Indianapolis Journal, Indianapolis, Marion County, 30 August 1885 — Page 9

[Published by Special Arrangement.—Copyrighted 1885; All Rights Reserved.] THE STORY Os A SCULPTOR. A STORY BY THE LATE HUGH C O NWAY, Author cf “Called Back,” “Dark Days,"and Other Popular Novels. TART I.—CHAPTER I.

After you pass the ‘‘Blue Anchor’—ths sign ®f which swiugs from the branch of an elm tree elder even than the house itself —a few steps Along the road bring you in eight of the pinnacled. square tower of Cootobo-Acton Church. You cannot see the church itself, as, with schools and rectory close by it, it lies at the back of the village, about two hundred yards up a lane. Like the village to whose spiritual needs it ministers, the church, to an ordinary observer, is nothing out of the common, although certain small peculiarities of architecture, not. noticed by an uncultured eye, make it an object of some interest to archmologi&ts. "V isit. it or not, according to your inclination, hut afterward keep straight on through tho long, straggling village, until the house3 begin to grow even more straggling, the gardens larger and less cared for as ornaments, displaying more cabbages and scarlet runners than roses—keep on until the houses cease altogether, and hawthorne hedges take the place of palings and crumbling walls, and at last you come to Watercress Farm, a long, low, white house, ono side of which abuts on the highway, whilst the other looks over the three hundred acrc-3 of land attached to it. Not a very large acreage, it is true, hut then it is all good land, for the most part such as auctioneers describe as rich, warm, deep, old pasture land; such land that, at tho time this tale opens, any farmer, by thrift, knowledge of his business and hard work, could make even moro thar bare living out of, and could meet his landlord on rent day with a cheerful face, knowing that after rent and other outgoings were provided for, something would yet be left for himself. Who occupies Watercress Tarm now, and whether in theso days of depression his rent is readily forthcoming or not, masters little. At the time I write of it was rented by Farmer Leigh, even as his forefathers, according to village tradition, had rented it for some two hundred years. In quiet conservative places like Coombe-Acton, a farm of this kind often goes from father to son with more regularity than an entailed estate, landlord and tenant well knowing that their interests are identical. It was a fine afternoon towards the end of June. Abraham Leigh was standing by the ga.te of the field known as the home meadow, looking at the long ripe grass rippling as tho summer breeze swept across it. He was a thoroughly good specimen of a Somersetshire farmer. A big, sturdy man, whose movements were slow and deliberate. Ilis face, if heavy and stolid, not by any moans tho face of a fool. No doubt, a man of circumscribed views—the world, for him, extending eastward to Bristol market and westward to the Bristol channel. Nevertheless, respected in his little world as a wonderful judge of a beast, a great authority on tillages, and, abovo all, a man who always had a balance in his favor at the Somersetshire Bank; a type of that extinct race, the prosperous farmer, who looked on all townsmen with contempt, thinking, as all farmers should think, that the owners of broad acres, and those engaged in agriculture, were alone worthy of respect Yet, to day, in spite of his advantages and acquirements, P'armer Leigh looked on tho fifteen acre meadow with a puzzled and discontented expression on his honest face; and, moreover, murmurs of dissatisfaction were proceeding from his lips. Farmers—Somersetshire farmers especially—are proverbial grumblers, but it is seldom they grumble without an audience. It is outsiders who get the,benefit of their complaints. Besides, one would think that tho tenant of Watercress Farm had little, at present, to complain of. The drop of rain so badly wanted had been long in coming, but it bad come just in the nick of time to save the grass, and if the crop, outwardly, looked a little thin, Mr. Leigh’s experienced eye told him that the undergrowth was thick, and that the quality of the hay would be first class. Moreover, what corn and roots he had looked promising, so it seems strango that tho farmer should be grumbling when he had no one to listen to him, ar.d should lean so disconsolately upon the gate of tho field when no one observed nim.

