Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 33, Number 109, 3 June 1908 — Page 8

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By Owen Kildare.

Copyright 1908 by Thomas K. Mc Kee. AS long as his wife was alive Dave Pearsall wasn't much different from anybody else. He worked steadily at hia trade of stone-cutting and in the evenings couldn't get home quick enough to sit by his .fireside which was an oil stove in this 'case with his wife and baby. After the wife died, though, Dave got his sister to keep house for him and little Wilbur, his son. Then things got different. The truth is the sister was iitUc too fanciful for Dave, and used to make what-nots and other things oat of empty soapboxes. Too many cosy corners are liable to drive a. man from home, and so Dave got going round the ward. It wasn't more than a couple of years when Dave gave up cutting stone and began tending bar for Mike Flannagan, who then had the say in the ward for his party. In a few more years, Flannagan went to the bad, got defeated several times and was dropped from the executive committee. Ho when Dave saw how things stocl with Flannagan, he began pulling a few wires, fee'.ing himself able to be a leader. Of course, it took months and years to do all this, and all that time the son, little Wilbur was growing up. Well, Dave got to be leader of the ward, and the minute that he was sure of being the Big Nois?e in the district he cut loose from all saloon connections and essayed the gentlemanly role. Well, sir, by the time the son got to be about twenty, the old man'd been leader so long that he wouldn't have swapped with the Czar of Russia so far as the steadiness of the job was concerned. And then Dave got to breaking Wilbar to regular work. The Kid hadn't been much to school round the ward. Dave sent him up to boarding schools and academies, and when he came back home for good everybody in the district turned out to feast their eyes. And it was worth it. la tnose days down our way when a young fel-

"1 PUT YOU WHERE YOU ARE AND low was dressed , he had on a pair of skin tights that kept him standing up all the time for fear something should happen should he try to Bit down. Then a pea-jacket, a fried-egg skypiec u:.d a celluloid cc'.'.ir "'ith a p'trp'e nrr-ftl--, and none o laaiius cuulu resist liliu. Bat when Wilbur Pearsall showed up it was all up in the air with Fourth Ward fashions, and the fellows went to hock their war-paint for whatever the uncles would give. Wilbur was kept round the ward, was enrolled a member of the organization, introduced to everybody and used to trod along with the old man. He did this up to election, when he dropped his first vote, after which he disappeared again. Two years la,ter he came home, transformed by a Prince Albert. Sometimes he even wore a silk hat. In the meantime the old man had moved into a stoop-house from the old tenement shack, which he had bought long ago, and one day there was a little shingle stuck up In the parlor window, with "Wilbur Pearsall, Attorney-at-law," on it. And then we got wise to the proposition. Almost before he toad his shingle out, he was made a member ot the law committee of the organization and the tip went round that if you were in for something small, robbery, second-story work or manslaughter, you had to have Wilbur Pearsall in court for you or else go up. After a while his practice got so big he'd only take firstclass murder cases and defend the street car company trom the unjust claims of an indiscriminating and unreasonable public. Old Dave certainly was ambitious for the boy. He thought there was nothing like him in the world. And the boy was no fool. He had the education and the glad rags and the first thing, we knew he was right in among the swell voters. The way the Kid was framing up the game those swells never thought it possible that his ancestor had ever dished out big scoops o' Dutch disturbance and pig's-knuckle free lunch, at Mike Flannagan's. And no wonder, for the first thing he did was to change his name from "Wilbur Pearsall" to "W. Westmeath Peaj-sall." Everything looked lovely and old Dave was seeing pictures of the Kid being the real thing in spectacular politics, with Bourke Cockran pining away on the last bench in the rear o' the hall. And, no use o talking, the Kid certainly was all to the mustard at the talkfests. He could sling language to beat the band, and had learned so many tongues he could He in more than one. But in the long run he got faded by the silk-stockings and began neglecting his chances, which is the prerogative of any practical politician. It got to be a case of all going out and nothing coming in., which is poor politics. Almost every day he was to the front with some scheme to do something for the' common people; either he wanted fire-escapes or an ordinance for better tenements;

