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TBG^eTBGR^^SIDG. 
 
 K ^oei£L po'ifDy ByigED oji p/iei'. 
 
 By M. a. FORAN. 
 
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INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "ItaliamI Italiam 1" cried Eneas, as he ap- 
 proached the site of Eome with the venerated 
 images of immortal society, which he carried into 
 •exile when Troy was doomed to flames and cinders. 
 Thus from the ashes of Troy, in a new land, society 
 arose. Phoenix like, and with purified splendor made 
 Rome the mistress of the world. And so it has been 
 from the beginning; races have become extinct, 
 nations have disappeared and civilizations have 
 been lost in the gloomy abyss of time ; but human 
 society has never perished ; from amid the ruins of 
 the monuments of man's prowess, the destruction of 
 states and the obliteration of races, it has arisen, 
 civilization's sun, to shine with greater brightness 
 upon new worlds and the reorganized remnants of 
 states and nations. Society existed the moment man 
 was created ; it is a fundamental law and the im- 
 pulse of his moral nature, and is not the offspring 
 of his intelligence — it is of God and not of man. 
 Adam in the morning of his manhood found him- 
 self face to face with Eve, a being similar to himsell^ 
 and in the first hour of their existence, each owed 
 something to the other, and from each there was 
 something due ; there were rights to be respected 
 and duties to be performed, and this was society, 
 governed then as now, by two laws, one divine 
 
■VI THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 and immutable, the other human and variable. 
 This pair increased, multiplied and peopled the 
 earth ; and in every tribal community, civilized, 
 semi-civilized or barbarous state, from the creation 
 of man until now, this society, in some phase of 
 development, has existed. By reason of man's 
 nature, which is of God, relations are established 
 between men which bind them together in a social 
 state, in which every reasonable being must so 
 regulate his conduct that it will be in harmonious 
 conformity with these relations — hence laws, which 
 Montesquieu says " are the necessary relations 
 which spring from the nature of things," by which 
 he no doubt meant that because man by nature was 
 capable of great intellectual development, intelli- 
 gent beings were possible before they existed, and 
 "they had therefore relations, and consequently 
 laws." This society is governed, as has been said, 
 by two laws — one divine, the other human, or, say, ' 
 moral and legal ; when these laws for any reason 
 come in conflict, society retrogrades ; when they 
 are in harmony, it develops and progresses. The 
 improvement in conditions and environment pro- 
 gresses in proportion to the recognition that is 
 given to the proposition : that side by side with 
 the ideal of right, the legal zone, there is the ideal 
 of duty, the moral zone, and the circle of rights is 
 no broader than the circle of duties, and that within 
 these circles of rights and duties exist the neces- 
 sary relations which bind men together in social 
 compact. The conflict between moral and legal 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 obligations in the social state is probably due to 
 the instinct of preservation and the instinct of 
 progress, which inheres in society as in individ- 
 uals. The instinct of progress embraces the future 
 in its hopes and aspirations ; it seeks after and 
 welcomes everything which aids in the develop- 
 ment of the human mind and the amelioration of 
 material conditions, while the instinct of preserva- 
 tion adheres tenaciously to the past, and fears to 
 trust itself outside the limits of the present ; it 
 would sacrifice the person to society, while the in- 
 stinct of progress would make society aid in the 
 development and advancement of the individual, 
 •and while it inculcated respect for every right, it 
 would insist upon the practice of every duty and 
 the cultivation of every faculty of the human 
 mind. From man's observation, stimulated by 
 self-interest in ministering to his wants, civiliza- 
 tion arose, and as it is a product of human intellect, 
 its rapid development depends upon the freedom 
 with which man can employ his faculties, and the 
 guarantee that he has that he will be permitted to 
 enjoy the fruits of his labors. When there is no 
 longer any spoliation, direct or indirect, by which 
 the fruits of one man's labor are given to another, 
 social differences will be brought down to the level 
 and be measured by the natural differences which 
 exist between men. Civilization has nothing to 
 fear from the barbarism upon its borders, but 
 much from evolving conditions of ignorance within 
 its domain. For instance, there is the multitude 
 
Vlll THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 which may be imbued with chimerical ideas, such 
 as socialism; but this evil quickly disappears when^ 
 brought within the radius of practical experience. 
 But if society is dominated by a powerful class 
 strongly attached to old abuses, the evil is not so 
 easily dispelled, though, if we are patient, we may 
 safely trust to an enlightened public opinion to 
 correct the wrong. The only obstacles in the great 
 trackway of civilization are anarchy, slavery, and 
 war. The first should give our American society 
 no concern, for the law can and should crush it 
 speedily and summarily. The second is a more 
 complex and difiicult problem. The wage system 
 is a species of slavery, in some respects more gall- 
 ing than chattel slavery. The remedy is profit- 
 sharing, equitable participation in the product of 
 labor and capital, and collective ownerships in the 
 great engines of production and agencies of distri- 
 bution. To call attention to some of the iniquities 
 of the wage system this book was written. Why 
 employers are so generally selfish is due to social 
 causes as much as to individual characteristics. 
 These causes may be surmised by reading this in- 
 troduction, which is intended as "a rifle shot at 
 the theme." The strict observance by all of the 
 two great laws governing society will bring the 
 circle of duties into such close relationship with 
 the circle of rights, that greater prominence and 
 activity will be given to the instinct of progress, 
 a nd through its agency old abuses will be broken 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 ■down and new and better conditions evolved. 
 Laboring men must remember that the ameliora- 
 tion of their hard lot can only come through soci- 
 ■ety as we find it ; that socialism is a chimera, the 
 substitution of a world of fancy for a world of fact, 
 which could only result, if given a trial, in chaos 
 ■and anarchy and an iron-handed servitude. Capi- 
 talists should not forget that man is the chief 
 object of society, and that social order is more de- 
 pendent upon intelligent, contented, happy citizens 
 than it is upon statutes which the citizen does not 
 respect, because the conditions under which he ex- 
 ists, he believes, are oppressive and cruel. The 
 laborer must learn that through self-effort he can 
 find a way out of wage servitude, and he should 
 aiever forget that the height to which he can rise 
 in the social scale is only measured by his ambi- 
 tion. In this age Mind is the great law of human 
 ■destiny, and high intelligence and moral worth 
 ithe only patents of nobility. The capitalist, often 
 j)ossessed of good and manly instincts, becomes so 
 absorbed, however, in the process of accumulating 
 money that he imagines that he has no time to 
 investigate, consider, or appreciate the beauties or 
 the benefits of Altruism ; but the time has come 
 •when it is essential to his own interests to take the 
 laborer by the hand and unite with him in an 
 ■earnest, honest endeavor to fulfill the divine com- 
 mand: " Whatsoever ye would that men should 
 do to you, do ye also to them." M. A. F. 
 
 Washinqton, Mat 25th, 1886. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 A Dream, 
 
 "WHICH WAS NOT ALL A DREAM." 
 
 With a sudden start, Mrs. Arbyght awoke from 
 a dream — she thought she stood in the center of a 
 wide, tractless plain, bounded only by the horizon. 
 It was barren and desolate beyond description ; 
 vegetation there was none, and the dreary monot- 
 ony was only broken, here and there, by rocky 
 boulders — barren even of lichen or moss — whose 
 jagged edges were sharply outlined in the clear 
 but arid atmosphere. It was mid-day, and the 
 fierce noon-day sun poured upon the plain its 
 burning, tropical rays, which the white sand and 
 rocks reflected back into the sijperheated air. In 
 the midst of the plain stood a solitary, leafless, 
 barkless tree. It was dead ; its limbs and trunk 
 were dead ; alone, in the midst of a lifeless waste 
 of sand and rock, it seemed a veritable, vegetable 
 skeleton. Beneath the dead tree lay a man, fair 
 of face and form and lithe of limb, writhing in the 
 agonies of a premature death. 
 
 In his hand was clutched a faded letter, the ink 
 dim with age, and blurred by frequent handling. 
 A torn envelope, old and faded as the letter, lay 
 upon the sand a few feet distant. Upon a high 
 projecting limb of the dead tree sat a grizzled, 
 sharp-beaked vulture. Ever and anon the ill- 
 
12 THE OTHBK SIDE. 
 
 omened creature craned its neck and looked fur- 
 tively and hungrily with its wild, red eyes at the 
 dying man heneath. Suddenly, the sufferer with 
 a quick motion raised the faded letter to his lips, 
 gasped convulsively, quivered for an instant in 
 €very muscle, and moved no more. The vulture's 
 «yes glowed in anticipation, his heak parted 
 
 slightly, his broad wings flapped quickly when, 
 
 startled by the horrid, realistic vividness of the 
 vision, the dreamer awoke. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 In a medium-sized room, plainly but neatly fur- 
 nished, in a large frame house in Northeastern 
 Pennsylvania, before a quaintly-carved center table, 
 sat a woman not more than thirty years of age. 
 Her eyes were fixed intently upon an oblong piece 
 of parchment lying before lier on the table. Her 
 face, though beautiful to a fault, wore a sad, re- 
 gretful look, and it was plainly apparent that she 
 was struggling with some deep and powerful emo- 
 tion. But the look of regret and sadness which 
 clouded her lovely features gradually passed away 
 and was succeeded by one of sweet and tender soft- 
 ness. She raised her head and gazed fondly, with 
 tear-dimmed eyes, at a lithe, but muscular, mid- 
 dle-aged man, who stood leaning against the 
 broad oaken mantel. Wrapped in deep thought, 
 he silently watched the bright birch-wood fire that 
 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 13" 
 
 "blazed and sparkled on the hearth and filled the 
 room with its genial warmth and glow. 
 
 The tongue may not move, the eyes may not 
 see, yet heart speaks to heart. The man looked 
 toward the table. His manly, sun-browned face, 
 that had gazed upon the fire in thoughtful mood, 
 now beamed admiration, devotion and love. Hus- 
 band and wife ! Yes ; no man but a loving hus- 
 band and happy father could have looked upon the 
 woman in the center of the room as did Eichard 
 Arbyght, and none but a loving and loved wife 
 could have inspired the affection that beamed in 
 his eyes and suffused his whole face with its radiant 
 glow. Still no word was spoken, and the silence 
 was only broken by the measured tick, tick, tick 
 of the old-fashioned New England clock that stood 
 in the corner of the room, extending from floor to 
 ceiling, like a great wooden column. 
 
 In order that the reader may comprehend the 
 scene just described, a slight digression is neces- 
 sary. Seven years previous to the incident which 
 opens our story Richard Arbyght, the hard-work- 
 ing, energetic son of a pioneer merchant in a West- 
 ern city, while in an Eastern town on business for 
 his father, met the lovely Irene Adair. A purely 
 accidental meeting, it proved life's turning point 
 for each. A mutual attraction led to an acquaint- 
 ance, and blossomed into a deep, earnest, abiding 
 love, which was solemnized by a marriage sanc- 
 tioned by the respective parents of both. Shortly 
 after Richard had made the old place his home, 
 Irene lost her parents and had to rely solely upon 
 her husband for consolation as well as protection. 
 Richard loved his wife devotedly, yea, madly, and 
 was made doubly happy by the smiles of two beau- 
 tiful children, yet he was not at all times cheerful 
 or contented. 
 
14 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 His early education, both practical and theoreti- 
 cal, had fitted him for mercantile pursuits, and the 
 measure of his ambition was to be a successful 
 merchant. But knowing so well how strongly- 
 attached his wife was to the old place, with all its 
 tender associations, he preferred to bury his long- 
 ings, to crush the hopes of his boyhood and man- 
 hood, and live what was to him an aimless life 
 rather than cause the woman who was so dear to 
 him one single regret. But Irene was a true wife. 
 She saw with a wife's intuitive vision — she divined 
 through that holy influence which permeates and 
 unites in one the souls of two perfect lovers — that 
 her husband had a secret, and she instinctively felt 
 that he kept it from his wife because his love was 
 pure and unselfish. 
 
 Eichard Arbyght could not deny his wife any- 
 thing. Therefore when she asked him to share 
 with her the trouble that seemed to shadow him, 
 and make him at times somewhat moody, he did 
 so ; although he mentally resolved she should not 
 suffer in the least from the secret she had per- 
 suaded him to reveal to her. To more effectually 
 carry out this resolution, he kept strong guard 
 over himself, and took care that neither face nor 
 action should betray him to the watchful eyes of 
 his wife. He appeared cheerful and contented, 
 whether he felt so or not. But his conception of 
 his wife's penetration was very defective. She saw 
 the constant mental struggle in which he was en- 
 gaged, she read his very soul, and determined that 
 he should not outdo her in self-sacrificing, gener- 
 ous love. She resolved that the old home should 
 be sold, though the bare thought cost her a bitter 
 pang, for it was the rending asunder of affections 
 and ties formed in childhood, and consecrated and 
 made doubly sacred by fifteen years of womanhood. 
 
THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 15 
 
 About this time she accidentally found an open letter 
 from Ricliard's father, offering him the control and 
 management of a large business house he was then 
 starting in the rapidly-growing city of Chicago. 
 This offer Eichard had carefully concealed from 
 her for more than a year, but its discovery at this 
 juncture caused her to renew her exertions to secure 
 a purchaser for the old homestead, and the farm, 
 stock, and all the appurtenances were sold for the 
 sum of fifteen thousand dollars. 
 
 The parchment, which Mrs. Arbyght had been so 
 intently regarding, was the deed which her hus- 
 band had brought home the previous evening, and 
 which she was to sign that morning as soon as 
 Squire Stanley arrived from Silverville, a small vil- 
 lage four miles from the farm. Husband and wife 
 were silent, but the silence was soon broken. The 
 door of the room was suddenly burst open and a 
 rosy-cheeked boy, about six years of age, with 
 flashing eye, dilating nostril, and a profusion of 
 raven ringlets, rushed into the room almost scream- 
 ing in a tone of boyish animation : 
 
 " Papa ! Papa 1 There's a man on a white horse 
 coming up the road !" ^ 
 
 Turning to his mother he went up to her, threw 
 his arms around her neck and kissing her, looked 
 up in an arch manner and, with childish naivete, 
 said : 
 
 " Mamma, may I go out and see him ; he looks 
 so funny?" 
 
 "Tes, dear," said the mother, as she returned 
 the boy's caress. 
 
 As the child disappeared and the door closed be- 
 hind him, Richard advanced to the table and, plac- 
 ing his hand on his wife's shoulder, said : 
 
 "Dearest Irene, it is Squire Stanley, who has 
 come to see us about the signing of the deed ; I 
 
16 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 fear that my little wife is sacrificing too much for 
 my sake, much more than I deserve, more than I- 
 can ever hope to repay." 
 
 Arising from her chair, the wife regarded him, 
 with the same look of loving devotion that had 
 drawn him out of his reverie a short time before. 
 Putting her arms about his' neck, she laid her head 
 upon his breast, and looking up into his eyes said^ 
 in a voice tenderly reproachful : 
 
 " Richard, you have been a loving, devoted hus- 
 band to me ; for seven long years you have been a 
 voluntary exile for my sake ; the sacrifice has all 
 been on your side. T would have given up the old 
 place long ago had I known your wishes in th& 
 matter, for my only aim in life is to love you and: 
 our dear children, and to make you happy." Eich- 
 ard's answer fell in soft, warm kisses upon th& 
 sweet upturned face, and, as Squire Stanley was- 
 then heard in the hall, he passed out of the roonii 
 for a moment to calm his emotion. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WILDCATS. 
 
 Squire Stanley was a peculiar character ; he wag- 
 peculiar in his actions, his ideas, his speech and 
 his dress. He was a fair representative of the- 
 sturdy, honest, intelligent farmer of thirty-five 
 years ago. He was dressed in a suit of brown home- 
 spun, his coat reaching almost to his heels, and 
 buttoned clear up to his chin, his neck wrapped in 
 the folds of a huge home-made comforter, and on 
 
WILDCATS. It 
 
 Tiis head was a coon-skin cap of gigantic propor- 
 tions, from the sides of which hung large earlaps 
 ■fastened under the chin by a strap ; his hands were 
 liidden in woolen mittens covered with black fox 
 :skin, and lined with flannel — they resembled box- 
 ing gloves ; his feet were incased in thick-soled, 
 •cowhide boots. Thus appareled, the '"Squire" pre- 
 sented the appearance of one who was governed more 
 by personal ideas of comfort in dress than of one 
 who bowed the knee to the dictates of fashion. 
 Yet the old Squire, underneath an apparel that 
 would mark him a fair target for fools, carried a 
 shrewd, intelligent mind, and a big, generous 
 heart. He belonged to the old school of political 
 «conomists, which, unfortunately for the people 
 of this country, has now but few representatives. 
 He believed in making laws for the whole peo- 
 ple and not for the privileged few. He be- 
 lieved that our laws should be so framed and ad- 
 ministered that they would tend to the advance- 
 ment of the vast toiling masses, and the greater 
 glory of the nation. If he had his " way," as he 
 was wont to exclaim, the country would soon be 
 unrivaled in prosperity and greatness. 
 
 Greeting Arbyght and his wife in a warm, 
 hearty manner, he divested himself of the mam- 
 moth cap, huge comforter and globular mittens, and 
 then proceeded to transact the business that brought 
 him to the old homestead. The deed was soon 
 -signed, and, that disposed of, the Squire was in- 
 clined to be talkative. 
 
 "Mrs. Arbyght," he exclaimed, "how in the 
 name of goodness did you ever conclude to sell the 
 old farm ? " 
 
 Irene was pained and puzzled, the Squire, how- 
 ever, did not wait for an answer, but continued 
 .almost in the same breath : 
 
18 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Forty years ago, your father and myself came- 
 from Massachusetts and settled in this place. It- 
 was then a trackless wilderness. We built log 
 cabins and had many a tough struggle, not alone 
 with the bears and wolves, and the forests that sur- 
 rounded us in almost unbroken extent, but also 
 with hunger and cold. But we conquered, we tri- 
 umphed ; yes, by gad, we did ! " and he brought- 
 his fist down on the table with terrible vehemence. 
 
 "Where did you go to market, or obtain your 
 stock of provisions? " asked Arbyght. 
 
 "Market! ha, ha, ha! Well, that is good.. 
 Why, my boy, there was no market within thirty 
 miles of us, and no roads or means of reaching it. 
 We found our way through the woods by marking 
 the trees. But it is all over now, and here we have 
 as fine an agricultural and grazing country as can 
 be found in Northern Pennsylvania." 
 
 The Squire always delighted in a recital of the 
 early trials and struggles of the old settlers, but 
 to Mrs. Arbyght it was a more than twice, or thrice- 
 told tale, and she managed to turn the conversation- 
 in an adroit manner, by asking if there was any 
 news in Silverville. 
 
 "News 1 Why, bless your soul, my dear, lots of 
 it, lots of it ! There is always any quantity and 
 variety of news floating around up there, but 
 whether true or false, I will not attempt to say," 
 he added, parenthetically. "But, ma'am, I am 
 sorry to say there is some very sad and serious- 
 news ; yes, very sad," and the old man's voice, as 
 he uttered the concluding word, sank almost to a 
 husky whisper. 
 
 " Why 1 " exclaimed both husband and wife, 
 with an alarmed and startled look. " What is the 
 matter, Squire? " 
 
 "The wildcats again, blast 'em! blast 'em 1 t 
 
WILDCATS. 19 
 
 say. The country is ruined, the people beggared 
 and hideous famine is again threatening the land, 
 all because a few thieves and scoundrels would be 
 rich at the expense of the honest, hardworking 
 men of the country," the old man replied with an 
 emphasis that left no doubt of his sincerity. 
 
 "The wildcats 1 " interjected Mrs. Arbyght, 
 more alarmed and startled than ever. " Why, 
 Squire Stanley, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, ma'am, I don't mean the ferocious wild- 
 cats of the woods. By gad ! I but wish it were 
 only as bad as that. They don't come to you in 
 the guise of humanity. They are your enemies 
 and you know it, and are prepared to meet them. 
 The kind of wildcats I mean come to you in the 
 shape of friends and public benefactors, and, hav- 
 ing secured your confidence, clutch you by the 
 throatin an unguarded moment, and, like vampires, 
 suck your very heart's blood, steal your substance, 
 rob your children, craze your brain, drive you to 
 despair, and finish by forcing you into the dis- 
 honored grave of the bankrupt and debtor. What 
 do I mean 1 " thundered the old man, as he sprang 
 to his feet, "I mean " — down came his hand with 
 a crash on the table — "I mean wildcat banks! 
 That's what I mean, Mrs. Arbyght," and he sank 
 into a chair almost exhausted with the violence of 
 his emotion. 
 
 "Ah, I heard, or read in one of the papers, that 
 a financial crisis was apprehended, but I did not 
 expect it so soon," said Arbyght. 
 
 " But it has come," said the Squire, "and a sad, 
 sad coming it has proved to many a poor man in 
 my neighborhood," and again the old man's voice 
 became low and husky. 
 
 " How so?" asked Mrs. Arbyght. 
 
 " Well, you see," said the Squire^ " during the 
 
20 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 last months' nearly all the stock for sale, surplus 
 grain, butter and other produce has been bought 
 and sent out of the country by drovers and specu- 
 lators from adjoining States ; all of which was 
 paid for with New Jersey money ; and now comes 
 the news that this money is "worthless, as the banks 
 have all failed. Half of the farmers in this sec- 
 tion of the country are hopelessly ruined. These 
 bank notes were professedly based on a specie re- 
 serve, but the banks issued from five to ten more 
 dollars in paper than they had dollars in specie in 
 their vaults. These notes they disposed of to 
 speculators and usurers, who flooded the country 
 with them and bought up all our stock and other 
 productions. Then the usurers and speculating 
 sharks, in accordance with a prearranged plan, 
 advanced discounts and interests, and a run on the 
 banks and collapse of the hollow frauds was the 
 result. The bankers, usurers, and speculators 
 made fortunes, but the poor farmers and mechan- 
 ics are beggared." 
 
 " But can't this wholesale robbery be stopped 
 by law?" asked Mrs. Arbyght. 
 
 " Most undoubtedly it can," replied the Squire, 
 "and if I had my way it would be stopped. But 
 we have no law, at least, no righteous law govern- 
 ing the issuance of money." 
 
 "Why, how would you mend the matter?" 
 asked Arbyght. 
 
 " Well, sir, if I had the power I would make 
 Uncle Sam issue all the money, and I would have 
 it based on a specie reserve of both gold and silver 
 and of a sufficient amount to make it always secure 
 in the hands of the holder, and then we would 
 have a national, permanent and uniform circulat- 
 ing medium. A dollar would be a dollar wher- 
 ever you went, and crossing State lines would not 
 
WILDCATS. 21 
 
 affect the value of the money you might have in 
 your pocket. Discounts would be unknown, peri- 
 odic financial crises and business collapses less 
 frequent, and bankers would not be enabled to fat- 
 ten on the farmer and mechanics, by making and 
 and controlling the money of the country." 
 
 " I dare say you are right," said Arbyght, " but 
 we must go, or we will keep Mr. Morris waiting 
 until his patience is exhausted." 
 
 The Squire got ready for the road, and Richard, 
 after kissing his wife and children, started with 
 him for Silverville. 
 
 Arbyght' s mission to the village was to make 
 the transfer of the property, and receive the money 
 for it. He was also to receive payment for and 
 cancel certain notes and mortgages due the estate, 
 amounting in all to about five thousand dollars. 
 The village was reached about twelve o'clock, but 
 Mr. Morris, the purchaser of the farm, had not yet 
 arrived, and did not put in an appearance nntil 
 three o'clock in the afternoon. He explained the 
 delay by saying that he was detained by a dinner 
 party, given to an impecunious nephew, who was 
 about to depart for the West to make his fortune. 
 This delay forced Arbyght to remain in the village 
 until nearly dark. 
 
 Silverville, at the time we write, was not a place 
 that offered much inducement to any one to live 
 within its limits. Even at that date it was an old 
 and somewhat dilapidated^ village of straggling 
 wooden buildings, thrown together promiscuously, 
 without any apparent pretension to order or design. 
 The principal part of the village was on the crest of 
 a hill, which gradually sloped on both sides for 
 about a mile, when the bottom of the valley, or 
 valleys, was reached, and two other long steep 
 hills loomed up beyond. East and west across 
 
22 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 these hills, and the hottoms, ran the principal 
 street of Silverville. North from the village ran 
 two main roads, ahout three-quarj;ers of a mile 
 apart, converging about two miles beyond the 
 town, and becoming one road for a mile or more, 
 when they again diverged. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A MURDER AND ROBBERY. 
 
 As the twilight shadows were settling down on 
 the hamlet, and the last rays of the setting sun 
 had ceased to bathe in mellow light the forest- 
 covered eastern hill tops, Arbyght, mounted on a 
 stout farm horse, started on a brisk trot for home, 
 on the more westerly of the roads mentioned in 
 the preceding chapter. About the same time, a 
 horseman emerged from the shadow of the old vil- 
 lage school-house, which stood on the upper or 
 eastern road, and urged his horse forward at a 
 frightful pace. He cast two or three rapid but. 
 furtive glances at Arbyght, and was soon lost 
 sight of in the thick timbers that skirted each 
 side of the road. The road taken by Arbyght to 
 reach his home encountered a dense forest half a 
 mile from town, through which it passed until 
 the point was reached where the two roads con- 
 verged. 
 
 The mind of Arbyght, as he journeyed home- 
 ward, was filled with loving thoughts of his wife 
 and children, and the future home and colossal 
 fortune he was to make for them in the great West. 
 
A JaURDEK AND ROBBERY. 23 
 
 But as he thought of the twenty thousand dollars 
 he had on his person, a shade of anxiety swept 
 across his handsome countenance. What if any- 
 thing should happen to him ? The thought fren- 
 zied and maddened him. He clutched the cash 
 with one hand, and with the other opened the 
 holsters and examined his pistols. It was now 
 quite dark, and he had advanced for some distance 
 -on the forest-girded highway. Just before the 
 road emerged from the woods it passed over a 
 small hill, known as the "Summit," at the foot of 
 which, on the village side, there was a slight dip 
 ■or depression. 
 
 As Arbyght neared this spot, he noticed, or 
 rather outlined, a horseman coming down the hill 
 ■nt a sharp trot, and could hear distinctly the pant- 
 ing of the rapidly-ridden beast. His first impres- 
 -sion was that some person was sick, and that the 
 horseman was going to Silverville for a physician. 
 He had hardly time to form a second opinion before 
 "they met, just at the foot of the hill. 
 
 The stranger did not slacken his speed, but 
 -came directly toward Arbyght, who, to avoid a 
 collision, turned his horse to one side. In passing, 
 the stranger suddenly checked his steed, caught 
 the bridle- rein of Arbyght's horse, came to a sud- 
 'den halt and presented an ugly-looking pistol, 
 "with the ominous words : 
 
 " Your money or your life ! " 
 
 Arbyght was not a coward, but this sudden and 
 unexpected attack completely disconcerted him. 
 
 The robber thrust his pistol closer to Arbyght's 
 face, and in more threatening tones said : 
 
 "Pass over that twenty thousand dollars, or 
 take the consequences." 
 
 By this time Arbyght was himself again, and, 
 •dashing aside the weapon of his assailant with his 
 
24 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 left hand, he at the same instant drew a pistol 
 from his holster with his right hand, and snapped 
 it in the very teeth of the robber. But horrors t 
 it missed fire. Yet the bare act, its quickness and. 
 boldness, unnerved the highwayman and he re- 
 coiled in his saddle ; and, before he recovered, Ar- 
 byght drew the other pistol, which also failed him> 
 by missing fire. 
 
 His assailant now burst into a loud and forced' 
 laugh and said : 
 
 " Did you think I was fool enough to attack you,, 
 knowing you to be armed? Oh no ; I am too old 
 a bird for that. I fixed those bull-dogs of yours- 
 while your horse was in the stable at Silverville ; 
 so the safest course for yoti to take is to deliver up- 
 that money cheerfully and gracefully." 
 
 " Curses on you!" said Arbyght, rendered des- 
 perate as he thought of home and his loved ones, 
 "do you think I am going to rob my wife and 
 children? The money is not mine; it is theirs. 
 Only three thousand dollars of it is mine. You 
 can take that, but my wife's property I can not and 
 will not give you." 
 
 "Why, man, you are a fool," was the reply^ 
 "I will have it and your life too if you don't hand 
 it over in ten seconds." 
 
 "Fiend, incarnate devil, robber, and murderer,, 
 I know you now. Take that, and that!" said 
 Arbyght, as he leaned forward and dealt his 
 assailant two powerful blows with the pistol he- 
 held in his hand ; and giving the rein a powerful 
 jerk, loosened it from the robber's grasp and dashed 
 away. But, alas ! it did not avail, for recovering- 
 from the suddenness of ihe attack, the latter fired^ 
 and the ball, striking Arbyght between the shoul- 
 ders, gave him a mortal wound. The assassin's, 
 horse being much faster than the farm steed rid- 
 
A MURDEK AND ROBBERY. 25 
 
 den by Arbyght, tbe latter was overtaken before 
 he reached the crest of the hill. Here a fierce 
 struggle ensued. Arbyght, nerved by thoughts 
 of his wife and children, fought with the ferocity 
 of a wild beast. In the struggle both men were 
 unhorsed ; but the wounded man was fast sinking. 
 He knew that he could not live, and his only hope 
 was to kill his assailant, and thereby save his 
 wife's property, as he knew that it would be found 
 on his person. Hence he fought with a tenacity 
 born of desperation. Feeling, however, that hope 
 was rapidly dying within him, be again prayed 
 that his wife's and children's inheritance might 
 be spared them ; but his plea was in vain. Then 
 he offered half of it. 
 
 " Ohl" he prayed, "for the love of heaven, of 
 God and His angels, leave my wife and children 
 one-half of it — just one-half of it ; for my sake, for 
 theirs, for Grod's sake !" 
 
 But he dealt with a fiend with a heart of iron. 
 When he saw that his prayers were of no avail he 
 summoned all his remaining strength for one final 
 effort. He caught the assassin and robber in a 
 deadly embrace, and together they rolled over and 
 over on the road. At last Arbyght clutched his 
 antagonist by the throat, and held him with such 
 tenacity tba.t he gasped for breath and turned black 
 in the face ; but the superhuman effort put forth 
 by the dying man hastened the flow of the vital 
 current, and his clutch on the assassin's throat 
 gradually relaxing, the latter made a desperate 
 effort and cast Arbyght off, apparently dead. 
 
 The murderer then struggled to his feet, and, 
 after supporting himself against an old stump by 
 tho' roadside for a moment to gain breath, ap- 
 proached the body of his victim with a malignant 
 and exultant scowl. 
 
2b the other side. 
 
 But when he saw the pale, upturned face of 
 Eichard Arbyght, upon which still lingered a look 
 of supplicating entreaty, his craven heart was ap- 
 palled ; his cowardly soul was paralyzed with fear, 
 his teeth chattered, his whole frame trembled, and 
 his tottering limbs almost failed him as he invol- 
 untarily recoiled from that accusing face. The 
 rumbling sound of a wagon was heard in the dis- 
 tance. The thought of new danger forced the 
 murderer to a realization of his position. Quaking 
 with fear, he again approached his victim. Bend- 
 ing low over him, and detecting no signs of life, 
 he thrust his hand between his outer and inner 
 coats and drew forth the well-filled wallet. With 
 trembling but eager fingers he opened it, to make 
 sure that he had secured the money ; and, being 
 satisfied on that score, he placed it in an inner 
 pocket of his own coat. The sound of approaching 
 wheels was now quite distinct, and with a desper- 
 ate effort he dragged the body of his victim into 
 the adjoining underbrush, and then, with a hor- 
 rible imprecation, fled up the road down which he 
 had first advanced. A moment afterward a heavy 
 lumber wagon, drawn by a stout team of farm 
 horses and containing two men, passed in the same 
 direction. 
 
 The wound received by Arbyght, though a mor- 
 tal one, did not produce immediate death. His 
 struggle for his wife's property and children's in- 
 heritance hastened it ; but when left by his assassin 
 he was not dead. What appeared to be death was 
 a heavy stupor caused by the loss of blood and over- 
 phy^cal and mental exertion, from which he was 
 roused by the shock received when rudely thrown 
 into the underbrush. The first gleam of reason 
 that came back to his clouded brain, induced an 
 act that plainly indicated what thoughts were up- 
 
A MURDER AND ROBBERY. 27 
 
 permost in his mind when life and reason momen- 
 tarily left him. The act was characteristic. He 
 thought not of himself. He knew that he could 
 not live, and his whole soul was centered in those 
 whom he so fondly and unselfishly loved^ and for 
 whom he had so valiantly struggled. 
 
 He thrust his hand into his pocket, hut the 
 treasure was not there. A look of utter hopeless- 
 ness, of pitiahle, heartrending sadness darkened 
 his pale face. Stretched out on the cold earth, his 
 tody writhed in agony, hut his physical sufferings 
 •were bliss compared to the despair which tortured 
 his mind. 
 
 "My God! Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, "why 
 hast thou permitted this fearful calamity to fall 
 upon me? My wife and children, oh merciful 
 Heaven ! what will become of them ? Oh, God, as 
 Thou hast permitted them to be robbed of the treas- 
 ures of this earth, and of their only protector, take, 
 oh, take them 'neath Thy fostering care, and be 
 Thou a treasure and protector to them." 
 
 The spring of life was fast drying up. The last 
 words were uttered in a whisper. The soul of Rich- 
 ard Arbyght would soon wing its flight to the 
 mysterious beyond ; it already stood upon the last 
 portal of its clay-built tenement. But not yet ; 
 the love and devotion for those that would mourn 
 his loss, as more bitter than death, inspired one 
 last thought in the mind of the dying man. A 
 contented smile now illumined his face. He roused 
 himself from the lethargy of death, and raising his 
 body and supporting it with his left arm, with his 
 right hand he drew forth a large diary, and across 
 the page where he found the pencil, he began to 
 trace some hard characters. He had scarcely writ- 
 ten ten letters, when his arm bent under the weight 
 of his body, his eye became glazed and vacant, a 
 
28 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 shudder ran through his whole frame and his 
 teeth hecame firmly set. Was it death ? No, not 
 yet. His hand clutched the diary, and as a man 
 writing with closed eyes he traced the balance of 
 the letters that represented the thought in his mind. 
 A happy look now settled upon his pallid features, 
 his lips opened and he uttered oneword, " Irene," 
 and all was over. With the cadence of that last 
 word, in life so sweet to him, his spirit took its 
 flight. Irene was his all, his soul, and with the 
 utterance of the word, he delivered it up to its 
 maker. Its way was lit by the glinting rays of 
 the mild, full moon, which at that instant shone 
 out through a rift in the dark pall that shrouded 
 the heavens. The moon's mellow light shone 
 upon, and for an instant glorified the upturned 
 countenance of the dead^ then, as if horrified by 
 the spectacle, the gentle orb quickly hid her sor- 
 rowing face behind a scowling cloud — and the dead 
 was alone. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE dream's ghastly SEQUENCE. 
 
 In the dining-room of the old homestead the 
 table was arranged for supper. A cheerful wood 
 fire sparkled upon the hearth of the large, open, 
 brick chimney, and by its glow made faint and dim 
 the illuminator of those days, the inevitable can- 
 dle. The old, dark, time-stained, oak-paneled 
 wainscoting, that reached half way from the floor 
 to the ceiling, gave the room a somber appearance, 
 which was in a measure relieved by the snowy 
 
THE dream's ghastly SEQUENCE. 29 
 
 ■whiteness of the ashen floor. Mrs. Arbyght, Mas- 
 ter Kichard and the baby were the only persons in 
 the room. Mrs. Arbyght's face wore an anxious, 
 expectant look. Her quick ear caught the slightest 
 sound. At half- past seven the old-fashioned clock 
 suddenly stopped. Irene was not superstitious, 
 nor did she believe in omens ; but this incident 
 filled her soul with an unspeakable dread of im- 
 pending evil. She started the pendulum and the 
 old clock ticked on as before. Mastep Eichard 
 ran frequently to the window facing the road and 
 peered into the outer darkness, then turning would 
 exclaim in a tone of mingled impatience and disap- 
 pointment : 
 
 " Mamma, why don't papa come?" 
 The old clock struck eight, nine, ten, eleven, 
 twelve, as the hours passed slowly, slowly away. 
 The silence in the room was oppressive. The slight- 
 est noise sounded wonderfully distinct and clear ; 
 the tall branching pines in front of the house 
 sighed and moaned in the rising breeze; the.tu- 
 whoo-tuwhit-tuwhoo of the owl and the screech of 
 the nighthawk sounded unnaturally weird and loud, 
 and it seemed as if the measured tick of the old 
 clock could be heard rods and rods away. The very 
 air seemed charged with something not of earth. 
 Without, the sky was lowering, moonless, starless. 
 Irene could hear and count each beat of her heart ; 
 she continually and instinctively turned her eyes 
 to different parts of the room as if she expected to 
 see something that she felt must be there. She 
 finally took Master Kichard by the hand, leading 
 him to the cradle, in which slept peaceably the un- 
 conscious babe ; she there knelt and prayed long and 
 earnestly ; prayed until her heart was in a measure 
 relieved ; prayed as she gazed fondly at the sleep- 
 ing infant while the boy nestled close to his moth- 
 
30 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 er's feet and dropped into a deep slumber ; prayed 
 until her head inclined upon the cradle and she- 
 also dropped into a fitful sleep. 
 
 Three hours later, in the grayish dawn that pre- 
 cedes the day, three men returning from Silver- 
 ville, after a night of bacchanalian revelry, stopped 
 on the very spot where Richard Arbyght was mur- 
 dered to debate some vexed question that arose dur- 
 ing the night's debauch, and on which they were 
 unable to agree. While disputing and arguing,, 
 their attention was directed to and aroused by blood 
 on the ground, and other evidences of the previous 
 night's struggle. In examining the traces of the 
 too-apparent conflict, the body of the murdered 
 man was found and recognized. After a short con- 
 sultation, it was decided that one should guard the 
 body, another secure some kind of a conveyance to 
 take it home, and the third go ahead and break the 
 sad intelligence to the stricken wife. The man 
 who was left to guard the body noticed, as soon as 
 the others had left, the open diary in the hand of 
 the dead man. He stooped and picked it up rather 
 quickly. In doing so, however, a leaf remained 
 in the clenched hand, wrenched from the book. 
 This leaf, after no little effort, he removed from 
 the fingers that seemed to hold it with a vice-like 
 grip. He glanced over it hastily, then muttered 
 audibly : 
 
 "Surely, the blood of the murdered cries to 
 heaven for vengeance ; you are tracked, my fine 
 fellow, and will pay dearly for this." 
 
 Suddenly a new thought seemed to have been 
 born within him ; he looked eagerly around, and, 
 as he heard a wagon approaching, he thrust the 
 torn leaf into his vest pocket. 
 
 The party who was detailed to secure a vehicle 
 to convey the body home met a man with an ordi- 
 
THE dream's ghastly SEQUENCE. 31 
 
 nary one-horse market wagon, on his way to Sil- 
 verville, whom he easily persuaded to undertake 
 the charitable task. The body was carefully placed 
 in the wagon, and with heavy hearts they started 
 for the old farm house. They soon overtook the 
 man who had started on ahead, and they all went 
 on together. 
 
 With a sudden start Mrs. Arbyght awoke from 
 the dream which opens this story, her face covered 
 with drops of clammy perspiration, and her limbs 
 palsied with the terror that filled her soul. She 
 gazed wildly around ; the rising sun was stream- 
 ing into the room. The candle, burned down to 
 the socket, was expiring with a flickering glimmer, 
 and the fire had gone out. Otherwise the room 
 was the same as when she had fallen asleep. 
 
 The sound of wheels broke on her ear ; she 
 started, filled with a premonition of evil ; a cold 
 tremor darted through her frame. The sound 
 came nearer and nearer, but every revolution of the 
 wheels seemed to roll an ever-increasing weight 
 upon her heart. The wheels stopped, the sound 
 ceased. She rose to her feet. The door swung 
 open and four men entered, bearing between 
 them the cold, dead remains of him who had 
 truly been bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh. 
 She struggled forward, involuntarily dropped the 
 babe she had taken from the cradle, threw her 
 hands upward, uttered a piercing scream and sank 
 senseless to the floor. 
 
32 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ORPHANED AND ALONE. 
 
 We will draw a veil over the three years that 
 elapsed after the death of Richard Arbyght. The 
 sorrowing, heart-broken widow would have died 
 the day her husband's body was brought home but 
 for her children. She tried to live for them ; 
 they were her only hope and solace ; all else 
 was burned out of her young life. But how 
 would she support them ? This was a serious, a 
 perplexing question. She wrote to Richard's 
 father a full account of her sad condition. A short 
 time afterward she received a letter from Rich- 
 ard's mother, stating that Mr. Arbyght had also 
 gone to that undiscovered realm from whose shores 
 none return. The financial panic, which had 
 swept over the country at that time, had com- 
 pletely ruined him, and his losses so preyed 
 upon his mind as to produce temporary insan- 
 ity and death. The letter closed by saying: 
 " We are ruined — beggared." Mrs. Arbyght 
 was hard pressed. To work she was unable, 
 means she had none. Mr. Morris, the purchaser 
 of the farm, was to move in immediately. De- 
 spair seized the stricken widow. But when all 
 failed, noble old Squire Stanley came to her as- 
 sistance, and offered her and her children such as 
 he had. The kind, generous offer was gladly ac- 
 cepted. Many efforts were made to bring the mur- 
 derer of Richard Arbyght to justice, but without 
 avail. No clue could be found, not even a suspi- 
 cion could be fastened on anybody. But murder 
 will out — the eye of justice never sleeps. 
 
 Irene Arbyght, in spite of a desire to live for her 
 
ORPHANED AND ALONE. 33 
 
 •children, pined daily. Her spirit and her heart 
 "were broken. She gradually failed in strength, 
 and three years after the death of her husband, her 
 ■spirit went to him, and three years from the day 
 he was buried she was laid by his side in the old 
 Tillage churchyard. The two children were now 
 orpbaned and alone, indeed. 
 
 Shortly after the mother's death, a lady on a 
 visit to Mrs. Morris, wife of the purchaser of 
 the "Adair Homestead," was passing through Sil- 
 Terville, and, seeing little Bertha Arbyght, now 
 three years and six months old, took a strange 
 fancy to her. She ascertained the little girl's his- 
 tory, and then waited upon the old Squire. 
 
 After making herself known to the old man, she 
 isaid — 
 
 " Squire, I understand you have a little orphan 
 .girl under your care." 
 
 "Yes, madam, and a beautiful child she is; 
 vivacious, good-natured, and wise beyond her 
 years." 
 
 "Of that I am convinced," she replied, "as I 
 have seen her ; but I see you have a house full of 
 children, and I think you might give Bertha to 
 me. I will raise her respectably, give her a good 
 education, make a lady of her — in short, I desire 
 to adopt her. You can see Mr. Morris and ascer- 
 tain from him what are my antecedents and stand- 
 ing." 
 
 "My dear madam," said the Squire, "your 
 offer is certainly a liberal one, and no doubt it 
 would be better for the child. I will talk to Mas- 
 ter Richard about it, and also consult with Mr. 
 Morris, and let you know the conclusion reached 
 in a few days." 
 
 " My heart is set on that child, and I trust you 
 will conclude to accept my proposition. I appre- 
 
34 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ciate your kind reception of my offer, and I hop& 
 to hear a favorable reply," she said, as she arose 
 to depart. 
 
 The lady's antecedents and standing proved to- 
 he all that could be desired, and the old Squire, 
 after long consideration and many misgivings, 
 reluctantly consented to let the child go. Young 
 Richard seemed to be the chief obstacle. The boy 
 idolized his little sister, and since the death of his 
 mother, he felt, boy as he was, that he should be 
 to the little one both father and mother. Their 
 childish hearts had become so entwined that it was 
 hard to suggest anything that would separate- 
 them. Richard was old enough, however, to ap- 
 preciate the advantage of the offer, and after it 
 had been stipulated that one year from the time of 
 her departure he should see her, he consented, and 
 the weeping child was taken from his arms to her 
 new home, some four hundred miles distant. 
 
 When the year had rolled by, and Richard was 
 expecting to see his sister as per agreement, a 
 letter was received by Squire Stanley, informing 
 him that little Bertha had just died from a severe 
 attack of croup. Inclosed in the letter was a locket 
 that Bertha had worn since she was six months 
 old. The locket was for Richard. To our young 
 hero this was a terrible blow, and, although but 
 ten years old, he felt it keenly. He realized that 
 now he was entirely alone in the cold, wide world; 
 for outside the circle of the old Squire's love and 
 generous care, it was an unexplored land to him. 
 It was many a day before the color came back to 
 his cheek, the fire of youth to his eye, or joy to his 
 young heart— saddened thus early by a triple losa 
 and bereavement. As time passed on, however, 
 the elasticity of youth asserted itself, and he^re- 
 gained his accustomed activity and spirit. 
 
ORPHANED AND ALONE. 35 
 
 In summer Richard worked on the farm for the 
 Squire, and in winter attended the village school. 
 He was quick and apt at everything in the line of 
 common school studies, hut he appeared to he 
 especially endowed with a love for, and had a very 
 clear comprehension of mathematics. He was also 
 of a very philosophic and inquiring turn of mind. 
 He was generally at the head of his class, and 
 realized that he was quick and bright, while he 
 knew he was studious. But he was punished 
 oftener than other boys less favored by nature than 
 himself. Though he was obedient, gentle and 
 kind, the teacher was harsh to him, while others, 
 who could rarely recite their lessons well, and who 
 were disposed to be unruly, not only escaped pun- 
 ishment, but were otherwise favored. Eichard 
 pondered these things considerably. He noticed 
 that the favored scholars were the best-dressed 
 boys in the school. His own clothes were plain, 
 almost coarse. After much thought and reflection 
 he came to the conclusion that his treatment by the 
 teacher was due to his shabby attire. It must be 
 so, for he was brighter, more studious, and, he 
 even felt, of better manners. 
 
 One evening he laid the matter before the old 
 Squire and asked him if his conclusions were cor- 
 rect. The Squire looked at the boy in amazement, 
 acknowledged that he was right, but added that 
 he was too young to investigate such questions. 
 This did not satisfy Richard, who said he even 
 noticed that the neighbors in the village who lived 
 in fine houses and wore good clothes, had more 
 respect shown them than other neighbors who were 
 in many ways much better than they. But the old 
 Squire simply shook his head and said that was a 
 matter he would understand when he grew older. 
 
 In his fifteenth year, Richard's thirst for knowl- 
 
36 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 edge became so intense that his inability to acquire 
 it rendered him morose and unhappy. He literally 
 devoured all the books, papers and periodicals that 
 came in his way. He desired to study algebra, 
 philosophy, rhetoric, geometry and other higher 
 branches of which he had heard and read, He 
 had been told that these studies tended to ex- 
 pand and beautify the mind, and to strengthen 
 and more thoroughly equip it for the battle of life. 
 But his aspirations in this direction were checked 
 by his inability to purchase or procure suitable 
 text books, and to add to his humiliation he saw 
 the favored boys of the village school, many of 
 whom were boys of evil habits, sent by their parents 
 to a neighboring college. Although the boy had 
 been inured from childhood to patient endurance 
 and calm resignation, still this matter chafed him 
 continually. It was to his young inquiring brain 
 an habitual source of constant and vexatious 
 thought. He finally broached the subject to the 
 Squire. The old man counseled fortitude, resigna- 
 tion and perseverance. 
 
 " But," said Eichard, " I don't understand this ; 
 can't there be some means provided by which poor 
 boys, who are so disposed, can obtain an educa- 
 tion? " 
 
 '"' Well, my boy, it dosen't seem right. No, by 
 gad, it don't ; but then you see this is a very selfish 
 world While it would be very good policy to 
 educate bright boys like yourself, yet we don't look 
 far enough ahead for that." 
 
 " Oh, I know that full well ; but Squire, is it 
 right or just ? That's what I would like to know." 
 
 " Why," said the Squire, after some hesitation, 
 " I hardly think it is just or right, It is mani- 
 festly unjust, but I can's, see how the evil can be 
 remedied." The Squire was drawing the boy out. 
 
ORPHANED AND ALONE. 37 
 
 " But I can," said Richard. 
 
 " You can !" said the old man, almost startled 
 out of his seat ; " come, come, my boy," he said, 
 after his surprise subsided. " You astonish me — 
 yes, by gad, you do. Well, well ! you can pre- 
 scribe a remedy, can you ? Well, let's hear it, boy, 
 let's hear it." 
 
 Richard paused. 
 
 " Out with it, lad, out with it." 
 
 " Well," said Richard, " would it not be better 
 for the country to have everybody educated ? ' ' 
 
 " Certainly, it would, my boy." 
 
 "Well then," said Richard, "why don't the 
 State educate those who can't educate themselves? 
 Is not ignorance a dangerous thing for the coun- 
 try?" 
 
 " There^ there, my boy," replied the Squire, now 
 thoroughly aroused, " you have touched upon a 
 question of vital importance to the Republic. It 
 should be admitted by every man, who aspires 
 to statesmanship, that to fit every child in the 
 land, who is one day destined to become one of 
 the sovereign factors of the Nation^ for the patri- 
 otic and intelligent discharge of the, duties of a 
 citizen and elector, is the great, paramount duty of 
 the State. A far-reaching, far-seeing and sound 
 generous statesmanship would make education in 
 all its phases gratuitous to every child in the land ; 
 and what's more, as far as consistent and possible, 
 compel these children to acquire such an education 
 as would fit them for the responsible duties of citi- 
 zens of a great and free Republic ; besides, all the 
 graded schools, academies, colleges and universities 
 shimld be controlled by the State, and should be 
 free, so far as tuition is concerned, to all who 
 might desire to avail themselves of the opportunity 
 they would afford to secure a higher and broader 
 
38 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 education. By such an educational system our 
 Republic would fortify itself against the greatest 
 enemy of free government — ignorance. The time 
 will come when this question will be brought home 
 to the people of this country ; and necessity and the 
 law of self-preservation, which governs comniu- 
 nities as well as individuals, will then compel in- 
 telligent men to recognize its benefits and labor 
 for a more general educational system, although 
 its merits as a proposition will not gain it a hear- 
 ing now. And my boy, of one thing I am certain, 
 under such a system you would not long remain 
 an obscure village lad ; you are an embryo Jeffer- 
 son, by gad, you are !" and the old man hobbled 
 out of the room murmuring : 
 
 "Books! books! he has been reading books." 
 
 When Richard was sixteen years of age, the 
 Squire informed him that it was very essential that 
 he should learn a trade of some kind. He was al- 
 lowed to decide what trade he would follow. The 
 boy thought over the matter a few days and finally 
 decided to learn the cooper trade. 
 
 Arrangements were accordingly made with the 
 village cooper, and a few days afterward Richard 
 was regularly installed as an apprentice in the 
 shop, and began to take his first lessons in the 
 mysteries of the craft. 
 
 The Squire's house was still his home, and al- 
 though his time was occupied during the day he 
 found leisure at night to pursue his studies. He 
 attended school the following winter, but found 
 the village master unable to lead him further as an 
 instructor, and he was thus thrown entirely upon 
 his own resources as far as education was con- 
 cerned. He applied himself diligently to learn 
 his trade and mastered the various parts of it 
 rapidly. At the end of two years he was master 
 
ORPHANED AND ALONE. 39 
 
 •of nearly half a dozea different branches of the 
 craft. 
 
 At the age of eighteen he secured a teacher's 
 •certificate, and for the next three years taught 
 school during the winter months, and worked at 
 his trade in summer. 
 
 Three years of alternate mental and physical 
 labor developed in our hero a vigorous young man- 
 hood. At twenty-one he was six feet in height, 
 -straight as a gun-barrel, had prominent cheek- 
 bones, a swarthy complexion, was rather slender 
 but lithe, sinewy and strong, with quick elastic 
 movement ; dark hair and eyes ; his nose, mouth 
 ■and chin denoted strength and firmness of charac- 
 ter ; his countenance was open and expressive ; 
 his demeanor dignified and grave ; his mind philo- 
 sophical, his heart brave and sympathetic. Strictly 
 speaking, he could not be called handsome or grace- 
 ful, but his every look and movement indicated a 
 nature surcharged with nervous force, and gave 
 assurance of the greatness and goodness of that 
 noblest attribute of man — soul. 
 
 At this juncture, the mutterings of the storm 
 "that plunged the country into the great struggle 
 between sections could be heard ; and before Rich- 
 ard had fully determined as to his future course, 
 war was declared, and the heart of Eichard Ar- 
 byght throbbed in response to his country's rally- 
 ing call ; and recognizing but one duty in that 
 hour of national peril, he enlisted, shouldered a 
 musket, and joined the ranks of the defenders of 
 the old flag. By merit and close application and 
 bravery in the field, he rose from a private to the 
 rank of lieutenant-colonel ; and through the long 
 months and years of that terrible contest he never 
 faltered. 
 
 When peace was declared and the soldier was 
 
40 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 again merged into the citizen, Eichard returned to- 
 Silverville. But the old Squire and his wife, who- 
 had,so long heen father and mother to him, were- 
 no inore. The scenes of his childhood he cared 
 for no longer. The village seemed more forlorn 
 and desolate than ever. He stood upon its grass- 
 covered streets — alone. Alone in the boundless 
 waste of wickedness, selfishness and depravity, 
 termed the world — utterly alone. He determined to- 
 seek other scenes, where, perhaps, he would forget 
 to some extent his sorrows ; where at least every 
 housetop, street, tree or person he saw or met 
 would not continually remind him of them. He 
 tarried long enough to place a suitable monument 
 over the grave of his parents, and then left the 
 village forever. 
 
 He first tried to secure a position in which men- 
 tal rather than physical labor would be required ;. 
 but after three months of fruitless search and effort,, 
 he gave it up in despair. He found that friend* 
 and influence, had more to do in securing such posi- 
 tions than merit or fitness. 
 
 Having grown heartily tired of wandering about- 
 the country, he concluded to purchase a set of tools^ 
 and go to work at his trade. This resolve he put 
 into immediate execution. He went to Philadel- 
 phia and worked there about eighteen months, but 
 could never accustom himself to the place or peo- 
 ple. He had an instinctive horror of aimless,, 
 nomadic wandering ; he wished to locate perma- 
 nently, but could not believe the city of " Broth- 
 erly Love " was the place. Chicago often occurred 
 to him — even in his dreams some invisible power 
 seemed to urge him on to that city ; a shadowy 
 something seemed to beckon him, and he fre- 
 quently thought the shadow was a substance. He 
 tried hard to combat this feeling, but in vain. The 
 
A PHILOSOPHICAL TRAMP. 41 
 
 attractive power of that invisible something in the 
 Western city grew greater and greater, until it 
 became irresistible, so much so that Eichard Ar- 
 bygbt, two years after his discharge from the army, 
 found himself en route for the far-famed city of Chi- 
 cago. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 A PHILOSOPHICAL TRAMP. 
 
 The night following the morning that Richard 
 left Philadelphia, he found himself in a crowded 
 car in the seat immediately behind a man of about 
 thirty years of age, of medium height and build, 
 strong features, laughing eyes and mouth, and gen- 
 eral expression of happy, careless nonchalance. 
 His clothes, though new and of good material, 
 fitted him badly, and he wore them rather ungrace- 
 fully. He attempted several times to engage our 
 hero in conversation, but Eichard was just then too 
 busy with his own thoughts. Toward midnight, 
 Arbyght's good-natured neighbor curled himself 
 upon the seat, put his old, worn leather satchel 
 under his head ,and was soon sleeping soundly. He 
 had not been sleeping long, however, before a young 
 man who had all the evening been playing practi- 
 cal jokes upon his companions stopped in the aisle 
 in front of the sleeper and in a loud voice cried : 
 
 " Tickets !" 
 
 The good-natured traveler awoke, rubbed his 
 eyes and, comprehending the situation in an instant, 
 drew from a pocket of his overcoat a flask, took a 
 
42 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 drink, smacked his lips and, turning to Richard 
 with a comical expression, said : 
 
 "It's very strange ; but do you know that I al- 
 ways wake up when I want a drink ?" 
 
 The laugh was on the joker, and he found it con- 
 venient to leave the car. 
 
 " Have a drink?" said the good-natured man to 
 Richard. 
 
 " Thank you ; I seldom drink." 
 
 ' ' No offense, I hope ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I appreciate your kindness," 
 replied Arhyght, who by this time had become in- 
 terested in his companion. 
 
 "Going far?" 
 
 "To Chicago," answered Richard. 
 
 "That's lucky — going there myself; have the 
 blues terribly ; have been hoping all day to find 
 some one I could talk to. My name is Tom Cast- 
 away, and I live wherever night finds me." 
 
 " If you travel much, I should judge you had 
 rather a roomy home," laughed Arbyght. 
 
 "Well, I'm not crowded, at all events; but 
 might I ask what is your name? " 
 
 " Richard Arbyght, and just now, like yourself, 
 this car is my home." 
 
 " I'm what's termed a tramp ; I'm a cooper by 
 trade and am going to Chicago in search of work." 
 
 "Why, that is strange," exclaimed Arbyght, 
 "I, too, am a cooper by trade and am going to 
 Chicago to locate." 
 
 " Why, Dick, my boy, I am glad to meet you ; 
 a fellow-feeling makes us old friends, you know," 
 and before Arbyght was aware of it, Mr. Castaway 
 was shaking his hand warmly and vigorously. 
 
 "How long have you been a member of the 
 craft?" asked Richard. 
 
 "About fifteen years." 
 
A PHILOSOPHICAL TRAMP. 43 
 
 " You must have commenced quite young." 
 
 " Now, Dick," replied Castaway, impulsively, 
 "as we are both going to Chicago and are going 
 to he friends, I want to tell you' my history. I 
 don't want you to take me on trust." 
 
 " Oh, that is not necessary. I think I have 
 some knowledge of human nature. I am willing 
 to take you on trust, provided you so take me." 
 
 "Dick, my boy — pardon my familiarity — you 
 are all right ; but I want to tell you who and what 
 I am ; then you can judge if I am a man whose 
 friendship is worth having." 
 
 " Oh, well, if you so desire it, go ahead." 
 
 Mr. Castaway arose, turned the back of the seat 
 on which he was sitting, sat down facing Richard, 
 and began : 
 
 " On the seventh day of November, 1837, at 
 midnight, as the clock struck twelve, I came into 
 this terraqueous sphere. On what portion of it I 
 am unable to say, as I have no distinct recollection 
 of the event further than I have been able to de- 
 duce from my horoscope, which, unlike Goethe's, 
 was not propitious. The sun had not culminated 
 in the antipodes, the moon had not reached her 
 planetary hour, the earth was neither in perihe- 
 lion or aphelion ; Venus, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, 
 and Mercury scowled fiercely ; so you see the astrol- 
 ogers managed things very inauspiciously for me, 
 and to their unkindness I, of course, attribute 
 many of my misfortunes. 
 
 " Authors have a mania for diving into what 
 appears to be useless minu-tise when treating of 
 the lives of great men. This unnecessary, insane 
 method of detailing the events of a great life I 
 will avoid ; in fact, I despise it, because I think the 
 early lives of all great men are alike, or nearly so, 
 in every particular. It is impossible to convince 
 
44 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 me that the infantile existence of Julius C^sar or 
 Napoleon differed in any essential point from that 
 of George Francis Train or myself. I look back 
 ■with not the slightest species of regret upon the 
 miscalled halcyon period of my career, because 
 when I do so, faint glimmerings of something like 
 memoric flashes course through my brain, hand in 
 hand with painful ideas of unmerciful flagellations 
 received from a dark, ireful, scowling, ancient- 
 looking man, whom I presume to have been my 
 sterner parent. 
 
 "I know nothing aboutmy maternal ancestor. In 
 my early days I was not cognizant of the so-called 
 sweetinfluenceof awoman ; evenyet I have failed to 
 find the article in its poetical genuineness. The 
 only woman I knew, or rather felt, at that time 
 was an old amazonian beldam, villainous looking 
 as a gipsy centennarian hag. She had no rela- 
 tions of consanguinity toward me. She was sim- 
 ply a step-mother. I often thanked the stars for 
 that. This tigress died when I was ten years old. 
 No pen can describe, nor can words express, the 
 ecstatic delight that flooded my soul when I was 
 really convinced that the old lady had departed 
 from among us. The old man, whomf I presump- 
 tively believed to be the author of my corporeal 
 beingj soon joined the beldam in the happy lands 
 beyond our destructible planet. I was then a waif 
 upon the boundless ocean of life. I became a sort 
 of Arab or Bedouin, making my home when and 
 where convenient. I took unutterable delight in the 
 black slums and puddles that numerously abounded 
 in the city — Pittsburgh — where I resided. I was 
 thrown upon my own resources entirely. I did re- 
 markably well while old Sol's rays were at an angle 
 of eighty, seventy, or even fifty degrees; but, as win- 
 ter set in, I was roused to a sense of impending ca- 
 
A PHILOSOPHICAL TRAMP. 45 
 
 lamity. My garments were chiefly remarkable for 
 the perfection of their ventilating qualities. I had 
 DO clear conception of what 1 would do. The 
 pleasures of camping en bivouac, like all pleasures 
 of this world, hegan to pall upon the appetite. I 
 stood upon the curbstones and crossings, and 
 watched for hours the manifold, astounding, ever- 
 ■changing phenomena of what we call society, float 
 steadily past me. Gilded carriages, like Jovian 
 ■chariots, would rush by me with a stunning whirl, 
 and then would come the dray, the cart and 
 market wagons. Anon would come the pedestrian, 
 clad in silks and ermine, and bedizened out of all 
 reason with rare and costly gems. Then would 
 come the begrimed and goaded laborer, the poor 
 apple woman or half-clad mechanic's wife ; again, 
 the dainty school miss, followed by the haggard, 
 pale-faced shop girl, would flit by. These social 
 difi'erences began to engross my attention. Too 
 young by far to fathom the mysteries of sociality, 
 I was, nevertheless, filled with amazement at the 
 constantly changing phases of life that were daily 
 presented to my young mind. When I saw some, 
 gorgeously attired, stalk majestically past with 
 liaughty bearing and scornful mein, and contrasted 
 these with the hundreds that followed in squalid 
 livery, with downcast, haggard looks, I was filled 
 with wonder, and thoughts, ghost-like and unbid- 
 den, would rise and beset my brain. Why, I 
 would ask myself, are these things so ? Why this 
 difference ? Which of these classes — for there are 
 classes — is the most worthy of my appreciation 
 or emulation ? Which was the most worthy 
 of the esteem of the world ? While I was de- 
 bating this question in my mind one day, I sud- 
 denly found myself in the hands of a cowardly- 
 looking fellow, dressed in a blue coat, with brass 
 
46 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 buttons. I was taken to a place called a court, 
 where a spectacled, pig-headed man, who sat he- 
 hind a desk, eyed me fiercely^ and asked me, with 
 a savage grunt, why I was a vagabond and va- 
 grant. I told him I supposed it was because there 
 was an insufficient amount of wealth or money in 
 the world to make everybody rich, and when a few 
 monopolized it all, the balance, of necessity, had 
 to be poor, and poverty begat street arabs, and 
 hence I was one. Now, this idea I heard some- 
 where before, and I flung it at pig-head spontane- 
 ously, but it made old spectacles awfully mad. He 
 said I was a contumacious wretch, and forthwith 
 he ordered me to the house of refuge. That just 
 suited me. I had some sort of a home now ; be- 
 fore, I had none. I was sent to the refuge school 
 and waded through the drudgery of learning the 
 alphabet without any serious trouble. I took to 
 learning like fire to powder ; new lights soon be- 
 gan to dawn upon my mind, and, like vegetation 
 under the vivifying rays of a spring sun, dormant 
 ideas and germs of thought began to sprout and 
 bud within me. I reached the age of sixteen years, 
 and was then offered the choice of a trade. As if 
 under the mysterious guidance of some remote in- 
 fluence, I selected that of a cooper. This choice 
 brought me in contact with persons whose influ- 
 ence had a strong tendency to shape the course of 
 my after life in a manner that proved eventful if 
 not highly romantic. I was apprenticed, or rather 
 given, to one Obediah Skinflint. I will never for- 
 get my first interview with Mr. Skinflint. He was 
 a rather small man, with one very peculiar facial 
 expression. What struck me as remarkable, and 
 immediately arrested my attention, was his enor- 
 mous, ponderous nasal organ . The monstrous pro- 
 portions of that nose threw all his other features 
 
A PHILOSOPHICAL TKAMP. 4T 
 
 into the depths of obscurity. If I had such a nose 
 I would commit suicide ; but to Mr. Skinflint, I 
 afterward learned, that nose was a feature which 
 he regarded with the utmost complacency. The 
 vision of that nasal prominence has continued to 
 haunt me ever since. As soon as the man who had 
 accompanied me had left, and I found myself alone 
 with the Nose, a feeling of trepidation came over 
 me. But Skinflint did not appear to notice my un- 
 easiness, hence I became calm and eyed the nose 
 abstractedly. My new master viewed me from two 
 non-luminous, rather sheepish orbs, that appeared 
 to have to struggle hard to bring the angle of inci- 
 dence nearer than ten feet, so great was the obstruc- 
 tion of the nasal appendage. I eyed him in a like 
 manner ; he undoubtedly thought I. was completely 
 lost in admiration, which hypothesis impressed 
 him favorably toward me. 
 
 " 'So you want to be a cooper, eh?' said the 
 Nose. 
 
 " 'Yes, sir,' said I. 
 
 " 'Your name is ?' 
 
 " 'It is,' said I. 
 
 " The Nose scowled, but just then an awful 
 racket was heard in the other room, in which 
 the angry vehemence of an irate virago and the 
 crying supplications of some bastinadoed culprit 
 freely mingled. Skinflint rushed to the scene, and 
 left me to ponder over that proboscis. While I 
 was still thinking about the Nose, and half wonder- 
 ing or rather conjecturing what might be the cause 
 of the din in the other room, the door of the apart- 
 ment in which I and the Nose had the audience, 
 burst open with a bang, and in rushed a boy about 
 my own size. He was boohooing and blubbering 
 at a fearful rate. He looked around the room with 
 a sort of terrified, frightened stare, as if he was 
 
48 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 being followed by the imp of Faust, and expected 
 to be overtaken by his impship at any moment. 
 
 " ' Bub,' said I, ' what's the matter ? ' 
 
 " 'Are you the new apprentice ? ' 
 
 " 'I believe so,' said I. 
 
 " 'Well, you won't need to ask me what's the 
 matter by this time to-morrow. ' 
 
 " He uttered these words in a manner that left an 
 impression that he meant more than he said. 1 
 was going to retort, but the sound of footsteps in 
 the hall had an absconding effect on the boy, and 
 he was gone before I could open my mouth. 
 
 " 'You're here, are you? ' shrieked a voice be- 
 hind me, in a tone that resembled the creak of a 
 barn door opened for the first time in twenty years. 
 I was so startled that I almost lost my sight, speech 
 and center of gravity. However, I managed to 
 turn roundj and an apparition met niy gaze that 
 I will never forget, should I live to be as old as 
 Methuselah ; and still it was only a woman ; but 
 such a woman ! I won't burden you with a de- 
 scription of her ; she was Skinflint's better half, 
 that ought to suffice, as she was eminently worthy 
 of him in all respects and particulars. Seeing me 
 she rushed upon me like a lioness robbed of her 
 young. Her long, bony fingers, greasy and black, 
 with villainous warlike looking nails, opened and 
 shut like the claws of a lobster, as she shriekingly 
 rushed upon me. My hair instinctively clung to 
 my head, as if it knew she had some fiendish de- 
 signs upon it. How I escaped I never could deter- 
 mine ; but I did escape alive, and for the next four 
 days I was continually reminded of the wisdom of 
 old Solomon in saying it were better to dwell in 
 the wilderness than abide in the house with an 
 angry and contentious woman. .These may not be 
 the exact words of the wise man, but the idea is 
 
A PHILOSOPHICAL TRAMP. 49 
 
 the same. I don't profess a profound biblical eru- 
 dition. 
 
 "I will pass over the first twelve months of raj 
 apprenticeship in silence. I prefer to leave this 
 epoch of my life in the limbo of the past. It sug- 
 gests reminiscences anything but pleasant. I did 
 not make much headway at the trade during this 
 period ; I learned more about house-work, milking 
 cows and feeding the various animals about the 
 place than I did about making barrels or tubs. 
 'However, after a year had elapsed, another new 
 ■apprentice was taken on, and I, in consequence, 
 was promoted from the kitchen to the shop. The 
 floggings, persecutions, and jawings I suffered 
 
 during that year beg pardon, Dick, I forgot I 
 
 promised to let this matter rest. After my pro- 
 motion things fared a little better with me. I did 
 not see Mrs. Skinflint quite so often, and that was 
 one consolation. 
 
 " 'In learning to split poles,' said the Nose, 
 with a wise look, one day after I had been working 
 at the trade about a year, ' you must bear in mind 
 two things ; first, split through a knot ; and, sec- 
 ond, split a crook traversely ; that is, follow the 
 •crook ; not like a boy splitting sled runners.' 
 
 "But these tworuleslfound would not work; at 
 least not infallibly. One day I found a pole with 
 knots on all sides. The next day I found one with 
 a sharp crook to the right, followed by one to the 
 left, then a perpendicular crook, followed by a 
 horizontal one. This pole was also profusely cov- 
 -ered with knots. I applied the Skinflint rule, but 
 it failed to work ; that stubborn pole was not to be 
 made twain. 
 
 " The Nose said I should split it and not spoil it. 
 I dissented ; he insisted; a row ensued ; the Nose's 
 wife came upon the scene; and, fearing martyr- 
 4 
 
50 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 dom to an inapplicable nile, I fled. When out of 
 sight of Skinflint's kingdom, I sat down on the 
 roadside and began to ponder my hard lot. While 
 I sat thinking, the embryo seed of independent 
 thought and action began to germinate within 
 me ; and through the pure, placid, crystalline- 
 medium of dawning intellectuality, I saw a way 
 to rid myself of all my evils. Yes, I would be- 
 free ; I was firmly resolved on that. About- 
 twelve o'clock that night I stole cautiously 
 back to the house, and through a window that 
 opened on the roof 1 entered my room, scaring a 
 fellow-apprentice almost out of his senses. This 
 young man had been at the house about two years 
 longer than myself, and was pretty thoroughly ujh 
 in most parts of the trade. It was a part of my 
 plans to induce this apprentice to accompany me,, 
 as I was determined on running away. Sam Ink- 
 son, (such was his name,) very readily entered 
 into all my arrangements, as he was as heartily 
 sick of the tyranny of Mrs. Nose as I was. 
 
 "Two hours later, habited in our ' go-to-meeting * 
 apparel, we left the house by the window, roof, 
 and shed route. We traveled the balance of that 
 night and all the next day, and toward evening 
 arrived at Deadville, a city of some ten thousand 
 people. We secured lodgings at a second-class 
 hotel, and were soon in the land of dreams. 
 
 "Next morning when I awoke, the sun was shin- 
 ing brightly, and Inkson had already arisen. I 
 indistinctly remembered that Sam had called me 
 a half dozen times, but I refused to get up, and 
 dropped asleep again. Why I did not bound up 
 when first called was a question that set me think- 
 ing. ^ For the last two years I had risen every 
 morning before dawn and there was no other al- 
 ternative — I had to do it. But here, scarcely had 
 
A PHILOSOPHICAL TRAMP. 51 
 
 I broken the fetters ere I found myself abed and 
 the sun fully three hours high. One disposed to 
 examine things superficially might attribute my 
 disinclination to get up to the fatigue of the pre- 
 vious day, or to the little debauch in which Sam 
 and I had participated the previous evening ; but 
 I, in the light of a then rapidly awakening 
 knowledge, attributed the phenomenon to a 
 cause. more recondite and philosophical. It was 
 liberty 1 With the rapidity of lightning I grasped 
 the all-important fact that there was no necessity 
 whatever, either physical or moral, for getting up 
 so early, or for disturbing the serene, delicious re- 
 pose I was enjoying. I refused most decidedly to 
 get up. I was free, and the proper enjoyment of 
 the glorious attribute of individual liberty does 
 not consist in getting up in the morning before 
 you feel inclined to do so. This was the first fruit 
 of liberty, and I was not going to cast it away. 
 Sam again appeared and urged me to get up. I 
 flatly refused. 
 
 " 'But you will lose your breakfast,' said Sam, 
 "Ah ! here was a motive of sufficient force to 
 bring me to time, as it enabled me to overcome the 
 inertia of my new position. I turned over and 
 over in the bed in delicious ecstacy for a few mo- 
 ments longer and then rolled out. Breakfast was 
 soon over, and then Sam begun to grow uneasy 
 and wonder what was going to become of us. 
 This matter gave me no concern whatever. I did 
 not think it necessary to trouble myself about the 
 future. With Epicurus, I believed that neither 
 men nor gods should give themselves any unneces- 
 sary inconvenience. In the term men, I do not 
 include fools, moralists of latter schools, and 
 rogues. These I always considered anomalies, not 
 subject to l^ws regulating normal humanity. 
 
52 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Knowledge of the future, I think, would make one 
 devilish reckless. Let the dark future keep her 
 secrets ; I don't want to penetrate them. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE tramp's story CONTINUED. 
 
 " 'Well,' said Sam, 'what do you propose to 
 do?' I was smoking a segar and thinking of 
 anything but doing. I was almost mad for being 
 so abruptly disturbed ; but getting mad was not, 
 to my mind, at all philosophical. There are many 
 reasons why a man should at all times steer clear 
 of anger, but the most cogent reason that presented 
 itself to my mind just then was the conviction that 
 anger makes a slave of a man — a slave to his pas- 
 sions ; and, as I had just secured my liberty, I did 
 not deem it wise to become a serf to myself. I 
 wanted to be free, and as Pythagoras says, ' No 
 man is free who does not command himself.' I at 
 once assumed a sternly rigid command over my- 
 self. 1 therefore simply looked at Sam, withdrew 
 the segar from my mouth, which I shaped as pu- 
 pils do when enunciating vocal sounds, and there 
 issued from the cavity thus formed a circling 
 wreath of blue smoke, immediately following 
 which came the word, ' Nothing.' 
 
 " 'Nothing 1' echoed Sam, with alarming won- 
 derment. ' Nothing ! Why, we must work or we 
 will starve.' 
 
 " 'Sam.' 
 
 " 'Well?' 
 
THE TRAMP S STORY CONTINUED. 53 
 
 ' Have you noticed our landlord?' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' Does he work?' 
 ' He doesn't seem to.' 
 ' Does he look like starvation ?' 
 ■ At this Sam burst into a loud cachinnatory 
 roar. No doubt the jolly round face of the land- 
 lord suggested anything but the idea of starvation, 
 and no wonder Sam was tickled at the absurdity 
 of the question. 
 
 " ' Why,' he replied, ' if men are fools enough 
 to buy the old fellow's whisky and eat his con- 
 glomerate, to keep him from toil, that is no rea- 
 son why we should not work, and if it was, of 
 what use would the knowledge be, since we must 
 work anyway or not eat, and if we don't eat we 
 die.' 
 
 " ' Now, Sam,' said I, ' you are chopping logic, 
 and I, for one, am an intense hater of logic. Of 
 what earthly use is it to me to know that deduc- 
 tion is explicative of the contents of thought, or 
 that induction is ampliative to the contents of a 
 thought? The knowledge of these things, or the 
 knowledge of an a priori or a posteriori science, 
 is, no doubt, a great comfort to a fellow who un- 
 derstands them on a full stomach ; but will they 
 fill the inner mag? That is the question. Now, 
 in the reason-rendering syllogism they say, for in- 
 stance, that B is A, but C is B, for it is D ; there- 
 fore, is also A. But let us reason it this way : 
 Work is Money, but Cunning is Work, because it 
 is Fact ; therefore Cunning is Money. I tell you 
 what it is ; society is a goose with whose feathers 
 the more astute human birds line their nests, and 
 I say we have as good a right as the rest to a 
 handful or two.' 
 
 " It would be a waste of time to give the entire 
 
54 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 argument ^ro and con. that Sam and I had on this 
 subject. In fact, we argued for nearly three days, 
 and were still arguing when the landlord put in 
 an appearance and said he was going to market, 
 and that he would be eternally obliged if we could 
 accommodate him with the amount of our bills, as 
 he was hard pressed for money. This was the 
 substance of his remarks. He was very polite and 
 used a great many words ; was redundant, in 
 fact. 
 
 " 'My dear sir,' said Sam, in a tremor, 'we 
 have no money, but we are going to work to-mor- 
 row, and it will be all right. Won't it, Casta- 
 way?' he added, turning to me. 
 
 " 'Most gracious sir, it — it will — I mean — be all 
 right.' 
 
 " 'See to it, then, that it is,' said the landlord, 
 going off in a big scowl. 
 
 " 'Castaway?' 
 
 "'Inkson?' 
 
 " 'We are in for it,' we both got out in a 
 breath. 
 
 "Yes, we were in for it sure enough, notwith- 
 standing all my fine-spun theories to the contrary. 
 All that evening and a good share of the night, I 
 buried myself in the nest of thought, and from 
 the egg of necessity I finally hatahed an idea. 
 
 "Next morning we started out bright and early, 
 and were not long on the street before we heard 
 the sound of an adze, and, like a man lost in the 
 woods following the sound of a bell, we went to- 
 ward the place whence came the familiar rat-a- 
 tat. It proved to be a slack workshop. We went 
 in, saw the boss, a genial, jolly, fat-faced old coon, 
 and Sam asked him for a berth. 
 
 " 'Where are your tools ?' asked the man. 
 
 " 'Haven't any,' replied Sam. 
 
