Jasper County Democrat, Volume 14, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 September 1911 — THE MAN HIGHER UP [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE MAN HIGHER UP

BY HENRY RUSSELL MILLER

PROLOGUE. Bob McAdoo, waif of the slums, ragged, hard fisted newsboy, masterful office boy, bully of Irishtown, steel worker, ward boss, boss of the Steel City, is the central figure of this absorbing, thrilling, realistic story of American politics. He is friendless but one friend enters his life and changes its whole course. He is a hater of women, but one woman comes between him and his sole friend, and then things happen that are worth while. Unflagging heart interest is the dominant characteristic of this great, real life romance of today. CHAPTER I. - KNIGHT ERRANT. IN the heart of the foothills, in a basin where two rivers meet to form a mighty third, lies the Steel City. To see it you must journey by night along its rivers, whose yellow, placid waters, reflecting the lights of a hundred steamers, seem a field of gold incrusted with diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Mile after mile you pass by mills, mills, mills—nothing but mills—magnificent monuments to the inventive and adaptive genius of man. Thousands of black faced, muscular Titans rush hither and thither, swift, methodical, earnest, single purposed. But even this powerful army, levied from the world’s strongest, is pygmylike beside the marvelous mechanism, which works, seemingly, of its own will, unerring, unfaltering, unceasing. Irresistible. Rivers of molten metal flow beneath your gaze. Massive ingots of white hot iron, beyond the strength of men to lift, swing easily on the cranes from cast to car. Fiery serpents of steel writhe and plunge as though obsessed by the spirit of hell that broods over the smithy of the world. This is the Steel City. He was standing at the window in one of the city’s bleakest tenements, a ragged, dirty faced boy. In the years he remembered of his ten he bad known no other surroundings. Of what went before he knew—was to know-nothing. From without came the sound of shuffling, uncertain footsteps. He turned in an attitude of sullen expectancy. “If he licks me again I’ll run away.” he muttered. The faded drudge who shared the room with him nodded hopelessly. The door opened and the relic of what had once been a man entered. “My felish’tashuns, ghentle par’ner ’f my jhoysh an’ shorrowsh.” he addressed the woman in drunken irojjy. “Wha’ve y’got t’eat?” “Nothing.” ’

Press office. Fifth avenue, three blocks down.” And the boy trudged bravely on his way through the crowded thoroughfare. unmindful of smarting shoulders, his fortune grasped tightly in his fist. The statement that his fortune was carried In his fist is true in two senses of the word. for. when he had expended his treasure in copies of that organ of publicity known aS the Press, with the instinct of genius he sought the most crowded corner of the city’s busiest avenue. Here an unforeseen obstacle met our young knight errant Hardly bad be begun to cry his wares when another “newsie.” who had preempted the corner, swaggered up to him and fiercely challenged: “Say, kid. here?” "Sellin’ papers.” said our young friend. “Not much, yer don’t. Dis is my stan’. Take a sneak, see!” / “Aw. go on!” And then the fight began. The assailant was the older and bigger, but this was a style of argument with which Bob was familiar. He dealt his blows lustily and maliciously, greatly to the delight of the crowd that gathered to observe the hostilities. Not the least interested was the burly, red faced limb of the law who controlled the traffic at that corner. “My money on the little fellow,” laughed a youth. “Sure,” said the policeman, “an’ ye’ll be findin’ no takers, I’m thinkin'.” “Officer,” a woman cried indignantly, while she stared at the little fighters, fascinated, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Pull them apart at once.” “Ob, lave thim alone, ma’am.” responded the guardian of the public peace. “It’ll be doin’ thlm good.” “Lord,” shouted the sport, “see that uppercut! I win. The little one has him down.” The sport spoke truly. The combatants were prostrate In the gutter. Bob on top and pommeling his antagonist’s features with an earnestness of purpose that was inspiring. At this crisis the policeman regretfully recalled himself to duty. “That’s enough, me son.” he declared, pulling them apart. “ ’Tain’t enough.” the victor rebelliously answered, a thin ribbon of blood streaming from his nose, the light of battle In his eye. “ ’Tain’t enough till he says I can sell papers here.” “Ain’t he th’ little divU!” the policeman ejaculated admiringly. “Ye stay all right, kid. Ye’re th’ boss now. Show’s over, frinds. Move on.” And so, while his late antagonist slunk, sniffling, away to hide his disgrace. Bob McAdoo stayed, master of the field and convert to the doctrine of the great American specialty—monopoly. When darkness fell that evening the original dime’s investment and a

