Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 December 1885 — FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. [ARTICLE]

FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES.

BY CHAD.

VOLUME FIRST. They were going to have a grand ball and masquerade at the Higginses’, and among the large number of invited guests w&swour friend “Dal” Wrinkle. “Let me see, soliloquized Dal, after reading the invitation. “What in thunder shall I be, an Italian organ-grinder, Malay Prince, Queen of May, or a Cannibal King? No, I’ve been all those as the former ball masques given by the Higgenses. 1 might rig up as an aiderman or politician, but I could never stand it. It would require too much stuffing and padding to give me the proper sized stomach. Oh, bang it all, anyway! I would’nt go to this ball, if it wasn’t for the fact that Miss Nellie Brightsmile would be present. I must get a new ‘make up,’ too, and that’s what puzzles me. “Within the last six months,at the various masquerades, I’ve been everything, from a masculine fairy, to a wild, untortored Comanche Indian,” and Dal sighed wearily, as he raised the window and glanced thoughtfully down the street. Suddenly his face brightened as a seraphic smile chased its way across his beardless visage. “Eureka!” he yelled, “I’ll be a policeman,” and jumping to his feet, he executed a break-down on the floor, which brought the landlady up-stairs, in great haste, to find out whether the house was on fire, or if one of the boarders had committed suicide, through melancholia, brought on by eating the galvanized fire-proof biscuit, which served as the “staff of life,” in that cheerless household. Dal was standing with his back to the door (having concluded his dance), looking into a large mirror which hung on the side wall, adjusting his cravat, when the landlady opened the door with surprising force, striking Dal in the small of the back and precipitating him through the mirror head-foremost where he nearly had his brains knocked out on the wall be - yond. v “Oh, Mr. Wrinkle! Just see what you’ve done!” exclaimed the landlady in a grievous voice, as soon as Dal had extricated himself from the debris of broken glass. “Better say, what you’ve done,” bitterly replied Dal, as he wiped the blood from a ent pn his nose, and spit out half- a dozen teeth from his mouth. “Mr. Wrinkle! how dare you talk so? What I’ve done. Just as if I were to blame for your intoxicated actions.” This last hit was too much for Dal. “Intoxicated, do you say, madame? Why! I never was more sober in my life, and do you think, madam, that when I am intoxicated I’m such a blamed fool as to go gallopping around, running- my head through two inches of plate-glass, and also using it as a battering ram with which to overthrow boarding-houses? No, madam! It is one of our proudest and most distinguished boasts that a Wrinkle never yet lost his head through drink. No madame! a Wrinkle never yet tried to decapitate himself by plunging through a six 1 by four mirror, and” —the sudden bang of the door informed him that the irate land-lady had withdrawn, so, seating himself on the bed, Dal resumed his soliloquy. “Yes, I’ll rig up as a “cop;” besides. I’ve always noticed that the girls were rather partial to these brass-buttoned members of society, so for one night I will be a policeman bold. Hurrah! ‘My soul’s in arms and eager for the fray.’ Let her feme."

VOLUME SECOND The night of that great social event, Higginses’ grand ball ma«qpe, at last arrived, and Mr. Dalrymple Lorenzo Wrinkle (that being the full, unabridged name of our hero), arrayed in the uniform of “one of the finest,” shone forth as one of the bright and leadinglights of the assemblage. Besides completely capturing the heart of the ■captivating Nellie Brightsmile, he had •nearly shattered the hearts of a score of other attractive damsels, and even the three Misses Squeakum, who were also damsels, but of a more remote period,-had been observed casting blank smiles, and» shy glances at the flying coat-tails, and blazing brass “buttons, as Mr. Dalrymple Lorenzo Wrinkle led his happy partner through the cnazv waltz. It is needless to add that Mr. "Wrinkle was happy. For who would not be happy with the angelic Nellie Brightsmile monopolizing the whole of one arm, and a good share of the other one. with her beautiful liquid eyes gazing softly into your own optic, while her breath, the soft perfume of a thousand flowers, gently fanned your cheek— mortal would not cry out Unto his soul, as did Mr. Dalrymple Wrinkle: •' -Oh joy I Ob rapturpj Bliss divine, How I wish that she were mine !* , But, alas! time even will not pause one precious second, for such scenes of exquisite bliss, but ruthlessly hurries on, speeding us on through both scenes of joy

and sorrow. It will not prolong our joys, but does shorten our sorrow's, for each fleeting second brings us nearertmhbtab, where all men are nt last equalr For who can distinguish the dust of the beggar from that or the millionaire, or the bones of the peasant from those of the king? Truly, indeed, is “Death the «great leveler of all” (a la Bulwer Lytton, has nothing to do with the story). So with Dnl; the evening quickly passed, and after escorting the charming Miss Brightsmile to her palatial resident's, he proceeded joyfully, with a light heart, on his way homeward, for Miss Brightsmile had, in her sweetest, company voice, invited him toriill on her some evening. He was plodding along, deeply wrapped in his own pleasant, high-castle thoughts, when suddenly his attention was attracted to a large crowd gathered in front of a saloon about two blocks away. His curiosity aroused, he quickened his pace and as he drew near he observed that the crowd scattered in all directions leaving two of their number pounding each other viciously. “A fight.” said Dal to himself; “I wonder Where are the police.” By this time he reached the place where the men were rolling together on the ground clinched like bull-dogs. “Hi! there,” shouted a voice in his ear, “Hadn’t we better be after taken them to the stashun now, seein’ the crowd’s gone?” Turning around Dal beheld the herculean form of a policeman. “I don't care what you do with them, ” he answered.