THE TRAMP S STORY CONTINUED. 55 
 
 " 'Tramps, eli ? ' grinned the boss. 
 
 " 'Yes,' said Sam, looking very cheap and crest- 
 "fallen . 
 
 " 'Well, we have a few old irons here, which we 
 ■will loan you until you can procure better ones.' 
 
 " 'Where are they ?' asked Sam. 
 
 " The man then took us to a berth in the middle 
 of the shop, and then rummaged in an old box, 
 from the cavernous depths of which he fished up 
 some of the rustiest old scrap-iron you ever saw. 
 
 " 'There you are,' he again grinned, and then 
 left us to go to breakfast. 
 
 " We looked around, and lo ! we were alone in 
 the shop. All the boys had gone to breakfast. 
 We now proceeded to execute my idea — I had al- 
 ready confided it to Sam One of the men left a 
 barrel on the fire. Sam took this, drew it up and 
 set to work on it. I raised another and put it on 
 the fire in place of the one Sara had appropriated. 
 ■Sam finished the barrel rapidly, and when it was 
 finished it was a sight ! It was the crookedest, 
 twistiest barrel mortal man ever saw. We hid it 
 away under the bench and covered it with cham- 
 perings and shavings and then began another bar- 
 rel. By this time all the boys and the boss had 
 returned. We continued to work, unmindful of 
 the many glances cast sideways at us. In a short 
 time Sam had another barrel finished — another 
 type of crookedness, but not half so bad as the 
 former. The boss came up and looked at it, and 
 looked and laughed, and laughed and looked. 
 
 " 'May I be busted, but that is the crookedest 
 barrel I ever seen — ha ! ha ! ha ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — 
 HA ! HA ! HA ! ' 
 
 "I thought the man would choke ; he turned pur- 
 ple and scarlet, but he finally cooled down. Sam 
 ^ook on terribly — got as angry as a hornet and bet 
 
56 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ten dollars that there was a crookeder barrel thau 
 that in the shop. 
 
 " 'I'll do it/ said the boss—' yes, I'll bet $15^ 
 —$20.' 
 
 " 'Agreed,' hissed Sam — oh, but he was angry ^ 
 
 " 'And I'll bet ten more,' said one of the men. 
 
 " 'Take it,' hissed Sam again — he was getting; 
 more angry every moment. 
 
 '"And I'll go ten, too;' 'and so will I,' 
 ' and I,' cried three or four more men. 
 
 " 'Take it all,' fairly roared Sam. 
 
 " The money was all placed on the head of the- 
 barrel, but, strange as it may seem, the mirth and 
 side-splitting laughter was so great that none of 
 them ever seemed to notice the fact that Sam did 
 not cover the stakes. 
 
 '"Are you all done?' asked Inkson, and as na 
 one responded he took the silence for an assent. 
 Then turning round he pulled the hidden barrel 
 from under the bench. You ought to have seea^ 
 the look of blank dismay that fell upon the betters 
 when the serpentine barrel rolled out. 
 
 " ' They laugh that win,' said Sam, thrusting 
 the stamps into his pants' pocket and diving 
 through the door into the street, closely followed 
 by myself. 
 
 " 'I don't feel just right about this matter,' said' 
 Inkson, after we had reached our hotel 
 
 " 'Nonsense, Sam,' said I. ' This is only an 
 exemplification of my theory. That boss pockets 
 at least four dollars of these men's production, 
 every week. Now, granted that we took twenty 
 or thirty dollars from him indirectly ; what does- 
 it signify ? _ It was not his money ; hence, we did 
 him no injustice, and besides, if these men are 
 fools enough to be robbed by the boss, it is not so 
 much his fault as their own ; and then, have we- 
 
THE tramp's story CONTINUED. 57 
 
 not as good a right to rob them as the boss or any 
 other man?' 
 
 "Let me say right here that the conversations I 
 had with Inkson were not in the language I am 
 now using. The events, as I remember them, are, 
 of course, old ; the dress is new. Though a tramp 
 for the last ten years, I have been a reader and a 
 student. My ideas have changed greatly, and 
 there are many things in my early career I would 
 gladly forget if I could ; yet I am still thought by 
 many to be a little peculiar. But I am wandering. 
 Inkson and I parted company. He was practical ; 
 I was theoretical. The combination didn't mix 
 well. I started alone to solve the problem of life 
 by theory, but I soon found that the realities of 
 life were not only at war with the poetry of exist- 
 ence, but that theory is generally knocked out in 
 the first round in the contest with practice. I set- 
 tled down and went to work, but in an evil hour 
 met my fate ; fell dangerously sick. I had the 
 most virulent attack of love-fever you ever saw. 
 It was so severe that for a time I became insane. 
 I -wrote rhymes and love-letters in ardent, burning 
 words which told my idol that her image was pho- 
 tographed upon my brain ; that if I had as many 
 heads and tongues as Mohammed's angel I could 
 not adequately sing her praises ; that I heard her 
 voice, like the music of the spheres, in every 
 breeze, in the sighing of the wind and the murmur 
 of the waters ; that the whole blue ether vault was 
 one vast mirror which threw back a million reflec- 
 tions of her lovely face ; that the virtues, graces, 
 and charms of her character manifested themselves 
 like the unfolding of a beautiful flower ; that my 
 love was bounded only by space and as undying as 
 the soul ; that with her life would be an unending 
 bliss ; without her, a ray less, starless night. Oh, 
 
58 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 I had it badly, very badly ; in fact, I am not fully 
 recovered yet. I called upon her frequently. One 
 evening she received me in the sitting-room. She 
 usually received me in the parlor. A man in love 
 has an eye like an eagle, an ear like an Indian. I 
 soon discovered that another admirer had called 
 earlier than I, and the parlor was pre-empted. I 
 discovered this fact from the frequency with which 
 the parlor was visited. I asked what it meant. 
 She said the man in the other room was her sister's 
 company, and that she was entettaining him until 
 the sister, who was out, returned. For a girl, who 
 is disposed to flirt, a sister is a most convenient 
 person to have around. However, she had hardly 
 told me this ere the sister came in accompanied by 
 the man that I had been informed was in the par- 
 lor. I fled, not only from the house, but from the 
 town, and I have been fleeing from town to town 
 and from city to city ever since." 
 
 " What became of the girl?" asked Arbyght. 
 
 " Oh, she is still single, a coquet is like a clus- 
 ter ring, from which every new admirer takes a 
 brilliant — when they are all gone, nobody cares for 
 the ring, for it no longer has either beauty or 
 value ; but here we are at Chicago. A man 
 named Relvason runs a large shop here ; go there. 
 You will have no difficulty in getting work. I'll 
 meet you there," and before Arbyght could say 
 "good morning," Mr. Castaway had disappeared. 
 
AN UNEXPECTED CALLER. 59 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CALLER. 
 
 A shorty thick-set man, with dull grayish eye, 
 hawk-bill nose and a dirty, sallow complexion, 
 habited in a brown sack coat, not remarkable for 
 the nicety of its fit and rather worse for the wear, 
 pants that were possibly at one time white, shoes 
 that sadly needed repairing, a limp felt hat, and 
 a dirty shirt that the closely-buttoned coat could 
 not wholly conceal, was striding rapidly up and 
 down the platform in the Michigan Southern depot, 
 at Chicago, when the morning train from the East 
 came to a final stop. 
 
 The passengers poured out of the cars and passed 
 eagerly toward the street entrance, among whom 
 was Richard Arbyght, who began to experience a 
 new sensation. He was in a strange city, with no 
 previously defined plan of action to guide his move- 
 ments ; undecided where to go, or what to do, he 
 ■«vas for the moment like a mariner in mid-ocean 
 without a compass, and overhead a cloudy sky. 
 
 He neither appeared nor felt amiable. Detaching 
 himself from the crowd, he strode down the plat- 
 form in a lonesome, meditative mood. In turning 
 round suddenly at the end of the depot, he came 
 face to face with the seedy-looking individual above 
 described. A half-suppressed exclamation burst 
 involuntarily from the lips of the stranger, but 
 Richard, buried in the solitude of his thoughts, 
 heeded it not, nor did he notice the man or the 
 startled expression which his own appearance 
 clearly occasioned. Reaching the upper end of the 
 platform, Richard passed out into the street, en- 
 tered an omnibus, and gave directions to be driven 
 
60 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 to a hotel, where he engaged temporary quarters. 
 Being weary he immediately sought his room, to 
 secure a few hours rest, before exploring the city ; 
 but he had not been in the room ten minutes be- 
 fore there was a knock at the door. Opening it he 
 was confronted by a colored bell-boy, with a broad 
 grin on his countenance, as though his errand was 
 a funny one. 
 
 "What do you want?" asked Richard, in^^^a 
 rather gruff tone, as the bell-boy stood eyeing him 
 in blank and silent wonder. 
 
 " Tha-ar-ares a — a gentleman below who wishes 
 to see you," said the boy, stammeringly, but with 
 a significant grin, as he emphasized the word gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " A gentleman wishes to see me, did you say?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Impossible 1 " exclaimed Richard. " I am an 
 entire stranger here." 
 
 "P'r'apsyou are, and p'r'aps you ain't," re- 
 plied the boy, with a curious leer. 
 
 The look rather than the remark roused Rich- 
 ard's ire, which was only manifested, however, by 
 a scowl. 
 
 " Well ? " queried the bell-boy. 
 
 " Well," replied Richard, " why don't you show 
 him up ? Why do you stare at me as if I was a 
 seven-headed murderer? " 
 
 " P'r'aps you are," muttered the boy, as he beat 
 a hasty retreat to the ground floor. 
 
 " Well, this is queer, singularly queer," solilo- 
 quized Richard, after the boy had departed. "I 
 am not acquainted, as far as I know, with a person 
 in this city. I never met a man who claimed 
 Chicago as his home, and here I am scarcely a half 
 hour in the place, and have a caller. It is strange, 
 decidedly strange." 
 
AN UNEXPECTED CALLER. 61 
 
 " Here's the gentleman," interrupted the bell- 
 boy, as he threw open the door, emphasizing again 
 the word gentleman. 
 
 Arbyght looked up and saw the man who seemed 
 to recognize him at the depot. Each shrank in- 
 stinctively from the other. Richard could not tell 
 why he recoiled ; but he felt as if he was in the 
 midst of a pestilence. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, for obtruding myself upon 
 you," said the stranger, in an explanatory but 
 courteous manner, "but I saw you at the depot, 
 and your face very forcibly reminded me of a man 
 I knew many years ago, and in whom I was much 
 interested ; so I took the liberty to call upon you, 
 to ascertain if my surmises were correct. I hope, 
 sir, you will not consider it an intrusion," headded, 
 with an ingratiating smile. 
 
 " Might I ask whom I have the honor of address- 
 ing?" said Richard. 
 
 " Oh, certainly, sir. I am Jack Terwillager, 
 at your service." 
 
 "Jack Terwillager," repeated Richard, with 
 measured slowness. " I think I have heard that 
 name before. Let me see ; did you ever live in 
 Silverville, Pennsylvania? " 
 
 Terwillager moved uneasily and his sallow face 
 turned a deathly pallor. 
 
 Richard noticed the change, and eyed him 
 keenly. 
 
 "No — I — did not," replied Terwillager in a 
 hesitating tone ; " I was never in Pennsylvania," 
 he added, with more firmness and deliberation ; 
 " but why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Merely because the name sounds familiar," 
 said Richard; "a man named Jack Terwillager 
 worked for my father twenty-odd years ago." 
 
 Terwillager sprang up, seized his hat, and rushed 
 
62 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 from the room, exclaiming in an audible whisper, 
 as he fled, "'tis he! 't is he!" 
 
 Eichard stood rooted to the spot with surprise 
 and astonishment. What did it all mean? The 
 operations of the human mind are very eccentric 
 at times. Now and then an idea or impression 
 will flash unexpectedly through the brain ; the 
 specters of buried thoughts will oft rise unbidden 
 before us ; and again^ when perhaps we most need 
 or desire the mind to act in a certain direction, it 
 fails us. Memory, the divinest attribute of the 
 mind, has ever been coquettish. She will fre- 
 quently bring before us, painfully vivid, things 
 we would much rather be not called upon to con- 
 template ; and again, when we most desire her 
 aid, she is very apt to mislead us, or fail us alto- 
 gether. 
 
 It was thus with Eichard Arbyght. While he 
 was confronted by Terwillager, the thought of his 
 murdered father never entered his mind ; but his 
 seedy visitor had barely made his unceremonious 
 and unexpected exit, ere the idea that he was in 
 some manner connected with, or had some knowl- 
 edge of his father's murder came to him like a 
 flash. He rushed down stairs, but Terwillager 
 had left the hotel. He went out on the street, and 
 gazed eagerly in every direction, but his visitor 
 was not visible. Had he vanished into thin air, 
 he could not have disappeared more suddenly and 
 effectually. Eeturning to the hotel, Arbyght in- 
 terrogated the clerks, the porters, the bell-boys, 
 and the guests of the house, but no one had seen 
 the person described pass out. 
 
 Eichard had always attributed the death of his 
 mother and sister to the murder of his father ; 
 hence, it was not at all singular if he cherished the 
 thought of eventually bringing to justice the rob- 
 
JEALOUSY INSPIRES A REVELATION. 63 
 
 ber-aasassin who was the cause of his early orphan- 
 age, the death of his sister, his defective and defi- 
 cient education, and all the subsequent ills that 
 burdened him because of these afflictions. He did 
 not cherish a desire for revenge. He felt that that 
 alone would not be compensation for a wrong be- 
 yond human repair ; but still he believed his mis- 
 sion on earth would not be accomplished until jus- 
 tice was done him, as the sole survivor of a family 
 most foully and terribly wronged. His chagrin, 
 therefore, at allowing Terwillager to escape him 
 without leaving a clue to his whereabouts, may be 
 easily imagined. He consoled himself, however, 
 with the reflection that he had discovered at least 
 something tangible from which a clue might be 
 obtained. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 JEALOUSY INSPIRES A REVELATION. 
 
 "I tell you I will not endure it any longer; 
 your conduct is unbearable. I have borne it pa- 
 tiently as long as I care to, and now I am deter- 
 mined that henceforth you shall occupy your pro- 
 per position in this house, or leave it." 
 
 The speaker was a woman, and she spoke in a 
 sharp, commanding, and insulting tone. She was 
 evidently in a fearful rage, a condition into which 
 her intense nervous temperament frequently plunged 
 her. She was very fair, with one exception — 
 a rather narrow, wedge-like forehead. She had 
 dark, hazel eyes, dark hair and aquiline features. 
 That she was beautiful was the general opinion of 
 
64 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 fhe majority of the male society in which she 
 moved. Ordinarily, she wore a serene and placid 
 look, but there is a fearful difference between ap- 
 pearance and reality, and Estella Relvason was no 
 exception to the rule, for she inherited a temper 
 that at times broke through the barriers of social 
 restraint with impetuous and turbulent fury. 
 
 The woman whom she addressed in rude, bitter 
 terms had just entered the room, but stopped and 
 regarded her cousin — for such was the relationship 
 they were supposed to bear to each other — with a 
 look of bewildered surprise. She was an entirely 
 different type of woman. Slight, graceful, and 
 spirituelle, the face sweet and confiding, the fore- 
 head high and arched ; her hair, a beautiful golden 
 chestnut, was thrown back and covered with grace- 
 ful abandon shoulders of matchless symmetry and 
 whiteness, like a sheet of broken sunlight. With 
 a mute, appealing look in her mild, blue eyes, she 
 formed a pleasant and lovely contrast to her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Why, cousin, what have I done? ' ' she said, in 
 a timid and faltering tone. 
 
 " Don't ask me what you have done ; I hate 
 your duplicity," was the answer. 
 
 " Cousin Estella, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " You will please stop calling me cousin. It is 
 about time to put an end to this masquerading. I 
 am not your cousin," was the unfeeling reply. 
 
 "Not my cousin ?" 
 
 ''No ! " with emphasis. 
 
 " Then who am I ? " said Grace, with blanched 
 cheek and bated breath. 
 
 ''I do not know, and I do not care," was the 
 heartless answer. 
 
 Grace sank into a chair and covered her face 
 with her hands. No sound escaped from her lips, 
 
JEALOUSY INSPIRES A REVELATION. 65 
 
 Taut through the delicate fingers tears fell rapidly, 
 while her compauion looked at her with illy-con- 
 •cealed triumph. 
 
 Suddenly, as if moved hy a quickly-formed pur- 
 pose, the weeping girl arose to her feet, dashed the 
 tears from her eyes, and stood before the beautiful 
 virago, the very impersonation of stateliness and 
 independence. 
 
 " Well, are you not satisfied?" 
 
 " No," said Grace, " I am not satisfied of any- 
 thing, but that you are jealous of me without cause, 
 and that you mean me no good." 
 
 " Then I will convince you. Miss Grrace," said 
 Estella sneeringly, and she arose, and going to an 
 ■escritoire standing in one corner of the room, took 
 from it a faded envelope and letter, which she 
 handed to Grace, saying : 
 
 " Is that Aunt Edna's writing?" 
 
 Grace examined it and said : " Yes, this is her 
 writing." 
 
 " Well, read the letter then and be convinced." 
 
 Grace took the letter from its faded receptacle 
 with a' trembling hand and read the following : 
 
 Cleveland, Ohio, May 1, 18 — . 
 
 Dear Brother : You ask who is the child I wish 
 you to take under your protection in case I should 
 not survive my -present illness. In reply, I would 
 say, she is nobody, merely the daughter of some me- 
 chanic who<te name I have forgotten. I took a fancy 
 to the child and adopted her. She has no living re- 
 lative that I am aware of. Her people will never 
 .trouble you, for she has none. 
 Your sister, 
 
 Edna Relvason. 
 Alvan Relvason, Chicago, 111. 
 .5 
 
66 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 When Grace had finished reading it, she threw 
 it upon the floor contemptuously and said, with a 
 firmness that revealed an unexpected strength and 
 force of womanly character : 
 
 " I see I have been living a false life, I will do 
 so no longer. For the information you have given 
 me, I thank you. "My life has been aimless, use- 
 less ; but there is yet time to atone for the past. Tii 
 the hollow, glittering cast in which I have been 
 playing a part, there will be a vacancy which 
 doubtless you can fill. I have no name, no home, 
 no friend, but the Friend of the friendless ; but not 
 for all your father's wealth, or the splendor and 
 luxury of his home, would I this moment change 
 places with you. Poverty has no terrors for a 
 brave soul. Wealth can not improve a defective 
 character, and happiness is more dependent upon 
 good thoughts, noble deeds, and a pure heart than 
 the possession of great wealth, which is only used 
 to purchase a standing that individual merit can 
 not attain or command." 
 
 The haughty Estella sprang to her feet, her 
 eyes flashing, her face livid, and, with quivering 
 lips, gave vent to the passion that consumed her. 
 But her rage spent its force on the walls and fur- 
 niture, for Grace had left the room. Half an hour 
 later she left the house forever, arrayed in the 
 plainest dress, hat, and wraps in her wardrobe,, 
 and taking with her only a few trinkets of no in- 
 trinsic value. She went out into the streets of the 
 great city, friendless and alone, her only armor a 
 pure and unsullied soul, her only protector her 
 God. 
 
 She paced the streets at first in a rapid, nervous 
 manner, but as the hours passed, her steps became 
 slow and undecided. She wandered on, on, appar- 
 ently in search of something, which she found not, 
 
JEALOUSY INSPIRES A REVELATION. 67 
 
 because she knew not what she sought. Twilight 
 succeeded the day, and still she wandered on, but 
 with laggin'g feet. To her everything seemed like 
 the unreal sequence of a dream. The lamplighter, 
 with ladder and torch in hand, flitted rapidly 
 in a zigzag course through the streets, leaving be- 
 hind him a faint line of flickering lights, that 
 grew larger and larger as sable night enveloped 
 the city more closely in his dark mantle. Still the 
 nameless, homeless girl walked aimlessly on ; but 
 as it grew darker she evidently, felt alarmed, and 
 occasionally stopped and looked wistfully around, 
 but nothing met her tear-dimmed eyes but the 
 ever-moving, pushing, hurrying crowd. The same 
 clatter of wheels and confused hum of voices as- 
 sailed her ears on every side. The crowd pushed 
 and elbowed its way along, regardless of the sad 
 countenance and weary, heavy heart of the now 
 terror-stricken girl. 
 
 But she had not been entirely unobserved. A 
 middle-aged, showily-attired woman, with a repel- 
 lant face, had noticed her and had stealthily fol- 
 lowed her for some time. The poor girl, uncon- 
 scious of danger, continued her wanderings un- 
 mindful of the basilisk eyes that so closely watched 
 her every movement. 
 
 She finally left the busy thoroughfare and entered 
 a street on which very few people were moving, and 
 these mostly mechanics, who were fast hurrying to 
 their homes after the labors of the day. Before 
 she had proceeded two blocks on this street her 
 feelings overcame her and she burst into tears. 
 She drew her shawl partly over her face to shield 
 from those who passed her uncontrollable emotion. 
 She wept, not for the home she had voluntarily 
 left, but because she knew not what to do, and 
 because she was oppressed with a terrible sense of 
 
68 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 utter loneliness. At last she raised her eyes heaven- 
 ward with an intensely supplicating expression, as 
 though she would fain penetrate, through the black 
 darkness of the night, the ethereal abode of ber God, 
 and prayed Him to guide and protect her. She 
 grew calmer after this, and with renewed hope and 
 a lighter heart, was about to move on when a hand 
 was laid lightly on her arm. She started in alarm, 
 and turned quickly around. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss," said the woman, who 
 had watched and followed her for half an hour. 
 
 The woman spoke sweetly, and in the indistinct 
 liglit of the street, Grace thought her look was kind 
 and sympathetic. 
 
 " Good evening. Madam," said Grace, in return. 
 
 " You appear to be in trouble," said the woman. 
 " Perhaps you are a stranger in the city and have 
 lost your way? " she added by way of inquiry. 
 
 Grace looked at the woman and asked herself if 
 it would be safe to trust her ; but the look was met 
 by a reassuring smile. 
 
 "I am looking for a respectable boarding-house," 
 said Grace, adroitly evading the woman's pointed 
 inquiry. 
 
 " Why, my dear, it seems a sort of providential 
 arrangement that we should meet. I keep a board- 
 ing-house only a short distance from here ; and 
 none but the very best people board with me. I 
 have just been down town to make some purchases, 
 and I am on my way home now. If you desire, I 
 will accommodate you with a room, although it is 
 contrary to my accustomed rule to take strangers 
 under my roof without the very best of references ; 
 but I see you are evidently in trouble, and I can 
 never bear to see any of my own sex suffer when it 
 is in my power to relieve them." 
 
 "You are very kind and good," replied Grace ; 
 
JEALOUSY INSPIRES A. REVELATION. 69 
 
 " indeed you are ; and I hope you will not be 
 offended when I say I am almost afraid to accept 
 your generous offer, for I do not know whom to 
 trust." 
 
 "Oh! I don't blame you," answered the wo- 
 man. " Of course, I do not want you to accept 
 against your will." 
 
 The poor, defenseless girl again raised her eyes 
 heavenward, but answered not. 
 
 The woman artfully changed her tactics^ and 
 assuming an offended air, said in a reproachful 
 tone : 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss, I thought I was do- 
 ing you a favor by offering you shelter ; but I see 
 you do not so regard it. I would scorn to thrust 
 my friendship upon you." 
 
 " Good evening/' and she turned as if to leave 
 her. 
 
 " Ob ! don't go," said Grace, her suspicions dis- 
 armed. "Do not leave me. I am sorry if I 
 offended you. I will go with you and trust you. 
 Why should I fear?" she added, " God will pro- 
 tect me. " 
 
 The woman bit her lips,' but remained silent, 
 and they proceeded down the street together. 
 
 Beware 1 Grace, beware ! In woman's darkest 
 hour, when the hand of sorrow is heaviest, if she 
 walks in the shadow of suspicion, she may receive 
 sympathy from man, but rarely from her own sex. 
 
70 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AT WORK. 
 
 The morning after his arrival in Chicago Ar- 
 byght concluded to explore the city in search of 
 work. Before he was ready to starts however, 
 there was a knock at his door, and before he had 
 time to say " come in," the door opened and Mr. 
 Castaway stepped into the room. 
 
 "Good morning, Arbyght," he said, in a 
 cheery, pleasant voice, " you see I don't stand on 
 ceremony. It would be a waste of time to send 
 up a card, besides I didn't have the card ; I knew 
 you would be glad to see me, and here I am." 
 
 "I am indeed glad to see you," replied 
 Richard. 
 
 " Have you secured work yet ? " 
 
 " No ; I was just about to start out on that mis- 
 sion as you came in." 
 
 " Well, my boy, I'm in luck — secured a berth at 
 Fargood's, the squarest man in the city. I went 
 directly there from the depot. I hardly thought 
 I would succeed, as Fargood don't like tramps ; 
 he has introduced the profit-sharing system and 
 wants only steady men." 
 
 " I think he is right," said Arbyght, who by 
 this time had taken a more careful survey of Mr. 
 Castaway. 
 
 It was not difficult to place him. There was 
 the ineffaceable stamp of the nomad on his face, and 
 in his bearing and general appearance. Not the 
 ragged, unkempt creature that serves as a common 
 model for a description of the genus tramp ; but a 
 well-built, good-natured, sharp-eyed modern Ish- 
 maelite ; wise in an experience of the world and 
 
AT WOKK. 71 
 
 its ways, and the people that live in it ; one of 
 those who preferred to float with every breeze, 
 rather than be held at anchorage in the most pleas- 
 ant harbor. Though his garments detracted from 
 his appearance, yet his easy, self-assured bearing, 
 made Eichard more interested in the wearer than 
 in his apparel. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Fargood is right," mused Castaway. 
 " If I had not succeeded there, my mission here 
 would be to bid you good-bye." 
 
 "Why?" asked Bichard. 
 
 " I've been investigating ; taking the lay of the 
 . land, as it were, and I found that the employers 
 here want a man to work fourteen hours a day. 
 They pay small wages, only half of which is cash, 
 the balance being in orders upon stores which they 
 ■own or control. They contract to give you milk, 
 but before you receive it, by this patent process of 
 store pay, they extract the cream." 
 
 " But why do the men submit bo such an out- 
 rage ? ' ' 
 
 " Why, bless youi' soul, my boy^ they can't help 
 it. Most of them have families, and they can never 
 save enough to get away. When a man's wages 
 barely suffice to buy poor food and worse clothes 
 for his family, it's adding insult to injury to tell 
 him to go west and grow up with the country." 
 
 " I must admit there is much force in your rea- 
 soning, Mr. Castaway." 
 
 " Call me Tom, if you please." 
 
 "All right, Tom. I like your candor, at all 
 -events. But is there not some remedy for the evils 
 which you say exist here ? " 
 
 " Well, I have never given the subject very seri- 
 ous thought, but it seems to me that there must 
 be. You see, I being free to go where I please, 
 ihis problem has never pressed itself upon me 
 
"72 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 SO closely as to demand solution. When wages- 
 and conditions don't suit me, I skip. When I tire 
 of walking, I find a friendly brakeman an angel 
 in disguise, and a hox-car a palace. Eye bread is 
 more toothsome to a hungry man than the dainti- 
 est dish to a dyspeptic whose liver needs repairing, 
 and there is more warmth in the coarse, home- 
 spun coat that covers a happy, contented man, than 
 in the fur-lined garment of the man whose shoul- 
 ders are bent under a weight of care and trouble." 
 
 " But can a man be happy who is exhausted by 
 toil that does not produce sufficient food to keep 
 his physical forces in normal condition ?" inter- 
 rupted Arbyght. 
 
 " Oh, I'm only speaking for myself. I admit if 
 all men were to do as I do the race would soon die 
 out. I know it's man's highest duty to reproduce 
 his species, but present conditions have a tendency 
 to destroy that sentiment. As things are now, 
 every workingman who has the courage to marry 
 and raise a family, should have his memory perpet- 
 uated by a brazen cenotaph or marble monument." 
 
 " I think, my friend, you are disposed to take 
 rather a gloomy view of the situation." 
 
 " Don't prejudge mysentiments — wait until you, 
 have wrestled with the wage giant. You will find 
 him a muscular fellow and sturdy athlete 1" replied 
 Castaway, with some warmth. 
 
 "I don't doubt that," said Arbyght; " but I 
 do contend that the genius and intelligence of this 
 age, when once rightly directed, will, by moral 
 force alone, compel men to deal justly with each 
 other ; and when mankind recognizes justice as a- 
 supreme law, the evils which crush labor will dis- 
 appear." 
 
 "Well put and finely said, my friend, but when, 
 the justice you say that will be born of intelligence 
 
AT WORK. 73 
 
 gets ready to do battle with selfishness, I want to 
 be on hand and have a front seat. It will be a 
 very interesting contest ; but I did not call to chop 
 logic. I wanted to renew our acquaintance. I'll 
 go with you, if you have no objection. I know 
 where all the shops are." Eichard thanked him, 
 and they started out together. 
 
 Arbyght did not experience any difficulty in 
 securing work, although trade was rather dull and 
 the supply of labor greater than the demand. 
 
 He secured a berth in the shop of Alvan Eelva- 
 son, generally rated as one of the "solidest" in 
 the Chicago Board of Trade. He was a heavy 
 pork-packer, had a large interest in several lard 
 refineries, and employed directly and indirectly 
 over five hundred men. He had also a controlling 
 interest in several grocery and dry-goods stores, oif 
 which he frequently gave orders to his employes, 
 in partial or full payment for their services. 
 
 Richard's second acquaintance in the city was the 
 foreman of the shop iu which he had secured work. 
 Felix EuUess, the foreman, was a man of rather 
 pleasing manner^ but was eccentric and vacillating, 
 traits of character "that were acquired, not natural. 
 They were doubtless the result of earnest, per- 
 sistent effort to please his employer and the men 
 under him at the same time. 
 
 Had Alvan Relvason been an employer possessed 
 of a just conception of the rights of his workmen, 
 or had he been less tyrannical and exacting, Felix 
 Rulless would have been a different man ; or had 
 there been less of the milk of human kindness iu 
 the composition of the gray-haired foreman, these 
 traits would not have become a part of his na- 
 ture. 
 
 Young Arbyght was very favorably received 
 and kindly treated by Eulless. He was won by 
 
74 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Richard's frank, genial manner, and did all he 
 could to render Arbyght's first appearance among 
 strange shopmates as pleasant as possible. Eul- 
 less not only secured Richard a quiet and respect- 
 able boarding-house, hut took a strong and friendly 
 interest in the "young man from Philadelphia," 
 as some of the men in the shop facetiously termed 
 him. 
 
 For the first few days nothing transpired out of 
 the usual routine of shop life. On the fourth day 
 after Richard's arrival in the shop, an incident oc- 
 curred, which, though casual and apparently 
 of no moment, still had a deep effect upon his 
 mind. The men had been working hard all day, 
 and, as it was drawing to a close, they evidently 
 seemed to rejoice that the time for rest was at 
 hand. They entered more generally into con- 
 versation, and the younger men became quite 
 hilarious. The older men did not join them, but 
 evidently enjoyed the witty remarks and jokes of 
 their younger associates. They seemed to forget 
 in the humor of the moment the fatigues of the 
 day. They seemed to have instinctively discov- 
 ered that a light heart lessens Jabor. Suddenly, 
 as if an earthquake had split open the earth and 
 swallowed the shop and inmates, the noise ceased, 
 and the men became mute. The songs were 
 broken off abruptly, jokes and puns half-uttered 
 were smothered with a suppressed cough, the hum 
 of voices ceased, and a calm settled down upon the 
 shop. This sudden cessation of sound startled 
 Richard, and he looked around in wonderment, 
 but could see no cause for the strange proceeding. 
 He, however, noticed a man in the middle shop, 
 his right foot resting on a shaving-horse, the elbow 
 of his right arm resting on the raised knee. He 
 was leisurely smoking a large briar-root pipe, and 
 
AT WOEK. T5 
 
 was regarding our hero with a sharp, penetrating 
 stare. 
 
 Richard looked at the newcomer closely, as he 
 at once divined who he was. He knew now what 
 caused the sudden muteness of the men, as he he- 
 came satisfied that he saw the proprietor of the 
 shop. 
 
 The latter approached Richard and said inablunt, 
 rough manner, "Are you a stranger in the city?" 
 
 " I am, sir," said Richard, coolly hut politely. 
 
 The tone of the answer seemed to offend his 
 highness, and he said, with curt sharpness: 
 
 " How long have you been here?" 
 
 "Four days, sir," replied Richard, with the 
 same imperturhahle gravity of expression. 
 
 " What's your name?" 
 
 "Richard Arhyght." 
 
 " Richard what?" 
 
 " Arhyght, sir." 
 
 "The devil " 
 
 " No, sir — Arhyght," said Richard, in the same 
 quiet manner. 
 
 " Where did you come from?" 
 
 "Philadelphia," replied Richard, cool as ever. 
 
 "Young man, you must be more respectful 
 when talking to me. I am owner of these shops. 
 Please remember that fact. Do you hear?" 
 
 " I do, sir. Your relation to these shops I sur- 
 mised the moment I saw you ; and, sir, if I have 
 not shown you the deference and respect due your 
 position, it is because my conception of the ameni- 
 ties of society and the deference one man should 
 show to another is defective, although it has never 
 been so regarded before." 
 
 " You are quite an orator," said Relvason, with 
 a sneer, which was not lost upon Richard, who re- 
 plied ironically: 
 
76 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Ton are quite complimentary ; thaiik you, sir." 
 
 Rulless put in an appearance at this stage in the 
 conversation, and shook his head suggestively at 
 Richard; but the latter's blood was up, and he 
 stood like a stag at bay, waiting for the next at- 
 tack. 
 
 " I like your impudence, young man, but while 
 you remain in my employ I wish you to remember 
 that you are the employed, and I the employer." 
 
 "Where shall I store the surplus stock?" said 
 Rulless, in a vain eflfort to break off the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 But Richard was not to be choked off. He 
 folded his sinewy, muscular arms, and, looking his 
 employer unflinchingly in the face, said: 
 
 " Mr. Relvason, I would be very sorry to be con- 
 sidered impudent to any one, much less to a man 
 between whom and myself there should exist 
 friendly relations ; but the fact that I am the em- 
 ployed and you the employer, does not. in itself 
 make you superior or me inferior. I shall always 
 endeavor to perform my duties honestly, and will 
 show you that respect which your conduct toward 
 me demands." 
 
 " You are a dangerous man, sir ; a fire-brand 
 that must be extinguished," said Relvason, and he 
 left the shop with knit hrows and a scowling vis- 
 age. 
 
 "For God's sake," said Rulless, "don't talk 
 that way again." 
 
 "Why not?" Richard replied, "have I said 
 aught but the truth ? Am I less a man simply be- 
 cause I earn my food and clothes by manual 
 labor?" 
 
 "Truth or not, such language will not take 
 here," said Rulless. " Your sentiments are mine 
 exactly, but such ideas will wither and die in the 
 
AT WORK. *J*J 
 
 barren soil and vitiated atmosphere of this local- 
 ity ; and not only that, but entail destruction on 
 the sower." 
 
 " Well, my good friend," said Richard, "your 
 soil needs fertilizing, and your atmosphere purify- 
 ing ; and the sooner it is done- the better it will 
 be for all concerned." 
 
 Rulless was called away before he had time to 
 reply ; and when he returned to the shop again, 
 he informed the workmen that thereafter no more 
 loud talking or singing would be permitted. This 
 he said was the direct order of Mr. Relvason. 
 
 The men were naturally indignant, and mut- 
 tered and grumbled loudly. Some even indulged 
 in appellatives that were anything but flattering to 
 their employer. 
 
 Richard muttered the word — "slaves !" through 
 his clenched teeth, as he heard the order given by 
 the foreman. The storm blew over, however ; 
 but from that hour Arbyght was the hero of the 
 shop, and this incident, although trivial in itself, 
 was but the " beginning of the end." 
 
 Alvan Relvason was considered by many per- 
 sons a remarkable man. He was of medium stat- 
 ure, but very stout and heavy. His head was 
 large, and covered with a very forest of coarse, 
 black hair ; his neck was massive, and his beard, 
 which covered almost his entire face, was as coarse 
 and black as his hair ; his complexion was of a 
 dusky, swarthy cast that never appeared clear or 
 clean ; his eyes were set deep iu his head, and 
 were black, restless, and cunning ; his gait was 
 awkward and ungainly, and his clothes, though 
 of the best material, looked as if they had been 
 made for some one else. He had received a col- 
 lege education, and was a man of considerabJe 
 ability. He was recognized in financial circles as 
 
78 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 a keen, cool, and thorough business man. The 
 whole force of his ability, however, was subordi- 
 nated at all times and under all circumstances to 
 a gross and brutal selfishness, which had for its 
 sole object the advancement of Alvan Relvason. 
 He did not hesitate to do anything that would fur- 
 ther his ends, and in working to promote them all 
 the powers of his mind and body were blended in 
 perfect unison. Money was his creed, self his god. 
 Woe to the man or men who attempted to thwart 
 or oppose him, for he was a tireless, unrelenting, 
 and unfeeling enemy. 
 
 Mr. Relvason's head clerk and confidential ad- 
 viser was also a person of some note, at least such 
 was his own opinion ; and as he will enter more or 
 less into the warp and woof of our story, he will 
 be descriptively introduced at this time. 
 
 Charles Spindle was also a mau of medium stat- 
 ure, hut slender. His head was small, his eyes a 
 cold, dull gray, his nose sharp and long. A 
 straggling, sickly-looking, straw-colored mous- 
 tache, that matched the color of his hair, adorned 
 his thin, bloodless upper-lip, and served to break 
 the blank, monotonous aspect of his sallow face. 
 His eyes, however, were the most remarkable 
 thing about this otherwise insignificant specimen. 
 At times they would flash fire and reveal glimpses 
 of the inner man, of which the casual observer 
 would not dream, and again appear as dull and 
 expressionless as the optics of a cat at mid-day. 
 At such times they seemed to recede into his head 
 and hold communion with his soul, although the 
 men in the shop frequently expressed the opinion 
 that Spindle had no soul. He was in every re- 
 spect a fit servitor for his master. 
 
 The Saturday following the events above nar- 
 rated was "pay-day," so termed by Spindle, 
 
AT WORK. 79 
 
 though the men in the shop differed with him as 
 to the appropriateness of the term. 
 
 About mid-day Richard noticed Spindlfe going 
 from man to man, and apparently holding with 
 each a short conversation. While he was still 
 thinking of this strange proceeding on the part of 
 the usually reserved and pompous clerk, Spindle 
 stepped up to him and said : 
 
 " Tour name is Arbyght, I believe? " 
 
 " Your belief is not unfounded," said Richard. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Spindle, and his dull eyes 
 began to glow. 
 
 "Well, Arbyght, how much money do you 
 want to-day? " he exclaimed ; and opening a small 
 memorandum book, he took therefrom a pencil 
 with which he made a gentle flourish, preparatory 
 to putting down the amount. 
 
 " How much money do I want'?" said Richard, 
 repeating the question, as if doubtful of its im- 
 port. 
 
 " Yes, Arbyght ; how much money do you need 
 to-day?" repeated Spindle. 
 
 "Spindle — I beg your pardon — Mr. Spindle," 
 with an emphasis on the Mr.^ which the chief clerk 
 did not fail to notice, " I need all that I have 
 earned ; all that is due me." 
 
 " We don't generally pay in full until the end 
 of every third month, Mr. Arbyght," replied 
 Spindle, with a frown. 
 
 "You don't?" 
 
 " Have I not said so ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, you have said so ; but let me ask you 
 a question, please." 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Well," said Richard, "you pay in full only 
 every three months ; are we to be deprived of the 
 use of our money during that time ? ' ' 
 
80 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ''Only part of it." 
 
 " But," continued Richard, "you take my only 
 salable -commodity — my labor — you sell its prod- 
 uct, and have the use of the money, profit and all, 
 and then seek to deprive me of the use of part of 
 my wages, and use it for your own advantage; 
 nov»r that is not fair. Have I not the_ right 
 to husband and keep my labor until it is paid 
 for?" 
 
 "You have, sir; you can leave at once, if the 
 arrangement does not suit you," was the quiet, 
 but curt reply. 
 
 " Very well, pay me my wages, and I shall do so 
 at once." 
 
 " Come to the office this afternoon, then," said 
 Spindle ; and, livid with rage, he turned and left 
 the shop. 
 
 HuUesa interposed, and had the difficulty ami- 
 cably settled. He represented to Eelvason the 
 great acquisition that Richard was to the shop, 
 because of his superior workmanship and steady 
 habits ; and the unpleasantness ended in Arbyght 
 being paid in full and specially requested to re- 
 main. 
 
 Richard had not seen Spindle previous to their 
 meeting in the shop, although he had frequently 
 heard of him ; but when he saw him he was filled 
 with an intuitive aversion for him ; for, being an. 
 unconscious physiognomist, he read the man, and 
 arrived at a correct estimate of his character. 
 
 Spindle, on the other hand, disliked Arbyght 
 from the start, with the hatred of a mean nature 
 that is balked in its assumption ; and the re- 
 tention of Richard he construed as a slight to 
 himself, and from that hour he was an enemy, with- 
 out reservation. 
 
SBLF-PROTECTIOX A FIRST LAW. 81 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 SELF-PROTECTION A FIRST LAW. 
 
 That evening, as young Arbyght wended his 
 way in solemn silence to his only home, a boarding- 
 house, he lapsed into a meditative mood. He gen- 
 erally walked the streets with a measured precision 
 that arrested the attention of the shop-keepers and 
 other inhabitants of the streets through which he 
 passed. His gait was not slow, nor yet was it 
 fast ; it was not awkward, nor yet was it stately. 
 His step was firm, solid, and indicative of a deter- 
 mined, resolute will. There was another pecu- 
 liarity specially noticeable in the man. When on 
 the street he seemed completely wrapped, up in his 
 own individuality. His most intimate acquaint- 
 ance could, at times, pass and repass him unob- 
 served. He appeared oblivious and unconscious 
 of everything except the ghostly shapes and forms 
 born of his own imagination. 
 
 On the evening in question his mind was un- 
 usually reflective, and, among other things, the 
 condition of his fellow-craftsmen iu different parts 
 of the country arose involuntarily before him, and, 
 like a deadly incubus, sat heavily upon his soul. 
 
 He reached home in an unenviable state of mind. 
 He ate his supper in silence, and then went out 
 into the street again. He walked down town and 
 entered one of the stores in which Eelvason owned 
 an interest. 
 
 He had barely entered when a woman came in. 
 She was plainly, almost shabbily, but neatly at- 
 tired. On her sad, fretted, careworn face still lin- 
 gered traces of a mild beauty. She approached a 
 ■clerk, who apparently did not notice her, and po- 
 6 
 
82 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 litely bade him good evening. He not recognizing 
 her, she approached nearer and timidly asked if he 
 had any butter. 
 
 "Have you any money?"' said the young brute, 
 without raising his eyes from the evening paper. 
 
 "No, sir ; but I have an order," and she pro- 
 duced a crumpled slip of soiled paper. 
 
 "You have tried that game before. Now get 
 out of here. You should know by this time that 
 we give nothing on orders but what we can obtain 
 on credit ourselves." 
 
 The poor woman turned to leave the store, and 
 Eichard saw her struggle to keep down a sob that 
 surged up from her overcharged heart. He fol- 
 lowed and hailed her kindly. She raised her head, 
 and in the dim light of the street he saw her eyes 
 were filled with tears. 
 
 " My good woman," he said, soothingly, "please 
 let me see that order." 
 
 She handed it to him. It called for two dollars. 
 He thrust a bill into her hand, and put the order 
 in his pocket. 
 
 "God bless you," said the woman, fervently, 
 " you little know what good you have done my 
 poor sick children." But Eichard did not hear 
 her, as he had turned and re-entered the store be- 
 fore she had time to utter her thanks. 
 
 Another customer, also a woman, came in soon 
 after. She was also plainly attired ; but there was 
 a subdued dignity in her bearing and manner 
 which clearly indicated that she had been re- 
 spectably reared. She also produced an order, 
 and began to make some small purchases. When 
 nearly through, she asked for some article which 
 the clerk said was not in the store. 
 
 " I need it badly," she said. 
 
 " Can't be helped," retorted the clerk. 
 
SELF-PROTECTION A FIRST LAW. 83 
 
 " Could you not give me an order on some other 
 store?" she asked. 
 
 "We don't do busioess in that way," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Well, give me the money, then," she said, 
 with some warmth. "I need money very much, 
 as baby is sick, and there is a prescription at home 
 that was left by the doctor two days ago, that I 
 could not get filled because we had no money in 
 the house." 
 
 " Money ; ha I ha !" and he laughed contempt- 
 uously. "Why, you brazen-faced " 
 
 What more he intended to say remained unsaid, 
 for just then the woman's husband entered the 
 store, and, hearing his wife so grossly insulted, 
 stopped not to count the cost or consequences, but, 
 with a blow delivered straight from the shoulder, 
 felled the ill-bred wretch to the floor. 
 
 "Oh, Henry! what have you done?" said the 
 wife. 
 
 "Served the contemptible coward right," replied 
 Henry Trustgood, as he moved toward the door. 
 
 Eichard, who had advanced to remonstrate with 
 the clerk, was taken completely by surprise, as 
 Trustgood had entered unobserved. He recognized 
 him at once as one of his shopmates, and one for 
 whom he had formed a strong attachment, ^which 
 was fully reciprocated. 
 
 ' ' I must say, that in all my experience and ob- 
 servation, I never saw a finer or more forcible blow 
 so tellingly delivered," was a remark that caused 
 Eichard to turn, and brought him face to face with 
 his irrepressible acquaintance, Tom Castaway. 
 
 "How are you, shopmate?" said Castaway, 
 " I'm glad to see you. The moral to be drawn 
 from what has just occurred is, don't marry until 
 social conditions improve." 
 
84 THE OTHER SIDE.' 
 
 Further conversation was cut off by the appear- 
 ance of an officer, who had been summoned by one 
 of the employes, who ran into the street and cried, 
 " Police !" at the top of his voice, just as Trust- 
 good struck the clerk. The valiant defender of 
 the majesty of the law advanced slowly and 
 cautiously until informed that no dangerous ele- 
 ment was about, when he marched quickly and 
 bravely to the front, and actually arrested the de- 
 fenseless Trustgood. 
 
 Richard determined to extricate his friend if pos- 
 sible. He therefore, accompanied by Castaway, 
 went with Henry and his weeping wife to the sta- 
 tion house. He told the officer in charge that 
 Henry was not to blame ; that he was unduly ex- 
 asperated by a gross insult oifered to his wife, and 
 acted under intense excitement. These points, elo- 
 quently argued, and a deposit of fifteen dollars 
 to defray "probable" costs, effected Henry's release. 
 Before separating that night, Richard requested 
 Henry, Castaway, and another shopmate they hap- 
 pened to meet, to call at his room the following 
 afternoon. At the appointed time they were all on 
 hand, and for three hours secretly discussed the 
 condition of labor, and the best means of improv- 
 ing the status of wage-workers. They spoke in 
 low tones, for they well knew that even in this 
 boasted land of the free, the Sons of Labor are not 
 at all times or under all circumstances free agents. 
 Two of the reformers, Arbyghtand Castaway, were 
 men of great natui-al ability and considerable in- 
 telligence. By the force of inherited mentality, 
 and i)y the aid of books and newspapers, they had 
 gained a knowledge of social and economic science 
 seldom attained by the ordinary college graduate. 
 While they were not finished scholars by any 
 means, yet by self-exertion and natural genius 
 
SELE-PROTECTION A FIRST LAW. 85 
 
 they had become, in a certain sense, educated men 
 in spite of the hard environment of their boyhood 
 days. The conclusion reached was that the solu- 
 tion of the problem could only be reached through 
 effective organization and the moral force it could 
 be made to exert. 
 
 " If all men and women whose bread is acquired 
 by their own labor," said Arbyght, "could be 
 made to act jointly and in harmony, as if moved by 
 one common impulse, upon all matters affecting 
 their interests, present evils would vanish, because 
 the moral force of such organized effort would be 
 irresistible." 
 
 " Better laws would in that event be enacted," 
 suggested Trustgood. 
 
 "Laws!" broke in Castaway, "we have too 
 much law. The wise statesman is the man who 
 labors harder to repeal bad laws than he does to 
 enact experiments into legal forms. Laws have 
 tamed man it is true , but he starves notwithstand- 
 ing the law. Between the savage and nature there 
 were no legal restrictions, and yet the savage 
 starved less often than the man whom the law has 
 made tame. I don't want to* abolish law for that 
 would plunge us back into barbarism, but we must do 
 as Arbyght suggests, for by that means only will 
 all men be alike benefited by law." 
 
 "I am not sure but you are right, Tom," said 
 Arbyght; "though such views are liable to be 
 misunderstood. We must take man as we find 
 him. Selfishness is his predominant characteristic, 
 and yet it is the main-spring of human activity. But 
 if you can convince a man that he will be benefited 
 by being just to his fellow-man, you appeal to his 
 selfishness by a different process." 
 
 " I catcli your meaning, Arbyght," interposed 
 Castaway; "if it were possible to convince old 
 
8b THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Eelvason that he could not secure other or new 
 men if his present force left him, he would rather 
 realize half the profit he is now making than lose 
 it all; isn't that it?" 
 
 " Certainly." replied Arhyght, " though I must 
 say I think thorough organization will eventually 
 so intellectualize lahor as to enahle it to so impress 
 public opinion that justice to all men will spring 
 from purer and higher motives." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," answered Castaway, 
 " but do you think these purer and higher motives 
 will ever find lodgment in the stony heart of your 
 employer? " 
 
 "Well, hardly ; but, thank God, all men are 
 not like him. There is Mr. Fargood, for in- 
 stance " 
 
 " Yes, but where you find one Fargood you find 
 an hundred Eelvasons," again broke in Castaway. 
 
 " That may be true, but a short time ago there 
 was not even one Fargood — you see, there is some 
 evidence, at least, of the tendency of society to 
 evolve better conditions ; besides, I have faith that 
 the better and purer elements of man's nature can 
 be made to dominate»his selfish and baser passions. 
 At present capital is king, and the king never 
 heard but half the truth, and heeded only half of 
 that which he heard. I believe there must be 
 some peaceable means of impressing the whole 
 truth upon the capitalist and convincing him that 
 it is to his interest to heed it. Labor has griev- 
 ances that directly appeal to the heart of the hu- 
 mane man, and is it not possible to humanize the 
 capitalist by the force of educated public opinion ?" 
 
 "Well, boys," said Castaway, "I'm for organ- 
 ization. Let's begin at once. But let me say to 
 you men who have incumbrances — bad sign, boys, 
 when you have to call olive branches incum- 
 
THE OTHER SIDE. 87 
 
 brances — that you must be cautious and careful. 
 Tom Castaway can cliange location without the 
 aid of a moving wagon or locomotive, you can't; 
 however, 1 am sure you can't be worse off than you 
 are. I'll stay and help the thing along, even if 
 I have to remain six months ; and boys, that's a 
 great sacrifice." 
 
 The conference ended. A few days afterward 
 •every reliable cooper in the city had placed in his 
 hand a sealed envelope containing a printed slip, 
 which read : 
 
 "Mr. , you are hereby requested to meet 
 
 many more of your fellow-workingmen at St. 
 George's Hall, South Clark street, on Wednesday 
 evening of this week. Believing you to be a man 
 •of honor we have trusted you this far, and as we 
 have placed confidence in you, we hope you will not 
 betray that confidence, but will, whether you ap- 
 pear or not, keep this matter a profound secret, and 
 destroy this paper as soon as you have read it. 
 "(Signed) "Reform. 
 
 " Justice. 
 
 ' ' Equal Rights. 
 
 "Fair Play." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Marseilles, a fact to be strongly smelt and 
 tasted, lay broiling in the sun one day," wrote 
 Dickens in " Little Dorrit ;" but though southern 
 France is baked by midsummer's scorching heat, 
 it is doubtful if Marseilles ever broils more fiercely 
 
88 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 than does the Isle of Manhattan in the sweltering^ 
 days of" Augnst. 
 
 Thirty years ago New York, " a fact to be 
 strongly smelt and tasted, lay broiling in the sun 
 one day." It was August ; a dead calm after- 
 noon, neither zephyr, inland breeze, nor ocean 
 wind stirred the hot, shimmering air ; the red 
 walls of the tall brick buildings glared in ihe 
 white burning sunlight ; the fiery brick walks re- 
 flected back the dazzling rays that shone upon 
 them. In the lower portion of the city, in the 
 narrow squalid streets, walled in by tenement 
 houses that seemed to pierce the heavens, strange 
 as it may appear, human beings breathed this air 
 and lived. 
 
 Out on one of these streets, reeking with noxious 
 exhalations and miasmatic poison, crouching and 
 cowering in the .foot or two of shade next to the hot 
 walls of the buildings, were long lines of ragged 
 children, whose pinched faces were like " a ghastly 
 caricature of age " — old and worn, though young 
 in years — older in appearance at ten than they 
 should be at twenty. Was this the result of post- 
 natal causes? In the main, no. The infant is to 
 a large extent a revelation of the life and habits of 
 the parents. It is the ill-fed, over-worked and 
 half-clothed mother who gives birth to the child 
 whose face is " a ghastly caricature of age." The 
 accumulated wrongs, hardships and privations of 
 the ancestor leave their hideous and damning im- 
 press upon posterity ; and to ante-natal conditions 
 could be mainly attributed the causes that made 
 the faces of these children a mockery of childhood. 
 Hugging the wall, crouching in the shade of 
 each other, these half-naked boys and girls swel- 
 tered and panted as they vainly tried to get a mouth- 
 ful of air. Back in the alleys and in the dark. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE. 89 
 
 close, hot halls of the buildings their mothers were 
 smothering and suffocating in the same vain at- 
 tempt to catch a mouthful of air. And out on the 
 parched streets or in shops like ovfens, their fathers, 
 bathed in sweat, barely able to stand, worked, and 
 gasped as they toiled, for a mouthful of air. 
 ' The millionaire, the banker, the merchant prince, 
 the rich stock-gambler, and the wealthy employer 
 of labor did not broil in New York that day. Far 
 away from the overcrowded, unhealthy tenement 
 districts of the great metropolis ; far away from 
 the pent-up, illy-ventilated, and unhealthy homes 
 of New York's poor, the representatives of New 
 York's aggregation of dollars were indulging in 
 luxurious recreation. At Newport, whose cliffs 
 are fanned by ocean breezes ; at Saratoga, where 
 their cheeks were cooled by balmy winds, fresh 
 from the birch and balsam forests of the north ; 
 in the cities of the old world, or on Alpine passes, 
 New York's rich were enjoying themselves that 
 day, with no thought for those whose labor made 
 it possible. 
 
 The day wore slowly away. It dragged and 
 lagged, and the blazing sun seemed to remain 
 stationary, as if another Joshua had gone up from 
 Gilgal to Gibeon. The sun stood still then, and 
 gazed upon a scene of slaughter and carnage ; he 
 seemed to stand still on this day and shine down 
 upon greater suffering than he looked upon at 
 Gribeon . 
 
 About three o'clock in the afternoon, a meanly 
 dressed, middle-aged man, upon whose face suffer- 
 ing and want had traced deep, ugly lines, was 
 wending his way slowly, languidly up one of the 
 narrow tenement streets. He suddenly staggered, 
 clutched a lamp- post, then fell an inanimate mass 
 across the curb-stone. The children crowding in 
 
90 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 the shadows ran to him, some screaming, all 
 frightened. They stood around with open mouths 
 and staring eyes, but speechless tongues. Sud- 
 denly a wailing cry arose on the quivering air, 
 and a moment later a young girl, apparently 
 fourteen years of age, sprang through the crowd 
 and threw herself, with a wild, impassioned cry of 
 anguish, down upon her knees hy the prostrate 
 body. Many of the women of the neighborhood 
 had gathered by this time. Others, moved either 
 by curiosity or humanity, had also stopped, and 
 one of the latter, comprehending the _ situation, 
 told them to drench the man's head with water 
 and give him some brandy or other stimulant, 
 while he ran to the next street and summoned a 
 physician. In about ten minutes the physician 
 came and examined the man. 
 
 " What is it, doctor?" said one of the men. 
 
 " Coup de soleil," replied the man of physic. 
 
 " Koo-da-so-laal ? " repeated the man who 
 had asked the question, in a skeptical tone, " you 
 may be right, doctor, but blast my eyes, if I don't 
 think it 's a clear case of sun-stroke." 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! you are quite right. That is what 
 it is. I might have saved him, had 1 been here 
 when he fell, but he is past human aid now." 
 
 As the physician concluded his remark, William 
 Nullus inhaled his last breath of the stifling air ■ 
 of a city which "lay broiling in the sun that 
 day." 
 
 The girl who knelt by his side, sobbing as if her 
 heart would break, was Marcia NuUus, his daugh- 
 ter. When she heard the physician pronounce 
 him beyond help, she ceased crying, raised her 
 eyes heavenward and murmured a prayer, while 
 every head was uncovered, and not a few eyes were 
 moist with tears. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE. 91 
 
 Two men raised the body and carried it up, up, 
 up, higher, still higher, until they reached the 
 seventh story of the crowded block, and carried it 
 into a rooni about ten feet square — the home of 
 William Nullus and his child. Its furniture con- 
 sisted of two camp beds, a stove that could be car- 
 ried under one's arm, two old chairs, a small 
 stand, a piece of mirror, a few tin cups and plates 
 and a tin basin. The room had no windows, and 
 its only light or ventilation was furnished by the 
 transom over the door that opened into the dimly 
 lighted hall. Every room in the building, except 
 those immediately fronting the street, were lighted 
 and ventilated in the same way. The room in 
 spite of its poverty and meanness, however, was 
 scrupulously clean. 
 
 The dead man was laid upon one of the cots, and 
 the men went out and left the child and her dead 
 alone. Through the long hours of the night in 
 that close, dark room, sat the child in voiceless, 
 tearless grief — greater because it was voiceless and 
 tearless — keeping vigil over the silent form of him 
 who in life had been a father and loving compan- 
 ion. The following day the body was taken to the 
 Potter's field and buried by the city authorities. 
 There was no friend near the orphan as she saw 
 the clods fill up the grave. 
 
 William NuUus, though a skilled mechanic, 
 had been unable to labor efficiently for many years, 
 but he was temperate and had been able to earn 
 enough to keep soul and body together, and dress 
 his daughter semi-respectably. Love for his 
 child was all that sustained him through long 
 years of trouble and sorrow. He watched over 
 her, cared for her, and taught her as best he could. 
 But for Marcia he would have ceased to strug- 
 gle long before, and joined her whose untimely 
 
92 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 death had crushed his heart and left him but the 
 bare semblance of his former self. His child 
 knew this, knew that she was the only tie that 
 bound him to earth, and after the first passionate 
 wave of grief had swept over her young heart, 
 she grew calm and realized that he had gone to 
 join her mother, in that land where care and sor- 
 row are unknown. 
 
 After her father's burial, Marcia concluded to 
 leave the city by some means and go into the coun- 
 try to find a home. Filled with this idea, she re- 
 turned to the block where she lived and began to 
 climb up to her room, to pack up the few little 
 things she wished to take vvith her. On the first 
 landing she met a sleek-faced, oily-tongued man, 
 who earned a good salary as the agent of some 
 charity mission by distributing tracts, instead of 
 bread and clothes, to the naked and hungry in- 
 mates of New York's crowded tenements. 
 
 " My dear child," he began, " I have been look- 
 ing for you. I heard you were left alone, or- 
 phaned by the death of your father." 
 
 " What is it you want of me ?" asked Marcia. 
 
 " My mission is one of charity and kindness," 
 he replied. "Our society is about to send some 
 boys and girls out West to good comfortable 
 homes that have been provided for them, and I 
 thought you might like to go." 
 
 This was just what Marcia desired most, and 
 she readily assented to the proposition. She ran 
 up to her room and packed what few things she 
 cared to take with her. That night she stayed at 
 the mission, and the next day in company-with a 
 hundred or more children — orphans like herself^— 
 she was shipped by rail like so much freight to Il- 
 linois. When the little colony of waifs reached 
 that State, they were divided into squads, each 
 
THE OTHER SIDE. 93 
 
 under the control of a keeper, and dropped 
 oif at different stations and distributed. The 
 squad to which Marcia belonged was left at a sta- 
 tion about seventy-five miles from Chicago. Here 
 they were turned over to the township trustees as 
 destitute orphans, and by these trustees bound 
 out to such parties as were willing to pay a certain 
 sum for them, which it was claimed was intended 
 to cover the expense of their transportation from 
 New York. Any person wishing a bound boy or 
 girl could go to the hall where they were exhibited 
 and examine them, as the slave dealer did human 
 chattels in the palmy days of the "divine institu- 
 tion." If one was found that was suitable, the 
 money was paid, the indentures drawn and signed 
 by the trustees for the orphan, after which the 
 master or mistress took the servant home. These 
 indentures were next recorded by the township 
 clerk, and the law thus fulfilled made the act valid 
 and binding. 
 
 Marcia was the first one of her party to find a 
 master. She was a handsome child, and one that 
 would attract attention. Within six hours from 
 her arrival in the town she was bound out or in- 
 dentured to Mr. Caleb Stone, one of the wealthiest 
 farmers in the county, to be held in service by 
 him until she was eighteen years of age. 
 
 Farmer Stone's family consisted of himself, daugh- 
 ter, and son. Miss Ursula Stone was twenty years 
 of age. There was nothing in the sharp contour 
 of her face, or the bony, scrawny appearance of 
 her form, to encourage her with the faintest ' hope 
 that time in his gentlest mood would ever soften 
 its angularity ; nor was there anything in her 
 manner to warrant the belief that coming years 
 would sweeten her acidulous temper. 
 
 She was mistress of her father's home, however, 
 
94 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 and was a veritable, domestic autocrat. The orphan 
 girl was made to realize this in all its force. At 
 first she was content to exercise her power only to 
 keep Marcia fully employed in menial drudgery 
 from early dawn until late at night. The child 
 yielding implicit obedience never murmured or 
 shirked an imposed task, although many a night 
 she was so tired that she could hardly climb up to 
 her room. Two years passed by and Marcia, in 
 spite of the monotonous and weary round of exact- 
 ing toil, had developed from a beautiful child into 
 a still more beautiful maiden. She did not seem 
 to be aware of it, however ; but her mistress, ren- 
 dered sharp-sighted by her own deficiency in beau- 
 ty's gifts, saw how fair she was ; and to a harsh 
 manner, and illy-regulated temper, she now added 
 a jealousy of her servant as bitter as it was unrea- 
 sonable. 
 
 Life was thus made harder than ever for the or- 
 phan girl. This condition continued for over a 
 year. When Marcia was nearly eighteen years of 
 age, driven to a jjoint where anything was prefer- 
 able to staying where she was, she determined to 
 escape. 
 
 Farmer Stone had always been kind to her and 
 was not fully aware of the treatment she daily re- 
 ceived. He always spoke a kind word to her when 
 an opportunity offered, and he had given her little 
 sums of money from time to time. Not being al- 
 lowed to purchase anything for herself, she saved the 
 money thus received, and now when her condition 
 became unendurable, she found herself in possession 
 of means to effect escape from her place of bondage. 
 
 To decide was to act, and packing up one night 
 what few things she had, she stole out of the house 
 after the family had retired, and walked rapidly to 
 the station about a mile distant. 
 
THE OTHER SIDE. 95 
 
 Just as she arrived there, the midnight express 
 for Chicago came dashing up. Unnoticed, she en- 
 tered a car and before she could realize it, the sta- 
 tion lights disappeared in the dim distance, as the 
 train rushed along in its rapid flight. She was 
 adrift again, and had only a vague idea of what 
 she would do when she reached Chicago. She 
 thought, in a general way, that it would be easy to 
 get work in a great city. Arriving in this Ameri- 
 can " Babylon," just as the dawn gave faint tokens 
 of its approach, the effect of her transition from 
 the Illinois farm-house to a great city became at 
 once apparent. She stepped from the car, stood 
 for a moment irresolute, undecided, and bewildered 
 by the din and clamor around her. Seeing a po- 
 liceman at a distance, she made her way to him 
 through the crowd, and, in a timid but modest 
 manner, said : 
 
 "I am a stranger in the city; can you direct 
 me to a respectable place, where I can get lodg- 
 ings? " 
 
 The officer, a kind-hearted and close-observing 
 man, seeing at a glance that Marcia was a stranger 
 and a worthy person, placed her in charge of 
 another policeman, and directed him where to take 
 her. Going with this officer, she was soon domi- 
 ciled in a respectable place, and before the sun 
 was up was sleeping the deep sleep of youth and 
 health, without thought of what the days to come 
 had in store for her. 
 
96 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HER BEAUTY HER RUIN. 
 
 The sua was shining brightly when Marcia 
 awoke with a start ; her first thought was that 
 she had overslept herself — not realizing for a mo- 
 ment that she had placed herself beyond the reach 
 of the voice that had so long summoned her to 
 daily tasks ; but as a sense of her changed condition 
 stole over her, she was filled with a delicious sense 
 of freedom and rest. 
 
 She thought over the incidents of her flight, and 
 her indistinct plans for the future. Realizing that 
 her little stock of money would not last long, she 
 determined to seek employment at once. She was 
 now alone, indeed — alone in a great city, where 
 every one was pushing to get in front. Nearly 
 eighteen years of age, fatherless, motherless, and 
 friendless, with a beauty which was her greatest 
 source of danger, she was preparing to learn in 
 the bitter school of experience how cold and cheer- 
 less, for an unprotected woman, is this world of 
 ours. 
 
 After eating some dinner, she secured a morning 
 paper, and among the lists of ''wants" she saw 
 an advertisement for sewing girls. 
 
 Marcia was a deft seamstress, and she felt hope- 
 ful of securing a place. Encouraged by this 
 thought, she started out at once in search of the 
 establishment. She soon found it, and entering 
 the main office, made known her errand to one of 
 the clerks, who conducted her to the private office 
 of the firm. 
 
 Entering it in a timid manner, she saw the 
 junior partner seated at a writing desk. He 
 
HER BEAUTY HER RUIN. 97 
 
 looked up and eyed her keenly, as a purchaser 
 ■would a horse. 
 
 " What can I do for yon, Miss ? " he said, after 
 he had completed his inspection. 
 
 " I thought, perhaps, you could give me some 
 work to do," said Marcia, in a modest and hesi- 
 tating tone. 
 
 " What can you do ? " 
 
 " I can do plain sewing and run a sewing ma- 
 chine quite well," she replied. 
 
 Turning to his desk, he wrote a few lines on a 
 slip of paper and handing it to her, said : 
 
 " Well, we will give you a trial. You can com- 
 mence to-morrow. We require our help to he on 
 hand at a quarter to seven in the morning, and to 
 commence work sharply at seven. Give that note 
 to the foreman of the shirt-room in the morning 
 and he will set you to work." 
 
 Grateful for the chance afforded her to earn 
 something, and with eyes glistening with grati- 
 tude, Marcia thanked him and withdrew. In her 
 ignorance, for despite her early surroundings, she 
 was pure and uncontaminated, she did not notice 
 or understand the hold look of admiration he be- 
 stowed upon her, as he scanned her lovely face and 
 the graceful outlines of a form which her plain at- 
 tire could not conceal. The expression in his eyes 
 as they followed her in her departure from the 
 office boded no good to the innocent girl. 
 
 Marcia returned to her boarding-house elated 
 with her success, thinking only of the kindness of 
 her future employer. The following morning, 
 cheerful and happy, she started for the factory. 
 Arriving at the place, she presented the note to 
 the foreman and was set to work operating a 
 sewing-machine. 
 
 The room in which Marcia was placed was about 
 7 
 
98 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 one hundred and fifty feet long, and forty feet- 
 wide. It was next to the roof and was lighted 
 and ventilated by small narrow windows at the 
 front and rear. The air was laden with fine dust 
 and a sickening oily odor. There were four rows 
 of machines extending the entire length of the 
 hall. In this hot, illy-ventilated room or hall 
 were crowded two hundred women and girls, upon 
 whose faces were written in indelihle characters the 
 effect of the life they were compelled to lead. 
 Most of the former had not only themselves but 
 children to provide for ; of the latter, some lived 
 at home, while the others, thrown on their own re- 
 sources, were forced like Marcia to accept such 
 work as was offered^ or accept the wages of death. 
 There were nearly one thousand women and girls 
 employed in this factory. The wages paid aver- 
 aged from one to five dollars a week. 
 
 Many of the women showed in their pallid faces, 
 pinched, hungry expression, dull eyes, and hack- 
 ing, ominous cough, that the thread of life was- 
 wearing fast. Hunger, overwork, and unhealthy 
 quarters in the workshop, and in such homes as 
 the wages received would permit, were doing their 
 fatal work as unerringly as the grim destroyer 
 could desire. 
 
 On the faces of the young girls the bloom of 
 youth was replaced by an unhealthy pallor, occa- 
 sioned by poor food and long hours of work in a 
 close, poisonous atmosphere. 
 
 In some of the faces there was an expression 
 that told its tale of sin and shame as clearly as the 
 handwriting on the wall. The latter were, as a. 
 rule, better dressed than the others — some of them 
 quite showily, indeed, for a workshop. This was 
 so apparent as to attract Marcia' s attention, unso- 
 phisticated as she was. How did they manage^ 
 
HER BEAUTY HER RUIN. 99 
 
 on the same pay as others received, to dress so 
 much better ? Perhaps a conversation which took 
 place between two of the girls will explain. 
 
 "I tell you, Sue, that new girl," pointing to 
 Marcia, "is too pretty. If I had her face and 
 form, you wouldn't catch me here. Anything 
 would be better than this." 
 
 " She will learn soon enough," replied the other 
 addressed as "Sue," with a laugh. "She will 
 get sick of working here for just enough to keep 
 soul and body together. I am sorry for her, 
 though." 
 
 "Oh, save your pity for yourself; you'll need 
 it sooner than anybody else," said the other, with 
 a bitter laugh, as she turned away ; and yet, as 
 she glanced at Marcia' s sweet face, a look of pity 
 seemed to soften her eye for a moment. 
 
 In such a place as this, Marcia received her first 
 lessons in the process by which women are permit- 
 ted to maintain a bare existence in this world of 
 contrasts, where joy and sorrow, happiness and 
 misery exist, one in the shadow of the other. 
 Amid the din and clatter of the machines, the 
 dust, the heat, and the foul odors of the closely- 
 packed room, and the rumbling clangor of the ve- 
 hicles without, Marcia was initiated into the mys- 
 teries of self-support. One-half the people on this 
 earth are ignorant of how the other half live, nor 
 do they care to know. There is so much bliss in 
 ignorance that they resent any attempt to put to 
 one side the gilded screen that conceals the dark 
 side of life. To even suggest that it is unneces- 
 sary to tramp all around the world to find suffer- 
 ing heathen, when right across the street we have 
 the poor and needy at our own doors, is denounced 
 as communistic agitation and the incendiary argu- 
 ment of the worst elements of society. 
 
100 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Marcia, when she received her pay at the end of 
 the week, was told by the junior partner, who was 
 present, that it was custoraary to retain one week's 
 wages, but he added in a soft tone, accompanied 
 by a pleasant smile, "We will make an exception 
 in your case," and as the girl colored under his 
 look his eyes lit up with a glow of admiration. 
 Thanking him, she proceeded homeward, thinking 
 how kind and considerate he was. 
 
 Frank Lyster, the junior member of the firm, was 
 noted as a well-dressed, handsome, polished gentle- 
 man in society, and a rare and genial comrade, but 
 withal a sharp, shrewd man of the world. He was a 
 a bachelor, and did not seem to be in a hurry to join 
 the noble order of Benedicts, although it was ru- 
 mored that several society belles were quite anxious 
 to become Mrs. Lyster. There was an under-cur- 
 rent in his character that was not generally known 
 to his society friends or immediate acquaintances, 
 but too well known, alas, to more than one poor girl 
 that had been employed in his establishment. 
 • Taking advantage of his position as an employer, 
 and the necessities and temptations of his poorly- 
 paid employes, he frequently brought to bear all 
 the means his position and their necessitous condi- 
 tion afforded, to effect his purpose ; and she was 
 thrice armed, indeed, who successfully coped with 
 this handsome human beast. 
 
 Marcia was singled out by him the first time he 
 saw her. He quickly discerned that she regarded 
 him as an ideal employer, and he lost no oppor- 
 tunity of still further impressing that idea upon 
 her mind. 
 
 The first week's wages received convinced Marcia 
 that she must secure a cheap room and board her- 
 self. This idea she acted upon at once. She found 
 a room, which she secured for two dollars a week. 
 
HER BEADTY HER RUIN. 101 
 
 This left her two dollars per week upon which to 
 live, buy clothes and other necessaries. The bal- 
 ance of her savings she used to purchase some sec- 
 ond-hand furniture, and at the beginning of the 
 second week she was mistress of her own domicile, 
 humble though it was. For the benefit of those 
 who may doubt the ability of a strong, healthy 
 person to live luxuriously on two dollars per week, 
 a list of what she was able to purchase with her 
 ■weekly stipend is furnished. 
 
 A quarter of a pound of tea, a half pound of 
 sugar, one pound of oat meal, one pint of beans, 
 six loaves of bread, a dozen potatoes, one soup 
 bone, a pound of butter, a few cents' worth of salt 
 and pepper, and sometimes a little milk. The 
 means to purchase clothing must be secured by clip- 
 ping oif the corners of this bill of fare. 
 
 One month passed by, and Lyster still main- 
 tained his pleasant, watchful attention. One 
 Saturday night he asked Marcia where she lived. 
 She told him. 
 
 "It is too far for you to walk," he said, "and 
 besides, it is not a fit place. I will try and secure 
 you a room nearer the shop^ and as you have been 
 working too hard, I shall give you an easier but 
 more responsible place, and increase your pay. 
 Monday you will take charge of the inspection of 
 the work in the shirt department. And, by the 
 way, as you may need some things that your wages 
 will not permit you to purchase, I will advance you 
 two months' pay." 
 
 Was there ever such a good man ? Marcia 
 thought not. That night she indulged in shop- 
 ping, a pursuit that among all the civilized races 
 of the earth must ever maintain its fascinating power 
 over the female mind. As a result of her purchases 
 she was soon habited in attire that effected a veri- 
 
102 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 table transformation. Her cheap dress could not 
 hide her budding beauty, but the plain, though 
 neat fitting one with which she replaced it revealed 
 this beauty in all its glorious promise. Innocent 
 and guileless as she was, she saw that she was 
 handsome ; but, beyond the natural desire to be 
 presentable, she did not realize the value or the 
 danger of her youthful charms. 
 
 On the following Monday night, Lyster sent 
 for Marcia, and told her to get ready and he would 
 take her around to the place he had engaged for 
 her. It was on a quiet back-street, in a respect- 
 able neighborhood, for he did not advertise his 
 private affairs by being public in their prosecution. 
 The house was in keeping with the character of 
 the neighborhood, and the room was more luxuri- 
 ous in its appointments than anything Marcia had 
 ever seen. 
 
 " Do you like the place?" he asked, 
 
 " Oh ! indeed I do, Mr. Lyster, and how can I 
 ever repay you for all of your kindness?" said 
 Marcia. 
 
 "No pay is required beyond making this your 
 home if you like it. By the way, you can afford 
 now to board, and can secure your meals at a house 
 on this street, not far from here, which will make it 
 convenient for you and give you more leisure," 
 said Lyster, as he bade her good-night, and left 
 her in her new quarters too well pleased to ever 
 think, in her ignorance, that it was a cage pre- 
 pared with evil aforethought. 
 
 Frank Lyster had made the study of the female 
 mind a specialty. He believed that to understand 
 thoroughly the various phases of one woman's 
 character, was to graduate in the school whose ob- 
 ject is the analysis of woman's psychical nature. 
 He was never lavish in the expenditure of money 
 
HER BEAUTY HER KOIN. 103 
 
 in this direction. In fact he was mean and small, 
 for he reasoned that a love which is inspired by 
 presents must be fed upon them if it lives, and that 
 it withers and dies the moment its food is with- 
 held. But in all the little acts of kindness and 
 courtesy which appeal so strongly to all women, 
 he was a thorough master. When Marcia came 
 into the office he invariably rose to his feet and 
 remained standing until she left. He sent her 
 frequently small bunches of wild flowers which he 
 purchased for a few cents at the market. In her 
 presence he always removed his hat, and in every 
 possible way, by soft, kind words and thoughtful 
 little attentions, impressed her with the belief that 
 he not only admired but respected and loved her. 
 Under such circumstances, with such an environ- 
 ■ment, it was not strange that Marcia grew to love 
 "this man. And she did love him with all the 
 iender softness of an innocent, beautiful soul, with 
 -all the earnest force of an intense and passionate 
 nature. Over the conquest of this virgin heart, 
 Prank Lyster gloated in secret triumph. If he 
 ■knew, he did not care to remember that this prize was 
 as bright a jewel, as rich and rare a treasure, as 
 heavenly a gift as God ever bestowed upon man. 
 After she had been in her new quarters about ten 
 4ays, Lyster invited her to take a ride. Flattered 
 by the offer and anticipating the pleasure it would 
 bring, she accepted. 
 
 She was ready when he called for her that eve- 
 ining. The drive was taken, a stop was made at a 
 place of resort in the suburbs of the city ; wine 
 was ordered, and Marcia returned to her room that 
 night, and was seen no more at Lyster's establish- 
 ment. 
 
104 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON THE TRAIL. 
 
