Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 February 1908 — The KING of DIAMONDS. [ARTICLE]

The KING of DIAMONDS.

By Louis Tracy,

CHAPTER VIII. I T wan 4 o’clock In the afternoon of a fine hut chilly March day when rhlllp regained IJolbom with £SO making a lump In his pocket and Isancßteln's letter safely lodged In his coat The mere weight of the gold suggested an unpleasant possibility. His clothes were so worn that the frail calico might give way and every golden coin rattle forth to the pavement. So with one of Mr. Abingdon’s shillings he made his first purchase, a capacious tobacco pouch with a snap mouth, for which he paid ninepence. Then he adjourned to nn aerated bread shop and ordered some refreshments. While the waitress was bringing his cup of tea and piece of cake lie contrived to slip all the sovereigns but one Into the tobacco pouch. He did this with his hand in the pocket itself, and more than once there was a pleasant clink as the coins fell Into their novel receptacle. A man sitting near caught the sound and looked up suspiciously, rhlllp, whose senses were very much on the alert today, realized that his action was somewhat careless. Without even glancing at ids neighbor, he took out his remaining couple of shillings and the three pennies, and affected to count them with a certain degree of astonishment, as if some were missing. The ruse wns satisfactory. The man gave him no further heed and soon quitted the restaurant. Philip tendered the odd sovereign in payment of ids bill. The girl cashier seemed to be surprised that such a ragged youth should own so large a stun. “All silver, please,” said rhlllp, when she begnn to count his change. He would take no more risks If he could avoid them. Not a single policeman in London would have failed to arrest him at that moment were his store of gold revealed by any chance. Yet Philip was rich honestly, and there were men driving away from the city at that hour whose banking accounts were plentorlc with stolen money. F<4 their carriages the policemen would stop the traffic. In neither instance could tlie guardians of the peace be held blameworthy, such is the importance of mere appearances. The boy, during ids short and terribly sharp tussle with London life, had already grasped this essential fact, and, .with great skill and method, he set about the bisk of altering his own shabby exterior. In a side street leading out of Gray’s Inn road he found a secondhand clothes shop. Here he purchased a worn, but decent, blue serge suit for 8 shillings sixpence, a pair of boots for 6 shillings, a cap for ninepence, a woolen shirt for 2 shillings and a linen collar for threepence. He haggled sufficiently over the bargain to suit the needs of a scanty purse. “I’ve cut ’em dahn low enough,” said the shopkeeper mournfully. “Things Isn’t wot they was in the ole clo’ line. Jet me tell yer. Not but what you do want a new rlg-aht.” “Yes,” said Philip. “I’ve got a job and can't keep it unless I look decent.” For the life of Idm he could not burlesque the cockney accent, and although he used the simplest phraseology the man gllnedd at him sharply. Philip rattled all liis silver and coppers on to tlie counter. lie counted out 10 shillings sixpence. “Not much left, is there?" he said. “Well, look ’ere,” said the man. “Gimme fifteen bob. You’re a sharp lad. You’ll myke yer w’y gll right Nex' time you want some duds come to me an’ I'll treat you fair.” "Tlinuk you very much,” said Philip, considerably surprised by this generous act. “I certainly will not forget you.” “You can change In my little back room If you like. That lot you’ve got on ain’t worth t.vkln’ ’oine.” “I am obliged for your kindness, but I must l>4 off now. It is lute, and I have a long way to go.” “Where to? Holloway?” “No; cityward.” The clothes and boots were made up In a parcel by tlds time. Philip hurried away, glad to escape further questioning. Philip sprang into a bus for the Bank. At the Royal Exchange he would catch • green bus for the Mile End roud. It was almost dark when he reached the Bank. Thus far the omnibuses going east were not crowded. Now the situation had changed. The human eddy in that throbbing center of life was sending off its swirls to all points of the compass, and the eastbound vehicles were boarded by an eager crowd almost before the passengers arriving at the terminus could descend. A poor woman greatly hampered by a baby was struggling with others to obtain a seat in the Mile End road bus. Philip, coming late on the scene, Baw her swept ruthlessly aside by a number of men and boys. The conductor Jerked the be 11 rope several times. There was no more room. The woman, white faced and disappointed, looked around with a woebegone expression. Philip, who would have gladly paid for a cab to take her to her destination, dared no nothing of the sort But he said: “Keep close to me. 1 will get yon a