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and that, from the standpoint of practical politics, was almost criminal. They warned him, but when he didn't stop and went after the Crow's Nest, a row of tenements belonging to Abe Goldman, who was 'way up among the mighty, then we could all hear something drop. Old Dave wrote, "Son "Wilbur, come and see me," and Son Wilbur beat it as swiftly down-town as this benzine buggy would let him. I was mighty close to Dave at the time, being a sort of private secretary without the writing, and I was up in the club when the Kid waltzed in to meet his father. "What's the matter with you?" asks Dave. "Has that up-town air made you daffy? There ain't a day I don't h .ar about some noi foolishness o' your'n. What's eating you?" The Kid goes off on a long speech about the rights of 'his constituents and the pledges he made. The old man stopped him with: "Now, listen to me. I've been in politics long enough to know what's good for us. I put you where you are and I can put you down, too. You got to learn that we aint in this business for our health. I'm too old to cut stone, and, 1 think, without me, you'd be a mighty bum lawyer. I gave you the chance of your lifetime, and if you do what you're told to do you're liable to go to the United .States Senate, and, maybe, to the White House. But if you don't get rid o' thorn daffy notions the Pa.rty'11 look after you, and they never l-t up." "But I cant go baek on my promises and pledges," said the Kid. "Don't be childish," raid Dav. "If there's a fool that believes in pledges he ought to get stuck. You got nothing to tlo with that. When you're in politirs you got to do what your told to do by yo'ir masters and nothing else. To them that don't obey, accidents is liable to happen. if you fail me in this you not oniy ruin me but also yourself for I won't have a fool for a son. You got two months until election. That's enough to make good in, and it' you don't well, you know the consequences." The Kid didn't go back half as fast as he'd code

I CAN PUT YOU DOWN, TOO." down. The son of a politician, he seemed to get his liking for the game by inheritance. But his education made him wish for gentlemanly politics as if such a thing could be. Gentlemanly and wti rvolUlcs Is the same stuff with different labels ti-t's aii. From what I learned after, I'm sure if the Kid's mother had been alive then he'd never gone wrong. But there he was, acheing to ask somebody's advice and too suspicious to trust anybody in politics, thinking all were crooks, in which, of course, he was dead wrong yes. So he started in to do his duty as the old man saw it. As I was saying, his constituents were mostly a dead swell bunch that lived according to the- fashIon, and just then it was the fashion for them to make their sisters and aunts believe they were the real things in politics. They had nothing but mass meetings that were like regular tea-parties, with the Gwendolines and Gladyses splitting their dainty gloves every time Archibald went to the bat to tell them how bad they were in general and how the country ought to be run. And they all stood pat for W. Westmeath Pearsall, late of Flannagan's gin mill. When it came election day they were always absent, as they couldn't make any money in their business on that day and went out of town the night before to hit those little balls over fields and ditches or tc jump over a' couple o fences and shout "Ialla-lee-lee" or some such nonsense. But they all registered faithfully, even it' they thought it more important to be at the Country Club on election day instead of voting. The Kid was next to this habit, and used it, but there were a few hitches. For instance: Mr. Hamilton De Rensallaer, a Wall Street banker residing on Fifth Avenue, was challenged by an opposite watcher, who thought Ham looked a little phony for a capitalist. When they took him to the station-house, the capitalist was hitting everybody for a chew o' tobacco and asking them to inform Barney Flynn, of the Bowery, that his friend, Spike, was in trouble. The thing worked all right otherwise, and the Kid carried the district. In a day or two, those swells heard how they'd been voting in sweaters and overalls, and most o' them laughed Dut a few o' them got dead sore. Before the Kid could get ahead o' them and stall them, they were down to the district attorney and raising a fine row. The Kid was arrested and put under ten thousand bond. The bail was put up and we thought that'd close the game. But it was made an issue: they tried him before an unfriendly judge and the Kid was sentenced one year and a fine of one thonsand dollars. There was some talk of an appeal but the evidence was too clear. So, in the morning, the Kid went over to the Island. That night I saw Dave at the club. "I was looking for you.'1 he says. "I got a touch job before me, and 1 want you to 'help me."