 After he had been working about a week, Rich- 
 ard was surprised on reaching home one evening 
 to iind a new boarder, a young lad whom he had 
 known in Silverville. He was in the sitting-room 
 when Richard entered, and recognizing him in- 
 stantly, advanced with outstretched hand and 
 smiling face. Richard looked, then grasped his 
 hand 
 
 " Lionel Trueson !" 
 
 "Richard Arbyght ! " 
 
 Burst simultaneously from their lips. 
 
 " Why, Lionel, my boy," said Richard, "how 
 came you here?" 
 
 " Why, you see, the old home somehow became 
 too small for the whole of us, and I thought I 
 would leave and give the rest of the boys more 
 room ; and here I am." 
 
 "But how long have you been in Chicago, and 
 when did you leave home, and what are you do- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Which of these questions shall I answer 
 first?" asked Lionel, laughingly. 
 
 " Answer them consecutively, if you please,"' 
 replied Richard, with mock gravity. 
 
 " Well," said Lionel, " I have been here about 
 three months. I left home about four months ago. 
 I am working as a porter in a wholesale store on 
 La Salle street ; there ! " 
 
 " You left home four months ago? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Has anything of importance taken place in 
 Silverville since I left there ?" 
 
ON THE TRAIL. 105 
 
 *' Nothing; the old village is as quiet as ever." 
 
 " The folks are all well, I suppose ! " 
 
 "Yes, they are all well; but have you seen 
 since you have been here a man named William 
 Hunter ? He once lived in Silverville." 
 
 i" No ; but why do you ask ?" 
 
 " Well, you see," said Lionel, " this man Hun- 
 ter left Silverville some twenty-odd years ago for 
 California. About two months before I left, he 
 returned to Silverville, and one day, hearing of 
 the murder of your father, he said he had a pretty 
 good idea who it was that killed him." 
 
 " Well?" said Richard, quickly ; and not with- 
 out a touch of fierceness in his tone. 
 
 " You see," continued the boy, *■' when Hunter 
 was questioned further and more closely he evaded 
 a straightforward answer, and said he did not like to 
 implicate or compromise any one on circumstantial 
 evidence. He also said that the man whom he 
 supposed guilty of the act had relatives in the vi- 
 cinity of Silverville, and as they were honorable, 
 upright people, he did not wish to say anything 
 that would injure them in the estimation of their 
 neighbors." 
 
 " But where is this man?" asked Richard, with 
 savage earnestness. 
 
 "I suppose he is in California," replied Lionel. 
 " The reason I asked if you had seen him," he 
 continued, " was because Hunter said that he was 
 going to visit Chicago before returning home, and 
 I thought it might be possible that you had met 
 him." 
 
 " Would to God I had," said Richard, fervently, 
 
 ' ' but, alas , I was not here at the time . ' ' These 
 
 words were spoken slowly and sadly, and ere their 
 sound had passed into silence, Richard lapsed into 
 moody meditation. 
 
106 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 In a few moments he came back to the hard, real 
 present, and spoke as if his mind was engaged in 
 an effort to recover some vanishing, unspoken 
 thought. 
 
 " Hope, dissolving hope ! Fate, inexorable fate, 
 I am thy victim ! Hope, anodyne of life, the panacea 
 of man's misfortunes, thy shadow alone remains to 
 mock and haunt me !" 
 
 " You must excuse me, Lionel," he added as he 
 noticed the boy staring at him in surprise, "for 
 you see," he continued, "ever since I have been 
 able to reason, I have lived, as it were, in an at- 
 mosphere entirely my own. I have ever felt the 
 weird influence of an unseen presence ; the air I 
 breathe seems impregnated with an essence that 
 has entered into my very soul, and by its potent 
 power — a power I feel but cannot describe — filled 
 it, blended with it, and made it subject to its in- 
 tangible influence. I believe — feel — that the spirit 
 of my murdered father is ever with me. A voice 
 seems to speak to me unceasingly, it resounds 
 through my brain, vibrates in my heart, pulsates 
 in my veins ; and though inaudible to the external 
 senses seems to ever repeat the one inexorable word, 
 'justice.' " Overcome by his feelings, the strong 
 man sank into a chair and wept like a child, which 
 so affected Lionel that he, too, began to weep. 
 
 Richard, recovering himself, said : 
 
 " Come, come, Lionel, my boy, you must not 
 weep for me. It is all over now. You called up 
 thoughts and memories which overpowered me for 
 the moment, but we will not refer to them again. 
 Tou had better leave me to myself for a short 
 time — but stop a moment ; do you know this man's 
 address in California?" 
 
 " No ; but I can obtain it by writing home," an- 
 swered Lionel. 
 
ON THE TRAIL. 107 
 
 " I wish you would, for I should like very much, 
 to have it." 
 
 "Why, of course I will, and won't waste any 
 time, either. 1 will write to-night," said Lionel, 
 as he left the room . 
 
 Left to himself, Richard paced the floor in silence. 
 He endeavored to hring his mind to bear on the 
 future of his fellow-toilers, but failed ; his thoughts, 
 despite his efforts, would not settle upon anything. 
 He picked up the evening paper and tried to read, 
 but, after going through a whole column, he was 
 unable to recall a single sentence, or tell to what 
 it referred. His mind was so dominated and filled 
 by one all-absorbing thought, that for the time 
 being all else seemed to be a dissolving, shadowy 
 chaos. The whole force of his being was concen- 
 trated in one idea ; he heard nothing, saw noth- 
 ing, and was conscious of nothing but his own 
 wrongs. He threw the paper aside, picked up a 
 book, a copy of Shakespeare. He opened it me- 
 chanically, and these words of Macbeth attracted 
 his attention : 
 
 " Cure her of that. 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased? 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ? 
 Eaze out the written troubles of the brain ? " 
 
 " No, man of science, of crucibles .and retorts, 
 you can not. Your diagnosis, your curative power, 
 your theories, are valueless here," he mused, as he 
 dropped the book and began pacing the floor. 
 Picking up the paper again in a calmer mood and 
 with a clearer brain, he sought the local columns, 
 when, as if by chance, his eye fell upon the follow- 
 ing item, then fastened upon it with an immovable 
 stare : 
 
 " We are glad to notice that fortune's sun has again smiled 
 
108 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 upon our old and esteemed friend, Mr. Terwillager. For 
 some time past he has been under a cloud — in fact, bank- 
 rupt; but a few days ago a speculation in which he was 
 largely interested, the collapse of which ruined him, became 
 suddenly inflated. His stocks shot up with a mercurial 
 bound, and Mr. Terwillager, yesterday an insolvent, is to-day 
 the happy possessor of a cool one hundred thousand dollars. 
 We understand he is going West, and will begin business 
 anew in that broad, undeveloped field. May he be as emi- 
 nently successful as his sterling worth deserves." 
 
 Eichard read and re-read this item. He was 
 deeply interested. Might not this he the man who 
 paid him such a sudden and unexpected call, and 
 who so mysteriously disappeared ? After ponder- 
 ing the matter for a long time, Richard finally 
 concluded that he must he the man. He slept but 
 little that night. The next day he sought the 
 editor of the paper, and found him in his sanctum 
 in the third story of a massive building, sur- 
 rounded by all the agencies in the way of papers, 
 books, pens, scissors, paste-pot, and manuscript 
 that aid in making the library of the people — the 
 newspaper. The editor was seated at a writing- 
 desk, in his right hand an ink-painted pen, which 
 he ever and anon dipped into a copious ink-well, 
 and spattered the papers around him as he carried 
 it to the page on which he was tracing lines that 
 none hut the initiated could decipher. There he 
 sat like another Marius in the ruins of a literary 
 Carthage. His left hand held in a fierce and te- 
 nacious grip a handful of hair on that part of the 
 head in which phrenologists locate the reflective 
 faculty. Approaching him, Richard stated his 
 business in as few words as possible. 
 
 The editorial magnate, with his eyes fixed on 
 the page before him, moved not, spoke not. 
 Richard again stated the object of his call. The 
 pen went into the ink-well, spattered a portion of 
 its contents over the papers, and propelled by its 
 
ON THE TRAIL. 109 
 
 operator, pursued its devious course over the sheet, 
 but still no reply. Richard turned to depart, 
 when his ear was greeted with the word "local," 
 uttered in a short, sententious tone. One of the 
 associate editors came to the rescue at this juncture, 
 and told him to go up to the next floor and see the 
 city editor. 
 
 The city editor was found. 
 
 "Do you know this man?" asked Richard, 
 producing the paper and pointing to the above- 
 quoted paragraph. 
 
 " I can't say that I do," yawned the local. 
 
 " Could you tell me if his name is Jack, or 
 rather John ?" 
 
 "Not being acquainted with the gentleman, 
 how could I?" was the reply, in an annoyed 
 voice. 
 
 "Who furnished you with the item?" said 
 Richard. 
 
 "A friend of his." 
 
 " Where could I find this friend?" 
 
 Jumping to his feet and looking Richard over, 
 the city editor said : 
 
 " Who are you anyhow, and what in thunder 
 do you want? " 
 
 Richard satisfied him on the score of identity, 
 and told him he had reason to believe that Ter- 
 willager was an old friend of his father, and he 
 wished to see him on that account. 
 
 Satisfied with the explanation, the city editor 
 informed him where he could secure all the in- 
 formation he desired. He spent the balance of the 
 day investigating, and at night he summed up as 
 follows : 
 
 Fifteen or twenty years prior to that time a 
 man named John Terwillager arrived in Chicago, 
 engaged in mercantile business, and flourished as 
 
110 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 men seldom do. His wonderful success, however, 
 made him bold and reckless ; he dabbled in 
 stocks of all kinds, and a crash followed, from 
 which he emerged a ruined man. As has been 
 stated, one of his ventures took a favorable turn, 
 and enabled him to secure a remnant of a once 
 collossal fortune. With this he left the city to 
 begin life again in the far West ; but where he 
 went, no one knew. Baffled again, with no hope 
 of ever seeing the end, Kichard gave up the search 
 in despair. Without money or time, what could 
 he do ? Nothing. And he was reluctantly forced 
 to admit it. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE PLOTTER AT WORK. 
 
 Although Richard and his associates had taken 
 every precaution to hide their movements from 
 Relvason and the other employers, yet one of the 
 notices fell into the hands of one of them on the 
 North Side. This man, too cowardly to act him- 
 self, handed the notice to Relvason, and, with a 
 significant nod, said he thought there was trouble 
 brewing. 
 
 Relvason, after reading it carefully, said he 
 thought so too, but added, after a slight pause — 
 
 "I'll explode their little scheme," and he 
 grinned and chuckled as if the opportunity to do so 
 pleased him. 
 
 When Alvan Relvason grinned, the character- 
 istics of the man were revealed in all their force. 
 
THE PLOTTER AT WORK. Ill 
 
 His shaggy eyebrows came down over his eyes, 
 which shot through their shadow a baleful gleam ; 
 his mouth opened just enough to disclose two rows 
 of wolfish-lookine: teeth, and the effect produced 
 on the beholder was not a pleasant one. 
 
 After the North Side employer had departed 
 Kelvason called his head clerk and, placing his 
 hand on his shoulder in a familiar manner, said : 
 
 " Disguise yourself and attend that meeting to- 
 night." 
 
 '' I will, sir," said Spindle, giving his employer 
 a look that said as plainly as words, "I need no 
 instructions ; I know what you want." 
 
 But Alvan Kelvason discovered later that not 
 only was right against him, but that the finger of 
 wisdom and prudence guided and directed the 
 movement. 
 
 Spindle failed in the attempt to enter the hall. 
 No man was allowed inside who was not personally 
 known to three disguised door-keepers. Relvasoa 
 was foiled ; a union was organized, and more than 
 half of the men in his shop were enrolled, and not 
 only enrolled, but sworn. 
 
 The following morning Spindle reported to his 
 employer, and was greeted with a storm of rage that 
 made the insignificant creature tremble with fear. 
 
 " So, they barred you out? The rascals ! Oh, 
 I'll teach them, the communistic conspirators f 
 What are we coming to? These fellows will have 
 the audacity to send a committee to me next to ex- 
 plain their grievances!" said Eelvason, with a 
 hissing, sneering emphasis. 
 
 " Yes, they'll want weekly cash payments," 
 squeaked Spindle. 
 
 " Want what !" shrieked Kelvason, as he seized 
 Spindle with a vice-like grip and jerked him from 
 his stool. 
 
112 THE OTHER SIDE, 
 
 " I mean to say- 
 
 " Well, what do you mean to say?" said Kel- 
 vason, as he loosened his grip. 
 
 " What I mean," said Spindle, as he rubbed his 
 arm aiFectionately, and tried to hide the effects of 
 ' the grip under a simpering grin, " is, that unless 
 these fellows are crushed and their combination 
 broken they will become insolent and audacious, 
 and insist upon being treated as equals. They 
 will make all sorts of visionary and impracticable 
 demands. Why, they will even go so far as to 
 demand cash for their labor in weekly payments, 
 and the right to trade where they please. They 
 will refuse to work more than ten hours a day, so 
 that they may have more time for recreation and 
 mental improvement." 
 
 "Spindle, where did you obtain all this knowl- 
 edge? " asked Eelvason. 
 
 " Oh, I have seen and read their constitution." 
 
 "Their constitution? The devil! I thought 
 they met last night for the first time ; how can they 
 have a constitution to-day? " 
 
 "So they did, sir ; so they did," replied Spindle, 
 " but the movement does not begin here. It began 
 some time ago in the East, and is rapidly spread- 
 ing all over the country. Nor is it confined to any 
 particular trade. There appears to be a general 
 movement of this character among workingmen." 
 
 " Why, this is really serious," and Eelvason be- 
 came reflective. He stood meditating for a short 
 time, then suddenly seizing a pen and sheet of paper 
 he hurriedly wrote the following : 
 
 " We, whose names are hereto attached, do most 
 solemnly affirm that we do not belong to any labor 
 union ; that by this act we have, now and forever, 
 renounced all allegiance to any and all such per- 
 
THE PLOTTER AT WOEK. 113 
 
 nicious combinations, and that while in our present 
 employment we will not joinany such organization." 
 
 Giving the note to Spindle, he said : 
 
 " Copy that and take it into the shop, and dis- 
 oharge every man who refuses to sign.it. Discharge 
 them at once. At once, I say 1 This outrageous 
 movement must be stamped out immediately. 
 There is no time to lose. I'll go and see the other 
 employers." 
 
 " Isn't it best to ' go slow ' for a while? " sug- 
 gested Spindle. " We have a large amount of 
 work to deliver this week and next, or lose a twenty 
 thousand dollar contract." 
 
 "True," replied Relvason ; " but take the paper 
 in now and see how it will work." 
 
 In obedience to the order. Spindle went into the 
 shop and presented the document first to a man who 
 he felt confident would sign it. He was surprised 
 and chagrined by an emphatic refusal. 
 
 "Sign, or leave the shop," said Spindle. 
 
 " Is that the only alternative ? " asked the man, 
 speaking slowly. 
 
 "There is no other," was the reply. 
 
 "Be it so, then. I would rather see my hand 
 wither than stultify my manhood by signing such 
 a paper. Much as I love my wife and children I 
 will not purchase even comfort for them at such an 
 ignoble and infamous sacrifice," said Henry Trust- 
 good, as he took down his coat and proceeded to 
 don the seedy, threadbare garment. 
 
 Spindle proceeded to the ne.xt ; he also refused, 
 and was discharged, and so was the next, and the 
 next. 
 
 Spindle changed his tactics and tried the other 
 «nd of the shop, but succeeded no better. Even 
 those who had not joined the union, stimulated by 
 8 
 
114 THE OTHEE. SIDE. 
 
 the manly conduct of those who had, refused tO' 
 sign the document. 
 
 Seized with a new idea, he went to Arbyght and 
 said: "Mr. Relvason will make you superin- 
 tendent of all his works, if you will sign this 
 paper." 
 
 He held the paper out, hut Richard did not touch, 
 or even look at it, but he looked at Spindle, and 
 the latter took his departure quite hurriedly. 
 
 Thirty men discharged and no signers ! Spindle- 
 began to grow nervous. He called the foreman and 
 whispered to him. The" foreman left the shop and 
 Spindle continued to discharge the men. 
 
 Suddenly Relvason put in an appearance, and so 
 adroitly did he manage it that the men supposed 
 he had just arrived at the works. Seeing a group 
 of men, talking earnestly and anxiously in the 
 center of the shop, he advanced and asked, in an 
 astonished tone, and with an innocent look, why 
 they were not at work. The men said they had. 
 been discharged. He called Spindle, and the latter 
 came forward with a very sheepish and troubled 
 face. Relvason snatched the paper out of his hand 
 and, after scanning it slowly, said, in an excited 
 manner : 
 
 " Spindle, who told you to do this ?" 
 
 The chief clerk was staggered and dazed ; he 
 had not calculated upon such a bold move. 
 
 Relvason eyed him fiercely. He was used to being 
 eyed fiercely, and in the present instance it had the- 
 effect of bringing him to his senses, and he stam- 
 mered : 
 
 " I thought you wanted it done, sir." 
 
 Relvason tore the paper to pieces, and told the 
 men to return to their work^ and Spindle sneaked 
 out of the shop. The men resumed their tasks 
 again, and so the matter ended — that is, in th& 
 
THE PLOTTER AT WORK, i 115. 
 
 shop. In the office there was another scene, whichi 
 will be omitted, save these words by Relvason : 
 
 " We have been baffled twice; it is useless to 
 try to fight these men from our standpoint. There 
 is a power here never developed before. We must 
 use stratagem ; we must find out where they stand ; 
 we have been striking in the dark." 
 
 When a man seeks to perform an act which he 
 fears to have weighed in the scales of public opinion, 
 he chooses the obscurity of night. Shrouded by 
 the mantle of darkness, when honest men sleep, he 
 does that which he dare not think aloud in the 
 light of day. Murderers, thieves, conspirators, 
 tyrants — all abnormal humanity, concoct their 
 plans and prosecute their nefarious and blighting 
 work when nature lies in dreamy repose. 
 
 Alvan Eelvason was a tyrant. The men whom 
 he wished to degrade and enslave were up in arms 
 in defense of a heritage given by God and jeopard- 
 ized by man. Twice the employer had been de- 
 feated, because the men had acted with discretion 
 and independence. If he only knew who the 
 leaders were, the edifice might be destroyed. The 
 temple would fall if the pillars were gone. To 
 obtain this information was the one thing to do 
 now. The design was a bold, dark one, requiring 
 as its fit accompaniment the somber shadows of the 
 night. 
 
 Nine o'clock that evening Eelvason's carriage 
 stopped before a low, dark, wretched, mean-looking 
 hovel in the- southern part of the Eighth ward, 
 quite close to the West Branch of the South Fork 
 of the Chicago river. The hovel and its surround- 
 ings reminded one of nothing save the skeleton of 
 poverty and the corpse of misery. The air was so 
 densely laden with an intolerable, sickening stench 
 that nothing but man could live in the vicinity. 
 
116 THE OTHER SIDE. . 
 
 The street was a vile and continuous mud hole 
 from one end to the other. The house and walks 
 were on stilts. The river crawled and oozed slug- 
 gishly toward the lake. If there was water be- 
 tween its banks, it had long since lost all resem- 
 blance to that crystal fluid. It was the most 
 villainous compound of oily, miasmatic green and 
 thick, fetid, greasy black that ever floated a vessel. 
 
 The interior of the hovel was in keeping with 
 the exterior and the locality. It was divided into 
 two rooms. The front room, about fourteen feet 
 square, served as kitchen, dining-room, and pan- 
 ■try. The other room, about half as large, was 
 ^sed for a sleeping apartment, and contained three 
 Ijeds, one a trundle bed, which was hauled into the 
 kitchen at night. The floor of the main room was 
 bare and worn through in many places. The 
 walls were covered with grease and accumulations 
 of soot. The furniture consisted of a cracked and 
 burnt cooking-stove, mounted on extempore col- 
 umns of stone and brick; an old-fashioned clock, 
 minus the minute hand, its face chipped and the 
 glass broken; a square, veneered looking-glass 
 frame, with a triangular piece of mirror stuck in 
 the lower right-hand corner ; a few cheap chairs 
 without backs, most of them with only three legs; 
 a pine table, hacked and notched ; an old cupboard 
 containing a few broken dishes, a few handleless 
 knives and forks, and a broken glass lamp, with 
 but half a chimney, that sputtered and smoked as 
 it threw out a dull light. This completes the de- 
 scription, except that the windows were shaded by 
 old newspapers browned by smoke. 
 
 Into this pit of poverty Eelvason entered, cre- 
 ating by his unexpected appearance no little con- 
 fusion among the inmates. Three or four half- 
 naked children ran into the back room, and left 
 
A TIMELY APPEAKANCE. 117 
 
 Harvey Mellen, the lord of the domicile, and his 
 pale, emaciated wife alone with the visitor. Mel- 
 len was coatless. The color of his shirt, which 
 was open at the throat, had passed beyond identi- 
 fication. He was a middle-aged man, with a rather 
 blank and expressionless face. He appeared to he 
 too much of a fool to be a villain, but was, never- 
 theless, more villain than fool. He was one of 
 those specimens of humanity who go through life 
 on all fours, a crawling reptile, who would sell his 
 soul for a gill of rum. Some years prior to this 
 time he had worked for Eelvason ; but, being an 
 inferior workman and very irregular in his habits, 
 he was discharged. A short time after, Relvason's 
 men struck against the order system, and would 
 have gained their point but for the treachery of 
 Mellen and a few like him, who took the places of 
 the strikers. The men were beaten, but Mellen 
 and his colleagues were discharged. They were 
 purchased for a consideration, and when their mas- 
 ter was through with theui he flung them aside 
 until he desired to use them again. An hour after 
 Eelvason entered Mellen's hovel he left it grinning 
 and chuckling with apparent satisfaction. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A TIMELY APPBAEANCB. 
 
 The evening of the day that Relvason had so 
 signally failed in forcing the men in his shop to 
 sign away their manhood, Arbyght went home in 
 a happy frame of mind. The satisfactory termi- 
 nation of the affair made him hopeful, and he 
 
118 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 moved with a more sprightly and elastic step. 
 But this mood suddenly changed, for as he walked 
 along in the gathering gloom, faintly dispelled by 
 the dim gaslight, there arose within him a strange 
 and unaccountable feeling. His soul was filled, 
 possessed by the conviction that near him stood or 
 floated the essence of a being not in the flesh. He 
 neither heard nor saw anything phenomenal, but 
 from head to foot he felt filled with a subtle sensa- 
 tion that almost caused his hair to stand on end 
 and his body to lose its firmness. His physical 
 senses seemed to leave him, and in a great void, 
 where nothing material existed, he apparently 
 floated in a sort of mild unconsciousness. How 
 long he remained in this state he could not tell, 
 but when the invisible presence left him and his 
 bodily senses returned, he discovered that he was 
 fully a mile out of his way. He immediately re- 
 traced his steps, but had not proceeded more than 
 a block when he noticed a young girl with claspe I 
 hands, looking earnestly, longingly upward, as if 
 in supplication. He continued to approach, won- 
 dering much, when he noticed a woman move up, 
 like a cat on a bird, and enter into conversation 
 with the girl. His mind was now thoroughly 
 aroused ; a moment afterward he passed them, 
 stopped, stepped into the shade of a large tree, 
 overheard the conversation, and when they moved 
 away he followed them, feeling convinced that 
 there was some guiding thought in the strange 
 waking-dream that had led him thither. 
 
 G-race, when found or overtaken by the woman 
 already mentioned, was in the vicinity of Union 
 Park. After they had proceeded a short distance 
 in silence, the woman began to talk glibly and 
 volubly, her great desire being the restoration of 
 tranquillity and peace to the troubled mind of the 
 
A TIMELY APPEARANCE. 119 
 
 sobbing girl at her side. But vice ever betrays 
 itself when simulating virtue, by attempting to 
 «,ppear purer and holier than virtue itself. When 
 the heart is heavy with woe or festering with hate, 
 an enforced smile may deceive, but it is more likely 
 to betray the real emotion of the mind by its very 
 ghastliness. 
 
 It is extremely doubtful whether it is within the 
 scope of human acquirements to so successfully 
 habit evil in the livery of virtue, as to deceive 
 those who are disposed to exercise that moral sense 
 that God has implanted in the soul. It is almost 
 impossible to deceive, in this respect, persons of an 
 ■excessively sensitive and spiritual nature ; and Grace 
 being of the latter class was irritated and repelled 
 rather than soothed by the forced cheerfulness of 
 her companion ; and the more freely and gaily she 
 chatted, the more distrustful and suspicious Grace 
 became. Her fears gradually increased as she 
 grew more and more conscious of a lack of candor 
 •and truth in her would-be benefactress. 
 
 The woman said she lived only a short distance 
 from where she first overtook her. This Grace re- 
 membered^ notwithstanding her fears and emotion ; 
 but when this short distance had reeled itself out 
 over a mile, and still the end was apparently no 
 nearer, the poor girl felt convinced that she was in 
 a snare, and determined to elude her voluntary pro- 
 tector at the first favorable opportunity. They had 
 already passed into the south division of the city, 
 orossed the river on Randolph-street bridge, went 
 through Franklin street, entered Wells, and passed 
 south across Washington, Madison, Monroe, and 
 Adams streets. They finally left Wells street and 
 proceeded west a short distance, when the woman 
 •stopped suddenly, and taking Grace rudely by the 
 arm said : 
 
120 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Miss, this is the place, enter quickly;" while 
 at the same time she flung the gate of a higli board 
 fence open with the other hand, and endeavored to 
 push the frightened girl through the narrow pas- 
 
 Richard followed Grace and the woman for nearly 
 fifteen minutes, revolving in his mind how he would 
 proceed ; but he was unable to come to any con- 
 clusion. Just then he saw a police officer on the- 
 opposite side of the street ; he crossed over and ac- 
 costed him. The officer was a small, lithe man, 
 rather oldish, with sharp piercing eyes, before 
 whose intense look Eichard involuntarily quailed. 
 After hearing his story, Sergeant Soolfire crossed 
 the street rapidly, and bidding Richard follow the 
 parties, dove down a side street and disappeared^ 
 leaving him not only puzzled but provoked at his 
 incomprehensible conduct. 
 
 In a few minutes the Sergeant reappeared, com- 
 ing up the street from the "opposite direction. 
 
 "You are right," he said, as soon as he met 
 Arbyght. 
 
 ''You know the woman? " said Richard. 
 
 " Well, I should say I did. It is Madam B , 
 
 one of the most notorious women in Chicago ; we 
 will follow her and block her infernal game." 
 
 The house before which the woman stopped was- 
 a somber-looking, three-story brick structure, with 
 high arched windows. The blinds were closed 
 tightly, and there was no light visible on the first 
 floor. Through the latticed blinds of the second 
 and third-floor windows faint glimmering rays- 
 of light were feebly streaming. On the right- 
 hand side of the building three massive stone steps 
 led to a small portico, closed on the sides. The 
 outer or portico door was open, the upper half of 
 the inner door was paneled with a plate of ground- 
 
A TIMELY APPEARANCE. 121 
 
 ted glass, through which the solitary gas-jet in the 
 hall shone like the great eye of some terrible demon. 
 
 Grace shuddered at the sight of the building, its 
 somber aspect, and the grave-like stillness that 
 hung like a ghostly pall over the place, but 
 above all at the ominous red glare of the light in 
 the hall. She had already made up her mind 
 to escape, but no opportunity had yet presented 
 itself; but when she found herself at the gate, 
 intuitively realizing her danger, she refused point- 
 edly and stubbornly to enter. The woman, while 
 studying what persuasive argument she could 
 use, for she was cognizant of being followed for 
 the last twenty minutes by two men, and real- 
 izing that she must act speedily and prevent any 
 outcry, was taken by surprise from an unexpected 
 quarter. 
 
 At this moment an inmate emerged from the 
 building through a side door. She was a woman 
 of magnificent physical development, as symmetri- 
 cal in form, as beautiful in feature as the daughter 
 of Hera. She was modestly, even plainly attired, 
 and betrayed neither by look nor act the class to 
 which she unfortunately belonged. Coming toward 
 the gate, she saw the shrinking, frightened Grace, 
 and rushing toward her, she cried out : 
 
 " Back child, go back ; as you value your life do 
 not enter here. Death is " 
 
 What further she might have said was suddenly 
 checked by the appearance of two brutal, libidin- 
 ous-looking male wretches, who seized the modern 
 Hebe by the arms, and rudely dragged her back to- 
 ward the house, muttering the while vile and hor- 
 rid imprecations ; but ere they were aware, she 
 broke from their grasp and by a quick, powerful 
 blow in the face, felled one of the rascals to the 
 earth. 
 
122 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Grace, in the mean time, was fully aroused and 
 aware of her danger, and she struggled bravely to 
 free herself from the clutch of a monster more hid- 
 eous and dreadful than the cobra or tiger, because, 
 being human, more cunning and fiendish. 
 
 The woman had her hand over Grace's mouth, to 
 prevent an outcry, and was thus at a disadvantage, 
 and Grace woxild have escaped by her own efforts, 
 but for the appearance of the two men from the 
 house ; frightened by their rushing toward her, she 
 swooned away. 
 
 Before the men could recover from the attack 
 
 or Madame B take advantage of Grace's 
 
 condition, Soolfire and Eichard were upon them. 
 The men rushed back into the house ; the madam 
 had also disappeared as if by magic, and the in- 
 sensible form of the homeless girl was left alone 
 with her rescuers. Some distance back the officer 
 had taken the precaution to hail a passing carriage, 
 and requested the driver to follow them and keep 
 within sight. 
 
 Into this carriage the apparently lifeless Grace 
 was tenderly placed. A short consultation was 
 held, directions were given to the driver, and the 
 carriage dashed away. In about five minutes it 
 stopped before a neat, cheerful, and comfortable- 
 looking cottage, into which the still inanimate girl 
 was carried. 
 
 The house into which Grace was taken was the 
 happy home of Sergeant Soolfire. The room into 
 which she was brought, though small, was very 
 cosy and comfortable, and was rendered doubly so 
 by the cheerful glow of a grate fire. Grace was 
 placed on a lounge, and Mrs. Soolfire, a gentle- 
 looking woman, who comprehended the situation, 
 set to work to restore her to consciousness ; but 
 her restoratives and salts were not needed, for just 
 
A TIMELY APPEARANCE. 123 
 
 then she slowly opened her eyes, raised herself on 
 her elbow, sat up, and looked around the room 
 with a puzzled stare, which was succeeded for a 
 moment by a look of such terrible fright, so inex- 
 pressibly beseeching, that Mrs. Soolfire was moved 
 to tears. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, child," said the kind- 
 hearted woman, ''you are among friends. Let 
 me take your hat and shawl ; you must make 
 yourself at home, my dear ; we'll all be kind and 
 good to you, so cheer up, won't you, now?" and 
 she took Grace gently by the hand. 
 
 Soothed and calmed hy the kind, sweet tones of 
 the motherly voice, but more by the tears in Mrs. 
 Soolfire's eyes, the sorely tried maiden wept as if 
 her heart would break. 
 
 Mrs. Soolfire wisely let her weep, knowing that 
 it was the best known remedy for her overwrought 
 nerves. 
 
 " Where am I?" asked Grace, timidly, and in a 
 half sobbing voice. 
 
 "You are in the hands of those who will be 
 good, kind friends to you. My husband is Ser- 
 geant Soolfire, of the police. He and this young 
 man rescued you from a bad woman. It was very 
 lucky, my dear, but it is all over, and you must 
 not think of it again." 
 
 "She can thank Mr. Arbyght here," said the 
 Sergeant, speaking for the first time. 
 
 She raised her eyes, dim with tears, and gave 
 Eichard a look that repaid him a hundred fold. 
 Her heart and soul went out in that look. 
 
 " Oh, it is of no consequence — that is, to me," 
 said Richard, somewhat embarrassed, "the pleasure 
 of rendering the service fully repays me." 
 
 Richard was nervous and agitated when he en- 
 tered the room, but when the lovely girl turned to 
 
124 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 him with her sad, sweet face, he was considerably 
 moved and left the house soon afterward. 
 
 Mrs. Soolfire was so genial and warm-hearted 
 that G-race was soon at her ease, and after partak- 
 ing of some light refreshment, she suffered herself 
 to be put to bed like a child. Mrs. Soolfire tucked 
 the clothes around her so motherly, and kissed her 
 so tenderly, that she burst into tears again, and 
 kissed her warmly in return. 
 
 " You are so kind and good " 
 
 " There, there ; go to sleep now, dear." 
 
 "And I never knew what it was to have a 
 mother," added Grace, with short, quick sobs. 
 
 " My dear child, don't think of it now ; trust 
 in God and all will be well," and kissing her 
 again, Mrs. Soolfire left her ; and gentle sleep 
 soon came and stole from lier^ for the present, all 
 trace of trouble and sorrow. 
 
 On his way home, Eichard soliloquized : " I have 
 seen that face somewhere ; and that voice, how it 
 vibrated and thrilled through every fiber of my 
 body. Strange t Stranger still that I should 
 lapse into a dreamy, unconscious reverie and go so 
 far out of my way, just for all the world as if that 
 girl's guardian angel had forcibly carried me 
 thither. What a strange sensation came over me 
 in that carriage. As soon as her head rested on 
 my shoulder I experienced a feeling so indescribable 
 that it alarmed me. I am positive I have seen that 
 face ; but where? I'm blest if I don't think I am 
 going crazy. Pshaw ! It's all imagination ; I 
 never saw that face or heard that voice. Yes, I 
 have seen it, I know I have." 
 
 Reaching home put an end to Richard's musings. 
 That night he found it almost impossible to sleep. 
 Turn which way he would, the sweet, sad face of 
 the girl he had rescued rose before him. She en- 
 
A TIMELY APPEARANCE. 125 
 
 tered his mind, despotically drove out every other 
 thought and reigned there in undisputed sway. 
 Sleep came at last, but it did not banish that face 
 from the sleepler's mind. 
 
 While he slept, he dreamed that his father en- 
 tered his room, came to his bedside, regarded him 
 sadly, yet sternly, and in a voice that sounded im- 
 measurably far off, said : " My son, where is your 
 sister?" He tried to speak but could not. His 
 father pointed his right hand upward. Follow- 
 ing the direction of the hand, Richard saw in the 
 air a row of transparent letters. He could see 
 through the letters, yet they were plainly visible, 
 and represented this sentence: "Be to her a 
 brother, a father, a mother." He remembered 
 at once that these were the last words of his 
 dying mother. His heart smote him, and he was 
 about to cry out in agony when the door opened 
 and his mother came in softly. His father's stern 
 look became tender immediately, the terrible let- 
 ters vanished, and his father disappeared. His 
 mother came toward him with the same loving 
 smile she ever had for her darling boy. Again he 
 essayed to speak, but found it impossible. His 
 mother touched him on the arm and bade him fol- 
 low her, which he did. She led him through 
 several streets and finally paused before a small 
 house, toward which she earnestly pointed. 
 Richard looked toward the house, recognized it, 
 and in astonishment looked at his mother, or 
 where she seemed to be, but nothing but the blue 
 vault of heaven met his gaze. Filled with amaze- 
 ment, he awoke. It was broad daylight. 
 
126 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A WOMAN S WRONG. 
 
 A few moments after the carriage containing 
 Richard, the Sergeant, and Grace had rolled away, 
 the woman who had warned Grace might have 
 been seen standing on the sidewalk almost opposite 
 
 the mansion of Madam B . Her face was 
 
 colorless, the bloodless lips firmly set, and from 
 her eyes shone an unnatural luster. She cast 
 quick, furtive glances around her, then gazed 
 mockingly at the house she was wont to call 
 "home." 
 
 " Go back?" she whispered as if asking herself 
 the question. A long pause, during which a look 
 of unrelenting determination gradually overspread 
 her ghastly face ; then, turning slowly, she walked 
 briskly up the silent street ; but before she reached 
 the end of the block she stopped suddenly, and 
 in hollow, broken accents, scarcely audible, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " But where shall I go ? " 
 
 The look of firm resolve had given place to one 
 of fright and torture, as she mechanically answered 
 her own question by repeating the lines : 
 
 " Anywhere, anywhere, 
 Out of the world." 
 
 Then, growing calmer, she again moved on, so 
 tired, so weary, so sick and sore at heart that to 
 lay down her burden and sleep to wake no more 
 was now her only thought. As she walked wearily 
 along this thought filled her soul with a great, 
 peaceful calm. She wandered aimlessly through 
 several streets, unmindful of all around her, until 
 
A woman's wrong. 12 '7 
 
 she found herself standing upon a bridge leaning 
 over the railing and peering intently into the 
 murky, stagnant stream below. No silvery moon- 
 beam's sheen or glistening ripple was reflected 
 back by the dark, inky river. It was uninviting, 
 repelling, and redolent of rank and foul odors ; but 
 the tired being who stood over it believed she 
 could find rest under its feculent surface. 
 
 Glancing around and finding herself alone on 
 the bridge she firmly grasped the railing, when 
 there came from across the river through the pes- 
 tilential air the silvery voice of a child crying out : 
 
 "Evening paper, all about the suicide — paper, 
 sir?" 
 
 As these words were wafted to her ears she 
 quickly turned toward the side whence the cry of 
 the newsboy came. 
 
 " Evening paper — have a paper, sir ? " 
 
 The boy was now upon the other end of the 
 bridge and approaching. A soft and tender ex- 
 pression came into her eyes, her whole body trem- 
 bled, and from her lips there issued gaspingly 
 one word — 
 
 "Freddy!" 
 
 " All about the suicide — evening paper ? " 
 
 The boy was now quite close. She darted 
 through the brace net-work, across the roadway 
 to the other side of the bridge, and passed rapidly 
 to the street up which the boy had come. Her 
 eyes were now filled with tears, and gliding into 
 an alley that led to a parallel street she wept long 
 and bitterly. Weeping seemed a relief; and com- 
 ing out into the other street, she resolved to seek 
 lodgings for the night and determine what further 
 she would do on the morrow. 
 
 Across the street, almost facing the alley, was 
 a hotel. She went in and asked for a room. 
 
128 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Have you any baggage ?" asked the clerk. 
 
 ''No, not with me." 
 
 " Then, you must pay in advance." 
 
 She now remembered that she had not a cent, 
 
 that Madam B took from her that morning 
 
 all the money she had. Without saying a word 
 she turned and walked out of the hotel. She had 
 proceeded but a few steps when a well dressed man 
 overtook her, and, raising his hat, politely said : 
 
 "Miss, will you permit me to pay for your 
 room?" 
 
 She cast one quick glan<5e at the man, and, di- 
 vining his object by the expression of his face, 
 answered sharply — 
 
 " No 1" and walked on ; but there floated back 
 to the ears of her would-be benefactor these words: 
 
 " How unselfish, how disinterested is the charity 
 of that noble being called man." 
 
 Again she paced the streets friendless — alone, 
 until toward midnight, thoroughly worn out and 
 exhausted she knocked at the door of her colored 
 washerwoman, with whom she found shelter for 
 the night. The next morning the washerwoman 
 borrowed a daily paper from a barber, whose shop 
 was near by. She read its columns carefully, and, 
 having noted the addresses of those who advertised 
 for servants or shop-girls, started out in quest of 
 work. 
 
 The first lady called on asked for a letter of in- 
 troduction and recommendation from her last em- 
 ployer. To this request she returned an evasive 
 answer and left. The same request was invariably 
 made at every place she called. At last, driven to 
 the verge of despair when asked the usual stereo- 
 typed question as to character, the last place she 
 worked, and where she lived, by a lady upon whom 
 she called, she burst into tears, and made known 
 
A woman's wrong. 129 
 
 ID a few brief words her history. The lady was 
 jghoclied, and peremptorily ordered her to leave the 
 house: As she passed out through the hall, she 
 met a letter-carrier at the door, and, as she went 
 down the marble steps she heard the lady who had 
 -driven her away say to the letter-carrier in a sweet, 
 winning voice : 
 
 "l^low, remember, Henry, letters addressed to 
 -me are to be delivered to me personally. You 
 must not deliver my letters to my husband;" and 
 as the carrier turned from the door the lady called, 
 confidentially, " I'll not forget you New Year's." 
 
 The next person she called upon advised her to 
 call at a place known as the "Friendly Inn," which 
 was maintained by an association of wealthy but 
 jcharitable ladies. She did so. The secretary, 
 after she had listened to her story, said she would 
 -obtain her admission to the " Home for Fallen 
 Women." 
 
 "But," said this modern Magdalen, "is it 
 necessary that my shame should be branded upon 
 my forehead, so that the whole world will know 
 who and what I am ? Is it not possible to save me 
 that humiliation? " 
 
 The secretary thought not, and again the wan- 
 derer went out upon the streets in search of work. 
 Toward evening she called at the last place upon 
 the list she had made before starting in the morn- 
 ing. A servant received her very kindly, and, ex- 
 plaining that her mistress was out, requested her 
 to step into a room and wait until she returned. 
 She did so, and the servant left the room, but had 
 been gone scarcely a moment when another door 
 opened and the master of the house entered the 
 room. The man and the woman stood face to face. 
 
 "Marcia NuUus ! " 
 
 "Frank Lyster ! " 
 
130 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Both exclaimed, almost in the same breath. 
 
 "How dare you come here ! " he fairly hissed^ 
 livid with suppressed rage. 
 
 "As heaven is my judge, I did not know that 
 you lived here," she answered timidly. 
 
 "That's a lie," he said; "you came here ta 
 blackmail me, but no woman can play that gam© 
 upon me ; the sooner you learn that the better. 
 Do you hear ? " His air and manner had in it the 
 assumed bravado of the coward. 
 
 Marcia's eyes flashed, her lips trembled, but in 
 a cool, firm voice, she replied : 
 
 " Frank Lyster, I did not come here for money. 
 All day long I have dragged my weary body 
 through this city in search of employment. On 
 that mission I came here, not knowing that you 
 lived in this house. I have failed in my search. 
 Why ? Because I am a woman without character 
 or reputation. Need I ask you why this is so?' 
 But now that I am here, I will ask of you, not a- 
 favor, but an act of justice. You can give me a 
 letter stating that I worked in your factory and 
 that I was honest and trustworthy. That will aid 
 me in obtaining work, and work I must have, for 
 I have firmly resolved to die rather than go back 
 to the life you forced me to lead." " 
 
 "Wait here five minutes," said Lyster, "and 
 you shall have what you desire." 
 
 He left the room, and at the end of five or six 
 minutes the door opened again, and there came in, 
 not Lyster, but two police officers. 
 
 " We want you. Miss," said one of the officers j 
 and without waiting for the astonished and horror- 
 stricken woman to reply, seized her and forcibly 
 dragged her from the house. 
 
 That night Marcia Nullus lay in agony of mind 
 and anguish of soul on a bare board, in a damp, 
 
A WOMAN'S WRONG. 131 
 
 noisome stone cell. What torture of body and 
 mind she suffered may be imagined, it can not be 
 described. 
 
 The following day she stood at the bar of a 
 court of justice, charged with residing in a house 
 of evil reputation. To this charge she pleaded 
 guilty. It was a strange, sad scene. A beau- 
 tiful woman, neatly dressed, whose features showed 
 no evidence of dissipation, but whose eyes were 
 swollen and red from hours of continuous weeping, 
 pleading to such a charge, while stared at by the 
 gaping crowd of idlers and loafers who usually 
 congregate at such places. When asked by the 
 court if she had anything to say why the sentence 
 of the law should not be pronounced against her, 
 Marcia, amid tears and sobs, in a choking voice, 
 said : 
 
 " I was never in a place of this character before, 
 and I hardly know what to say. I am not quite 
 sure that I rightly comprehend the force of your 
 question." 
 
 She spoke in a manner so respectful and with 
 such candor and simplicity as to awaken in the 
 heart of the judge a sympathetic interest in the 
 case, such as he had not before experienced ; and 
 he put the legal formula differently. 
 
 "Miss Nullus, having pleaded to the charge upon 
 which you were arraigned, it becomes the duty of 
 the court to pronounce upon you the sentence of 
 the law. But the extent of the penalty is not arbi- 
 trarily fixed by the statute. A discretionary poweir 
 is vested in the court, and the penalty may be 
 lenient or severe to a certain limit, as the facts in 
 each case may warrant. If you have anything to 
 say in mitigation of the sentence, the court will be 
 pleased to hear it." 
 
 '' I believe I now understand you," said Marcia, 
 
132 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 *' and, tlianking you for your kindness, will avaiL 
 niyselfof the merciful provisions of the law. My 
 experience of the past few years has been of such a 
 character as to fix in ruy mind the conviction that 
 the laws made by^ man did not contain a single 
 element of mercy. You see before you a fallen 
 woman. It would be useless for me to say I am 
 blameless, for I should not be believed ; yet a woman 
 never fell that a man did not also fall, but the man 
 stands erect again, while the woman remains in 
 the depths of her degradation, forever despised and 
 unforgiven ; but the man who dragged her down 
 is not only forgiven, but permitted to use his past 
 experience that he may more easily drag down 
 fresh victims. I came to this city eight years ago, 
 friendless and alone, without a living relative in 
 the world, ' the last leaf upon my family tree. I 
 went to work in a shirt and cloak factory ; my de- 
 sire was to earn an honest living. I was young, 
 and knew nothing of evil or wrong. My employer 
 took advantage of my poverty, my innocence and 
 ignorance of thQ ways of the world. I believed he 
 was a truly noble and good man ; he is so regarded 
 to-day, while I, his victim, am a ruined, blighted 
 woman. I have struggled and tried for years to 
 escape from, the life into which he forced me, but I 
 had sinned against society, and society is inexora- 
 ble in its determination not to forgive a woman. ' 
 "The night before last, as I was leaving the res- 
 idence of Madam B , Isaw that woman luring a 
 
 fresh victim into her den, I at once warned the 
 intended victim of her danger, and left that place 
 to return there no more. All day yesterday I 
 diligently searched the city for work, but was 
 everywhere repulsed because I was unknown and 
 ciiaracterless. Toward evening, while continuing 
 my fruitless search, I entered a house, not know- 
 
A WOMAN'S WRONO. 133 
 
 ing who was its occupant, and found myself face to 
 face with my destroyer. He caused my arrest. 
 Additional disgrace, the jail, the workhouse, are 
 his ideas of justice. When Aranon ruined Thamer, 
 he intensified the injury and wrong hy driving her 
 away. But that was centuries ago. Man has pro- 
 gressed much since King David's time, for now 
 when a man ruins a woman he not only deserts 
 her and casts her out into the boundless void of an 
 unfeeling, uncharitable world, but he is not content 
 until he has driven her into the brothel, the police 
 station, and the workhouse, so that her cry for 
 justice may lose its force, because it will then come 
 from a source so degraded and low that none will 
 listen to it. This is all I have to say. I want to 
 lead an honest life, and am determined to do so, 
 no matter what may be the sentence you may pass 
 upon me." 
 
 "■ What is the name of this mysterious man who 
 brought all this misery upon you?" asked the city 
 attorney, with a sneer. 
 
 "When I first knew him," answered Marcia, 
 without noticing the tone of the question, " he 
 was a single man. He is now married. His wife 
 has done me no injury ; why should I inflict pain 
 upon her?" 
 
 The attorney sank back abashed, and did not 
 press the inquiry. 
 
 " Have you any children ?" said the judge. 
 
 Marcia uttered a low, moaning cry, and man- 
 aged to stammer, convulsively : 
 
 " The boy has a good home on the South Side. 
 The family have adopted him. I am not permitted 
 to see him — but — I — I — heard his dear, sweet 
 voice the other night. He does not know his own 
 mother." Here she broke down completely. 
 
 There .was hardly a dry eye in the court room. 
 
134 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Even the roughs and loafers felt uncomfortable, 
 and began to sneak away. 
 
 Of this scene a lady and gentleman, who sat in 
 one corner of the room, were interested spectators. 
 A burglary had been committed at their house the 
 evening previous, and they were there in response 
 to the usual subpoena. The lady was a small, deli- 
 cate-looking woman, whose countenance beamed 
 with kindly sympathy and love. She was deeply 
 affected by Marcia's story, and could scarcely re- 
 frain from weeping aloud. When Marcia had con- 
 ■cluded, she whispered a few words to her husband, 
 after which that gentleman arose and addressed 
 the court : 
 
 " May it please your Honor, my wife and myself 
 believe this poor girl's story. We think she has 
 been much wronged and injured, and, if agreeable 
 to your Honor, we will gladly furnish her with a 
 home and give her an opportunity of leading a 
 different life." 
 
 " Why, certainly, Mr. Lanspear," said the 
 judge, "and permit me to thank you and Mrs. 
 Lanspear for your noble charity in this matter. 
 Miss Nullus, will you accept the offer of these 
 good people?" 
 
 But Marcia did not hear. Overcome by her 
 emotions, she had fainted. 
 
 An hour after, she entered upon a new life in- 
 her new home — the home of the Lanspears. 
 
 Mrs. Lanspear was a Christian woman, of whom 
 her neighbors had naught but good to say. But 
 when it became known that she had taken into her 
 house, as a servant, a fallen woman, these same 
 neighlDors were greatly shocked. It furnished them 
 food for gossip for weeks. jThose who went oftenest 
 to church, and who would resent the imputation 
 that they were not charitable and holy in their own 
 
A woman's wrong. 135 
 
 lives, were the loudest in their clamor, tlie severest 
 in their condemnation. Mothers who permitted 
 their daughters to receive the attentions of wealthy 
 _young men whose evil hahits were the talk of the 
 ■city, felt so outraged that they refused to call 
 upon Mrs. Lanspear. Frank Lyster moved in this 
 circle, and was ever a most welcome guest. It 
 frequently happens that those who, because of 
 the evil in their own lives, most need the garment 
 •of silence and charity, are the most persistent in 
 their search for motes in the eyes of their neigh- 
 bors. It's the old song of " stop thief !" sung in a 
 ■different key. Frank Lyster was assiduous and 
 relentless in his persecutions of his victim. Her 
 ■existence was a living, accusing cry against his in- 
 famy. There are small men, little men, mean, 
 petty men, contemptible, soulless creatures in the 
 shape of men — like those whom Shakespeare said 
 should passfor men because God made them — butthe 
 meanest specimen of the genus homo, the most 
 •despicable, abhorred, and lowest type of creature 
 that disgraces God's image, is the being in man's 
 clothes who persecutes, slanders, and makes war 
 upon a weak, defenseless woman who is endeavor- 
 ing to make an honest living. Such a being was 
 Frank Lyster, and it is to be regretted that this 
 -cowardly type has many representatives in the 
 -shape of canting hypocrites and pious frauds, who 
 see in their neighbors all the evil and meanness 
 which rankle and fester in their own hearts and 
 4Bou]s. 
 
136 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 RICHARD CALLS ON GRACE. 
 
 "You are late this morning?" said Mrs. Yudall, 
 Richard's landlady, with interrogative emphasis, 
 the moment he appeared in the dining-room. 
 
 " Yes, I am late, hut I hope you will pardon my 
 tardiness. Ifear Ihavetrespassedupon your time,'" 
 replied Richard. 
 
 "Oh, no apology is necessary, Mr. Arhyght ; 
 pray don't mention it," said Mrs. Yudall, and 
 at the same time she glanced furtively at the little- 
 bronze clock, which just then gave a click, drew 
 back its minute-hand one space with a jerk, gave 
 a whirring note of warning, and struck the hour 
 with a mellow, silvery sound, while she rendered 
 a pantomime accompaniment by barely opening 
 and closing her lips at each stroke. 
 
 " Nine," she said, in an audible whisper, as the- 
 little monitor ceased its time-measuring chime. 
 
 "Nine? Why so it is," responded Richard, in 
 answer to his own question, as he gazed in amaze- 
 ment at the dial of the clock. "Really, Mrs. 
 Yudall, I did not think it was so late. I fear I 
 have annoyed you by my delay." 
 
 "Have you been ill, Mr. Arbyght?" was the- 
 only response. 
 
 Richard felt that, while the question put to him 
 was a simple one, the words implied a request that 
 he should give some account of himself. The tone 
 in which the words were uttered, the look that 
 accompanied them, the shape of the mouth, the 
 poise of the head were a consolidated interrogation. 
 Not desiring, however, to make a confidante of hi» 
 landlady, he purposely lapsed into one of his im- 
 
RICHARD CALLS ON GRACE. 137 
 
 penetrable reveries, and, although present in per- 
 son, his mind appeared to wander off and lose itself 
 in the dark, grayish cumulative masses of vapor 
 and smoke that were continually rising from the 
 city, kissing its tall spires, and drifting away into 
 echoless space. 
 
 In fencing, however, with a woman, armed with 
 a lingual rapier, man is generally worsted, and 
 Richard did not prove an exception. A few well- 
 directed thrusts broke down his guard of abstrac- 
 tion and forced him to submit. 
 
 " You retired early last night?" 
 
 " To my room, but not to rest," he replied. 
 
 " You read and write more than ordinary mor- 
 tals ?" The tone was growing still more inquisi- 
 torial. 
 
 "Reading, with me, is a passion, writing a 
 duty. 1 love the first; am wedded to it; th& 
 latter is the result of the union," said Richard. 
 
 " Anything very particular just now ?" 
 
 This last question convinced Richard that he 
 had better submit gracefully, and he was about to 
 explain, when the door-bell rang sharply. 
 
 " Good gracious ! it must be a mad man," said 
 Mrs. Yudall, in a tremor of alarm. " Do see 
 who it is, Mr. Arbyght." 
 
 Richard complied, and found at the door Sergeant 
 Soolfire, who said he had called to inform him that 
 Miss Grace had expressed a desire to have him call 
 upon her,. at his convenience. 
 
 " It is my convenience now," said Richard, gal- 
 lantly, and a few moments later he was on his way 
 to the cottage, leaving Mrs. Yudall more mystified 
 and perplexed than ever. 
 
 Grace received him kindly, and said she wished to 
 thank him for his kindness. 
 
 •■'You have placed me under lasting obligations," 
 
138 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 she said, "for I was an entire stranger to you;" 
 she naively and innocently added, " and for that 
 reason I feel more deeply indebted." 
 
 "If what I did made you my debtor," said 
 Richard, " you are now the creditor, for your kind 
 appreciation has more than trebly repaid me. It 
 is true I did not know you, but to the claims of 
 innocence and virtue I trust I will never be a 
 stranger. It is man's duty to protect the defense- 
 less, and you will place me under many obliga- 
 tions by not alluding to it again." 
 
 " Do you think it would be fair to make me your 
 debtor, and then deprive me of the pleasure of re- 
 paying you? Are you sure that you are not just 
 a little arbitrary, Mr. Arbyght." 
 
 "I think that a man would be lacking in deli- 
 cacy of feeling, and even honor, who would aid or 
 assist an unprotected woman in any manner, for 
 the purpose of exacting her appreciation or making 
 her feel that he had a claim upon her gratitude," 
 Richard replied. 
 
 " You are very kind and I feel that I may safely 
 give you my confidence. I have already informed 
 
 these noble-hearted, generous people how I — I " 
 
 her voice became plaintive, quivered and broke. 
 
 " You task your memory unnecessarily ; let the 
 experience of yesterday be blotted from your mind," 
 said Richard in a gentle, soothing voice and then 
 added : 
 
 " I do not wish your confidence at the cost of a 
 single word that will recall incidents or events 
 which may give you pain." 
 
 " I shall never forget yesterday," she resumed 
 in a painfully sad voice. Then raising her eyes 
 she half glanced at her companion, dropped them 
 again and said in a sweeter and more thankful 
 tone, " I don't want to forget it." 
 
KICHARD CALLS ON GRACE. 139 
 
 " There are events in all our lives, not in them- 
 selves bad or tending to compromise us in the least, 
 but which, nevertheless, it would be better for our 
 peace of mind not to recall. Do you not think so, 
 Miss ?" 
 
 "Soolfire," said Grace, noticing his hesitation 
 and divining the cause. 
 
 " Soolfire?" repeated Richard with a surprised 
 look and doubtful inquiring voice. 
 
 " Yes, to-day I am Grace Soolfire, yesterday I 
 was Grace Relvason." 
 
 ' ' Relvason ! you astonish me ! " said Richard in 
 amazement. 
 
 " You have heard the name before ? I believe 
 you are employed by Mr. Relvason?" said Grace. 
 
 " I am," replied Richard, "but I am perplexed 
 to account for your knowledge of that fact." 
 
 "It is quite easily accounted for : Mr. Relvason 
 returned home one evening in a very perturbed 
 state of mind ; he refused supper, declined to 
 speak, and made us all uncomfortable by his agi- 
 tated, mysterious manner. The next day we 
 learned that a man named Arbygbt, with whom 
 Mr. Relvason said he had had a warm discussion, 
 was the cause of the trouble." 
 
 " I am very sorry to have been the involuntary 
 cause of so much uneasiness," said Richard, "but 
 I hope I am forgiven by at least one member of the 
 family?" 
 
 " I am not certain of that," Grace replied. " I 
 can speak for none but myself, and 1 am not a 
 member of the family. I was always so considered, 
 but yesterday I discovered that I had no claims upon 
 them whatever, not even to their name. Hence, 
 I am here preferring to earn my own living rather 
 than live in idleness and eat the bread of others. 
 I have discarded their name and taken that of my 
 
140 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 benefactors until such a time as God, in His justice 
 and mercy, restores to me my own." 
 
 Again her voice quivered, and tears dimmed her 
 eyes, but it was only for a moment. Continuing, 
 she said : "I have lived here but five years. My 
 childhood days, at least all I can recollect of them, 
 were spent in Cleveland, Ohio. As far back as 
 my memory extends I can see a dark, stern woman, 
 though kind at times, whom I was taught to re- 
 gard and call my aunt. About five years ago she 
 died, and her brother, Mr. Relvason, who, by the 
 terms of her will was made executor of the estate, 
 came to Cleveland, and, after the details of the will 
 had been carried out, as he said — I never saw nor 
 heard it read — he brought me with him to Chicago, 
 and introduced me to the friends of the family a» 
 his niece, and such I supposed myself to be, until 
 his daughter, in a fit of jealous spleen informed 
 me that I was not a member of the family, and pro- 
 duced a letter written by my supposed aunt, by 
 which it appears that I am the child of some poor 
 mechanic, of whose very name they robbed me, 
 and who, perhaps, has long since been — dead. I 
 
 know nothing of my — my — mother " Her 
 
 voice failed her completely, her eyes filled with 
 tears, her lips quivered, but no sound escaped 
 them. Her heart was too full for utterance, 
 
 Mrs. Soolfire came in just then, and Richard 
 thought very opportunely, as her coming served 
 to dispel somewhat a wordless grief he felt unable 
 to relieve. He left soon after, promising to call 
 the next day. 
 
 On bis way home, the idea that he had at some 
 remote period seen the face of the woman he had 
 just left, began again to haunt his brain ; but 
 when or where, he taxed his memory in vain to- 
 determine. The outlines of the face, and, at times. 
 
A TRAITOR IN CAMP. 141 
 
 the cadence of the voice, seemed to rouse in his 
 mind-slurahering impressions, but, like the ghosts 
 of Ossian, they were too faint and undefined to be 
 formed into anything real or tangible. 
 
 " I found this upon the floor of your room," 
 said the chambermaid to Eichard, immediately 
 after his arrival home, handing him at the same 
 time a curiously-wrought, antique-looking, solid 
 gold locket. 
 
 " It is mine," he replied, " I was examining it 
 some days ago and forgot to put it away," which 
 ■neglect he proceeded at once to rectify, but before 
 doing so he opened it and glanced at the portrait 
 it contained, when, as if by magic, memory re- 
 vealed an impression beyond which lay a chain of 
 thought which he followed, link by link, to the 
 •end. Putting the locket away, he took a sheet of 
 paper and hastily wrote a letter, saying to himself 
 as he left the house : 
 
 " It must be so ! I feel it ! I believe it !" 
 
 CHAPTEK XIX. 
 
 A TRAITOR IN CAMP. 
 
 The union had been in existence some three 
 weeks and had held six or seven meetings. Still 
 none but the initiated knew where its sessions were 
 held, or who were members. No further open or 
 covert opposition, other than that already men- 
 tioned, appeared. The word "union" seemed to 
 be tabooed both by employers and men by tacit 
 consent. The men felt jubilant, but the leaders of 
 
142 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 the movement looked grave and counseled discre- 
 tion, unity and secrecy. They were apprehensive 
 that the great quiet that then prevailed was the 
 calm that precedes a storm. They were right. 
 The leviathan of selfishness and wrong was not 
 asleep. Down at the bottom of a pool, thick with 
 the slime of greedy rapacity and rank injustice, he 
 lay watchful and waiting. But the appearance of 
 the pool was placid, except that one day a frothy 
 scum bubbled up to the surface and floated off to 
 the fennyside among the brakes and rushes. By a 
 slight stretch of the imagination it could be made 
 to assume the form of one Harvey Mellen. At the 
 last meeting of the union this man was proposed 
 for membership. His admission was strenuously 
 opposed by some, and as earnestly advocated by 
 others. It was urged by the former that he wa» 
 both morally and mechanically unfit for member- 
 ship ; that he was a confirmed inebriate, an im- 
 moral man, lacking in manhood, wanting in honor, 
 in stability, and utterly unreliable. By the latter 
 it was warmly urged that he had reformed, joined 
 the Grood Templars and the church, had become 
 industrious^ saved his earnings and appeared more 
 respectable. In addition, his friends maintained, 
 even if the charges preferred against him were true, 
 it was the duty of the union to extend to him a 
 helping-hand, and aid in making him a better 
 man. The latter argument secured his admission. 
 No attempt was made to analyze Harvey Mel- 
 len's sudden reformation and ascertain what 
 wrought in him such a change. There was no 
 thought that instead of his conscience being the 
 prompting power, it was Alvan Relvason's money. 
 Had they paused to investigate, they would have 
 discovered that religion, temperance, and respect- 
 ability struck and overpowered Harvey Mellen as 
 
A TKAITOR IN CAMP. 143 
 
 suddenly as a sandstorm overwhelms the traveler 
 in the desert. 
 
 That night, long after ten o'clock, a light still 
 shone through the curtained windows of Relvason's 
 office, which was located close to his principal shop, 
 heing in fact a small addition attached to one end 
 of the shop, and communicating with it hy a heavy 
 oaken door, which closed automatically by means 
 of a heavy weight and pulley, and locked by a 
 spring-bolt which could be opened only on the 
 office side. The other end of the shop faced an 
 alley and communicated with it by a small door. 
 
 About eleven o'clock a man disguised in a sol- 
 dier's overcoat, dyed black, the cape drawn up 
 over his head and falling in irregular folds about 
 his face, approached this door, peered cautiously 
 around, then inserted a key in the rusty lock and 
 turned the bolt. As it flew open with a sharp 
 click, which sounded unnaturally loud in the 
 silence of the night, the muffled figure drew back 
 in a nervous, startled manner, frightened, like the 
 Witch of Endor, at a specter of his own conjura- 
 tion. 
 
 He glanced around again, then entered the shop 
 and carefully closed the dxiov. Cautiously groping 
 his way, he soon reached the entrance leading to 
 the office, and was admitted by Spindle. The 
 heavy oaken door closed with a bang and jar that 
 shook the office, and Harvey Mellen stood before 
 Eelvason and his Figaro. 
 
 " You have kept your promise, I see !" said Eel- 
 vason, as he rubbed his hands with sardonic com- 
 placency, and his wolfish teeth glistened through 
 his slightly-parted lips. 
 
 " It was no easy task, sir," replied Mellen, dog- 
 gedly, and he looked nervous and ill at ease as he 
 changed his Scotch cap from one hand to the other, 
 
144 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 his eyes fixed upon the lower part of Kelvason's 
 chair, as if he was intently counting the legs and 
 rounds in tliat piece of furniture. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Relvason, in a contemptuous, 
 sneering tone, which made the slave before him 
 crinaie. 
 
 " Were you initiated? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Good!" said Relvason, and his eyes glowed 
 through their shaggy shade with grim humor, and 
 his wolfish teeth glistened more cruelly. 
 
 " Is the association oath-bound ?." 
 
 Mellen's face blanched with a sickly pallor, and 
 he raised his head and looking at Relvason with a 
 pitiful stare, murmured in a hoarse whisper : 
 
 " Spare me ! " 
 
 " Why should I? " answered Relvason, and the 
 words came out with a hissing whirr, " I have 
 paid you for the information I seek and I must 
 have it ! " 
 
 "It is oath-bound, very, very much so," stam- 
 mered Mellen. 
 
 " Did you take this oath? " asked Relvason. 
 
 Again Mellen raised his head and looked at 
 Relvason imploringly, while his quivering lips, 
 trembling body, and clasped hands, all said — 
 spare me ! 
 
 But Relvason's object was to destroy the last 
 vestige of manhood in his tool, and eifectnally fit 
 him for any plot or scheme necessary to effect his 
 purpose. 
 
 " Did you take the oath ? " asked Relvason, in a 
 fiercer tone. 
 
 "I had to take it, sir," replied Mellen, who, 
 seeing there was no escape, assumed a sullen, dog- 
 ged bravado he was far from feeling. 
 
 " Who are the principal movers in the matter?" 
 
A TRAITOR IN CAMP. 145 
 
 " Arbyght, Trustgood, Castaway and McFlinn, 
 and in influence they stand in the order named." 
 
 " Arbyght, Trustgood, Castaway and McFlinn," 
 repeated Kelvason, as if fixing the names in his 
 memory. 
 
 " I have the names recorded," said Spindle, 
 speaking for the first time. 
 
 " So you think Arbyght exerts more infiuence 
 in this movement than any of the rest? " said Rel- 
 vason. 
 
 "I think," replied Mellen, "that if Arbyght 
 was withdrawn from the movement it would be so 
 badly crippled that it would disband, but I am 
 fiure that if the four men I have named were forced 
 to leave it, the union would be short-lived." 
 
 " Will they undertake an ofiensive movement at 
 present? " 
 
 "Not at present, as near as I can learn; the 
 policy is to organize thoroughly before makiug any 
 demands." 
 
 The rest of the conversation related to the course 
 to be taken at the next meeting, and when it was 
 concluded Mellen was shown to the door by Spin- 
 dle, and went out into the darkness. 
 
 The next morning Felix RuUess came to where 
 Richard was at work in the shop and commenced 
 a diligent scrutiny of the tools peculio,r to the 
 trade. His actions appeared slightly ludicrous, 
 but he looked sad and ill at ease, and Richard 
 felt sure he' had some unpleasant news to com- 
 municate. 
 
 "A fine morning, Richard," he finally said, 
 looking at a shaving-knife as if endeavoring to 
 make out the name of the manufacturer. 
 
 "It is, indeed, old friend ;" but, detecting the 
 tremor in the foreman's voice, he added : " But, 
 pray, tell me what is the trouble? " 
 10 
 
146 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "T am afraid you have been indiscreet," wa» 
 the reply. 
 
 " Ah ! I see how it is, I am wanted at the of- 
 fice," said Eichard. ■ 
 
 "You — hum — that is — yes, 1 believe you are," 
 and Rulless, turning to go away, said in a husky 
 voice, " I am afraid we will lose you, Eichard." 
 
 Yes. It was coming. Eelvason was looking 
 over the morning mail as Eichard entered, and to- 
 our hero's mind the manner in which he tore open 
 the envelopes suggested a cruel nature ; the man- 
 ner in which he drew out the letter and flung the^ 
 envelope aside suggested a hot, imperious nature ; 
 and the manner in which he threw certain por- 
 tions of the mail to Spindle suggested a haughty,, 
 tyrannical nature. Eichard felt sure that he read 
 aright these traits of character in these most trivial 
 acts of the man. He did read aright. Every act 
 and movement of our lives is but a character lan- 
 guage that reveals the hidden soul as it really is. 
 
 "Mr. Eelvason, I understand you wish to see 
 me," said Eichard. 
 
 " So 1 did, so I did.; be seated, sir," speaking as 
 if it were of no consequence. "I had almost for- 
 gotten it," he continued as he came from behind 
 the office railing and handed Eichard a chair, 
 which the latter courteously declined, well know- 
 ing that by so doing he would hasten the busi- 
 ness in hand. 
 
 " I wish to speak to you about this foolish union 
 business," said Eelvason, "and in doing so my 
 only aim is to prevent unpleasant complications 
 and save us all much unnecessary trouble." 
 
 "I am glad to hear ^at your aim is a pacific 
 one," replied Eichard. 
 
 " Pacific 1 so it is, but what do you think is the 
 best method of establishing a lasting peace between 
 
A TRAITOR IN CAMP. lit 
 
 two contending forces?" asked Kelvason with a 
 touch of asperity in his tone. 
 
 " To have both parties fully and honestly con- 
 form to the principles of justice, each seeking and 
 demanding only what rightfully belongs to itself, 
 and restoring to the other anything unjustly ac- 
 quired," responded Richard, promptly and earn- 
 estly. 
 
 " That is your idea of the proper way to secure 
 a lasting peace ? " 
 
 " It is," replied Richard. 
 
 " It is not mine," said Relvason with a sneer. 
 "My method of effecting a lasting peace between 
 two contending forces," he added, "would be to 
 wholly subordinate one to the power of the other." 
 
 "In other words, you would destroy one of the 
 forces ? ' ' 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 ' ' But if the two forces are so united that the 
 destruction of one involves the annihilation of the 
 other?" 
 
 " We will not argue the question further, Mr. 
 Arbyght ; I dare say you understand me ?" 
 
 "I believe I do, Mr. Relvason." 
 
 "Well then let us come tothe point at once. lam 
 informed that my men, yourself included, have 
 organized a labor union." 
 
 " That is true," said Richard, coolly. 
 
 " I will not submit to it ! " fairly roared Relva- 
 son. 
 
 " And why not? It is admitted by all candid 
 men who have given this question careful consider- 
 ation, that working men are benefited socially, 
 morally, and intellectually by these organiza- 
 tions." 
 
 " I don't believe it, but even if it were true it 
 has nothing to do with the present controversy, I 
 
148 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 have a right to employ whom I please and I will 
 not have union men in my shops." 
 
 "If these are your views there is no room for 
 further argument," replied Richard. 
 
 "These are my views and I mean to enforce 
 them ; hut I sent for you because I desired to submit 
 to you a proposition. You seem to be a sensible 
 man, and must know that these unions never ac- 
 complish any good. Since the dawn of history 
 there have been classes in society, and while the 
 Tvorld lasts there will be rich men and poor men. 
 This is an inevitable law of human nature, and 
 labor unions only tend to make the poor dissatisfied. 
 They can in no event hope to cope with organized 
 capital ; they can in fact only result in misery and 
 sufiering to those who belong to them. You must 
 admit this, and I ask you as an honest man to ad- 
 vise the men to withdraw from this combination at 
 once. I want peace ; if I can not secure it in this 
 way, then it will come by the means I first sug- 
 gested. I hope you understand me?" 
 
 " I do indeed, Mr. Eelvason, but I beg to diifer 
 with you " 
 
 "It is useless, sir," interrupted Relvason. 
 
 " But you sent for me?" replied Richard. 
 
 " But not to listen to a communistic speech." 
 
 " Beg your pardon, I intended to make no such 
 speech. Good-day, sir," and Arbyght turned to 
 go. 
 
 " Stay a moment." Relvason saw that his pur- 
 pose was being foiled by his own want of tact. 
 
 " What do you wish, sir?" asked Richard. 
 
 " I will hear you briefly. Proceed." 
 r ■;" I simply desired to say, Mr. Relvason, that I 
 agree with you fully that poverty can not be wholly 
 abolished. I would not take poverty out of the 
 world if I could, for, without it there would be no 
 
A TRAITOR IN CAMP. 149 
 
 incentive to labor, and labor is the supreme law of 
 human existence, without which our present civil- 
 ization would soon merge into barbarism. But 
 great wealth and abject poverty do not produce 
 healthy social conditions, and a diseased society is 
 more menacing to the rich than to the poor. I 
 believe the world is growing better ; that the 
 struggle going on in society between its opposing 
 forces is constantly evolving new and better con- 
 ditions, which are crystallized and hastened by or- 
 ganization ' ' 
 
 " I'll hear no more — it's useless to talk such 
 stuff to me. I'll tell you what I'll do with you, 
 Arbyght ; you can be superintendent of my works 
 if you break up " 
 
 " Hold on, Mr. Relvason, I beg of you to say no 
 more," said Richard, with much warmth. 
 
 " You are a crazy madman " 
 
 " No, no ; not exactly that — a — a monomaniac," 
 suggested Spindle, who wished, for good reasons, 
 to prevent a rupture. 
 
 "Anything you like, gentlemen," responded 
 Eichard, smilingly. 
 
 "Will you drop this union, and be superin- 
 tendent of my business ?" said Relvason, abruptly. 
 
 " You insult me, sir !" replied Richard, quickly, 
 with flashing eye and heightened color. 
 
 Spindle's eyes came out of their seclusion again, 
 and glowed like a white flame. 
 
 Relvason' s lips parted, showing the wolfish teeth, 
 and his eyes glistened under the overhanging 
 brows as he hissed out the words : " Would it be 
 an insult to discharge you ?" 
 
 " Such an act would simply sever my connection 
 with a man who has lost my esteem and respect 
 by making me a dishonorable proposal. I am 
 ready to go, sir." 
 
150 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Kelvason, white with rage, turned to Spindle and 
 said : " Spindle, pay this madman, and tell Rul- 
 less to give his place to the first man who seeks 
 it;" then, turning to Arbyght, he added, "You 
 will regret this act before to-day's sun goes down — 
 madman, you will regret it!" 
 
 Richard received his pay and departed quietly 
 from the office. It had come. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 STILL AT BAT. 
 
 "Your name is Arbyght, I think?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, that's my name." 
 
 " Then I have no work for you." 
 
 Richard passed on, wondering as he went why the 
 man placed so much stress upon the word "you." 
 He wondered still more when, at the next shop, he 
 was greeted with the same question and answer. 
 At the third shop the programme was slightly 
 varied, the proprietor ordering him to leave the 
 premises — result the same, no work for Mm. 
 What did it all mean ? Was he being made the 
 victim of a plot ? He half realized that it must be 
 so; but why? What had he done? Aimed and 
 striven to be a better man, and counseled others to 
 do likewise ; endeavored to find a path by which 
 he and his fellow-workmen could escape from the 
 hideous embrace of the devil's best agent — poverty. 
 Was this a crime ? It seemed so. But, still 
 hopeful, he went to the next shop. Yes, he could 
 have work. No questions as to his name or history ; 
 
STILL AT BAT. 151 
 
 no insulting refusal. He thanked the man, and 
 promising to be back soon, left the shop, reprov- 
 ing himself for having even in thought accused his 
 neighbors of conspiring to prevent him from earn- 
 ing an honest living. As he reached the street, 
 he saw Eelvason enter the shop by a side door, and 
 noticed that his horse was hitched to a post near 
 hj. He passed on. giving no thought to his 
 former employer. He had not proceeded far, how- 
 ■ever, before he heard some one calling : 
 
 "Hi! Hi! Mister! I say !" 
 
 "Why, what is the matter?" asked Eichard, 
 in surprise, as, turning around, he saw the man of 
 "whom he had just secured work running rapidly 
 i;oward him. 
 
 " You need not come to work," gasped the man, 
 well nigh out of breath, " I — I don't think I want 
 «ny more hands." 
 
 "All right, sir," responded Eichard. "I see 
 how it is ; there's a hound on my track ; he is 
 mad and has bitten you. The virus has acted upon 
 jou quickly." 
 
 Burns was right when he wrote : 
 
 " Plan's inhumanity to man 
 flakes countless thousands mourn." 
 
 Perhaps, being himself a workingman, he wrote 
 from experience rather than from inspiration ; or, 
 might not the former have been an incentive to 
 the latter ? 
 
 Eichard' s search for employment was continued 
 nntil late in the afternoon, and in every instance 
 proved unsuccessful. All the employers appeared 
 to know him, seemed to have anticipated his com- 
 ing and appeared to take pleasure in not only 
 reftising him work but in insulting him. 
 
 He turned his steps toward home. Home? He 
 
152 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 had none, and that thought coming with the rest 
 added to his sorrow, helped to fill his heart with 
 an unutterable sadness. 
 
 " Shall I leave the city? " he asked hinj«elf, a» 
 he wandered on. A great gust of wind swept 
 down over the roofs of the adjacent buildings, 
 soughed with a sullen moan through the trees, and 
 passed down the street, sending back a low wave- 
 like echo that seemed to say to him, No ! No ! No t 
 He started, then laughed at the strange fancy and 
 passed on. 
 
 Arriving at his boarding-house he found waiting 
 for him a man of whom he had often heard. Alex- 
 ander Fargood was large in body but elastic in 
 movement, with a frank, earnest expression of the' 
 eye that indicated an evident abundance of good 
 nature. It could be easily seen that he was an 
 intelligent, honest, large-hearted man, who would 
 realize more pleasure from the consciousness of 
 having done a good act than from having suc- 
 ceeded in a business venture. Mr. Fargood was a 
 large employer of labor. He believed that intelli- 
 gent, sober, well-fed,, respectably-dressed working- 
 men were more beneficial to an employer than 
 those not so favored. His men worked but nine 
 hours per day and quit at noon on Saturday. 
 Twenty per cent, of the net profits of the business 
 was anmially set apart for the benefit of those who 
 belonged to the profit-sharing class. Three year» 
 of steady service, efficient workmanship and good 
 habits, were essential qualifications for admission 
 to this class. One-fifth of the amount set apart 
 was paid as a pash bonus ; one-fifth was paid into 
 an accident and sick fund ; one-fifth went to a 
 reading-room and library fund ; and the remain- 
 ing two-fifths were invested in government securi- 
 ties for the benefit of those who belonged to the 
 
STILL AT BAY. 153 
 
 class. The members could only draw their share 
 of this permanent fund at the end of fifteen years, 
 unless they were sooner discharged or left the em- 
 ployment. The major portion of Mr. Fargood's 
 employees were members of the profit-sharing class, 
 and were really copartners in the business, and 
 worked and acted accordingly. There was no 
 waste, no defective product to he seen in the estab- 
 lishment. The men were intelligent, competent 
 and industrious. Strikes were unknown, while 
 there existed between Mr. Fargood and his men 
 the most friendly relations. Each man was in- 
 terested in the general success of the business, and 
 labored assiduously to promote the common interest 
 of all. Mr. Fargood contended that owing to the 
 superior excellence of the product turned out, the 
 watchful care of the men, and the steadiness of 
 their employment, the balance of the profits re- 
 maining after setting aside twenty per cent, for 
 the men, was fully equal to if not greater than the 
 net profits of the other employers in similar 
 branches of the business. 
 
