Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 108, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 May 1916 — EXPERIENCE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

EXPERIENCE

By VICTOR REDCLIFFE.

I was a window-washer —for cne day only. I am partner in the Monarch Engine company, son-in-law to a wealthy man and the husband of the dearest little woman in the world now. How it all came about I will tell you, and there will be a sinister shadow of wicked scheming as well as a glamour of rare romance to the narration. Graduation from an engineering school left me flat as to cash. I started out on my first business experience doing some drafting for a large concern. They remoyed to another city. I sought another position, and was unsuccessful and, getting desperate, was ready to take up the meanest manual occupation in order to keep from suffering from hunger. I stood looking speculatively at the man in charge of an office building one afternoon as he bustled around ordering some window awnings put up the next day, when he caught my eye. Perhaps there was an imploring expression in my glance, probably being of wise worldly experience he traced my poverty and guessed at my hunger. At all events he approached me. "You don’t look like the working kind, but maybe you want a Job?” he suggested in a brusque, off-handed way. “You never saw a man who needed one worse,” I replied promptly, and with heartiness. “Ever clean windows?” he propounded next, and his hand directed a gesture taking in the towering expanse of the structure. “Way up there?” I inquired, and my tones must have faltered and I shuddered. “Oh, don’t let the height trouble you,” readily and cheerfully directed the man. “You can’t fall. We provide a harness and Jacket and you lock yourself into the Jamb slots so securely that horses couldn’t pull you off your feet. See here, if you want a three-day Job at the regular tariff,

two seventy-five a day, come along with me and I’ll fit you out. There are two hours to work in and that will mean supper, bed and breakfast. If you’re close-pressed for funds, I’ll help you out with a little advance cash.” It would be hard to describe my sensations when, duly jacketed, provided with a scraper, brush and rags and given explicit directions, I stood on a narrow window ledge eight stories up from the ground, dizzily, timorously beginning my work. The first window made me a contortionist. I breathed more easily on the second one. Becoming more habituated to it, I covered a double row of windows down to the fifth story quite creditably. It was getting dusk by that time, and I resolved to finish one more window and then go for my little stipend. Creak! —there was a snap. Bang! I shot through space. What happened was this: In my clumsiness and baffled by the semidarkness I had caught the snaps of the harness in a frail screen • hoop, instead of in the stanch holding jslots. One rope gave at once. The other swung free for a moment, tore out of the hook and I dropped. That sway sideways saved my life, for, one story descended, I landed flat on my back across the grated balcony of a fire escape. I was bruised, half-stunned. I lay still, wondering if any bones were broken, and looking through an open window into a small business office. Two men were its occupants. One, an old man, dignified but apparently much disturbed, was facing a younger one, whoso shrewd eyeß and foxy sidelong glance proclaimed the schemer. It was the latter who spoke, sharply, exactingly: „ “Well, Mr. Bowen, your answer?” “I have come to accept your terms,” was the dreary reply. “It may mean ruin to me, but I am at your mercy. , In that," and he placed a packet on a table in the middle* of the room, “is the fifty thousand dollars in money and salable securities." The other lunged down upon , it, opened it, clawed over its contents with the eager talons pf a true harpy. Ha replaced it, went over to a desk

In a comer of * room mnd took thence a folded paper. "Listen to me," spoke the old man, leaning heavily on the cane he carried, as though weak and invalid. “When you take from me that packet you rob me of all my available liquid capital. Unless I can borrow to refinance my business I am a ruined man. At least return me one-half of the $50,000. Loan it to me, and let me pay it later. My word is as good as my bond.” “Not much!” sneered the other. “1 want my price and I want *it now. Here is the paper through which I can close your establishment tomorrow and prevent you from sending out a single engine built on the Levinson patent.” “But I bought the patent. I paid for it fairly." “And I hold an earlier transfer in this document.” - “A forgery!” “Can you prove it?” "Unfortunately, no!” groaned the wretched John Bowen, “but you know that it is. Levinson is dead. You have made a clever transfer, previously dated.” "Which will stand in the law,” declared the other triumphantly. “Do you back out of the bargain?” “No! no!” cried Mr. Bowen. “Give me the document,” and he looked it over. Then he took a match from his pocket, ignited the paper, watched it crumble to nothingness and took up his hat. "I am weak and ill,” he added with a deep sigh; “the elevators have stopped running. I must ask you to help me to my machine.” “Sure enough!” piped the other readily. “Come on,” and they left the room. Now the instant they were gone I seized the essence of this adventure clearly in my mind. I believed that a heartless villain was robbing an honest old man. I acted quickly. Rousing myself, I was inside the room in a moment. I secured the packet, I descended fire escape, I was down in the street. Mr. Bowen had Just stepped into an automobile. The man who had accompanied him to the street was hastening back after his anticipated booty. The chauffeur headed the machine my way. I leaped to the running board. “What is this?” quavered the astonished gentleman. “Let me in with you, Mr. Bowen,” I said rapidly. “I have something of importance to say to you. Sir, I have the money and securities you Just gave' to that scoundrel in a room in that building back yonder. Take them,” and I thrust the packet into his treihbling hands. “Out of Justice to me, I think you should assure me that 1 have helped a real cause by restoring your property to you.” And then I told him how I came to be of service to him. He insisted upon my going to his home. There I met my fate. Leonie Bowen, then —Leonie Artnitage, my wife, now! How natural it all seems to me now that the gratitude of her father should communicate itself to her, that interest Bhould lead to sympathy, that this in turn should end in love —love, the vision splendid of this sober, serious old world of ours! (Copyright, 1916, by W. G. Chapman.)

Bang! I Shot Through Space.