“An’ why not, faithful Penel’pe? I’ll have you know I’m hungry. Woman, I’m hungry! Why not?” “No money,” answered the woman listlessly, hopelessly. “No money? That reminsh me. Where’sh that Bob? Oh. there y’are, y’ little devil. You got ’ny money?” “How'd 1 get any money?” demand ed the boy sullenly. “Beg it—sfateal it—it’sh all.one t’me.” “Ain't a beggar, ain't a thief,” said the boy doggedly. In a sudden unexpected movement the drunken man lurched toward the boy and with one hand seized him by the collar and with the other picked up a stoat stick. For a time Bob submitted to the beating in a stoic silence, horrible in snch a mite of humanity, devoting his energies to the unsuccessful effort to dodge the descending stick until a blow of unusual force fell upon his shoulder. Then his dirty face was distorted with pain and hate. His clinched lips parted in the shrill scream of a wounded tiger cub. Quick as a thought he seized the hand that grasped the stick and buried his teeth in the flesh until they met the bone. Utteringhowl, the drunken brute dropped to the floor, rolling in agony. The boy darted through the door, pulled up a loose board in the hall and drew out the sum total of his worldly wealth—a single dime. Then his flight was resumed. He did not cease running until the tumbledown tenement district was far behind him. Then he set bls face toward the downtown business section. A portly gentleman of good natured aspect came toward him. The boy boldly accosted him. “Say, mister, where can I buy some “I’ve no money for ygu.” answered the gentleman impatiently. I“Don’t want any money. Got all I -want." the boy said sturdily The gentleman laughed. “That’s more Chan I have, jny youthful Croesus.

third replenishment were sold out, and Bob. with a pocket full of pennies, faced the responsibilities of wealth. When the policeman entered his home that night and faced his faithful spouse it wap with a quaking spirit. “Well, now.” his lady exclaimed sarcastically—“well, now, Pathrick Flinn, an' what is this angel av marcy ye do be bringin' night?” “Shure. Norah.” Patrick apologized, “ "tls the most illigint little gamecock ye iver saw. He came to me corrner this afthernoon a-sellln’ papers. Th’ newsie on the corrner. a big gossoon what’s always bullyin’ th’ little fellows, thried fur to chase Mm away.