“I can’t make him out,” he said. “Good boy he be, too —yet instead o’ helping me with the land, always going about dreaming or messing with mud. Can’t think where he got his notions from. Suppose it must ’a been from the mother, poor thing! Always fond o’ gimcracks and such like she were. Gave tho lad such au outlandish nar.io I’m ashamed to hear it Father's and grandfather’s name ought to bo good enough for a Loiph—good boy though he bo, too.” A soft look settled on Abraham Leigh’s face as he repeated the last words; then he went deeper into his slough of despond, where, no doubt, lie battled as manfully as a Christian, until ho reached tho other shore and fancied he had found the solution of his difficulties. His face brightened. “Tell 'ee what,” he sai l, addressing the waving grass in front of him, “I'll ask Mr. Herbert. ’Squire’s a man who has seen Ihe world. I’ll take his advice about the boj r . Seems hard like on me, too. Ne’er a Leigh till this one but what were a funner to tho backbone. ” His mind made up, the farmer strode off to make arrangements with mowers. Had he been troubled with twenty unnatural and incompetent s' ns, the Lay must bo made whilo the sun shines. Although he had settled what to do, it was 6omo time before the weight)’resolve was carried Into execution. Folks about Coomhe-Acton do not move with the celerity of cotton-brokers or sther men of business. Sure they are, but slow. Bo it was not until the September rent day that the farmer counsulted his landlord about his domestic difficulty—the possession of a son, au only child, of about fifteen, who, instead of making himself useful on tho land, did little else save wander about in a dreamy way, looking at all objects in nature, animate or inanimate, or employed Limself in tho mysterious pursuit which his father described as “messing with mud.” Such conduct was a departure from the rospectablo bucolic traditions of the Leigh family so ureat, that at times the father thought it an infliction laid upon him, for some cause or >ther, by an inscrutable Providence. r J boro are certain Spanish noblemen who, on account of the antiquity of their families and services rendered, are permitted to enter the royal presence with covered heads. It was, perhaps, for somewhat similar reasons, a custom banded down from father to son and established iy time, that the tenant of Watercress Farm

paid his rent to the landlord in person, not through the medium of an agent. Mr. Herbert being an important man in the west country, the Leigh family valued this privilege as highly as ever hidalgo valued the one above mentioned. Mr. Herbert, a refined, intellec'ual-looking man of about fifty, received the farmer kindly, and, after the rent, without as to abatement or reduction, had been paid in notes of tho county hank—dark and greasy but valued in this particular district far abovo Bank of England promises—landlord and tenant settled down to a few minutes conversation on crops and kindred subjects. Then the farmer unburdened his mind. “I’ve come to ask the favor of your advice, sir, about my bey Jerry.” “Yes," said Mr. Herbert, “I know him —a nice, good looking boy. I see him at church with you, and about your place when I pass. What of him?’’ “Well, you zee, zur,” said the farmer, speaking with more Somerset dialect than usual, “he’ve a been at Bristol grammar school till just now. Masters all send good accounts of him. I don't hold wi' too much learning, so thought ’twor time he come home and helped me like. But not a bit o’ good he bo on the varm; not a bit, zur! Spends near all his time messing about wi’ dirt! - ’ “Doing w hat?” asked Mr. Herbert, astonished. “A-mudd’ing and a messing with bits o'clay. Making little figgers, like, and tries to bake 'em in the oven.” “Oh, I see what you mean. What sort of figures!” “All sorts, sir. Little clay figgers of horses, dogs, pigs—why, you’d scarce believe it, sir —last week I found him making the figger of a naked ’ooman! A naked ’ooman! Wy, the lad could never a’ seen such a thing.” Abraham Leigh waited with open eyes to hear Mr. Herbert’s opinion of such an extraordinary, if not positively unusual nroceeding. Mr. Herbert smiled. “Perhaps your son is a youthful genius.” “Genius or not, I want to know, sir, what to do wi' him. How’s the boy to make a living? A farmer he'll never be ” “You follow me and I will show you something.” Mr. Herbert led his guest to his drawing room —a room furnished with the taste of a traveling man. As tho furnier gaped at its splendor, he directed his attention to lour beautiful statues standing in the corners of tho room. “I gave the man who made those £7OO for them, and could sell them to morrow for a thou sand if I chose. That is almost as good as farming, isn’t it?” His tenant’s eye3 were wide with amazement. “A £I,OOO, sir!” he gasped. “Why, you might have bought that fourteen acre field with that.” “Theso give me more pleasure than remarked Mr. Herbert. “But about your nov—when I am riding by I will look in and see what he can do; then give you my advice.” The farmer thanked him and returned home As lie jogged along the road to Watercress Farm, he muttered at intervals: “A thousand pound, in those white figures! Well, well, well, I never did!”

Mr. Herbert was a man who kept a promise, whether made to high or low. Five days after his interview with Abraham Leigh he rode up to the door of the farm. He was not alone. By his side rode a gay, laughing, light-haired child of thirteen, who ruled an indulgent father with a rod of iron. Mr. Herbert had been a widower for some years; the girl, and a boy, who was just leaving Harrow for the university, being his only surviving children. The boy was perhaps not all that Mr. Herbert might have wished, but he could see no fault in the precocious, imperious, spoilt, little maid, who was the sunshine of his life. She tripped lightly after her father into the farm-house, laughing at the way in which he was obliged tc bend his head to avoid damage from the low doorway; site seated herself with beconrng dignity on the chair which the widowed sister who kept house for Abraham Leigh tendered her with many courtesies. A pretty child, indeed, and one who gave rare promise of growing into a lovely woman. The farmer was away somewhere" on the farm, but could be fetched in a minute if Mr. Herbert would wait Mr. Herbert waited, and very soon his tenant made his appearance and thanked his visitor for the trouble ho was taking on bis behalf. “Now let me see the boy,” said Mr. Herbert, after disclaiming all sense of trouble. Leigh went to the door of the room and shouted out, “Jerry, Jerry, come down. You’re wanted, my man.” In a moment the door opened, and the cause of Mr. Leigh’s discontent came upon the scene in the form of a dark eved, dark-haired, palefaced boy, tall but slightly built, not, so far as physiqus went, much credit to the country-side. Yet, in some respects a striking-looking if not a handsome lad. The dark, eloquent eyes and strongly-marked brow would arrest attention: but the face was too thin, too thoughtful for tho age, and could scarcely be associated with what commonly constitutes a good-looking lad. Yet, regularity of feature was there, and no one would dare to be sure that beauty would not come with manhood. lie was not seen at that moment under advantageous circumstances. Knowing nothing about the distinguished visitors, ho had obeyed lus father’s summons in hot haste; consequently, ho entered the room in his