What d'you think he was going to do? He had sold everything and was going to pay back all he had gotteD cy oh. in the way of practical politics. He had written hi3 resignation from the organization. "And now I'm through," he said, and grasped my hand. "And you promise me not to let anybody know my whereabouts?" I was completely taken off my feet before I could say anything. "But how about the Kid?" I finally gasped, and it was as if I had hit him. He tumbled into a chair and cried as I never seen a man or a woman cry before. "My nioy," he mumbled to himself. "M ymoy what a father I've been to him! Not satisfied with giving him a crook for a father, I had to make him one, too." "But you're not all through with politics?" "Politics?' ho shouted. "1 pray I'd never had anything to do with that devilish game. I only hope that I ain't too old to be honest. And if I'm spared until my boy comes home, I'll spend all the rest o' my life to atone and to win his forgiveness. Good-night." I never heard from him until ten months later, just when the Kid's time was up. Then Dave wrote to me to meet him. I didn't waste a moment but chased down to the Twenty-sixth Street dock, where the boat from the Island comes in. Dave was there and he looked like a different man. All the swell togs were gone. He looked strong and as healthy as a young fellow, and when I looked at his hands I began to smell at rat. "How's stone-cutting nowadays?" I asked. "How d'you find out?" he said and laughed. Then he started in about the Kid, whether he would forgive him and whether he would speak to him, until the boat landed. Ahead of almost everybody, the Kid was coming down the plank. Ho didnt hurry much, but came up slow and put out his hand to me. "I'm glad you came down to meet me, it makes it less lonely," he said. I waited for him to say something to his father, but he couldn't see him at all. "Wil-Wilbur. ain't you got a word for your fathe,r," the old man kind o' groaned. "Yes, 1 have a word for you, but I hoped you would spare me from uttering it," he answered, his face going white. Then, becoming cooler, "Ain't you satisfied yet with what you've done?" he said. "You are nothing to me. Our ways part here. I'm ging in search of my lost integrity; you can go back to your politics and crookedness." The old man just looked at him with a face that was almost grayish green. Then he hurried away. Well, I had to talk like a Dutch uncle before I made an impression on the Kid. When I told him how his father had gone back to stone-cutting the Kid softened considerably. And when I threw out that the old man was all broken up and not Tesponsiole, and, perhaps, liable to do anything the boy said: "Come, we must go to him.'' We were at the tenement in less than no time. The door was locked, but I heard him inside and 'heard something else besides, so I put my shoulder to it. He was standing in front of a bit of looking-glass and tried to hide something as we fell into the room. We didnt have to see it to know what it was.

The Kid went up to him. "Dad, dear old dad. can you forgive me?" "'Dad, dear old dad, can you forgive me?" he said, and put his arms around the old man. That was my cue to take a sneak, and I was tiptoeing to the door whe nthe Kid said again: "We're going to stick together now, ain't we? Not as politicians, but just as honest, square men." The father couldn't answer and you know the reason why not.. On my way down those four flights o' stairs I came to the conclusion that it takes a lot of practical politics and crookedness to kill the love between father and son. Copyright l'.OS ly Thomas IT. Mc Kee. HE senior partner rose as member of tae firm, in re the junior response to his request, entered the room. fl "Mr. Grierson," he said to the third occupant of the pri vate office, who, with hat and cane balanced on knee, was lolling back in one of the massive chairs. "I want you to know Mr. Smith, our new confrere, who will take care of whatever case you may desire to place in his hands. I am very sorry, but I myself must be off at once for Washington. Y'ou'll pardon me, I'm sure." And, nodding to the prospective client who acknowledged both introduction and leave-taking by a curt inclination of the head, the senior partner withdrew. The junior partner surveyed the man before him and mentally categorized him as a man about town who would be very popular with other men about town, and with women who do not know what the average man about town is. "Well?"' said the junior partner. The pause was beginning to be a bit awkward. Mr. Grierson fumbled with his cane and began to trace an arabesque, lazily, upon the thick carpet at his feet. "Er I have a rather delicate matter to lay before you," he said. His voice was easy and deeply musical. "Yes?" "The fact is," he continued slowly, "I'm in love." "Not an unusual case,' smiled the junior partner. "The trouble is that the woman I love is the wife of another man.'1 "Again, and unfortunately, not unusual," commented the junior partner lightly. "And I want to see if there isn't some way in which she can secure a divorce.'' "The usual grounds for divorce in this state " began the junior partner. But the other interrupted. "Are not applicable in this particular case, I'm afraid,'" he said. "Her husband, so far as I can learn, behaves himself pretty well too well. He's what we used to call at college a 'grind'; 'ms of those pluggers that are so wrapped up in th.' business that they 'have no time for their wives. He's a lawyer, too; connected with some firm downtown, and I understand he's a very good one. And, as I say, he's all tied up with his business, and he neglects hig wife shamefully." The junior partner shook his head. "Deplorable, of course," he said, "but we don't handle cases of that kind, you know." The other looked up impatiently. "I know I know,'- he said curtir "But I want good lawyers. H