An’ what did me little bantam do but go afther that big bully like me sainted namesake afther th’ snakes in th' ould counthry. An’ he wiped th’ gut* ther clane wid him. An’ whin I was fur lavin,’ me corrner the la-ad come up to me an’ says, ‘Say, mister, where’ll I be findin’ a place to slape th’ night? ‘Over beyant be -th’ river there’s a lot of boxes,’ says L®~Aw, fell wid boxes,’ says he; ‘it’s a bed I.’m wantin’.’ ‘An’ what’ll th’ likes av ye be doin’ wid a bed?’ says I. ‘Slapin', av course.’ says he. ‘I nivir slipt in a bed, but I got lots av money now, an’ I’m wantin’ a bed f r th’ night.' ‘How puld are ye? I asks. ‘Ten years,’ says he. ‘An’ where have ye been livin’? ‘Nowhere,’ says he. ‘Who’s yer payrlnts?’ ‘Ain’t got any.’ says he. ‘Who’ve ye been livin’ wid?’ ‘Nobody,’ says he. ‘Shure, ye’re a quare eMsthomer,’ says 1. ‘An’ who owns ye?’ ‘I own rnesilf.’ says he. •Thin come home along av me th' night,’ says I. An' here he is. An’ now,” Patrick concluded sadly, “he must be goin’, fr there’s no room fr him here.” “Think shame to yersilf. Pathrick Flinn.” Norah cried hotly, “to be thinkin’ av sendin’ a poor, motherliss little spalpane like him out into the cold worruld!” While Patrick chuckled within himself over the success of his diplomacy Norah fell to her knees and drew the boy to her ample bosom, at which unaccustomed tenderness the frozen springs of his childish heart were melted and Bob burst into a torrent of sobs “Husba. husha. me de-arr,” crooned Norah. "There’s no nade to be cryin’. Shure, ye arren’t to be lift alone, nivirmore. nivirmore.” Bob drew back from her embrace and. stamping his feet, cried: “I’ll never cry again—not—another—dam’—time!” “Whisht, ye little spalpane!” Norah laughed. “Don’t ye be swearin'.” “Ain't he th’ little dlvll!” Patrick slapped his thighs delightedly. “Bob. shake hands wid Molly and Kathleen, an’ make yersilf at home,” Bob. obeyed. Some hours later Patrick, bearing a candle and accompanied by Norah, crept upstairs softly to the spare bedroom where Bob. face downward, reposed in uneasy slumber—and in a bed. Norah sank to her knees by the bedside. “Th’ poor, poor la-ad!” she murmured, laying her hand gently on his, shoulder. Bob groaned find in his sleep shrank from the touch. The movement displaced the nightgown—Kathleen’s—and disclosed a black and blue shoulder. “Th' little spalpane!” Norah whispered tenderly. “It’s not from flghtin’, I warrint ye,” Patrick whispered. “It’s on his back." ' “Don’t you hit me again. Jim Thompson!" Bob screamed in his dreams. “When I’m big I’ll kick you.” “Th’ little dlvll!” Patrick whispered compassionately. “He’s like Paddy ’nd ’a' been.” sobbed’Norah.

“Arrah. Norah, darlint, ye do be makin' a fool av yersilf over th’ la-ad thatwas nivir borrn.” Paddy was the boy for whom the Flinns' hearts had always longed. but who mever came. With deep satisfaction of soul Bob opened his eyes on a new day. “I'll stay here.” he said aloud. And stay he did. Bob. in the arrogance of his boyish egotism, taking his welcome for granted, while to the Flinns, big hearted and instinctively hospitable, it never occurred to wonder at the boy's presumption. The arrangement thus tacitly established proved a happy one. So it was that when Policeman Flinn set out that noon to his duties Bob accompanied 1° revisit yesterday’s battlefield, where heneefonb. by right of conquest and Patrick s protection. he was to reign supreme. And when the day's work was done together they returned home to “Irishtown.” A few days later their bonds were finally riveted. It was Saturday night, and rhe family of Flinn was gathered in the kitchen, which was also the living room. Over the table in the corner Bob counted the earnings of the week. To this task the assistance of Molly and Kathleen was needed, since, alas. Beb's notions of arithmetical values after the sum of ten was reached were hopelessly vague. “Three dollars and fifty-three cents.” Kathleen announced proudly. “He’ll be layin’ aside a bit av it. a dime or a quarther mebby, fr th' sisters whin they come, won’t ye. Bob?” Norah suggested piously. But Bob had planned Other uses for his money. He laid to one side the 53 cents and gathered together the S 3, which he carried over to Norah and dropped, jingling, into her capacious lap. “An' what’s this for?” “Take it.” said Bob. v “Ye mane kape it fr ye?” “No: keep it fer yourself.” “An' why should I kape it?” demanded Norah. “To pay fer me bed an’ grub." “Away wid ye, ye little rapscallion! Kape yer money; ye’ll be nadin’ it Fr clothes an' th' like. Ye can stay her* without payin' yer way an' welcome.” “But that’s char’ty. ain't it?” Bob demanded directly. “Well, yes—sometimes,” Norah returned slowly. “But not in this case, whin it’s frinds Is givin’ to ye.” “Ain’t goin' to be a char’ty boy.” Bob insisted. “I got to pay.” “But why?" Norah Insisted. “I don’t know.” Bob returned slowly, with a puzzled frown. “I ain’t a cheap skate. You’ll keep It. won’t you?" “Not a clnt av It” Norah declared flatly. , _ Bob gave no answer to thia declara-