shirt-sleeves, which wero certainly r.ot very clean, and with hands covered with red clay. Mr. Herbert looked amused, whilst the little princess turned up her nose in great disdain. Poor Abraham Leigh was much mystified at the unpresentable state in which his son showed himself. To make matters worse, the bey was not soiled by honest, legitimate toil. “Tut! tut!” he said crossly. “All of a muck as usual.” The boy, who felt that his father had a right to complain, hung his head and showed signs of retreating. Mr. Herbert came to the rescue. “Never mind,” he said, patting young Leigh on the shoulder; “he has been working ia his own fashion. I have come on purpose to see those modelings of j ours, my boy.” The boy started as one surprised. Ilis cheek flushed, and ho looked at the speaker with incredulity yet hope in bis eyes. “Yes," said his father sharply. “Go and put your hands under the pump, Jerry, then bring some of ’em down. Mabbe, anyway, they'll amuse the little lady.” “No, no,” said Mr. Herbert. “I’ll come with you and see them for myself. Lead the way.” Young Leigh did not speak, hut his eyes thanked Mr. Herbert. That gentleman followed him from the room, leaving the farmer to amuse the little maid. He did this so far as he was able by producing a well-thumbed copy of the “Pilgrim's Progress,” tho leaves of which Miss Herbert condescended to turn daintily over until sho was quite terrified by the picture of the combat with Apollyon. Meanwhile "Jerry,” with a beating heart, led Mr. Herbert upstairs to a room destitute of furniture, save an old table and chair. A bucket half full of common red clay stood in one corner, and on the table were several of the little clay figures which had excited the faimer's ire and consternation. t’rudo, defective, full of faults as they were, there was enough power in them to make Mr. Herbert look at the lad in wonderment, almost envy. 110 was a mi n who worshiped art; who had dabbled as an amateur in painting and sculpturing for years; who considered a gifted artist the most fortunate of mankind. So the word envy is not ill chosen. What he would have given half his wealth to possess came to this boy unsought for—to tho son of a clod of a farmer the precious gift was vouchsafed! As he would havo expected, the most ambitious efforts were tho worst—tho “nakeft ’ooman” was particularly atrocious—but, still wet. and not ruined by an abortive attempt at baking, was a group modeled from life; a vulgar subject, representing, as it did, Abraham Leigh’s prize sow. surrounded by her ten greedy off spring. There was such power ar.d talent in

THE INDIANAPOLIS JOURNAL, SUNDAY, AUGUST 30, 1885.

this production that, had ho seen nothing else, Mr. Herbert would have been certain that the lad, as a modeler and copyist, must take the first rank. If, in addition to his manual dexterity, he had poetry; feeling and imagination, it might well bo that one of the greatest sculptors of the nineteenth century stood in embryo before him. As Mr. Herbert glanced from the rough clay sketches to the pale boy who stood breathless, as one expecting a verdict of life or death, he wondered what could have been the cause of such a divergence from the traits habitual to the Leighs. Then he remembered that some twenty years ago Abraham Leigh had chosen for a wife, not one of his own kind, but a dweller in cities—a governess, who exchanged, no doubt, a life of penury and eervitude for the rough but comfortable home the Somersetshire farmer was willing to give her. Mr. Herbert remembered her, remembered how utterly out of place the delicate, refined woman seemed to be as Leigh’s wife; remembered how, a few years after the birth of the boy, she sickened and died. It was from the mother's side the artistic taste came. Mr. ‘ Herbert, although a kind man, was cautious. He had no intention of raising hopes which might bo futile. Yet he felt a word of encouragement was due to the lad. “Some of these figures show a decided talent,” he said. “After seoing them, I need scarcely ask you if you wish to be a sculptor?” Young Leigh clasped his hands together. “Oh, sir!” he gasped. “If it could only be!” “You do not care to be a farmer, like your father?” “I could never be a farmer, sir. lam not fit for it.” “Yet, if you follow in your father’s track, you will lead a comfortable, useful life. If you follow art, you may go through years of poverty and suffering before success is attained.” The boy raised his head and looked full at the speaker—there was almost passionate entreaty in his eyes. “Oh, sir,” ho said, “if you would only persuade my father to let me try—even for a few years. If I did not succeed I would come back to him and work as a laborer for the rest of my life without a murmur.” Mr. Herbert was impressed by the boy's earnestness. “I will speak to your father,” ho said. Then tho two went back to the sittin-grooin, where they found Abraham Leigh much exercised by some difficult questions propounded by Miss Herbert respecting the nature of Apollyon. “Take my little girl for a walk round tho garden,” said Mr. Herbert to young Leigh. “I want to speak to your father.” In spite of the creal gulf between her and the clav-bespattered boy in his shirt sleeves, tho little princess was too glad of a change of scene to wish to disobey her father. She followed her conductor to the back of the house, and tho boy and girl stepped out into the autumnal sunshine. The little maid looked so trim and dainty in her neat riding habit, coquettish hat and tiny gloves, that his own draggled appearance struck the hoy forcibly. “If you will excuse me a minute,” he said, “I will run and wash ray hands.” “Yes. 1 think it will be better,” said Miss Herbert, with dignity. In a minute or two young Leigh returned, lie had found time not only to wash the rich rod clay from his long, well-shaped fingers, but to slip on bis coat and generally beautify himself. His improved appearance had a great, effect upon the child, who, like most of her age, was influenced by exteriors. So Miss Herbert, this little great lady, unbent, and allowed “Jerry” to lead her round the oldfashioned garden, to the outhouses and pigsties, where tho obese pigs la)’ oblivious of what fate had in store for them; to the stables; to tho dairy, where she condescended to drink a glass of new milk, and by the time they had returned to the garden tho two were as good friends as their different stations in life would permit. Young Leigh, who saw in this dainty little maid the incarnation of fairies, nymphs, goddesses, and other ideals which, in a dim way, were forming themselves in his brain, endeavored, after his first shyness had passed away, to show her what beautiful shapes and forms could he found in flower, leaf, and tree, and other things in nature. His talk, indeed, soared far above ber pretty little head, and when they returned to the garden ho was trying to make her see that those masses of white clouds low down in the distance were two bodies of warriors just about to meet in deadly fray. “You are a very, very funny boy,” said Miss Herbert, with such an air of conviction that, he was startled into silence. “Your name is Jerry, isn't it?” she continued. “Jerry's an ugly name.” “My name is Gerald—Gerald Leigh.” “Oh —Gerald!” Even this child could see the impropriety of a tenant farmer having a son named Gerald. No wonder Abraham Leigh addressed bis boy as Jerry! “Do you like being a farmer?” she asked. “I am not going to be a farmer—l don’t like it.”

