Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 143, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 June 1914 — SAVING THE BONDS [ARTICLE]

SAVING THE BONDS

By MONTAGUE GLASS.

It was a beautiful morning. A soft breeze from the river stole through Mr. Goodel’s office window and eddied so gently around his bald head that, instead of sneezing, he sighed. Thence it ambled into the outer office and tugged at every button In the garments of Jimmie Brennan, the office boy. “At Fulton Market dock,’’ it whis“there’d good swimming.” “G’wan, what yer tryin' ter do —kid me?” Jimmie's subconsciousness jeered, while its owner industriously continued to index the letter-book. “It’d freeze de insides out’n yer!” So back it flew to Mr. Goodel. “I ask you in all seriousness,” it almost hissed, “shall commercial paper and investment securities prevail over golf?” / ■. And Mr. Goodel, being of weaker staff than Jimmie, closed his roll-top desk with a bang and seized his hat and cane, ~ ‘Tm going up-town on a very important matter,” he said. Jimmie looked at him mournfully. This cutting business an hour before noon was becoming too frequent of late. “What will I tell Mr. Luddington?” he asked. For a man of fifty-five Mr. Goodel blushed rather easily. The operation, however, might be termed painting the lily, for normally this gentleman’s face was of a hue to pale the flamingo’s wing. "Why, tell him I’ve gone up-t<j»n on a very important matter, of course,” he declared. Jimmie glanced at Mr. Goodel and, dropping his eyes, snorted eloquently. Luddington was Goodel’s brother-in-law, and the roseate hue of Goodel’s countenance was largely due to his example and encouragement. Despite Luddington’s convivial habits, however, Jimmie knew that he held a business engagement sacred; and on 1 the previous day he had distinctly heard Goodel make an appointment with his brother-in-law for the purchase of some bonds. The securities were to be delivered in person by Luddington at a quarter to one o’clock that afternoon. "How about dem bonds, Mr. Goodel?” he said. “Oh, yes—about those bonds,” Goodet replied. “When Mr. Luddington brings them here, put them in the small safe.” After a time Luddington entered. "H’lo, Jimmie!” he cried in his usual jovial fashion. “Where’s the boss?" "Now he’s gone up-town, Mr. Luddington,” Jimmie replied, “on an important matter.” Luddington chuckled impatiently. “That’s too bad,” he said. /T have some bonds for him.” “I know ut,” Jimmie answered. "He says fer you to leave ’em wit’ me.” “Oh, he did, did he?” Luddington cried testily. “Why, there are ten bf them, at a thousand apiece, with the coupons attached.” Jimmie’s face fell as he proffered Luddington an assurance he didn’t feel For the rest of the afternoon Jimmie sat tn front of the safe fruitlessly revolving the knob, resting herself at intervals by reading a thrilling dime novel. At four o’clock he locked up the office and wandered disconsolately down-stairs. There the sunny autumn afternoon propelled him to the river front, and, unconsciously, his footsteps shaped themselves toward Fulton Market dock. He picked his way through the empty fishbarrels to the string-piece, where stood Ignatius Ryan, the same they call Whitney. Ignatius was garbed .in a scapular and not much more, and his teeth chattered incessantly as the cold wind smote his naked shins. "Why jump in?” said Jimmie, seating himself on the edge of the wharf. Whitney struggled with a temporary ataxia of speech. “Aw, w-w-w-hy d-d-d-on’t y-y-y-er j-j----j-ump in y-y-y-yers-s-s-s-elf?” he barely managed to enunciate. By way of reply Jemmie emitted a succession of jeering guffaws which seemed to infuriate the shivering Whitney. Ignatius made a dash for his tormentor, and a moment later the two of them were struggling in a stro&g flood tide. When Jimmie rose to the surface, half a dozen ropes were within easy reach. He was speedily hauled back upon the dock, shrieking lurid threats Ignatius, whose repartee, revived by the sudden plunge, grew no less G* profane. "Wait till I get yer wanst!” Jimmie shouted. “I’ll lift de face off yer, dat’s >11!” And there followed a wealth of bitter anathema that might have enriched the vocabulary of a truckman. Jimmie proceeded up (he wharf and Along South street, dripping a track muddy water behind him. A salt stream ran down his face from his hair and mingled with the tears which <ame with a realization of his predicaneut His cap was lost and his only Unit of clothes was dirty beyond de- . pcription. ■ In the excitement of the past halfhour he had entirely forgotten the bonds. At the remembrance of them his band sought his breastpocket. With shaking fingers be removed the

