to himself,
“all gone; all gone; my God, my
God!”
The morning newspapers were filled
with news of the crash and long be
fore roon arrived tae failure of Hern
don had been flashed to the world.
In the midst of his duties that after
noon, young Herndon received a note.
After reading it he called a messen
ger. ‘‘Take this,” said he, “to Mr.
McKee's residence as fast as you can
get it there.” Then he turned to the
telephone and called his mother.
“See,” he said, “that all the roses in
the garden are divided between
father’s room and the diningroom to
night by 8 o’clock, and tell him to be
brave. I have discovered that a
piece of paper he holds as valueless
is worth Its face value, $70,000. And,
by the way,” he continued, “you will
please have an extra plate on the din
ing table. Your future daughter-in
law will likely din,e with us this even
ing.”
Why He Changed His Avocation.
Ever since his youth Richard Le
Gallienne has worn his hair long.
When he was trying to qualify him
self as an aocountf U in a Liverpool
office his hair was several inefies
longer than that of hie fellow clerks.
This looked like frivolity to the aus
tere employers, who sent for him one
day. The four elderly men sat In
solemn state when Le Gallienne enter
ed the private office. One of them, a
stern Scotchman, said: “Mr. ],\ Gal
lienne, the firm has decided that yon
have not the necessary funds to pay
for a haircut and we have concluded
to advance you the sum of three pence
for that purpose." This incident is
said to have precipituted the young
poet’s determination to abandon com
mercial life.
Breakfast Food.
The Eskimo stood before his witw,
wrapped in tier furs, with a look of
despair on his face.
“The blubber is gone, we’ve eaten
the last dog and my boots are too t \ in
to make soup of,” said the citizen of
the far north. “Starvation stares us
in the face.”
But Mrs. Eskimo smiled serenely.
“Not yet,’ she answered. “1 have been
reading the advertisements in the
magazines and know the value of
patent breakfast foods.”
The husband looked puzzled.
“We will have a nice dish of flaket.
snow for breakfast!" concluded hi# !
loving wife triumphantly. j
File Heodle^ HoEj'em&jo
Fort F^lecxde . i
WITH DARE -DEVIL BRAVERY.HE WENT
IN PURSUIT.
"Twelve o’clock and all Is well,”
:arae the midnight answer of the first
lentry on guard duty. The same re
ply came from two, three and four.
Before the trooper designated as No.
6 had time to reply the one who
answered to No. 4 had drawn his
Colt's revolver and in quick succes
sion had fired six shots into the body
of a headless horseman who had sud
denly made his appearance in a furi
ous but noiseless dash through the
bay corral which he was guarding.
The shots were followed by four more
from his carbine. There was a com
motion at the garrison. The officer of
the day rode up for an explanation,
and in a moment or two laughingly
swung his horse to a canter and re
turned to the post.
The trooper's explanation of the
strange occurrence is as follows; "It
was one of the prettiest nights I ever
saw ou guard. The moon was high
and full. Just as I finished calling
out ‘Twelve o'clock and all is well,’
my broncho came to a sudden stop,
extended his forelegs, pricked up his
ears, and glared at—well, it startled
me as much as it did the horse.
Within fifty yards was a whito horse
with a headless rider, dashing through
the corral. The lightning thought,
came to me that the boys were play
ing a joke. Joke or no joke, I pulled
my revolver and put six chunks of
lead in the trunk of that horseman.
At that distance I wouldn't take odds
from the best shot in the regfment.
Whether I hit the man or not, even
after I had brought the rarbina into
play, he dashed along with the same
reckless stride that startled me when
I first saw him. and disappeared In
the woods to the south of the fort.
Nobody can make me believe that 1
was mistaken. He sat as erect on
that white horse as any man in our
troop. Everything was there but his
head; the sergeant's chevrons on his
arms were as plain as day. Of course,
the firing brought the officer of the
guard, and when I told him what I
had seen he simply smiled and re
turned to the post. 1 knew that I had
seen a headless horseman, but didn't
say a word about it the next morning.
I waited for the boys to begin their
‘kidding.’ Then 1 found that 1 was
not the only man who had seen the
phantom. It seems that since the
early 70s he has appeared regularly
at the hay corral whenever the moon
is full and high.'
A peculiar point about the soldier's
experience, notwithstanding the fact
that he was threatened with court
martial for arousing the guard with
out evident cause, was the evident
seriousness and belief with which his
fellow troopers accepted the story.
Many of them, while doing sentry
duty at post No. 4, just at midnight
when the moon was full and high,
had seen the headless trooper on the
white horse.
The story is told as gospel truth at
Fort Meade, dying men tell it as the
truth—that the headless trooper who
visits the hay corral on the nights of
the full moon is the ghost of Ser
geant Sullivan, the bravest and most
daring Irishman who ever helped to
suppress an Indian outbreak. It was
just before the memorable massacre
ot the gallant Custer and his men.
Fort Meade was then a frontier post,
and the Stoux were raising Cain. Only
half of the garrison dared to sleep at
a time—the other half watched for
redskins. Sergeant Sullivan was on
duty at the hay corral. It was known
that the strip of woods to the south
of the fort was alive with Indians, full
of drink and deviltry, welcoming an
opportunity to burn the fort and
slaughter the handful of Unde Sam’s
boys in the garrison; consequently
the extra precautions in the guard.