“What a pity. Farmers are such a worthy, respectable class of men,” said the girl, using a stock phrase she had caught up somewhere. The boy laughed merrily. Mr. Herbert’s approbation sat newly upon him, and he was only talking to a child—so lie said: “I hope to be worthy and respectable, but a much greater man than a farmer.” “Oh! How great?—as great as papa?” “Yes, I hope so,” “That’s absurd, you know,” said Miss Herbert, with all the outraged family pride that thirteen years can feel; and, turning away, she switched at the flowers with her riding whip. However, a few words from Gerald made them friends once more, and she expressed her pleasure that ho should pick her one of the few roses which remained in the garden. “Roses are common,” said the boy. “Everyone gives roses. I will give you something prettier.” He went to the sunny side of the house, and soon returned with half a-dozen pale lavender stars in his hands. They were blossoms of a new sort of late clematis, which some one’s gardener had given Abraham Leigh. Gerald's deft lingers arranged them into a most artistic bouquet, the appearance of which was entirely spoilt by Miss Herbert’s insistanco that two or three roses should be added. The bouquet was just finished and presented when Mr. lietbcrt, followed by the farmer, appeared. Although he said nothing more to young Leigh on the subject which was uppermost in the boy's mind, the kindly encouraging look he gave him raised the wildest hopes in his heart. Mr. Herbert bade the father and son a pleasant good-day, and rode off with bis little daughter. Miss Herbert carried the bunch of clematis for about two miles,- then finding it rather encumbered her, tossed it over a hedge. Gerald Leigh went back to his attic and commenced about half a dozen clay sketches of the prettiest object which as yet had crossed hi s path. For several days he wa3 on thorns to hear what fate had in store for him; but fate, personified by his father, made no sign, but went about bis work stolid and sphinx like. Mr. Herbert, Gerald learned, bad gone to London for a few days. However, before a fortnight had gone by, Abraham Leigh received a letter from Ins landlord, and the same evening, whilst smoking his pipe in the farm kitchen, informed his son and his sister that to-morrow ho was goiug into Gloucestershire tosee if his brother Joseph could spare him one of his many boys to take Jerry’s place. Jerry was to go to London the next day and meet Mr. Herbert. Most likely he’d stay there. 'Twas clear as noontide the hoy would never make a farmer, and if there were fools enough in the world to buy white figures at hundreds of pounds apiece, Jerry might as well try to make his living that way as any other. The trutli is, Mr. Herbert told Abraham Leigh that if he would not consent to pay for his son’s art education, he, Mr. Herbert, would bear the expense himself. But the monetary part of it troubled the substantial farmer little. He could pay for his child’s keep if he could bring his mind to consent to his going. And now the consent was given. Gerald heard his father's communication with glowing eyes. For shame's sake he hid his joy, for be knew that, with all his stolid demeanor, his father almost broke down as he contemplate 1 the diverging paths his son and he must henceforward tread. The boy thanked him from his heart, and the rough farmer, laying his hand on his child’s head blessed Lira, and bade him go and prosper. In this way Gerald Lfigh left Coombe-Acton. At long intervals .10 reappeared for a few days. The worthy villagers eyed him askance; the only conception they could form of his profession being connected with dark skinned itinerants who bore double-tiered platforms on their heads, and earned a precarious livelihood by traversing the country selling conventional representations of angels and busts of eminent men. [TO UK CONTINUED NEXT SUNDAY. [

WOMEN WHO BET ON RACES. A Display of Bad Temper at Monmouth Park —Duties of an Escort. York Times. A neatly dressed, decidedly matronly, and altogether respectable looking woman, who occuS'ed a seat in the grand stand at the Monmonth ark race track on a recent afternqpn, created a decided sensation for those in her immediate vicinity. The Champion stallion stakes had just been run, and the famous Kentuckian, Ban Fox, had been landed winner by a head. Flushed with the excitement of the race, with every nerve at its highest tension, and with her voice pitched in its highest and shrillest key, the woman turned toward a quiet and modestly dressed young man, and said: “You're always making mistakes! I told you to buy Biggonette ‘for place,’ and you bought her ‘to win,’ and now 1 have lost my money!’’ “I beg pardon, Mrs. 8., but you haven't seen your tickets, and so can’t possibly know whether they are ‘for place’ or ‘to win.’ Here are your tickets, if you wish them, and they're the tickets you told me to buy. I’m not in the habit of disobeying your instructions.” The young man extended toward the woman a bundle of particolored cardboards, and bowed low as, in a very unladylike manner, the woman snatched them, spitefully tore them in pieces, and threw them on the floor. She looked up then, and for the first time seemed to appreciate that sho was not alone. Fifty pairs of eyes were looking at her, and the fifty pairs had seen her exhibition of temper, notwithstanding the counter attraction on the track in front of them. The flush of excitement on her faco vanished. Her cheeks became pale with anger, and in an instant after reddened with mortification, and the woman sat down crushed by the combination of a sense of her losses and the knowledge that she had made a scene that was anything but creditable. Sho rose and passed up into the stand. Well away from those who were wit nesses of her exhibition of temper, she turned to the young man, who had followed behind her, and said: “I must retrieve my losses in some way. Here are twenty dollars: buy me Miss Woodford to win. The Queen will certainly pull me out of this mess.” Excuse me, madame, but I will execute no more commissions for you. If Miss Woodford should lose you would blame me. I will wait here to escort you home if you w ish, but I will handle no more of your money. Do you wish a messenger?” The lady was much astonished at the position assumed by her young escort. “I will find my way home alone, and will find my own messenger,” said the lady sharply and imperiously. She was too deeply absorbed in her turf ventures to think of her conduct. A district messenger boy who was hurrying by was stopped. “Buy me four tickets on Miss Woodford to win,” she commanded. Then she asked: “Is sho thought fit?” The shrevd little fellow looked at her a moment, anu, deciding that she was one of the set who have the betting craze, and might prove to be a lucrative customer, bo said: “She’s being heavily backed mum. but them Kentuckians is a plunging on Freeland, and he’s a quiet t.p to win among their friends.” “But I don’t think he can get even a place,” said the woman, meditating upon the “tip” of the blue-coated informant. “lie’s the top weight, and I don’t believe either in ‘paddock tips’ or Kentuckians. Buy me Miss Woodford to win.” The boy did as ho was bid. Freeland won. The woman lost her S2O. and when Freeland went first under the wire she sat down and burst into tears. A lady sitting near her said sympathetically: “Don’t cry; no true better does that. I have SSO worth of Miss Woodford tickets myself, and they’re not worth the paper they’re printed on. We will get it all back on another venture.” Just then there was added to the group a petite woman of about thirty, whose face was a mass of smiles, and who displayed a bundle of tickets with the mystic number which indicated “Freeland to win.” To the sorrowing pair she said with glee: “I’ve won enough on these two races to buy me a sealskin dolman this fall. Mrs. S., of Louisville, who is here with her husband, gave me ‘a straight tip’ on both Ban Fox and Freeland. Wasn’t it kind of her?” She passed on to send her winning tickets to be cashed. Then the sorrowing Mrs. B. broke out with: “I’ll never speak to her again as long as I live. The hateful thing. We’ve been friends for years, and she had that ‘tip’ and let me sit here and lose my money. It’s real And tears trickled down the cheeks "orMrs.’ 8., and she rocked to and fro and looked like one who could never be comforted. The young man who had refused to buy tickets for the sorrowing woman watched hor from his post some distance away, and looked a trifle sad in sympathy with her. A Times man made his acquaintance so successfully that the story of his connection with the affair came out by piecemeal. “►She is the wife of a merchant in very good circumstances,” said be, “tho mother of two children, and has as happy a home as any one could wish for. They live in a family hotel in street, where I was employed as a bell-boy.’, “And do hotels send bell-boys out as escorts to the tracks with their boarders?” “No; I’m an escort,” said the young roan, straightening himself a bit “I’m no bell boy.” “And what’s an escort?” “Say; I guess you ain’t around the tracks much, are you? Why, it’s a regular profession. One of my friends put me up to it, and I’ve followed it ever since. Women, you know, have the betting fever just as badly as men do, and some of those who have it the worst couldn’t gratify it if it wasn’t for fellows in my profession. You see, some of them play the races on the sly. They don’t have their husbands to bring them to the tracks, and even if they did they wouldn’t bet so much as they do, for their husbands wouldn’t let them. So they hire escorts to go to the race-conrscs with them. We buy their tickets on the boats or cars; find seats for them while they’re traveling; buy them the ‘selections’ that the boys sell around the track, and get what information we can for them iu the paddock or at the betting stands; keep track of the odds and help them all we can. Then we buy auction pools, mutual tickets, or take the risks the book makers offer for them on whatever horse they may select. They pay all our expenses, of course, and when we work by tho day give us $2 a day. Where we give them such quiet tips as we get hold of we work on percentage for them when wo can, and some days when a woman will take our advice we make a good ‘stake.’ But are queer; and while they hit it once in a while by reason of some freak, most of them lack the nerve to bet so as to win. Then, too, they waut to bet on every raco, and that’s always a losing way to play the races. There’s as much in knowing when not to bet as there is betting right, but you can’t make a woman believe it.” Further inquiry revealed the fact that there does exist in this city a number of young men of good address who follow the same “profession” as did the ex-bell boy, and that they find it a comfortable and pleasant way to a summer's existence. To be an escort the young man must have good address, a fair education, a thoroughly controllable temper —for when a woman who is betting loses she also loses hertemperand vents her rage on her “escort”—a good knowledge of turf events, the breeding of horses and their performances, anil familiarity with the merits and demerits of jockeys. lie must also have good clothes and be* able to 'seem the gentleman escort rather than the professional. Among women who bet these escorts are well known by reputation, and the best dressed, best informed, and most polite have no trouble in finding plenty to do at their strange business. The writer knows of one of them who had escorted parties of from two to four ladies from this city to Monmouth Park nearly every day this season, who was equ .:ly well engaged during tho Sheepshead Bay meeting, and who, on the off days, was also engaged as escort to one or more women to the Brighton Beach track. The women whom these escorts serve are almost invariably women of thorough respectability— true wives and good mothers. They have tho betting fever, that is all. - ■ How "Women Learn to Swim. Baltimore Herald. “I)o women take to swimming naturally?” asktd the thin man. “Some of theta do, like a fish,” he answered. “They get along much better under tho hands of male instructors. Some years ago we had lady instructors, but the women did not have confidence in them. It fact, as swimming teachers they were not a success. They lost their norvo too easily, and if an accident chanced to happen to one of the learners they were at sea as to just what to do. The greatest thing that bothers a woman is to keep her head out of the water. She is sure to scream the first time itbobs under anu she will kick like groat guns until sho gets it

out again. The average woman will learn to 6wim in about six lessons. They have great difficulty in floating, or, rather, comparatively few of them seem to caro about trying it. They are very sociable creatures in water and are great hands to frolic with one another. I never saw one woman get provoked at another in the pool. They are very daring and will attempt the high dive at a stage in their knowledge of swimming when a man would not think of doing such a thing. Some of them lose their faultless figure when they get in the bathing garb. That, as consists merely of short trousers and a close-fitting flannel covering tor the body. Astor they get wet, the trousers become practically tight and every line of the figure is revealed perfectly. Then it is that many a seeming plump woman dwindles to a not-overly alluring female, with a stoop in her shoulders and genuine bowed legs. Some women, on the other hand, appear to much better advantage in their swimming costumes than when in their ordinary clothing.” • Heartsease. I searched my sweetheart’s garden through; ’Twas wondrous rich in fragrant bloom, And yet in all its wealth of room I found no spot where heartsease grew. Hope held me lingering there awhile— Tho’ torn by mingled love and wrath — Till lo! I met her in the path, And gathered heartsease from her smile. Poet of the Waste Basket. MAKING NECKTIES. Materials Used In Scarfs—Designs and Fashions—Suiting the Supply to the Market. New York Mail and Express. “There are special grades and designs of silks and satins made exclusively for the necktie trade,” said a manufacturer to a reporter for the Mail and Express recently. “These materials are made from patterns designed by men who do nothing but study up new things in neckties. There are from fifty to seventy-five factories in this country and ten or twelve first-class makers. The latter usually secure exclusive right to use certain styles of goods from the makers, by buying either the entire stock offered to the American market or a large portion of it. But the success cf making up the goods is just like a lottery ticket Perhaps one year I may hit on some design and it will become so popular that all other makers will bo forced to adopt it, but the next year someone in Boston or Philadelphia may make a hit and 1 will have to follow him. There’s never any telling how a necktie is going to take with the public until it's ou the market. There its suecess depends on who adopts it first. If he happens to be a howling swell, and on the right side of popular favor, that particular kind of necktie will sell well.” “Are the styles of making up neckties originated abroad?” “Not now. They were until less than three years ago, but now our styles aro supeiior to the European and they are coming over here for patterns. However, there is a tendency for English fashions for the fall.” “Are men or women employed in making neckties.?’' “Women. There are more than 1,200 girls thus employed in this city aloue. They work by tho piece and make more or less money according to their expertDess. A good finisher can make $3 or $9 a week. She takes a necktie after it is put together and finishes each detail perfectly so that it is ready to box. Three different colors of tiie same design and same style are boxed together, to give tho dealers an assortment in the one make. Tho finisher must see that all of this kind aro exactly alike in point of finish and make-up. We have one girl who does nothing but turn the bands of neckties, and she makes sls a week, tihe turns twenty five or thirty dozen bands a day. “The cheap wear now flooding tho market is composed of old styles made of poor goods. As a rule, men show no discrimination in purchasing neckties. They look into a window, see a tie that takes their fancy, and then rush in to buy it, never stopping to ask the price. Thus they are just as likely to buy one of the cheap kind, that will not last a week, as a good one.”