 " Being a stranger, you are no doubt surprised 
 at my visit," said Mr. Fargood. 
 
 " I doubt if anything that might happen could 
 surprise me after to-day's experience," was the 
 reply. 
 
 "I believe you," said Mr. Fargood, "I know 
 all about the conspiracy to drive you out of the 
 city — was asked to participate." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 " Eefused, most decidedly." 
 
 " Thank God that there is at least one employer 
 in this city too much man to turn hound," said 
 Eichard. * 
 
 " Are you familiar with domestic work ? " 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
154 THE OTHEK SIDE. 
 
 "I need such a hand, could I secure your ser- 
 vices?" 
 
 " You can, not only my services, but my thanks." 
 
 " When can you begin work? " 
 
 " Any time, at your convenience." 
 
 "To-morrow, then," said Mr. Fargood, and bid- 
 ding Eichard good afternoon he left. 
 
 Kichard indulged in an audible soliloquy as he 
 watched Mr. Fargood lose himself in the intermin- 
 able crowd. " The sun will soon be down, I have 
 not regretted it. Relvason has not driven me from 
 the city, and I shall remain in spite of the hounds." 
 
 The chase cooled and for the next ten days the 
 hounds did not bay on Eichard's track, but the 
 plotting went on. 
 
 Half an hour after Fargood' s departure, Eichard 
 in fulfillment of his promise stood at the door of 
 Soolfire cottage. 
 
 Grace received him kindly, joyfully. 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad you came," she said, " I 
 have such good news to tell you. I am so happy, 
 for I am going to work and earn my own living. 
 I never knew what real happiness was until now." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied Eichard. 
 
 "Yes," she continued, "I am going to be in- 
 dependent, I am going to give music lessons, and 
 Mrs. Soolfire says she can secure me all the sewing 
 I can do. Oh ! I am so delighted, and I know 
 I'll be happier than an heiress whose only occupa- 
 tion is to dress and listen to empty compliments." 
 
 " I hope you may be just as happy as you now 
 anticipate," replied Eichard, "but do not allow 
 your enthusiasm and imagination to weave too bright 
 a future, for the path that leads to self-support is 
 not always pleasant traveling f6r a woman." 
 
 Mrs. Soolfire came in at this moment, and after 
 greeting Eichard kindly, took part in a general 
 
STILL AT BAY. 155 
 
 conversation, in the course of which she said that 
 Grace was confining herself too closely to the 
 house. Richard was led by this statement to in- 
 vite Grace to take a walk. At first she seemed 
 eomewhat disinclined, but noticing his evident dis- 
 appointment she arose and left the room and in a 
 few moments returned equipped for the street. 
 
 The evening was calm and beautiful, the air was 
 laden with a dry but deliciously-soft mistiness, a 
 glimmering azure, hazy halo circled the horizon 
 like a corona. The sun was sinking in the west 
 and its last rays bathed the clouds in a rose-colored 
 light, throwing back upon the heavens o'er the crest 
 of a castellated cloud myriad millions of spear- 
 like rays. Indian summer was nigh. 
 
 They involuntarily passed into Madison avenue, 
 and were enjoying a very agreeable promenade — 
 at least Richard was, though his companion was 
 quite reserved, notwithstanding the quaint and 
 cynical humor of the man at her side. For some 
 timeshe had been silent, being evidently more intent 
 on her own thoughts than on what Richard was say- 
 ing. But she was suddenly startled by a sweet, 
 silvery voice . 
 
 "Good-evening, Grace." 
 
 " Good evening. Miss Geldamo," she replied, in 
 a nervous manner, and walked on without looking 
 at the speaker, while the young lady she had ad- 
 dressed as Miss Geldamo stood still and gazed after 
 her with a look of inexpressible astonishment. 
 
 " Mr. Arbyght, let us go home now ; I am not 
 feeling very well." 
 
 Richard complied without giving any evidence 
 that he had noticed what had just occurred. 
 
 "Mr. Arbyght," breaking a long silence, "on 
 the avenue we have just left reside many with 
 whom, a iew days ago, I was on terms of intimacy. 
 
156 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Since then, however, things have changed. Our 
 paths hereafter must he widely divergent. I ana 
 now, to use a phrase I once heard, a stray splinter 
 chipped hy fate from the great rock of caste and 
 hurled far into the valley of toil. I do not regret 
 the change, but, though poor, I am too proud tO' 
 have it appear that I wish or care to continue any 
 relation or association formed in the past, nO' 
 matter how hard the sundering of those ties may 
 be. There may be some among them who regard 
 position as I do, and my opinion in that respect 
 has not been formed since my voluntary change of 
 fortune and condition in life. I never had much, 
 respect for assumed social prominence, or any 
 position in society not based on intelligence and 
 moral and social worth. Still, I do not care to 
 continue these associations, even if solicited to do 
 so, for fear my action might be misconstrued, and 
 ascribed to other motives than friendship." 
 
 Richard could not help admiring her firmness 
 and spirit. 
 
 "But who is this Miss Geldamo?" he casually 
 asked. 
 
 " Vida Geldamo is the daughter of Mr. Geldamo, 
 the banker, and is the dearest, sweetest girl that 
 ever lived," said Grace. 
 
 Richard had seen her, and although he said 
 nothing further on the subject, yet he was inclined 
 even then to think Grace was right. They reached 
 the cottage shortly afterward, and, after taking 
 leave of Grace, Richard proceeded to his boarding- 
 house. The sun had been down some time, but 
 the hounded workman had not yet regretted hav- 
 ing refused Relvason's offer. 
 
 Richard's discharge created intense excitement 
 among the members of the union, which was fear- 
 fully aggravated when it became known that he 
 
STILL AT BAY. 157 
 
 was discharged simply because he was a member 
 of a labor organization. A special meeting was 
 called, and a resolution introduced to call out all 
 of Eelvason's men until justice was done an injured 
 and aggrieved member. 
 
 It was with the greatest difficulty that Richard 
 prevailed upon them to let the matter rest. He 
 argued that he had secured work from a better and 
 more honorable man ; that he would not work for 
 Relvason, even if reinstated ; that he was opposed 
 to precipitating men of families into a difficulty 
 when there was no occasion for it ; that it was 
 better that one man should suffer and hundreds be 
 spared ; that he did not regard it good unionism 
 for one man to throw a hundred men out of em- 
 ployment, and stop their families' supply of bread, 
 simply to gratify a feeling against a man for whom 
 he would not work, were he permitted to do so ; 
 that it would be time enough to resort to such des- 
 perate measures when it became evident that Rel- 
 vason intended to victimize others as he had him. 
 In that event, the assertion of the })rinciple in- 
 volved would become a matter of self-preservation. 
 ''But," he continued, "in conclusion, I am 
 grieved to say that this trouble was caused by a 
 traitor. I know him. I saw him go toRelvason's 
 shop by the merest accident, immediately after our 
 last meeting. He is in the room now ; yet I will 
 not name him. He has a wife and four children. 
 For their sakes I will spare him. They are inno- 
 cent of his guilt, and should not suffer for his 
 crime. After he leaves this hall to-night, let him 
 remain away, and he is spared ; but if he attempts 
 to abuse or trespass upon our patience further he 
 will be exposed." 
 
 The open charge that there was a spy in camp 
 created a sensation, and many of the members 
 
158 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 insisted on Richard exposing him then and 
 there. 
 
 "Arbyght is right/' said Tom Castaway. "We 
 know that there is a spy in our camp, but he has 
 been warned not to come again. Let him go, 
 boys; we can 't aiford to waste ammunition upon 
 such small game." 
 
 The members finally agreed that Eichard's view 
 of the whole matter was the wisest, and contented 
 themselves with a resolution to be doubly watchful 
 and discreet in the future. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A RESCUE AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 Richard was on hand at Fargood's shop the next 
 morning as agreed upon, and from the first the re- 
 lation of the employer and employe was of the most 
 harmonious character, and continued to grow closer 
 and closer as the days came and went. The work- 
 man was active, vigilant, and provident of the em- 
 ployer's interest. He labored, if not with the 
 same zest, at least with the same assiduity and 
 care, as if he were both employer and workman. 
 His conduct toward Mr. Fargood was on all occa- 
 sions manly, but independent; while the latter, in 
 just appreciation of his services honestly given and 
 his sterling worth as a workman, paid him will- 
 ingly even more than the price agreed upon be- 
 tween them. The bearing of Fargood as an em- 
 ployer was never that of a master. Trusting to 
 Arbyght's honesty and honor, he left him entirely 
 
A RESCUE AND ITS RESULTS. 159 
 
 to himself after having once signified what he 
 wished to have done, and satisfied himself that the 
 workman was able and willing to do it. There 
 was no impertinent, supercilious surveillance; no 
 impudent, domineering bossism manifested by Al- 
 exander Fargood in his dealings with those whom 
 .he employed. In a word, the relations existing 
 between him and his employes were those that 
 should ever exist between employers and em- 
 ployes — mutual and reciprocal independence and 
 dependence. 
 
 One day there stopped before Fargood's place of 
 business a handsome carriage drawn by a spirited 
 team of horses. Perched on the driver's seat, 
 erect and stately, sat a living, breathing automa- 
 ton, clad in a dark-brown, close-fitting coat, gor- 
 geous with rows of large, silvered buttons crested 
 with an unusually large Gr. The legs of this au- 
 tomaton were encased in close-fitting knee-breeches, 
 of the same material and color as the coat, that 
 reached below the knees and then doubled into a 
 roll that formed a protuberance that resembled a 
 monstrously developed ring-bone, or the flange 
 joint of a shaft. The breeches were ornamented 
 with large buttons, also crested with a big Gr.. A 
 pair of highly-polished boots, a pair of buckskin 
 gauntlets, and a high silk hat encased in a wide 
 band, clasped with a big G-shaped silver buckle, 
 completed the uniform of this liveried nonentity, 
 samples of which are so frequently seen on the 
 streets of the cities of the Kepublic. The whole 
 equipage, though considered magnificent and quite 
 the thing by the so-called elite, the recherche por- 
 tion of our incipient aristocracy, was, nevertheless, 
 extravagantly gaudy and decidedly outre. It was 
 simply a rolling block of bank stock. 
 
 The liveried flunkey got down from his carriage 
 
160 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 perch with painful stateliness, and with a pompous 
 swagger walked into the office and asked for the 
 proprietor. 
 
 " I am the man you geek. What can I do for 
 you?" said Mr. Fargood, coming from behind his 
 desk. 
 
 " Mr. Greldamo wishes to see you at once," re- 
 plied the livery-shackled lackey, with a demonstra- 
 tive air. 
 
 "Who the devil is Mr. Geldamo?" responded 
 Fargood. He knew the hanker by reputation at 
 least, but he was somewhat nettled by the fellow's 
 impudent manner. 
 
 "My master, sir," said the flunkey, with a 
 triumphant look and a self-congratulatory tone — 
 the look and tone seeming to indicate that because 
 of his connection with so great a man as Geldamo, 
 even though in a menial capacity, he was a person 
 to be respected and envied. 
 
 " Well, where is your master ?" 
 
 "In his carriage, sir," said the servant, open- 
 ing the office door and disclosing the gorgeous 
 equipage. 
 
 Fargood approached the carriage, preceded by 
 the flunkey who opened the door, when its occu- 
 pant leaning forward filled with his head and the 
 upper part of his body the opening — fitted into it 
 — giving the side of the carriage the appearance 
 of a large ebony-framed picture. 
 
 In appearance and movement Mr. Geldamo was 
 the very apotheosis of dignity. Tall and spare, 
 always dressed in immaculate black, his head long 
 and full above the ears, deep-set eyes, with a cold, 
 calculating expression, and a face deeply furrowed. 
 Whether moving, standing or sitting, the whole 
 man seemed a walking stack of dollars. Every 
 thing about him was redolent with the odor of 
 
A RESCUE AND ITS RESULTS. 161 
 
 money. He gave the impression that he measured 
 ■all things by a golden standard, by the rule of 
 three — money, interest and rent. • 
 
 His business witli Mr. Fargood was soon trans- 
 ■acted. In addition to being a prominent banker, 
 he was also an importer and wholesale dealer in 
 choice wines and liquors, and as some of the pack- 
 ages in his warehouse were in a leaky condition, 
 he wished a competent man sent to put them in a 
 proper shape again. Fargood promised to send 
 a man the next morning, and the picture grace- 
 fully dropped out of its ebony frame back into' its 
 3)added, cushioned seat ; the door was carefully 
 closed by the uniformed knight of the stable, who 
 then mounted his seat with becoming dignity, 
 grasped the reins, and the carriage rolled away. 
 
 The next morning Richard appeared at the Gel- 
 damo warehouse, and began operations upon the 
 leaky casks. On the following day Mr. Geldamo 
 asked him if he would go up to his residence and 
 •examine some casks containing rare old wine that 
 were stored in the cellar. Richard said it was im- 
 material to him where he worked. A few hours 
 later he was driven to the banker's residence, 
 which he found closely resembled its owner in 
 many respects, especially in the summing up ! for 
 -as a whole it appeared an aggregation of dollars 
 in repose. 
 
 Parallel with the avenue extended a massive 
 spear-pointed iron fence, set in a foundation of 
 -solid cut-stone. The grounds enclosed by it rose 
 in a gentle slope for some distance, then merged 
 into a level plateau, in the center of which stood the 
 -Geldamo mansion. The architectural style of the 
 residence was the modern Italian. It was built 
 ■of stone, elaborately cut in quaint and beautiful 
 designs, and from an angle formed by the main 
 H 
 
162 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 portion of the building and a wing rose a lofty- 
 tower of artistic proportions. From foundation to 
 cornice the building in all its details was as per- 
 fect externally as skill and money could make it — 
 a veritable Aladdin's palace. The main entrance 
 which was reached by a broad crescent-shaped car- 
 riage road, was an architectural study in itself, 
 with its exquisitely carved columns of marble, and 
 its perfectly formed arches, 
 
 In passing through the grounds, Richard saw a. 
 man on top of the tower adjusting a flag-staff, but 
 absorbed in his contemplation of the chaste archi- 
 tectural beauty of this modern palace, he paid but 
 little attention to him. However, duty soon put 
 an end to his interest in pediments, cornices,^ 
 grand archways, vestibules and porticoes, and from 
 their contemplation he passed into the cellars oF 
 the mansion and began a more prosaic inspection. 
 While he was busily engaged in the lower story,, 
 another scene was being enacted overhead. 
 
 The interior was in entire harmony with the ex- 
 terior in the style of its finish and furnishing. On 
 one side of the great hall there were double par- 
 lors, thirty-six feet long, eighteen feet wide, and 
 fourteen feet high, separated by an elliptic arch, sup- 
 ported by slender marble columns, between which 
 was suspended a heavy curtain, woven in the far- 
 off looms of the Orient, and rich in quaint design 
 and perfect blending of color. The ceilings were 
 finished in fresco, and represented open domes 
 through which white fleecy clouds could be seen 
 floating through the azure sky. Over the edge of 
 the domes' circular openings, beautiful flowers and 
 rare, luxuriant vines seemed to be hanging down 
 into the room ; and so perfect was the skill of the 
 artist that, at first glance, it seemed as if it were a 
 glimpse of nature itself. Soft luxurious carpets of 
 
A RESCUE AND ITS RESULTS. 163 
 
 velvet, with wood-brown ground, over which wild 
 flowers seemed to have been scattered, covered the 
 floors. The walls were tinted to harmonize with 
 the ceilings and finished in panels, in which were 
 hung rare and beautiful paintings. Oostly chan- 
 deliers, furniture of rosewood and mahogany, lux- 
 urious couches, groups of statuary, and a rare col- 
 lection of bric-a-brac aided in completing the sym- 
 phony of color and design. The balance of this 
 abode of luxury was in keeping with the apart- 
 ment just described. Within its walls, surrounded 
 by all the accompaniments that refined taste could 
 suggest and procure, it did not seem possible that 
 any discordant thought or any shadow could come 
 to mar the pleasure of the occupants. 
 
 At the piano in the outer drawing-room sat a 
 young lady, not more than twenty-two years of age, 
 a bright, vivacious, sparkling, beautiful type of girl- 
 hood, a flower of that geranium school of beauty 
 so peculiar to our country. The forehead was 
 high, arched and smooth, the face sweetly feminine, 
 earnest, confiding and dignified. The general 
 expression of the features was exquisitely delicate, 
 but from her eyes there shone a steady luster that 
 gave unmistakable evidence of a stronger soul-power 
 than a casual examination would accord. 
 
 A few feet from her, leaning against one of the 
 marble columns that supported the arch of a bay 
 window, stood a young man about seven years her 
 senior. He was of medium height, lanky body 
 and slender limbs, with a head so small as to 
 make him an object of dread to every hatter in the 
 city. His face was of the hatchet order of physi- 
 ognomy, with a high, narrow, retreating forehead. 
 But his nose and mouth were the striking fea- 
 tures, both being too large for his face, giving it a 
 sharp, knowing expression. The peculiarly no- 
 
164 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ticeable thing about him, however, was his voice. 
 Deep as the diapason of a church organ, the 
 smallest word would roll out with a largeness that 
 made it sound like a whole sentence doubled 
 up into a roll and issued with one effort by a 
 giant. There was a volume and ponderosity about 
 his voice that attracted the attention of all who 
 heard it. The insignificance of the man, physi- 
 cally and mentally considered, was largely over- 
 balanced by the man acoustically considered ; for 
 no matter how much one despised the absence of 
 physical power and mental originality, still when 
 he spoke, and the deep, bass intonation of his 
 voice broke upon the startled ear like a note from 
 the great Haarlem organ, and its prolonged vibra- 
 tions rang through every nerve in the body, it led 
 one to at least recognize power in the voice. 
 
 " Miss Geldamo," said the man of voice, but 
 the words were so unexpected that she almost 
 sprang from her seat — the usual effect when one 
 was not thinking about the voice — 
 
 "You have a beautiful, an Elysian home 
 here." 
 
 " It is thought to be a very pleasant place," she 
 replied in an abstracted manner, her eyes follow- 
 ing the retreating figure of Richard Arbyght, 
 who just then passed by the side window. 
 
 "And truly so considered," said Mr. AUsound. 
 
 "Papa is very kind and good," slowly replied 
 the lady, more in answer to her first remark than 
 from a desire to continue the conversation. 
 
 " To ray mind," continued Mr. AUsound, 
 "there i's one thing lacking to make your exist- 
 ence here completely happy." 
 
 "And pray what may that be? " she said, not 
 that she cared, but that courtesy forced her to 
 ask. 
 
A RESCUE AND ITS RESULTS. 165 
 
 " I think the amount of comfort and happiness 
 derived from property or the place called home, is 
 measured by one's degree of ownership in it," he 
 replied, after a little hesitation. 
 
 Miss Geldamo colored slightly, hut, not answer- 
 ing, Mr. AUsound ventured a little further. 
 
 "What I mean is, that the climax of happiness, 
 as far as home is concerned, consists in being mis- 
 tress of it." 
 
 " I have no desire to ever be a greater mistress 
 than I am now. I have all the liberty, all the 
 power I am capable of keeping within lawful re- 
 straint ; more, I fear, would spoil me." 
 
 " You do violence to your prudence, your dis- 
 cretion, and natural goodness of heart ; I am sure 
 that if you were Empress of all the Russias you 
 would not abuse your power. I, at least, would 
 have no hesitancy in obeying your mandates ; on 
 the contrary, I would esteem it a privileged honor 
 to be the subject, aye, the slave of so beautiful and 
 enchanting a sovereign." 
 
 "Mercy! what noise is that?" she cried, as 
 she sprang from her seat, at the same instant that 
 Mr. Allsound threw himself on his knees at her 
 feet. 
 
 " There it is again ! " she said, with bated breath, 
 as a wild, unearthly scream rent the outer air. 
 
 The next moment the door leading into the hall 
 was thrown open, and Mary Marmane, her maid, 
 appeared, trembling in every limb, her face horror- 
 stricken and blanched with fright. 
 
 "What has happened, Mary ? Speak quickly ! " 
 said Miss Geldamo, going toward her with rapid 
 steps. 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Vida ! " was all she could say, and, 
 turning, she ran out into the grounds again, fol- 
 lowed almost as rapidly by Vida and Mr. Allsound, 
 
166 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 only to see her clapping her hands and uttering a 
 despairing cry. 
 
 "Mary, what is the matter?" cried Vida, as 
 she grasped the girl tightly hy the arm. 
 
 " The tower ! the tower ! " said the girl ; and, 
 looking upward, they saw a man clinging to the 
 eaves of the tower, which projected over the heavy 
 cornice. His hody was swaying about three feet from 
 the wall of the building, and fully sixty feet from the 
 walk below, upon which he was inevitably destined 
 to be dashed, as soon as the weight of his body 
 overcame the power in the muscles of his arms. 
 
 Vida looked a moment in terror and awe ; an 
 awful paleness came over her face ; then, turning 
 to Mr. Allsound, she said, in trembling tones, while 
 tears burst from her eyes: 
 
 " It is Paul ! Oh, can't you save him ? " 
 
 But she might as well have addressed a post, as 
 Allsound was incapable of movement ; his knees 
 knocked together, his teeth chattered, and his 
 whole frame trembled like a leaf. She turned from 
 him toward Mary, but Mary had disappeared. 
 Suddenly a man appeared on the roof of the tower. 
 Vida clapped her hands and cried for joy : 
 
 " He is saved ! He is saved ! " 
 
 The man looked around, but did not move. 
 
 " Why do you hesitate? Why don't you save 
 him?" Vida cried, but he shook his head and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Alas 1 the roof of the tower is too steep ; he can 
 not reach him ; it would be sure death to attempt 
 it. A great blank falls upon Vida's soul, and her 
 fluttering heart almost ceased to beat ; the man's 
 strength was fast ebbing ; he would soon fall. At 
 this instant Mary came running from behind the 
 mansion, closely followed by Richard Arbyght. 
 At the sight of the latter, Vida's face brightened 
 
A RESCUE AND ITS RESULTS. 167 
 
 ^ligbtly ; and, advancing toward him with out- 
 stretched hands, she said, with a look and voice so 
 Iseseechingly imploring that he never forgot the 
 look, act, or tone : 
 
 " Tou will save him? " 
 
 "Miss, I will try," he said, quickly, and then 
 giving one glance at the suspended man, he cried 
 as loudly as he could, " Hold on two minutes 
 longer and you are safe." Turning hurriedly, he 
 seized Mary almost rudely, and rushing with her 
 towards the house, he said : " Lead on to the 
 tower, to the tower ! " 
 
 The girl needed no repetition of the command. 
 She sped on before him like a frightened gazelle, 
 bounding up the broad steps, on through the ves- 
 tibule, past marble columns, up the wide stair- 
 case, up other staircases, until they reached the 
 first chamber of the tower. In this room there 
 was a large, arched window, fronting the square 
 formed by the main building and wing, and di- 
 rectly under the suspended man. The lower sash 
 of the window Arbyght threw up with a sharp 
 jerk, and stepped out upon the projecting stone 
 sill ; putting his large, thick felt hat on his 
 clenched left hand, he drove it through the glass 
 of both sashes, which he grasped with a firm grip, 
 planted his feet firmly upon the stone sill, while 
 his body swung out from the wall forty-five feet 
 ^rom the ground. He was not a second too soon, 
 for just then the man's hold, which had been 
 slowly giving way for the last two minutes, sud- 
 denly relaxed, and, with a half-suppressed cry, he 
 dropped like a ball of metal — the strong, sinewy 
 -arm of the workman shot out, grasped the falling 
 man by the waist ; the sash bent outward with a 
 •creaking sound, but did not break. Arbyght' s 
 .arm dropped slightly and quivered under the 
 
168 TUB OTHER SIDE. 
 
 weight and momentum of the falling man, but his- 
 body remained as firm and immovable as a pillar 
 of iron. 
 
 "Saved!" came up from below, but so faint 
 that it seemed the echo of a sigh. 
 
 " Saved ! " came from the room behind him, in 
 louder but not less tremulous tones. 
 
 " Saved ! " came from the man on his arm, in a- 
 husky, broken voice. 
 
 "Saved!" he re-echoed himself, as he placed 
 the rescued man on a sofa in the tower chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 AFTER MANY DAYS. 
 
 The rescued man was about twenty-four years of 
 age, light and slender, though tall and well- 
 formed in limb and features, full face, high fore- 
 head, sparkling eyes, and laughing mouth. He 
 w^s completely exhausted, and large drops of per- 
 spiration stood out on his face like crystal beads. 
 After regaining his breath, he struggled to his 
 feet, extended his hand to Richard, and, in a voice 
 thick with emotion, said : 
 
 "You have saved my life." 
 
 "I had not a moment to spare," replied Rich- 
 ard, as his hand was grasped by the rescued man 
 and shook heartily. 
 
 "I can not sufficiently thank 3'ou in words ; I 
 won't try," he said; "it would be a beggarly 
 failure were I to attempt it ; but I hope, ere either 
 of us is dead, to convince you by living acts, and- 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 169 
 
 not b}' words that die^ of my thankfulness and ap- 
 preciation of your humanity and daring." 
 
 " If the consciousness of having saved a life from 
 destruction is not sufficient reward for the perform- 
 ance of the act, then I hope never to be rewarded," 
 said Ki chard. 
 
 " Tour words are as noble as your deed. What 
 may I call you? " 
 
 " My name is Eichard Arbyght." 
 
 " And mine is Paul Geldamo ; from henceforth 
 the friend at all times and under all circumstances 
 of the man who saved his life." 
 
 " Amen ! " cried Mary, who having disappeared 
 as soon as she saw Paul safe, now returned, fol- 
 lowed by Vida and AUsound. 
 
 " Oh, Paul ! " exclaimed Vida, falling upon her 
 brother's breast and weeping for joy. 
 
 " You must thank our noble friend, Vida. Mr. 
 Arbyght, mj' sister Vida." 
 
 * Turning from her brother to Richard, she laid 
 her soft, velvety hand in his muscular palm, and 
 with a bewitching blush, said sweetly : 
 
 " How shall I thank you? We are all under 
 great obligations to you." 
 
 She looked enchantingly lovely, entrancingly 
 beautiful through her tears and blushes. The 
 effect on Richard was magnetic — electrical — he 
 essayed to speak, but only stammered, and blush- 
 ing like a girl, he dropped the little hand that 
 rested in his, and turned toward the window, 
 his heart filled with new and conflicting emo- 
 tions. 
 
 It was a strange scene : Vida in an elegant cos- 
 tume, half laughing, half crying and blushingby 
 turns ; Paul looking bewildered, and not knowing 
 whether to laugh or to cry ; Mary actually crying ; 
 Mr. Allsound looking ill at ease and vapidly stupid, 
 
170 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 and the hero of the hour vainly attempting to see 
 something in the vacuity of space. 
 
 Being at work in a close place, and the day being 
 quite warm, Kichard had divested himself of all 
 superfluous clothing, and when summoned by Mary, 
 ran from his labor without thought of his appear- 
 ance, and now stood before these people in dark 
 pants, and atight-fittingcotton shirt, which adhered 
 so closely to his person as to resemble the drapery 
 in which sculptors are wont to clothe a statue ; the 
 corded muscles of his chest, neck and arms standing 
 out in bold relief like the ridges of marble on statues 
 of Hercules. He stood there, a man of brawn, mus- 
 cle and virility , the embodiment of masculine power, 
 force, courage and physical stamina, each and all 
 of which attributes claim the admiration of woman 
 and exact her love ; for as woman actually adores 
 perfect manhood, she admires and loves those phys- 
 ical traits in which alone genuine manhood inheres. 
 If, therefore, Vida Geldamo and Mary Marmane . 
 felt a secretj instinctive admiration for the manly 
 workman suddenly spring into life within them, it 
 could be regarded only as the tribute woman ever 
 pays to manhood, and not a desire on their part to 
 incontinently fall in love with him. 
 
 Kichard turned to go below and resume his work, 
 but as he did so he discovered that not only was 
 his left arm covered with blood, but that it was 
 bleeding profusely. Vida made the same discov- 
 ery at the same instant, but she did not scream or 
 faint. She merely said, in a sweet, tender voice : 
 
 "Why, Mr. Arbyght, you are hurt. How 
 thoughtless we were not to notice it before." 
 
 Mary was at once dispatched for water, a sponge, 
 and some linen, and when she had returned Vida, 
 with her own hands, carefully and tenderly dressed 
 the wounded arm, which, though browned by ex- 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. lYl 
 
 posure, was as shapely and symmetrical as a 
 woman's. While she worked the dark eyes of the 
 workman rested upon her with a look of involun- 
 tary but manly admiration ; but, as if conscious of 
 his gaze, she never once raised her head, and 
 when through she said softly, with a peculiar 
 naivete or unconscious ingenuousness: 
 
 "I must be your doctor. You must come again 
 when it needs dressing." Then, with a very crim- 
 son face, she fled precipitately from the room. 
 
 Kichard left immediately after, promising Paul 
 before he departed to be at home on the following 
 evening. 
 
 It would prove a futile and useless task to ana- 
 lyze the conflicting emotions of Richard's mind 
 after he left the Geldamo mansion. To Richard 
 himself Richard was at that moment an incompre- 
 hensible mystery. At first he felt a strange feel- 
 ing or sensation creep slowly through every fiber 
 and nerve. This was followed by a sense of hav- 
 ing discovered within himself something of whose 
 existence he never dreamed, accompanied by a 
 vague uncertainty of mind and a heaviness around 
 the heart. Was Love making him a victim of his 
 mischievous pranks? Alas! we fear so, as Rich- 
 ard concluded in his own mind, ere he reached his 
 boarding-house, that he would willingly run his 
 arm through a double window every day in the 
 week, provided Vida Geldamo would dress it. 
 
 The next morning he found his arm so inflamed 
 and painful that all idea of work had to be aban- 
 doned, at least for that day. Early in the after- 
 noon he received a letter, the perusal of which 
 from that hour changed the whole current of his 
 being. Mad, bewildered with a great joy, he 
 rushed, almost flew, to Soolfire cottage. Grace 
 was not in. He sat down and meditated. Pres- 
 
172 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ently he grew calmer and felt glad that Grace was 
 out. 
 
 Shortly fifterward she came in and manifested in 
 an unmistakable manner her pleasure at seeing 
 him, and frankly told him so. 
 
 "The pleasure is mutual/' said Richard; " hut 
 I have an incentive, of which you are not aware, 
 that renders the pleasure of this meeting, at least 
 to me, greater than any previous one." 
 
 Grace regarded him with a puzzled and serio- 
 comic expression for a moment or two. Then, 
 breaking into a sweet, silvery laugh, she said: 
 " You are enigmatical ; at least, not clear. Please 
 explain." 
 
 " My language may seem strange, and no doubt 
 it is," replied Eichard ; "however, I hope to be 
 able to convince you that I mean just what I say." 
 
 " But why so verbose and circumlocutory ? You 
 horrid men always keep one in suspense. Now I 
 was glad you came because I was so utterly, 
 wretchedly lonesome that I cried all this forenoon, 
 and went out after dinner to see if a walk in the 
 fresh air would not relieve my mind. Oh 1 it is 
 so hard, so hard to be all alone in this great, 
 wide world." 
 
 Her voice was so sad, and conveyed such a sense 
 of loneliness, that Richard was glad she ceased, but 
 she continued, before he could reply : 
 
 "There! I have been candid and ingenuous ; 
 surely you will be equally so. Why are you so 
 pleased to see me on this particular occasion?" 
 
 " Because I don't think either of us is so much 
 alone in the world after all." 
 
 " You are as lucid as the Delphic oracle, if not 
 more so," answered Grace. 
 
 " I would like to ask you a few questions," he 
 said, imploringly. 
 
AFTER MANY DAYS. 173 
 
 " You can ask as many as you please, provided 
 we can reach this mysterious kernel, which you 
 have so impenetrably hidden with a rind of ambig- 
 uous words." 
 
 " To begin with, are you sure that you have no 
 recollection prior to your adoption by Edna Relva- 
 son ?" 
 
 "Nothing tangible or real," replied Grace, 
 "sometimes I have faint glimmerings of forms 
 and scenes, but they come and go so rapidly and 
 are so indistinct and indefinable that they leave no 
 lasting impression. It is like a flash of lightning 
 that rends the dark clouds for a moment, and lights 
 up the world with a vivid glare for an instant, 
 only to leave a deeper gloom than before." 
 
 " Can you not remember an old gray -haired 
 man, taking you from the arms of a dark-haired, 
 weeping boy?" asked Eichard, with a slight 
 tremor in his voice and an incipient tear in the 
 corner of his eye. 
 
 Giace gazed at him fixedly for an instant, and 
 answered : 
 
 " Your question has given at least some form 
 and shape to a memoric shadow that has often 
 flitted through my mind, but it is yet too in- 
 distinct ; I fear it is useless, I have often tried, but 
 always failed to give shape to these misty forms." 
 
 " Do you remember having even seen a picture 
 you called mother ?" asked Richard. 
 
 Grace looked at him in amazement, his voice 
 was actually husky. 
 
 " No," she calmly replied, " the farthest back I 
 can distinctly remember was when I must have 
 been nearly six years old ; I had a gold locket or 
 medal, I can't say which. When or how I came 
 by it I am unable to say ; but I remember that 
 aunt Edna scolded me one morning for having lost 
 
174 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 it — I also cried myself sick over it — but it was 
 never found." 
 
 " Could you recognize that locket if you saw it?" 
 asked Kichard, eagerly, in a low, earnest tone. 
 
 Grace was startled at Tiis look and manner, and 
 wondering much at the strange questions he asked, 
 she replied : " T don't think I could ; hut why do 
 you ask these questions?" 
 
 " Because," said Richard, " I think I have that 
 locket," handing her, as he spoke, his mother's 
 locket. Grace gave a little start, and examined 
 it carefully. 
 
 "I am not certain," she answered, "its first 
 appearance struck me forcibly, but I can not say 
 positively that this is the locket I lost." 
 
 Richard advanced toward her, and taking the 
 locket from her hands, he opened it and disclosed 
 to her astonished, bewildered eyes what seemed a 
 correct but faded picture of herself. 
 
 Grace sprang to her feet, and, with a queer bril- 
 liancy in her eye and a peculiar ring in her voice, 
 looked Richard full in the face as she said : " Mr. 
 Arbyght, what does this mean ?" 
 
 "It means," replied Richard, "that this is a 
 picture of my mother, of your mother — and " 
 
 " And," Grace hurridly interrupted, " that you 
 are my brother and I am your sister ?" 
 
 "Do you not see it? Can you not believe 
 it?" Richard replied, with beseeching, loving 
 emphasis. 
 
 Grace again looked him full in the face, and 
 there saw an overflowing heart — a brother's affec- 
 tionate look, the imprisoned and pent-up love of a 
 lifetime pleading in the glow of his eyes, and, 
 throwing her arms wildly around his neck, she ex- 
 claimed, in joyous but tearful accents : 
 
 " It is all a dream, but my soul tells me you 
 
HUNTED DOWN. 175 
 
 speak the truth. I see it, I believe it ; my 
 brother — my own dear brother !" 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIII. 
 
 HUNTED DOWN. 
 
 Thus were two long separated hearts united at 
 last. Thus in a single momentwas spannedagulf of 
 eighteen years. Again Grace wept and clung, as 
 she wept and clung that bright autumn morning 
 eighteen years before — clung and wept on the 
 breast from which she was so cruelly torn — but 
 now, in joy and happiness, not, as then, in grief 
 and sorrow. The ways of Providence are inscru- 
 table, but they are ways of omnipotent wisdom. 
 The arrows of fate are unerringly shot ; their 
 flight may be slow, but they never miss. Had not 
 Richard's sister been taken from him as she was, 
 the incidents upon which this tale is founded would 
 not have occurred. The visit of Edna Relvason to 
 the little village of Silverville, and all the rela- 
 tions that grew out of it, was a part and parcel of 
 the woof and warp through which fate, in this in- 
 stance, worked out its inevitable and certain re- 
 sults. For these two, so long parted, the clouds 
 had drifted away, and for the present, at least, all 
 was sunshine and gladness. 
 
 Grace — Bertha now — was the first to speak. 
 She drew her hand across her forehead, gazed at 
 Eichard with misty eyes, and, in a faint, soft voice, 
 said : 
 
 "It is so like a dream." 
 
176 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " And yet not a dream," said Richard, reassur- 
 ingly. 
 
 "A most delightful, elysian dream, ' Bertha re- 
 plied, "and yet, if I should awake to find it hut a 
 dream it would kill me," and, turning suddenly, 
 she looked at Richard, but her doubt was quieted 
 by a loving smile. 
 
 " It would be cruel to deceive me ; you are sure 
 there is no mistake? " Bertha asked, slowly, but 
 pathetically. 
 
 Richard replied by handing her the following 
 letters : 
 
 " Silver viLLE, Nov. 3, 186 — . 
 
 " Your note of October 29 / received this morning, 
 and hasten to reply. 
 
 "Tour sister did not die. The story was a pure 
 fabrication. I saw her myself on two occasions; 
 once in Cleveland, and later in Chicago. Evei 
 since you went to the Army, I have been trying to 
 find some clue to your whereabouts. As you will 
 see by the enclosed letter, I had a duty to per- 
 form. 
 
 "Your sister is stopping with my brother, Alvan 
 
 Relvason, No. . You can easily see her by 
 
 calling ; she goes by the name of Relvason, and is 
 supposed to be one of the family. 
 "Yours respectfully , 
 
 "Ethelind Morris. 
 "Richard Arbyght, Chicago." 
 
 The letter to which Mrs. Morris referred was in 
 Edna Relvason's handwriting, and as it will enter 
 somewhat into the sequence of our story, it is 
 given : 
 
 " Cleveland, April 17, 186 — . 
 ' ' Dear Sister : I wrote you a long letter yesterday. 
 
HUNTED DOWN. ]Y7 
 
 There is no change in my condition to-day, but I 
 can not die happy until I have begun an act of Jus- 
 tice, ivhich I command you to see consummated. I 
 want you to see or twite to young Arbyght concern- 
 ing his sister. She may not care now to acknowl- 
 edge the relationship, but 1 want to make reparation 
 to him. I have willed Grace $10,000. Will write 
 you again to-morrow, if I am not ivorse. There is 
 no possible chance of recovery — that fell destroyer, 
 consumption, is incurable. I am resigned to my 
 Jate. 
 
 ' ' Your affectionate sister, 
 
 "Edna. 
 
 "P. S. — Tell Arbyght that his sister is alive, and 
 tell him where he may find her; also pray him 
 ■to forgive the deception I practiced on him. 
 
 "E." 
 
 The last letter affected Bertha inexpressibly. 
 Whea she had finished reading it and looked up, 
 Hichard saw in her face no lingering trace of 
 doubt. She was convinced. She handed the let- 
 ters back, but he requested her to keep and pre- 
 serve them ; and gave her the locket, saying as he 
 ■did so : 
 
 ''' Dear sister, for eighteen years I have care- 
 fully preserved this souvenir, and I never thought 
 I would part with it as willingly as I do now." 
 
 ''What an odd, but precious thing it is," she 
 said, seriously. "I won't open it for two whole 
 days, for I know I should cry if I did, and I am so 
 happy, so selfishly happy ; poor mama ! you must 
 tell me all about her " 
 
 "There! there! You are crying now. I will 
 tell you all about her, but not to-day. Bertha, for 
 1 have an important engagement and must go." 
 
 "An engagement?" 
 12 
 
178 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Oh ! it is not with a lady ; it is with a young: 
 gentleman ; and by the way, I think yoU know 
 him ; at least, you know his sister." 
 
 Bertha blushed in confusion, and began exam- 
 ining the locket very attentively. Presently eu 
 shade passed over her face, there was a little spas- 
 modic sound and contraction in the throat, after 
 which she was quite pale. Richard was too close 
 an observer of human nature not to divine the 
 cause of her blushes, paleness, and silence ; but 
 he did not allude to or apparently notice it, and 
 took his leave at once, promising to return on the 
 following day, but before he reached the gate, her 
 silvery voice rang merrily upon his ear, as she 
 called laughingly from the window : 
 
 " Don't forget to-morrow." 
 
 When Richard reached home he found Paul 
 Geldamo waiting for him on the side-walk. 
 
 " They told me you were not in, so I thought I 
 would wait for you outside, as by so doing I could 
 keep an eye on Jespra ; " as he spoke the last 
 word, a beautiful, dark bay-mare, attached to a 
 light, covered buggy, and hitched to a post close 
 by, arched her neck and gave a little neigh as if 
 in answer to her name. 
 
 Richard excused his absence by going into ecsta- 
 cies over Jespra. " But what a queer name," he 
 said. 
 
 " You see," said Paul, patting the mare fondly 
 on the neck, " she is always ready to do whatever 
 I require of her, so I called her this name. It is a 
 horrid, vulgar contraction of " Je suis Pret," he 
 added, by way of explanation. 
 
 Nothing would satisfy Paul but that Richard 
 should take a drive around the city, and though 
 the latter complied, it was with evident reluctance. 
 Paul was moody, gloomy and abstracted, except 
 
HUNTED DOWN. I'JQ. 
 
 when he passed a lady, and then he looked expect- 
 ant and anxious. He acted as if he was looking 
 for somebody, and Eichard thought he knew whom, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 They finally reached Paul's home, and he urged 
 Eichard to go in with him ; the latter felt he could 
 not_ refuse without giving offense, and much 
 against his judgment, he followed him into the 
 house, his blood tingling in his veins and a strange, 
 peculiar sensation in the region of his heart. 
 
 Vida received him with a cheerful smile, but 
 paused irresolutely for just a moment before she 
 spoke. The alteration produced in the appear- 
 ance of the man by his change of dress was quite 
 marked, and something in his appearance riveted 
 her attention ; she extended her hand, however, 
 with a smile of welcome, and said : 
 
 " How is your arm to-day ? " and, with an arch 
 look, added, "I am to be your physician, you 
 know." 
 
 "It is much better^ thanks to your skill," he 
 replied. 
 
 In her evening dress of gray silk and white lace, 
 with her neck encircled by a soft, dainty ruche 
 of the same material, and without other ornament 
 than a bunch of roses fastened in her corsage, she 
 was so beautiful, so captivating, that Eichard felt 
 that there was no woman in the world so fair. 
 They chatted pleasantly and freely for some time. 
 When Eichard was about to leave, Vida said : 
 
 " Did I not see you on the street with Grace 
 Eelvason a few evenings since ? " but before Eich- 
 ard could reply, she added, " You must not think 
 me impertinent, for she is the only friend I ever 
 cared for except Mary, and her disappearance 
 from home and her inexplicable conduct that even- 
 ing worries me very much." 
 
180 THE OTHfR SIDE. 
 
 " You are right, Miss Geldamo ; I remember the 
 evening to which you refer." 
 
 " Where is poor G-race,andhow is she? We know- 
 why she left, as Miss Relvason has gossiped con- 
 siderably about it; but we can 't understand why 
 she should remain aloof from her friends. _ I will 
 never forgive her. She ought to know it would 
 not make any difference with me, if it did with 
 others." 
 
 "Her reasons are peculiar ones, which I may 
 some time explain to you ; but here is Paul with 
 Jespra, and our delightful tete-a-tete must, I am 
 sorry to say, have an end." 
 
 Richard had remained half an hour, and could 
 not say whether he was glad or sorry when he took 
 his leave. He could not recall all that was said ; 
 he only knew that never had a face seemed so 
 lovable, eyes so soft and tender, and voice so 
 pleasant and kind. 
 
 Vida accompanied him to the door, and, as he 
 was going down the steps, she said, warningly : 
 
 " Remember that I must know all about G-race." 
 
 That night Richard resolved to see Miss Geldamo 
 no more. He was fully aware now of the direction 
 his feelings were taking, and, realizing the differ- 
 ence in their respective social positions, he knew 
 that it would be worse than madness, worse, su- 
 premely worse than i'oUy, to continue an acquaint- 
 ance that would end only in pain for him. He did 
 not arrive at this conclusion because he felt that 
 his affection would be an unworthy offering, but 
 because the love that was growing within him was 
 too unselfish to ask one so situated to share his 
 hard lot, even if that love was reciprocated. But, 
 feeling under an obligation, he wrote to her next 
 morning a respectful but ibrmal note, saying that 
 circumstances he did not feel at liberty to mention 
 
HUNTED DOWJT. 181 
 
 would prevent him from calling upon her again, 
 but, to fulfill an implied promise, he desired to 
 inform her that Grace was his long-lost sister; 
 but that in view of her changed condition it 
 was thought best that they should not meet 
 again. 
 
 After mailing this note, he proceeded to the 
 shop. Mr. Fargood met him with a troubled look, 
 and, in response to a question as to the cause, 
 returned an evasive answer. But Eichard half 
 suspected the truth, and bluntly asked Mr. Far- 
 good if his presence in the shop was proving inju- 
 rious to his interests. 
 
 "Well, to tell the truth," said Mr. Fargood, 
 " they are giving me a good deal of trouble, but I 
 think I shall overcome it. I don't care personally, 
 but you see most of the men are as much inter- 
 ested in this business a,s I am. They may com- 
 plain." 
 
 " You shall have no trouble on my account, Mr. 
 Fargood," said Eichard; "you have acted too 
 nobly and too generously, for me to act otherwise 
 than generously by you." 
 
 "I don't want you to leave ; I think I shall cir- 
 cumvent them yet." 
 
 " What have they been doing ? " asked Eichard. 
 
 "That I am at a loss to understand, myself. 
 All I know is that I can not sell a package in the 
 city ; a discrimination is made against my work 
 by all consumers, which, it is hinted, will only 
 cease when you are discharged." 
 
 Mr. Fargood was in effect boycotted, though 
 that term was unknown in those days. 
 
 "I am sorry, indeed, to leave, but under the cir- 
 cumstances I could not remain." 
 
 "You can't feel any worse about the matter 
 than I do. 1 hate to lose you," replied Fargood. 
 
182 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 sorrowfully, and then added, " if I can ever be of 
 any service to you, command me." 
 
 The Leviathan of greed and oppression had not 
 plotted in vain. 
 
 A few hours later Richard might be seen stand- 
 ing on the corner of the junction of Washington 
 and La Salle streets, in a thoughtful reverie. He 
 had resolved upon seeing his sister and leaving the 
 city that afternoon. His soul was torn with con- 
 flicting and changing emotions, his brows were 
 knit, his face was protean — being sad, joyous, and 
 fierce alternately ; and although he neither ob- 
 served nor noticed any of the numerous passers-by, 
 who composed the everch^nging, bustling, driving, 
 boisterous crowd that surged and swayed, jammed 
 and scroughed, pushed and hustled each other, he 
 was himself particularly observed. In fact he had 
 been, unnoticed by himself, dogged and hounded all 
 the morning. 
 
 A block or two from where he stood, and com- 
 manding a good view of his position, was a fashion- 
 able photograph gallery. On this particular morn- 
 ing Miss Vida Geldamo and a lady friend had 
 called at the gallery, to have a talk with the noted 
 artist about some photographs they desired to have 
 taken. In the midst of an elaborate dissertation 
 by the artist on the relative merits of different 
 positions, Alvan Eelvason rushed into the room, 
 panting and perspiring freely. The ladies and the 
 artist were somewhat startled by his sudden ap- 
 pearance and evident agitation ; but so great was 
 his preoccupation of mind that he did not notice 
 Miss Geldamo or her friend. He called the great 
 positionist to the window and said : 
 
 "Do you see that man with gray clothes and dark 
 felt hat?" 
 
 "I do," was the reply. 
 
HUNTED DOWN. 183 
 
 "Take his negative," said Relvason, "and I 
 •will give you one hundred dollars." 
 
 The eyes of the artist sparkled as he replied, " I 
 will do so in two minutes," and he set to work at 
 ■once to prepare a plate. 
 
 This strange conversation was overheard by 
 Vida Geldamo, and she marveled much that any 
 •one should be so dishonorable as to take such an 
 unwarranted liberty with the person of another. 
 She advanced to the window and looking in the 
 direction indicated, saw to her surprise and amaze- 
 ment, Richard Arbyght. She understood it all in 
 ■an instant, as she had been informed by Estella 
 Eelvason of the hatred her father had for the stal^ 
 ■wart young workman, and she determined if pos- 
 sible to prevent the consummation of the outrage. 
 The day being warm the windows were raised, and 
 leaning out the nearest one she tried to attract 
 Richard's attention by various feminine devices. 
 Happening to raise his head he saw a woman mak- 
 ing strange motions with her hands and handker- 
 •chief, but he did not for a moment suppose they 
 were intended for him ; looking again he recognized 
 the fair signaler. Immediately his face brightened 
 and he raised his hat respectfully, and by this act 
 aided the photographer who just tlien brought his 
 profile to a proper focus on the lens of the camera. 
 
 Vida felt that instead of aiding she had injured 
 "her friend, and the reflection grieved her. 
 
 A moment after the artist returned and was ia 
 raptures over the perfection of the negative, which 
 he submitted to Eelvason's inspection. 
 
 " Small, but good," was the laconic comment, 
 ■and the lips parted and the wolfish teeth gleamed 
 savagely. 
 
 " We can remedy that," said the artist, confi- 
 dently. 
 
184 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "Ah 1 Miss G-eldamo, is that you?" said Rel- 
 vason, seeing her for the first time. He would' 
 not have seen her then had she not approached 
 him. 
 
 " May I look at this wonderful negative?" she 
 asked timidly, but with a strange light in her eye. 
 
 " Certainly, Miss Geldamo ; certainly." 
 
 She took it to the open window to obtain a better 
 view of it. " Why, it is perfect ; it is splendid," 
 she exclaimed. " Do see it," she said to her com- 
 panion ; but in passing it to her, it by some means, 
 perhaps best known to herself, slipped from her fin- 
 gers, and in endeavoring to catch it ere it reached 
 the floor, it glanced from her band obliquely, strik- 
 ing the outer edge of the window sill — a little 
 scream from Vida — a slight pause, and the faint 
 sound of crashing glass came up from the paved, 
 walk below. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ON love's threshold. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Vida, in evident alarm, 
 " what have I done?" and, apparently very much 
 frightened, she turned to her friend, and did what 
 the superficial observer would least expect, threw her 
 arms around her neck and gave her a vigorous hug, 
 while she trembled with emotion that involun- 
 tarily springsfrom the performance of a noble deed. 
 
 The artist stood aghast, stared, wildly, and ut- 
 tered a strong Saxon expletive that was neither or- 
 namental or refined — an abrupt, emphatic oath, 
 
ON love's threshold. 185 
 
 very unbecoming in a gentlemanly artist ; but then 
 there was a hundred dollars at stake, and even for 
 so small a consideration many men and women, 
 who claim to be the essence of social propriety, 
 will throw open refinement's cage and let out the 
 animals of their grosser nature. " 'Tis true, 'tis 
 pity, and pity 'tis 'tis true," but so long as money 
 continues to be the key to ease, self-enjoyment and 
 social position, just so long will its acquisition be 
 sought, even though men dishonor themselves to 
 secure it. 
 
 Eelvason, when the negative first dropped from 
 Vida's hand, sprang forward, a nervous twitching 
 in his fingers, a ravenous look in his eyes, his face 
 glowing with greedy avidity ; but, like the cha- 
 meleon, his face assumed a different expression as he 
 saw the little square of glass glance from the win- 
 dow sill ; the shaggy eyebrows dropped, the lips 
 parted, the teeth glistened ferociously, while an 
 ugly, livid color settled upon his now repulsive 
 face. He stood glaring at Vida full ten seconds, 
 like a caged tiger fresh from the jungles. It was 
 well for Vida that her face was hidden in the bosom 
 of her friend. 
 
 " Hell's furies ! " he cried in a hollow, unnatural 
 voice. The words were prolonged in the utterance, 
 and were literally lacerated by the set teeth. He 
 stood rigid as stone, his hands clenched, and his 
 finger nails sunk deep into the palms. Had Vida 
 at that instant been gifted with the nature of a 
 man, retaining only woman's softness, tenderness 
 and timidity, she probably would have fainted or 
 cried for mercy ; but, in a manner peculiar to her 
 sex, she soothed and mollified the angry man — not 
 by soft words, butby looking through falling tears 
 superlatively lovely. She smiled upon him so be- 
 witchingly and looked up at him with moist eyes 
 
186 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 SO pleadingly, that his anger and rage gave way, 
 but left behind a sullen and dissatisfied look, which 
 could not easily be removed. 
 
 " I assure you, Mr. Relvason, I — I — " she said, 
 in a soft beseeching voice ; but her pure soul re- 
 belled at the thought of prevarication, or by evasion 
 to excuse a premeditated act ; hence she hesitated, 
 and would have been much confused had not another 
 woman's wit rushed to her rescue. 
 
 " Of course, Mr. Relvason," said her companion^ 
 " it is quite annoying ; but, then, you know it was 
 an accident, and poor Vida should not be blamed 
 for it," and she smiled sweetly, and spoke as only 
 woman can speak. 
 
 Relvason was disarmed, and submitted to the 
 prowess of his fair captors as gracefully as he could 
 under the circumstances. 
 
 After his first surprise, the artist rushed down 
 stairs, and now again appeared upon the scene, 
 bearing in his hand a small jagged piece of glass. 
 
 " Well, how is it? " said Relvason, inquiringly. 
 
 M If you want a picture by which the original of 
 this negative can be recognized at a glance, I be- 
 lieve we will still be able to manage it." 
 
 " Do you really think so ?" said Relvason, with 
 vehement eagerness, as he eyed the jagged frag- 
 ment with a hungry look. 
 
 "If there is any defect in it, art and skill will 
 be pitted against the defect, and I have no doubt of 
 their success," responded the artist, as he held the 
 little piece of glass up to the li ght and gazed through 
 it with the air of a man that knew his business, and 
 saw in perspective the shadowy form of a hundred 
 dollars looming up beyond it. 
 
 " There will be nothing but the head and a small 
 portion of the right shoulder," said the artist, " as 
 you can see that the glass broke ofl' sharply at the 
 
ON love's threshold. 18T 
 
 intersection of the neck and left shoulder, traversely 
 toward the right arm and directly below the cap of 
 the shoulder." 
 
 " Yes, I see/' replied'Relvason, good humoredly, 
 " but men are generally recognized by their faces, 
 so I guess it will do," he added with a sinister 
 chuckle. 
 
 Kelvason was now in an approachable mood. 
 The recovery of that fragment of sensitized glass, 
 on which reverse lines of light and shade could be 
 distinctly traced, dissipated the last vestige of his 
 wrath. Noticing the change, Vida ventured to 
 address him : 
 
 " But, Mr. Relvason, what does it all mean? " 
 ehe said, a little timidly. 
 
 " To what do you refer? " he replied, in a cold, 
 indifferent tone^ which plainly indicated that the 
 question was objectionable, 
 
 Vida recoiled slightly when she saw the effect 
 ber inquiry produced. She was, however, a brave, 
 spirited, high-minded woman ; she was conscious 
 that the rights of a man who had imperiled his life 
 at her request, and for her brother's sake, were 
 being basely stolen, and, like the captured guns of 
 an enemy, were to be used against him. These 
 thoughts sank into her soul, spurred her resolution 
 and firmness, and incited her combativeness sufS.- 
 cintly to overcome a natural timidity and hesi- 
 tancy to concern herself with the affairs of others. 
 
 "I have reference to the unusual proceeding of 
 taking a man's picture without his knowledge or 
 consent," responded Vida, a trifle pertly, as she 
 smiled saucily, intent on gilding the accusatory 
 tone of her reply, and preventing a return of Eel- 
 vason's ire. It had the desired effect, observing 
 which, she continued : 
 
 "Is he a murderer, a thief, or an esteemed 
 
188 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 friend or relative, with a prejudice against a camera, 
 amounting to a conscript's fear of a shotted cannon, 
 that you should deputize invisible actinism to ac- 
 complish a result otherwise unattainable? " 
 
 " Miss Geldamo, you area natural actress/' said 
 Kelvason, "Mark Antony's reference to Cresar's 
 murderers is scarcely more ironical than your ques- 
 tion, but your divination is not so good ; this man 
 is simply a trade unionist." 
 
 "A 'trade unionist?'" repeated Vida, in a 
 questioning, eager voice. 
 
 "Nothing more — enough that." 
 
 "Is it a very bad crime ? " in an apparently anx- 
 ious tone and expectant manner. 
 
 " Well, yes ; it is a social crime, an attempt to 
 overturn society and inaugurate a reign of an- 
 archy." 
 
 " Why, I never heard of such a thing before ; 
 is it really so dreadful ? " 
 
 "I will tell you all about it," said Relvason, 
 "trade unionists are people — working people — 
 who are foolish enough to think that they can re- 
 form or reorgarlize society upon a more equitable 
 basis, as they term it ; they want wealth and pro- 
 duction more evenly distributed, and to accomplish 
 these wild revolutionary schemes they have formed 
 combinations, or unions as they call them ; they 
 are, in fact, communists." 
 
 "Is that all!" exclaimed Vida, with evident 
 delight. 
 
 "Is it not sufficient?" retorted Relvason, with 
 a frown. "Why," he resumed, in a condemna- 
 tory tone, " this rascal has had the unparalleled 
 impudence to broach his devilish doctrines in my 
 shops, and broached them so broadly that my men 
 have become infected — why, they have actually or- 
 ganized one of these unions ; but I'll crush them," 
 
ON love's threshold. 189 
 
 the eyes disappeared, the teeth glared. "My 
 power is already felt ; this man cannot ohtain an 
 hour's work in the city ; I will drive him out of it, 
 and follow him beyond it ! " 
 
 " If you have about driven him from the city, 
 you should be satisfied," said Vida, in a pleasing 
 tone. 
 
 "I'll drive him out of the trade, out of the 
 country, off the earth unless he renounces these 
 dangerous principles," he replied, in a blunt, sav- 
 age voice. 
 
 Vida and her friend left a few moments later, 
 and on their way home the morning's episode was 
 the subject of conversation, in the course of which 
 Vida said : 
 
 " You know there are two sides to every subject 
 in the realm of discussion, and we should always 
 look on the other side before rendering a conclusive 
 and final opinion. I am convinced if all persons 
 who, through personal interest or otherwise, en- 
 gage in the discussion of questions of this or any 
 other character, would only examine the merits of 
 both sides, calmly and without the bias of precon- 
 ceived prejudices, much of the violence of discus- 
 sion and the rudeness of. the language resulting 
 therefrom would be avoided, and all parties would 
 entertain a higher appreciation of the honesty and 
 purity of motive actuating those on the other side. 
 I do not think it is fair for us to condemn, or even 
 judge harshly the designs of these men from the 
 standpoint of our gilded convictions or theories of 
 social life. We should examine their side of the 
 picture with all its attendant miseries, poverty, un- 
 ending toil, and ever present wretchedness, before 
 we condemn acts that we would ourselves, under 
 like circumstances^ consider anything but crimi- 
 nal." 
 
190 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 It is fair to presume that up to this moment, 
 Vida Geldamo had no very serious thought of love 
 in connection with Richard Arbyght ; but, if like 
 him, she had resolved not to fall in love, she acted 
 very indiscreetly. She could not help thinking of 
 him, nor did she try. She believed him to be brave, 
 noble, generous, and good ; still he was being re- 
 lentlessly persecuted, and with remorseless, unnat- 
 ural cruelty, his struggle for existence was being 
 made more fierce and desperate. She could not 
 prevent this injustice ; and conscious inability to 
 right what she knew to be a wrong gave birth to a 
 purely womanly feeling — a tender pity ; it was in 
 permitting this interest and sympathy a lodgment 
 in her heart that she acted indiscreetly, for when 
 pity for a man enters the breast of a woman, it be- 
 comes rooted there until dislodged by an infinitely 
 holier feeling — love. Pity is love's skirmisher, and 
 as the main body is never far behind the skirmish 
 line, neither is love far behind pity, and where the 
 latter secures a footing, the former is pretty sure 
 to complete the investment and capture the strong- 
 hold. 
 
 Arbyght, although not an expert in the language 
 of signs, was conscious, however, that Vida Gel- 
 damo, by her looks and acts, wished to express to 
 him her knowledge of his presence ; the mute lan- 
 guage seemed to further indicate that she had not 
 forgotten him. "While she remained at the window 
 Eichard was in heaven, but when she disappeared 
 and did not return — he watched for her quite a 
 while — it grew dark again ; a cold, earthly gloom 
 fell upon him, and with a leaden heart, he turned 
 and walked slowly away. He had seen her ; but 
 to see her, to gaze upon her from afar oif, oh I so 
 far off, was all he dare permit himself to do ; this, 
 and nothing more. 
 
ON love's threshold. 191 
 
 As he moodily walked toward Soolfire cottage, 
 his soul seemed to leave his body — all desire of life 
 slowly died within him. Arbyght was in love. 
 First it was a dream, now a reality. He knew it 
 was not love perfected, because without mutuality 
 or reciprocity love dies or becomes an infatuation. 
 In dualism alone lies the sweet continuity of gen- 
 uine, durable love. This Eichard knew was not 
 in the scope of probable possibilities, under the 
 existing relations between him and Miss Geldamo ; 
 he appreciated the mocking delusion of hugging a 
 unitary love, but could he shake off the feeling? 
 Forty-eight hours' experience convinced him that 
 he could not ; it came upon him independent of 
 rational control ; it seemed a fatalism that laughed 
 at and annihilated free will ; and if there is any 
 power capable of separating the soul from a body 
 that lives and breathes, it is an unfathomable, im- 
 measurable love, coupled with the consciousness 
 that it can not be reciprocated, nor enjoyed if it 
 were. In this state of mind Arbyght reached the 
 cottage, but before he met Bertha he made a pow- 
 erful effort to recover from his despondent, gloomy 
 mood. 
 
 He failed miserably. 
 
 Bertha noticed his preoccupied manner, and, 
 filled with sympathy, she sought by cautious in- 
 quiries to ascertain what it was that caused him 
 such evident anxiety. 
 
 But Richard's answers were evasive, non-com- 
 mittal, and finally he turned the conversation by 
 telling her of his intention to leave the city. 
 
 This led to a long and earnest talk ; Bertha was 
 getting used to her new name, and was not dis- 
 pleased with it, although she said that dropping 
 " Grace " seemed like losing a very dear and very 
 old friend. Still she was pleased with the idea that 
 
192 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 nothing of her old life would remain, that no magic 
 spell of name would ever awaken even the slight- 
 est memory of the past. 
 
 "This sweet name will be the door that will 
 close the tomb in which lies the past of my young 
 life," she said iu a low, sad voice, as some sweet 
 thoughts of day^ gone by rose up before her. She 
 was reconciled to Richard's departure from the city 
 by a promise that he would soon send for her, 
 and in some other city and among new scenes they 
 could begin a new life. While they were busy 
 talking and planning like young lovers, the dis- 
 tant, muffled sound of carriage wheels in rapid 
 motion on the unpaved street reached their ears. 
 Bertha listened ; the sound came nearer and grew 
 louder, then grew faint — fainter, then ceased ; the 
 carriage had stopped ; Bertha became agitated ; 
 a sound, half snort, lialf neigh — Bertha grasped 
 her brother's arm, shook and trembled like a reed 
 in the wind ; above each cheek a fiery red spot 
 glowed in a face as white as virgin snow ; her lips 
 parted, and a sound that seemed born in the air 
 resolved itself into — " Jespra." The gate opened, 
 a man's step was heard on the walk ; the blushes 
 faded from Bertha's face, and left it as pale and col- 
 orless as the waning moon after sunrise ; the door 
 opened, and Mrs. Soolfire ushered Paul G-eldamo 
 into the room. 
 
 " Found at last ! " he exclaimed, in a joyous 
 tone, accompanied by a bright, winning smile, 
 that gleamed in his blue eyes, and glorified his 
 handsome face. 
 
 Bertha still held her brother by the arm, but she 
 stood gracefully firm, with a dignified and majestic 
 loftiness of mien and stately grandeur that might 
 be termed Cleopatrian. She bowed with easy grace, 
 but her face remained as calmly impassive as a mar- 
 
ON love's threshold. 193 
 
 h\e Madonna ; and yet she loved this man with a 
 love as silently pure as the dew of heaven ; with a 
 love that knew no depths, no end. Her individual- 
 ity was not affected by the change in her social con- 
 dition, except that it was idealized and purified ; 
 she was too unselfish to expect Paul to keep his 
 plighted word, knowing, as she did, that he would 
 incur the odium and scorn of the gold-worshipers, 
 and the bitter wrath of one of their high priests — 
 his father — by so doing. True love cares not for 
 self; the love of a child for a toy seen in a shop 
 window is the love of many — the love of posses- 
 sion ; but it is not real love. Bertha could not 
 give her love to Paul and give him trials and trou- 
 bles. But Paul was not so ethereal in his views. 
 He came to comfort her, and to assure her that no 
 change in her social status, no vicissitudes of life 
 or mutations of time could affect his devotion ; in 
 fact, the new order of things rather pleased him as 
 it gave him an opportunity of proving the sincerity 
 of his love ; but when he saw the change had ex- 
 tended to Bertha's individuality, a great cloud of 
 grief fell upon his soul, and, dropping into a chair, 
 he covered his face with his hands, and merely 
 said : 
 
 " Oh, Grace ! has it come to this ? " 
 
 But the words seemed torn, wrenched from a 
 Weeding heart. They had such an effect upon 
 Richard that he left the room at once. She tried 
 to detain him, but he said, in a very emphatic 
 whisper : 
 
 " Sister, you are cruel!" as he tore himself away. 
 
 Alone. 
 
 In Cupid's syntax duality is always in the sin- 
 gular number, hence alone in this case is not 
 misapplied. In the arithmetic of love, one and 
 one make only one. 
 13 
 
194 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 A long silence — the seconds of love are either 
 evanescently short or interminably long. In this 
 instance they were long. A plain gold ring on the 
 little finger of Paul's left hand broke the spell. It 
 was a present from Bertha, innocently given, but- 
 now it did yeoman service ; it mutely appealed to- 
 the statuesque girl ; it silently told its tale of con- 
 stancy and love ; it brought tears to her eyes and 
 a sobbing " Paul " to her lips; it dissolved her 
 passive rigidity, and a weak, trembling girl fell 
 into the arms of a trembling man. 
 
 The invincible winged god had triumphed 
 again. 
 
 The interview between the lovers was a long, and 
 in some respects, an unhappy one. Paul begged, 
 protested and pleaded, but Bertha was inexorable 
 and unyielding in insisting that he should not see 
 her again for a year ; and if at the end of that time 
 his love remained unchanged, she would become 
 his wife, come what might, and, if necessary, work 
 and toil for him, as he had sworn to work and toil 
 for her. 
 
 Kichard's hour for departure had arrived, and he 
 bade his sister an affectionate adieu. At the gate 
 he found Paul, of whom he wished also to take 
 leave, but the latter insisted on driving him to the 
 depot. Eichard not being quite ready to start, 
 Paul drove him to Madam Yudall's, where he bade 
 him a regretful and sorrowful good-by. 
 
 " Oh, by the way," asked Paul, turning back 
 as he was about to leave," "have you any relatives 
 in this part of the country ? " 
 
 Richard said he thought not ; his grandfather 
 and grandmother had lived in the city and had died 
 there ; but, although he had diligently inquired 
 and searched, he could not discover their graves or 
 any trace of their only daughter, his father's sister. 
 
THE POWER OF MONEY. 195 
 
 He was unable to say whether she was dead or not ; 
 but he feared such was the case, since nothing could 
 be ascertained concerning her. 
 
 Paul was gone. The force of his inquiry did 
 not occur to Richard for some time afterward. His 
 arrangements were completed by writing a letter 
 to the union. 
 
 Across the Hlinois prairie that night, cleaving 
 the thick gloom, as cleaves the air the eagle de- 
 scending upon its prey, shot a thing of life, yet in- 
 animate, leaving a long train of fire and smoke in 
 its wake — a falling star skimming the horizontal 
 earth ; carried along in the thundering embrace of 
 this obedient but Jovian-powered child of labor, 
 was one of labor's noblest sons ; the creator fleeing 
 from the creature, the parent, hounded and driven 
 off the premises by the unnatural child. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE POWER OP MONET. 
 
 One morning, two or three days after Richard's 
 departure from the city, three workingmen entered 
 Relvason' 8 office. Workingmen? Yes. There is 
 that on the face of the hard-worked which tells its 
 tale of toil ; a tongueless but subtle revelation that 
 speaks to the heart ; it is a peculiar expression, a 
 blending of youth and age — a young-old look, seen 
 only on the faces of those who labor ten hours or 
 more per day ; it is a look that tells of undue phys- 
 ical exertion, overwrought muscle and lack of rest ; 
 it is the slow, sluggish, heavy expression, that 
 
196 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 burdensome fatigue ever stamps on the face of men, 
 women and children. Any person who labors ten 
 hours per day at hard work, has the word " toil " 
 written upon his forehead as plainly as the nuruber 
 or mark on the beast of the apocalypse, so plainly 
 that it could be read were the man clad in the royal 
 garments of a king. The fictitious accessories of 
 rags, or poverty-stricken hovels, are not needed 
 here ; every lineament of the face tells its tale of 
 human wretchedness and woe. How many men 
 daily walk our streets who are to the artist's eye a 
 truer, better picture of modern life than the best 
 works of Titian, Eubens and Vandyke were of the 
 life of their times? And, again, how many roam 
 through our streets a la Geldamo, who typify in 
 themselves a similitude of the soit effeminacy that 
 sapped the foundations of historic Kome ? 
 
 '' Mr. Kelvason, we are a committee appointed 
 by the union to respectfully lay before you and the 
 other employers a grievance to which that body 
 has, in justice to itself, deemed it necessary to call 
 your attention," said Henry Trustgood, in behalf 
 of himself and John McFlinn and Oscar Wood, 
 the balance of the committee. 
 
 " You are what?" queried Eelvason, with rising 
 ire, and in a sharp, peremptory voice. 
 
 " A committee, sir," replied Trustgood, quietly, 
 but firmly. 
 
 "And by what authority?" asked Eelvason, in 
 his usual sneering tone. 
 
 "The union," responded Trustgood. 
 
 " Don't know such a party," he replied, as he 
 turned to his desk with a rudeness, unbecoming the 
 gentleman Mr. Eelvason was credited with being 
 in social circles. 
 
 The committee stared at each other. This was 
 a rebuff they had not expected, and for a moment 
 
THE POWER OF MONEY. IQ'f 
 
 they stood in embarrassed and confused silence, not 
 knowing what to say or do. They saw, however, 
 that there was nothing left them but to go, and go 
 they did. They had not gone far, however, before 
 Spindle hailed them. They returned to the office, 
 when Eelvason said, with a savage sneer : 
 
 " Men, I will give you some advice ; the sooner 
 you emigrate, the better for yourselves ; you are 
 not wanted in this city," and again he turned to 
 his desk with vulgar abruptness. 
 
 "Mr. Eelvason," said McFlinn, slowly and de- 
 liberately, " we are free agents^ and should we 
 ever conclude to leave this city^ we trust it will not 
 be necessary to ask either your advice or your con- 
 sent." 
 
 Before Kelvason's wrath had tinje to explode the 
 committee left. They visited the other establish- 
 ments, but in every instance, except one, they were 
 treated in the same manner. The exception was 
 an employer who seemed to remember that a man 
 should be a gentleman under all circumstances 
 and upon all occasions. He said to them : 
 
 " Boys, if you were working in my shops I would 
 be glad to talk with you as men, not as a commit- 
 tee. We also have organized a union, and this 
 matter has been fully discussed. We do not think 
 it wise to treat with our men through an organiza- 
 tion. We are willing to treat with them as em- 
 ployes ; to do otherwise would be to recognize a 
 vicious principle — the right of the union to partici- 
 pate in the management of our private affairs." 
 The committee replied that the reason given in- 
 volved a distinction without a difference ; that it 
 was, outside of the principle at issue, simply a 
 matter of convenience ; that five hundred men 
 calling upon an employer to state a grievance 
 could not present their views in as orderly, or in 
 
198 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 as intelligent a manner as a committee, chosen 
 with especial reference to the object in view ; and 
 that the true reason why the employers refused to 
 receive the committee was the fear that such action 
 would be a recognition of the men's right to organize. 
 
 The next day the men quietly left the shops, 
 and either remained at home or sought work else- 
 where. Three days went by; no change. Most 
 of the men were already engaged in such work as 
 presented itself. The employers became uneasy. 
 The busy season was already upon them and orders 
 were pressing. They sought some of the men, 
 but their every question was answered: "See the 
 committee ; we have no jurisdiction in the matter." 
 
 One easy-going man, who it was thought could 
 be weaned from .duty, replied to a long string of 
 questions in a way that astonished his logical rea- 
 soners and would-be capturers. 
 
 "We do not deny your right to refuse to treat 
 with our committee. That is undoubtedly your 
 privilege/' he said; "but," he continued, "we 
 have a natural and legal right to combine and ap- 
 point that committee, and if we choose to treat 
 only through such a committee, that is our privi- 
 lege. We deny you no right legitimately yours ; 
 we simply insist upon rights legitimately ours. 
 It is an employer's unquestioned province to say 
 how much he shall give for labor, but it is also 
 labor's undisputed right to say for how much it 
 shalljje sold. Let us illustrate. There is a ques- 
 tion of dispute between two powers, for instance, 
 on a point of international law. Now, either na- 
 tion has a right to appoint a commission to confer 
 with the other on the point in dispute, but neither 
 is bound to recognize or treat with the commission 
 so appointed. Still, they do so, because it is 
 wise international policy ; because civilization and 
 
THE POWER OF MONEY. 199 
 
 ■enlightenment are opposed to war and bloodshed ; 
 and, although you are not compelled to treat with 
 our committee, that does not invalidate our right 
 to appoint the committee, and to treat with you 
 only through such committee ; and do you not 
 think it would be better to recognize in us a de 
 facto body with which to treat than to continue 
 this commercial war?" 
 
 The employers thought so finally, and resolved 
 to see the committee and learn the nature of the 
 grievance of which the men complained. 
 
 Weekly cash payments and the right to trade 
 where they pleased was the request of the men. 
 
 It was flatly and insultingly refused, and the 
 industrial war continued. 
 
 The men, conscious of their right to control their 
 own acts and persons in matters not unlawful, re- 
 fused to work, except on conditions that recognized 
 their right to a voice in determining the value of 
 their labor, the right to that value when earned, 
 and the right to spend it when and where they 
 deemed best. They at the same time conceded to 
 the employers the unrestrained right to obtain 
 other hands should they choose to do so. By lib- 
 €ral advertising, and by offering better wages than 
 they had been paying, the employers attempted to 
 ■fill their shops with new men, but failed signally. 
 
 A lull now occurred in the strife — an ominous 
 calm. Three days of masterly inactivity, and the 
 iron hand of greed made itself felt. Everj' man 
 who had left the shops, and who had secured other 
 work, some from the city, others from private cor- 
 porations, were summarily discharged without 
 -warning or explanation. How was it accom- 
 plished? Simply enough. A resolution by the 
 Board of Trade, of which many of the employers 
 were members, and some manipulatory ring shuf- 
 
200 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 fling, by a corrupt, mercenary city council, of 
 which Eelvason was a member, did the business^ 
 and did it effectually. Had this result been the 
 effect of an invocation to the Prince of Darkness 
 by a convocation of evil spirits, it could not appear 
 in the eyes of just men more inhuman or merci- 
 less ; or had it been the result of an incantation 
 of witchcraft, its effect could not more thoroughly 
 dishearten the men. The second week of the diffi- 
 culty ended gloomily for the cause of right. 
 
 The morning after his departure from Chicago,, 
 Kichard found himself in the flourishing city of 
 Milwaukee. He secured work readily, and was 
 fully settled in the afternoon. He then remem- 
 bered that he had received some letters as he was 
 leaving Chicago which he had forgotten to read. 
 Among them was one that affected him visibly as 
 soon as he saw the sigtiatare. With a beating heart 
 and a glowing face he read : 
 
 Deab Sir : Your note reached me a few moments 
 ago. I need not attempt to describe my astonish- 
 ment. I was filled tvith amazement, and I might 
 add delight. Not alone do I rejoice to learn that 
 my dearest and best friend has found a brother, but' 
 that she has found one so eminently worthy of her, 
 and found him at a time whe/n she most needed fra- 
 ternal protection. I must also say that I was much 
 pained by your ungenerous reference to the difference 
 in our social positions. In all the essential elements 
 of true greatness, your sister is my superior, and I 
 am selfish enough to desire a continuance of our 
 former friendship. Please inform me where and 
 when I can see her, and greatly oblige, 
 
 '^ Yours sincerely, Vida Gbldamo. 
 