tion other than to collect the coin* and place them In hi* pocket. Thai he took his cap from Its peg and without a word or backward glance made for the door. “Hould on there,” Patrick cried; seizing him. “Where arre ye goin’?” | “I don’t know,” said Bob coolly. “Thin why arre ye lavin’ this time av night?” “I’m goin’ to find a place where they’ll let me pay.” For a moment Patrick stared helplessly at his wife and then laughed delightedly. “Ain’t he th’ little divil! Hand th’ money to th’ ould woman. Ye stay. Bob.” . So Bob established his footing and won his second battle. Years passed, and Bob grew in stature. If not in wisdom, viewing life from the lowly standpoint of the newsie and being thoroughly spoiled by his friends. It was strange, the matter i of fact fashion in which he tyranized over Patrick and Norah. Over Molly and Kathleen he lorded as absolutely I when be condescended to share their games. He was the pride of the : corner loafers by reason of his propensity and talent for fighting, and they delighted to egg him on to combat j with older and larger antagonists. In these fights Bob always came off victor. Willful, masterful, intractable, he caused much worriment of soul to the elder Flinns, but neither had the heart or even the hardihood to chastise him. i Their reproofs, mildly administered. 1 were received with an indifference and cool surprise that robbed them of all ! possible good effect. ■ With fear and trembling Patrick ■ sent him to the ward school. The fear was justified by the results. The boy proved himself bright enough to master his lessons—when he chose. It was rarely, however, his choice to i study. He preferred to fight and to j drive his schoolmates into mischief. He became the bully of the school. His schooling came to an abrupt end when he was thirteen years old. To punish an unusually flagrant act of insurrection his teacher called in the aid of the principal, a stout, pompous young man who was Bob’s pet aversion. The principal had no more than seized the rattan when Bob suddenly snatched it from him and belabored the astonished pedagogue with it so fiercely that he fled the room in dismay. Bob then took his cap and bade farewell to school forever. By this feat Patrick was at last ’ nerved to his duty. That night he gave Bob a severe thrashing, which the boy. with white face and set teeth, quietly endured. When it was over he said: “I take it this time. Pat. because it’s from you. But nobody will ever lick me again. And now I’m through with school and papers. I’m goin* to hunt a job.” “Humph!” returned Patrick. “An’ who’ll be hirin’ th’ likes av ye. wid such a ripitashuaYr devilry?' “Oh. I’ll get a job. all right." Bob declared. The next day Bob entered the confines of Sanger’s mills, boldly defyinz the legend. “No Admittance Except on Business.” Bob made his way to the office, where a cherub in brass buttons stood guard and demanded, to be shown into the great man's presence. He was refused. He then threatened to punch the cherub’s head and evinced such readiness and ability to put l?is threat into execution that the office boy at last tremblingly ushered Bob into the presence of Mr. Sanger.

The master met the interruption with a scowl. “Well, what can I do for you ?” he rasped out. < “You can give me a job.” Bob suggested. “Indeed, can I?” the man said tartly. “But suppose I don’t?” “I’ll have to get one somewhere else, then." Bob responded cheerfully. Mr. Sanger laughed in spite of himself. “You’re a cool one. What can you do?” “Well.” Bob said thoughtfully. “I didn’t think of that I’ve scrapped and sold newspapers mostly, but I guess I can do other things just as good.” “Do you think you could stand at that door and keep out of this office impudent boys who have no business here for $4 a week?” “You bet I can.” “All right When can you go to work?” “Now.” Bob grinned. “You might change your mind by tomorrow.” Bob was as good as his word. While he was on duty he was a brave »nd adroit man indeed that reached Mr. Sanger’s presence undesired. Bob also established a mastery over the force of office boys and disciplined the refractory with such promptitude and severity that be reigned a very tyrant And from office. corridor to furnace and rolls was a short step for him. When he came to man's estate he had learned the hard, cruel lesson of the steel be forged. (To be continued,)

“THAT’S ENOUGH, MESON,” HE DECLARED.