STYLISH WRAPS. English Women Never Without Them—What Kinds Are Generally Worn. Bondon l etter in Hartford Times. Wraps play a much larger part in stylish dressing in London than in New York, and to American women upon a first visit the seeming incongruity of light dresses, accompanied by heavy wraps and even fur capes, is a constant subject of remark, and sometimes ridicule. But English women know what they are about, and tho exigencies of their own climate. The sun through the day is very hot; tho air out of the sun’s direct influence very cool, and over the whole atmosphere, the moment the sun has gone down, falls thin, transparent, vaporous mist, followed by clear, cool, refreshing evenings and nights, when covering for comfort is actually needed. An English woman, therefore, never goes out without a wrap, not necessarily for wear, but for emergencies. Wraps as part of the costume are lesscommou than in New York, but there is much more style and expense put into independent wraps, or rather this kind of wrap is more commonly worn. For example: Upon a recent afternoon at Lord's, where perhaps ten thousand people were assembled, and irom twenty to thirty drags, the toilets were all of the lightest and thinnest material—thin open-worked embroideries over batiste, lace over silk, transparent wools and gauze or net embroidered and draped upon satin or China silk. With such costumes in cream and canary, pale blue and strawberry, flesh pink and terracotta were carried long cloaks of ruby plush, wide capes lined with plush, with hoods and long ends that can be thrown over the shoulders, and dolmans of chuddah cloth or India wool, silk lii ed and fringed or trimmed with pendant braids in the colors of the cloth.” What the Eyes Indicate. New York Graphic. Black eyes are indicative of passionate ardor in love. Hasty, irritable persons have frequently eyes of a brownish tint, inclined to a greenish hue. Green eyes, although their praises are often sung in Spanish ballads, show deceit and coquetry. Very dark blue eyes, with something of the tint of the violet, show great power of affection and purity of mind, but not much intellectuality. Brown eyes, when not of the ye lowish tint, but pure russet brown, show an affectionate disposition; the darker the brown tho more ardent and passionate is the power of affection. The brown eyes which do not appear black aro tho eyes of sweet, gentle and unselfish natures, without the inconstancy of the light brown or yellow yellow eyes—“golden eyes.” as they were called by a lady novelist, and which aro very little more to bo trusted than the green eyes, Clear, light blue eyes, with a calm steadfastness in their glance, aro indicative of cheerfulness of disposition, of a serene temper and a constant nature. These eyes are peculiar to the northern nations; one meets them among the Swedo, and also, sometimes, among the Scotch. The blue eyes among the rare blondes of tho south —that is, in Italy and Spain—have among them eyes in which are some greenish tints: ami such eyes, though often called light blue, have none of the qualities of serenity and constancy which belong to the light blue eyes of the north. Although the purely green eye indicates deceit and coquetry, tho propensity to greenish tints in the eyes is a sign of wisdom and courage. Very choleric persons, if they have blue eyes, havo also certain tints of greon in them, and when under the influence of anger a sudden red light appears in them. In England—where there are more varieties of tints in eyes than in any other country—the poets havo almost always gray eyes. A biographer of Byron speaks of his “beautiful, changeful, gray eyes.” Shakspearo also had, we are told, gray eyes; Coleridge, eyes of a greenish gray. Among the the artists, too, eyes of this color abound. The pleasant light blue eye with the honest glanco must not be eonfounded with another sort of eye of a pale blue, almost steel-colored hue, which has a constantly shifting sort of motion, both of the eyelids and the pupils of the eye. People with such eyes as these aro to bo avoided, as they aro indicative of a deceitful and seltih nature. Gray eyes, of a somewhat greenish gray, with orange as well as blue in them, and which are of ever varying tints like the sea, are those which denote most intellectuality. They are especially indicative of the impulsive, impressionable tom perawent—a mixture of the sanguine and the bilious—which produces the poetio and artistic natures. *

TnE DETECTIVES MAPi How Inspector Sharpe Sticks Pins Throu|;l* the Postoffice Thieves. Washington Special. Chief Inspector Sharpe, the head of the detect* ive service in the Postoffice Department, resigned his office several weeks ago to engage in private business. His resignation was accepted, to take effect on Sept. 1. His record is that of a capable officer. He is an East Tennessee man, tall and spare in stature, and in appearance and manner the typical detective. During the war he was a Union man. and did good service. A3 a department officer he has been a terror to rascals, and has hunted many of them out of the service, oven when they were sheltered by strong political influence. Somo years ago, for instance, a Vermont inspector was discovered to be conniving at postoffice rascality in that State, and was discharged. The man had been a henchman of Senator Edmunds, and the Senator called at the Postoffice Department to see what could be done. The Postmaster-general asked tho Senator and Inspector into a private office, and told Colonel Sharpe to explain, which tha Inspector did very fully. “And you recommended tho man's discharge? ll asked Mr. Edmunds, harshly. “Yes, I did,” replied Colonel Sharpe; “andhad I known the man’s character sooner I would have bounced him mouths ago.” “Well, you did just right," said Edmunds, and loft. One of the most important duties of the Chief Inspector is to detect railway postal clerks who steal letters containing money. To accomplish this Colonel Sharpe follows a simple but ingenious system, which ho explained the other day to the writer. “To catch these thieves,” he said, “I had constructed a large railroad map of the United States, which bangs in my office. Now, supposing a man mails a letter in Boston for Kansas City containing sso—a very bad practice, but people will do it. The letter never readiest its destination, and pretty soon we got a complaining letter stating the circumstances. “Now, if the supposed case were an isolated one, we probably could do nothing. The letter, in going from to Boston to Kansas City, would pass through thirty or forty hands, and it would be useless to try to fix the blame. But the Boston man’s case is not isolated. Every day we get from one to fifty similar complaints from all over the country, and this fact, as you will see. enables us locate the mischief.