 "P. S. — lam a prophetess. You are going to 
 leave the city. Perhaps 'tis well, but 'twere better 
 
THE POWER OF MONEY. 201 
 
 to conciliate an enemy, or, therein failing, fight 
 him in his own territory . V. G." 
 
 As minute particles of iron fly, adhere and cling 
 to a magnet, so every impulse of Kichard's soul 
 flew to and centered in this note. He pored over 
 it, read it a dozen times, kissed it rapturously, read 
 it over again, fixed each word, and the very shade 
 and turn of the letters indelibly in his mind, and 
 the more he read and kissed it, the higher in hia 
 estimation rose the writer. She was all goodness, 
 all loveliness — an angel. 
 
 Goethe, in his autobiography, says that the first 
 propensity to love in an uncorrupted youth takes 
 altogether a spiritual direction. It was so with 
 Kichard. He could see nothing but beauty and 
 goodness in her he loved ; but he paid dearly for 
 indulging in these joyous transports^ and the 
 depth of his pain was in exact proportion to the 
 height of his ecstatic flight. One moment in 
 heaven would add infinite tortures — the pain of 
 loss — to the damned soul, and when the utter 
 hopelessness of his passion swept across the mind 
 of Richard Arbyght his soul was racked with a 
 greater pain than he ever knew. 
 
 As he lay in a deep slumber that night, his 
 wakeful soul sought its affinity. The man trav- 
 ersed dreamland without regard to time, speed, or 
 distance. He finally reached the center of a bound- 
 less plain, and from where he stood the earth and 
 sky seemed, in the distance, to meet in a coronal 
 line, broken only in the East, where loomed a vast 
 mountain range, surpassing anything seen on 
 earth, its great curvilineal, isolated peaks towering 
 precipitously, cast long lines of shadows across the 
 plain, through which swiftly ran a deep, broad 
 river, cutting it into two unecLual divisions. The 
 
202 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 plain on both sides of the river was inhabited, but 
 strange to say, the smaller division was densely 
 populated with suffering, starving mortals, while 
 in the larger division there were comparatively few 
 people, who seemed to enjoy a luxurious life in a 
 land of oriental splendor and enchanted ease. 
 Eichard walked down to the river's edge and looked 
 across. The first object that riveted his attention 
 was Vida G-eldamo, who seemed to be earnestly 
 looking toward the side on which he stood. An 
 uncontrollable desire to cross the dark river now 
 took possession of him, but to attempt it v/as 
 death ; the river was wide, the current swift, al- 
 mostarapid. There was a boat that plied regularly 
 between the two shores, but he was told that to se- 
 cure passage across he must have the usual pass- 
 port — gold. Very few went over, and nearly as 
 many came back, but those that returned had no 
 choice in the matter. How to cross the river was 
 a problem that perplexed his mind. Passport he 
 did not have and could not obtain, although he was 
 told it mattered not how it was procured, whether 
 stolen, or fished from the feculence of fraud and 
 wrong, or even secured at the expense of a reeking 
 holocaust of blood ; all that was required, was that 
 it should be solid, real gold and of sufficient weight. 
 But he had no gold, nor would he steal nor murder 
 to get it ; hence he was compelled to sorrowfully 
 abandon the thought of crossing. A closer obser- 
 vation showed that the river was many feet below 
 the level of the plain, and from stratifications no- 
 ticeable on the descending bank, Richard concluded 
 that at one time the river had been much wider 
 and deeper than at present, and that it was evi- 
 dently slowly drying up. He wandered far up the 
 bank, thinking that, like all rivers, it would grow 
 narrower toward its source, and that, perhaps, a 
 
THU POWER OF MONEY. 203 
 
 fordable point might be reached. But he was dis- 
 appointed ; it preserved a uniform width and swift- 
 ness at every point he approached ; still he perse- 
 veringly pursued his course toward the head, if 
 head this strange river had. The shadows of the 
 sugar-loaf mountains grew broader and darker as 
 he neared them. He soon reached their base, and 
 passing through a deep, dark canyon, he reached an 
 open space and beheld a spectacle that startled 
 him. The sight presented to his astonished vision 
 was unspeakably, incomprehensibly grand, inspir- 
 ing awe, rather than admiration. Two towering 
 chains of ice mountainSj whose peaks were swathed 
 in eternal snow, abruptly terminated in the open 
 space some ninety miles apart, and extending back 
 couvergently until they met about ninety miles 
 from the opening. These mountain chains were 
 more than five miles high, and the V-like valley 
 they formed was once a vast fielder block of ice over 
 four miles thick — the concreted accumulations of 
 centuries. It was the ice of ignorance and barbar- 
 ism ; but a mighty orb glowing in the western 
 heavens, called the sun of education, had made 
 fearful inroads into this vast, icy field. For many 
 years its steady, perpetual rays of effulgent heat 
 had shone upon the congealed mass with dissolv- 
 ing eff'ect. The heat of education's sun was grow- 
 ing stronger and stronger, and the ice was melt- 
 ing away more and more rapidly ; the stamp of in- 
 evitable dissolution was upon it ; great fissures 
 were everywhere discernible ; and this was the 
 head, the source of the river of Distinction, that by 
 its dividing line made two worlds of one. Streams, 
 creeks, and rivulets, created by the dissolving ice, 
 fed the river that the dreamer essayed in vain to 
 cross. He now retraced his steps, returning 
 through the canyon, passing through the shadows 
 
204 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 of the tall, curvilineal mountains, back into the 
 wide, open plain. But a great change had taken 
 place in the river during his absence ; it was al- 
 most dry. The boat that monopolized and held 
 the exclusive right to cross and recross its dark, 
 swift-flowing current was grounded and deserted. 
 The dreamer again looked across the now nearly 
 empty channel, and again he saw Vida Geldamo 
 standing where he first beheld her ; but as he 
 looked she advanced toward him ; filled with a 
 great joy, he started to meet her ; nearer and nearer 
 they came ; more and more distinct grew the fea- 
 tures of each, and in the middle of the dry channel 
 they fell into each other's arms in a burst of mutual 
 rapture. The temporary torpidity of the sleeper's 
 senses began to give way ; the faculties of the mind 
 gradually emerged from a quiescent state, his 
 slumberous eyes slowly opened, and, in ^wakeful 
 moments, the sad conviction burst upon him that 
 his blissful vision was only a dream. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 ACCEPTS HER ADVICE. 
 
 " You are from Chicago, I believe ?" Arbyght's 
 new employer remarked, in a casual way, one day, 
 as they met in the yard. 
 
 "I am," said Eichard, quietly. 
 
 " Why did you leave there ? " in an impertinent 
 tone. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 ^'Yes." 
 
ACCEPTS HER ADVICE. 
 
 205 
 
 " To avoid unjust persecution." 
 
 "Humph," grunted the employer ; then, fumb- 
 ling in a side-pocket of his coat, he drew out a 
 package of letters, from one of which he took and 
 handed to Arbyght an oblong piece of stiff card- 
 board, on which was photographed this picture : 
 
206 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Do you recognize it ?" he asked, with a mali- 
 cious grin, as he observed Arbyght's perplexity 
 and astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, I recognize it ; but how or by what right 
 it was taken is a puzzle that I can not comprehend ; 
 can you? " 
 
 "How it was taken or by what right are ques- 
 tions that do not concern me," responded the em- 
 ployer. 
 
 " Well, perhaps you would not be averse to dis- 
 closing from whom you received it?" said Kich- 
 ard. 
 
 " It came from Chicago." 
 
 " Oh !" It was clear to Richard now. 
 
 " Yes," continued the scanctimouious Sanderson 
 Cairns, "and I think you had better go back and 
 make a more commendable record before you again 
 attempt to impose upon us. We want no agitators 
 .here. If my men dare to organize I will discharge 
 every man of them and fill their places with Chi- 
 nese." 
 
 Eichard was quite angry, but he restrained him- 
 self, being determined not to betray any visible 
 sign of the indignation that drove the blood hotly 
 through his veins. 
 
 " Why don't you procure these Chinese now ?" 
 asked Richard, sarcastically. 
 
 Cairns was cornered, but endeavored to extricate 
 himself by saying : 
 
 "You see, most of the men who work for me 
 are of my own nationality ; hence, I feel for them, 
 and do not wish to see them suffer from lack of 
 employment ; although I am sure I could get my 
 work done much cheaper by Chinese." 
 
 "Oh! I see," responded Richard, "not the 
 force of your reason, but the force of your motive ; 
 your men are allied to you by national ties ; oh. 
 
ACCEPTS HER ADVICE. 207 
 
 yes ! and for that reason you imagine you have an 
 unquestionable right to fleece them. Yours is 
 the sympathy of the farmer for the sheep before he 
 shears them, or the housewife for her geese before 
 she plucks them. Now sir, give me my time; la- 
 bor is a commodity that should never beg for a mar- 
 ket," and he tore the photograph into a dozen 
 pieces, and threw them upon the ground. 
 
 Eichard Arbyght left Milwaukee and went to 
 Peoria, Illinois, but could obtain no work. When- 
 ever he entered a shop he was at once recognized, 
 and very frequently insulted. It would be useless 
 to record the state of his mind during these days 
 of far-reaching persecution. At times he gave 
 himself up to the bitterest emotions of hate ; then 
 Vida Geldamo entered his soul and lei't no room 
 for hate. One employer sympathized with him, 
 and said he would employ him but for tlie rest — • 
 he feared the other employers would prejudice the 
 minds of consumers and leave him without a'mar- 
 . ket. From this man Eichard learned that Eelva- 
 son had sent nearly every employer of note in the 
 West a printed letter in which he was represented 
 as a man to be feared, that he was the paid agent 
 of some secret revolutionary league, the object of 
 which was to overturn the government, and rob 
 and murder the moneyed men of the country. 
 Accompanying each letter was a copy of the above 
 photograph. 
 
 " 'Twere better to conciliate an enemy, or, there- 
 in failing, fight him in his own territory." These 
 words recurred to the hounded son of toil with 
 greater force every day, until he finally resolved to 
 follow Vida's advice and return to Chicago. 
 
 Forty-two miles northwest of that city, in a 
 gently-rolling prairie country, on the banks of 
 the Fox river, is located the beautiful and thriv- 
 
208 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ing town of Elgin, one of the pleasantest places 
 in all the surrounding country. When it was 
 reached by the Chicago bound train, on which 
 Richard Arbyght was journeying to the enemies' 
 territory, a poor woman, worn out by the fatigue 
 of traveling and the care of two small children, 
 asked Richard if he would be 'kind enough to 
 bring her a cup of warm coffee. He answered 
 that he would be only too glad to be of service to 
 her. The coffee was procured, but while Richard 
 was paying for it at the restaurant counter the 
 train sped out of the depot and left him behind. 
 
 The next train was not due for several hours. 
 If there is any one thing that will make a man 
 restless and uneasy, it is waiting for a train at a 
 depot. Richard found it so, and, to banish the 
 ennui that oppressed him, he took a stroll through 
 the town and beyond its suburbs. 
 
 The autumn sun was about half an hour high, the 
 face of the declining day was fanned by the soft 
 winds of the Indian summer ; the sky was clear 
 above but merged into a purplish haziness at the 
 horizon, where it seemed to blend with the rolling 
 prairie. Richard had reached the open country, 
 and saw groves and snow-white cottages environed 
 with clustering trees on every side. While he 
 stood and gazed entranced on nature's loveliness, 
 contemplating the approaching demise of sere and 
 yellow autumn, he was awakened from his reverie by 
 a dull, rumbling sound as of muffled thunder danc- 
 ing in the air ; looking toward the south, he saw 
 approaching the train from Chicago. On it came 
 with thundering force and lightning speed ; on it 
 came like some fabled messenger of the gods ; now 
 it shot 'round a sharp curve like a bolt from 
 heaven and came fully into view, and then there 
 issued from the iron lungs of the monster a blue 
 
ACCEPTS HER ADVICE. 209 
 
 vapory breath, followed by an appalling, unearthly 
 screech. 
 
 A violent plunging and prancing of horses, 
 mingled with cries of distress, now claimed Rich- 
 ard's attention, and glancing down the road lead- 
 ing to the town he saw two ladies mounted on 
 blooded horses that were pawing the ground, and 
 ■champing, prancing, and rearing fearfully. The 
 train swept by with a whirling rush and roar. In 
 passing, the same appalling, unearthy screech again 
 ■rent the air ; the spirited animals took fright and 
 -dashed madly up the road ; Richard planted him- 
 self at one side of the track and as they dashed by 
 he sprang and caught the nearest horse by the bit, 
 and after a sharp struggle brought him to a halt. 
 The lady, a tall, graceful woman, with large gray 
 eyes, wavy brown hair, and a fair complexion^ 
 dismounted hurriedly and with clasped hands and 
 "tremulous accents said : 
 
 " For God's sake, save my cousin!" 
 Quick as thought Richard drew his knife, cut 
 ■the girths, jerked off the saddle, and, springing 
 upon the horse, gave chase to the flying steed and 
 soon gained upon him; but the fair rider, although 
 she evidently had no control over the fright-mad- 
 dened animal, did not appear to be at all alarmed. 
 A glossy brown curl fluttered under her riding- 
 hat like the streamer on a topmast, and she sat in 
 her saddle with grace and ease. Suddenly the 
 ■frightened horse, to evade a crowd of excited men 
 ^nd boys that had gathered on the road, leaped a 
 low fence and dashed across an open field toward a 
 thickly-wooded grove. Rapidly noting the dan- 
 ger that now threatened the fair rider, Richard 
 caused his horse to leap tlie same fence a few rods 
 tack, and, taking an oblique course, sought to 
 iead off the runaway horse, the rider of which had 
 14 
 
210 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 now become thoroughly frightened as she neared 
 the grove, for she knew that if her horse rushed in 
 among the trees it would be a ride to death. She 
 saw the near approach of help^ but she was now 
 very close to the grove. She leaned forward in 
 her saddle, closed her lips tightly, and prepared 
 for the worst. 
 
 Richard drove the heels of his boots into th& 
 flanks of his horse, and the animal, responding 
 with a magnificent spurt, brought him to the side 
 of the now almost inanimate woman. Calling on 
 her to disengage her feet from the stirrups, he 
 threw his right arm around her and lifted her 
 from the saddle just as they reached the edge 
 of the grove, and a sudden jerk with his left 
 hand reined the now doubly-laden beast com- 
 pletely around. 
 
 The fair rider had fainted. Richard dismounted 
 at once and laid her gently down, tied his horse 
 to a young sapling, and proceeded to restore his un- 
 conscious charge. To give her air he threw back 
 her vail, which had fallen over her face ; but he 
 drew back with a start. It was Vida G-eldamo 
 that lay pale and motionless before him. He ut- 
 tered a little cry of mingled love and terror, half 
 joy, half sorrow. He took her cold, bloodless, tiny 
 hands between his warm palms, pressed them ten- 
 derly, kissed them with soft violence, his heart 
 fluttering in his breast like a wounded bird the 
 while. He dropped the hands and darted ofiF in 
 search of water, found none ; darted back again, 
 took her hands again, wet them with his tears, 
 rained upon them soul-ravishing kisses, and by the 
 magnetism of his love electrified her into sensi- 
 bility. 
 
 She opened her eyes slightly, saw who was 
 bending over her, opened them very wide, closed 
 
ACCEPTS HER ADVICE. 211 
 
 them again, perhaps to think; or perhaps his love 
 and devotion was so genuine, so real, so oinlike 
 anything she had ever dreamed of, that she was 
 rather pleased than otherwise, and did not wish 
 to rudely break the spell. A rosy flush stole over 
 her neck and face, as she murmured softly : 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Arbyght!" 
 
 He was at her side in a twinkling, assisted her 
 to sit up, and spoke so gently that she soon grew 
 out of the novelty and strangeness of the occur- 
 rence and laughed gaily ; but, glancing furtively 
 at Richard, she noticed his tear-stained cheeks, 
 and then her own eyes filled, and she turned away 
 her head and both were silent. 
 
 Recovering herself, Vida turned to Richard, and, 
 putting out her hand, said, with soft, lingering 
 accent : 
 
 " I am so glad it was you," but, fearing she had 
 said too much, she continued, "you will take me 
 home now?" 
 
 Some boys, who had been nutting in the grove, 
 saw the riderless horse, caught him, and appeared 
 at this moment leading him out of the grove. 
 Richard hailed the boys and secured the horse, 
 which was now quite tame and submissive. He 
 assisted Vida to mount, and in silence they started 
 for the town — Richard walking and leading the 
 horse with which he overtook her. After a 
 while, Vida said, iri a tone of surprise rather than 
 inquiry : 
 
 " What strange fatality brought you here?" 
 
 " Your advice," he replied. 
 
 "My advice?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am going back to fight the enemy in 
 his own territory." 
 
 Vida hung her head, and another silence en- 
 sued. 
 
212 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 II 
 
 You have relations here, I presume?" said 
 Kichard, after the lapse of several minutes. 
 
 "An aunt-in-law and cousin," replied Vida. 
 
 Another silence. Vida was castle building ; 
 Eichard was grave digging. They met the cousin 
 near the point where Arbyght had jumped the 
 fence. An introduction followed. Miss Saunders 
 seemed puzzled. Vida noticed her inquiring look, 
 .and said, by way of answer : 
 
 •"Mr. Arbyght and I have met before. He is 
 ■an esteemed friend." 
 
 This remark did not, in itself, indicate much, 
 but Vida managed to throw into it so much pro- 
 found thankfulness, ai^ so much respect that 
 Eichard was in Dante's seventh heaven at once. 
 It was quite dark when Mrs. Saunders' house was 
 reached. A servant came out and took charge of 
 the horses, and Miss Saunders invited Eichard to 
 remain over night, as he had again missed the 
 train for Chicago. He declined — Vida insisted. 
 He said, that sooner than trespass on her aunt's 
 hospitality he would prefer to remain at a hotel, 
 but in that, to tell the truth, his lips gave the lie 
 to his heart. Vida would not accept a refusal ; 
 she read the man. It is woman's specialty to read 
 men, and it is astonishing to note the proficiency 
 which some of them display in this branch of their 
 education. 
 
 Her pleading prevailed. Eiqhard accepted the in- 
 vitation and entered the house. He was shown into 
 a large, brilliantly-lighted room. A woman, about 
 forty years of age, arose as he entered, and looked 
 straight at him as the light shone full on his face, 
 and, before Vida or her cousin could introduce him, 
 she advanced and said eagerly : 
 
 " Surely your name is Arbyght?" 
 
 Eichard looked at her keenly, noted the regular 
 
ACCEPTS HER ADVICE. 213 
 
 features, the dark, flashing eyes, and defiant-look- 
 ing mouth, and replied promptly : 
 
 "And surely you are my Aunt Kate, my 
 father's sister." 
 
 The recognition was mutual ; the resemblance 
 between them was marked and striking ; they 
 would pass for mother and son any where. 
 
 Richard remained two days, and was treated 
 like a prince. When he departed a gloom fell 
 upon the whole household, and upon no one waa 
 the effect more noticeable than upon Vida. Time 
 glided quickly by while he was present, it now 
 dragged tediously. This may have been because 
 Vida had lost her vivacity. He left in the morn- 
 ing — she did not play or sing the remainder of the 
 day. The next day she went to the piano, but her 
 touch awakened only the most plaintive and pa- 
 thetic airs, and her voice was lower and softer than 
 before ; she avoided, as much as possible, any 
 reference to Richard. Was she in love ? She 
 dared not ask herself the question. 
 
 When Arbyght reached Chicago the men were 
 completely demoralized, and were returning to 
 work every day, but the leader's presence caused 
 a reaction : a large meeting was held, the situa- 
 tion was discussed, new plans were laid, and the 
 men became more determined and enthusiastic 
 than ever. The next day all those who had re- 
 turned to work again left the shops. 
 
 The employers were now confused, and offered 
 to compromise by giving half cash and sub- 
 stituting the pass-book system for the order sys- 
 tem. To this cunning proposition the committee 
 answered : 
 
 " Under the present system we are very poorly 
 paid, and lose over fifteen per cent, of our earnings 
 by not being paid in cash ; and the pass-book sys- 
 
214 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 tern is even worse than the order-system, since 
 there would be no limit to our credit except the 
 amount of our weekly wages, and with so many 
 wants staring us in the face cash payments would 
 be very uncertain, if not absolutely wanting, if 
 stores were thrown open for general purchase ; 
 hence, we are compelled to decline the propo- 
 sition." 
 
 The employers yielded to the demand of the 
 union two days afterward. 
 
 About a week after this settlement, McFlinn, 
 Trustgood and Wood were discharged upon trivial 
 pretexts. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 
 
 A few days after Arbyght's return to Chicago 
 Mr. Allsound waited upon him and offered him a 
 clerkship in his store. Richard accepted the situa- 
 tion gratefully, and thanked Allsound for the in- 
 terest he manifested in his welfare. The thanks 
 were misdirected ; Paul Geldamo was entitled to 
 them. Mr. AUsound's motives were selfish. He 
 thought that by complying with Paul's request 
 his interest would be advanced in another direc- 
 tion. 
 
 Bertha received a letter from her new-found aunt 
 and cousin urging and begging her to visit them. 
 She finally complied. Richard also urged her to 
 accept the invitation, and was glad that she had 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 215 
 
 left the city, as he expected trouble and was es- 
 pecially anxious that his sister should he spared 
 the pain and annoyance his difficulties would cause 
 her. 
 
 In his new vocation, after a short initiation, 
 Richard got along charmingly. It was for this 
 man that Lionel Trueson worked, and the com- 
 pany and presence of the lad served to make the 
 new clerk feel more at home. After he had been 
 in Allsound's employ about two weeks an event 
 transpired that was plainly stamped with the im- 
 print of the Leviathan's tooth. 
 
 Many of the Relvason syndicate charged the 
 guiding spirit with overzealousness, and claimed 
 that had Arbyght been permitted to secure work 
 in outside towns, he would, in all probability, have 
 remained away, and confusion and defeat would 
 not have come upon them. These remarks drove 
 Relvason into such a frenzy that his soul was 
 gnawed by the sharp fangs of bitter rage. The 
 humiliation of defeat, the abasement of his domi- 
 neering pride, and, worse than all, the loss of 
 money, was a more excruciating torture than 
 would be the excoriation of his body. Still he 
 smiled, and none would suppose that the sinisterly- 
 calm face of the man, "essentially mad, without 
 seeming so," was the index to a soul devouring 
 itself with hate intensified. 
 
 Arbyght beware! "the Philistines are upon 
 thee!" 
 
 An agent was sent to Allsound with discretion- 
 ary power. He sounded the merchant on identity 
 of interests; then he pleaded; next he attempted 
 to bribe. Allsound wished to discharge Richard. 
 He hated him because he did what he could not, 
 dared not attempt — saved Paul Geldamo's life, and 
 in her presence, too. He was jealous of Richard's 
 
216 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 manhood ; hence, he had no love for him. Bnt to- 
 discharge Arbyght he feared would displease Vida 
 Geldamo. and he was too shrewd to be caught with 
 chaif. Her hand, commercially speaking, was 
 worth a million dollars, and it was from a com- 
 mercial standpoint Allsound regarded her and 
 wooed her. He was incapable of human or platonic 
 love, not possessing manhood enough for the ibr- 
 mer nor soul enough for the latter. He loved and 
 courted her father's gold, and that was more than.' 
 the syndicate could offer. 
 
 The Leviathan was again foiled, but not ap- 
 peased. 
 
 Vida Geldamo returned to Chicago. The next, 
 evening Allsound and Estella Kelvason, accom- 
 panied by Spindle, called upon her. They found 
 her in raptures over country air, boundless room,^. 
 broad fields, warm-hearted, generous people, and 
 the innumerable other attractions unknown to city 
 life. Still, there was in her manner a subdued 
 melancholy that contrasted strangely with her 
 former sprightliness. While they were still dis- 
 cussing the country, Paul Geldamo and Richard. 
 Arbyght entered the room unannounced. Vida's 
 face brightened, and then grew sad. Joy and/ 
 sorrow, laughter and tears seem to be very closely 
 allied. 
 
 Spindle stared and nodded at Richard ; Allsound 
 recognized him with the lofty air of a man of con- 
 scious distinction and superiority. Miss Relvason;' 
 was introduced and bowed coldly, stiffly , haughtily. 
 Richard bowed to each in an easy manner, but with, 
 deigned civility, while a satirical smile danced 
 around his eyes and mouth. Vida's quick eye — the- 
 eye of love — noticed the lurking disdain and re- 
 pressed resentment in his face, and, though the- 
 causeof it irritated her, she did not choose to show 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 217 
 
 that she cared. Still, she was revenged. She 
 gave her hand to Richard, and showed, by her 
 smile and kind words, that she was pleased to see 
 him ; and, to cap the climax of his and her tri- 
 umph, she called him cousin. 
 
 All this fencing with voice and action was not 
 only genuine, it was designed with wondrous nicety 
 to soften Richard and force the rest of the company 
 to treat him at least with the forms of respect 
 and deference. Nor did it wholly fail ; but when 
 he was called cousin, they stared and gaped in 
 astonishment. Vida noticed their evident bewil- 
 derment and explained, and when she ceased the 
 company were sufficiently en report to converse 
 smoothly. 
 
 Richard was not quite at his ease, but Vida 
 brought to bear all her woman's wit and tact to 
 drive away his constraint; and yielding to her 
 charming influence, his reserve disappeared and he 
 joined in the conversation and held his own. He 
 was not an adept in small talk, and his remarks 
 did not possess that complete, refined, compli- 
 mentary obsequiousness observable in elite society, 
 but though they were sometimes quaint, they were 
 at all times sententious, vigorous, and to the point ; 
 and they had a charm for Vida because she knew 
 that they were the sentiments of an earnest, manly 
 man. 
 
 " Mr. Arbyght, permit me to ask how the 
 union is getting along?" said Spindle, placing an 
 insinuating, deprecating emphasis on the word 
 union. 
 
 "It lives and thrives," replied Richard, with 
 slight emphasis on the word lives, partly in allu- 
 sion to the abortive attempt to destroy it. 
 
 Spindle felt the force of the rejoinder and did 
 not venture on that ground again. 
 
218 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Do you sing, Mr. Arbyght?" asked MissRel- 
 vason, with the air of an artiste. 
 
 Vida colored perceptibly and bit her lips 
 sharply. 
 
 "I sometimes sing," said Richard, quietly, and 
 then added with a twinkle in his eye, " My voice 
 has considerable compass and tone, but is unfortu- 
 nately hampered by a serious drawback." All- 
 sound winced. 
 
 "And pray, what may that he, if it is not im- 
 pertinent to ask ?" 
 
 " Why," Richard replied, "the compass of my 
 voice is such that it invariably fills the room, but 
 the drawback is that it invariably empties it." 
 
 Vida smiled approvingly, the others laughed. 
 Miss Relvason then went to the piano and dashed 
 off a sparkling air from Verdi's " Rigoletto," and 
 then tried to interpret a passage in Gounod's 
 "Faust." This was Greek to Richard, and it is 
 more than likely it was also Greek to the per- 
 former. 
 
 Vida followed with some sprightly national airs, 
 and the company were in ecstacies. The music of 
 the old masters may do well enough for concerts 
 and operas, where it is the thing to feel entranced 
 and applaud what you do not understand, but for 
 the drawing-room, the sweet, simple airs of our 
 childhood are far more acceptable. 
 
 Richard was then asked to sing by Miss Relva- 
 son, Allsound, and Spindle. They asked him to 
 humble him, because they thought he could not 
 sing. He declined demurely, but looked plead- 
 ingly at Vida. 
 
 "I will play the accompaniment for you," she 
 said, interpreting his look. 
 
 " Then I will sing." 
 
 He went to the piano, picked up the music, 
 
THE STEUGQLE FOR EXISTENCE. 219 
 
 and made a selection. Vida looked at him re- 
 provingly, and said softly : 
 
 "Not that." 
 _ " That or nothing," he replied, in a low hut de- 
 oided tone, but added more softly and in a voice 
 that quivered, "if you please." 
 
 Vida struck the sentient keys, and in a clear, 
 soft voice Richard sang : 
 
 " I'd offer thee this hand of mine 
 
 If I could love thee less ; 
 But hearts as warm, as pure as thine, 
 
 Should never know distress. 
 Mj' fortune 'tis too hard for thee, 
 
 'Twould chill thy dearest joy. 
 I'd rather weep to see thee free 
 
 Than win thee to destroy." 
 
 The music ceased. 
 
 "I do not like the song," pleaded Vida in a 
 husky voice, her eyes moist with tears. "Its 
 pathos always makes me feel sad," she added in a 
 •clearer tone. 
 
 Allsound coincided. He felt annoyed^ and 
 ■could not help showing it. 
 
 Vida's face turned quite red, but she made no 
 reply. A few moments later the company de- 
 parted. 
 
 The next morning Spindle' called upon All- 
 sound before the latter had arisen. He was, by 
 request, shown into Allsound's room. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of last night's 
 episode?" said Spindle, with malicious sarcasm. 
 
 " I hardly know what to think," said the other, 
 disconsolately. 
 
 "This mudsill is evidently in the way," con- 
 tinued Spindle, in a tone of mock sympathy. 
 
 " Do you think he has the impudence 
 
 " There ! there ! I know him ; don't you trouble 
 
220 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 yourself about his inapudence. You will finxi 
 him well up in that commodity," tauntingly in- 
 terrupted Spindle. 
 
 "I'll discharge him this very day/' roared 
 Allsound. 
 
 " That won't help your case," nonchalantly re- 
 marked his visitor. 
 
 "Why not?" The volume of voice was in- 
 creasing. 
 
 " How will the matter be bettered so long as he 
 remains in the citj'?" said Spindle with quiet 
 but provoking bitterness. 
 
 Hell was now raging in the breast of Allsound. 
 
 " What can I do ? " he asked, desperately. 
 
 Spindle went close to him, brought his eyes 
 out of their cave-like recesses, and, looking know- 
 ingly into Allsound's face, said, or rather hissed in 
 his ear : 
 
 "He must be disgraced and driven from the 
 city ! " 
 
 Before Allsound could rightly comprehend the 
 force of these words Spindle was gone. 
 
 Going down to his store that morning Allsound 
 thought long and hard. Jealousy, like a prompt- 
 ing demon, was urging and goading him to des- 
 peration. In turning a corner, he observed a 
 locksmith's sign ; he paused, glanced around, 
 then hurried on. "A thief doth fear each bush 
 an (Officer." Allsound was in his heart at that 
 moment a criminal. In his store there were two 
 safes, an old-fashioned one, with an ordinary key, 
 and a modern one, with a combination lock. Upon 
 reaching the store, he took the key of the old safe 
 out of the drawer, and placing it in his pocket, 
 went back to the locksmith's shop, whose sign he 
 had noticed on his way to the store, and ordered 
 a duplicate key. The next morning he called at 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 221 
 
 the shop and secured the keys. On one side of 
 the store a black walnut partition, some seven feet 
 high and fifteen feet from the wall, extended 
 back thirty feet from the large front window, en- 
 closing a space, the upper end of which was occu- 
 pied by the book-keeper, and the opposite end by 
 desks for general business. In this place the 
 clerks usually hung their overcoats. Allsound 
 entered quietly, spoke to the book-keeper, turned 
 and passed into the store, and as he glided out in 
 a stealthy manner, he adroitly slipped the dupli- 
 cate key into the inside pocket of Arbyght's over- 
 coat. He left the store shortly afterward, and in 
 an hour returned, accompanied by Sergeant Soolfire. 
 
 The book-keeper and clerks were called together, 
 and the officer gave each one as he appeared a 
 sharp, crucial look. 
 
 "Are there any more?" he asked, abruptly, as 
 the last man came up. 
 
 " No," replied Allsound. 
 
 ' ' Then I think you are mistaken ; " he spoke de- 
 cidedly and smiled incredulously. 
 
 " I am sure I am not." 
 
 " You are sure?" interrupted the officer, as he 
 faced Allsound and regarded him with a searching, 
 penetrating look. 
 
 Allsound quailed, and stammered : "It must be 
 so, I — I think it can't be otherwise." 
 
 " Men," said the sergeant, facing 'round, "your 
 employer says he has lost large sums of money ; 
 perhaps he has, but I can hardly believe that his 
 suspicion, that among you will be found the cul- 
 prit, is well founded ; however, as he has lodged 
 complaint and filed the necessary affidavit, I am in 
 duty bound to search your persons, and, if neces- 
 sary, your places of abode, for evidences of guilt, 
 if there be any." 
 
222 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 The men were dumbfounded, but cheerfully sub- 
 mitted to the search. It revealed nothing. The 
 overcoats in the enclosure were then examined, and 
 lo I a duplicate key of the old safe was found in th& 
 inside pocket of the book-keeper's coat. The ser- 
 geant smiled significantly, the book-keeper looked 
 bewildered, the others stared. 
 
 "Oh! sergeant," broke out Allsound, in an 
 alarmed voice, "there is surely some mistake." 
 
 "Hold! hold I" said the sergeant, " let us see 
 if this key unlocks the safe from which you claim 
 the property has been stolen," and, placing the 
 key in the safe lock, he shot back the bolt and 
 opened the safe. 
 
 "I tell you it's a mistake," again pleaded All- 
 sound, " I would trust my whole fortune to that 
 man ; I won't appear against him ; I would not 
 have him arrested for half I am worth." 
 
 " I rather think there was a mistake made by 
 somebody," said the sergeant, slowly shaking his 
 head, " and as you do not desire it, I will not 
 make any arrest, but I will keep this key, and, per- 
 haps, it may some day unlock this mystery, or mis- 
 take as you term it." 
 
 Allsound turned pale and trembled, but dared 
 not remonstrate. 
 
 That afternoon, as Arbyghtwas returning to the 
 store from his dinner, he met Lionel Trueson, who 
 had just left it. 
 
 "Richard," said the boy, sorrowfully, "you 
 must leave the store at once." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " That key was placed in your pocket." 
 
 " You astonish me !" 
 
 " It is true, nevertheless." 
 
 " The key placed in my pocket," said Richard, 
 musingly. 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 223 
 
 "Yes. 
 "And you- 
 
 "Question me no further," answered Lionel, 
 hurriedly, as he darted past him. 
 
 Now it was Eichard's time to thint, and think 
 hard. The result of his thinking led him to quit 
 the place at once. For two weeks he diligently 
 and untiringly searched for employment, but found 
 
 > 
 
 bread. The committee, it has already been stated, 
 were discharged, but it remains to be told that 
 they were also proscribed, and had it not been for 
 the material aid of the union, generously bestowed, 
 the children of Trustgood and McFlinn would have 
 suffered and hungered for bread. 
 
 Oscar Wood was single, was more boy than 
 man; not yet had " manhood darkened o'er his 
 downy cheek." He was a young Canadian, with 
 soft and graceful manners ; as fair and beautiful 
 as girlhood could wish ; a smile and kind word he 
 ever had for all. Yet he was all order and spirit 
 when occasion demanded it ; he had in him the 
 elements of a strong manhood ; he was the first to 
 join the union, nor was he the least in it. 
 
 One day Alexander Fargood met Arbyght, and 
 during the conversation that followed suggested 
 that the proscribed workmen might flank their 
 enemies by becoming employers as well as work- 
 men, that is to start business — necessarily on a small 
 scale — for themselves. 
 
 " Should you conclude to act upon the sugges- 
 tion I have made," said Fargood, as he and Rich- 
 ard separated, "you can rely upon me for any 
 assistance it is in my power to render." 
 
 Richard thought the matter over, sought Trust- 
 good and McFlinn, and talked it over with them, 
 and the result was a determination to give the 
 
224 
 
 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 scheme a trial on the co-operative basis. Kichard 
 had a thousand dollars which he had saved in the 
 army, McFlinn and Trustgood mortgaged their 
 homes for an equal amount ; Oscar Wood was 
 given an interest although he was unable to fur- 
 nish any capital. Though young, he was provi- 
 dent and careful, but being the only support of a 
 widowed mother and invalid sister, his earnings 
 were swallowed up in the gaping maw of subsis- 
 tence. 
 
 An old three-story brick building, formerly used 
 as a warehouse, but now deserted, was rented and 
 after some alterations made to answer for shop, 
 yard, and storehouse. This building stood close 
 to the river, its rear foundation resting on piles, 
 the wall rising from the water's edge. About six- 
 teen feetjof the lower story, facing the river and 
 a side street, was not walled up, being built up to 
 the second floor in this shape : 
 
 A large iron pillar being placed in the corner 
 from which massive beams were stretched to the 
 wall, and upon these beams the walls were con- 
 tinued two stories higher. Right over tbis opeu 
 
THE STKUGGLB FOR EXISTENCE. 225 
 
 •corner of the building was a room which Richard 
 fitted up as a sleeping apartment for Oscar and 
 himself, as owing to the enmity with which em- 
 ployers regarded the movement it was deemed 
 advisable to keep constant watch over their prop- 
 erty. 
 
 The four men finally began operations, but made 
 no effort to sell or find a market for their ware. 
 They stored their work for the first week in the 
 secoi^d story of the old building. One dark night 
 on the following week, all of the manufactured 
 stock was removed to Fargood's store-house, and 
 by him sold, no one suspecting that it was not his 
 own. But it was soon discovered by Spindle that 
 the men had disposed of their work and, of course, 
 iRelvason and the rest of the employers were soon 
 in possession of the fact. 
 
 This creature. Spindle, had no will of his own ; 
 he was completely and willingly the slave of his 
 master — another Fadladeen, whose conduct and 
 opinion, as Moore says, were founded upon that line 
 of Sadi : " Should the prince at noon-day say it is 
 night, declare that you behold the moon and stars." 
 And, even more, he partook of the hate of his em- 
 ployer. In this instance he did not rest until he 
 had ascertained how and by what means Richard 
 and his associates disposed of their ware, and, when 
 the secret was discovered, their market was closed. 
 They next attempted to ship their work to outside 
 markets, but Relvason's agents watched them 
 olosely, and foiled them upon every occasion. 
 Three weeks after the inauguration of the enter- 
 prise inevitable ruin stared these men in the face. 
 They had on hand a large amount of material, be- 
 sides their manufactured stock. All their avail- 
 able means were locked up in a commodity for 
 which they were denied a market. Thus far, this 
 16 
 
226 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 was their darkest hour. The dawn came sooner 
 than they expected. Fargood stood by them. He- 
 had just bought a small refinery, and, not being 
 able to supply it himself, concluded to obtain the 
 balance of his supply from the co-operators. The 
 syndicate attacked him in the Board of Trade, but 
 he left the Board, and snapped his fingers at the 
 ring — and thus Eight got a head and shoulder* 
 lead in the race. The bark was now fairly 
 launched, but not on smooth seas. Like the fe.eble, 
 glimmering lamp which the Hindoo maiden com- 
 mits with trembling hands to the bosom of the 
 Ganges^ as a presagement of good or evil to her 
 absent lover, and watches with terror its disappear- 
 ance beneath the dark waters or with rapture it» 
 passage through engulfing waves, so the frail bark 
 sailed upon a sea that threatened it with disaster, 
 and its progress was watched with eyes as eager 
 and hearts as pulseless as those of the superstitious- 
 girl. 
 
 One night Richard was out later than usual, 
 being on a visit of mercy to some sorely-pressed 
 brother, and when he returned he found that Oscar 
 had not retired ; that he was waiting for him, and 
 that he was evidently disturbed. 
 
 Oscar had seen something. Looking out of a 
 window that fronted the river, and from which a 
 good view on either side could be obtained of the 
 foul, murky stream, he^ that night, noticed a small 
 boat move silently and cautiously up to the old 
 building, where it remained a few minutes and 
 then moved across the river, and became lost in the 
 shadow of a large pile of lumber that projected over 
 the docks. In that boat were three crouching^ 
 muffled figures. 
 
 Richard laughed, and made light of the matter ', 
 but Oscar could not be dissuaded from thinking^ 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE. 227? 
 
 that some dreadful calamity was impending. For 
 the first time in the knowledge of those who knew 
 him, the smile left his face and the color faded 
 from his cheeks. Next day he was moody, rest- 
 less, and indisposed to work. Richard watched 
 him thoughtfully, and, toward evening went out 
 and bought two Colt's revolvers, one of which he 
 gave to Oscar. The poor, dejected fellow brightened 
 at once. 
 
 That night, as Richard left the old building, he 
 observed a repulsive-looking man standing on the 
 opposite side of the street. Richard advanced to- 
 ward him and the fellow moved away and darted 
 down an alley. About ten o'clock he returned, 
 and lo ! the same man was standing in the same 
 place. Oscar was sleeping sweetly, and, perhaps, 
 dreaming of his home beyond the lakes, when 
 Richard entered the room. Dream on, uncon- 
 scious sleeper ! the shores of your loved Ontario, 
 the smiles of mother and sister, in whose sunshine 
 you now bask, will soon fade, perhaps forever. 
 
 Richard lit the gas, examined his pistol, laid 
 it down, then went out into the large cheerless 
 room. He went to the window facing the river 
 and threw it up ; a cold snow-laden blast swept 
 with a sullen roar into the room ; he peered 
 through the deep, thick darkness without ; a slight 
 snow, the first of the season, was falling with a 
 melancholy stillness. Hark ! a low, peculiar 
 whistle sounded dismally over the black waters — 
 sounded like the wail of a lost soul ! Richard 
 shuddered and peered again into the thick dark- 
 ness, but saw nothing. What sound is that? He 
 listens attentively ; 'tis the struggling, laborious 
 puffing of a steam-tug. Soon the bright, dancing 
 sparks are seen, warring with the snowflakes, and 
 then the large, dark outlines of a vessel laden to 
 
228 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 the scuppers with building stone comes slowly into 
 view. On struggles the tug, on comes the tall- 
 masted ship, with slow but steady momentum ; 
 the tug passes — God of justice and right, stretch 
 
 forth thy thunder-laden hand ! Save, oh, save! 
 
 the floor parts with a cracking sound, the build- 
 ing, for one awful moment, trembles and rocks — 
 an appalling crash, a thundering, fearful splash — 
 a portion of the old building is at the bottom of 
 the feculent river. A great cloud of mortar-dust 
 rises from the ruins and a moment afterward a 
 ■wild alarm of fire sounded far over the sleeping 
 ■city. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 ON death's threshold. 
 
 Soon the proximate streets began to resound 
 and tremble, as the ponderous fire-engines rattled 
 over the hard, rough pavement ; they were closely 
 followed by the lighter but not less noisy hose and 
 hook-and-ladder trucks ; and the harsh and start- 
 ling clangor of their warning gongs rose inces- 
 santly and increased the wild clamor which 
 freighted the still air with thunderous sound, that 
 startled the homeward and sinward-bound alike, 
 and roused from slumber's repose each habitant for 
 squares around. But there was no tire. 
 
 Already a great and constantly augumenting 
 crowd surged and pressed upon the ruins ; first 
 among those present were Trustgood, McFlinn and 
 Castaway, and from their bloodless lips and tremb- 
 
ON death's threshold. 229 
 
 ling tongues it was ascertained that two men were 
 buried beneath the bricks and timbers of the old 
 building. 
 
 It was very dark, but the silent, fleecy snow had 
 cease to fall, and at a short distance the dimly out- 
 lined human forms that flitted hurriedly to and 
 fro looked like moving, palpable shadows ; and 
 high above, towered in ghastly grimness, one soli- 
 tary standing wall, which, like an immovable, 
 shadowy sentinel, calmly looked upon the debris 
 and the excited, confused mass of humanity that 
 gazed in almost speechless horror upon each other 
 and upon the ruins. 
 
 Hark ! a low groan, evidently from some one ia 
 great pain, issues from the depths of the rubbish. 
 Hundreds of necks stretched involuntarily forward 
 to catch the slightest sound. 
 
 "Oscar ! Oscar ! 0-s-c-a-r ! 'Oh, merciful God !" 
 — came up from 'neath the debris in a hollow, 
 pitiful voice. 
 
 " Stand back, men ; stand back, I say !" 
 shouted a small, wiry man, elbowing his way 
 through the crowd. He was dressed in a fireman's 
 uniform, and spoke in a manner that commanded 
 respect and obedience. The crowd recognized him 
 and made way at once, and the chief approached 
 the ruin and cast a rapid glance over the scene. 
 
 Trustgood, with considerable effort forced his 
 way through the wall of packed humanity, and 
 approaching him, said : 
 
 "For God's sake do something quickly, there's 
 
 '• Help — h-e-l-p !" came up from the ruins in 
 the same pitiful tone, but the voice was fainter, 
 and seemed further away. 
 
 "Why, you blockheads, there's a man beneath 
 these timbers," said the chief, and raising his 
 
230 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 trumpet, he gave a few sharp, quick coramands, 
 and in less than five minutes over thirty firemen 
 and one hundred citizens were engaged in remov- 
 ing the bricks and shattered timbers. 
 
 The night, which until now was pitchy dark, 
 began to brighten perceptibly ; high in the zenith 
 a silvery streak of light burst through the dark 
 mass of nimbus clouds that cg-nopied the earth ; 
 the streak grew brighter and broader, the dark 
 pall was broken, and floating away, left a wide 
 belt of blue sky, through which the white silvery 
 moon sailed on in silent grandeur. The shadows 
 now became substances. Aided by the bright 
 moonlight the rescuing force worked faster and 
 more methodically ; the flat roof was soon removed, 
 then a great mass of brick and mortar magically 
 disappeared, and the third floor began to melt 
 away before the persistent strokes of many axes 
 and the giant force of many willing hands. 
 
 Tightly wedged between a portion of the second 
 floor and a large wooden girder that supported the 
 joists of the tJhird floor, they found Eichard Ar- 
 byght. With considerable effort the girder was 
 pried up a few inches, and the mangled workman 
 drawn out and carried a few rods beyond the ruins. 
 Arbyght was found quite close to the bed-room 
 door ; his first thought, when he felt the building 
 giving way, was Oscar, and his first movement 
 was toward him. ^ 
 
 A great number of broken, splintered joists, 
 scantling, and boards were now very carefully but 
 expeditiously removed from the spot where Oscar 
 or Oscar's body was supposed to be. As yet no 
 sound that indicated that he was still alive was 
 heard. At last all the rubbish was removed from 
 that particular spot, but no bed, no body could be 
 seen. 
 
ON death's threshold. 231 
 
 Paralyzing terror seized Trustgood, McFlinn, 
 and Castaway as the conviction grew upon them 
 that Oscar was carried down by the thousands of 
 falling brick and buried 'neath the inky waters of 
 the pestilence-breeding river. Many others came 
 to the same conclusion, but the chief, guided by 
 his knowledge of the construction of the building, 
 seemed disposed to think that under a great heap 
 ■of bricks and mortar and a large part of the roof 
 piled up near the center of the street, the body 
 "would be found. Acting on this belief, he ordered 
 the men to remove this mass of debris, and in a 
 few moments various articles of furniture were 
 found. Encouraged by these signs, they perse- 
 vered, and presently they found evidences of the 
 bed, then the bed itself, and beside it the inan- 
 imate body of Oscar, his night-clothes rent and 
 ■torn, his entire body covered 'with dripping gore, 
 his flesh and limbs hacked, gashed, and bruised, 
 covered with jagged, gaping wounds, from which 
 the warm blood oozed in little purple, purling 
 streams. 
 
 The body was tenderly lifted up and placed on a 
 strong sheet, and four men, taking it by the cor- 
 ners, carried the mangled Oscar and placed him 
 beside the other victim, who was being examined 
 by Dr. Ranchman, a neighboring physician of some 
 note, who had been summoned by Tom Castaway. 
 As soon as the improvised stretcher on which Oscar 
 lay came up, Richard roughly ordered the Doctor 
 to leave him and attend to his mangled companion. 
 
 Complying with his request, the physician bent 
 low over the prostrate body, pressed softly with 
 his thumb upon the pulse, then shook his head, 
 ^nd placed his ear close to the breast, when di- 
 rectly his eye brightened, as he detected faint but 
 regular respirations. 
 
232 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "Well, Doctor? " groaned Eichard, a world of 
 eagerness and solicitude in his voice. 
 
 " Alive ; no more," was the sententious reply. 
 
 " Will he survive it? " again ventured Richard, 
 in a tone that indicated plainly that he feared,, 
 dreaded the answer. 
 
 " Possibly — doubtful," was the blunt but truth- 
 ful answer. 
 
 Standing close by his maimed comrades was Tom 
 Castaway, watching keenly each movement of the- 
 physician. In a few, brief moments he had lost 
 the old-time careless expression, and its place had 
 come a grim, determined, earnest look, born of a 
 latent power, that needed the awful experience of" 
 this night to bring it into full maturity. He re- 
 minded one of a man, who, brought face to face with 
 the force of a crisis, determines to meet it fairly, ani 
 flinch not. It was the look that brave men bear 
 when the chances of life or death, hanging on a 
 thread, are presented to them — aye, more than 
 that, it was the look of one who, driven to the 
 wall, was doubly dangerous. 
 
 Under the physician's immediate direction, two 
 stretchers were quickly made of sheets and narrow 
 strips of splintered board, and on these the two 
 victims were carried to the hospital of the Sisters 
 of Mercy, on Calumet avenue. 
 
 On the way, a reporter of one of the leading^ 
 morning dailies pushed through the crowd and 
 approached the stretcher upon which Arbyght was 
 borne, and plied him thick and fast with ques- 
 tions. 
 
 "How did it occur? Do you think there was 
 foul play ? Was it purely accidental ? Was the 
 building substantial and safe? When did you 
 first notice it giving way? Where were you at 
 the time, and what, if any, were the first indica- 
 
ON death's threshold. 233 
 
 tions of the fall?" were a few of the many in- 
 quiries propounded by this fisher of facts, humor, 
 incident and hearsay. 
 
 Arbyght was suffering excruciatingly, and 
 hardly comprehended the purport of the questions 
 that were asked him. Looking vaguely at the re- 
 porter, he, perhaps unmeaningly, repeated Job's 
 question : 
 
 " Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook? " 
 
 The force of this biblical quotation did not seem 
 to strike the reporter at an understandable angle. 
 He stared blankly at Arbyght and said : 
 
 " You don't seem to comprehend me." 
 
 " 'There is no power on earth that can be com- 
 pared with him, still his hope shall fail him, and 
 in the sight of all he shall be cast down,' " replied 
 Richard, again quoting from Job. 
 
 The reporter still regarded him with a perplexed 
 stare ; but professional instinct overcoming his 
 confusion, he returned to the attack, and said : 
 
 " What can you mean ? What do you mean ? 
 Whom can you mean ? ' ' 
 
 "Selfishness, sir. The power of money," 
 answered Arbyght, and that was all the reporter 
 could elicit from him. 
 
 The melancholy procession shortly afterward 
 reached its destination. Dr. Eauchman, being one 
 of the regular attending physicians attached to the 
 hospital, had no difficulty in obtaining beds for his 
 patients. Some of the Sisters busied themselves 
 in preparing the cots, while others brought band- 
 ages in vast quantities, warm water and soft 
 sponges. Soon all things were in order, and the 
 physician began an examination of Oscar's in- 
 juries. Passing his hand over the lower extremi- 
 ties, he uttered monosyllabic answers to questions 
 apparently arising in his own mind. 
 
234 THE OTHEE SIDE. 
 
 "Violent contusion, tegument and muscle badly 
 bruised — ha! fracture; simple longitudinal fracture 
 of the femur — extra capsular, annular attachment 
 of the capsule not affected ; trochanter slightly- 
 detached.'' Then passing the hand over the body 
 he continued, " fracture of the third and fourth 
 ribs, pleurisy or pneumothorax probable ; com- 
 pound fracture of sternum — not dangerous ; com- 
 pound contusion ; abrasion of cellular tissue — bad 
 bruise ; fracture of clavicle — oblique ; severe con- 
 tusion of skull — dangerous brain fever, likely— ^bad 
 case." 
 
 He then had the body washed, and, with the aid 
 of two assistants, carefully and tenderly set the 
 fractured bones, and secured them in their places 
 by pasteboard splints and bandages. The contu- 
 sions and bruises were washed and properly 
 dressed, and a few drops of brandy administered at 
 intervals during the operation ; but the patient re- 
 mained unconscious, motionless in muscle and fea- 
 ture, during the examination, bone-setting, and 
 wound-dressing. When through, the physician 
 again bent over the body and was pleased to find 
 that the respiration was somewhat louder and 
 stronger. 
 
 " Now, sir, we will diagnose your case," he said, 
 turning to Richard, who, by this time, was scarcely 
 able to speak. 
 
 A strong stimulant was administered and the 
 examination began. 
 
 "■ Fracture of the patella, right knee ; no— sim- 
 ple luxation — not daiigerous ; ha ! transverse frac- 
 ture of tibia, left foot ; compound dislocation of 
 fibula — serious. Let us see,' passing his hand up 
 the body, " some bad bruises ; a few insignificant 
 contusions. Oh 1 you need not make your will 
 just yet. A few weeks' rest will do you good ; you 
 
ON death's threshold. 235 
 
 need rest and must take it now ; so be thankful you 
 escaped so luckily." 
 " I am not thankful." 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " How can I he thankful when poor Oscar, whom 
 we all loved, is so badly injured?" Kichard re- 
 plied, in an accusing and pleading voice, and tears 
 started from his eyes and rolled down his pallid 
 cheeks. 
 
 All present were deeply afiPected by this strong 
 man's grief 
 
 " Will you have an anaesthetic before we set the 
 bones?" said the physician. 
 
 "The operation can not be more painful than 
 what I have already suffered ; go ahead," replied 
 Kichard, moodily ; and he endured the operation 
 with the stoicism of ah Indian at the stake. 
 
 Careful, particular instructions were then given 
 concerning Oscar, and shortly afterward the physi- 
 cian left. 
 
 It was now past midnight, a night of horrors 
 ended — expanded into a day no less horrible, no 
 less gloomy to two of labor's martyrs — money's 
 victims. And what shall we say of those two 
 longing souls, to whom fair, gentle Oscar was such 
 a mine of happiness, contentment, wealth ? Day 
 by day will they look for his weekly installment 
 of words of cheer and comfort, as well as something 
 more substantial but not less welcome, and day 
 after day will disappointment's chill freeze their 
 expectant desire. Day will merge and darken 
 into night, and night will open into day ; weeks 
 of bitterest, unlooked-for anguish will pass down 
 the ceaseless, endless chain of tinie, bat no tidings 
 of the absent loved one will reach that pair, tor- 
 tured by doubts, a prey to cruel, changing un- 
 certainties, haunted by indecision, and paralyzed 
 
236 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 by gnawing suspense. But the doubts, uncertain- 
 ties and suspense will disappear like a black cloud 
 and unfold — an eclipsed sun. 
 
 The morning papers gave a cursory account of 
 the catastrophe, dwelling mostly on the loss sus- 
 tained by the owner of the old building and the 
 probable causes of its fall. Architects and builders 
 were mildly flaggellated — the general verdict 
 being that the building fell because it was unable 
 to stand, at least that was the concreted pith of all 
 remarks upon the subject. The several newspaper 
 accounts of the affair ended with the seemingly 
 unimportant item that two workmen, whose 
 names were given, were more or less injured by 
 the fall. Under the reign of selfishness, human 
 life^ especially the life of a toiler, is of less account, 
 cheaper thaa it was under the feudal or slave 
 system. This is a marked characteristic of society 
 graded by a money standard, a society whose in- 
 dividual members stand upon a column of money, 
 whose base or bulb is affected by the variations of 
 the profit and loss account of the individual at the 
 apex. Should the profit side of the account in- 
 crease the individual will shoot up in the social 
 scale proportionately, but should the loss account 
 increase he drops in the same ratio. 
 
 The death of a workman never affects the profit 
 and loss account of a capitalist under the free- 
 wages system, under the slave system it did ; 
 hence it is that the loss of a horse is regarded 
 as a greater bereavement, by the money barons of 
 our day, than the loss of every laborer in their 
 employ. Such is the unholy, rapacious and in- 
 iquitous system of self. 
 
love's cross is heavy. 23T 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 love's cross is heavy. 
 
 " Mary, where are the morning papers ?" asked 
 Vida Geldamo, looking into the sitting-room where 
 Mary Marmane was busily dusting. 
 
 " Paul has taken tliem away, I believe," was the 
 answer in a subdued voice, the head slightly 
 averted. 
 
 " But they have papers at the office," returned 
 Vida, in a doubtful tone. 
 
 " That may be, but I am sure he carried them 
 away, for I saw him fold tViem up and put them 
 in his pocket," said Mary, going to the far end of 
 the room apparently to look for something. 
 
 " He never did so before," said Vida, musingly, 
 " and just the morning I most desired to read the 
 musical and theatrical news ; it's abominably pro- 
 voking ! " and she stamped her foot a little im- 
 patiently, then broke into a clear, ringing laugh as 
 she disappeared through the door into the draw- 
 ing-rooms. 
 
 "She will hear it soon enough, poor dear," said 
 Mary, in soothing soliloquy, when she found her- 
 self alone, "and yet she may not care. It's hard 
 to tell ; but I am certain she is in love, and surely 
 she don't care for that All — sound I" she whis- 
 pered to herself. 
 
 Mary was sure her young mistress was in love. 
 
 One woman can detect this sentiment or passion 
 in another, not only sooner than a man, but really 
 before the person affected is herself aware of the 
 presence of the sweet conqueror. 
 
 Mary Marmane was a country girl, but one that 
 could hold her own with her city cousins as far as 
 
238 THE OTHEE SIDE. 
 
 beauty of person and feature was concerned. A 
 symmetrical form ; a neck like a column of Pariaii 
 marble ; arms that were shapely and graceful ; a 
 wavy mass of chestnut-brown hair ; a dark hazel 
 eye, and a bewitching mouth and pearly teeth^ 
 which a smile now and then disclosed, and you 
 have a type of the unassuming beauty that blooms, 
 fades, and dies ofttimes unappreciated on the farm- 
 and in our rural towns and villages. 
 
 To Vida Geldamo, Mary was more companion 
 than maid. When out, she always walked witb 
 her mistress, not behind her, and she more fre- 
 quently advised than obeyed. In a word, although 
 these two occupied widely different positions, still 
 they were intimate friends, and had very few secret* 
 that were not common to both. There were two 
 causes for this : Vida's mother had been dead for 
 some years, and she naturally felt the need of a 
 companion of her own sex in whom to confide and 
 on whom to lean ; and again, in her goodness of 
 heart, purity of motive, liberal ideas, and generous 
 conceptions of humanity, she could never and 
 never did believe that the possession of money 
 made the heart warmer, truer, or the soul purer. 
 
 As the afternoon wore away, Vida became quite 
 restless. She went from one room to another, 
 from the piano to her work-basket, and then to a* 
 book, which she dropped in a moment, sighed 
 heavily, returned to the piano, dallied with the 
 keys for an instant, sighed again, and then called 
 Mary. The maid answered, and came at once. 
 Vida was at the window in the front drawing-room. 
 
 "Sit down," she said, pointing to a seat beside 
 her. 
 
 Mary sat down. A silence ensued. Vida seemed 
 very thoughtful, and there was about her an air of 
 refined, dignified displeasure. Presently the gate 
 
love's cross is heavy. 239 
 
 opened — ha ! she flushed up at once, turned 
 quickly, and looked out. It was only Paul. The 
 color left her cheeks, and a look of keen disappoint- 
 ment swept over her face. 
 
 "Why don't he come ?" She ended the 
 
 question abruptly ; looked confusedly at Mary, the 
 rising crimson growing into a deeper flush, and 
 dyeing her whole face with its glow. 
 
 " Whom do you expect?" said Mary, tenderly, 
 but with a peculiar sang froid. 
 
 Vida's blushes grew more intense, and she looked 
 down in apparent perplexity. 
 
 Paul came in and sat down in a seat facing 
 Vida and Mary. The former was gazing intently 
 into the street, and seemed hardly aware of her 
 brother's presence. 
 
 " Has Kichard been here this afternoon ? " asked 
 Paul, in a tone of affected but rather doubtful in- 
 difference. 
 
 "We have not seen him," said Vida, a trifle 
 pettishly, still gazing through the window. 
 
 "He promised to come, did he not?" resumed 
 Paul. 
 
 "Men never keep their promises," she replied, 
 in sadness rather than in anger. 
 
 " Why so sweeping in your charge, sister? He 
 may have been prevented by some unforeseen cir- 
 cumstances, perhaps an accident, or " 
 
 "An accident!" she interruptingly repeated, 
 with alarmed emphasis, as she faced around 
 sharply and gazed searchingly into his face. 
 
 " Why, Vida, suppose he did meet with an ac- 
 cident, what would that be to you ? Such things 
 happen every day." 
 
 "Paul " (there was an immensity of re- 
 proach in the tone) "is he not our cousin; 
 did he not save your life and mine ?" 
 
240 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Well, now my dear, you know I am incapa- 
 ble of ingratitude, 80 pray spare me those re- 
 proaches," answered Paul, chidingly, but good- 
 humoredly. 
 
 "Did you see him?" Mary put the question 
 direct ; there was an assuring look in her eye. 
 
 Vida seemed pleased and evidently much re- 
 lieved. It was the very question she would liked 
 to have asked. 
 
 " I have seen him ; it is nothing," he replied. 
 
 " Then there has been an accident?" said Vida, 
 and turning to Mary, she continued a little sharply 
 — " and you knew it." 
 
 " Oh ! don't blame me, it was Paul's fault," 
 pleaded Mary, coaxingly. 
 
 " Tes, it was my fault, I admit ; but the worst 
 is over, and now I will tell you all about it," said 
 Paul, and then he gave a full and clear account of 
 the whole affair ; but when he described the fall- 
 ing of the old building and the finding of the 
 mano;led men, Vida hid her face in Mary's bosom 
 — did so involuntarily, as if she would veil from 
 her sight the horrid spectacle. 
 
 "It is quite clear and evident to my mind," 
 said Paul, in ending the horrible recital, "that 
 the employers and another party whom I might 
 mention had a hand in this business ; that build- 
 ing never fell except by the agency of some force 
 at present beneath the surface." 
 
 "The cowardly wretches," sobbed Vida and 
 Mary in the same breath ; they were both crying. 
 
 " Jealousy is invariably cowardly, and of all 
 things on earth capital is the most jealous of its 
 claimed privileges," said Paul, rising to go. 
 
 " But," resumed Vida, retaining him by a look, 
 *' what other party could have an interest in injur- 
 ing these men ?" 
 
love's cross is heavy. 241 
 
 Paul went close to her, and said, in an under- 
 "tone : 
 
 "Allsound is Relvason's tool." 
 
 "Are you sure?" asked Vida, opening her eyes 
 very wide. 
 
 " I am positive," he replied, with a slow, as- 
 sured emphasis. 
 
 Paul left. 
 
 The story Vida had just heard shocked her, 
 grated harshly on her tender nerves, hewildered 
 her senses to a certain extent ; hut the reaction 
 thawed her reserve, and it all ended in a greater 
 Tflood of tears and a closer knit friendship between 
 herself and Mary, as there was now another and 
 most precious secret, copimon property between 
 them. 
 
 Eichard spent a restless day and night. The 
 fracture was not so painful as the bruised body— - 
 he felt as if he had been pounded with a mallet. 
 Toward noon he hecame impatient, and asked the 
 nurse if he could not have some morphine or 
 chloral, or an anodyne or sedative of any kind. 
 The good Sister looked at him kindly, with great, 
 mild, liquid eyes, and soothingly, but decidedly, 
 told him that sedatives were never given without 
 direct orders from the attending physician. 
 
 Eichard recognized the wisdom and necessity of 
 this course, and silently acquiesced. 
 
 About three o'clock Dr. Eauchman came in and 
 went straight to Oscar's cot. He found him still 
 unconscious, but his pulse was high and respiration 
 hurried. 
 
 "Fever — brain or nervous, or both," muttered 
 the physician. Then turning to Arhyght, he 
 asked suddenly — abruptly : 
 
 "Has this young man been addicted to the use of 
 of liquors, strong tea or coffee, or the use of tobacco?' ' 
 
 16 
 
242 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "No, sir," replied Kichard. " He has lived a, 
 singularly abstemious life." 
 
 " Been given to any other excesses ? " asked the- 
 physician, 
 
 " Not to my knowledge ; his moral life is with- 
 out a blemish." 
 
 " Sprightly, cheerful temperament ? " 
 
 " Unusually so." 
 
 " Then he will recover." 
 
 "Are you confident of that? " asked Richard in 
 an eager, anxious voice. 
 
 " The mind and body act upon each other re- 
 ciprocally," resumed the physician, taking no 
 notice of the pointed question. "And health in 
 one promotes health in the other, or aids it to re- 
 cover from an unwonted shock, and the mental 
 discipline practiced by this person will aid him 
 wonderfully in this emergency, and then his 
 nervous system, not being shattered or enfeebled, 
 by the use of nervine destroyers, is in a condition 
 to do him yeoman service. The chances for his 
 physical recovery are more than even." 
 
 " Why, Doctor, you don't mean " 
 
 "Young man you are extremely inquisitive^" 
 broke in the physician, with an evasive laugh. 
 
 Before he left, Richard asked him for a sedative. 
 
 "No, sir; shan't have it," was the blunt re- 
 ply ; but he continued in a milder tone : 
 
 "Nervous system severely strained, shocked, 
 shattered^uncertain how it would act. You must 
 be careful, sir ; remember that if this other victim 
 had been given to excesses of any kind he would 
 be dead by this time ; and in your condition a 
 sedative might irritate, not allay," and the physi- 
 cian strode out of the ward, and going to the hos- 
 pital office wrote prescriptions and gave direc- 
 tions for the treatment of his patients, as he called 
 
love's cross, is heavy. 243t 
 
 Arbyglit and Wood. They were well cared for an(3 
 tenderly and carefully nursed ty two Sisters — al- 
 moners of mercy — who had been especially detailed 
 to attend them alone and be constantly near them. 
 
 On the second day, in the forenoon, Richard fell 
 into a deep reverie, and lapsed into a fitful sleep ; 
 his father's cruel death, his mother's untimely 
 end, his sister's blighted hopes, and his own hard 
 lot rose like ghosts of departed sorrows to vex and 
 haunt him. Then Vida Geldamo rose before his 
 rapturous vision at the back of fancy's magical? 
 wand, and hidden deep in diaphanous, luminous 
 loveliness, she seemed at once the soul and dis- 
 penser of joy eternal — eternally remote. 
 
 From this sleep he awoke with a vivid remem- 
 brance of the pain that had tortured him, then lay 
 quiet, slowly opening and closing his eyes, enjoy- 
 ing the sensation of relief; a refreshing breeze 
 came in at the window, wafting to him the sweet 
 odor of flowers ; the declining sun threw the 
 shadow of rustling leaves upon the white-sanded 
 floor ; low, sweet strains of music reached his ear, 
 and as he turned his aching head in the direction 
 of the sound, he saw that his window was under 
 the shadow of a large tree, through which he 
 could see white-capped sisters flitting along the 
 porches, from one part of the building to another, 
 on their errands of mercy ; the tender words of 
 "Ave Sanctissima" rose and fell upon the air in 
 cadence sweet ; he was exquisitely susceptible to 
 the power of music and it seemed as though the 
 low, soft melody expressed a something in his heart 
 that words could not. 
 
 " Ave Sanctissima, 
 
 We lift our souls to thee ! 
 Ora pro nobis, 
 'Tis night-fall on the sea. 
 
244 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "\A^atch us while shadows lie 
 
 Far o'er the water spread, 
 Hear the heart's lonely sigh — 
 
 Thine, too, hath bled." 
 
 As the last note died away he fancied that he 
 heard the rustle of angel's wings, and almost 
 wished that he might never leave this haven of 
 re.'st to battle again with the world. 
 
 Presently he heard the sound of light steps upon 
 the matting in the aisle of the ward ; he looked up 
 with a startled expression, and his heart beat 
 wildly as he saw Vida quite close to his cot. His 
 face beamed with bright radiance, his eyes darted 
 quick glances of pleasure, joy, love. 
 
 " Oh I Mr. Arbyght, what a sad accident ; I'm 
 so sorry, but I hope you are better to-day ?" There 
 was a subdued ring of pleasure in her voice, and a 
 silent, pleased look in her eye. 
 
 "I feel much better now," he replied, glowing 
 with repressed happiness. "It is so kind and good 
 of you to come ; I thought this morning I was 
 friendless — alone," he continued, in a soft, delici- 
 ous, ecstatic trance, gazing at her with moist eyes, 
 a glad smile playing around his tremulous lips. 
 
 "Friendless? How cruel of yoU to think so," 
 she replied, softly, but very reproachfully. 
 
 "Why, what a thoughtless fellow I am, to be 
 sure, to keep you standing all this time," he said, 
 pointing to a chair beside the cot, which he at- 
 tempted to move a little further off, but she grace- 
 fully took the chair and sat down quite close to 
 him — companionably close. The act sent the suf- 
 ferer to heaven at once, where, perhaps, the per- 
 former of the act was before him, for she blushed 
 like a June rose and looked supremely happy. 
 
 The prudish reader may think this gentle being, 
 tender as the leaves of hope, and pure and spotless 
 
love's cross is heavy. 245 
 
 as angels in thought, went beyond certain despotic, 
 conventional bounds ; but what sight is more holy, 
 more beautiful, freer from the grossness of human 
 nature than the first appearance of genuine love — 
 the budding afiection of a young, gentle, confid- 
 ing, virgin soul? 
 
 "I am an ungrateful wretch, I admit, as Paul 
 has been to see me," he resumed, a little humbly, 
 apologetically. 
 
 " How is your friend and fellow-victim?" asked 
 Vida. 
 
 " The Doctor thinks better of his case to-day ; 
 but why victims ? " 
 
 " Oh I Paul has given me his view of the mat- 
 ter, and, I believe with him, that you are the vic- 
 tims of a foul conspiracy. If I were a man I would 
 never rest until I had exposed and brought them 
 to justice," said Vida, with flashing eyes ; then 
 blushing suddenly, she added, "but what a silly 
 girl I am — excuse me, Mr. Arbyght, but I think 
 it was an atrocious act." 
 
 Mary Marmane, who came with Vida, but re- 
 mained in the hall talking with a Sister, now en- 
 tered the ward, and, after a few words with Rich- 
 ard, went across to Oscar's cot. She came back 
 directly, but her eyes were heavy with a suspicious 
 moistness, aijd she did not utter a word while she 
 remained. 
 
 When Vida arose to go, she gave her hand to 
 Eichard, and the poor fellow trembled from head 
 to foot. An indescribable sensation of bliss swept 
 through his veins like an electric current ; a long- 
 ings violent, irresistible desire to kiss the tiny 
 hand, the dainty glove — more blest than he — seized 
 him, but, making an efibrt and swallowing a great 
 lump in his throat, he said, in a voice husky with 
 repressed emotion : 
 
246 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Miss Greldamo, you must not come to see me 
 any more ; I am thankful — you will never know 
 how profoundly grateful and thankful 1 am for your 
 kindness " — his voice fell to a soft whisper — " your 
 presence diffuses a heavenly sunshine ; but, alas, 
 its blissful rays are not. for me — not for me." 
 
 "You great, silly fellow, of course T shall come 
 .again," she whispered softly, hurriedly, snatched 
 away her hand quickly, blushed divinely, smiled 
 'beatifically, and was gone. 
 
 After this she came regularly every day visitors 
 were received at the hospital, always accompanied 
 b}' Mary Marmane, who invariably found her way 
 to Oscar's cot, and invariably left it with a swell- 
 ing heart and speechless tongue. 
 
 These were days of unalloyed happiness to two 
 congenial souls, and though Arbyght spoke not 
 of love, still his devotion was none the less mani- 
 fest, none the less understood, and a verbal decla- 
 ration was not needed to satisfy him that his love 
 was reciprocated. It was a heaven-ordained union 
 of two hearts, not fettered by conventional re- 
 straints nor marred by the edict of social custom. 
 For hours she would sit beside him, her hand 
 gently clasped in his, every look mutual bliss, 
 every tone and gesture of one — rapture to the 
 other — 
 
 " Like echo sending back sweet music fraught 
 With twice the aerial sweetness it had brought." 
 
 But the spell was rudely broken ; greed, jeal- 
 ously, revenge furnished the engine of parental 
 supervision with a strong motor, and down came 
 the trip hammer of authority, destroying the 
 bright crystal cup of cupid, spilling the sweet 
 nectar of love, and leaving two thirsty souls in the 
 parching desert of separation. 
 
love's cross is heavy. 247 
 
 Impotent man ! Bid the endless thread of time 
 "to cease uncoiling or backward unwind on its 
 eternal spool; bid the white, mild moon her 
 changing phases drop ; bid all nature her immut- 
 able laws reverse, but attempt not to dry up with 
 the strongest, fiercest heat of opposition's fire the 
 perennial spring of genuine love. Vain the at- 
 tempt, and more foolish than vain ; opposition is 
 the purest oxygen to love's flame. 
 
 During the past week Relvason discovered that 
 Calumet avenue was one of the pleasantest drives 
 in the city, and he might be seen rolling past the 
 Tiospital in gaudy splendor once or twice a day, 
 with his face close to his carriage window. Twice 
 he saw Vida and Mary enter the hospital. He 
 felt confident that she visited Arbyght, but to con- 
 vince others, whose fertility of imagination was 
 not equal to his own, he hired a man who knew 
 Richard to watch the hospital, enter and ask to 
 ■see Arbyght immediately after Vida was seen 
 going in. This mean piece of diabolism succeeded 
 ■admirably ; the man called, inquired for Arbyght, 
 and was shown in. Kichard received him kindly 
 and thanked him warmly for calling. After the 
 man had left, Vida said that she felt sure that he 
 was a spy. A woman in love is all eyes and in- 
 tuition. 
 
 When Vida left the hospital that afternoon she 
 carried with her a heart like lead. She seemed to 
 he weighed down with a vague premonition of ap- 
 proaching trouble. When she reached home, she 
 Tvent to her room, and cried as if her heart would 
 break, and yet she could not, if asked, give a satis- 
 factory cause for her tears. 
 
 That evening, as Vida was wearily reclining on 
 Paul's shoulder, her father came into the room 
 -with a quick, nervous step, and with white, 
 
248 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 tightly-compressed lips. ViJa trembled slightly 
 and turned pale. She had never before seen that- 
 white, compressed lip, that stern, unrelenting look 
 — Mr. Geldamo was ever a kind, indulgent parent 
 — and she knew that something unusual had oc- 
 curred. He sat down, and an oppressive silence- 
 ensued — five minutes elapsed — 
 
 " Vida, my child!" 
 
 " Well, papa ;" and she glided toward him and 
 knelt down on a cushioned stool at his feet, and 
 looked up wistfully into his hard face. 
 
 " Mr. Allsound called to see me this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " Did he, papa ?" — turning pale. 
 
 "And he made me a formal proposition for your 
 hand." 
 
 " Oh ! papa 1 " — paler. 
 
 " And now, child, what have you to say ?" 
 
 " That Mr. Allsound is not a gentleman !" said 
 Vida, with dilated nostril and flashing eye. 
 
 "Why, Vida 1 What can you mean ? " 
 
 " He has already proposed to me, and I. rejected 
 his offer, and he knows I would under no circum- 
 stances marry him." 
 
 "Not marry him, Vida?" 
 
 "Never! " 
 
 " But it is my wish, child ! " 
 
 " But, papa ! you would not have me marry 
 a man I could neither love nor respect — a man I 
 despise? " 
 
 " Nonsense, child ! you know not what you say. 
 Love is an ephemeral dream, a fleeting shadow,, 
 an illusion. Respect will always come with mar- 
 riage, and this is a very desirable alliance. Mr. 
 Allsound is quite wealthy, highly connected, and. 
 loves you devotedly." 
 
 " But. papa dear, what are wealth and hight 
 
love's cross is heavy. 249 
 
 connections, compared witli happiness and con- 
 tentmen-t ? I do not love him, 1 almost hate him, 
 papa." 
 
 " Stnff, child ! you would learn to love him, as 
 your husband, in time." 
 
 " I never could love Mr. Allsound," she replied, 
 speaking slowly and deliberately. 
 
 " Why not, pray ! " he asked, in a sharp tone. 
 
 " Because " 
 
 "Because," he repeated, in a sarcastic man- 
 ner, and continuing, said : " Does the ' because ' 
 mean that there is another attachment ? " 
 
 " It does, papa ;" she answered, with a blush. 
 
 "Oh, ho ! and pray why has this aifair been 
 veiled from my observation ?" he asked, in an an- 
 gry tone. 
 
 " Dear papa, he is poor, and I feared you would 
 be angry," replied Vida, blushing still more. 
 
 " So, you are ashamed of him ?" 
 
 "Ashamed of him ?" she repeated, with burning 
 cheeks and glittering eyes, " I am proud of him. 
 He is as much Mr. Allsound's superior as you are, 
 papa. He is honorable, brave, manly, indepen- 
 dent. He is my superior. There is nobody like 
 him; and, oh, papa, I love him so dearly," and 
 she burst into tears, clasped her father's knees, and 
 sobbed convulsively. He seemed to relent, for he 
 tried to calm and soothe her. 
 
 " I did not think it had gone that far," he said, 
 reprovingly, but softly. 
 
 " Oh I you don't know how I love him ; it will 
 kill me if you part us," she answered, in accents 
 of the deepest anguish. 
 