pin and drew out a bundle of papers whose stained and soggy condition bore no semblance whatever to the crisp beauty 7of Mr. Luddington’s bonds. All that evening he sat in a flannel, nightgown, busily plying a rubber eraser, but without avail, for as fast as he removed the spots his failing tears stained the wrinkled paper anew. His mother, meanwhile, stood at the washtub and renovated his muddy clothing with a vigor that testified eloquently to the thoroughness of his chastisement. There was little sleep for Jimmie that night, and next morning, as he trudged, hollow-eyed, to his work, he turned over in his mind every justification he might proffer Mr. Goodel for his disobedience. He arrived downtown without having formulated any excuse, and a quarter of an hour late to boq.t- So preoccupied was he, as he mounted the steps, that he failed to observe two policemen who blocked the doorway, and plunged blindly into them. "Where are you bound for?” one of. them asked. “Aw, let me go!” said Jimmie. “I woik here.” “Oh, you do, do yOuT’ the policeman ejaculated, and grabbed him by the shoulder. “What’s yer name?” “Jimmie Brennan,” the boy replied. “Come on, you,” his captor said, and dragged the struggling Jimmie upstairs. Luddington and Goodel stood in the outer office as Jimmie and the policeman entered. Goodel’s ruddy complexion had faded to a dingy shade of purple, and the corners of Luddington’s mouth turned downward in a most unaccustomed fashion. “Here he is!” the officer announced. ... “Well, don’t strangle him,” said Luddington, with his hand on the doorknob of Goodel’s office. He turned to Jimmie. “Do you anything about this?” he asked, and threw wide the door. Jimmie gasped in convincing astonishment. The little safe stood doorless on its side, in the middle of the room, surrounded by a pile of torn and scattered paper. Its iron door rested on Goodel’s desk, while the doors of the big safe in the corner swung ajar, one of them supported by only the bottom hinge. “He doesn’t know,” Goodel muttered. “What time did you leave here yesterday?” Luddington asked. “Four o’clock,” Jimmie murmured in tear-choked accents. Here the policeman took a hand. “What time did you get home?” he persisted. Jimmie sobbed convulsively. “Six o’clock,” he crocked. * “And where was you between times?” his inquisitor bellowed. This was too much for Jimmie. He sank down with his head oh the desk and wept unaffectedly. "Now look here,” Goodel protested, "I won’t have the little chap bullied any more.” He laid a comforting hand on Jimmie’s shoulder. “It’s all my fajilt, Luddington,” he continued. “If I hadn’t been an ass and gone off to play golf I might have put the bonds in my safe-deposit box instead of the safe, and they wouldn’t have been stolen.” Jimmie lifted his head from the desk. “Dey wuzn’t in de safe,” he said. “What?” gasped Luddington, Goodel, and the policeman in concert. “’N’ it ain’t up ter me, neider,” he sobbed. “Whitney pushed me in.” “What d’ye mean?” Luddington shrieked. For answer Jimmie unpinned his pocket and handed the soiled bonds to Goodel. They were as limp as Japanese napkins. “I cleaned ’em as good as I could,” Jimmie continued. Then, piecemeal they drew from him a disconnected but comprehensive account of the day’s adventures. It omitted nothing, qot even the dime novel. “Jimmie, you young dog,” said Goodel, after he had regained his composure. “I forbade you ever to read dime novels in this office, and no sooner was my back turned than you did.” Jimmie hung his head. “That’s all right, Goodel!” Luddington broke in. “You told him'to put the bonds in the safe and he didn’t I guess that makes it square, and you’d better forgive him.” A broad grin spread itself over Goodel’s face. “He gets one more chance,” he said, pressing a bill into the boy’s fist, “and S2O to buy a new suit of clothes with. Now get out of here, Jimmie —you smell like a fish-market!” (Copyright, by the Frank A. Munsey Co.)