“First we ascertain exactly when and where the missing letter was mailed and its address. Then we are ready for the map spoken of. I take the Boston man’s letter and a bunch of similar complaints, and then I begin to stick pins into ray map. I know just the route which a letter would take to go from Boston to Kansas City, and 1 stick pins along to sketch out this course. Then I take the next complaint. Perhaps this from a man who lost money transmitting it from Mobile to Chicago. Very well. I trace out tho line such a letter would take. The third, perhaps, was sent from New York to San Francisco, tho fourth from New Orleans to Buffalo, the fifth from Saginaw City to Philadelphia, and so on. Now, before very lung the map begin* to look quite interesting. Tho pins aro strewn all over the country, but vie notice one track—say, for instance, between Chicago and Cleveland —where all tho lines unite. That’s where the thief is. “Knowing now where the stealing is going on, we advise our most trusted man in that division —we have to trust somebody, you know—that there is trouble in his section, and tell him to keep a sharp look out Wo inquire into tho habits and associations of the clerks, and we are, perhaps, enabled to spot tho man at once. At other times it is more difficult But we always fetch him. Detection is certain. “But don’t the clerks know of this system?” “Perfectly well,” replied Colonel Sharpe. “Then why do they say steal?” was asked. “Ah, there you ask me too hard u question,” said the inspector. “I'm sure I can’t tell. I only know they do, and the history of almost all cases is the same. A postal clerk will be tempted and will steal a letter that he feels has money in it. For the next few days he is scared to death. He thinks tverbody reads his guilt in his face, a i:d he is certain he will be caught end put in p nson. Ho resolves never to steal another letter, and possibly he does not. But generally in about a month or two months his fear and remorse bf.vo worn off. Evidently ho has not been caught and is not suspected. A good chance comes and ho steals another letter. This time ho does not wait a month before be tries it again. And before long he is stealing all the letters he gets hold of which contain money. About that time I am sticking pins into my map. It is sure death. Sometimes we get more than one, as fishers will now and then land two or three fish at onca when the biting is very lively. We caught three in two weeks once in different parts of the country, when we supposed wo were only aftor one.” “But why do men keep on stealing when they see others caught, and understand that the machinery of detection is so perfect?” “As I said before,” replied the Inspector, “that I can’t answer, except in this way: Every rogue thinks himself a little smarter than anybody else. He sees that others are caught, but ho thinks that he is too cunning and can cover his tracks.” — HOME-MADE PLUSH. A New Industry Hein:; Developed in a lihodo Island Factory. Pawtucket 'K I.) Correspondence Philadelphia Press. The manufactureof plush, which has hitherto been made exclusively in foreign countries, lias recently been begun by a firm in Pawtucket. A start was made four years ago. but only within a few months have the goods been put on the market. More than three years were spent in experimenting in machinery, and even yet the business is not entirely perfected. New methods are constantly being adopted and fresh improvements made. The company was hindered in its enterprise by ignorance of even the kind of machinery employed in this branch of manufacture across the water. A representative of the firm was sent to Europe, when the project was first formed, but he experienced great difficulty in obtaining admission to the plush mills, and in many cases was completely unsuccessful. Almost the only result of his trip was the purchase of a plush loom, and a few stray ideas obtained under tho greatest difficulties. This loom was shipped at once to Pawtucket, and experiments were begun upon it. These extended over moro than three years, and are still being carried on. Flattering success lias attended this experimenting. From this single piece of machinery tho whole system of manufacture had to be evolved. But the loom has been improved upon, the other necessary machinery has been worked out and constructed, and iii many respects the new methods aro claimed to surpass in nicety and utility those of the foreign manufacturers. All this work has been carried on with closed doors, and even now none but employes of tho firm are permitted within the rooms where tho weaviug and finishing of the plush is performed. So carefully was the secret guarded, so quietly the work of experimenting and perfecting carried on, that no one outside the firm was aware of the new industry that was being developed until the fabric was placed in tho market. There are two or three other concerns iu various parts of the country experimenting in plush manufacture, but the Pawtucket firm were tho pioneers in tho industry. Their plushes are manufactured both for the car and upholstery trades. Tho car trade is now almost exclusively controlled by foreign mills. The company has already obtained somo orders for this work and has furnished tho plush for the first car ever upholstered with American plush, No. 52 on the Boston Sc Providence railroad. The firm have experimented largely to securo permanency of color, as well as excellence of quality in their plushes, and are now issuing cards, elaborately prepared, with pieces of plusli of their own and of foreign manufacture side by side. These cards are sent to car establishment* all over the country with the request that they be exposed to the direct rays of the sun for thirty or sixty days. This is a much more severe to3t than plushes receive in actual use. Jokes of the Stenographers. Buffalo Courier. The shorthand men in town aro not without some notions of humor. While one of them was speaking yesterday afternoon a dog in the lobby barked loudly. “Is t hat Secretary Brown’s dog? 1 was asked. “No,” replied Secretary Brown. “I move,” said the first speaker, “that tho president appoint a committee of one on that dog to take down his bark.” “Why not report his tail?” asked another member. Everybody laughed, iueluding tho ladies.

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