I Griersoii5s I Romance PORTER eT. BROWNE.

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and you people are about the best In the city. My estate Is handled by a lot of old fogies who would be utterly .helpless In a case of this kind. I've made inquiries about you and find you're the firm I want. Find some way to fix this thing up for me and you can name your own figure." The junior partner smilingly shook his head. "We couldn't take it under any circumstances," he said. "Ours is not a divorce practice, you know." "Then you won't take the case?" "I see no case," the junior partner returned laughingly. The other reached for his hat and gloves. "I do," he rejoined, "and a mighty knotty one." He turned suddenly. "If you won't give me legal advice," he said, "will you give me personal advice? Of course you're a new man here, but all my informants tell me that anyone connected with this firm is all right. Charge me anything you like, but give me your help. Will you?" ' Again the junior partner smiled. "My advice,' he replied, "would probably be worth nothing; in fact. I'm not sure that I have any advice to give however, tell me the circumstances and details, and if 1 can help you, I'll be very glad to do so." Grierson settled back in his chair and nodded his satisfaction. "Well," he said, "to begin at the. beginning, I was introduced to her at an affair at Ienox garden party, or some such thing. What first attracted me to her was her wonderful beauty. She's the most beautiful woman I ever saw." The junior partner smiled indulgently. "Go on." "I ran across her at various times at various places. Her husband was never with her. He used to ship her away to Newport or Lakewood or the Berkshires. She seemed to like me and we used to chat and golf and motor and dance together a good deal, and well, the result of it all was that I fell in love with her and one night I lost my head and told her. She was mad, mad clean through, and she dismissed me without waiting for mo to . explain." "And what did you do?" y "Left, but I couldn't remain away. Next time I saw her 1 made no reference to what had gone before. I treated her as though nothing had happened, and gradually she took a sensible view of the matter and her anger cooled down. Oh, I'm not such an ass as to push things to the breaking point all at once, you know.' He played with his cane, thinking. "Then, some months later, I tried it again. She did just the same as before got angry and all that sort of thing, you know only she didn't take it quite so hard and got over it sooner, so that I knew things were coming my way. And her husband was playing into my hands all along, for he never came near 'her, nor paid any attention to her; and his neglect was having its effect. "She's one of those high-strung, high-spirited women, you know, and he had hurt her pride; and when a woman's pride is wounded, her love is wounded, too. "Well, I made up my mind that it was up to me to give her, as far as lay in my power, all the attentions that her husband did not. So I took to sending her flowers and books, and. various little gifts that were not of enough value to cause grave offense; though even at that, she sent them all backatfirst. However, I kept on, and after a while, I made one stick a bunch of American beauties. A woman gets sick of buying herself flowers, you