“Twelve o'clock and all is w-ell,"
rang out the midnight call of the first
sentry; then came the replies from
sentries two, three and four. Before
No. 5 had time to reply Sergeant Sul
livan, who was sentry No. 4, had
drawn his Colt’s revolver and had
started a rapid fire at an ugly Sioux
whom he saw skulking on his pony at
the distant end of the hay corral.
With daredevil bravery he went in
pursuit of the Indian, and the latter
started for the strip of woods. Sulli
van meant to make it a race for the
life of the Indian. He did not stop
to think what was in store for him
self. The Indian and the trooper
reached the end of the woods the
length of a broncho apart. The gar
. ■ ■ _ I
EUROPEAN CREMATED IN SIAM
The First European Cremation in Siam; the Fu..eral Pyre.
Dr. Peter Gowan. physician ty the ,
iting of Siam, who died recently, was
•remated according to the rites of the
Buddhist religion. Dr. Gowan before
ais death expressed the wish that his
body should be cremated. The cere
mony attending the cremation was
Host imposing. The king, as a mark
)f signal respect for the memory of
ais late physici; n, sent a gilded state
ar, drawn by two black horses, on
which the coffin was placed. On arriv
ing at the temple ttie body was placed
jn the tcv of a pyre surrounded by
liatTCMe floral tributes from the la
(lies of the royal palace, vhile beneath
wore wreaths placed both by European
and Siamese friends. The chief of the
temple then delivered a sermon (in
the Siamese language), eulogizing the
meritorious services rendered by the
deceased. At the conclusion of the
Buddhist service, one of the king’s
brothers, specially deputed on behalf
of hts majesty, then proceeded to light
the pyre, after which most of the com
pany present. European and Siamese,
placed sandal sticks and flowers on
the pyre. A grand display of fireworks
ended the mournful proceedings.
rison, aroused, saw Sullivan disap
pear. There vas less than a minut.
of awful suspense, then a wild, ex
ultant, fiendish chorus of yells cam*
from the spot, in the midst of whicl
Sullivan and his horse reappeared or
a wild dash across the prairie. Tin
brave sergeant sat upright in hi!
saddle—headless. He soon disappear
ed under the clouds that skirted tin
moonlighted horizon, never to appeal
again except in the apparition thai
rushes through the liay corral at mid
night when the moon is full.
The life of many a Sioux paid thi
penalty for the horrible deed tha'
brought the phantom trooper to Fori
Meade.
Robert Barr as a Boomer.
Robert Barr, the author, formerly 01
Detroit, has purchased the I.ondor
Idler, and In advertising the fact
says:
“I have bought the Idler, and I hop*
everyone else in England will do tb«
same. It will cost you a simple six
pence; I paid a great deal more.
“I have no prejudice against s
great name, indeed, if I wished tc
flaunt a resplendent reputation on the
pages of the Idler, all I should have
to do would be to write the whole
magazine myself. But I am a cautious
editor. When formerly connectec
with this magazine I was under the
painful necessity of rejecting three o!
my own essays in fiction. They were
not up to the mark. R. B. the ftuthoi
cannot delude R. B. the editor. A'
present I am using his literary tal
ents for tne writing of my circulars
und if he shows capacity 1 may print
one of his articles in the maga'ilne.’
Terse Rebuke for Cowherd.
Since the woman out at Salt Lakt
City wrote Representative Cowherd
of Missouri, inquiring if there wort
r.ot a law bestowing prizes upon wo
men that give birth to two sets of
twins, he has had a letter from a for
mer constituent, row at St. Eliza
beth’s asylum. This former constitu
ent was injured in Kansas City somt
months ago, and Mr. Cowherd, out oi
the kindness of his heart, eailcd tc
see him at the hospital. When th«
poor fellow eventually landed in St
Elizabeth’s, this city, he wrote Mr
Cowherd requesting him to call. Thf
Kansas City statesman has manj
duties, and replied that he was un
able to go over there for the present
“God may forget you, but he will
never forgive you," was the terse an
swer that came by the return mall.—
Washington Post.
A Democratic King.
The o.'ath of Dr. Temple, archbishoj
of Canterbury, recalls the manner i»
which Archbishop Sutton, who was a>'
Lambeth place when Dr. Temple was
horn, received his appointment from
George III. One night after the death
of Archbishop Moore Dr. Sutton was
entertaining some friends at the
Windsor deanery. There was a knock
at the door and the butler announced
that a gentleman outside who would
not come in was anxious to see the
bishop. Impatient at being disturbed,
Dr. Button hurried to the door to find
the king. "How d’ye do, my lord,”
said King George; ‘ I’ve come to tell *
you that you’re archbishop of Canter
bury. D’ye accept? Eh? Eh?” The
bishop bowed, and "All right,” said
the king. “You’ve got a party—I see
all their hats there. Go back to them.
Good night!"
By an Ancient Philosopher.
Virtue alone is true nobility, there
fore the most virtuous are the most
noble. A virtuous friend should be
esteemed above a vicious relat «rn; for
the ties of virtue are more binding
than those of blood, and every good
person is nearer related to another
good person than he ean posslnly be
to any of his immoral relations.—Aw
tisthenev