 Paul, who until now had remained silent, came 
 forward and said : 
 
 " Father, let us reason about the matter. Now, 
 it seems to me that Mr. Arbyght is a more desirable 
 
250 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 alliance than Mr. Allsound. The latter has 
 money, it is true, but he has little else than 
 money ; while the former, though lacking money, 
 has an inexhaustible fund of mental wealth, busi- 
 ness ability and tact, physical stamina, and not a 
 little experience. Give him the same chance that 
 you often give entire strangers at the request of 
 some supposed friend, and in a few years even you 
 will be proud of him. Why, father, who are our 
 rising business men? Are they not the hardy, 
 sturdy sons of farmers and hard-working me- 
 chanics ? And they invariably succeed ; while 
 those who inherit fortunes very frequently die in 
 poverty and want. They are not fit for business ; 
 they can boast neither muscular nor mental 
 prowess ; they are puny, lanky, miserable imita- 
 tions of man, and dissipation, and finical, feminine 
 frivolity are the only things in which they excel," 
 
 " My son, you have drawn quite a flattering 
 picture of yourself." 
 
 " Oh 1 you seem to forget that your father was a 
 New England mechanic and my mother an Illinois 
 farmer's daughter. I do not lay any claim to the 
 lionor you would have me assume." 
 
 Mr. Geldamo was on the wrong side of the argu- 
 mentative fence, and he knew it ; but, as usual in 
 such cases, the knowledge only served to still fur- 
 ther provoke him. 
 
 " Paul, your remarks are anything but filial or 
 respectful. Have I not toiled late and early for 
 you both ; watched over you in infancy and in 
 youth? You have been my constant care these 
 twenty years, and is this the return you make? 
 An up-start, a fortune-seeker cunningly steals my 
 daughter's love, and now she cares so little for her 
 poor father as not to respect his wishes. But I 
 have a father's rights, and I will enforce them. 
 
love's cross is heavy. 251 
 
 Yida, you shall never marry this man with my 
 consent, and if you marry him against my will I 
 shall discard you, disown you, curse " 
 
 " Oh ! father ! dear father ! don't say that ; I 
 will never marry without your consent ; I will 
 never marry at all. I can never love another. 
 Kill me, but do not curse me. Kill me, but do 
 not say an unkind word of him. You do not know 
 him " 
 
 "I will see him this very evening," and he 
 stood up as if to depart. 
 
 Vida sprang to her feet ; threw her arms around 
 his neck, clung to him, kissed him, and cried out 
 in her anguish : 
 
 '' Don't go now, you are angry, and if you plant 
 a dagger in his soul it will kill me, for in heart, 
 soul — everything — we are one," and, with one 
 long gasp, her hands fell from his neck, her eyes 
 closed, her head fell back on his arms — she had 
 fainted. 
 
 Spin swiftly, oh Time ! thy sorrow-laden thread 
 of fate ; thy fleeting moments are stingless now. 
 Gold, gold, thou tyrant, forever deaf to love or 
 mercy's wailing cry, thou art powerless now for a 
 few brief seconds. 
 
 The white, upturned face pleaded mutely and 
 earnestly, but the father did not relent. His daugh- 
 ter wed worth without wealth? perish the thought ! 
 Wed baseless wealth without an atom of worth ? 
 Yes, gladly, willingly. 
 
252 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 FATHER VERSUS LOVER. 
 
 The hours flew by in their ceaseless flight. Two 
 days passed slowly away, the third came, bringing 
 with it bright hopes to Richard Arbyght. It was 
 visiting day. 
 
 The afternoon began to wane ; the slanting 
 rays of the Western sun came in through the long, 
 narrow windows,, crept noiselessly along the floor, 
 reaching the cot, crept up the iron frame, moved 
 slowly along the white counterpane and reached 
 his face ; he sighed wearily and moved uneasily ; 
 at last he heard footsteps coming down the aisle, 
 and, looking up, saw — not the daughter, but the 
 father. An eternity of misery shot through his 
 soul in an instant, and left an unnaturally old look 
 on his face. 
 
 "It is common rumor that you are paying your 
 addresses to Miss Geldamo, my daughter, is it 
 true?" said the banker, after a cold, formal greet- 
 ing._ 
 
 Eichard looked at the banker keenly for a ino- 
 ment, as if to read his face, and then, in a firm but 
 quiet manner, he replied : 
 
 " To be frank with you, sir, I love her fondly 
 and devotedly, but I have never mentioned my love 
 to her." 
 
 " But you know that my daughter reciprocates 
 this love?" 
 
 "I have been presumptuous enough to think 
 so." 
 
 "And dishonorable enough to encourage it?" 
 
 " I have yet to learn that a pure, unselfish love 
 for a woman is dishonorable," replied Richard, 
 
FATHER VERSUS LOVER. 253 
 
 sharply, then mildly added, "you are her father, 
 and I will pocket the insult." 
 
 " But you are no match for my daughter." 
 
 " She is too good for any man ; but, sir, I may 
 some day be her equal in a worldly sense, and, in 
 your estimation, a desirable match." 
 
 "And you would have her wait until you can 
 make a fortune, agd by so doing seriously com- 
 promise her future prospects in case you fail?'' 
 
 " Your remarks are bitter, but I feel they are just 
 from your standpoint ; but, although I do not say 
 that j'ou are mercenary, yet does it not look as 
 though you were putting a money value on your 
 daughter ? If she were willing to wait for me I 
 would strive hard for her sake." 
 
 The banker winced under this rebuke, but he 
 was unchanged in his purpose. 
 
 " Mr. Arbyght, our views on this matter, I see, 
 will not coincide, therefore I must use a parent's 
 prerogative. It may be a painful duty, but it 
 must be performed ; this aifair must terminate 
 wliere it is ; it must end here ; you must never see 
 Miss Geldamo again, never speak to her, or at- 
 tempt to be ought to her than an entire stranger. 
 This is my wish, as her father, and I trust that 
 you are honorable enough to respect it." 
 
 The doom of death never fell on convicted inno- 
 cence with more stunning force or greater pain 
 than did these words fall upon the ear of Bichard 
 Arbyght. His pride alone prevented him from 
 breaking down completely. After a pause, in 
 ■which he struggled to marshal his dazed senses, 
 he said : 
 
 " Mr. Geldamo, if it is Vida's wish that I shall 
 never see her or speak to her again, that wish shall 
 be my law ; but should we ever meet, and should 
 she choose to recognize me, no power on earth will 
 
254 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 prevent me from speaking to her, obeying her, 
 loving her 1" and, sick and sore at heart, he turned 
 his head away. 
 
 For two long, weary days he busied himself in 
 grave digging, and then Mary Marmane came 
 alone. At sight of her his face brightened. She 
 did not have much to say, and her visit was very 
 brief. When she arose to leave she handed him a. 
 letter, and before he recovered from his surprise, 
 she was gone. At sight of the superscription h& 
 quivered like an aspen ; he opened the envelope, 
 and found inclosed a note with the following quota- 
 tion from Scott, delicately penned, but evidently 
 with a trembling hand : 
 
 " The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, 
 And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears. 
 
 The rose is sweetest when washed with morning dew ; 
 And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears." 
 
 Light always follows darkness ; hope on, hope ever. 
 Sorrowfully, but devotedly, 
 
 ViDA GbLDAMO. 
 
 Richard resolved to live ; he substituted castle- 
 building for grave digging, and was happier. It 
 was now three weeks since the wreck of the old 
 store-house, and he was able to sit up and move 
 about ; his young, healthy blood and vigorous con- 
 stitution, coupled with the ambitious promptings 
 of his love were powerful remedial agents. 
 
 Tom Castaway was a constant visitor at the hos- 
 pital, and did much by his sprightly conversation 
 and quaint humor to enable Richard to " kill 
 time," as Tom expressed it. One day, shortly 
 after the visit of Mr. Geldamo, Castaway found 
 him in a doleful mood. 
 
 " Hello ! What's the matter now ? " 
 
 "I'm not feeling well, Tom," replied Richard, 
 dejectedly. 
 
FATHER VERSUS LOVER. 255 
 
 "Mind or tody?" 
 
 " Well, to tell the truth, Tom, I am a trifle sad 
 to-day." 
 
 "I should say you were; you look like a man 
 •who had quarreled with his sweetheart and didn't 
 have the courage to admit he was wrong ; but, beg 
 your pardon, perhaps I'm on dangerous ground." 
 
 "It's worse than that, Tom; but please say no 
 more about it." 
 
 Castaway, seeing that Arbyght was slightly an- 
 noyed, replied : 
 
 " Well, no matter what it is, my boy, you must 
 think no more about it." 
 
 "It is not always possible to change the current 
 of thought," said Richard, gloomily. 
 
 "Nonsenfie, Dick, nonsense ; why half the mis- 
 ery of the world comes from thinking too much 
 about our troubles and about things we can not 
 understand. I would sooner sleep soundly while 
 a burglar was in my room, than wake up and run 
 the danger of looking into the muzzle of his re- 
 volver." 
 
 "Perhaps the knowledge that the burglar could 
 not injure you financially induces this reflection." 
 
 " There now, Dick, that was unkind," and both 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 " However, Arbyght, I'm serious. When I 
 was in love, for instance, I floated in a hazy at- 
 mosphere, every breath of which inebriated, but 
 when the strong light of fact dispelled the haze, 
 it left me the most wretched being, I thought, on 
 all the earth. I tell you, old boy, there is more 
 joy in illusion and twilight than there is in reality 
 and sunlight. Take, for example, the mimic 
 stage ; who would care to hear an opera or see a 
 play in the bright glare of day ; you need the 
 mellow gaslight to transform painted canvas into 
 
256 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 mountain scenery, rocky gorges, placid lakes, 
 rushing rivers, foam-crested waves, ruins old, spa- 
 cious mansions, and meadows green — " 
 
 " Hold on. Castaway," interrupted Kichard, 
 " this is eloquence, not reason." 
 
 " Oh, bother the eloquence ! I did not mean it. 
 What I want to say is, that, there are times when 
 it is best not to think too seriously." 
 
 " But for serious thought we would have neither 
 scientist, philosopher, or statesman," replied Ar- 
 byght. 
 
 "That maybe true, Dick; I rather like the 
 scientist and philosopher until they become icono- 
 clasts and undertake to destroy the idols of our 
 youth, then I enter a solemn protest." 
 
 " But what has all this to do with a man whose 
 mind is tortured with an ever-present misery." 
 
 " Simply this : the tortured mind can find relief 
 if it seeks it. When clouds obscure the sun and 
 the sky is black and lowering, do we not know 
 that the sun shines just as brightly as ever behind 
 the dark pall? Besides, the clouds are a shade 
 brighter in the region of the sun. Keep jour eye 
 upon the bright spots of life and the dark ones will 
 not trouble you so much. The sweetest music I 
 ever heard floated over the walls of a convent yard, 
 where a band of little orphan girls were singing 
 ^ Home, Sweet Home;' I tell you, ray boy, it does 
 not pay to throw too bright a glare upon the 
 realities of life." 
 
 "All right, Tom,'' said Richard, giving him 
 Ms hand, "you have succeeded. I'm feeling much 
 better now, I don't know what would become of 
 me if you did not drop in to cheer me up. I am 
 certain of one thing, your heart is warm and true 
 if your views are peculiar. God bless you, Tom 1 
 come again, if you can, to-morrow.'' 
 
FATHER VERSUS LOVER. 257 
 
 A few days afterward Richard left the hospital 
 ^nd went to work again in a shop that Trustgood 
 ■and McFlynn had rented and fitted up. 
 
 When the fever reached the second stage, Oscar 
 began to mutter incoherently and rave wildly, and 
 on several occasions terrified the good'Sisters who 
 attended him by the horrible pictures his delirium 
 evoked. For five weeks he remained suspended 
 between life and death. The crisis was finally 
 reached and safely passed, and the patient began 
 to recover bodily strength, but still he failed to 
 recognize even Arbyght. The physician for the 
 first few weeks examined his eyes every day, and 
 always turned away with a look that spoke vol- 
 umes were it rightly interpreted. One day Ar- 
 byght called and found Oscar sleeping quietly ; 
 he sat down by the cot and watched him eagerly ; 
 presently he awoke and looked at Richard with a 
 fixed, stony stare. 
 
 "Oh, Oscar," said Richard in a joyous tone, 
 " I am so glad you are getting better." 
 
 " Who are you? " 
 
 " Who am I? Why, Oscar, don't you know 
 me?" 
 
 " You are a shark without fins," and the glassy 
 expressionless eyes turned full upon him. A sharp 
 pang darted through his heart, and he covered his 
 face with his hands and groaned aloud. Oscar 
 Wood was a maniac. 
 
 " Ho, Arbyght ! You here?" Looking up he 
 saw Dr. Ranchman. 
 
 " Would to Grod I had never been here or any- 
 where," replied Richard. 
 
 The physician nodded gravely, and proceeded to 
 -examine his patient. 
 
 " Well, my good fellow, how do you feel to-day?" 
 he asked, looking kindly at Oscar. 
 17 
 
258 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " The son of Atlas would be in heaven but for 
 the sharks," was the replj', with the same stony 
 stare. 
 
 " Is there any hope, Doctor ? " whispered Eich-- 
 ard, huskily. 
 
 The latter shook his head, pondered a moment, 
 and replied : 
 
 " Doubtful, but he is young, and nature may 
 overcome it, or his insanity may assume a phase 
 from which the mind may be aroused by some pow- 
 erful physical shock. The contusion on the skull 
 was the primary cause, although it was aggravated 
 by the terrible derangement of the nervous system 
 and the fever that followed. It is truly a sad case." 
 
 "He has some singular vagaries," continued 
 the physician. " He believes that he is the son of 
 Atlas, and he has an instfeictive dread of sharks." 
 
 It may be possible to account for these vagaries, 
 as the doctor termed them. It is probable that the 
 past was not completely obliterated and that mem- 
 ory still existed, but the circle in which it now re- 
 volved was, compared to its former sphere, what the 
 glass aquarium is to the fish taken from the ocean. 
 Owing to the narrow compass in which his memory 
 now operated, only vague and imperfect ideas of the 
 past could be formed. May it not be that his past 
 conceptions of labor and capitalists now took the 
 shapes of Atlas and sharks ? 
 
 As soon as his strength would permit it, he was 
 removed to the State insane asylum at Jacksonville, 
 a beautiful town about thirty-four miles southwest 
 from Springfield. 
 
 There now devolved upon Arbyght the saddest 
 task of his whole life — writing an account of the 
 dreadful occurrence to Oscar's mother and sister. 
 The letter contained a check for three hundred dol- 
 lars, the joint contribution of the union men. 
 
PATHEK VERSUS LOVER. 259 
 
 The best, most potent cure for a troubled mind 
 is work. Thwarted love is unquestionably a troub- 
 lous grief, a keen, sharp-edged pain, that will 
 severely try the endurance of the most stoical soul. 
 It is a cautery-pointed misery that eats the heart 
 with teeth of torture hot as molten steel. Still 
 it will fail to kill the man who plunges boldly into 
 the turmoil of mental or physical labor ; but with a 
 tender, fragile woman, who mopes and pines, even 
 amid the most luxurious surroundings, it is differ- 
 ent — it is death. 
 
 Richard worked hard during the day in the shop ; 
 harder still at night pouring over books and man- 
 uscript. His hungry soul fed on hope, but there 
 were times when black despondency shadowed and 
 enveloped him in a night of despair, from which 
 love and hope had many a hard struggle to ex- 
 tricate him. He believed that Vida would wait 
 for him ; Paul had hinted as much, and he deter- 
 mined to prove worthy of her love, and faithfully 
 determined to make for her a home which, if not 
 equal to the one she enjoyed, would be at least not 
 wholly inferior to it. He did not underrate the 
 magnitude of the undertaking, but, for love, what 
 will not man undertake and accomplish ? 
 
 " Love is indestructible; 
 It's holy flame forever burneth ; 
 From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth." 
 
 Vida Geldamo's love was her very life — earnest, 
 pure, devoted and immutable ; thwarted, it cast a 
 gloom over her existence that made life almost un- 
 bearable. 
 
 After her father had left her on the evening 
 when he so peremptorily bade her see Arbyght no 
 more, she went up to Paul, placed her wet cheek 
 against his shoulder, and gazing at him piteously, 
 
260 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 twiaed her arms gently about his neck, kissed 
 him softly, and murmured : 
 
 " You "are so kind, so noble, so good, so like' poor 
 mamma; but, oh, Paul! I feel as if I would like 
 to die ! The world, a short hour ago so bright, is 
 now all gloom, shadow and sorrow !" And she 
 nestled closer^ clinging to him as if he was now 
 the only hope of her existence. 
 
 The next day she was attacked with a violent 
 headache, which lasted for three days, during 
 which her appetite failed her almost entirely. 
 This was the beginning ; her cheeks grew thin 
 and pale, her step lost its elasticity, and her eyes 
 frequently dimmed with tears. The great house 
 became silent as a tomb— no music, no mirth, no 
 cheerfulness — the house had lost its soul. Vida 
 wandered from one room to another like a visible 
 spirit, seen but not felt. 
 
 One evening Paul came home and told her he 
 had called on Richard unexpectedly, and found him 
 sighing over a small sheet of French note-paper. 
 
 A faint blush tinged Vida's pale cheeks. 
 
 ''And would you believe it, sis," said Paul, 
 archly, "although he concealed it hurriedly, I saw 
 a well-known signature. Perhaps you would like 
 to know whose it was ? I am sure I know the 
 writer. It is wondrous strange," he added, with 
 a rougish twinkle in his eye and a provoking smile 
 on his lipSj "what an effect little things sometimes 
 have on a strong man." 
 
 " Paul, are you not ashamed of yourself!" and 
 with a quick, throbbing heart and glowing face 
 Vida left the room. A few moments later there 
 came from the drawing-room a cheering, gladsome 
 sound; "music's golden tongue," tied so long, 
 was loosed again, and mingling with the soft har- 
 monious notes of the piano, Vida's charming voice 
 
FATHER VERSUS LOVER. 261 
 
 was heard. Her father looked pleased ; he thought 
 to himself, the infatuation is wearing away. Paul 
 looked sad and thoughtful ; he knew more of the 
 different phases of love than did the father whose 
 nature was too rigidly prosaic, with little ideality 
 or anything else that did not taste and smell of 
 gold. Paul knew that he was the cause of Vida's 
 present happiness, and although it pleased him to 
 see her happy, still it saddened him, for it showed 
 how deep a hold love had taken on her young 
 soul. 
 
 A few days passed, and Vida's spirits drooped 
 as before ; Mr. Geldamo became alarmed and sent 
 for the family physician, who strangely happened 
 to be none other than Dr. Eauchman. He came, 
 examined her pulse and tongue, and looked puz- 
 zled ; he asked a few questions, looked more per- 
 plexed than ever, then made some further inqui- 
 ries, stood up and strode across the room with a 
 nervous step, came back, looked at Yida critically, 
 and said bluntly : 
 
 " There is nothing in the Materia Medica that 
 will reach your case." 
 
 "I know that. Doctor," she answered, resign- 
 edly. 
 
 " Then, why send for me?" 
 
 "Ask papa." 
 
 "I'll lecture him soundly; there are but few 
 angels on this earth and we can not afford to lose 
 any of them." 
 
 He went straight to the library. 
 
 " Mr. Geldamo, your daughter, if left alone, or 
 left to physic, will die." 
 
 " Great heavens 1 Doctor, you can't mean it ?" 
 
 *' I can mean it ! I do mean it !" 
 
 " What seems to be the matter?" 
 
 " Ask yourself, you know better than I do." 
 
262 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Well, Doctor, you are an old friend and I will 
 confide in you," and he told him all. 
 
 A stormy scene followed. The doctor was a man 
 rough in speech, but beneath that exterior there 
 beat a heart as gentle, soft and true, as ever 
 throbbed in woman's breast. Tlie father was un- 
 yielding, the doctor unsparing in entreaty and con- 
 demnation ; the father persisted, the doctor in- 
 sisted, and the result was that the doctor left the 
 house in a rage. The next day Mr. Geldamo 
 started with Vida for New Orleans. 
 
 No lost spirit condemned in Eblis Halls to 
 roam, by inward fire consumed, e'er woeful tor- 
 tures suffered equal to those endured by Kichard 
 Arbyght when this news reached him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 DEEDS OF DARKNESS. 
 
 "Please, sir, where does Dr. Rauchman live?" 
 said a pale-faced, hungry-looliing, little girl. 
 
 " Drive on, James," said Alvan Relvason, step- 
 ping quickly into his carriage to join his wife and 
 daughter, a contemptuous sneer on his sallow 
 face. 
 
 "What is it, papa?" queried a closely-muffled 
 figure, in a languid voice. 
 
 "Oh, some beggar," he answered, as the car- 
 riage rolled away. 
 
 It doubtless did not occur to Alvan Relvason 
 that beggars and dives are inseparable ; that where 
 a dozen very rich men are found, five hundred 
 
DEEDS OF DARKNESS. 263 
 
 poor men barely exist ; that great individual for- 
 i;unes are like oases in a vast desert of poverty ; 
 that great individual wealth is always produced at 
 the expense of nearly a hundred-fold greater indi- 
 vidual poverty ; and yet such is the case. A beg- 
 gar ? Who made her so ? This is a pertinent ques- 
 tion. It belongs to a series of questions which 
 demand thoughtful and fair consideration. A 
 beggar ? Yet in her veins may flow the blood of 
 kings, for on the faces of beggars are written his- 
 tories older than our civilization. The evolving 
 forces of humanity are unerring in their results, 
 however strange their processes may appear. The 
 squalid beggar of to-day may be the fountain head 
 which, in the course of time, will develop a 
 mighty current, that will leave its impress upon 
 future generations ; and the descendant of a kingly 
 line, with the blue blood of a faultless pedigree 
 flowing in his veins, may, in the same period^ be 
 relegated — like the last of the Plantagenets — to a 
 butcher shop, or to tramping the highways beg- 
 ging for bread. 
 
 The only answer to the child's question was a 
 rude push, which sent the poor little thing stag- 
 gering across the sidewalk, and, in endeavoring to 
 recover herself, she slipped and fell. She uttered 
 a sharp cry of pain, got up quickly, but limped, 
 and could hardly move. 
 
 "Hold, little one; stop a moment 1" said a 
 manly voice, and Richard Arbyght, turning a cor- 
 ner close by, came fully into view. 
 
 "Are you hurt, child?" he asked, kindly. 
 
 "A little, sir; but I don't mind it," she an- 
 swered, looking up and displaying a pale, pinched- 
 looking little face, with tears plowing deep furrows 
 through the dirt on her cheeks. She was appar- 
 ently about ten years of age, scantily clad, without 
 
264 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 shawl, cloak, or stockings, her dress threadbare, 
 her feet covered with a miserable pretense in the- 
 shape of shoes, and an old faded scarf tied around 
 her head. Her limbs and hands were red with 
 cold, and her poor little body shivered in melan- 
 choly sympathy with her chattering teeth. 
 
 " Why, child, what could bring you out such a 
 night as this? Where is your home?" 
 
 "I'm Cassie Miller, sir. We live on 
 
 street. Father has had no work for two months, 
 and we are very poor, and it is very cold at home, 
 sir, and sometimes we have nothing to eat. Fred- 
 die died last week, and there is nobody left but pa,, 
 ma, and me. The doctor said that Freddie died 
 of cold and hunger, sir ; but he is in heaven now, 
 and won't know what it is to go without supper 
 any more^ and he won't need any fire up There 
 with the angels. Poor ma has been sick a long, 
 long time, and Freddie's death made her worse, 
 and then pa he took to drinking, and talks about 
 killing himself because he can't find work ; and 
 when he sees me cry for supper he kisses me and 
 cries too, and then poor ma cries, and pa leaves 
 the house and don't come back until near morn- 
 ing, and then he staggers and sleeps on the floor. 
 To-night ma got worse, and Mrs. Longview say& 
 she won't live, and she sent me to fetch the 
 doctor, as pa ain't home; but the doctor ain't at 
 the office, and I don't know where he lives ; 
 and please, sir, won't you tell me where to find 
 him?" 
 
 '^That I will, my child," said Richard, for the 
 plaintive pathos of the child's story of poverty and 
 want moved him to the quick ; " but where do yoa 
 live, little one?" 
 
 "No 13 street, sir." 
 
 "Well, now, you can run right home, and I 
 
DEEDS OF DARKNESS. 265 
 
 will go and fetch the doctor ; I will not delay a 
 moment." 
 
 "Oh, you are real kind, sir. I will go and 
 hunt up pa ; I know he will come home ; he al- 
 ways does when I go for him," and away she ran, 
 her little fretted heart cheered by the kind words 
 of the stranger. 
 
 Richard stood and watched the little thing as 
 she sped over the slippery pavement until her 
 form mingled with the darkness of the distance. 
 He never heard such a sad and pathetic story as 
 this ingenuous child told in tears and sobs, and 
 verified with her famine-pinched features and scant 
 apparel. It appealed strongly to his sympathy 
 and manhood. 
 
 The semi-nude child ran on unmindful of the 
 cold, the biting, snow-laden wind that swept and 
 howled in fearful gusts around the corners; on 
 through the great floods of golden light that shone 
 through 'the glass fronts of shops and stores; on 
 through the deep darkness of lampless streets ; on 
 through obstructed alleys grim and shadowy ; on 
 until she came to an old dilapidated wooden build- 
 ing. She approached the door timidly, turned the 
 knob slowly, and entered noiselessly. The room 
 was quite small, the ceiling very low and slanting 
 in two or three directions, and thus seemed to cor- 
 respond to an equal number of dips or depressions 
 in the floor. A short pine plank, one end resting 
 on a cleat nailed to the wall and the other on an 
 empty box, served as a sort of counter or bar, be- 
 hind which stood a red-faced, frowzy, elephantine- 
 looking woman. An old shelf containing a few 
 broken cigar boxes and a half dozen villainous- 
 looking bottles, a sick-looking dice-box, and an 
 ugly-looking pistol completed the background of 
 the scene. The room was filled with men worthy 
 
266 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 of the place. It was also filled with noisome va- 
 pors and tobacco smoke. A dirty, smoky chintz 
 screen served as a door to an opening leading to 
 the back part of the building, where the family of 
 the proprietress lived. The rough, boisterous talk, 
 interlarded with horrid oaths and imprecations, 
 ceased suddenly when little Cassie entered the room. 
 
 She looked around searchingly, turned her little 
 head rapidly in all directions, and, not seeing her 
 father, she approached the bar and said in a 
 timid voice : 
 
 " Please ma'am, has pa been here?" 
 
 " I don't know yer pa," snarled the woman, in 
 a harsh, sharp voice. 
 
 "It's Miller's daughter,'' interposed a rough, 
 kind voice, in answer to the woman's look of in- 
 quiry. 
 
 " Oh, ho 1" was her only answer, as she gazed 
 with a patronizing leer at the little waif. 
 
 "Your father is at Abaddon Hall, I -think," 
 said the man, turning to the child. 
 
 " Is it far?" she asked, looking up, while two 
 silent tears stole down her cheeks. 
 
 " Well, my little woman, it's a good stretch 
 from here, and I don't think you could find it." 
 
 " Oh 1 I must, I must 1" cried the child, despair- 
 ingly. " Ma is worse, and Mrs. Longview says 
 she won't live but a few hours." 
 
 "If that's the case,'' said the man, " you stay 
 here, and I will run and tell him." 
 
 "Will you, though?" 
 
 " Of_ course I will, and won't be long either," 
 he replied, buttoning up his coat and opening the 
 door. 
 
 "A devil of a night," muttered a chorus of 
 voices, as a blast of raw, freezing air and snow 
 swept shriekingly into the room. 
 
DKEDS OF DARKNESS. 267 
 
 Abaddon Hall was located in the basement of an 
 fiia wooden building that rose two stories above 
 the sidewalk, on the corner of Kandolph and Canal 
 streets. The place resembled a slime pit. It was 
 filled with a humid, nauseous stench that smelled 
 like the odor from an open sewer. The floor was 
 covered with sawdust, saturated with liquid, viscid 
 defilements of various kinds. A long row of short 
 tables stretched down one side of the hall like a 
 row of coffins in an undertaker's shop. On the 
 opposite side, a long, outward-slanting bar ex- 
 tended nearly the entire length of the room. This 
 bar was fitted up with all the modern improve- 
 ments necessary to send a man down the precipi- 
 tous bank of destruction with rapid velocity — send 
 him smoothly down, keeping time with the ravish- 
 ing notes of a grand concert piano, mingled with 
 vocal symphony. The hall was well filled with 
 people, gathered in knots on the floor or around 
 the tables, and a large number of waiters were 
 kept busy serving them. 
 
 A little bell tinkled at the upper end of the bar, 
 and presently Mr. Appolyon leaned over and looked 
 at a glass-faced register, where a little half-moon 
 shield had dropped, disclosing a number. He 
 pulled a bell-cord, and a gong at the far end of the 
 hall sounded sharply. Directly, a small boy came 
 running up to the head of the bar, 
 
 " Number eleven," said the proprietor, without 
 looking at him. 
 
 The boy ran along the bar toward the wall, 
 which seemed to open as he reached it, disclosing 
 a narrow passage leading to a still narrower flight 
 of steps. The boy struggled up two flights and 
 came to a hall into which several rooms opened. 
 He stopped before one and knocked. 
 
 " Come in," came from the inside. He opened 
 
268 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 the door, and saw three men sitting around a sraall 
 center-table, on which was placed a decanter of 
 brandy and some glasses. 
 
 " Send Mr. Apollyon here," said one of the men, 
 in a voice of alarming compass. 
 
 "And be quick about it," put in another, with 
 sharp vehemence, and his eyes bulged out as if they 
 would leave their sockets. 
 
 The boy left. Mr. Apollyon appeared. 
 
 " What can I do for you, gentlemen ?" 
 
 " Do you know any one," said the man with re- 
 treating and advancing eyes, " who is so reduced 
 by want and penury that employment under any 
 conditions would be accepted?" 
 
 "I think I do," he replied, after a moment's 
 hesitation. " He was a schoolmate," he continued^ 
 musingly, " and he has always been a believer in 
 temperance and purity, and all that sort of thing, 
 but lately fortune has refused to smile on him. 
 He has been out of work since last December. His 
 little boy died the other day and his wife is sick. 
 I think money would be an object to him now. 
 His troubles have already swamped his temperance 
 notions, and I think his other notions of right and 
 wrong would give way to a little judicious reason- 
 ing." 
 
 " Could you get him here inside of an hour?" 
 
 "I will'try, Mr. Spindle, and I think I will 
 succeed." 
 
 About an hour later the door of " No. 11 " was 
 opened again, and David Miller was shown into 
 the room. 
 
 " Gentlemen, this is the man," said Apollyon, 
 bowing obsequiously and smirking out of the 
 room. 
 
THE ABODE OF DEATH. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE ABODE OF DEATH. 
 
 David Miller's face was an open page in misery's 
 book. Suifering, trouble, want, and dissipation 
 were plainly written there. His hair and beard 
 were matted, shaggy, unkempt ; his clothes soiled, 
 torn, and so patched that the original material 
 could not be detected ; his boots gaped, and his 
 hair protruded through his tattered hat like tufts 
 •of grass through knot-holes in a board walk. 
 Altogether he presented a pitiable, miserable 
 appearance ; and yet there shone from his clear, 
 gray eye an unmistakable ray of intelligence of a 
 high order, and his general bearing, notwithstand- 
 ing his repulsive exterior, indicated that he had 
 seen better days. 
 
 " Be seated, sir," said Spindle, nodding famili- 
 arly toward a vacant chair, accompanying the 
 motion of the head with a condescending wave of 
 the hand. 
 
 " I prefer to stand. In what manner can I serve 
 you, or for what purpose do you want me? " said 
 Miller, glancing hungrily at the decanter of 
 brandy. 
 
 Spindle, noticing the look and expression, rose 
 immediately and poured out a draught of the fiery 
 beverage, which he handed to Miller, who, with 
 trembling hand but flashing eye, eagerly clutched 
 the glass and drank its contents with a gulp. 
 
 " Would you like to obtain an easy, good-paying 
 situation ?" asked Spindle, nonchalantly, while 
 replacing the decanter and glass, as if it was a 
 matter of absolute indifference. 
 
 " Would I like to obtain asituation?" repeated 
 
270 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Miller, with interrogative emphasis. " Look at 
 me," he continued, with bitter sarcasm. " Do I 
 look like a man who needed work? If your child 
 died before your eyes of starvation and cold, if 
 your wife lay in the ante-chamber of death, brought 
 thither by the same means, if your remaining 
 child was a street beggar, if your house was a fire- 
 less hovel, if you did not know where your next 
 meal was coming from, and if all this was the re- 
 sult of not having work, would you like to obtain 
 a situation? " His voice was thick and quivered 
 with tremulous intensity, and his eyes, though 
 moist, flashed brightly. 
 
 " Certainly, I would ! " said Spindle in a sympa- 
 thetic tone, accompanied by a sad but conciliatory 
 smile. 
 
 "Then why mock me?" snappishly retorted 
 Miller. 
 
 " Mock you? " said Spindle, and his eyes came 
 out with a flash, but presently retreated, and a 
 bland, persuasive smile rippled, over his sallow 
 face, as he added : 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear sir ; I had no idea of 
 offending you — would not do so for the world. I 
 merely asked in a sort of preliminary way. I was 
 told by Mr. Apollyon that you needed work badly, 
 and as I want a man very much I thought I would 
 oblige my friend, Apollyon, who has recommended 
 you, by offering you the position." 
 
 "And will you give me work? " asked Miller, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I will, sir." 
 
 " Then, God bless you ! " was the fervent reply. 
 
 Spindle gave a little a start and turned just a 
 shade paler at the mention of his Maker's name. 
 
 " But there is to be a condition," he managed 
 to say, in a jocular manner. 
 
THE ABODE OF DEATH. 271 
 
 ''A condition ! What is it ? " asked Miller. 
 
 "A portion of your duties will be made known 
 to you now, but you are to agree and bind yourself 
 to perform other services, the nature of which yon 
 will only discover when the time arrives for their 
 performance." 
 
 "Are these duties lawful and legitimate?" asked 
 Miller, with a scared and uneasy look. 
 
 "You are to know no more, sir. You are at 
 liberty to accept or reject the proposal. If you 
 accept, you can begin to-morrow evening. Your 
 duties at present will be to act as night watchman 
 at Kelvason's works ; you probably know where 
 they are." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Well, do you accept? Your compensation will 
 be liberal." 
 
 The man's cheerless home, sick wife, and help- 
 less child rose befojre him like a horrid vision ; 
 still he hesitated and seemed greatly perplexed as 
 he gazed at some imaginary, undefined form which 
 his morbid, oppressed mind had pictured. Yes, it 
 was the form, the face, the features of his loved boy 
 that was outlined on the retina of the mind's eye. 
 
 " Ye's^ I acceptl" he gasped in a hollow whisper, 
 still gazing fixedly, rigidly at vacancy. 
 
 "All right my man," replied Spindle quickly, 
 with a great sigh of relief. 
 
 AUsound also sighed as if relieved of some 
 weighty burden ; Harvey Mellen looked on doggedly 
 silent. Paper and pen and ink were procured, 
 an agreement was soon drawn up, signed and wit- 
 nessed, and a month's pay given Miller in advance. 
 This concluded the conference. In descending the 
 stairs, Harvey Mellen asked Miller if he knew 
 Ei chard Arbyght. 
 
 "That I do," he answered promptly, "and a 
 
272 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 noble fellow he is. If all workingmen were like 
 him I would not be compelled to stultify and dis- 
 grace myself as I have done to-night," 
 
 "Be that as it may," returned Mellen in a 
 whisper, " you must bear in mind that from hence- 
 forth you are Arbyght's mortal enemy." 
 
 They had reached the foot of the stairs and Mel- 
 len purposely slipped away and left Miller with- 
 out any further explanation. 
 
 The man who came in search of him was wait- 
 ing, and after a few words in a low tone, they left 
 Abaddon Hall hurriedly. 
 
 About half au hour or so afterward Miller and 
 his little girl approached their home. And such 
 a homel It was simply a hut made of thin, knotty 
 planks, even the roof being made of boards o'er- 
 lapping each other ; but sun and rain had so 
 shrunken them that they no longer served their 
 original purpose. The same was also true of the 
 sides and end of the hut ; but over the openings 
 that gaped widest old pieces of boards, old staves, 
 and pieces of broken cask heads had been nailed, 
 giving the poverty-stamped hovel a scaly appear- 
 ance. There was but one window in the hut, and 
 that consisted of a single sash which could be slid 
 back. A single joint of stovepipe, full of rust 
 holes, issued from the roof quite close to the eaves; 
 from this pipe a whitish smoke was tumbling like 
 the links of a mammoth sausage. A rickety door, 
 hung with hinges made of the upper of an old 
 boot, and fastened with a wooden latch, was pulled 
 open at their approach, and Mrs. Longview ad- 
 mitted them and closed the door. There was no 
 partition in the hovel ; it consisted of a single 
 room, twelve by sixteen feet. In one end was the 
 rusty skeleton of an old worn-out stove, in the 
 the other an old-fashioned bedstead, on which was 
 
THE ABODE OF DEATH. 2T3 
 
 •ti corn-husk mattress, an old patched coverlet, the 
 -only covering of a pale, emaciated woman, whose 
 head rested on a straw pillow, her eyes closed, her 
 l)ony hands crossed outside the coverlet. In the 
 ■center of the room stood the remains of what was 
 once a table, on which was a lighted candle stuck 
 in a large bottle. The wind whistled and moaned 
 ■dismally through hundreds of cracks and holes, 
 threatening the extinction of the tallow flame at 
 -every blast of more than ordinary violence. The 
 place would, in fact, afford no more shelter than a 
 punctured tin lantern of the same size, and yet 
 ibur human beings called it home. 
 
 "Dear Maggie," said Miller, "I have found 
 ■work at last,'' and the poor fellow fairly shed tears 
 of joy, 
 
 Mrs. Longview blew hard at the stubborn fire. 
 Maggie did not answer. 
 
 "And, oh ! pa, I'm so glad," said little Cassie, 
 grasping her father's hand. 
 
 Mrs. Longview blew the flame still harder. 
 David Miller took his wife's hand ; it was very 
 -cold. He dropped it, and it fell back heavily 
 upon the coverlet. Miller's eyes became fixed 
 upon the pale, white face with a horror-stricken 
 stare ; his heart rose up in his throat ; he gasped 
 for breath, and fell back upon the floor like a log. 
 
 Maggie Miller wa.s dead. 
 
 A moment later. Dr. Ranchman and Richard 
 Arbyght entered the abode of death. The physi- 
 cian soon brought Miller back to consciousness, 
 but he crouched upon the floor, his head between 
 his hands, and would not speak a word. Little 
 Cassie was kneeling by the bed, holding the hand 
 of her dead mother, and crying piteously. Mrs. 
 Longview was still battling with the fire, but tears 
 ■were coursing down her wrinkled cheeks. 
 18 
 
274 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " The misery of this place is too sacred for in- 
 trusion ; we can do nothing here," said the doctor, 
 preparing to leave. 
 
 The words were spoken to Eichard, but the- 
 speaker seemed disposed to linger and let his com- 
 panion go out first, while the latter seemed dis- 
 posed to do the same thing. Finally, Arhyght 
 caught the doctor's eye — they understood each 
 other at once, and, advancing to the table, they 
 each placed on it some bank-notes, and put the 
 improvised candlestick upon them to prevent the 
 gusts of wind from carrying them away. Although 
 Miller appeared entirely oblivious, he nevertheless- 
 saw the act, and remembered it long afterward. 
 
 "Is it possible that such wretchedness as we 
 have just witnessed is common in this city, or is 
 this an isolated case?" said Bichard, in a musing 
 tone of inquiry, after they had again reached the- 
 street. 
 
 "Possible?" gruffly replied the doctor, " it is- 
 not possibility, sir, it is fact. An isolated case, 
 indeed ! Why, man, there are hundreds of such 
 cases to be seen every day in this city." 
 
 "And, still, we are told that the laborer has 
 nothing of which to complain ; that work is plenty 
 and wages remunerative. Truly, I fail to compre- 
 hend it." 
 
 "Not comprehend it?" repeated the doctor. 
 " Nonsense, man, it is plain as day. Do you see 
 that magnificent residence across the avenue?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "A few years ago the owner was a penniless 
 vagabond." 
 
 " He must be a lucky fellow." 
 
 "Lucky? No, he is a shrewd man though. 
 He is an employer of labor. He first worked on 
 borrowed capital, but he made his workmen pay 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLOUD. 2Y5 
 
 the interest and a large margin beside. Now, aa 
 lie began with nothing and ends a millionaire, it 
 is fair to presume that his employes made his 
 money, or rather, they made the money and he 
 took it. Most people say it is business tact and 
 enterprise that made him rich, but is it not queer 
 that this same tact and enterprise can't make one 
 man rich without making hundreds poor?" 
 
 "That's just it," broke in Richard, "and if 
 these men who made this money had a rightful 
 share of it there would be fewer such scenes as 
 we have this night witnessed." 
 
 " There, now, you comprehend it, I see ; but I 
 am home," replied the doctor, "and I must bid 
 you good- night." 
 
 " Grood-night," responded Richard, as he walked 
 down the avenue at a rapid pace. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A RIFT IN THE CLOUD. 
 
 It was in the month of March that Vida and her 
 father left for New Orleans. Raw, gusty, bois- 
 terous March weather — mud, churned and kneaded 
 by hundreds of vehicles, horses, and pedestrians 
 one day, and the next day rough, jagged, frozen 
 streets ; to-day, cold, drizzling rain, dense atmos- 
 phere, mud-splashed, mire-coated horses, be- 
 draggled garments, and general discomfort — to- 
 morrow, cold, piercing wind, slippery walks, and 
 impassable thoroughfares. Such is March weather 
 in the Central States. 
 
276 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Vida was at first glad to leave the city, as, lately, 
 life had been unbearable in it ; but she soon found 
 that thwarted love made life an uncheered gloom 
 to the spirit, no matter where the body might be. 
 
 It was at first a pleasing relief to both mind and 
 body to pass rapidly from the variable, disagree- 
 able climate of the North to the genial warmth of 
 the sunny South. As the train approached the 
 *' Orescent City " evidences of a tropical land met 
 her eye on every hand. The fields were green and 
 velvety, the trees were luxuriant in the bloom and 
 foliage of spring, the farms were being tilled, and 
 the soft, balmy winds of the tropics fanned her 
 cheeks on their way northward. 
 
 Closer to the city, they passed through vast 
 swamps, dense with tall trees, from which hung in 
 waving festoons a whitish-gray moss, that made 
 them look like bearded giants ; alligators could be 
 seen sunning themselves on old logs and on the 
 banks of stagnant pools. The wild weirdness of 
 the scene formed a unique framework for the gay, 
 voluptuous, swamp-girded city of the Gulf. 
 
 The appearance of New Orleans was also a 
 novelty to Vida. Its European characteristics ; 
 the quaint French quarter ; narrow streets ; an- 
 tique houses; gardens enclosed by high walls; 
 curious tile roofs, eaves toward the street ; board 
 blinds, and doors opening right on the banquettes; 
 the variety of people ; their strange costumes ; the 
 cosmopolitan sociality of the city ; the strange 
 phenomena of the water running from the river 
 and not toward it, and the apparent rising of the 
 sun in the west, were topics for comment and sur- 
 prise for a few days. And, as her mind was busily 
 employed in the contemplation of these things, it 
 served to separate her soul from its great sorrow, 
 and she actually seemed to slowly recover. 
 
A RIFT IN THE CLODD. 277 
 
 But this did not last long, the novelty of the 
 strange sights and scenery soon wore away, and 
 then the reaction left her in a far worse state than 
 before. 'This seems to he true of all mortals who 
 seek to bury the past in the maddening whirl of 
 evanescent joys. No matter how often we inter 
 the corpse of a bitter past in the grave of pleasure, 
 its ghost will rise and haunt us with greater ter- 
 ror and more mocking fury. 
 
 Vida was taken suddenly ill. 
 
 An eminent physician was called in, and after 
 an examination, and a reportorial questioning of 
 the father, he began to talk of cerebral excitement 
 and nervous derangement, but gave no definite 
 opinion on the case. It is extremely doubtful 
 whether he understood anything about it. Mr. 
 Geldamo arrived at that conclusion, and to expe- 
 dite matters, he gave the physician a confidential 
 history of the whole affair. 
 
 After listening attentively, the famed Esculapius 
 adjusted his glasses, and coolly and deliberately in- 
 formed Mr. Geldamo that it was a hopeless case 
 as far as material medical aid was concerned. ' 
 
 "Nothing," he said, "but the immediate pres- 
 ence of Arbyght could effect a cure." 
 
 This was bitter and unpalatable news for the 
 father. He pondered, and studied, and thought 
 it over a long time. At last he came to a con- 
 clusion, which was somewhat hastened by the fact 
 that Vida was growing worse each succeeding hour. 
 He telegraphed for Arbyght to come at once, and 
 Kichard obeyed the summons and came on with- 
 out delay. 
 
 He arrived in the city without any knowledge 
 of its hotel accommodations, and when a long 
 string of hotels were shrieked at him by a chorus 
 of porters, he haphazardly selected the St. Charles, 
 
278 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 and was soon 'neath the shadow of that famous 
 hostelry. He passed through the vestibule, up 
 one of the broad flight of steps that led to the 
 office, and was soon registered and shown to his 
 room. In passing along a spacious hall he noticed 
 the door of a suite of rooms slightly ajar, but not 
 heeding it, passed on. 
 
 "Richard! Richard!" 
 
 Stop, man, you are called. 
 
 "Richard! Richard 1" 
 
 Are you deaf? Do you not hear? Do you 
 not recognize the voice ? Yes ; he knew it well, 
 and. stood for a moment rooted to the spot and 
 listened to the faint, thick, incoherent mutterings 
 that issued from the room. Presently the door 
 opened wider, and Mr. Geldam.o stood on the 
 threshold looking haggard and worn. Seeing 
 Arbyght, he bowed coldly, and invited him in. 
 
 He followed the father into the chamber, advanced 
 to the bedside, sat down, and groaned aloud ; and 
 as he took in his own the little white, wasted hand 
 that lay on the white counterpane of the bed, tears 
 filled his eyes. 
 
 Although the father's heart was bitter and fester- 
 ing with impotent rage, still, he was moved not a 
 little by this manifestation of Arbyght' s deep and 
 genuine devotion for his daughter. 
 
 The listless hand remained in Richard's tender 
 grasp for some time, but it thrilled to his touch no 
 more. 
 
 The physician came shortly afterward, and left 
 a prescription. When questioned, he said there 
 was no sign of a break in the fever, and it might 
 be days before anything definite could be promised. 
 After he left, Arbyght sat long and gazed sadly at 
 the partly closed eyes, the parched lips, the burn- 
 ing cheeks, and the hollow temples and beautifully- 
 
A EIFT IN THE CLOUD. 2'?'9 
 
 moulded white forehead of the fevered-racked suf- 
 €rer. 
 
 For five days he was almost constantly by the 
 bedside. The physician came often, but, for the 
 first four days, could detect no change for the 
 i)etter, although Arbyght was positive such a 
 change had taken place. On the fifth day the 
 physician said there was a perceptible change, and 
 he was glad to say it was for the better — 
 that the fever might break at any time. This 
 result he attributed to the last prescription, 
 which he said was very efficacious — almost infal- 
 libly so. 
 
 YeSj very efficacious indeed ! The good doctor 
 <iid not wish to admit, although he knew it, that 
 his medicine had a powerful aid in Arbyght, whose 
 continual presence in the room assisted nature in 
 her battle against the fever. That hand, which 
 •clasped hers so often and so long, would, were she 
 in health, send thrilling currents to her soul ; 
 nor was it wholly powerless now as a remedial 
 agent. And then, his great amount of nervous 
 force, power, and vitality, a portion of which was 
 communicated to her by every touch of the hand, 
 every gentle pressure on the forehead, served nature 
 in the struggle. And again, the magnetic in- 
 fluence that united, surrounded their souls — made 
 them one in responsive unison, acted strongly on 
 ■each by continual proximation — and he, being 
 healthy, vigorous, strong, slowly, imperceptibly, 
 but surely imparted to her a portion of his own 
 physical nature. Add to tliis the soothing effect 
 tis presence undoubtedly had on her spirit, even 
 though unconscious, and is it any wonder the doc- 
 tor's medicine proved efficacious? 
 
 Next morning, when the father entered the 
 Toom, he found Vida sleeping quietly and breath- 
 
280 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ing easily, with a very remarkable change in her 
 features. Richard was by her bedside. 
 
 "The worst is past!" he whispered, bending: 
 over the bed, and gazing intently at the sleeper. 
 
 "It is," responded Richard, and before any 
 further conversation could be had, the Creole nurs& 
 drove them both out of the room for daring to 
 speak at that juncture. 
 
 That afternoon, as the western sun was stream- 
 ing through the Venetian blinds, Vida woke up,, 
 restored to reason and free from fever. At first, 
 she gazed around in a sort of dreamy vacancy ; 
 finally, her eyes rested upon a figure, whose back 
 was toward her, and who was apparently watch- 
 ing some object in the street below. 
 
 " Papa, 1 feel better now. I must have had a 
 good sleep, and, oh, papa, I dreamed that he was 
 here." 
 
 The figure at the window turned quickly around 
 and advanced toward the bed, and said tenderly : 
 
 " Dear Vida, he is here." 
 
 She uttered no exclamation — spoke not a word. 
 She lifted her emaciated hands, looked steadily at 
 him with mild, sorrowing eyes, her bosom rose, 
 and respiration seemed temporarily checked. He 
 took the outstretched hands, pressed them. ten- 
 derly, and then bent over and kissed her cheek 
 wondrous softly for a man. Her fingers closed 
 lightly on his hands, and gently drawing him 
 toward her, she kissed him for the first time, 
 while she whispered softly : 
 
 " The world is bright again." 
 
 All of Arbyght's sorrows, the past of his dark, 
 cheerless life seemed blotted out — atoned for, by 
 that first kiss of love, which was to him as sacred 
 as an angel's touch. His eyes grew moist, he- 
 quivered in every fiber, his heart seemed a spring. 
 
A KIFT IN THE CLOUD. 281 
 
 of ethereal fire that flooded every artery and vein 
 with currents of celestial heat. 
 
 "When did you arrive?" she asked after he 
 sat down beside her. 
 
 "A week ago." 
 
 "A week ago?" she repeated, incredulously, 
 "and where have you been all the time?'' she 
 continued, reprovingly. 
 
 " You have been very ill," he answered, sooth- 
 ingly, " and have been unconscious nearly two 
 weeks. I have been here ever since I came to the 
 city ; but, there now, you must not talk any more 
 to-day, to-morrow you will be stronger." 
 
 Again she gazed at him with those mild, swim- 
 ming eyes, long and earnestly, then closed them 
 slowly, and dropped into a peaceful slumber ; and 
 from that hour she gained physical strength so 
 rapidly that the physician pronounced her out of 
 danger three days afterward. 
 
 Then Mr. Geldamo began to plot and carry out 
 the scheme he had formed when he concluded to 
 send for Arbyght. He told KichaBihe had long 
 contemplated a European tour, and now he thought 
 Vida would be benefited very materially by the 
 change of air and the new and varied scenery of 
 the old world. 
 
 " I shall IJeabsent one year," he said, "and per- 
 haps more, but, if by the time we return you can 
 give me the assurance that you are in a position to 
 give Vida a home equal to her station in life, then 
 I will interpose no obstacle in the way of your 
 union ; but, in the mean time, I desire that there 
 shall be no formal bethrothal. I simply ask you 
 to prove your capability to make a home, and after 
 that all the assistance you require will be fur- 
 nished." ^ 
 
 Eichard felt sure of ultimate success as his pros- 
 
282 ' THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 pects in Chicago were bright and flattering, but 
 still he feared that the banker was only fighting to 
 gain time. However, he thanked him, and as- 
 sured him that he would endeavor to prove capa- 
 ble of caring for the woman he loved, and accepted 
 the conditions imposed. 
 
 To Vida her father related his conversation with 
 Eichard — not substantially as it occurred, for he 
 added much to brighten the picture. He told her 
 she could love the workman as much as she 
 pleased, and after they returned to Chicago, if he 
 had proved himself worthy and capable of caring 
 for her, they should be speedily married. 
 
 Under these circumstances the lovers felt confi- 
 dent and cheerful, and their parting was less 
 painful than it otherwise would have been, as they 
 both determined to do their duty — Richard to love 
 and labor ; Vida to love, pray, and wait. 
 
 Eichard returned to Chicago, and the next 
 ocean steamer carried Yida and her father to the 
 Old World. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 RELVASON GIVES A DINNER. 
 
 A dinner party. Very few people appreciate 
 the importance of dinners — none overestimate it. 
 It is said that Napoleon, because of having dined too 
 hurriedly lost the battles of Barodino and Leipsic. 
 This is certainly a fearful warning to men in whose 
 keeping the destinies of nations and states have 
 been confided. These persons should take more 
 
RELVASON GIVKS A DINNER. 283 
 
 time, and should not forget that not only material, 
 but intellectual life and vigor depend on good di- 
 gestion. With poor, insignificant toilers, who 
 are ofttimes required to swallow their dinners in 
 bulk, it does not make so much difference. No 
 weighty problems of state require solution at their 
 hands ; no intricate plans of campaigns or stra- 
 tegical, offensive and defensive movements are 
 mapped out by them. Then what difference does 
 it make whether they digest their dinners properly 
 or not? None whatever. Their mission is toil, 
 unceasing toil, and if they do become dyspeptic, 
 and if the race deteriorates, degenerates, dies out, 
 what of it? 
 
 The deterioration of labor lessens production, 
 lessens wealth. Yet, so great is the desire to amass 
 fortunes in the present generation that the future 
 is left to take care of itself. 
 
 But modern dinners in high life are a great in- 
 stitution. Financial projects are matured, banks 
 and railroads projected, and other schemes con- 
 cocted during the post-prandial wine drinking. 
 Official patronage, love, intrigue, politics are dis- 
 cussed, friendships formed, and schemes of power, 
 fame, and ambition hatched at the dinner table. 
 So it will be seen that the significance and import- 
 ance attaching to these gatherings can not be well 
 over-estimated* 
 
 Alvan Eelvason was thoroughly posted on the 
 efficacy of dinners as a social and business lever, 
 and had determined to giv^e a dinner party that 
 would eclipse anything of the kind yet attempted 
 by the parvenu elite. Invitations were sent to all 
 the potentates of the business and social world 
 in which he moved, and were all, of course, un- 
 equivocally accepted, for if there is anything your 
 modern capitalist of the Eelvason type really en- 
 
284 THE OTHEK SIDE. 
 
 joys, it is a good dinner. Especially is this true 
 of the uncultured capitalist. Money never files ofi" 
 the edge of his appetite, and what he may lack in 
 knowledge of the delicate refinements of the dinner 
 table he makes up in executive capacity. 
 
 In making up this dinner party Kelvason did 
 not follow the rule of Brillat-Savarin, that in num- 
 bers it should not be less than the G-races nor 
 more than the Muses. He acted on the principle 
 that if a small party was an enjoyable affair a 
 large one was proportionally more so ; and besides, 
 he was a man who believed the more noise he made 
 in the world the greater would be his claim to' 
 fame and popularity. 
 
 The prandial day arrived, and in the afternoon 
 little knots of gamins and grown persons of both 
 sexes began to congregate on the corners in the vi- 
 cinity and opposite the Eelvason mansion. They 
 assembled through mere curiosity, or because of 
 that morbid desire to see something out of the 
 ordinary course of events that seems to inhere so 
 strangely in humanity. They did not dream that 
 they were paying homage to wealth, and yet, in a 
 certain sense, they were. The gaudy and glitter- 
 ing carriages, the liveried servants, the costly 
 toilets of the occupants of the carriages were all 
 wonderful sights to the impromptu audience. 
 Even the delicate, velvety carpet that extended 
 from the curbstone into the great hall, in order 
 that the dainty shoes of the ladies, and the small 
 shoes, distorted by the ungainly feet of the gentle- 
 men, might not be soiled, came in for a share of 
 the open-mouthed admiration. And yet these 
 capital-worshipers never dreamed that the money 
 thus foolishly expended on show and the gew- 
 gaws and frivolity of ever-changing fashion, came 
 directly from the proceeds of their own toil- 
 
RELVASON GIVES A DINNER. 285 
 
 All the guests having arrived, dinner was an- 
 nounced, and the host rising gave his arm to Mrs. 
 Shorelake, a visitor from New York, and bowing 
 to the company, led the way to the dining-room. 
 He was followed by Mr. Stockbank and lady, Hon. 
 S. Kirigmine and lady, Hon. A. Legallaw and 
 lady, Mr. M. D. Squills and lady, Mr. H. Packer 
 and lady, Mr. Bishop and lady, and other Hons. 
 and Messrs. of lesser note, the rear being brought 
 up by the hostess and Mr. R. Mills. 
 
 The dining-room was a noble apartment. Its 
 ceiling was paneled with oak, in designs where 
 the culture of the artist and the skill of the artisan 
 were alike called into service in its exquisite detail 
 and execution. A paneled wainscoting of the 
 same wood and matching the design of the ceiling, 
 girded the room, and the walls were tinted in 
 harmony. The floor was laid in alternate strips 
 of oak and ash finished in oil, encircled by a beauti- 
 fully patterned border of the same woods ; and 
 upon the floor were spread rare rugs, that were 
 fashioned in Turkish looms. Extending through 
 the center of the room was the table. With its 
 wealth of solid silver, Sevres, Venetian glass of 
 antique form^ queer old vases, worth their weight 
 in gold, filled with rare flowers whose delicate 
 perfume burdened the air, it was a fit setting for 
 60 costly a frame. Over it all shone the mellow 
 light from low-burning gas jets shaded by stained 
 glass globes. While the appointments of the table 
 could not be termed the perfection of refined ele- 
 gance, they were the sumptuous results of a lavish 
 expenditure of money. There was withal a sort of 
 untouchable immaculateness about the whole ar- 
 rangement, suggestive of newness, a reminder 
 that, as far as the host and hostess were concerned, 
 all that they were able to produce was simply the 
 
286 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 results to be obtained by any one who has an un- 
 limited amount of money to spend. 
 
 The dinner was served up a la Russe, nearly 
 every guest being attended by a waiter ; a decided 
 improvement on the old fashion of serving dinners, 
 as it is really perplexing to a man to see all of his 
 food before him and have to carve, help others and 
 talk and eat at the same time. The old style wa» 
 cumbrous and besides it suggested the idea of work, 
 and hence a la Russe, "the poetry of dining," 
 came into universal fashion with those who think 
 labor ignoble. At a dinner served in this manner 
 no viands or dishes appear on the table, but at a 
 given signal dish after dish, and course after course 
 follow in quick succession, and the gourmand has 
 nothing to do but to eat, drink, and be merry. 
 
 At this dinner party there was a noticeable 
 absence of persons of refinement and culture. 
 
 "Have you heard of these trade-unions?" 
 queried Eelvason of Mrs. R. Mills, 
 
 " No, I thank you, I don't wish for any ; I have 
 a perfect horror of strange dishes ; for one, I always 
 want to know what I'm eating." 
 
 " Why, my dear," said Mr. Mills, looking up, 
 and giving his knife a chance to rest, " they are 
 revolutionists." 
 
 "Oh, my sakes ! another war, when did it 
 begin ?" exclaimed Mrs. Mills in alarm. 
 
 " My dear, there is no war," mildly answered 
 her spouse, " do not permit yourself to be alarmed. 
 These trade-unionists are working people, who en- 
 gage in strikes." 
 
 " Well I hope they won't strike each other very 
 hard," replied Mrs. Mills in a relieved tone," if 
 there is anything I hate, it is fighting; it's so hor- 
 ribly vulgar, you know." 
 
 " Between his anxiety to put his better half on 
 
RELVASON GIVES A DINNER. 287 
 
 the right track on the trade-xiaion topic, and a 
 desire to finish his dinner, Mr. Mills hegan to per- 
 spire, which necessitated a vigorous mopping of 
 his face, which he performed with his napkin, 
 and then tucked a corner of it between his collar 
 and neck and made an improvised bib of it ; after 
 which he closed the argument by saying : 
 
 " I see, my dear, that you never heard of these 
 troublesome fellows ; well, they ain't worth bother- 
 ing one's head about any way." 
 
 " These people are becoming unusually auda- 
 cious, I believe," said Mr; H. Packer, as he ad- 
 justed his napkin in a button-hole of his coat. 
 
 " They are indeed," replied Kelvason. 
 
 "Why don't you arrest and punish them?" 
 asked Mrs. Shorelake. 
 
 "Oh! they don't directly violate any law," 
 said Mr. E. Mills, desisting a moment from a 
 vigorous attack on the edibles. 
 
 ' ' But they murder law and order like Falstaff 
 murdered sleep," persisted Mrs. Shorelake. 
 
 "She means Macduff," whispered Mrs. Legal- 
 law to her lord. 
 
 "Macbeth, my dear, Macbeth/' he replied in 
 an undertone. 
 
 "But what do they want, anyhow?" said Mrs. 
 H. Packer. 
 
 "More wages, less hours of work, more home 
 comforts, education, respectability, and I don't 
 know what not," remarked Hon. S. Kingmine, 
 who found time at this juncture to mop his face 
 with his napkin and take a hand in the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " Well, I should like to know ! Why, what 
 possible use could they make of these things? 
 Of what benefit is learning to working people, 
 anyway?" said Mrs. H. Packer in a tone that 
 
288 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 conveyed the idea that she had presented an un- 
 answerable and conclusive argument, from whose 
 inexorable logic there could be no appeal ; and 
 she looked around for an emphatic approval. 
 
 " They are very selfish, unreasonable creatures," 
 said Mr. H. Packer, finding time to make a brief 
 remark by way of resting from the arduous, and 
 to him, important work of eating and drinking, 
 and then added, "When I first went into the 
 butchering business, I had no money worth men- 
 tioning, but I done remarkably well, and doubled, 
 and even trebled my little capital every year, and 
 would you believe it, just as I was about get- 
 ting a good start, my men were unreasonable 
 enough to demand more wages. You see they 
 have no heart ; I would not care so much now, 
 but at that time it was so ungrateful in them to 
 try to set me back." 
 
 "Every one of them ought to be guUottened," 
 remarked Mrs. S. Kingmine. 
 
 Mrs. Legallaw looked at her husband and 
 smiled. 
 
 "Guillotined, my dear," he whispered in an 
 undertone. 
 
 " If we had a Eobespiere like they had in Italy, 
 the country would soon be rid of them," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Kingmine. 
 
 " France, my dear Mrs. Kingmine, was the 
 scene of Robespiere's actions, I believe," sug- 
 gested Mr. Legallaw. 
 
 "Oh, it don't make any difference," said she, 
 " France and Italy are one, the Rocky mountains 
 are the only barrier between them." 
 
 "The Alps," whispered Mrs. Legallaw, giving 
 her lord a nudge. 
 
 "Yes, my dear," he replied with an approving 
 smile. 
 
~ RELVASON GIVES A DINNER. 289 
 
 "What we need is a strong government that 
 ■will put down these strikers aad teacli them to 
 know their place," said Mr. H. Packer. 
 
 " I think it would be well to be a little con- 
 servative on the strong government proposition," 
 interrupted Mr. Legallaw in a mild manner, " the 
 fact is, that however necessary you and I may 
 deem it, Mr. Packer," with a deprecatory wave of 
 the hand, " the masses are not, perhaps, in a con- 
 dition that will warrant an open advocacy of such 
 -a system." 
 
 "You are right, Mr. Legallaw," said Mr. 
 ■Squills. 
 
 " It would be better for all of us to have a strong 
 government," persisted Mr. Packer, "for we have 
 too much freedom inthis country, when men, who 
 are depending on us for work, are at liberty to com- 
 bine and set themselves up as our equals." 
 
 The dinner lasted a long time, but finally came 
 to an end. The ladies rose and swept grandly out 
 of the room, leaving the gentlemen to sip their 
 wine ; and they sipped, and drank, and toasted 
 success to capitalists, confusion to unions and 
 punishment and disgrace to their leaders. They 
 •drank quite freely, Relvason especially. At last 
 his head inclined on his breast, and his eyes 
 seemed closed. Presently he sprang to his feet, 
 overturning his chair, and came near doing the 
 -same with the table. 
 
 " It's a lie, a lie ! " he roared, as he clutched 
 desperately at the air, his teeth set, and his eyes 
 glaring like a tiger's; "it's mine, I made it all 
 honestly, legitimately — all mine," and his limbs 
 became rigid, his tongue refused to move, and 
 with a gasping, gurgling sound he fell heavily 
 forward on the table. 
 
 All was now confusion and excitement. The 
 19 
 
290 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ladies rushed into the room and were about to 
 scream, but Mr. .M. D. Squills waved them back, 
 and said it was nothing but a slight attack of ma- 
 nia-a-potu. 
 
 " Oh, no, it is not that," exclaimed Mrs. Eelva- 
 son, "it's a sort of fit that comes on very sud- 
 denly." 
 
 The stricken man fairly bounded on the floor, 
 beat the air with his hands, and kicked furiously. 
 Three or four of the men held him firmly. They 
 tried to unbutton his collar, but his neck was so- 
 swollen that the collar seemed as tight as a hoop 
 on a cask, and it was only by main force that it 
 was torn off. After this the man's struggles be- 
 came less violent, his face began to whiten, his 
 pulse sank, and soon he lay motionless on the 
 floor, whence he was carried to his room. The 
 guests departed expeditiously, and left the great 
 mansion to its conscience-raked owner and terror- 
 stricken family. 
 
 Eelvason was not seen again for a week. 
 
 SjE Sp ^ ^ V -p 'P 
 
 The long, dreary winter was slowly passing 
 away, dissolving into the ethereal mildness of 
 spring, like the gray dawn when night begins to 
 open into day. Arbyght had returned from New 
 Orleans and was actively, energetically at work. 
 The union in the mean time was determinedly 
 fighting an unseen enemy. Whenever it wa& 
 ascertained that a man had become prominent or 
 held an office in the organization he was marked 
 immediately, and discharged upon the slightest 
 provocation. No man was discharged because of 
 his connection with the union. Oh ! no ; but men 
 were discharged for mildly remonstrating against 
 insulting remarks from the foremen, and even em- 
 ployers, and whenever a man was discharged he- 
 
RELVASON GIVES A DINNER. 291 
 
 had to soon leave the city or turn his attention to 
 something else! A fearful amount of misery and 
 suffering was the result, but the men bore it hero- 
 ically, with very few exceptions. Some there 
 were, who, driven by famine and want, denied 
 they were union men, and thus got back to work. 
 Any person from outside seeking work was closely 
 questioned, and if found to be tainted with union- 
 ism was invariably refused employment. These 
 and other mean devices were resorted to for the 
 purpose of breaking the spirit of the men. 
 
 It was the general feeling among the employers 
 that a reduction of wages should be enforced early 
 in the spring, but their last experience with the 
 union convinced them that trouble was likely to 
 occur unless thatbody was destroyed. Herethenwas 
 the motive for all these little petty acts of meanness, 
 persecution and tyranny ; money and self were at 
 the bottom of it. They dreaded a severance of the 
 relations between them and the men, though they 
 were resolved upon a reduction regardless of the 
 consequences, if it could not be peaceably accom- 
 plished. This little ring of employers reasoned 
 after this fashion : by reducing the men's wages 
 half a dollar per diem the men would not feel it, 
 while it would aggregate for them the net sum of 
 two hundred thousand dollars at the end of the 
 year, which would be a snug little amount to 
 divide among a few men — giving them from ten 
 to thirty thousand dollars each — and they certainly 
 could take better care of it than the improvident 
 workmen. It never occurred to them that this 
 half dollar might actually be needed to furnish 
 bread for some little mouth. 
 
 The crisis came shortly after the Eelvason dinner 
 party, and was probably hastened by that event, 
 as the dinner, dresses, jewelry and other items, 
 
292 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 cost not less than ten thousand dollars ; and 
 the magnitude of the bills that came pouring in 
 alarmed, maddened, lacerated Relvason's miserly 
 soul and he determined that the gap in his bank 
 account should be speedily filled. With that end 
 in view, he urged the reduction of wages more 
 strongly than ever, and at length the other em- 
 ployers yielded and the strike against the men 
 was instituted. 
 
 Notice of the new scale of prices was given to the 
 Tnen and tbey, as a matter of course, refused to 
 work on the new schedule. Tbey were ordered to 
 leave the shops and they complied instantly. The 
 ■employers now found tbat all their despicable 
 machinations amounted to nothing as the men 
 stood firmly together. 
 
 Nearly all the daily papers sided with the em- 
 ployers, whom they considered the victims of a 
 horrible conspiracy. Long articles from them ap- 
 peared daily, and when the workingmen desired to 
 respond, the reply would only be inserted at adver- 
 tising rates, or not inserted at all. Fortunately 
 for the cause of humanity, many of the great papers 
 of to-day are the staunchest advocates of the rights 
 of labor. This is the most striking illustration of 
 the growth of public opinion upon this question, 
 and it is mainly due to the power of organized 
 effort. But at the time of which we write, it was 
 different, and workingmen were unable to reach 
 the public ear. From the open and covert tone of 
 the press, it was generally believed that the men 
 had struck for an advance. The real facts of the 
 case were distorted and twisted — shaped to throw 
 odium upon the men and lead the public to believe 
 that the employers were being badly treated. 
 
 One afternoon a non-union man working for 
 Eelvason came out of the shop into the street on 
 
RELVASON GIVES A DINNER. 293 
 
 an errand of some nature, and as he passed 
 through the gate he met a large number of chil- 
 dren returning from school. Among them was the 
 son, a mere child, of one of the locked-out work- 
 men. The little fellow made some remark which 
 the non-union man thought reflected on himself, 
 and seizing the child by the hair he began beat- 
 ing him unmercifully ; and, as a matter of course, 
 he began to «cry and scream loudly. The noise 
 attracted the attention of some men who were just 
 then crossing the street, a block further up, 
 among whom was the father of the boy in question. 
 Seeing his child abused, he rushed to the rescue 
 and dealt the cowardly brute some well-deserved 
 punishment. 
 
 As is usual in such cases, a large crowd quickly 
 assembled. Eelvason jumped into his buggy and 
 was soon at police headquarters, where he repre- 
 sented the workmen as having made an attack 
 upon his shop in vast numbers. The mayor was 
 summoned and all the available force was ordered 
 out, even merchant police and citizens being 
 pressed into the ranks. 
 
 Two hours afterward a little army of over three 
 hundred policemen and others marched grandly 
 up to the scene of the recent encounter. They 
 found the place silent and deserted. The deputy 
 superintendent in charge of this formidable army 
 then divided it into squads, which he placed under 
 the command of sergeants and sent them into 
 different parts of the city with orders to arrest 
 every man supposed to have been present at the 
 time of the difficulty. About fifty workmen spent 
 that night in the station-houses of the city. They 
 were discharged the following day, as nothing 
 could be found against them ; but no recompense 
 was made for the gross wrong inflicted upon them 
 
294 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 as citizens. The police department was not even 
 censured. This little episode created great ex- 
 citement, and the press was frantic. Some wanted 
 the mayor to issue a proclamation, others wanted 
 the governor to issue a proclamation and call out 
 the State militia, and some even went so far as to 
 call upon the President to send United States 
 troops to crush the spirit of the insubordination 
 that threatened the city with destruction. But 
 notwithstanding all these things, the men firmly 
 refused to go to work except at the former price, 
 and the probabilities seemed to indicate that in the 
 end they would be successful. 
 
 The employers changed front. They proposed 
 arbitration and the men accepted the proposal. 
 A board of arbitration was formed, met, discussed 
 the matter, adjourned, met again, and adjourned 
 to meet again, met again — no agreement. The 
 employers proposed that Arbyght should be re- 
 moved from the board of arbitration ; the men 
 refused, and the scheme failed. It could not suc- 
 ceed, as each party entered into the arrangement 
 fully resolved not to concede anything. 
 
 At this time there were mutterings of trouble in 
 other branches of labor, growing out of a general 
 disposition on the part of employers to piit the price 
 of labor down to the lowest possible point, and an 
 attempt to do so seemed likely to bring on a general 
 strike. The feeling of the workingmen at large 
 was most aptly illustrated by Tom Castaway. This 
 social Ishmaelite had evidently studied the ques- 
 tion of work and wages more closely than most 
 men, and in a conversation with some of the more 
 thoughtful and influential of his fellow-workmen 
 said: 
 
 "I tell you, boys, whenever wages are reduced, 
 whenever the producing power of labor is weak- 
 
RELVASON GIVES A DINNER. 295 
 
 ■ened, the price of the necessaries of life — what we 
 eat, drink, and wear, as well as rents — do not 
 come down to the same level. Wages once reduced 
 are seldom, if ever, advanced ; it is usually impos- 
 sible to secure an adjustment of the price of labor 
 once reduced so as to even average an approxima- 
 tion with the cost of living ; this evil is as old as the 
 hills ; it has been the great cause of all the conflicts 
 between labor and capital : the former seeking an 
 ^.melioration of unfair conditions, and the latter 
 bound to keep all it has and get all it can. I sup- 
 pose this fight will continue until capitalists figure 
 self interest by a broader and wiser rule than the one 
 old Relvason and others like him take for a text. 
 In the mean time the face-grinding, nose-sharpen- 
 ing process will go on and the poor will become 
 poorer and the rich richer. If labor's millenium 
 €ver comes, it will be largely due to an intelligent 
 and united action among workingmen, seeking 
 only for a proper adjustment of the relations be- 
 tween employed and employer. We are learning 
 our primer lesson now. This is an 'irrepressible 
 conflict,' and we must take our schooling whether 
 we get a degree or not." 
 
 "Yes," said Arbyght, who was present, "when 
 capitalists learn that cheap men are dangerous as 
 well as non-productive, and intelligent labor means 
 greater industrial prosperity as well as greater 
 security to the state, you will have advanced so 
 far in your studies as to be ready to graduate." 
 
 "True, "replied Castaway, "and candor compels 
 me to admit that if we are wise, prudent and patient, 
 capitalists will learn this lesson much sooner than 
 if we act hastily and indiscreetly. Our demands 
 must be just, be fairly presented and enforced only 
 Toy such means as the law will permit and the good 
 csense of the general public sustain." 
 
296 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A STfeUQQLE FOR BREAD. 
 
 Upon one of the principal streets in the very- 
 heart of the great city stood a large, massive stone 
 tuilding occupying a whole square, the cornices 
 of its columned front heing nearly one hundred feet 
 above the pavement. This building was owned 
 and occupied by several railway companies. 
 
 In one of the offices on the third floor sat two- 
 gentlemen chatting and smoking. In decoration, 
 furniture, and artistic finish the room resembled 
 more the salon of a French nobleman in Paris — 
 that center of voluptuous luxuiy — than it did a 
 business office. 
 
 The elder of the two gentlemen was a man rather 
 below medium stature, heavy, robust, and well 
 formed. His features were clean-cut and strong. 
 His forehead high, large and prominent ; a pair of 
 piercing steel-gray eyes, more than half hidden 
 by projecting shaggy eyebrows; a massive head,,, 
 partially bald, and a close-cropped, fierce-looking 
 gray mustache, completes the description of a cele- 
 brated railway magnate and corporation lawyer. 
 His head, face and mouth were indicative of in- 
 tellectual strength and power. 
 
 '"My young friend, you are entirely wrong in your 
 opinions on the question of watering stocks; you 
 don't fully or clearly comprehend the matter." 
 
 "Why, Judge," replied the younger of the two 
 gentlemen, "is it not true that corporations fre- 
 quently pay dividends on stock representing twice- 
 the actual cost of the plant?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
A STRUGGLE FOR BREAD. 297 
 
 "Then the stock must be watered." 
 "Apparently, yes; in reality^ no." 
 " But really, Judge, I do not understand." 
 ' ' Of course, you don't, because you have not given 
 the subject any consideration. Let me explain," 
 taking a sheet of paper upon which, with a pencil, 
 he drew a straight line between two imaginary 
 points, representing mythical cities. "Suppose 
 now," he continued, "you build a road between 
 these two cities, costing, including rolling stock, 
 ten millions of dollars ; when you begin to operate 
 your line it is essentially necessary that you set 
 aside a portion of the earnings as a construction 
 fund ; with this fund, as business increases, you 
 construct additional terminal facilities, increase 
 your rolling stock, build, as necessity requires, 
 additional depots, shops, side-tracks, switches, and, 
 perhaps, short branches. Now, if at the end of a 
 lew years you find your road worth twenty million 
 dollars, and you issue an additional ten million dol- 
 lars' worth of stock, how can it be said the stock is 
 watered, when it simply represents the actual cash 
 value of your property?" 
 
 " But, Judge, as you admit that these improve- 
 ments, which have doubled the value of the 
 property, were paid for from the earnings of the 
 road, no additional capital having been invested, 
 why not pay fourteen per cent, dividend on the 
 actual investment of ten million dollars rather than 
 pay seven per cent, on a watered stock of twenty 
 million dollars?" 
 
 "Why, my dear fellow, the people would 
 never stand that. If it became known that a rail- 
 road company was paying a dividend of fourteen 
 per cent, shippers would begin to clamor for 
 cheaper freights, and legislatures would be enact- 
 ing laws reducing passenger rates." 
 
298 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "Oh ! I see," replied the judge's companion, and 
 the discussion ended. 
 
 The managers of the great trunk-lines centering 
 in Chicago found themselves in a dilemma. They 
 had watered their stocks beyond theearning capacity 
 of the several roads to pay regular dividends. _ A 
 joint meeting of the directors of the leading lines 
 was called to counsel upon the situation, which 
 had become alarmingly critical. If the next semi- 
 annual dividend was not paid. Wall Street would 
 speak, and colossal fortunes based upon watered 
 stocks would exist as a remembrance only of 
 shattered and sunken hopes. The result of the 
 meeting was the promulgation of an order, subject- 
 ing the salaries of all inferior officers and the 
 wages of all employes to a horizontal reduction of 
 twenty per cent. 
 