know. After that it was easier." Grierson stopped and, taking a case from his pocket, carefully selected a cigarette tnd lighted It. "Well but hang it all, you can guess the rest, can't you?' "I think I can,' said the junior partner. "Howdo things stand now?" "Well, if only there were some way in whic hshe could get her freedom, I think she'd do it. She has had no break with him as yet; but she's on the verge of one, and, if only the way were clear, I'm quite certain she'd follow it." "Does her husband know anything of this?" "If he doesn't, he's a bigger ass than he's taken for, though how much he knows I can't tell you." "Is he the sort of man, do you think, who would be liable to raise a row?" Grierson shook his head. "I don't think so," he returned. "He's one of these men who have their nose on the grindsone, and are glad of it. From what little I know of him I imagine he would tryto keep things to himself.' "Then let us suppose that you persuade her to go away with you. If, as you think, the husband is a mild-mannered, methodical individual, wrapped up In business to the exclusion of all else, would he not be liable to get a divorce In the quietest possible manner?" The other considered for a moment, then looked up dubiously. "But suppose he should decide not to sue?" "He would probably be glad to rid himself of his other ties, if he Is the kind of a man you say he is. And if he is not, why, you have money, haven't you? And you'd be glad to spend some of it to this end, wouldn't you. And what do men like him work for but for money?" Grierson winked signflcantly for answer. The junior partner shrugged his shoulders. "Oh," he said easily, "there's away to get around the law. That's what lawyers are for. And you wouldn't have much trouble in finding one and a brainy one, to fix that matter for you." Grierson shook his head. "But there's still a chance that he won't sue," he objected. "That's a chance you have to take," the Junior partner replied slowly. "And society forgives the man, at any rate." The other eyed him shrewdly. His lips curved in a thin, dry smile. "I'm afraid she wouldn't take that chance," he said. Again the junior partner shruggea his shoulders. "Don't ask he,r," he said. "Make her. Women of the type you mention want to be dominated. They'd much rather be compelled than asked to do a thing. Go to her. Don't say, 'Will you come with me?' Say, 'You are coming with me! And make her do it! She'll love you the more for it and she'll go." Grierson banged his clenched fist down upon the table. "By Jove, believe you're right!" he cried. The junior partner smiled. Of course I'm right." "And I'll try it!" Grierson shook his head. "It does seem rough on the husband, though, doesn't it?" The juniQr partner shrugged his shoulders a third time. "It's too late to think of him now," he replied. "And, anyway, he should have thought of himself. A man who can't keep a wife has no right to have one. And it's useless to try to hold a woman against her will." "By Jove, I'll do lt!' Grierson declared. "And I'll do it right away." As, with a nod he opened the door of the private office and passed out, the junior partner called after him: "Good luck, old man." The junior partner stayed late at his desk that night. It was after five when at length he thrust oren the door of his room and walked out into the