Author of “Wings of the Morning,” “The Pillar of Light.” Etc. COPYRIGHT, 1004, By EDWARD J. CLODE.

seat in the next bus.” “Oh, I wish you would,” she said, with a wan smile, “I am so tired. I have walked here from Shepherd’s Bush.” “That’s a long way t 6 carry a baby.” “What could I do? People won't take cure of children without payment I heard I could get work in a laundry there, so 1 went to look after It There’s nothing to be had down ouv way, is there?” “Things turn up suddenly,said Thillp. “Not for the poor, my lad. I fear you know that without my telling you. But you are young and will soon be a man.” Her wistful tone went to his heart. "Didn’t you succeed at the laundry?” he inquired. "Yes; I ought to be thankful. I can earn 1) shillings a week there. I start on Monday.” “isn't your husband at work?” “He is dead. Poor fellow, he caught cold last Christmas and was buried in January. God only knows how I have lived since. If it wasn’t for the kindness of neighbors, baby and I would have starved. I can ill afford this tuppence, but I can’t walk any further.” “Well, look out now,” he said cheerily. “Here’s our bus.” As the vehicle drew np be caught the brass rail with his left hand and warded off assailants with the bundle under his right arm. “Quick.” he said to the woman as soon as the people inside had descended. “Jump in.” She essayed to do so, but was rudely thrust aside by a young man who had paused on the root to light a cigarette. Philip sprang onto the step and butted the young gentleman in the stomach with his parcel, causing the other to sit down heavily on the stairs. The boy caught the woman’s arm with his disengaged hand and pulled her up. He dived in after her. “You young”— roared the discomfited smoker. “’Ere! Come ors of It,” said the conductor. “Why didn't ye git dahn before? D’ye want a lift?” Others hustled the protesting one out of the way. “Confound the East End, I say!” he growled as he crossed to the Mansion House. “What the deuce Lady Louise Morland wants to keep on sending me to tliat wretched mews for I can’t imagine. Anyway I can tell her this time that the place Is empty and will be pulled down next week.” And thus it wns that Philip collided with Messrs. Sharpe & Smith’s clerk, detailed by the anxious Lady Morland to discover his whereabouts. They met and bumped into each other in the whirlpool of London Just as two ships might crash together by night In nildAtlnntic and draw npnrt with ruffled feelings, or scraped paint, which is the same thing, without the slightest knowledge of each other’s identity. Within the omnibus the woman was rolubly grateful. She had a kindly heart and timidly essayed questions as to Philip’s relatives, hoping that she might make their acquaintance. “I'll be bound, now,” she said, “that you have a good mother. You can always tell what the parents are like when you see the children.” “My mother was indeed dear to me,” he replied sadly, again driven out of himself by the mournful recollections thus suddenly induced, "but she is dead, lost to me forever.” Some people in the bus ceased talking. They were attracted by the strong, clear voice of this unkempt boy, whose diction and choice of words were so outrageously opposed to his garments. Luckily the silence warned him or his new friend’s sympathy might have brought about an embarrassing position. “Poor thing! And is your father dead too?” “Yes, He died long ago.” “Where do you live now?” “Oh,” he said, “I have been staying in north London, but will leave there soon, and I have not settled anything definitely at present. Where is the laundry you spoke of? I will cull some day if I may and learn how you are getting on.” “I will be so pleased. It Is a little place in James street, the only one there. Ask for Mrs. Wrigley.” "It is lucky you understand laundry work or things might go hard with you.” She laughed pitifully. “I don't They asked me If I was a washer or an Ironer. I thought washing required least experience, so I said I was a washer. I am quick to learn and will watch the other women. If they find me out I may be discharged.” "Oh, cheer up!” he said pleasantly. “I don’t suppose you’ll find It very hard.” Her voice sank almost to a whisper. “It is not the wofk I dread, but the surroundings. I was a schoolteacher before my marriage. My husband was an electrical engineer. We put all our savings Into a little business, and then --the end came." “Not quite the end. lam only a boy, but I’ve had ups and downs enough to know that the beginning of next week may be a very different affair to the end of this. Goodby." They were passing the London hos-