“Don’t ye? Well faith an’ that’s cool. Sure an’ what are ye paid for, I'd like to know, but to haul in all the drunks, you come across, pervidin’they’re harmless.” Suddenly it oecui red to Dal that the officer had mistaken him for a brother policeman, for he still wore his masquerade attire. So pulling his hat down over his eyes he answered, “All right, I will help you run them in, but I am not on duty at present.” “Come, now,” he shouted to one of the ruffians, as he grasped him by the arm, “I Want you.” “I ain't doin. nuthin,” whined the man. “No, I persume ye call that nothing.” chimed in the policeman, “a-punching of that duffer’s head. But ye must come along all the same,” and, raising the men by their coat collars, the officer and Dal strolled for the station with their prisoners, where they arrived after a short walk. Entering the station they cast the two wretches into a cell, and after entering the offense, started to leave the station, when the sergeant exclaimed, to Dal, “Officer, where is your star?”“l,I —lost it.sii,” he answered. “What was the number?” “6,471,” replied Dal, in desperation. “6,471,” exclaimed the amazed sergeant, “jvhy there is no l such number. What is your name?” he asked, taking down a big volume from a bookcase, near by. “Kelly, sir, is the name,” replied Dal.* “There" must be plenty of Kellys on the force,” thought'he. “Ah, yes,” continued the sergeant, “Kelly, here it is—Kelly, W. J. Kelly, T. W. Kelly. Patrick William; what is your full name please?” “Michael Kelly; sir,” “Michael Kelly? Here is Kelly, John H. Kelly, P. D. and plenty of other KeHys, but I must inform you that Michael Kelly does not belong to the force, and I think, sir, that you are an imposter. Officer, place this man in a cell, please; we’ll investigate his casein the morning.” And in spite of Dal’s protestation he was placed behind the grates and the door locked on him.

“Well, here’s a nice fix, Mr. Dalrymple. Lorenzo, Wrinkle,” said he to hunsglf; “this is what you get for impersonating an officer;” but still he could not suppress a smile to think of how but a few hours before he had been one of the merriest of mortals. “Surely; this is quite a change,” he remarked to himself, “from the gilded ballroom to the cold stone walls of a cell in the station-house.” He looked at his watch, lacked but a few minutes to 5 o’clock. “Two whole hours" yet,” he said, with a. yawn, “before I can get out of this confounded place, -Well, I might as well make the best of it,” and, taking a cigar from his pocket, he proceeded to enjoy a smoke. The time passed slowly enough, and when at last he was released from the cell, and marched into the court-room, it seemed as if he had spent a week, instead of a few hours, behind the bars. “What is the offense?” asked the Justice, a man with a very small head, .and a mammothbody. ; ' ' “ ————-

“Impersonating an officer, yer Honor,” replied the policeman who had accompanied Dal to the station. “Your Honor,” said Dal, appealing to the court, “let me explain.” “Shut up!” roared the court. “I wouldn’t believe you. sir, under oath.” The policeman then told the court all the particulars of the prisoner’s arrest, and a great deal more, showing how he had, single-handed, escorted the 'two “drunks,” and their desperate companion (pointing at Dal), to the station, winding up his long harangue by remarking: “He’s a bad ’un, yer Honor. Sure an’ I ve had me-eye on him for some time.” “What a cold-blooded liar!” inwardly remarked Dal. “Young man.” said the couit, “I fine you S2O and costs.” “Twenty dollars.” gasped Dal. “How much are the costs?” “The costs are $10.” “Why, this is robbery, ” “Shut up!” roared the court. “I raise your fine to S3O and costs, which will make $40.” - t “Thank you, sir,” replied Dal. “Here is SSO. I will take the change out in cursing. You’re a d—-n scoundrel (to the court), and you,” turning to the policeman, “are: a cowardly rascal, and if I ever run across you on the street, I will break your neck.” Hold on, you've had your $lO worth,” interrupted the court. “You can go.” With an empty pocket-book, and a bosom swelling with righteous indignation. Mr. Dalrymple Lorenzo Wrinkle left the courtroom. Since then whenever he happens to meet a policeman oq the street he clinches his hands convulsively, and mutters: “I’ll not be responsible- for my actions when I meet him.” Them, with the step of an avenging Nemesis, he hurries on. Should he ever meet the object of his search we will not fail to give the readers of the Ledger the particulars of what will be a “bloody tragedy, the like of which will make even John L. Sullivan- shake in his boots. The Chicago Ledger.