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main office. As he stepped across the thresh.-;! there was I sudden scraping of quickly moved chairs, and little startled cry; and there stood before hici i confused clerk and a blushing stenographer. red faced, nervous-fingered. A harsh reprimand was on the junior partner"! tongue; but something, he knew not what, held 11 for an instant and in that instant the e'erk, emban rassed, hesitating, stammered: "I'm th very sorry, sir eh but eh that is Miss Warren and 1 eh are engaged eh sir that is, sir going to be marred, you know, sir and " The confused clerk stopped and he- and th blushing stenographer stood, amazed, i oechless; for their dreaded employer had tarred a his heel without a word, and going back U to . ae private office had closed the door behind hit .

Once there, he seated himself at is Lesk, head it through the .y melted Into between hands, eyes gazing steadlv broad windows to where the dark . the yet darker earth. It was but a little incident a c . nothing; yel one of those nothings that are everything, for It had opened up a vista of memory that Ioahen shut to his eyes for more y ars than he td to think: and yet he was still a young man. As his cab turned the corner of the block wn whioh was his residence, he saw his wife's brougham at the door. And. t-ven as ho started to ascend the steps she appeared before him gowned for the street. "Where are you going?" he asked. "You!" she exclaimed. "You're very late. though that probably you had been called out of town again and I was going over to see Jan Madison for a moment. She's -er in trouble ol some kind and wants my advice ' "I've been doing a lot of thinking this afternoon." he said slowly. "May I drive around to th Madlsons with you and tell you what I've been thinking?" "Why er yes, of course," ehe replied hesitatingly. "But it's only a little way, you know, and I er well, t wouldn't afford u but a very shoj-t time, so perhaps you' drather "' "Well?" "Er nothing. Only Ive had a headache all day and I fear 1 s-hall le very stupid; and I know how you hate stupid people. . . Isn't It something that can wait?" He shook his head. "It can't wait," he said. "I'll go with you." She inclined her head slowly. "As you wish. she acquiesced. "Perhaps we'd better not go to the Madisons; I'll see Jane to-morrow instead of to-night. Shall we drive in the park instead?" "That would be much better,' he said, as he assisted her Into the brougham. "Thank you." Giving a curt order to the driver, he took his seat beside her in the carriage, and silently they rolled over the smooth asphalt toward the park entrance. "Well?" she asked lightly, "what Is It you wish to tell me?" "A man came to me to-day, he said slowly, "to ask me how he migh get another man's wife." There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of horses' hoofs and the rumble of wheels. "What did you advise?' she asked in a strained voice. "He had already made her fond of him by giving her all that he might of what her husband did not give her, aand she had grown to look to him for love and sympathy and mental companionship that she could not get from her husband. I told him to go to her and carry her by storm, to dominate her by sheer strength and decision, to compel rather than ask, to force rather than plead." "It was very good advice," he Bald hurriedly. "It was very good advice." She laughed a little. He started, then turned slowly and looked at her. "It was very good advice," she repeated again. "That is one reason why I tell you of It," he said gravely. "And the other reasons for I presume that there are other reasons?" "Many. But the greatest Is that I want you to know that I realize the depths of my own shame and degradation that I know the wrong I have done in the list for dollars, I have forgotten many things that I should have remembered. Ignored many things that I should have considered. I want you to know these things; and then I want you to help me try to right the wrong that I mayhave done; for I too, fear that my advice was) good.' "What do you mean?" "I do not know the woman. You may." "What is her name?" "That is what I dont know. But you are much. in society. If I tell you the man it may disclose to you the Identity of the woman." "Possibly," she assented. "And the man is ? "Grierson Thomas Lloyd Grierson.' Her fan dropped to the carriage floor. He stooped and, picking it up handed it to her. "You know him?" he asked. She nodded. z "And now do you know the woman?" There was a long pause. There came to them from afar, the thousand noises of the city. "Well?" he said, at length, tentatively. She did not answer. He waited. Still she did not answer. At length she turned a little toward him, head .tilted backward, shoulders against the carriage side. "I am the woman," she said; and again, "I am the woman.' He gazed at her, his staring eyes expressive of his unbelief. "Your advice was better than you knew,' she said, with a bitter little laugh. "You came bom none too soon." "You mean " he cried. "Look!" she cried. He bent forward and gazed through the window, his eyes following the direction of her fan. The sickly halo of a lamp-post revealed the figure of a man, seated on a bench. He was smoking a, cigarette and tracing impatient arabesques with, his cane In the gravel at his feet. It was Grierson, the junior partner's client of the afternoon. She was speaking again: "I was to meet him there. Now you know all. I don't know why I tell you. but you had better let me go! You did not need me you did not want me. There was no place in your life for me, nor in mine for you.! And I had starved as long as it was in me to starve.: Let me go! You cannot want me now! Let me go!" It was all in a breath, quivering, tense; and ncrw she had buried her face in her hands and her lithe body shook with the painful racking of her sobbing. He sat gazing out into the tree-studded darkness of the park, his eyes set, his breath labored. Through the dim-lit darkness they rode In silence that was utter save for the broken choking of her sobs, the clatter of hoofs, his breathing, and the rumble of wheels. Suddeny he leaned forward and signalled to the driver. "Home, Dawes, he said. Her hands fell from her pale, drawn face. She looked up at him with vague inquiry, her glance presently softening. "Home?" she whispered qu;stionlngly. Then, "Home!" she cried Joyously. "Hoxe!" resu TT