 The issuance of this order created intense excite- 
 ment among those affected by it. The wages of 
 railroad employes had been steadily reduced since 
 the great civil war, until they had reached a point 
 below which they could not be pushed without en- 
 tailing dire distress and hardship. 
 
 The reduction in wages had not been accompanied 
 by a comparative decrease in the cost of living. 
 It is a noticeable, marked historical fact that when 
 wages advance the cost of living advances in the 
 same ratio ; but when wages fall, the cost of living 
 does not comparatively decrease. 
 
 When the men first heard the order they were 
 astonished and dismayed, and performed their 
 work in gloomy silence. They instinctively came 
 together in little groups of twos and threes, and 
 earnestly discussed the matter. That evening 
 those who belonged to labor organizations met at 
 their respective halls. The following evening 
 those who did not belong to labor associations metj 
 
A STRUGGLE FOR BREAD. 299 
 
 pursuant to a call, at Arbiter Hall, and effected a 
 temporary organization. 
 
 The men at Rock Island held meetings also. 
 Delegates were appointed by the various, organized 
 and unorganized bodies to form a central or gov- 
 erning assembly. This assembly met and ap- 
 pointed a committee to wait upon the parties who 
 had issued the order ; but these gentlemen, 
 whether presidents or superintendents, refused to 
 €ven see the committee. 
 
 The morning of the day the reduction was to go 
 into effect dawned bright and clear, but there was 
 an ominous stillness in the air. The depots were 
 crowded with passengers desirous of leaving the 
 city, but neither cars, engines, engineers, con- 
 ductors, orbrakemen appeared. Anxious travelers 
 inquired of the ticket agents and of each other tbe 
 cause of the delay, but no satisfactory information 
 could be obtained. The great railway strike was 
 fairly inaugurated. Trains arrived as usual dur- 
 ing the day, but the cars were quickly switched on 
 to side-tracks, the engines run into the round- 
 houses, the fires dumped, and the engines, after 
 being carefully cleaned and oiled, were abandoned. 
 Long lines of freight cars remained unloaded upon 
 the tracks ; the movement of freight was suspended, 
 while travel to or from the city practically ceased. 
 No trains were peimitted to depart, except one 
 train on each road daily to carry the mails. 
 
 Small patrols of the strikers could be seen in the 
 depots and yards and in the vicinity of the shops. 
 Any attempt at lawlessness or disturbance was 
 promptly checked by the patrols. The day wore 
 peacefully and quietly away. The orderly manner 
 in which the strike was being conducted won public 
 sympathy, while it dismayed the railroad magnates, 
 who were in secret consultation during the afternoon. 
 
300 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 The evening papers referred to the strike as an 
 important news item, and the editorial comment 
 was unbiased and fair. The result of the consul- 
 tation, or meeting, of the railway managers became 
 apparent to the close observer the following morn- 
 ing. The leading morning papers, in large, 
 flaming head-lines, and columns of leaded type, 
 contained lurid and exaggerated accounts of the 
 great strike. Striking, realistic, and graphic de- 
 scriptions of scenes that never occurred were given 
 with a minuteness of detail truly startling. 
 
 The shops and round-houses at Eock Island, a 
 few miles from the city, where some two thousand 
 of the strikers lived, it was claimed were in danger 
 of being destroyed, together with all the property 
 of the company, including engines there located. 
 Another account said these two thousand workmen, 
 well armed with rifles^ were about to march upon 
 the city. The citizens were notified that a danger- 
 ous mob of constantly increasing magnitude was 
 about to take possession of the city, and that pro- 
 perty, and even life, was in imminent danger. 
 The police, it was claimed, were wholly in- 
 adequate to the emergency, and the mayor was 
 called upon to order out all the available militia 
 in the city, and request the governor to send troops 
 from other parts of the State. 
 
 This movement had the effect its designers de- 
 sired. It exasperated the strikers and alarmed 
 the citizens. The central committee of the strikers 
 held a meeting early in the day, and prepared a 
 clear, lucid, and truthful statement of the situation. 
 This statement many of the papers refused to pub- 
 lish except as an advertisement. However, its- 
 appearance did not allay the excitement and alarm. 
 Falsehood had twenty-four hours the start of truth, 
 and increased the lead and widened the gap as the 
 
A STRUGGLE FOR BREAD. 301 
 
 days rolled by. " Truth was crushed to earth," 
 and, though the workmen had au abiding faith 
 that in the "eternal years of God" she would 
 rise again, yet it became painfully apparent that 
 the resurrection would not occur in time to be of 
 service to them. 
 
 As the days wore away the excitement grew 
 more and more intense. The distorted accounts of 
 the press created consternation among merchants 
 and owuers of property — unrest, rancor, and 
 bitterness in the hearts of the strikers. The plan 
 of the stock- waterers was working admirably. 
 Thieves and thugs in other cities accepted the in- 
 vitation to riot, robbery, and pillage which the 
 dhicago newspapers predicted, and began to flock 
 to the city in large numbers. 
 
 During all the scenes of excitement, and not- 
 withstanding all the abuse, vituperation, and false- 
 hood heaped upon them, the strikers remained 
 firm, calm, and peaceable. The companies en- 
 gaged such other men as they could secure to take 
 the place of the striking workmen, but these men 
 were generally induced to quit work by committees 
 from the labor organizations. 
 
 The companies then adopted the plan of feeding 
 and housing their new employes in large buildings, 
 and marching them to the depots, yards, and shops 
 under a strong escort of the metropolitan police ; 
 who remained with them during the day, and then 
 escorted them back to their quarters in the 
 evening. 
 
 These morning and evening parades attracted to 
 the streets through which the escort marched large 
 crowds of men, women and children. The women 
 and children on these occasions loudly stigmatized 
 with terms of derision and opprobrium the guarded 
 workmen. These episodes sometimes resulted in 
 
302 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 disturbaaces, during which many unjust and illegal 
 arrests were made. 
 
 The strikers did more than the police to preserve 
 order. Their patrols were everywhere, and by 
 firm, determined bearing, and action when nec- 
 essary, materially aided the authorities in main- 
 taining the public peace. 
 
 But the crisis was fast approaching. The com- 
 panies though they succeeded in securing a limited 
 number of laborers could not fill the places of the 
 skilled workmen, and as no break could be made 
 in the ranks of the strikers something had to be 
 done and done quickly. 
 
 Agents were sent to distant cities, and to Canada, 
 and instructed to ofi"er extraordinary inducements 
 to skilled workmen to go to Chicago. The strikers 
 anticipated this movement by having prepared and 
 sent to all the leading cities of the country a pamphlet, 
 giving a history of the present difficultj , as well as 
 an account of a former attempt to bring skilled 
 laborers to Chicago under similar circumstances. 
 From the facts given in this pamphlet the author 
 weaves the following incident because of its perti- 
 nency to this narrative. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVI. 
 
 TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 
 
 In a beautiful valley in central Massachusetts, 
 through which coursed a narrow river, was located 
 oneof those small but thriving manufacturing towns 
 for which the old " Bay State" is so widely noted. 
 
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 303 
 
 Chlntsville had a neat and fresh, though not 
 very compact appearance. It resembled more a 
 suburban village attached to some large city, ihan 
 a town having a government of its own. Tliere 
 were very few large or massive buildings to be seen 
 except the large brick mills which loomed up in 
 the center of the town, and threw long shadows 
 across the tidy, upretentious snow-white cottages 
 scattered irregularly over the valley. Attached to 
 all these cottages were large well-kept gardens 
 abounding in flowers, and surrounded by larches 
 and hemlocks whose perennial greenness relieved 
 the monotonous whiteness of the dwellings of the 
 Chintsvillians. The hillsides rising above the 
 valley were dotted like the plain, with the same 
 evidence of a quiet, peaceful, and thrifty life. 
 Beyond the hilltops, extensive pine barrens stretched 
 off toward the horizon, millions of whose dark- 
 green, coniferous tops, visible from the valley, 
 were burnished with the golden rays of the setting 
 sun. 
 
 Several of the largest mills in the town were 
 owned by Mr. Hurk, a man whose whole life had 
 been spent in the accumulation of money— a man 
 ■whose face, voice, heart, look, and gesture were 
 cold, hard, and repellant. Though wearing the 
 human form, he was never known to betray any 
 evidence of heart or soul. Encased in a morose 
 and frozen individuality, he groped his way through 
 the world regardless of everything which he could 
 not convert into money. 
 
 It is pay-day at one of Hurk's mills, and pale- 
 faced men, wan, bloodless- faced women, and chalk- 
 faced children are continually dropping into the 
 office, where they receive a sealed envelope con- 
 taining their monthly windfall, after which they 
 drop back again into the confusing din of the mill. 
 
304 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Anon, tliere comes in a man more interesting than 
 any who have preceded him. Tall, manly, and 
 good looking, he walks erect and firm, without 
 swagger or constrained formality, and his manner 
 is graceful and pleasing. Instead of giving him 
 an envelope as he gave the rest, the clerk gave him 
 a slip of paper, on which were written these 
 words : 
 
 "Call at the back oflace." 
 
 Robert Layson was puzzled, and looked in- 
 quiringly at the clerk, doubtless thinking he would 
 give some explanation ; but that individual, re- 
 suming his business, paid no further attention to 
 the workman — seemed oblivious of his presence. 
 Layson turned the scrap of paper over and over in 
 his hand, a sensation of oppression -around the 
 heart increasing at each turn he gave it. His face 
 had grown quite pale, and his lips quivered 
 slightly. 
 
 "It bodes no good, I am sure," he finally 
 thought, rather than spoke, as he turned toward 
 the back office. 
 
 "Ah! " said Mr. Hurk as Robert entered, in a 
 cold but sneering tone. 
 
 " I fear this is the harbinger of bad news," said 
 Layson, laying the slip of paper on the proprietor's 
 desk. 
 
 " We have decided to reduce our help," was the 
 chilling response. 
 
 "I wish you had informed me of this earlier in 
 the season," replied Layson, respectfully, but with 
 a slow, condemning force, which, unlike the touch of 
 Ithuriel's spear, penetrated the breast of the mill- 
 owner to the core. 
 
 "How could I know the fluctuations of the 
 market!" he stammered in an extenuating, con- 
 fused tone. 
 
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 305 
 
 " I appear to be the only man so far discharged. 
 I fear I have offended you in some manner, or else 
 -someone has poisoned your mind against me?" 
 said Layson, inquiringly. 
 
 " Well, since you will have the truth, I will tell 
 you why you are the first to go. You are too 
 popular with the hands, not only in this mill, but 
 in all the mills. I know everything that trans- 
 pires among the men, and I know you have almost 
 imbounded influence over them, and for this reason 
 I consider you a very dangerous man to have in 
 my employ." All this was uttered in the coldest, 
 imost indifferent manner possible. 
 
 " But, Mr. Hurk, have I ever used my influence 
 ■to the detriment of your interests?" 
 
 "1 will readily admit that you have not, but 
 -what is to prevent you from doing so ? I know 
 jou have prevented trouble many a time, which 
 would have injured both the men and myself; I 
 well know that you are a man of much sense and 
 good judgment, but all your sympathies are with 
 the hands, and as I have no guarantee you will 
 not use your influence some time to injure my 
 business, I deem it a duty to myself to discharge 
 jou." 
 
 "Mr. Hurk, I would scorn to say one word 
 more to you, but for my wife — for her sake, I am 
 •a coward ; for her sake, I stifle my feelings as a 
 man ; for her sake, I implore you to permit me to 
 remain until I can obtain work elsewhere. The 
 other mill-owners, I know, will not employ me, 
 although the good God knows I never injured 
 them a cent's worth ; and besides, you take me too 
 short, right at the commencement of winter ; it is 
 too abrupt ; you should have given me a month's 
 notice, at least." 
 
 "I have nothing further to say ; here are your 
 20 
 
306 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 wages, and thpre is the door," was the only re- 
 sponse to the workman's appeal. 
 
 Robert Layson went out into the street and 
 turned his face toward home, the saddest man im 
 all Chintsville. Nora was at the gate to meet 
 him, all smiles and love, but when she saw his 
 sad, clouded brow the smiles left her face and the- 
 tears stood in her eyes. He took her arm and 
 helped her up the steps, for, to use the homely,-, 
 scriptural expression, " she was great with child," 
 and needed all the care, all the solicitude, and all 
 the assistance the strong arm of her husband could 
 give. 
 
 She had his slippers warm for him, and when; 
 he had put them on and sat down, she moved 
 about him so affectionately that he partly bright- 
 ened up, but his heart sank again like lead when h& 
 noticed how slowly, languidly and heavily she moved 
 about the room; all his manly pity was aroused, his 
 heart melted within him, and he felt as if he could, 
 at that moment, lay down his life for her. 
 
 They had been married scarcely a year ; had 
 married as all workingmen marry, poor ; but since 
 they had joined hands for life, Robert had been 
 steady and industrious, and Nora had been frugal 
 and economical, and money enough had been 
 saved to furnish the cottage plainly but comfort- 
 ably ; but there was nothing left for an emergency 
 like this. Every dollar Robert could spare he had 
 lately expended in making his wife as comfortable 
 as her condition required, and render her approach- 
 ing accouchment less liable to hardship and danger, 
 and now he was out of work and hardly a dollar 
 to fall back upon. 
 
 Nora sat down on a low stool at her husband's 
 feet, laid her cheek on his knee, and looked up 
 into his clouded face. 
 
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. SOT 
 
 "What is it, Eobert?" she asked in a sweet, 
 soft voice. 
 
 " Darling, I have been discharged, and I know 
 none of the other mill-masters will employ me. 
 Nora — my — heart is breaking," he gasped con- 
 vulsively, and he covered his face with his hands 
 to hide from her the bitter tears of a strong man. 
 
 She climbed upon his knee like a child, put her 
 soft arms about his neck, kissed him and tried to 
 soothe him, but ended by pillowing her head on 
 his breast and indulging in a good cry herself. 
 
 This aroused Eobert to calmness, and kissing 
 her gently, he said : " You must not fret, Nora, I 
 will find work if there is any to be had in the 
 country." 
 
 " I know you will, Eobert, and I will try and 
 be brave and strong, but how can I let you go ? 
 If I should be taken sick and you away I know I 
 should die." 
 
 " Nora, darling, I won't leave you — but — but 
 if I remain idle we will starve or I will have — to — 
 beg, and I would about as soon starve as do that." 
 
 "So would I," replied Nora, pluckily ; "but 
 Eobert," she added, abruptly, "I think I saw an 
 advertisement in the morning paper ; wait until I 
 get it." 
 
 Eobert jumped up, ran into the little parlor and 
 brought out the paper. 
 
 " You are so kind and thoughtful," she mur- 
 mured sweetly, when he came back. 
 
 " Am I? then this is my reward," he said as he 
 kissed her tenderly, " and my little wife will have 
 to find the advertisement in lieu of running after 
 the paper," he laughingly added. 
 
 Nora ran her eyes over the want columns, and 
 in a moment exclaimed : ' ' Yes, here it is ; shall I 
 read it?" 
 
308 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Eobert nodded a smiling affirmative, and Nora 
 read this advertisement : 
 
 "Wanted immediately— Fifty mill operatives, including 
 ■weavers, .spinners, dyers,' etc., etc. Liberal wages and steady 
 employment guaranteed. Apply within two weeks. 
 
 "GUBBEE & SONS, 
 
 " LahevilU." 
 
 "'Why, it's just the thing," exclaimed Kobert, 
 gleefully. 
 
 " And it is dated yesterday, so that there are 
 but two days of the two weeks passed," said Nora, 
 confidently. 
 
 " But, Nora, it is a great way off, nearly a 
 thousanxi miles, and you know I can't leave you." 
 
 Robert spoke sadly and despondently again. 
 Nora sat and pondered a little while — she thought 
 hard and quick. 
 
 " Eobert, let us sell our furniture, it will bring 
 half what we gave for it, and that amount will 
 take us both to Lakeville." 
 
 " You go with me, Nora ! You go to Lakeville ?" 
 said Eobert in surprise, " why, Nora, darling, you 
 could not stand the journey, it would kill you ; 
 Nora, you must not think of such a thing." 
 
 "■' Oh I yes, Eobert, I can stand that and much 
 more, too. A woman who loves as I do can en- 
 dure a great deal ; so, Eobert, that is just what we 
 ■will do ; you can get some bills printed to-morrow 
 and the furniture can be sold and our journey 
 begun in four days." 
 
 Eobert tried to argue her out of the notion, 
 but the little woman was spirited and would have 
 it so, and in the end he concluded it was the best 
 thing he could do. He could not leave Nora in her 
 present condition, and if he remained he could not 
 provide for her. The winter was upon them and 
 no escape from the dilemma presented itself, except 
 
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 309 
 
 to take her with him to Lakeville, where work was 
 certain and where he could easily secure a quiet 
 boarding-house, and in the ensuing summer he 
 could save enough to again furnish a house of his 
 own. 
 
 " I helieve you are right, Nora," he at last said, 
 after turning the matter thoughtfully over in his 
 mind, hut there was a shade of doubt in his voice. 
 
 "And will you do it, Eobert? " 
 
 ' ' Yes, Nora, I think it is the best thing we can 
 do." 
 
 "You are a dear, good, old darling!" and she 
 put her arms around his neck and kissed him 
 fondly; " but what a thoughtless, silly thing I 
 am ; you must be starved ; " and the little woman 
 glided away and busied herself with the evening 
 meal. 
 
 Eobert and his wife spent a very happy evening, 
 and on the day following the sale-bills were printed 
 and posted in conspicuous places in the vicinity, 
 and two days afterward the auctioneer's red flag 
 was flying in front of the door. The next day 
 Richard and his wife bade farewell to a few friends 
 who had gathered at the depot to see them off 
 and bid them God-speed. In a short time they 
 had left Chintsville and its scenes forever. 
 
 " I did not think I would regret so much leav- 
 ing the old place," said Eobert, as the train shot 
 out of the valley through a deep cut and hid from 
 view their native place. 
 
 " If we were not flying from persecution I would 
 cry; I want to cry so much, but I won't," re- 
 plied Nora a little spitefully. 
 
 " I share that feeling with you, Nora, but when 
 I think of the many happy hours we enjoyed there 
 together, it makes me sad, and wicked, too. I feel 
 like cursing the man who drove us from the spot 
 
310 THE OTHER. SIDE. 
 
 where we first saw God's lioly light. We grew 
 up together there, went to school together, loved 
 each other ever since we were children — babies 
 almost ; and now, we are flying from the scenes 
 made holy to us by so many tender memories and 
 communions of love and aflfection." 
 
 Nora did not answer immediately, but her eyes 
 were moist and her heart full, as she dropped her 
 head on her husband's shoulder, and said softly — 
 
 "Let us forget dear old Chintsville, Kobert. 
 When the heart is sore and sad, it is not soothed 
 by the remembrance of happier hours ; it rather 
 adds to the misery we endure to think of the pleas- 
 ant past at such a time." 
 
 After two days' travel they reached Lakeville, 
 but the long ride, the cold cars, the tossing and 
 racking, the noise and din^ and want of sleep, told 
 sadly on poor Nora ; she was barely able to hold 
 up her head, and her cheeks had an ugly pallid 
 color ; but she bore all her suffering with the stoi- 
 cism of a martyr. They first stopped at a hotel, 
 as they were entire strangers in the city, but 
 Robert soon found a boarding-house, and as soon 
 as he and Nora were domiciled he started out to 
 find Messrs. Gubber & Sons ; everybody knew the 
 great Gubber, so he had no difficulty in that di- 
 rection. 
 
 "Is Mr. Gubber in? " 
 
 "He is; what can he do for you?" replied 
 that individual looking hard at Eobert over his 
 gold-mounted spectacles. 
 
 Robert did not like the looks of the man, and 
 his voice had something in it which presaged evil. 
 It was a mechanical sort of voice with a metallic 
 ring to it — it lacked heart and soul — wasn't human. 
 Robert knew instinctively that he would be re- 
 fused, but he replied as calmly as he could : 
 
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 311 
 
 "I came from Chintsville, Massachusets, in an- 
 :swer to your advertisement for hands." 
 
 " Am very sorry you did not come sooner ; we 
 are full — good-day, sir." 
 
 With a chilled heart and a mist before his eyes, 
 Robert found himself again on the street. The 
 •cold air and sharp wind smote his face, and brought 
 him to a realizing sense of his situation. He 
 ground his teeth and glared like a tiger — the ani- 
 mal in his nature was fairly aroused. He would 
 Tiave strangled Hurk at that moment could he 
 have laid his hands upon him. 
 
 " Are you one of the victims ? " said a work- 
 man, who had left the mill about the same time 
 Kobert had left the office. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Robert, scowling 
 savagely at his interlocutor. 
 
 " You are a stranger in the city ? " 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Grubber's advertisement lured you here? " 
 
 "It did." 
 
 "I thought so ; you see, old Gubber had more 
 help than he really needed when he inserted that 
 advertisement in all the papers in the country ; 
 and we wondered much when we first saw it, but 
 his object came out yesterday. He reduced wages 
 twenty-five per cent. , and gave the old hands the 
 choice of working at the reduced rates or leaving 
 the mill ; and as we knew the city was full of new 
 hands, who came here on the strength of his 
 a,dverti8ement, and who remained because he 
 promised them work, we concluded to accept his 
 ^erms." 
 
 "Is it possible that any man could be so fiend- 
 ishly heartless as to induce men to come a thou- 
 sand miles, lose hundreds of dollars, and perhaps 
 ^situations, just merely to enable him to reduce the 
 
312 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ■wages of his employes ? " said Kobert, in a husbjr 
 voice. 
 
 "That is exactly what Gubher has done," re- 
 plied the workman, "and," he continued, "I 
 understand that some men brought their families- 
 with them, expending all the money they had ini 
 so doing, and are now unable to return whence- 
 they came ; and, it being a very severe winter ,_ 
 work of any kind is extremely hard to obtain." 
 
 " God help me, I am one of those men ! " gasped; 
 Robert, as he wearily turned toward his boarding- 
 house. 
 
 Nora was very much distressed by the news, audi 
 blamed herself severely for putting it into his head 
 to come to Lakeville, but Robert would not have- 
 it so, as he contended that Gubber alone was to 
 blame, as many others had been deceived and. 
 fooled in the same way by the malignant knavish- 
 ness of the same man. 
 
 "It is hard, dear Robert, to be poor, but we 
 have one consolation — our reward in the world to- 
 come will be proportionate to our sufferings in 
 this," said this Christian wife, in as cheerful a. 
 voice as she could command, but just then Robert 
 felt in no Christian mood, and he answered witb 
 some warmth : 
 
 "Nora, darling, I don't believe that God pun- 
 ishes those whom he loves. It's a lie and a cheat 
 invented by the devil, and put into the mouths- 
 of tyrants to make us bear the yoke of slavery un- 
 murmuringly, and go willing bondsmen to our 
 graves ; it's the sugar-coating on the pill of per- 
 secution, which enables those of blind faith to 
 swallow it without nausea." 
 
 " Oh, Robert, how can you talk so! Don't youi 
 know that trouble brings us nearer to God?'" 
 pleaded Nora, beginning to cry. 
 
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 313 
 
 " I can't help it, Nora, I feel that it is the truth. 
 The persecutions of one man and the villainy of 
 another have driven me mad. They call this 
 kind of experience a dispensation of Providence, 
 but it is a lie ; if man or woman violates nauture's 
 laws, and is stricken with sickness in consequence, 
 it is termed a dispensation of Providence, and io 
 the same breath the invalid is advised to consult a 
 physician, take medicine and fight Providence. 
 Toil see it is not consistent, it's a humbug. But 
 come, Nora, you must not worry, I am not so sick 
 of ' hope deferred ' but what I can make another 
 effort. This is a large city, and it will be strange 
 if I cannot find something to do ; so be of good 
 cheer, wife, you need all your resolution and cour- 
 age and can't afibrd to waste it in fretting." 
 
 Robert's last words awoke a chord in Nora's 
 breast which vibrated and sent a pang to the heart 
 of the husband. 
 
 " You will take me back to Chintsville, dear 
 Eobert, and bury me on the hill-side if I die ? " she 
 whispered, clinging to his neck. Folding his 
 arms about her and pressing her to his heart, he 
 petted and soothed her out of this mood. 
 
 For several days he diligently but unavailingly 
 sought for work. He became more and more 
 gloomy, but just as determined and persevering as 
 gloomy, and at last succeeded, and hastened home 
 to make Nora happy by imparting to her the good 
 news. 
 
 Strange events happened while he was away 
 that day. The landlady discovered, by some 
 means peculiar to these people, that the Laysons 
 had no money, and acting upon the discovery, she 
 sought poor Nora and brutally ordered her to 
 leave the house as soon as her husband returned. 
 This blow struck home, the poor woman, soon to 
 
314 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 be a mother, staggered and fell under its weight 
 and force. 
 
 When Robert returned, he found the room full 
 of women, and a physician present. He saw at 
 once what had happened, but going toward the 
 bed he was horrified to see his loved one, whiter than 
 the sheets around her, breathing hard, her pulse 
 rapidly sinking ; her baby — dead before it was an 
 hour old — beside her. Death was still in the room. 
 
 "Oh, God!" cried Robert, "my darling is 
 dying! Can't you save her?" Turning to the 
 physician with a tortured, agonized face, he fell 
 gasping to the floor ; but did not faint, and rising 
 again somewhat calmer, begged them, oh, so piti- 
 fully, to save her. 
 
 It was New Year's Eve, and out on the street 
 the New- Year bells swelled musically on many 
 ears, but to that wretched man, in that dread and 
 awful hour, they sounded in mockery, discordantly, 
 harsh — "jangled out of time." But the soul of 
 his Nora, the soul of his infant son, whose baby 
 lips he had not kissed in life, went out to the 
 Master on the same air on which the New- Year 
 bells rose so grandly and joyfully to those who 
 had money and happiness. 
 
 The stillness of the grave reigned in the chamber 
 of death. Robert Lay son's head was pillowed on 
 his dead wife's breast. The physician broke the 
 silence : 
 
 "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken 
 away." Robert jumped up like a wounded beast, 
 and faced him : 
 
 " Man, you lie ! The Lord gave, it is true, but 
 fiends in human form have taken her away — killed 
 her, murdered her ! Out upon you ! would you 
 fasten the crimes of devils incarnate upon the dear, 
 good God?" 
 
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION. 315 
 
 They all thought Layson had become insane, and 
 they remained away from him, and for more than 
 an hour he moaned and writhed hy the bedside. 
 Presently one of the boarders, feeling for him in 
 his own way, brought him a large glass of brandy. 
 Robert was strictly temperate, but he was half 
 ■crazy, and drank the fiery liquid at a gulp with- 
 out asking what it was. 
 
 The brandy soon produced a wonderful effect 
 upon the sorrowing man ; it stimulated him in- 
 tensely, bewildered his senses, and made him wild. 
 He rushed from the house, rushed into the first 
 saloon he found, and called for liquor. The bar- 
 tender passed him a villainous compound, and he 
 ■filled the glass twice and drank the stuff at a 
 breath, threw down the last fifty cents he had in 
 the world, and left. He was now quite stupid, 
 and could not find his way back to his boarding- 
 house. He wandered and staggered around a 
 square or two, and then fell headlong into the 
 street. 
 
 The New- Year bells rang as loudly and merrily 
 as ever — rang and pealed sweet music from out 
 their frozen throats as Robert Layson lay sleeping 
 beavily in a noisome station cell — rang and pealed 
 forth their cheerful chimes while a few charitable 
 •watchers kept their lonely vigils with the dead. 
 
 With an aching head and blunted, confused 
 brain, Robert Layson was brought before the 
 judge the following day, and sentenced to thirty 
 days at the workhouse. When he heard this 
 doom pronounced he gave a piercing cry, and 
 dashed out of the court-room, despite all efforts to 
 detain him. He ran like a guilty thing fleeing 
 from justice, and, even after lie was comparatively 
 safe from recapture, he would start at every sound, 
 and look wildly around. Chance or fate led him 
 
316 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 by the city cemetery. The sight of the silent 
 " City of the Dead " brought him to a sudden 
 halt. He entered, and wandered up and down the 
 walks like a somnambulist. Toward evening the 
 city hearse entered the cemetery, and he hid 
 among some weeping willows and glared out with 
 fiery eyes, like a hunted wild beast, at the two 
 men who lowered the coffin into the newly-made 
 grave. 
 
 " Who is she, Tom ? " said one of the men. 
 
 " Layson, I believe the name is. They say her 
 husband has gone mad, and no wonder, poor 
 fellow ; to lose them both together was a hard 
 blow ; and I hear this was not his only ill luck." 
 
 Eobert heard every word of this. It sank into 
 his soul. He was just about to rush into the 
 grave, tear open the coffin, and see his loved Nora 
 once more, when he saw a patrolman near the 
 gate, and he shrank back into his lair. 
 
 It was dusk when the men left their work, and, 
 as the cemetery gate closed behind them, Layson 
 came forth from his cover and threw himself, moan- 
 ing, on the grave. 
 
 The next morning the superintendent of the 
 "silent city" found the grave re-opened, all the 
 dirt thrown out, and Robert Layson frozen stiff- 
 dead — lying on the coffin of his wife and child. 
 His spirit had gone to join them where man's in- 
 humanity can not reach ; and there the three — 
 husband, wife, and child — sleep peacefully to this 
 day. 
 
AN INTBRVIKW. 31T 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVII. 
 
 AN INTERVIEW. 
 
 *' You are Mr. Castaway, I believe? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; what can I do for you? " 
 
 " I'm a reporter, on the staff of the Voice of 
 the Press, and have been sent out by my chief to 
 obtain from the most prominent labor reformers 
 their views upon the present difficulty." 
 
 "But, my dear sir, I'm not a labor reformer, 
 I'm simply a mechanic " 
 
 "Oh, I understand that/' interrupted the re- 
 porter, " but it is well known that you are promi- 
 nent in this movement, and I would be pleased to 
 have your views." 
 
 "Well, start your force-pump," said Tom, re- 
 signedly, leaning back in his chair. 
 
 " What do you think of the strike? " 
 
 " The men will succeed." 
 
 " Which party is right ? " 
 
 " Our side, of course." 
 
 ''But why?" 
 
 " We are the weaker party." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 "The strong generally oppress the weak," re- 
 plied Castaway. The reporter, who was a bright, 
 keen young man, saw he was not going to succeed 
 in securing much of an interview unless he struck a 
 different lead. He changed the manner of attack — 
 
 "Mr. Castaway, I suppose you are a Christian?" 
 
 "I try to be." 
 
 " Well, how do you expect to secure any per- 
 manent benefit to the laborer, when the Bible says 
 the poor we must have always with us?" 
 
 "Do you believe that God meant and willed 
 
318 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 from the beginning that there should be povertjr 
 and misery in the world?" asked Tom, becoming^ 
 now somewhat interested. 
 
 " "Well, hardly that, but what do you say to the- 
 Saviour's declaration?" 
 
 "Simply," replied Tom, "that He knew there- 
 would always be natural differences between men,, 
 and because of this immutable law, bad men would 
 create social differences, from which comes poverty, 
 but those who create these differences, the Saviour 
 said, would find it extremely difficult to obtain 
 entrance to the abode of the blest unless they dis- 
 posed of their property and gave it to the poor." 
 
 "But we must have the poor always with us," 
 insisted the reporter. 
 
 "Yes," replied Tom, "the capitalist is such a 
 good Christian that he insists upon keeping peo- 
 ple poor least the words of the Saviour may not 
 prove true." 
 
 "But really, Mr. Castaway, do not the great 
 laws of supply and demand, the wage fund and 
 competition, regulate these matters?" 
 
 "If left free to operate naturally, perhaps so, 
 but they are not. It is the old cry of ' the king 
 is dead, long live the king.' " 
 
 " How so, Mr. Castaway ? " 
 _ " Why," replied Tom, " the king claimed a di- 
 vine right to rule, and claimed it for the benefit 
 of society. The capitalist claims a divine right of 
 selfishness, and claims it for the benefit of society, 
 and upon the altar of competition he offers up with 
 a light heart the miseries, the sorrows, and the 
 destitutions of the poor. About one hundred years 
 ago our fathers shouted, ' the king is dead ; ' 
 now, their sons shout, ' long live the king,' for 
 capital is king." 
 
 "You mean to say that capital, notwithstand- 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 319 
 
 ing the laws I have mentioned, is ahle to regulate 
 and fix the amount of the wage fund?" 
 
 '■' Certainly it. is, and does regulate and fix it." 
 
 "Well, what is your remedy?" 
 
 "Are you a Christian?" 
 
 " Why, certainly, Mr. Castaway." 
 
 " Do you remember that the Saviour once drove 
 the money changers and thieves out of the 
 temple?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, human life is the great August Tem- 
 ple. It has been turned into a mart of trade and 
 machine for grinding out profits. Drive out the 
 demons of greed and selfishness, these thieves and 
 money changers of the heart, and the world will 
 be better, men will be happier, and poverty and 
 suffering almost unknown." 
 
 " Stripped naked, then, your remedy is simply 
 charity." 
 
 " I beg to differ with you, sir, it is simply _;'««- 
 tice," replied Tom. 
 
 "Admitting that, how do you propose to induce 
 capitalists to act justly?" 
 
 " By convincing them that it will be beneficial 
 and wise to do so." 
 
 " Does that imply force ? " 
 
 " Moral, and, perhaps, legal force — no other." 
 "You see," continued Castaway, "there is no 
 room in America for Canning's knife-grinder. He 
 could not exist in the light of our intelligence. 
 Once we killed the king by physical force, but he 
 arose again, and now we are going to tame, edu- 
 cate, and humanize him into an ordinary citizen. 
 Let me show you something," and Castaway 
 picked up a volume of Colonial history, and, hand- 
 ing it to the reporter, said : 
 
 "Kead that marked passage." 
 
320 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 The reporter read these words : 
 
 " I thank Grod we have not free schools nor 
 printing, and I hope we shall not have these hundred 
 years. For learning has brought disobedience 
 and heresy and sects into the world, and printing 
 has divulged them and libels against the Grovern- 
 ment. God keep us from both." 
 
 "Now that prayer," said Tom, "was made in 
 proclamation by Sir William Berkeley, Governor 
 of Virginia, about thirty-five years before our 
 fathers drove out the king's governors ; the king 
 did not want books, free schools, or printing- 
 presses in the colonies. The light of intelligence 
 withers the kingly flower of divine right to rule 
 as well as the divine right of selfishness. But 
 does not that paragraph read strangely at this 
 time?" 
 
 " It does indeed, Mr. Castaway." 
 
 " The old governor was positive," resumed Tom, 
 " he did not speak in the alternative ; he did not 
 pray for Bliicher or darkness — nothing but night 
 and darkness would do for him ; and yet this was 
 only about one hundred and thirty years ago ; 
 and I venture to say that one hundred and thirty 
 years from now, the proclamations of the capitalists 
 of to-day will sound just as strange to the people 
 who may read them as the prayer of the old Vir- 
 ginia governor does to us. The wage system must 
 go ; it is the power behind king capital's throne, 
 and when it has disappeared and the people can 
 shout, ' The king is dead to rise no more,' the 
 wage fund will be buried in musty tomes and the 
 giant Cyclops, competition, will have no more 
 terrors for those who eat their breads in the sweat 
 of their faces." 
 
 "Tour claim, then, Mr. Castaway, is that 
 wealth is inequitably distributed — that the laborer 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 321 
 
 -does not receive his share of the results which 
 flow from his efforts in connection with capital? " 
 
 " Precisely. Mr. Calhoun, who, notwithstand- 
 ing his nullification heresies, must be regarded as 
 «, great statesman, once said : ' There never has 
 yet existed a wealthy and civilized society in 
 which one portion of the community did not, in 
 point of fact, live on the labor of the other.' This," 
 continued Tom, "is a broad assertion, but it is true. 
 The means by which it is accomplished are many. 
 Brute force, ignorance, subtle, artful fiscal devices, 
 ■and present methods of distribution, in connection 
 •with wage servitude, are a few of the agencies the 
 monopolistic Minos employs to exact tribute from 
 "the laborer, to be devoured by the capitalistic Min- 
 -otaurs, and the only Thesus who can deliver him 
 from this galling tribute is Education. It was said 
 ■of old that money is the root of all evil. Man 
 must be taught that there is a higher, a nobler 
 ^aspiration of the soul than the love of wealth. It 
 is the desire to mount higher in the scale of a 
 better and more glorious manhood." 
 
 "I suppose, Mr. Castaway, in your varied ex- 
 (perience you have frequently felt how potent a 
 factor money is ? " 
 
 " Indeed I have. I remember upon one occasion 
 the man for whom I worked failed, owing me a 
 month's wages. It was Friday. My board was 
 "due the day following. I did not have a cent, and 
 the lack of five dollars made a coward of me. I 
 wended my way to the boarding-house with fear 
 and trembling, for I felt that I would sooner meet 
 -a legion of Zamiel's hosts than the long-faced, 
 bony Xantippe who ministered to my corporeal 
 necessities — yea, sooner than meet, without five 
 ■dollars, this horror of my soul I would agree to 
 work a year for old Eelvason. But I had to face 
 21 
 
322 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 the music. As I walked along, I felt that every 
 heing 1 met knew I had no money. Mrs. Xantippe^ 
 eyed me keenly as I entered the house. I felt like 
 a criminal — for five dollars, but before she had time- 
 to say a word I told the truth. The storm burst 
 at once in all its rage, but before it had reached 
 its acme 1 had reached the center of the street, 
 being unable to stand before the hurricane of fury 
 I had evoked. To speak in slightly extravagant 
 metaphor, the scene first resembled a young earth- 
 quake, then an earthquake reinforced, and finally 
 several earthquakes rolled into one — all for five dol- 
 lars. I went to a friend and borrowed the money. 
 The great poet says ' he is doubly armed who hath 
 his quarrel just,' but I say he is thrice armed wha 
 hath money in his purse. The danger before whick 
 I quakingly and ignominiously fled I now faced 
 defiantly and boldly as a lion. I actually felt 
 several inches taller and many pounds heavier be- 
 cause I had five dollars in my pocket. I flew to- 
 ward the house ; I seemed to tread on air ; I 
 marched majestically up to the scene of my recent 
 discomfiture and courageously bearded the lioness 
 in her den ; I met her in the hall-way ; a 
 funereal fury lurked in her basilisk eye ; the 
 smouldering fires of a chained volcano were evi- 
 dently accumulating for another outburst, but I 
 was not afraid — I had five dollars — and before the- 
 dynamite upon her lips had time to explode, I 
 thrust that V at her. It would have done your 
 soul good to see the sudden change that came over 
 that woman. I never knew how much value there 
 was in a five-dollar bill before. Transfiguration 
 and metamorphosis are expressionless terms in this 
 connection. The slumbering volcano, about to 
 vomit wrath and destruction, was instantly choked 
 with the ashes of cupidity ; the forked lightning 
 
AN INTERVIEW. 323 
 
 ■which lurked in her eyes became a subdued and! 
 winning smile, and that which was intended for a 
 crashing thunderbolt was hushed into a divinely, 
 musical ' thank you ; tea is ready ; how thought- 
 less you are, you naughty boy,' to have kept us 
 waiting.' Oh, yes ; I have learned how potent a 
 factor money is, and have been taught by ex- 
 perience that while its acquisition by honest 
 means, and in amount sufficient to insure rational 
 beings a competency is commendable, yet, the de- 
 sire and thirst to secure it by every possible means, 
 in amounts beyond all reasonable or proper use, is 
 the crying evil, the blighting curse of the age." 
 
 The publication of this interview by the Voice 
 of the Press, whose editors were fair-minded, 
 honorable men, who believed that falsehood and 
 villification were inexcusable even in a party sense, 
 furnished the organs of the stock-waterers a text 
 upon which the changes were rung for a week. It 
 was denounced as communistic, socialistic, and 
 anarchistic. One editor, a Mr. Bonidy, was es- 
 pecially severe upon Mr. Castaway, whom he 
 abused in a manner so false and vile as to be really 
 brutal. Mr. Castaway wrote a card and called 
 upon the editor. 
 
 " We will not publish it," said Mr. Bonidy. 
 
 ""Why not?" asked Castaway. 
 
 " We don't choose to." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you deny a man you 
 attack the right to defend himself? " 
 
 " We will not discuss the matter ; you can leave." 
 But Castaway did not leave, and there was a glit- 
 ter in his eye which prevented a repetition of the 
 request. 
 
 "Mr. Bonidy, your conduct is ungenerous, un- 
 manly — you are a coward, sirl" Bonidy winced, 
 and seemed to shrink to half his size, and a gray 
 
324 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 pallor spread itself over his brick-colored counte- 
 nance. The shaft struck home. 
 
 "Mr. Castaway," he whimpered, "you had 
 better let this matter drop. I am not only editor 
 of this paper but am also agent of The Associated 
 Press, and have an interest in other local papers — 
 I can have lots of fun abusing you and you can't 
 help it — so you see I have the advantage of you." 
 
 " Yes, the same advantage that the cowardly 
 assassin has who sneaks up upon a man in the 
 dark, or shoots him from a position in which he 
 himself is entirely safe." Bonidy trembled visibly, 
 and his hay-colored beard seemed to grow out of 
 a greenish, chalky face. 
 
 " Mr. Castaway, you wrong me," he whined, 
 in a begging voice. 
 
 "Wrong a man who is incapable of an hon- 
 orable or manly impulse ? Wrong you, indeed I 
 Why, sir, your editorials remind those who know 
 you of nothing except it be the spectacle of the 
 Prince of Darkness preaching sanctity to the hosts 
 of heaven. Look here, sir, in your issue of this 
 morning you abuse shamefully one of your party 
 leaders ; need I tell you why ? He knows your 
 failings, the hideous blackness of your inner life, 
 and you hate him because he knows you are a 
 whited sepulcher, and because he had occasion 
 once, in an official capacity, to publicly reprimand 
 you " 
 
 "Stop ! stop ! " cried Bonidy, "I'll call an of- 
 ficer." 
 
 Castaway closed the door of the room quickly, 
 and placing his back against it, said, fiercely : 
 
 " Mr. Bonidy, you abuse me publicly and should 
 not object to being repaid privately. You are 
 dealing with a man now, and I assure you there 
 are various ways in which a man can protect him- 
 
THE MASS-MEETING— ITS LESSON. 325 
 
 self and fulfill the law of reciprocity in human ac- 
 tivity — butj Mr. Bonidy, you look sick — your com- 
 plaint is known to the medical fraternity as penurio 
 psychic nihility; an infallible remedy for this disease 
 was once prescribed by one of your fraternity as a 
 panacea for labor troubles — it is a soup composed 
 of shavings, bone and garlic ; as you have a severe 
 attack you had better partake of it liberally, iu 
 large doses ; it will do you good ; it's quite fat- 
 tening and is a great brain-food, and that is what 
 you most need. Good-day, sir." 
 
 The newspaper profession is undoubtedly com- 
 posed in the main of honest, honorable men, who, 
 as a rule, are the brightest, quickest and most in- 
 telligent men in the country ; but, unfortunately, 
 as in all professions, there occasionally creeps in a 
 Bonidy, who uses the opportunities his position 
 affords to disgrace and dishonor it. These vile 
 creatures constitute the confraternity of newspaper 
 thuggery. When this dirt is sweep from the room 
 of the reporter and the sanctum of the editor, the 
 tone of the press will be improved and its power 
 to do good vastly augmented. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 
 
 THE MASS-MEETING — ITS LESSON. 
 
 The great railway strike continued unchanged ; 
 the men were slowly but steadily gaining the sym- 
 pathy of the public ; the dire predictions of the 
 press and the agents of the railroads had not, thus 
 far, been verified ; the strikers became conscious 
 
326 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 that the tide of public opinion was turning in their 
 favor. To still further strengthen their position 
 with the people, and give more forcible expression 
 to their grievances, they determined to hold a mass- 
 meeting at Dearborn Park, which, the call of the 
 central committee said, would be addressed by 
 leading citizens. 
 
 The call for the meeting provoked a fresh and 
 more savagely vigorous attack by the press friendly 
 to the cause of stock waterers. It was claimed that 
 the stated objects of the meeting were mere pre- 
 texts, that the real design was to burn and des- 
 troy the property of the companies, and perhaps 
 murder the men who had taken the places of the 
 strikers. The city, it was claimed, was in the 
 very center of a crater that would vomit fire, riot 
 and mob-rule should the meeting be held. The 
 mayor became alarmed and called together the 
 superintendent of police, some prominent citizens, 
 including the railway presidents, and the com- 
 manders of the several military companies in the 
 city. 
 
 At this meeting the situation was discussed. 
 Vigorous and summary measures were advocated ; 
 the governor of the State was telegraphed for ad- 
 ditional militia ; a dispatch, in the official cipher 
 of the United States Signal Office, was sent to the 
 Secretary of War asking that United States troops 
 be immediately ordered to Chicago ; the available 
 militia force of the city was to be quietly mustered at 
 the armories that evening, to remain under arms 
 until further orders. The following day several 
 ominous-looking boxes arrived from Springfield — 
 rifles, ammunition. 
 
 Although it was intended that all these meas- 
 ures for the public safety should be kept pro- 
 foundly secret, yet before six hours elapsed the ac- 
 
THE MASS-MEETING ITS LESSON, 327 
 
 "tion of the mayor and his committee of safety 
 Tvas the general topic of conversation on the streets, 
 in the saloons, stores, and club-rooms. 
 
 The man who, when threatened by violence or 
 danger, does not instantly seek to defend himself, 
 is a coward ; the man who is not at all times 
 ready to defend his legal rights is unworthy of 
 freedom — no better than a slave. American work- 
 men are brave and chivalrous, ever ready to defend 
 their liberty with their lives. In this instance 
 they were threatened — their liberties and legal 
 rights were to be taken from them. They imme- 
 diately began to arm themselves. What else could 
 be expected ? 
 
 This fact the authorities learned and redoubled 
 their precautionary measures. It did not seem to 
 occur to them that they alone were responsible 
 for it. 
 
 The mayor was importuned to issue a proclama- 
 "tion against holding the proposed meeting ; he ap- 
 pealed for counsel to the railway president men- 
 tioned in a preceding chapter, but this man, by 
 training and instinct a lawyer, more lawyer than 
 -capitalist, positively declared that the mayor had 
 no authority to issue such a proclamation ; that 
 the men had a constitutional right to assemble 
 and deliberate, so long as they committed no 
 breach of the peace. The proclamation was not 
 issued. The day upon which the meeting was to 
 take place dawned bright and clear. Long before 
 the hour appointed for calling the meeting to 
 -order, fully fifteen thousand people had assembled 
 in Dearborn Park. About two hundred police- 
 officers mingled with the crowd, which was far 
 more orderly and peaceable than a political gather- 
 ing of the same magnitude. Companies of militia 
 were stationed at i^arious points within a short dis- 
 
328 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 tance of the park. Upon one of the principal 
 streets, ahout three-quarters of a mile from the- 
 park, the Chicago Blues, fifty strong, under 
 Captain Lyster, were marching and counter- 
 marching. 
 
 At a distance the inspiriting strains of a band!' 
 playing a martial air could he heard. Presently 
 the hand emerged from a side street into the street 
 upon which the Blues were marching. The handi 
 was followed by one of the labor organizations on 
 its way to Dearborn Park. The labor organiza- 
 tion and the Blues were approaching each other — 
 were about twenty rods apart — when suddenly a- 
 man, who it was afterward learned was a stranger 
 in the city, rushed into the street and hurled a, 
 brick at the approaching Blues. The missile- 
 grazed the waving' plume of Captain Lyster, who- 
 sprang aside, then immediately shouted : 
 
 " Company, right oblique, double time, march ;-. 
 forward, fours left front into line, march ; com- 
 pany, halt; carry arms; load, ready, aim, fire!" 
 
 A bright flash ; a sharp, crashing succession of 
 reports ; a thin ribbon of blue smoke circled up- 
 ward, and fifty messengers of death went hurtling 
 into the crowd. The voice of the captain rang out- 
 again : 
 
 " Kecover arms — load — ready — aim " 
 
 A pair of spirited horses, attached to a carriage,. 
 and standing near, being terribly frightened by 
 the loud, crashing report, madly plunged ancJ 
 dashed into the valiant Blues, broke up their/ 
 alignment, and so completely demoralized them- 
 that they fled in disorder several rods before they 
 could be induced to reform. 
 
 As the band and crowd were disappearing, the- 
 captain did not deem it expedient to again renew 
 the firing. He withdrew his command to am, 
 
THE MASS-MEETING ITS LESSON. 329 
 
 armory close hj, and threw out a line of pickets on 
 the streets leading thereto. 
 
 Although the street was literally packed with 
 people only ahout twenty persons were killed and 
 injured by the volley. This was owing to the fact 
 that the citizen- soldier, in his excitement, fired high . 
 
 A mother, standing at a second-story window, 
 holding up a prattling, smiling habe to gaze upon 
 the scene below, when the volley was fired uttered 
 a piercing shriek, fell backward into the room, 
 while the babe dropped from her arms and was 
 dashed to death upon the pavement below. 
 
 A man and his wife, carrying between them a 
 heavily-laden market-basket, were coming up the 
 street at the time. The man dropped to his 
 knees, fell back heavily, exclaiming : 
 
 " Oh 1 Mary, I'm hurt 1 " 
 
 The woman sat down on the flagged walk and 
 lifted the man's head into her lap. 
 
 " Tom, mavourneen, where are you hurt?" 
 
 But Tom could only moan and groan. The 
 woman tore open his shirt and saw a horrid, gap- 
 ing wound in his breast, from which the red current 
 of life was rapidly flowing. She bent her head, 
 placed her lips to his ear, and said : 
 
 " Tom, my darling, look up to the Man above ; 
 look to Him now ; put your trust in Him, Tom." 
 A slight twitching of the fingers, a little tremor in 
 the limbs, and Tom looked upon his darling Mary 
 never again. 
 
 "Are you hurt much. Jack?" 
 
 " I'll never pull a throttle again, Dick ; I am 
 making my last run ; I'm on the down grade now, 
 and in sight of the station. Tell Nellie — you 
 know we were to be married Christmas, Dick — 
 
 that I'll meet her at the other end of the road 
 
 good-by, Dick write to moth " 
 
330 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 A bright little newsboy, with a bundle_ of 
 papers under his arm, full of life and animation, 
 was running along the walk, crying : 
 
 "Here's your evening news; all about the 
 great strike !" 
 
 Suddenly, the papers dropped to the walk, and 
 the little fellow fell across the bundle, moaning 
 piteously. At this moment, a woman, wrapped 
 in a heavy plaid shawl, rushed out of a store, 
 picked the little fellow up, pressed him to her 
 bosom, and kissed him repeatedly. 
 
 " Oh 1 lay me down — it hurts — oh ! it hurts I" 
 he gasped in whispers, and, as she laid him down 
 tenderly, his head on the little bunch of papers, he 
 again moaned : 
 
 "I'm so cold and the light is going out " 
 
 And to the poor little waif the light went out 
 forever. 
 
 The woman took off her shawl, wrapped the 
 little body ia it carefully, stood a few moments, as 
 if deliberating what course to pursue ; then picked 
 up the body and with blanched face and compressed 
 lips walked rapidly away. 
 
 "Halt!" the tone was sharp, clear, menacing. 
 The woman carrying the body in the shawl stopped. 
 
 " What have you there? " 
 
 "Death," replied the woman in a hollow voice. 
 The sentry hesitated a moment, then shouted : 
 
 " Corporal of the guard, post three." 
 
 " What is it, Jones ? " asked the corporal, com- 
 ing up quickly. 
 
 " I think this woman is crazy, there is a bad 
 look in her eye." 
 
 " What have you got there, my good madam? " 
 inquired the corporal. 
 
 "Death," again answered the woman in the 
 same hollow voice. 
 
THE MASS-MEETING ITS LESSON. 331 
 
 *' You must go with me to headquarters." 
 
 " Why should I?" asked the woman. 
 
 " "Will you go peaceably or must we use force?" 
 
 "I will go with you/' she answered doggedly, 
 and she followed him to the armory two blocks away. 
 A sentry stood guard at the door. They entered. 
 
 " Captain/' said the corporal, saluting that of- 
 ficer, " this woman is acting suspiciously and will 
 give no account of herself." 
 
 The captain arose quickly, his face paled, his 
 limbs trembled — Marcia NuUus stood before him. 
 
 " Why do you — what do you want? " he stam- 
 mered. 
 
 " What you cannot give," she replied. 
 
 " Oh yes, I forgot — you came with the corporal ; 
 what have you there ?" He was somewhat calmer. 
 
 "^ One of your victims," and Marcia advanced to 
 the table, behind which Frank Lyster was stand- 
 ing, and laid her burden on it and threw back the 
 folds of the shawl. 
 
 He recoiled with horror, and convulsively gasped 
 as he sank into a chair. 
 
 " He will never trouble you again. Can I go 
 now ? ' ' 
 
 He answered not. His eyes were riveted upon the 
 beautiful features of the apparently sleeping child. 
 
 Marcia covered the body, pressed it to her bosom, 
 and walked unhindered out into the street. Again 
 she passed along, long, sleepless night — alone with 
 her Grod and her dead. 
 
 At Dearborn Park the most intense excitement 
 prevailed within a few moments after the Blues 
 had fired upon the people. Greatly exaggerated re- 
 ports had reached the Park. The wildest rumors 
 •were quickly seized upon and circulated until they 
 became to the excited imagination indisputable 
 facts. In less than five minutes the frenzied con- 
 
332 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 course became impressed with the idea that all the 
 milita of the city were marching upon the park. 
 Fear, terror, and despair were depicted on the faces- 
 of many ; determination, vengeance, death gleamed 
 in the eyes of others ; fierce and angry words filled 
 the air ; women and timid children were fleeing in 
 all directions. Suddenly the word "barricades" 
 was heard above the confusing din. 
 
 "Barricade the streets 1 barricade the streets I 
 build breastworks!" were the only sounds that 
 could now be distinguished. 
 
 Breastworks and barricades began to appear — • 
 almost instantly — upon every street leading to the 
 park. Drays, trucks, wagons, carriages, dry-good» 
 boxes, barrels, street cars, paving stones — every- 
 thing available was seized and utilized. The barri- 
 cades rose as if by magic. The apparent security 
 they promised, and the non-appearance of the mili- 
 tary, tended in a measure to allay the excitement. 
 There were nearly ten thousand men behind these 
 barricades. It was a critical moment. A mob ? 
 Tes, but the dynamite of our modern social system : 
 handle it with wisdom and prudence, and it is 
 harmless ; kick it, and the story of the blind Sam- 
 son and the temple of Dagon is repeated. 
 
 The military had not yet appeared. The ex- 
 citement was becoming less intense, passion less 
 fierce. Many gathered around the speakers' stand 
 and began to loudly call upon those who had beea 
 advertised to speak. 
 
 A tall, well-dressed, smooth-faced, sharp-looking 
 man appeared upon the stand, took off his hat^ 
 and faced the crowd. A wild cheer rent the air. 
 No one seemed to know who he was, no one intro- 
 duced him ; the committee who had charge of the 
 meeting, though upon the ground, seemed at a 
 loss how to proceed. 
 
THE MASS -MEETING — ITS LESSON. 333 
 
 "My frieads," began the tall man, "a great 
 outrage has been committed upon the free people 
 of this free city. [Cheers and cries of ' good, go 
 on.'] The constitution of our country guarantees 
 to us the right to peaceably assemble and discuss 
 questions of justice, public policy, and private 
 right. [Hear — hear.] The authorities of this 
 city, obeying the msindate of corporate wealth, 
 have usurped our rights, trampled upon our liber- 
 ties, and dyed the pavements with the crimson 
 blood of our brothers." 
 
 Cheers, shouts, groans and hisses greeted this 
 sentence. 
 
 "Who is that man?" asked some one on the 
 outskirts of the crowd. 
 
 A detective standing near answered : 
 
 " That is Gus Green. He is a college graduate 
 and a wonderfully bright fellow. His father left 
 him quite a large fortune, which he squandered in 
 di,isipation and riotous living in a few years. He 
 is to-day one of the most noted and dangerous 
 bank-robbers in the country." 
 
 " Why don't you arrest him ? " 
 
 "Oh, he has done nothing that we know of 
 since he served his last term at Joliet ; but we are 
 keeping an eye upon him." 
 
 The speaker continuing said : " Shall we tamely 
 submit to this outrage on our persons and liber- 
 ties? " ['No ! no ! ' shouted ten thousand angry, 
 excited men.] "There is but one way to deal with 
 this question," the speaker continued. "Society is 
 diseased ; it needs heroic treatment. They say we 
 are ignorant and do not understand social science, 
 or the intricate, complex laws which govern eco- 
 nomic questions. We must begin by convincing 
 them that we are not ignorant, that we are scholars 
 and scientists." [Hear, hear, and cheers.] Let 
 
334 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 US convince them that we are educated^ that w& 
 are archseologists, antiquarians, geologists, and 
 philologists, by deciphering by the light of the torch 
 the cuneiform inscriptions on their pressed-brick 
 fronts, the fossiliferous formations of their marble 
 palaces, and the history of buried ages, written in 
 hieroglyphics on the tiles and slates of their 
 mansions." 
 
 "Now what does he mean by that? " inquired 
 a good-natured, honest-looking fellow of his neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 "In plain English, he advises us to apply the- 
 torch and set fire to the house of every rich man 
 in the city," was the answer. 
 
 " What ! and sure if you do that, won't my little- 
 cottage be in danger ? Do you think I want tO' 
 destroy my own home? If that's the programme, 
 you can count me out," and he started to leave, 
 but turning quickly he added with an oath : " The 
 first man I see handling a torch won't have much 
 time to say his prayers." This man worked for 
 Alexander Fargood. 
 
 Tom Castaway, who happened to overhear this 
 conversation, interposed this observation : 
 
 "Even a small property interest in society 
 makes men conservative. If the head of every 
 family in this city owned his home, the wealthy 
 would not be troubled with unpleasant dreams 
 to-night." 
 
 "Why should we remain cooped up here?" 
 continued the speaker. " We are not safe ; for 
 while we can resist any attack from the military, 
 we are unprotected and at the mercy of the enemy 
 on the lake side. [Dearborn Park is on the lake 
 front.] A United States revenue cutter reached 
 this city last evening ; I am reliably informed! 
 that she has been ordered to anchor in front of 
 
THE MASS-MEETING ITS LESSON. 335 
 
 this park ; she is, perhaps, even now on her way 
 here. Shall we remain here and be shelled to 
 death by her twelve-pounders ? Let us march in 
 solid phalanx into the city. We outnumber the 
 enemy ten to one, and can sweep them before our 
 onward march as the prairie fire sweeps the dried 
 and withered grass." 
 
 The effect of this speech was fairly electrical. 
 The surging mass rent the air with shouts and 
 cheers. Reason was dethroned and passion reigned 
 supreme. The great crowd, as if moved by a com- 
 mon impulse, began to surge toward the barri- 
 cades. The blind Samson was reaching for the 
 pillars of the temple. 
 
 Suddenly a loud, stentorian voice from the stand 
 was heard above the roar and confusion of the 
 moment — 
 
 "Halt! halt! hold on men, stop for one mo- 
 ment only." There was no tremor in the voice ; 
 it had in it power, will, confidence. 
 
 The great surging mass checked its course, faced 
 the stand. 
 
 " Hurrah for Arbyght — three cheers for Ar- 
 byght — let us hear Arbyght — he will lead us!" 
 were the shouts that now rose in broken waves 
 of discordant sound upon the air. 
 
 " Friends and neighbors, be silent for a moment 
 and listen to me. [Order! order! hear him! listen 
 to him! order! order! came from all parts of the 
 crowd.] You know who I am. You have all seen 
 and heard me oft before ; I pray you listen to me 
 now. [We will! we will! goon! goon!] If we are 
 to march into the city and attack the military, let 
 us do so, not as a disorganized mob following a 
 blind impulse, but as an organized body guided 
 by reason and judgment. This vast army cannot 
 be used to advantage upon a single street. We 
 
336 THE OXHEE SIDE. 
 
 must divide into three or four bodies, move upon 
 different streets, act in concert, carrying out in 
 detail some definite plan of action, to be first de- 
 vised and agreed upon." 
 
 Gus Green divined Arbyght's object, and point- 
 ing toward the lake, was about to speak, but Ar- 
 byght anticipating what he would say, shouted 
 louder still : 
 
 " There is no revenue cutter here. The only 
 United States vessel on the upper lakes is the 
 Michigan, and her machinery is undergoing re- 
 pairs at Detroit. There is no immediate danger; 
 I have just come from the City Hall, and there 
 are no troops in sight. We have ample time to 
 deliberate and organize." 
 
 All this was said rapidly, with vigor, and con- 
 vincing, assuring calmness. The crowd was now 
 in a quieter mood and disposed to listen to reason. 
 Arbyght continued : 
 
 " We are about to do a very grave, a very serious 
 thing, and it may be well to estimate the cost. If 
 we move into the city and attack the military, 
 many, very many of us will not see the stars come 
 out to-night or see the sun rise to-morrow. Many 
 happy wives and laughing children will in a few 
 hours mourn the death of husbands and fathers. 
 Our own lives we may throw recklessly away, but 
 do we not owe something to those who love us, 
 who watch for our coming, but who may never see 
 ns again ? " 
 
 "/You are a traitor!" shouted Green. 
 
 " Down with him! kill him! kill him!" echoed 
 chorus of voices. 
 
 Arbyght leaned forward, and, pointing his fin- 
 ger at Green, cried out in a still louder voice : 
 
 "Who are you, sir? Tell these people who 
 you are! [A pause.] Where and for whom do 
 
THE MASS-MBETINQ ITS LESSON. SST 
 
 you work ? [A longer pause.] You do not answer. 
 You are not a workingman, and never did an 
 hour's manual labor in your life. Do you want 
 me to tell these people who you are, and what you 
 are?" Green slipped through the crowd like an 
 eel and disappeared, leaving Arbyght master of 
 the situation. 
 
 "Suppose we do attack and destroy all the 
 troops in the city,'' continued Arbyght, "what 
 then ? If we inaugurate such warfare the city 
 may be destroyed. Who will be benefited ? Cer- 
 tainly not the honest workman. You will not feel 
 •at home in a thieves' carnival. My friends, is 
 there not some other way out of this difficulty? 
 What is now proposed will involve us all in a com- 
 mon ruin. To injure or destroy either property or 
 life is to violate the law and commit crime ; it is 
 to inaugurate a reign of anarchy and chaos, and 
 tyranny in its worst form would be a blessing com- 
 pared to the evils which would spring from such 
 conditions. If every particle of property in the 
 city was wiped out and every capitalist murdered, 
 how would we be benefited ? Even if it were pos- 
 sible to escape the punishment such fearful crimes 
 would entail, how, I again ask, would we be bene- 
 fited? Where would you find shelter for your 
 wives and children or food to keep them from 
 starving ? Boys, this is not the way out of the 
 •difficulty ; we must appeal to reason and judg- 
 ment and not to blind, brute force. The time may 
 come, though God forbid that it should, when this 
 method of redressing grievances may have to be 
 «voked, but such a course can never be justified 
 until every means afforded by our constitutional 
 form of government has been honestly and fairly 
 tried and found unavailing." 
 
 As Arbyght ceased speaking, Tom Castaway 
 22 
 
338 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 appeared upon the stand, and, being loudly 
 cheered, came to the front and said : 
 
 " Boys, I can't make a speech, but I can tell 
 you a story ; will you hear it ? [Yes, yes ; go ont 
 go on! shouted the crowd.] Down in the country 
 where I was born," proceeded Castaway, "a- 
 neighbor had upon his farm a very deep well. One 
 day the rope broke and the bucket fell to the bot- 
 tom. While the farmer and his sons were dis- 
 cussing the best means of getting it out, there 
 came along a good-natured 'son of the beautiful 
 Green Isle, who volunteered to go down into the 
 well and bring it up. This generous offer was ac- 
 cepted ; the rope was tied around the body of the 
 volunteer and the farmer and his sons proceeded 
 to lower him into the well, which was over one 
 hundred feet deep. After they had lowered him 
 about fifteen or twenty feet down into the damp 
 darkness, the situation did not seem as pleasant or 
 as agreeable as it looked while he was on the sur- 
 face, and he cried out, ' hould an! hould an! I say,' 
 but those above paid no attention to his prayer. 
 Becoming more alarmed and nervous, while dang- 
 ling fully eighty feet from the bottom, he cried 
 out in a louder voice, 'hould an! hould an! be 
 jabers, if you don't hould an I'll cut the rope/ 
 Boys, in doing what you propose, you simply put 
 yourselves in place of the man in the well, and 
 all I have to say to you is, for Grod's sake, don't culi 
 the rope.'' The crowd laughed and cheered for 
 several minutes and became good natured. 
 
 The crisis was passed. Eeason again asserted 
 her dominion, and the meeting, after resolving 
 to firmly continue the struggle, quietly dispersed. 
 • Within three days a compromise was effected by 
 which the men agreed to resume work at a reduc- 
 tion of only five per cent., with the understanding. 
 
IN THE TOILS. 339 
 
 that the old schedule would be restored at the end 
 of six months. In speaking to some friends the 
 next day, Arbyght said : 
 
 " It is simply infamous in a large city like this, 
 and in the midst of such excitement, to put loaded 
 rifles in the hands of raw, undisciplined militia, 
 who may be commanded by officers who lack the 
 judgment, self-control, and clear-headed coolness 
 necessary and essential under such circumstances, 
 and which only comes from' long years of experience 
 in army life." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 IN THE TOILS. 
 
 A calm followed. About a week later Harvey 
 Mellen called upon Arbyght one evening about 
 nine o'clock, and said Eelvason wished to see him 
 at his office, as he was heartily sick of the struggle 
 between himself and his men, and wished to talk 
 over the matter and set his men to work the 
 following day ; but Mr. Relvason, he said, wished 
 some guarantee for the future, as he desired to 
 avoid all complications thereafter. 
 
 This was good news to Richard. He put on his 
 overcoat and set out with Mellen immediately. 
 The latter did not have much to say, and Richard's 
 thoughts were elsewhere. The trip to the shop 
 was one of almost unbroken silence, but Richard 
 noticed that his companion walked close by his 
 side. They reached the office, and Mellen passed 
 in, closely followed by Arbyght. Relvason was 
 not there ; there was nobody there. 
 
340 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " He must have stepped out ; sit down ; he will 
 be back directly," said Mellen, handing a chair to 
 Arbyght, who refused to be seated, as just then 
 the idea of treachery flashed through his mind 
 like an inspiration. 
 
 "I will see if he is in the shop," said Mellen, 
 •opening the heavy door, which closed after him 
 iwith a loud bang. 
 
 A moment later three pistol shots, fired in 
 quick succession, awoke the echoes of the old shop. 
 Richard started, then ran to the door leading to 
 the sbop. It would not open. Ha ! perhaps the 
 door leading to the street was fastened also. No, 
 it was not. He rushed into the yard. Great 
 heavens ! what a light ! The windows of the shop 
 looked like the open doors of a furnace. Huge 
 volumes of flame seemed rolling, tumbling, hissing, 
 and roaring in the shop. Was he dreaming ? 
 No ! The glass in the windows began to snap and 
 crack and fall to the ground in little pieces. The 
 shop was on fire. Eichard rushed toward the 
 street, crying " fire " lustily. In passing through 
 the gate a rough hand was laid on his arm, and a 
 voice hissed in his ear : 
 
 ''Not so fast, young man!" He turned, and 
 beheld a policeman. 
 
 "Unhand me, fellow! what do you mean?" 
 said Eichard, struggling to unloose the man's 
 hold. 
 
 The policeman held him tightly. Arbyght be- 
 came angered, and giving a powerful lurch, the 
 official went spinning into the street. 
 
 "Man! what do you want?" he repeated, as 
 the policeman picked himself up and advanced to- 
 ward him with a cocked revolver. 
 
 " You are my prisoner !" was the reply. 
 
 " What have I done ?" The policeman pointed 
 
IN THE Ton^. 341 
 
 significantly toward the burning building. He 
 saw through the scheme at once. 
 
 "I submit, sir, but I believe in my soul you are 
 in this plot." The policeman did not answer. 
 
 A great crowd had now collected, and the fire- 
 bells were ringing sharply all over the city. Ar- 
 byght was searched upon the spot, and in the out- 
 side pocket of his overcoat a small revolver, of 
 peculiar make, was found. Three of its chambers 
 were empty and evidently recently discharged. 
 
 Richard began to realize his situation. A cold 
 tremor ran through him, but his face gave no evi- 
 dence of his emotion. 
 
 The building burned to the ground. The next 
 day the blackened, charred remains of two human 
 beings were found in the ruins. At the inquest, 
 the post-mortem examination revealed a small 
 bullet hole through the right temple of one body 
 and two similar holes in the breast of the other. 
 From a pocket-knife found on one, and a watch on 
 the other, or what was left of them, the bodies 
 were identified as those of Harvey Mellen and 
 David Miller. Richard Arbyght was lodged in a 
 cell in the convict tier, charged with murder. 
 
 To be unjustly accused of a crime, and be at the 
 same time conscious of your inability to establish 
 your innocence ; to suffer the continual torture of 
 a great wrong, and be confronted with your impo- 
 tency to right it, is undoubtedly a most desperate 
 and maddening feeling. It is a feeling akin to that 
 experienced by the soldier, who, having exhausted 
 his ammunition, is compelled to stand in the ranks a 
 target for his assailants — his power of resistance or 
 defense gone, the prospect of instant death before 
 him, intensified by the requiem-like sound hissed 
 in his ear by every passing missile. 
 
 As Richard Arbyght lay in his narrow cell the 
 
342 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 night of his arrest he experienced this mental sen- 
 sation in an acute degree, aad each day he remained 
 in prison hut served to augment the anguish he 
 endured. He knew he was innocent, but the 
 knowledge could not open the doors of his dungeon, 
 nor restore him to liberty and the confidence of his 
 fellow-men. The real culprit suffers from the tor- 
 tures of conscious guilt, and lives in constant dread 
 of the punishment he justly deserves, but his tor- 
 tures are infinitesimal compared with those endured 
 by the wrongly accused, who sees himself adjudged 
 guilty even in advance of his trial, and to whom 
 the day of trial is a day of dread, especially if he 
 knows there is not within his reach the means of 
 refuting the charge. Of what avail is conscious 
 innocence to a man thus situated? Of what avail 
 is the knowledge of a happy home and all its 
 comforts to the shipwrecked mariner dying of 
 hunger and exposure on a desert isle ? He knows 
 that beyond the horizon lies his home, but will the 
 knowledge bring him any nearer to it? The mind 
 may imagine, but words are inadequate to express 
 the keen, deep anguish that rent Kichard's soul. 
 All the miseries he had ever experienced, if summed 
 up and multiplied a hundred times, would not 
 equal this. His hitherto spotless name, his sister's 
 reputation and future, his love for Vida, his very 
 life hung on the result, and the present complexion 
 of afi"airs boded no good to him or those he loved. 
 
 The third day after his incarceration, his counsel, 
 Mr. Lanspear, called upon him, but found him un- 
 able to enter upon any plan of defense. He was 
 dejected, broken in spirit and despaired of being 
 able to rebut or break the force of the circum- 
 stantial evidence that would be brought against 
 him. 
 
 The attorney admitted that the case looked for- 
 
IN THE TOILS. 343 
 
 tnidatle and ugly, but still, if judiciously managed, 
 lie thought evidence might be unearthed to prove 
 that the bodies said to be those of Miller and Mellen 
 ■were not their remains, and if that fact could be 
 •€stablished it could be shown that the prosecution 
 was malicious. To this Eichard answered : 
 
 " I feel satisiied that my enemies base their hopes 
 -of conviction on their ability to prove that the re- 
 mains were the bodies of Mellen and Miller. They 
 have taken every precaution necessary to make that 
 -assumption irrefutable, and my chances of success 
 in that direction I regard as hopeless." 
 
 Mr. Lanspear was of a different opinion, but, 
 seeing his client in no mood to discuss the sub- 
 ject, he left, promising to call again the following 
 <iay. 
 
 That afternoon his sister arrived in the city and 
 came to him at once. She found him in the same 
 ■depressed state of mind in which his counsel had 
 left him. The meeting between them was a very 
 sad one. This beautiful girl, a few days since full 
 of vivacity and mirth, had become suddenly and 
 strangely changed. One hour after she heard the 
 ill-fated news she had grown, in a mental sense, very 
 old. With a single step, she had passed from the 
 dreams of young maidenhood into the thoughful- 
 ness of mature womanhood. She believed her 
 brother innocent of the heinous crime with which 
 he was charged ; and all her woman's nature, her 
 "deep, impassioned, abiding aflFection, her keen, 
 intuitive perception, her love of rectitude and ab- 
 horrence of treachery, her sensitiveness to her 
 brother's wrong — she thought not of herself — were 
 -all centred on one single object^ — saving him from 
 the dreadful fate that threatened him. She be- 
 lieved herself called upon to act with courage and 
 ibrtitude, and hence, tears and lamentations were 
 
344 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 not to be thought of. She rallied the poor fellow, 
 remonstrated, coaxed, and insisted ; and when she 
 left him he felt much cheered and comforted. 
 
 Bertha found a home at Soolfire cottage. _ The 
 Sergeant was a firm believer in Kiqhard's inno- 
 cence, and a good friend to his afflicted sister. He 
 entered heartily into the case, and was an invalua- 
 ble assistant in securing evidence favorable to the. 
 accused. 
 
 " You must pray incessantly and put your trust 
 in the good God," said Mrs. Soolfire to Bertha one 
 evening, as the day of the trial drew near. 
 
 "I do, I do," said Bertha, quickly; "but," 
 she added, despairingly, "my good, kind friend^ 
 even though we pray, witnesses will not come to 
 us unless we seek them, and, unless we can secure 
 evidence, prayers, I fear, will be of little avail, 
 though I appreciate fully the inspiration which. 
 Grod will send me, if I pray fervently and with the 
 proper spirit." 
 
 " Bless my soul, girl, you are right," said the 
 Sergeant, in his usual, short, quick tone. 
 
 Yes, she was right. There would be fewer fail- 
 ures in this world, and less sufiering, if all mankind 
 appreciated the truth and practical sense of George 
 Herbert's line: 
 
 " Help thyself, and God will help thee." 
 
 God may hear our prayers and direct our thought,, 
 but we must act upon the divine prompting or it 
 will avail nothing. 
 
 The day set for the trial was close at hand ; it 
 was known that two of the most eminent lawyers 
 in the State were retained by the prosecution, and 
 it was also known that the proper authorities had 
 not given the prosecuting attorney permission 
 to engage such counsel. It was, therefore, cor- 
 
IN THE TOIIS. 345 
 
 rectly surmised that certain parties, eager for con- 
 viction, were using their money freely to secure 
 that end. In the daily press the prisoner was 
 almost daily tried at the bar of public opinion, and 
 as often convicted and hanged ; and, as the jurors, 
 who were to decide as to tlie innocence or guilt of 
 the prisoner, were to be drawn from this same 
 public, it will be seen that the prisoner's chances 
 of having impartial justice rendered him were 
 doubtful and meager. True, the law provided 
 that jurors could be challenged for cause — for hav- 
 ing formed an opinion as to the guilt or innocence 
 of the accused, and by a searching examination of 
 the panel it might be possible to secure at least 
 twelve honest and unprejudiced men, who would 
 hear the case and decide strictly in conformity to 
 the evidence produced, provided men who never 
 read the papers and form no opinions are com- 
 petent to decide any question intelligently. 
 
 The venire facias was made out according to the 
 usual custom by the clerk, at the instance of the 
 prosecuting attorney ; and when a copy of the 
 panel, made out by the sheriff, was delivered to 
 the prisoner one day previous to the trial, as the 
 law directed, it was found that out of the thirty- 
 six jurors returned, thirty-four were employers of 
 labor or large capitalists. Whether this was the re- 
 sult of chance, or whether the sheriff was subsidized 
 and manipulated the drawing of the panel to suit 
 those who thirsted for the prisoner's blood, are 
 questions that will remain unsolved until that aw- 
 ful day when the grave will give up its dead and 
 secrets together. As it was, it presented very lit- 
 tle encouragement to the accused. Of what avail 
 was his right to peremptorily challenge nearly 
 two-thirds of the panel, when the remaining third, 
 who might prove unchallengeable for cause, was 
 
346 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 equally as objectionable? Truly, be was as pow- 
 erless as tbe fly enmesbed in a spider's web. 
 
 Tbe day of "tbe trial dawned at last. It was a 
 beautiful May morning ; tbe air, warmly mild, was 
 freigbted with tbe sweet perfume of tbe countless 
 blossoms of tbis flowery montb of tbe year, and 
 tbe trees and lawns looked encbantingly lovely in 
 tbeir robes of green — truly, it seemed, as if amid 
 all tbis fairness of nature, tbere was no room for 
 anything but peace and joy. It was a day tbat 
 exerted upon the mind and body an enlivening in- 
 fluence, and everybody seemed to be abroad and 
 bappy. Tbe streets presented a gay and cheerful 
 appearance, and no one seemed to think of the sor- 
 rowing man, deprived of freedom, unjustly charged 
 with evil, stricken down with tbe weight of " sor- 
 row's crown of sorrow," who counted tbe minutes, 
 as slowly to him, they dropped from the hour-glass 
 of time into the abyss of eternity. 
 
 A great crowd seemed to continually press up 
 and down the broad steps tbat led from both La 
 Salle and Clark streets to tbe broad ball that ex- 
 tended clear through tbe massive and spacious 
 court-bouse. All tbe balls in tbe building seemed 
 alive with jabbering, restless humanity. 
 