pital, and he thought it prudent so alight at some distance from Johnson's Mews. “Well, God bless you, anyhow," she said earnestly. “’E’s got 'ls ’ead screwed on tight, that lad," commented a man sitting next to her. “Better than that, he has a good heart,” said Mrs. Wrigley. Most fortunate Mrs. Wrigley—to have encountered Philip In that hour, which she deemed the blackest In her life. He hastened through the familiar bustle of the busy thoroughfare with heightened expectancy, It is true, but devoid of the lenst fear that Ills meteor had been discovered. His mother would take good care of It. Why, the mej-e chance remark of the woman he had befriended showed that her gentle spirit watched over him wherever he went. Hero was a stranger, a sad toller a: ’ong the millions, who went out of her :yay t > praise the goodness of one •rhe had never seen. He laughed joyously. Mrs. Wrigley should have further cause to bless his mother’s memory. He passed OT.rien’s shop. He saw the oi l man seated behind the counter. Should lie go in? No. Better keep wholly to himself at present. Yet he hesitated. Which was the more judicious course, to remain hidden, unknown, or or to drop quietly Into the groove where he was recognized? With rare perspicacity for one so young, he reflected that only five days had elnpsed since he last saw the old pensioner. The period bulked largely In Philip's life; In O’Brien’s it would be as nnugbt. Yielding to the second thought, he entered the shop.

“Glory be to God, Pbil, but It’s miself Is glad to see ye!” cried his old friend. “Where have ye bin to, at all, at all? Have yez heard what the murtherin’ war office is afther doin’ to me? I haven’t had a sowl to sphake to about the throuble they’ve put on me in me owld age.” This was not strictly accurate. O’Brien had pestered the whole neighborhood with the story of his withheld pension and the preposterous claim nratte on tiim by some red tape enthusiast in Pall Mall. But his plaint effectually stopped all further reference to Philip’s disappearance. As to the “bit o’ shtone” that was “naythur alum nor lime,” he hadn't a word to say. Philip borrowed a spade, a small sweeping brush and a strong sack without evoking the slightest comment from the pensioner, who discoursed incessantly on the iniquity ,of the “goverinint” and whose farewell remark dealt with the attempt to rob him of “a hundred gowlden sov’rins.” Decidedly the boy was iif luck’s way. He had secured some necessary implements without attracting any attention. Watching a favorable opportunity, he slipped unseen Into the gloom of Johnson’s Mews. He tried the door of No. 3. It was locked. He inserted the key and entered. The darkness within was that of utter blindness, but he dumped his impedimenta on the floor and locked the door behind him. Then he groped his doubtful path to the mantelpiece where he had left a candle and a box of matches. His boots crunched as he went on what he knew to be mostly diamonds, and he stumbled over the mattress In front of the fireplace. Yes, the candle was there. Soon he had a light. The tiny gleam lifted the black curtain, and he surveyed his domain. A single glanco showed him that all things remained exactly as he left them on Saturday morning. The Backet of letters rested on the broken chair, the old sack was stuffed into the window and the rope—that never to be forgotten rope—dangled from the hook to which he had fastened it. [TO BK CONTINUED)