 On tbe bench, in the criminal court-room, sat 
 Judge Maclester, a large, heavy man, with full, 
 round face, dark, piercing eyes, and nobly-shaped 
 head, remarkably deficient in hair. However, to 
 render tbis defect invisible, be, to use tbe language 
 of Addison, sought to "imitate Csesar, who, be- 
 cause bis head was bald, covered tbat defect with 
 laurels." Tbe acknowleged legal erudition and 
 judicial probity of tbe judge were the laurels he 
 worer with becoming grace and dignity. 
 
 Tbe court-room was crowded to its utmost ca- 
 pacity — every foot of space was occupied. Nine 
 
IN THE TOILS. 34T 
 
 o'clock— the judge gave a slight nod, and the 
 Oyez ! Oyez ! Oyez ! of the crier was heard above 
 the confusing hum of voices, and the court was 
 open for business. The judge opened the docket 
 and in a clear, distinct voice called the case of 
 " The State of Illinois versus Richard Arbyght." 
 
 Silence reigned in the room for a moment. The 
 prosecuting attorney said the State was ready to 
 proceed ; Mr. Lan spear did not desire a post- 
 ponement, so the sheriff was directed to bring in 
 the prisoner. 
 
 This was an awful moment for Arbyght ; to 
 face that mass of staring, gaping, open-mouthed 
 faces was a task that required all his nerve, all his 
 manhood, all the force of his being. He walked 
 in with a firm step, and calm, fearless manner. 
 In a few moments he was to be tried for his life, 
 not before the great omniscient Unraveler of mys- 
 teries and Unveiler of secrets ; not before the Dis- 
 penser of immutable justice, but before fallible, 
 corruptible beings, who could see nothing but 
 what was made plain, and who, even then, might 
 not dispense justice to the accused. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney, in a clear voice, read 
 the indictment, which was drawn up in the usual 
 form and charged that : \ 
 
 " Eichard Arbyght, on the eighteenth day of 
 April, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight 
 
 hundred and , in the county of Cook aforesaid, 
 
 did unlawfully, maliciously, purposely, and feloni- 
 ously kill and murder one David Miller and one Har- 
 vey Mellen ; the said Eichard Arbyght being then 
 and'there engaged in the perpetration of the crime 
 of arson, that is to say,' being then and there en- 
 gaged in setting fire to and burning the shops of 
 one Alvan Eelvason^ there situate, wherein the 
 said David Miller and Harvey Mellen then and 
 
348 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 there were ; and the said Kichard Arhyght, then 
 and there being, did unlawfully, forcibly, and of 
 deliberate and premeditated malice, make an as- 
 sault, and that the said Eichard Arbyght, a cer- 
 tain pistol, then and there charged with gunpow- 
 der and divers, to wit, three leaden bullets, which 
 said pistol he, the said Kichard Arbyght, in his 
 hand or hands, then and there had and held, then 
 and there unlawfully, purposely, and of deliberate 
 and premeditated malice, did discharge and shoot 
 off, to, against, and upon the said Miller and 
 Mellen." 
 
 It would be unnecessary and superfluous to follow 
 the indictment through all of its tautological me- 
 anderings after legal exactness ; suffice it to say 
 that Richard Arbyght was accused of a heinous 
 double murder. After the indictment was read he 
 was asked to plead guilty or not guilty. Again 
 that unearthly silence settled upon the "^ vast 
 throng, as in a clear, calm voice, he replied : 
 
 "Not guilty." 
 
 As the sound of his voice died away, a murmur 
 of applause quivered on the dense air of the 
 crowded court-room. The prisoner glanced around 
 and saw, in many an honest face, an expression of 
 sympathy and friendship. His sister was sitting 
 within the bar, looking very pale but betraying no 
 evidence of excitement or alarm ; and near by 
 sat Paul Geldamo, who in this hour of trouble was 
 proving himself a friend without fear or reproach. 
 Tom Castaway was also there. 
 
 Two days were occupied in impaneling a jury. 
 A large portion of the venire was objectionabl'e to 
 the defense and the right of challenge was fully 
 exercised. Only two out of thirty-six men were 
 acceptable to them, these two being farmers. The 
 list having been exhausted, an alias venire was is- 
 
. IN THE TOII£. 349 
 
 sued and a hundred names selected from which to 
 complete the jury. The complexion of the second 
 list of jutors was no more satisfactory to the de- 
 fense, as they recognized in a majority of the 
 names drawn men who were bitterly hostile to all 
 forms of associated labor. With the exception, 
 therefore, of the two farmers they had accepted, 
 they concluded to be content with those they 
 deemed least objectionable of the whole panel. 
 
 After the jury had been sworn, the prosecuting 
 attorney opened the case by attempting to explain 
 the language of the indictment. He labored hard 
 for half an hour in a vain effort at translating that 
 jargon of complex repetitions into more rational 
 and intelligible speech. When he sat down the 
 impression prevailed among the jury that a mur- 
 der had been committed, and that the prisoner was 
 supposed to be the party who had committed the 
 crime. 
 
 One of the learned counsel engaged by the prose- 
 cution now arose and made a lenghty and detailed 
 statement of what the State expected to prove, 
 after which Mr. Lanspear stated what the defense 
 expected to prove. 
 
 The State called a great number of witnesses, in- 
 cluding Eelvason, Spindle, and Mrs. Mellen. The 
 three witnesses named testified directly in corrobo- 
 ration of every main statement made by the prose- 
 cution and every main fact charged in the indict- 
 ment. 
 
 On the cross-examination of these witnesses 
 Lanspear based his main hopes of success ; in fact, 
 the policy of the defense was to defeat the prose- 
 cution with its own witnesses. 
 
 The surgeon who examined the bodies at the in- 
 quest was the first witness subjected to a searching 
 cross-examination . 
 
350 TH? OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Question. " Did any part of either of the bodies 
 escape the effects of the fire ?" 
 
 Answer. " The abdomen of the body recognized 
 as Miller's was not charred or burned ; it seems 
 that he fell forward on some shavings which did 
 not burn at first, and were evidently saturated with 
 water afterward and were thus prevented from 
 burning." 
 
 Question. " If a body had been dead one or two 
 days how would you determine that fact ?" 
 
 Counsel for State : "I object." 
 
 Lanspear : May it please the Court, I wish to 
 show by this witness that the bodies found in the 
 ruins of this building had actually been dead some 
 days previous to the day the crime is alleged to 
 have been committed. The theory of the prosecu- 
 tion is that these men were killed upon the night 
 of the fire ; the testimony of this witness is to that 
 effect, and my questions are and will be strictly 
 confined to matters brought out by the examina- 
 tion-in-chief." 
 
 The Court : "It is competent for the defense to 
 examine the witness upon all matters covered by 
 the direct examination — the question is admis- 
 sible." 
 
 Answer, "ti such a case the most satisfactory 
 test would be the occurrence of putrefaction, which 
 manifests itself in a sort of blue-green discoloration 
 of the cutaneous surface ; besides the body would 
 present a general appearance of cadaveric rigid- 
 ity." 
 
 Question. " Woiild intense heat produce these 
 symptoms in a few hours?" 
 
 Answer. " It would not." 
 
 Question. " Now, is it not a fact that this cada- 
 veric rigidity and discoloration of the cutaneous 
 surface was most .plainly observable in the body 
 
IN THE TOILS. 351 
 
 said to be that of Tom Miller ; and is it not a 
 fact that putrefaction to some extent existed in both 
 bodies?" 
 
 Answer. "To a certain extent such was the 
 case, and I called attention to it at the time." 
 
 Question. " Would a body, dead twelve hours, 
 show these symptoms to the extent that these bodies 
 examined at the inquest did?" 
 
 Answer. " I don't think it would." 
 
 A little wave of applkuse surged through the 
 room at this juncture, but it was speedily checked 
 by the court. 
 
 The policeman who made the arrest was the 
 next witness called by the State. His evidence 
 was of the most damaging character ; and when 
 the examination-in-chief had been finished, the 
 case looked desperate for the defense. 
 
 The cross-examiiiation elicited the following : 
 
 Question. " You say you were on duty on the 
 evening of the eighteenth of April. Will you 
 please tell the jury in what part of the city your 
 beat was at that time ? " 
 
 Answer. "My beat was on Hickory, Cologne 
 and other streets in the Twenty-ninth ward." 
 
 Question. " Why were you nearly a mile away 
 from your beat on the night you arrested the 
 prisoner?" 
 
 Witness. "Why?" 
 
 Counsel for the State : " What has that to do 
 with the case? " 
 
 A sharp tilt followed between counsel for prose- 
 cution and defense. 
 
 The court held that the question was relevant, 
 and ordeied the witness to answer. 
 
 Answer. " I had business down town, and got 
 excused, and a substitute was put on in my 
 place." 
 
352 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Question. " What was the nature of your busi- 
 ness down town that night? " 
 
 Answer. " I went down to settle a bill." 
 
 Question. " You are not on duty during the 
 day, are you? " 
 
 Answer. " No, sir." 
 
 Question. "Did you not have time enough 
 during the day to attend to your business, if you 
 had desired, without getting excused from duty at 
 night to attend to it ? " 
 
 Counsel for State: " I object." 
 
 Lanspear : " Oh, well ; if you object to such a 
 question, I do not care to press it." 
 
 Question. "You say the empty chambers in 
 this pistol had been recently discharged when you 
 took it from the prisoner's pocket. How do you 
 know they had been recently discharged? " 
 
 Answer. " The smell of gunpowder was strong 
 and fresh." 
 
 Question. "If the pistol had been discharged 
 two hours would th§ smell of gunpowder be strong 
 and fresh ? ' ' 
 
 Answer. " I don't know." 
 
 Question. ' ' Through what door did the prisoner 
 emerge from the shop ? ' ' 
 
 Answer. " Through the office door." 
 
 Question. " Were you not at that gate on the 
 evening of April eighteenth in pursuance of a 
 prearranged plan ? ' ' 
 
 Counsel for the State : " We object " 
 
 "No, sir," promptly replied the witness. 
 
 Spindle testified that he saw Miller enter the 
 shop as he left the office ; and as he left the yard 
 by the lower gate he saw two men enter the 
 office — which was open at night for the accommo- 
 dation of the watchmen — and that after he had 
 proceeded a few rods he heard the shots, and re- 
 
IN THE TOILS. 353 
 
 "turned, to find the shop on fire, and saw a man 
 leave the office and run toward the upper gate. 
 He tried to head off" this man, but found, when he 
 arrived at the gate, that thq, man — Arbyght — was 
 in the hands of the officer. 
 
 Lanspear turned his battery on this witness with 
 Taking effect. 
 
 Question. "Did the prisoner, while in your em- 
 ploy, ever enter the shop from the office, or the 
 -office from the shop?" 
 
 Answer. " No, sir." 
 
 Question. " Then he could not be aware of the 
 fact that the office door leading into the shop closed 
 automatically?" 
 
 Answer. " I can't say that he was." (In a nerv- 
 ous and excited manner.) 
 
 Question. "If he went into the shop from the 
 -office would the door close after him, and could it 
 -be opened from the shop side?" 
 
 Answer. "It would close of itself unless " 
 
 Lanspear: "Confine yourself to the question." 
 
 Answer. (With visible agitation.) " It could 
 "not be opened from the shop side." 
 
 Question. " Were you ever at the office as late 
 as ten o'clock before the evening of the fire?" 
 
 Answer. " I was." 
 
 Question. "When?" 
 
 Answer. " Can't tell specifically." 
 
 Question. " Can you name a single occasion?" 
 
 Answer. " N<it at present." 
 
 Question. " Were there two barrels of naphtha 
 stored in the shop; and, if so, when were they 
 stored there and for wiiat purpose?" 
 
 Answer. (Witness very pale.) " There were two 
 casks of naphtha brought to the shop, some days 
 before the fire, for the purpose of painting the 
 "building." 
 23 
 
354 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Question. " How often do you paint the shop or 
 shops?" 
 
 Answer. "About once in five or six years." 
 (In a nervous tone.) 
 
 Question. " Is it not a fact, sir, that the shop 
 which was burned was painted eight months ago?"^ 
 
 The witness paled and hesitated to answer, while- 
 a hum of excitement was audible among the spec- 
 tators. 
 
 Lanspear: "Answer my question, sir; yesorno?'^ 
 
 Answer. "Y-e-s." 
 
 Question. "How long was it after you saw the 
 -prisoner enter the shop oefore you saw the fire?"' 
 
 Answer. "About five minutes." 
 
 Question. " In that time would it not be impos- 
 sible to produce the fire you beheld on your return,, 
 except by the agency of naphtha or some other 
 equally inflammable substance?" 
 
 Answer. " I think it would." 
 
 Question. "Did any union man enter the shop- 
 after the naphtha was brought there?" 
 
 Answer. (Trembling.) " I don't know." 
 
 Question. "Did you ever see or hear of any 
 union man who entered during that time ?" 
 
 Answer. "No." 
 
 Question. " Did you see the defendant in or 
 near the shops after the naphtha was stored 
 there?" 
 
 Answer. "I don't think I did." 
 
 Question. " Is it not a fact that your foreman 
 had strict orders to keep union men out ?" 
 
 Answer. " I believe such orders were given," 
 
 "That is all." 
 
 Kelvason was the next witness. His testimony 
 related principally to the existence of the unioa 
 and the ill-feeling between Artyght and himself. 
 In cross-examination he fell into the same trap- 
 
IN THE TOII£. 355' 
 
 that Spindle did concerning tlie door leading from 
 the office to the shop. He also acknowledged hav- 
 ing given orders to keep union men off the prem- 
 ises, and stated that the naphtha was stored in the 
 shop, to he used for painting it, and was caught, 
 in reference to the shop heing painted eight months 
 before, the same as his chief clerk. 
 
 Mrs. Mellen was the next witness called by the 
 State, and was cross-examined as follows : 
 
 Question. " You say you have not seen or heard 
 of your husband since the night of the fire?" 
 
 Answer. (Crying.) " Never saw or heard of him 
 since." 
 
 Question. " Did he say anything when you last 
 saw him about leaving the city unexpectedly?" 
 
 Answer. " No sir ; he said he would be back 
 soon ; be left the house about seven o'clock." 
 
 The prosecution seemed pleased at this answer, 
 and the friends of the accused seemed equally de- 
 pressed by it. 
 
 Question. "Did you see the body after the 
 fire?" 
 
 Answer. " Yes, sir," sobbing. 
 
 Question. "Were the feet incased in boots or 
 shoes?" 
 
 Answer. " In heavy, low shoes." 
 
 Question. " When your husband left home did 
 he have on a pair of shoes ?" 
 
 Counsel for State: " We object; this question 
 can have no possible bearing on the case." 
 
 Lanspear, rising : " May it please your Honor, 
 it has always been held, and will not be denied by 
 me, that circumstantial evidence is competent to 
 convict a criminal, and it is just as necessary to the 
 welfare of society that such should be the case, as 
 it is necessary that this monstrous, execrable crime 
 should be punished ; but herein I feel bound to 
 
356 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 make a distinction, that the learned counsel for the 
 State wish to ignore. I claim that it should 
 first of all be proven by direct testimony that the 
 remains in question are the bodies of the men 
 charged in the indictment to have been murdered 
 by the prisoner at the bar. The prosecution have 
 endeavored to prove that one of the bodies was the 
 body of Harvej'' Mellen. They claim to have 
 proven this by a watch, which it is claimed be- 
 longed to the said Mellen. Now, so far as it 
 served tlieir purpose, the prosecution have claimed, 
 as a principle of law, that articles of raiment are 
 legal evidences of identity. In this 1 fully agree 
 with the learned counsel, and as we wish to prove 
 that the body in question was not the body of Har- 
 vey Mellen, we claim the same right, may it please 
 your Honor, to make articles of raiment a legal 
 evidence of identification." 
 
 Counsel for State : " Your Honor " 
 
 The Court, interruptingly : "The question is 
 proper and competent;" sharply, "let the trial 
 proceed." 
 
 Answer. " My husband never wore shoes to my 
 knowledge." 
 
 Question. " Do you remember ever seeing your 
 husband have a pair of shoes?" 
 
 Answer. " He never owned a pair of shoes since 
 ■we were married." 
 
 An apostate member of the union was produced 
 by the State to prove that Arbyght had threatened 
 Harvey Mellen's life. But in the cross-examina- 
 tion he was compelled to admit that Arbyght 
 merely said he would expose Mellen's ^treachery. 
 This witness was als& forced to admit that in tes- 
 tifying as he did he had violated a moral obliga- 
 tion. His testimony did not injure the prisoner 
 in any material manner. 
 
IN THE TOILS. 357 
 
 It took two days to examine in chief and cross- 
 examine the witnesses for the State. The identi- 
 fication of the hodies was made a special point. 
 Much time was consumed in arguing technical 
 points of law and deciding upon the admissibility 
 of evidence and the irrelevancy of direct and lead- 
 ing questions. The counsel for the State mani- 
 fested an acrimony rarely evinced by members of 
 the bar, but when the prosecution had closed it 
 was generally conceded by the balance of the bar 
 who had listened to the trial, that their case was 
 considerably obscured by legal points which few 
 were able to understand. 
 
 Lanspear, counsel for the prisoner, was a young 
 lawyer, clear-headed, full of common sense and 
 common law, and it was admitted that he had 
 proven the possession of those qualifications by his 
 conduct of the case so far — his cross-examination 
 being conducted with admirable tact, ability and 
 shrewdness. 
 
 The evidence for the defense, in the main, cor- 
 roborated the plea set up by Lanspear in almost 
 every particular. Many of the witnesses for the 
 State were subpoenaed for the defense, Relvason 
 among the number. He denied having sent for 
 Arbyght on the night of the alleged murder ; but 
 could not deny that he had, to a certain extent, 
 persecuted the prisoner. The defense proved this 
 fact so thoroughly that Relvason was afraid to deny 
 it. At the end of the fourth day of the trial the 
 evidence was all m, and the prosecuting attorney 
 made his final argument to the jury, which was 
 followed by a masterly argument by one of the as- 
 sistant counsel for the State. Lanspear then ad- 
 dressed the jury for two hours. His argument was 
 plain, practical, logical — iUumiiied at times by 
 bursts of impassioned eloquence and pathos, and 
 
358 THE OTHBK SIDE. 
 
 spiced with keen, rapier-like thrusts of cutting 
 eatire and trenchant wit. When he sat down, a 
 loud murmur of approbation ran through the room. 
 The judge frowned, the sheriff threatened, and the 
 bailiff cried until order was restored. The remain- 
 ing counsel for the State then made the closing ar- 
 gument, which was verbose, ponderous and learned, 
 and abounded in legal citations and quotations in- 
 numerable. The charge of the judge was brief, 
 pointed and impartial. 
 
 The jury retired, and the crowded court-room 
 was soon comparatively empty. The judge con- 
 tinued to call the docket until another case was 
 found wherein both sides were ready to proceed, 
 and everything went on as before. 
 
 Twelve hours rolled wearily away, but no ver- 
 dict had yet been rendered. Many were the sur- 
 mises as to what it would be, the most general 
 opinion being that the prisoner would be ac- 
 quitted. 
 
 Twenty, thirty, thirty-six hours, still no ver- 
 dict. Forty hours passed, and the jury came into 
 the court-room and announced through their fore- 
 man that they could not agree, and were dis- 
 charged ; and thus it ended. 
 
 It was afterward learned that the two farmers 
 were the only jurors who favored acquittal, and but 
 for them the prisoner would have been hanged. 
 Looking with clear eyes, and governed by unbiased 
 judgment and convictions, they refused to be co- 
 erced into sending, as they believed, an innocent 
 man to death. 
 
 It was now determined on by the defense to move 
 for a change of venue. 
 
TIME MAKES ALL THINGS EVEN. 359 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 TIME MAKES ALL THINGS EVEN. 
 
 When it was understood that the jury had dis- 
 • agreed, Bertha went home almost broten in spirit. 
 ■She had worked hard, and expected a favorable 
 termination of the case. Her hopes had been 
 strengthened since the close of the trial and the 
 submission of the case to the jury, as every one 
 whose legal opinion or common-sense judgment 
 was worth estimating claimed that the case was 
 fairly won by the defense, and for the jury to dis- 
 agree and refuse to render a justly-earned verdict 
 was almost more than she could bear. She lay 
 awake nearly all the night after the result had 
 been announced. She thought and thought, until 
 something like an inspiration darted through her 
 mind. 
 
 Under such circumstances as these, it has often 
 been noticed that the female mind has a remark- 
 able, almost a supernatural, power for divining or 
 arriving at conclusions. She formed a plan before 
 she fell asleep, which she confided to Paul G-eldamo 
 the next day. He pronounced it a capital idea, 
 and the best thing, perhaps, that could be done, 
 but said he feared Richard would stubbornly refuse 
 to be a party to the arrangement. He told Bertha 
 also that it was a dangerous undertaking which 
 she proposed, and, in the event of failure, would 
 ruin Richard. 
 
 Bertha, however, persisted, pleaded, and argued 
 so hard that he promised to do all he could to aid 
 her in carrying out the scheme. The next thing 
 -was to obtain Richard's consent. He opposed the 
 idea with inflexible obstinacy for a long time, but 
 
360 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 finally yielded to the arguments and vehement 
 urgency with which his sister pressed the matter^ 
 hacked by Paul Geldamo's solicitations — for th& 
 latter was a true friend in these dark hours. 
 
 One morning the startling intelligence that Ar-- 
 hyght had escaped from prison astounded and 
 astonished the good people of the city. Those who 
 believed him blameless before, shook their heads 
 doubtfully now and seemed willing to admit his- 
 guilt. If he was innocent, why should he seek to- 
 avoid the issue? "The righteous are bold as a 
 lion," and, if the prisoner was righteous, he would 
 not have fled. He was guilty, hence, fearful ;,. 
 and, therefore, coward like, fled from justice. 
 Thus argued the press, thus argued the public, 
 with very few exceptions. 
 
 Bertha bore all this calmly, and said nothing in 
 extenuation of the act. Many of his friends- 
 claimed the breaking jail justifiable, as justice in 
 his case was a farce. 
 
 The next great question that occupied public 
 attention was the manner of the escape. But their 
 curiosity was not destined to be satisfied, as how it 
 was arranged and carried into effect was a mystery 
 that bafiled the most astute detectives who were 
 engaged to work up the case. These sleuth-hounds 
 of justice, after a long search for clues, found all 
 their theories untenable and fruitless. 
 
 The escape was planned by the prisoner himself. 
 He was a thorough mechanic ; practically in one- 
 branch, theoretically iti nearly all branches ; be- 
 sides, he was deeply versed in mathematical lore, 
 being in reality a natural geometrician. He could 
 by the eye alone so closely determine the height of 
 a building, tree, or other object, the length of a. 
 line or pole, the width of a door or board, that in 
 his school-boy days he was known as the " guesser.'* 
 
TIME MAKES ALL THINGS EVEN. 361 
 
 On the blackboard he could draw a line of any re- 
 quired length with almost perfect accuracy. As 
 phrenologists would say, form and size were largely 
 developed in him. 
 
 After the trial he was allowed more freedom 
 than before, and was frequently permitted to ex- 
 ercise in the hall or inner court of the jail. His 
 irons were also taken off. When it was decided 
 that he should break jail he secured a small piece 
 of lead pencil, and, on the fly-leaves of some books 
 he was permitted to have, he made drawings of the 
 keyholes of his cell-door and the great heavy door 
 leading from the prison into the jailer's house. 
 He experienced no difSSculty in making an exact 
 drawing of the cell keyhole, but to obtain the cor- 
 rect dimensions of the other he had to rely solely 
 on the accuracy of his observation. Every day 
 that he took exercise in the hall he carefully noted 
 the size and shape of the keyhole until he con- 
 cluded he had the size and shape perfect. He now 
 began to casually inspect the keys carried by the 
 turnkey, and when he had sufficiently impressed 
 upon his mind the size and form of the two keys he 
 needed, he began making drawings of them also ; 
 but this was a difficult undertaking, one that re- 
 quired a nicety of discrimination that it seemed 
 impossible to acquire by mere sight alone. The 
 size, number and shape of the wards and the depth 
 of the grooves or slots had to be determined upon 
 to a hair's breadth. This was rendered more diffi- 
 cult by not being able to obtain a good view of 
 the keys, as he had to glance at them when the 
 turnkey was not looking, as he feared suspicions 
 would be aroused if he should be caught staring 
 at them. 
 
 After many efforts he concluded he had the 
 drawings perfect, and the next time Paul called 
 
362 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 he managed to slip them into his hand, giving him 
 specific directions how to act. The drawings were 
 to he followed as closely as possible, even the deli- 
 cate pencil lines were to be taken into considera- 
 tion. 
 
 The jailer was much interested in Kichard ; al- 
 lowed him many favors usually denied prisoners. 
 Among other things ho was permitted to have his 
 meals cooked and brought in by his sister, who 
 came every day and always brought sufHcient to 
 last until she came again. At first great care was 
 taken to inspect critically every thing that came in ; 
 but, notwithstanding this surveillance, Kichard 
 found the keys imbedded in some bread which 
 Bertha brought him one day for his dinner. 
 
 That night he effected his escape. 
 
 Eichard went direct to Detroit and there took 
 passage to Cleveland on the steamer Morning Star. 
 When he purchased his ticket he gave his name 
 as William Adair. The Morning Star was a peer- 
 less boat, a floating palace, grand and sumptuous 
 in all its arrangements. When Richard stood at 
 the upper end of the cabin he was struck with the 
 beauty and magnificence of the apartment, the 
 richest and most elegant by far that he had ever 
 seen. The cabin was fully one hundred and 
 seventy feet long, having an average width of 
 twenty feet, and from the floor to the center of the 
 arched roof the height was twenty feet. The floor 
 was covered with a rich imported carpet ; a number 
 of oval walnut tables were placed at intervals along 
 the floor, and along the sides were quite a number 
 of elegant sofas, richly upholstered in crimson and 
 dark-green plush ; at one end a great five by six- 
 foot mirror reflected every thing transpiring in the 
 cabin. The apartment was lighted by five or six 
 beautiful chandeliers. By day it was lighted by 
 
TIME MAKES ALI( THINGS EVEN. 363 
 
 cut-glass windows, and a splendid dome of stained 
 glass. In a panel at one end hung a magnificent 
 ■oil painting, representing a moonlight scene on 
 the Lower St. Lawrence; in the other panel two 
 carved and gilded cupids held a wreath^ within 
 ■which was a handsome and costly clock. Elegant 
 and costly lace curtains, beautiful lambrequins of 
 blue, green and gold could be seen on all sides, 
 especially when the doors opening into the state- 
 rooms were open. It seemed a floating home of 
 the genii. It was truly an enchanting scene to 
 look upon, and not a little weird as the boat 
 steamed out into the river and headed toward the 
 lake, making her way slowly through a thick fog 
 that hung upon the water like a nimbus cloud on 
 a mountain top. Later in the evening the tables 
 were removed, and shortly afterward ladies and 
 gentlemen, gaily dressed, emerged from the state- 
 rooms and began a promenade to a marching air 
 from the piano. The promenade changed to a 
 round dance. The effect was indescribable. 
 
 " Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage bell." 
 
 Suddenly the dismal wail of a fog-bell was heard 
 on the deck, and presently a dim light was seen 
 moving in a line dire ctly across the steamer's path. 
 The pilot put the helm hard down and signaled the 
 engineer to reverse ; but it was too late, as a moment 
 later a bark, heavily freighted with iron ore from 
 Lake Superior, struck the steamer abaft the wheel 
 and in four minutes she sank like a rock in eight 
 fathoms of water, leaving one hundred and fifty 
 human beings shrieking and struggling on the 
 bosom of the fog-covered lake, a majority of whom 
 soon followed the steamer. 
 
 One morning following the events detailed above 
 
364 THE OTHEE SIDE. 
 
 a young man called upon Sergeant Soolfire and pre- 
 sented the following letter of recommendation from 
 a celebrated New York detective, a friend of the- 
 Sergeant : 
 
 New York, July 11. 
 Friend Sooleire : 
 
 It gives me pleasure to introduce to your notice the 
 hearer, Mr. Magaw, a young man of promise and 
 reliability. He is a detective, and has already at- 
 tained considerable prominence in his profession. 
 He will, 1 am satisfied, if given an opportunity, he 
 able to throw some light on the mysterious escape of 
 the prisoner you mentioned to me in your last note. 
 Anything you do for Mr. Magaw will be esteemed a 
 particular personal favor by 
 
 Your obedient servant. 
 
 Mr. Magaw was apparently a man of about 
 twenty-eight or thirty years of age. He was a tall, 
 wiry, muscular man, with light, flowing hair, and 
 a long, wavy, light-colored beard. He had a rest- 
 less eye, but a thoughtful look, and walked in a. 
 rapid, peculiarly strained manner , that was far from 
 pleasing. The Sergeant received him cordially and 
 promised to use his influence in obtaining employ- 
 ment for him. Shortly afterward he was engaged 
 by the city to work up the Arbyght case. 
 
 About this time the Cleveland public were di- 
 gesting the following item of news, which appeared 
 in the morning edition of a leading daily : 
 
 "A Mystery — Which Is It?" 
 Yesterday a body was washed ashore about two miles east 
 of Black river. It is evidently the body of one of the victims- 
 of the ill-fated Morning Star. The features and body are- 
 very much swollen, and somewhat disfigured and mutilated 
 by the action of the waves beating the body against the grav- 
 elly beach, and by being gna-ned by pike or other denizens of 
 
TIME MAKES ALL THINGS EVEN. 365 
 
 the lake. The features are utterly beyond identification. In 
 4he pants' picket was found a few keys, attached to a small 
 silver shield on which are engraved the words, "Richard 
 Arbyght, Chicago, 111." There was also found on the body 
 a hea%ry double-cased gold watch, and on the inside back 
 -case these words appear, also engraved, " Richard Arbyght, 
 U. S. Army." This seems to indicate very strongly that it is 
 "none other than the body of the murderer who escaped from 
 the Chicago jail a few days ago. But here comes the mys- 
 tery : In a diary found on the remains, there appears the 
 name of William Adair, in two three places ; a boat ticket 
 found between the leaves also bears the same name. The 
 •diary and ticket were, when found, almost a mass of pulp, 
 but after being carefully dried it was found that the writing 
 had not been wholly obliterated by the action of the water. 
 There seems to be no solution to this mystery, except that the 
 ■escaped prisoner was traveling under an assumed name. The 
 body was brought to the city last night by the tug " Old Jack," 
 .and is now at Rowland's, where it will remain for a day or 
 two. An inquest will be held to-morrow morning. 
 
 Later. — We have learned since writing the above that the 
 boat register has been packed up, and that the name William 
 Adair appears among the list of passengers. 
 
 The leading facts of this item vrere telegraphed 
 to the authorities at Chicago and in return a tele- 
 gram was received from the prosecuting attorney 
 asking tliatthe inquest be delayed until his arrival 
 in Cleveland, vfhich city he reached the next day 
 accompanied by Bertha Arbyght, who identified 
 the clothing as being worn by her brother when 
 she last saw him. This, in connection wit-h the 
 •evidences of the identity already mentioned, seemed 
 "to leave no doubt in the public mind, or in the 
 minds of the coroner's jury, that the body was that 
 of Eichard Arbyght. 
 
 Bertha had the remains properly interred, and 
 then returned to Chicago, immured herself within 
 Soolfire cottage, and was seen on the streets no 
 more. Her sorrow was her own and in silence and 
 obscurity she endured it. 
 
 Mr. Magaw, being deprived of employment by 
 this unlooked-for denouement, opened an office on 
 
366 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Milwaukee avenue, and having good references he 
 soon began to do a thriving business as special de- 
 tective. 
 
 For some time after the finding and burial of 
 Arbyght's body, the press of the city found ample- 
 food for striking editorials on the manifest dispen- 
 sation of an outraged Grod, as shown in the fearful 
 punishment visited upon the criminal who sought 
 by flight to escape the expiation of his crime. 
 But an unexpected event suddenly deprived the- 
 public of the benefit of these admonitory lay ser- 
 mons. 
 
 The Voice of the Press contained this start- 
 ling piece of iatelligeace about a week after Ber- 
 tha's return to the city : 
 
 "Was There Foul Play?" 
 
 It seems as if the Arbyght muddle will never be made 
 sufSciently clear to enable an unbiased miind to form a com- 
 prehensive estimate of the real merits of the case. We have 
 always been disposed to halt between two opinions when we 
 asked ourself to condemn this man on the force of circum- 
 stances, which we admit had a decidedly ugly bearing touch- 
 ing his innocence. We had half a mind to condemn and 
 half a mind to doubt heretofore; but hereafter it will be a 
 hard matter to convince us that he was not more sinned 
 against than otherwise. We \re forced to this conclusion by 
 an extraordinary event — a link in the mystery has been 
 found. One of the city dredges a few hours ago, while 
 dredging in the South Branch, brought up the end of a 
 medium-sized cable-chain. The men at the dredge boat 
 seeing the chain took hold of it and drew it into the boat. 
 It proved to be quite long and at one end an iron pillar was 
 found attached. This pillar has been identified as being the 
 one that supported the old building which, it was claimed, 
 fell accidentally last winter, and which proved so nearly fatal 
 to Arbyght at that time, and from the effects of which fall 
 poor Wood is now in the Jacksonville Asylum. At the other 
 end of the chain was attached a strong coil of rope, which 
 was evidently severed by a sharp instrument. All this points 
 to one fact — one end of that chain was fastened to a pile on 
 one side of the river, the other end being fastened to the pil- 
 lar, the building was torn down by some passing vessel, which 
 
TIME MAKES ALL THINGS EVEN. 367 
 
 caught the cable on its prow and wrenched the pillar from 
 its base. The rope which fastened the cable to the pile was 
 then cut, and the perpetrators of this fiendish crime supposed 
 all evidence of their guilt lay buried forever ; but 
 
 God moves in a mysterious way, 
 and all doers of evil may rest assured their evil deeds will 
 some day be unveiled to the world. Every circumstance 
 connected with this case points to the conclusion we have 
 drawn, and we only add, that the plot which failed to destroy 
 Arbyght last winter succeeded better last spring. 
 
 This article created profound sensation, which 
 was doubly intensified two days later by the ap- 
 pearance of the following from the same source : 
 
 "Another Link." 
 
 Two days ago we gave expression to what is now proven 
 to have been a well-founded belief, that Arbyght was inno- 
 cent of the crime imputed to him. That " truth is stranger 
 than fiction" there can be no longer any doubt. Mellen and 
 Miller have actually appeared in the city alive and well. 
 They claim or say some Eastern land company's agent offered 
 them free transportation to a distant point in Arizona, and 
 that they availed themselves of the offer immediately, as a 
 party of colonists were passing through the city that very 
 evening, and they had to go then or lose the opportunity. 
 Mellen claims to have written his wife and thinks the letter 
 must have been lost. This is the most unblushing piece of 
 impudence it has ever been our fortune to record. We be- 
 lieve these men have been in the city during all this time, 
 and we call upon the authorities to have them arrested for 
 conspiring against the life of a citizen. The man they sought 
 to hang has been drowned, and lo ! up turn the murdered 
 victims. Had Arbyght been hanged they would turn up just 
 the same. We further believe that other parties are im- 
 plicated in this affair, and that Mellen and Miller are the 
 tools of some deeper-dyed villains. Our opinion in this 
 direction is strengthened by the fact that Detective Magaw 
 has discovered a similar, an identical trade-mark on the cable 
 chain and on the pistol with which it was claimed the unfor- 
 tunate Arbyght committed the murder ; he has further dis- 
 covered that this trade-mark belongs to a prominent hardware 
 merchant of this city, who it seems entertained a deadly 
 enmity for the man who found a premature grave through 
 the machinations of these secret, midnight assassins. 
 
 The effect of this intelligence was fairly start- 
 
368 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ling ; everybody now believed Arbygbt to have 
 been wrongly accused, and to have been the vic- 
 tim of a malevolent conspiracy, and many of those 
 who were loudest in condemning were equally 
 anxious to do justice to his memory. 
 
 When dark, repellant suspicion casts her shadow 
 over one of Grod's images, an uncharitable worlds 
 instead of dispelling the shade by throwing upon 
 it the light of truth which is always emitted from 
 impartial, dispassionate investigation, is only too 
 willing to convert possible into positive guilt. The 
 tendency of man to suspect and condemn his fellow- 
 man upon the appearance of the faintest, token or 
 breath of suspicion, which may have been wafted 
 by malice, or have sprung from the smoke of ru- 
 mor, can only be accounted for by the proneness 
 to evil that must necessarily exist in the hearts of 
 men — born, as the theologians tell us, in sin. 
 But the fickle haste men display in changing their 
 opinions when it is discovered they were erroneous, 
 springs not so much from a desire to do justice as 
 from the vanity of riding on the return wave of 
 popular opinion ; and it is strangely queer, though 
 far from being lucid, how many persons there are 
 who, having given expression to an opinion which 
 proved to be fallacious, will tell you with refresh- 
 ing coolness and assurance they thought quite dif- 
 fei'ently at the time. 
 
 Mr. Magaw was an early riser ; a light could be 
 seen in his room, which was attached to his office, 
 nearly every morning before daybreak. He had 
 fallen into this habit by being almost invariably 
 awakened at that hour by the rattle of a wagon 
 passing out toward the suburbs. Some mornings 
 the monitive vehicle failed to arouse the detective, 
 but it was generally on time, and rarely missed pass- 
 ing at that early hour. One morning the thought 
 
TIME MAIiES ALL THINGS EVEN. 369 
 
 -occurred to the detective that there was something 
 strange in the regularity of his monitor. If the 
 wagon came in from the suburbs at that hour, 
 there would be no cause for thought over the mat- 
 ter, as it might be a market or milk-wagon ; but 
 he never heard it coming — it always went out 
 toward the Milwaukee plank road. 
 
 While he was yet thinking of the matter, 
 «,long came the cause of his thoughts, and he 
 could not resist the temptation of taking a look at 
 it. He went to the window and saw what looked 
 ■like a peddler's wagon ; it had three springs, and 
 a, dark-green, covered box, with doors behind. 
 The driver was a red-whiskered, sandy-complex- 
 ioned fellow, of medium height, and from the sol- 
 emn look of the man, and the general appearance 
 ■of the conveyance, he judged it to be a sort of pub- 
 lic or city hearse. Later in the day he made in- 
 ■quiries touching the affair, and ascertained that 
 the driver was the owner of a morgue and an 
 undertaking shop located on the avenue, and that 
 the conveyance he had seen was the hearse in 
 which all the unclaimed dead from the city hos- 
 pital, pest-house, and morgue were conveyed to 
 Jefferson, the Potter's field of Chicago, located 
 some ten miles out on the Milwaukee road. 
 
 That afternoon the detective called upon the 
 ■owner of the morgue and driver of the hearse, and 
 found him a jovial, good-natured fellow, notwith- 
 standing his sad occupatioQ — if any money-making 
 occup ition can be sad. 
 
 " I suppose you encounter a great deal of adven- 
 ture and see many sad scenes in your daily inter- 
 course with the dead and the living?" said the 
 detective, after they had been talking some time 
 on the increase of mortality despite the sanitary 
 precautions of the health board. 
 
 24 
 
STO THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "Well, yes," replied the man; "we see our 
 share of human nature in this business, especially 
 when there's a body in the morgue. It is really a. 
 study to watch the expression of those who come- 
 thinking vaguely the body is that of some friend, 
 and the pleased look and sigh of relief they give- 
 when they find the sorrow is for some one else. It 
 is a very selfish world, sir." 
 
 "Does the medical faculty ever obtain any of 
 the unclaimed?" 
 
 " The doctors, you mean ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I believe they manage that business at the 
 hospital and pest-house. I don't know much 
 about it, but I think it is not very easy to gefc 
 them, as some fellows tried to rob me of some bod- 
 ies a few months ago." 
 
 "Indeed; pray, how did it occur?" asked the 
 detective, with more eagerness than the circum- 
 stances seemed to call for. 
 
 "Simply enough. I was driving along one 
 morning — it was quite chilly — and as I was pass- 
 ing by a saloon some one called me by name ; and, 
 looking around, I saw a light in the saloon, in 
 the door of which stood the man who called. 
 'Wouldn't you like something warm this cold 
 morning?' he asked, when I turned round in the 
 seat. Well, it was cold, and I said I would. 
 ' Come in,' says the man in return. . Well, I knew 
 he did not keep a disreputable place, and, not sus- 
 pecting anything, I went in ; and, as the man was 
 very chatty, I stopped a little longer than I other- 
 wise would. When I came out I saw two or three 
 men near the hearse, beside which was another 
 wagon ; and the door of the hearse was open, and 
 one of the coffins was half-way out. I made an 
 alarm, of course, and the fellows shoved the coffitt. 
 
TIME MAKES ALL THINGS EVEN, 371 
 
 in mighty quickly ; and, jumping into their wagon, 
 they spanked away down the avenue toward the 
 city. I thought I saw two coffins in the wagon as 
 it shot past me, but when I opened the door the 
 three coffins I started out with were there." 
 
 " Did you recognize any of the men ?" said the 
 detective. 
 
 He was evidently much interested. It was also 
 apparent from his mauner that an affirmative an- 
 swer would be more pleasing than a negative one. 
 
 " The truth of the matter is, I did think I knew 
 one of the men," said the undertaker ; " but I am 
 not certain ; but as they failed I thought it best to 
 drop the matter aad say nothing about it." 
 
 The detective pressed the matter further, and ascer- 
 tained that the man suspected was a habitue of Abad- 
 don Hall. His name and description were also given. 
 
 That same evening Magaw, disguised in loud, 
 flashy apparel, sauntered into Abaddon Hall, and 
 as he seemed half inebriated and displayed a large 
 amount of loose cash, he soon had around him 
 quite a crowd of admiring friends, who drank fre- 
 quently at his expense, and joined in his boisterous 
 hilarity with great assumed heartiness. Among 
 those who drank deepest and laughed loudest was 
 the man described by the undertaker. 
 
 " Well, boys, what will it be, a story or a song?" 
 hiccoughed Magaw, after the last " round." 
 
 Song ! song ! song I shouted a dozen voices. 
 
 The detective began a medley, which was vocifer- 
 ously cheered ; but, after singing a verse or two, 
 he sang the following words, in the same air : 
 
 " In the gray morn's misty dawn, 
 Along Milwaukee avenue, 
 We did a lonely hearse pursue. 
 That to the grave was being drawn ; 
 
 While the driver stopped a drink to take, 
 We stole the stiffs and off did make." 
 
372 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 As soon as he began the second line he noticed 
 a change in the suspected man's countenance, and 
 ■when he had finished the feHow's face was as 
 Avhite as chalk and the muscles around his mouth 
 twitched nervously. Magaw thought this suffi- 
 cient for his purpose, so he called for another 
 "round," and, while the men were drinking, he 
 slipped out of the hall. He managed the same 
 night to send the fellow a note, in which he gave 
 him to understand that the whole affair was thor- 
 oughly understood, and that already he and his 
 companions in crime were under surveillance, lia- 
 ble to be arrested at any moment, but he [Magaw] 
 thought the matter might be adjusted without any 
 trouble if they would call at his office. This note 
 had the desired effect, as three very hard and 
 desperate-looking roughs called upon the detective 
 the following day, acknowledged the theft of the 
 bodies, and wished to know upon what terms the 
 matter could be settled. 
 
 Magaw said he felt almost certain the State 
 would not move in the case, as the State did not 
 pursue with much avidity far greater criminals 
 than they were, unless spurred on by public opin- 
 ion, political necessity, or pressure of private per- 
 sonal interests ; and he would guarantee that Ar- 
 byght's friends would not take any action against 
 them, provided they subscribed to an affidavit set- 
 ting forth the facts in the case. 
 
 An arrangement on this basis was agreed upon, 
 and the next day The Voice of the Press published 
 the following : 
 
 State of Illinois, Cook county, ss : 
 
 Before me, , one of the justices of the peace in 
 
 and for said county, personally came , who, being 
 
 duly sworn according to law, deposeth and saith that on the 
 seventeenth day of last April they, at the instigation of one 
 
A sister's love. 373 
 
 Charles Spindle, and for a consideration of three hundred 
 dollars by him paid, did steal and take from the city hearse, 
 while on its way to Jefferson, two coffins containing two 
 Toodies, placing in lieu thereof two coffins containing clay 
 and sawdust, and that they delivered the said bodies to the 
 aforesaid Spindle, at the shop of Alvan Eelvason. 
 
 Sworn to and subscribed before me, at the city of Chicago, 
 county aforesaid, this nineteenth day of August, in the year 
 
 of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and seventy . 
 
 ,/.P. 
 
 This startling, unlocked for affidavit swept away 
 the last lingering doubt that remained in the pub- 
 lic mind touching the innocence of Richard Ar- 
 byght. Spindle was arrested, but was bailed out 
 by Relvason, and that act but served to convince all 
 who viewed the affair unbiasedly of the existence 
 of a plot to ruin and hang the man, whose only crime 
 was his refusal to be despoiled of the result of that 
 natural force, denominated labor, which God had 
 given him that he might not only perpetuate his 
 existence, but live like a rational being. Justice had 
 come at last, but was she not too late in coming? 
 The men had not been beaten in the struggle, but 
 where was he who had borne the brunt and suffered 
 the most ? 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 A sister's lovb. 
 
 " Does Richard Arbyght work here?" 
 
 Felix Rulless looked up and saw a sylph-like 
 
 figure before him . She was not more than fifteen 
 
 years of age, although she had a much older look. 
 
 Pale and fragile, with flushed cheeks, a brilliant 
 
374 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 blue eye, her golden hair struggling against re- 
 straint as it clustered 'round her forehead, she 
 seemed to the foreman a vision from fairy land or 
 an angel from heaven. 
 
 "No, my child, he does not work here," an- 
 swered the foreman very sadly, his eyes sweeping 
 the ceiling of the shop quite slowly as if he was 
 mentally counting the joists. 
 
 " Will you please tell me where he does work?" 
 she asked in a soft, pleading way. 
 
 "He has need of work no more," said the old 
 foreman, speaking to the ceiling. 
 
 The child looked at him a moment or two, and 
 seemed to comprehend his meaning ; the little 
 woman was wise beyond her years. " I am very, 
 very sorry," and the tears came to her eyes ; "he 
 was very kind and good, and I know he would 
 help me to see Oscar. Oh, sir, I don't know what 
 I shall do." 
 
 "Are you Oscar Wood's sister?" asked Rulless, 
 advancing toward her and speaking in a soothing 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and " 
 
 " Then, my child, I will assist you," exclaimed 
 the old man in a voice husky with emotion. 
 
 "Who is she, Felix?" said Relvason, coming 
 up at this moment and looking sharply at the 
 child. 
 
 " She is Oscar Wood's sister, sir," said the fore- 
 man a little bluntly. He had no intention of 
 being discourteous to his employer, but his heart 
 had been touched by the child's words and appear- 
 ance and the sad story her presence brought so 
 vividly before him. 
 
 Eelvason stopped short, stared, turned red, and 
 then pale, and stammered out : 
 
 "What does she want?" 
 
A sister's love. 375 
 
 She wants to find her hrother, I- 
 
 " What is that to us? What have we to do 
 ^with it? Why should she come here?" he sav- 
 agely asked in a loud, harsh voice. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I shall go away at once ; I did not 
 mean to do any harm," said the child in a scared 
 tone, evidently terrified by Relvason's manner. 
 
 RuUess looked at Relvason in a dazed, wonder- 
 ing way. Relvason noticed the look of his fore- 
 man, and, as if ashamed of his conduct, he turned 
 and walked hriskly away. 
 
 Rulless took Amy Wood to the mayor's office, 
 where she told her story, and a very sad one it 
 was. She had always been an invalid, was small, 
 weak, and sickly ever since she came into this 
 "troublous world. Her father had died before she 
 was able to lisp or prattle the name of papa ; her 
 mother had to work hard to raise Oscar and her- 
 ;self, but God spared her strength until Oscar was 
 able to take her place. Their life had been hard 
 and sorrowful from the beginning, but as Oscar 
 grew older, more home comforts, sunshine, and 
 happiness began to surround them. But all this 
 was ephemeral — vanished in a moment — the mo- 
 ment the full truth burst upon them. The mother 
 never recovered from the shock, could never shut 
 out from her mind the horrible reality until the 
 •death angel's wing veiled her eyes forever. Little 
 Amy was then alone in the world, and her heart 
 yearned for the brother who carried her, played 
 with her, and loved her when she was yet a babe ; 
 .and she resolved to go to him, be near him, wait 
 upon him, and soothe him in his darkness. It was 
 s, noble resolve, none but a mother or sister would 
 think of it, and none but a mother or sister would 
 ■scarry it into execution. 
 
 The mayor, and many others, took a deep in- 
 
376 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 terest in the fair, beautiful, wee woman, for she 
 was a woman in loftiness of soul and mind. She 
 was frank and innocent, but very wise, and bore- 
 her sorrows with a silent but touching patience. 
 
 Every thing she needed was procured for her,, 
 and an escort was sent with her to Jacksonville. 
 Through the influence of several prominent and 
 influential citizens she was given a room at the- 
 asylum and permitted to be the constant compan- 
 ion of her brother. 
 
 When she first saw Oscar, she rushed up to him^. 
 threw her arms 'round his neck, kissed him, and 
 asken him, with a pleading voice, if he did not 
 know her. He seemed scared and surprised at 
 first, and tried to run away, but she held him fast, 
 and begged him to speak to her. He looked at her- 
 blankly, and smiled ; but it was a meaningless, ex- 
 pressionless smile, and conveyed such an idea oF 
 melancholy sadness that Amy burst into tears and 
 cried long and bitterly. The maniac came up to- 
 her and stroked her hair, and astonished her by 
 asking if angels cried. Seeing she did not answer,, 
 he said : 
 
 "Little angel, this is a prison. If you can't 
 fly you will have to remain here. The gates are 
 guarded by huge sharks that swallow all who at- 
 tempt to escape. So fly, little angel, fly I" 
 
 " Dear Oscar, I am going to stay here and take 
 care of you," she answered, softly. 
 
 " I am not Oscar, I am Atlas ; Oscar is in a 
 lower ward," he replied. 
 
 _ A singular phase of his madness was the per- 
 sistency with which he disclaimed the name of" 
 Oscar, and insisted on designating another maniae 
 by that appellation. This vagary, no doubt, arose 
 from the fact that an inkling of the name still 
 lurked in his mind, but the idea was so indistinct. 
 
A sister's love. 377 
 
 and faint that he was unable to locate the name 
 "where it belonged. 
 
 Amy found him much larger and stronger, but 
 as fair and gentle as ever. He was the most 
 harmless maniac in the asylum, and was evi- 
 dently showing signs of « improvement, so much 
 so that the doctors did not deem him hopelessly 
 incurable. 
 
 After Amy had been a few days at the asylum, 
 Oscar became warmly attached to her, and, during 
 the day, could not bear to have her out of his 
 sight. He always called her " little angel," and 
 v^as angry when she called him anything but 
 Atlas. One day he told her in a secret, cautious 
 tone that he was going to escape. The confinement 
 evidently fretted him. To Amy he always talked 
 of the fields and forests with rapturous delight ; 
 but, with a cunning peculiar to maniacs, he never 
 mentioned these things to the keepers or other in- 
 mates of the place. 
 
 There was a grove near the asylum, and it was 
 the practice of the management to hold pic-nics 
 there occasionally during the summer, in which 
 the more rational and tractable of the patients 
 took part. The superintendent was very careful, 
 however, not to allow too many out at one time. 
 He also took the precaution to send a plentiful 
 supply of keepers along. As Wood never attempted 
 to escape, and was obedient and docile, he was 
 usually permitted to attend. Amy, as a matter of 
 course, always accompanied him, and for that rea- 
 son the keepers were less vigilant in his case than 
 in any others. 
 
 Along toward the last of August one of these 
 open-air festivals was given in honor of a visit by 
 the Commissioners. Oscar and Amy were pres>- 
 ent, although the inmates were not taken specially 
 
378 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 from his ward, but, as already intimated, he was 
 allowed to attend nearly all of these pic-nics. 
 
 On this day, he strolled away toward the out- 
 skirts of the grove, hut, on account of his previous 
 good behavior, his absence excited no alarm. 
 When out of sight of the rest his manner suddenly 
 changed, his eyes shone with strange brilliancy, 
 his nostrils dilated, -and his breath came thick and 
 fast. 
 
 " Now, little angel, we are clear of the sharks — 
 run, little angel, run!" he said excitedly, wildly. 
 
 "Oh, no, dear Oscar, don't go," she exclaimed, 
 taking his hand, as if to detain him : but she trem- 
 bled visibly as she saw how unnaturally wild he 
 looked. 
 
 " Good-by, little angel, I must go 1 " he said, 
 as he bounded away with the swiftness of a deer. 
 
 "Oscar! Oscar ! " she cried, running after him 
 as fast as she could. Happening to look around, 
 he saw her following him, and, stopping suddenly, 
 he turned back, took her by the hand and ran on, 
 on across a broad field toward a road leading into 
 the country. But little Amy could not run far, 
 she soon grew tired, and fell down from sheer ex- 
 haustion. The maniac stooped quickly, gathered 
 her up in his arms, and ran on as before. When 
 he reached the road he ran toward the open coun- 
 try for about a half a mile, where he found the 
 road intersected by a cross-road. He now stopped, 
 put Amy down, and seemed to ponder, as he hur- 
 riedly scanned the horizon. 
 
 " The north, little angel, the north ! " he ex- 
 claimed, with sudden vehemence. 
 
 Amy took his hand and faced northward. They 
 ran on for a quarter of a mile, when the maniac, 
 looking back, saw some persons on the road lead- 
 ing to the town, and, evidently thinking them pur- 
 
A sister's love. 379 
 
 suers, he snatched Amy up again and darted 
 across a wide, new-mown meadow, skirted by a 
 few straggling trees, beyond which another road 
 was encountered. They followed this highway for 
 some distance, followed it until it became untrace- 
 •able — lost in a great stretch of prairie. It was 
 now nearly sundown, and Amy was very tired — 
 for the last mile or two she was barely able to 
 •drag herself along. Finallyshe sat down and began 
 to weep, and the big tears ploughed farrows through 
 her dust-covered cheeks. The maniac looked at 
 her with something like pity in his face, again 
 picked her up, and carried her for about a mile. 
 It was now dark, and they were lost upon the 
 prairie. They wandered on for some distance far- 
 ther, little Amy praying very hard all the time. 
 Suddenly something dark and awful loomed up 
 between them and the horizon. The child was 
 scared and irresolute, but the maniac went boldly 
 up to the object. He soon came back and led Amy 
 up to what proved to be a hay-stack. He soon 
 scooped quite an opening in the huge, grassy 
 mound, in which he laid Amy and told her to go 
 to sleep. He then threw himself on the hay he 
 had drawn from the stack and was soon sleeping 
 soundly. Amy arose and covered him gently and 
 carefully with a blanket of fresh, dried grass, and 
 then l.iid down again in the opening ; but she 
 could not sleep for a long time — she lay awake 
 and watched the stars, and thought of Heaven and 
 her crazed brother, and wondered if her mother's 
 spirit was not near. She awoke in the morning 
 shivering with cold. Oscar had already arisen 
 and was watching the maneuvers of some cattle 
 that were evidently astonished and mystified by 
 the sight of a human being in that strange place. 
 They would advance almost up to him, with erect 
 
380 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 head and ears, then snort and scamper away in a 
 stampede ; but presently they would return and 
 repeat the maneuver. 
 
 Amy was quite lame, but she limped around and 
 made a sort of reconnaissance which resulted in the- 
 discovery of a farm-house. Toward this house 
 she led her brother. At the gate they met the 
 farmer's wife, a kind-hearted woman, who gave- 
 them some breakfast and asked but few questions. 
 Amy was very reserved and cautious in answering 
 inquiries. She had noticed that the change of air 
 had already produced in her brother a remarkable 
 change for the better, and she half thought free- 
 dom would effect a complete cure, and for this rea- 
 son she was now as eager to escape as the maniac. 
 The woman asked if they were traveling to the 
 next village, and Amy answered yes, but they had 
 got lost on the paririe. 
 
 They traveled all that day, their only dinner 
 being some cheese and a few crackers Amy bought 
 at a country store. As it grew dark she thought 
 of stopping at some house and asking for shelter^ 
 but no house could be seen, not even a barn or 
 shed was visible in all tbe expanse of prairie. 
 Despair seized the little waif, and she knelt down 
 by the roadside and prayed. Presently a rum- 
 bling, deadened sound was heard, and a few min- 
 utes later a large wagon drove up. The driver, 
 observing them, asked if they were going to town, 
 and, when Amy replied in the affirmative,, he made 
 them get in. 
 
 " You are welcome to a ride," he said, " as I am 
 going directly there." 
 
 There are no stones on these roads and they are 
 quite smooth, so the wagon jolted but little, and 
 Amy was soon asleep, warmly wrapped in a heavy 
 robe the man kindly spread on the bottom of the 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHTNINa. 381 
 
 ^ox. The_v reached the town a little before daylight ; 
 "but as it proved to be quite a large place, the ma- 
 niac grew restless and uneasy, and was not satisfied 
 iintil they were full a mile beyond the suburbs. 
 
 This morning they did not get any breakfast, as 
 Amy was afraid to stop at any of the first houses 
 they passed — she did not like their appearance — 
 ■and now they had entered upon a road which was 
 ■evidently seldom traveled, and on which no house 
 <30uld be seen or met for miles. About ten o'clock 
 the sun became intensely hot, and as they trudged 
 along through the choking dust little Amy 
 swooned away — fell at the maniac's feet — the 
 broiling sun overhead and Grod alone at hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 A FLASH OF LIGHTNING. 
 
 Although Amy had been exposed to the in- 
 tensely hot rays of the burning sun, which seemed 
 to pierce the air with countless spear-like threads 
 of flame, she had fortunately escaped sunstroke. 
 Such an event might have happened had nature 
 not succumbed to the severe strains resulting from 
 the excitement and exhaustive toil of the last two 
 ■days, which, together with the lack of food, so 
 acted upon the brain and nervous system as to 
 ■cause a temporary cessation of the movements of 
 the heart. 
 
 The maniac stopped and looked down at the in- 
 animate form at his feet and, as he gazed, a puz- 
 
382 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 zled expression stole over his face, followed by a 
 look of confusion and uncertainty. It was a sad, 
 gloomy picture — the sister, in a death-like stupor,, 
 stretched in the dust ; the brother, a poor, helpless 
 maniac, gazing so queerly upon her. Ah ! Alvan 
 Kelvason, had you been present you might well re- 
 joice at the completeness of the consummation of 
 your designs. And thus it is : in the struggle for 
 towering fortunes, gigantic incomes, what burdens 
 of despair, misery, and destitution are not borne 
 by those who are taxed to produce them ? We see- 
 here a single example, but multiply it a thousand 
 fold and some idea may be obtained of the wretch- 
 edness and misery produced by the accumulation, 
 of a single colossal fortune. 
 
 Many^ many men reach the land of magnificent- 
 ease, the enchanted realm of splendor, luxury, and 
 sumptuous idleness, but the highway over which 
 they traveled to reach it is strewn with the blasted 
 hopes of hundreds of God's children ; paved with 
 poverty, watered with the tears of the widow and 
 orphan, and made hideous by the doleful, wailing- 
 sound of misery's shrieking voice, which is heard, 
 ever and anon, above the melodious cadences of 
 mirth and gaiety arising from that little heaven 
 created at the expense of an infinitely larger hell. 
 
 The maniac continued to gaze on the helpless 
 form at his feet with that curious but painful look 
 for some time. Presently she gave a slight groan 
 and her body began to quiver violently. This had 
 the effect of recalling him, for he quickly picked 
 her up and ran across the field to a large, spread- 
 ing tree, in the shade of which he placed her, and 
 then sat down at some little distance and relapsed 
 into the same puzzled, queer mood, his face wearing 
 the same confused expression. Amy slowly recov- 
 ered consciousness and animation, but was verjr 
 
A PLASH OF LIGHTNING. 383 
 
 ■weak and almost powerless. She lay on her side 
 and looked steadily at her brother. 
 
 It was now nearly eleven o'clock, and, owing to 
 a rapid meteorologic change in the atmosphere, 
 Amy experienced a sensation of closeness, oppres- 
 sion, and uneasiness, and this added a feeling of 
 despondency to the other sufferings of the Irail 
 child. Light clouds, with deep, indented, rough, 
 jagged edges, moving in opposite and variable 
 directions, began to rise slowly from the northern 
 horizon and canopy that part of the heavens ; but 
 anon they moved faster, grew denser and blacker, 
 and cast a scowling shadow over the face of nature. 
 Low, rumbling murmurs of dist^int thunder were 
 heard, and the sensation of uneasiness, faintness, 
 increased. Light, cool breezes, coming from un- 
 certain quarters of the heavens, now fanned and 
 refreshed the lower regions of the air ; but they 
 did not relieve the atmosphere of that awe-inspir- 
 ing dread that could be felt as it pervaded and en- 
 wrapped the system like an intangible, weird, 
 awful presence. At intervals of quite short dura- 
 tion flashes of lightning were observed. Amy 
 grew frightened as the flashes grew more frequent, 
 lighting up the dark clouds with their vivid glare 
 as they darted out like ribbons of fire in their zig- 
 zag course ; and, crawling some distance from the 
 tree, begged her crazed brother to join her ; but 
 the thunder and lightning appeared to have had a 
 strange effect upon him. He leaped, danced, 
 shouted, and grew more vehemently wild as the 
 sunlight was smothered in huge, dark masses of 
 vapor and the quivering air was being almost con- 
 tinually pierced by the prolonged, rolling, leaping 
 reverberations of violent thunder, while the very 
 earth trembled and seemed to quake and shrink at 
 the horrible, shrieking sounds that reverberated 
 
384 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 and resounded far and near upon the pulsating 
 air. Suddenly he uttered a terrible, appalling 
 shout, and, with the agility of a squirrel, climbed 
 up the tree and out upon a large, overhanging 
 limb. Here he seemed to stand without any sup- 
 port, while his body swayed and swung in the ris- 
 ing breeze. 
 
 " Little angel!" he cried, in wild ecstasy, "hear 
 His voice; see the flash of His eye; the sharks 
 will be destroyed. This is their day of judgment. 
 The sound of His voice will strike them dead, and 
 the fire of His eye will consume them one and all !" 
 
 Poor Amy was now in a hopeless state of alarm. 
 She feared that every next minute would witness 
 her brother's death. She could not bear to look 
 at him, and, turning her head away, sought solace 
 in prayer. 
 
 The blackness had now become universal, and 
 each brilliant flash of lightning was almost in- 
 stantly followed by a loud, crashing burst of thun- 
 der. The lightning was evidently coming nearer 
 with each successive discharge. Every flash was 
 now followed almost instantly by a shrieking, 
 hurtling, hissing sound as the terrible fluid 
 leaped from each salient angle of its zigzag course 
 and tore through the heat-burdened air. A fear- 
 ful stillness of a few seconds, during which Amy 
 could count the pulsations of her heart — a still- 
 ness as if the warring elements paused for a final 
 and greater burst of fury — was succeeded by au 
 unearthly sound that "shore the stillness like a 
 knife." The sound was dry and of short dura- 
 tion, but it was the report of an electric discharge 
 which struck the tree and tore it into a thousand 
 pieces. The limb on which Oscar was standing 
 was torn from the trunk and hurled some distance 
 into the field. 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHTNING. 385 
 
 Amy struggled to her feet and ran toward the 
 -debris of the old tree ; she found Oscar lying on 
 his back, his arms extended, his eyes closed, his 
 face blanched with a deathlike pallor and no sign 
 •of life in his body, although there was no mark 
 of violence, no bruise or contusion. Large drops 
 -of rain now began falling rapidly, falling upon 
 the upturned face of the poor maniac, falling upon 
 the thinly-clad person of the delicate child, whose 
 tears mingled with the rain that fell upon the face 
 which looked so pale and ghastly at the black 
 frowning heavens that scowled illimitably, the 
 «cowl of the tempest -throned Storm King. 
 
 After about three minutes a sigh issued from Os- 
 car's lips, but very faint ; at the same time a slight 
 ^ush began to warm his face. The effect of the 
 lightning shock and fall from the limb had pro- 
 duced a temporary but sudden suspension of voli- 
 tion and all action of the senses, and something 
 like catalepsy ensued, but the falling rain acted 
 upon the system like a douche and restored respi- 
 ration and consciousness. The rain continued to 
 fall. In about ten minutes his natural color had 
 returned, his eyes partly opened, and he uttered 
 iihese words : 
 
 " Who is there?" 
 
 After a short time he again spoke and aston- 
 ished little Amy by saying : 
 
 "Hallo! what do you want? What is it?" 
 — a pause, during which time hig eyes began to 
 wink and blink. ' ' That boat was prowling around 
 here again." 
 
 His eyes now opened wide and Amy saw with 
 Joy that the pupil was of natural size ; she had 
 also already noticed that his words were spoken 
 distinctly, clearly, coherently. She bent over him 
 and whispered : 
 25 
 
386 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Dear Oscar, do you know me?" 
 
 He looked at her steadily and earnestly for a 
 moment, and then said : 
 
 " Why, to be sure I know my sweet little sister ;. 
 was it you that called me? — but, good Lord, 
 Amy, what brought you here? Where is mother? 
 — what does this mean — where am I ?" he asked 
 in a hurried, scared voice, as he looked around, 
 saw the open fields, the shattered tree, and felt the- 
 pattering rain. 
 
 Oscar Wood was sane — restored to reason. A. 
 violent shock or concussion had restored the rea- 
 son which a violent concussion had seemingly de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 " Dear Oscar, you have been ill for a long time, 
 and something dreadful happened," said Amy as 
 soothingly as she could. She then, in a few, brief 
 words, told him of the fall of the old building, his- 
 subsequent insanity and confinement at Jackson- 
 ville ; her arrival there, her object ; his escape, and 
 the flash of lightning that shattered the tree and 
 brought back his lost reason. 
 
 He pressed his head with his hands, and seemed 
 to ponder for some time. 
 
 " It is very strange," he said, " very much like 
 a dream ; but you must be right ; my presence 
 here, the shattered tree, and you, dear sister — all 
 appear to confirm your words ; but really I know 
 no more about it than an unborn babe." 
 
 He was right ; he knew nothing about it. His 
 reason came back like a shot, the scope or bound- 
 ary walls of his memory suddenly expanded, flew 
 out to their original extent, but his fully-restored 
 niemory brought him no further than that terrible- 
 night ; there it ceased abruptly ; stopped short. 
 He remembered seeing the same boat containing 
 three men comin g to war d the old buildin g , but when 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHTNINS. 38T. 
 
 he showed himself the boat put back across the- 
 river ; he then went to bed, aad remembered some 
 one calling him ; further; he knew nothing ; there 
 was a dead stop, a complete shut-off, and all the 
 time that intervened from the falling of the oldl 
 building and his reawakening to reason was at 
 complete blank. 
 
 The rain had ceased ; the storm had passed 
 southward ; a brisk wind tore, scattered and 
 drove the thin clouds that still obscured the sun 
 in the wake of the receding storm, which they fol- 
 lowed like stragglers in the rear of an army. The 
 sun came out clear and bright, and reflected floods 
 of prismatic light and myriads of tiny rainbows in 
 the countless drops of glistening, sparkling water 
 that clung to every leaf and shrub and blade of 
 grass in the field. 
 
 Oscar had arisen, and though his step was weak 
 and tottering, he proposed to explore the country 
 in seach of a farm-house or some habitation where 
 food and shelter might be procured for little Amy, 
 who was now too feeble to even stand ; but just as 
 he was about to start he saw a sight that glad- 
 dened his eyes and aching heart — a high box,, 
 double-seated, spring wagon, drawn by a team of 
 horses, was coming up the road. When the 
 horses and wagon drew nearer, Oscar went toward 
 the road and signaled the driver to stop, which 
 act, however, was unnecessary, as the man had 
 already reined up^ and was looking steadily, but 
 wonderingly, at Oscar and the shattered tree. 
 
 "Heavens and earth, man 1 but you look as if 
 you had caught the whole of it," said the farmer — 
 for such he proved to be — in a sympathetic, good- 
 humored voice, as he gazed at the bedraggled gar- 
 ments which adhered to Oscar's flesh like folds of 
 the dress of a bather just from the surf. 
 
388 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Well, I believe I did," Oscar replied, feebly 
 and ruefully, knowing tbat his appearance was not 
 only ludicrous but sadly fbrlorn. 
 
 " Were you near that tree? " asked the farmer, 
 pointing with his whip toward the debris. 
 
 " I was up among its branches." 
 
 "The deuce you were!" quickly retorted the 
 farmer with an incredulous look. 
 
 "I know what I say seems extraordinary and 
 improbable, so much so as to warrant a doubt ; 
 but, sir, I will not stop now to convince you, as 
 3 wish more particularly to crave your indulgence 
 ;iu doing me a favor. My little sister is beyond 
 ithat debris unable to rise, exhausted by hunger 
 and travel, and now completely drenched by the 
 shower that has just passed over us. I am in a 
 fearful plight myself, as you can see. I can ex- 
 plain " 
 
 "Bother the explanation," said the farmer 
 abruptly, as he quickly jumped from his seat. 
 " Where is the girl? Why didn't you say so at 
 first? Come along — but stay, I will go rriyself," 
 and away across the field he sped, returning di- 
 rectly with the dripping little waif in his arms. 
 He mounted the seat very hurriedly, told Oscar 
 to do the same, then took the reins with one hand, 
 holding Amy to his breast with the other, and 
 ■urged the horses into a frightful pace. Amy clung 
 to him tenderly, and smiled as she gazed at the 
 fatherly, sun-browned face. The old farmer was 
 rough in appearance, but in bearing he was all 
 gentleness and dignity, and his heart was as ten- 
 der and true as that of a guileless maiden. 
 
 Before they had proceeded any considerable dis- 
 tance. Amy felt relieved of all embarrassment, 
 his kind look and kinder words had won her child- 
 ish heart, and she felt an instinctive affection for 
 
A FLASH OP LIGHTNING. 389 
 
 the weatherworn old farmer. Unasked and unso- 
 licited, she related her sad history. As she pro- 
 gressed, he would look at her strangely and earn- 
 estly, as if he half douhted all she said, but there 
 was no dissimulation in her tone or look ; she was 
 frank, open, and convincing, and the farmer would 
 turn his head away and draw his sleeve roughly 
 across his eyes in a suspicious manner. 
 
 " Let me see," he said, when she had finished ; 
 hut breaking off suddenly, he began to ruminate 
 and ponder in deep and thoughtful silence. 
 
 "Ah, yes," he broke out as suddenly and as 
 abruptly as he had broken off, "you said, I be- 
 lieve, that — that your name was Wood ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Amy. 
 
 " Why, then, it is true beyond a doubt ; wonder 
 I didn't recollect it at first." 
 
 " Then you have heard of us ? " said Amy, look- 
 ing up inquiringly. 
 
 "Oh, yes; that is, I — yes; we read it in the 
 papers — yes ; of course we did," he answered 
 rather perplexedly ; then, turning, he looked at 
 Oscar and said : 
 
 " I am not a stranger to your wrongs ; you are 
 a martyr, my boy ; yes, sir, you are ; but don't you 
 know that a movement is not worth mentioning 
 unless it meets with opposition ? The more evi- 
 dence of radical reformation in a movement of any 
 kind the more opposition it will encounter. The 
 idolator is very loth to cast away his images and 
 worship the true God ; and in Christian lands 
 there are lots of worshipers of the god Dollar, who 
 are very tenacious of their faith and disposed to 
 dispute the doctrines of those who advocate a more 
 just and a purer religion. Buthere we areat last," 
 he concluded, as they approached a cosy farm-house, 
 deeply embowered among wide-spreading maples. 
 
390 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 stately elms, and many varieties of foreign and 
 domestic fruit trees. 
 
 A small stream, spanned by a rustic bridge, ran 
 quite close to the cottage. On this bridge, gazing 
 dreamily into the water, stood a beautiful young 
 woman. With her delicately flushed cheeks, 
 cherry lips, large, dreamy eyes, bonnie brown hair, 
 plainly but tastefully attired, a cluster of wild 
 prairie flowers fastened negligently, but coquet- 
 tishly in her bosom, she looked ravishingly lovable. 
 As the wagon came near she looked up, and an ex- 
 pression of intense inquiry centered in her face. 
 
 " Come here, Mollie," said the farmer, as he 
 stopped just beyond the bridge. " Take this child 
 and put her to bed quickly, and give her some- 
 thing warm to drink. She is nearly dead, I really 
 believe, and no wonder, poor thing." 
 
 "Yes, father," she replied, advancing toward 
 them, her eyes riveted fixedly upon Oscar. Her 
 father, seeing her earnest gaze, said : 
 
 " Strange things happen in this world, Mollie, 
 you've seen him before?" 
 
 " Yes, father," she replied, in a soft, sad voice, 
 and her eyes began to fill as she took little Amy 
 in her arms. 
 
 "This is my daughter, Mr. Wood," said the 
 farmer, turning to Oscar. Mollie faced around 
 like a flash and gave her father an inquiring, be- 
 seeching look. Oscar lifted his hat respectfully. 
 
 " He is as sane as you are," said the father, in 
 answer to the daughter's mute but pointed query. 
 
 Mollie flushed violently, but looked divinely 
 glad ; then turned and ran toward the house with 
 Amy, her heart beating a vigorous tatoo the 
 while, her blood rushing through her veins like 
 liquid fire, her whole being in a burning glow of 
 gladness. What did it mean ? 
 
THE BARRIERS BURNED. 391 
 
 It meant that the love, which had, like a fatalism, 
 sprung up with electric spontaniety — but which 
 became imperishably, ineffaceably^ immovably 
 rooted — in the soulof'MaryMarmane,wasnot, after 
 -all, immutably hopeless. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE BARRIERS BURNED. 
 
 The steamer on which Mr. Geldamo and Vida 
 took passage for Europe, reached the city of Havre 
 -about three weeks after their departure from New 
 Orleans. From Havre they went to Rouen, where 
 they spent a few days visiting points of interest ; 
 "but, notwithstanding its celebrated cathedral, and 
 that it is the place in which the memory of Joan 
 •of Arc is commemorated, Vida did not fancy Rouen. 
 The narrow, dirty streets, the air of quietude, 
 compared to the energy and push of her American 
 home, formed too striking a contrast, and she was 
 glad to depart — and gladder still when she found 
 herself in gay, luxurious Paris, the world's center 
 of pleasure, and, to a true Frenchman, the center 
 ■of the world. Here they whiled away nearly a 
 month ; every day furnishing kaleidoscopic tran- 
 sitions in the many-sided life of this metropolis of 
 •art, fashion, and pleasure. Vida was, at first, 
 «orry when the time for her departure drew near, 
 •as, since her arrival there, she felt less weariness, 
 less of that aching longing than she herself believed 
 possible. Whether this was caused by the soothing 
 «ffect which lapsing time generally brings, or by 
 
392 THE OTHEE SIDE. 
 
 the constantly-revolving panorama of changing- 
 views and scenes^ she was unable to say, but she- 
 was not long in doubt. 
 
 The man who rushes into inebriation to drown? 
 his woes will succeed for a brief period, then comes 
 an awakening more poignant and bitter, harder to- 
 endure than the trouble he sought to escape. 
 
 Three days before Vida left the gay city it had 
 lost all its charms. The boulevards no longer pre- 
 sented to her eye the strikingly animated scenes- 
 she had admired so much at first, and that most 
 charming of all promenades in the world, the en- 
 chantingly beautiful Bois de Boulonge, leading to- 
 the palace of St. Cloud, had lost all its attractions. 
 The Champs Elysees no longer afforded a pleasant . 
 walk, it was a horrid, dull place ; and the gardens- 
 of the Tuileries and the Luxembourg were simply 
 abominable. Paris was a lonesome place to Vida. 
 Why this change ? These things had grown famil- 
 iar. Her a3sthetical taste had become satiated with 
 architectural, horticultural and artistical beauties ;. 
 they began to fade in her eye and pall upon her 
 sense, leaving an acutely painful "void, an irresisti- 
 ble longing for home. Why home? Certainly 
 not home per se — rather home because it was the 
 abode of another, whowas home — every thing — to 
 her. 
 
 Mr. Geldamo, acting upon the theories of the 
 soundest psychologists, that the ultimate aim oF 
 sensibility is beauty, sought to wean his daughter 
 from her love by feasting her sensibility with alt 
 the beauties in nature and art that the Old World 
 afforded, thinking that, as beauty is the aim of sen- 
 sibility, she should see so much of it as to leave no- 
 room' or desire for the gratification of a beauty 
 which existed but abstractly in the mind. But he- 
 was sadly mistaken ; his philosophy was at faulty 
 
THE BARRIERS BURNED. 393 
 
 as are all shades of philosophy that seek to make 
 rules for the government of that grandest and most 
 heautiful of all human passions — love. 
 
 When persons love really and genuinely, there 
 is to them no heauty so incomparahle as that beau- 
 tiful picttire which the mind alone sees. Beauty is 
 no doubt the ultimate aim of sensibility ; but in 
 Vida's case that beauty, in all its transcendent 
 loveliness, radiated like a heavenly aureola from 
 the imperishable love she cherished for Richard 
 Arbyght. 
 
 From Paris the tourists went to the beautiful, 
 sunny land of the Po ; which, however, they found 
 most too sunny to be agreeable. 
 
 The Italian spring merits, no doubt, all the poets 
 and novelists have said in its praise ; but the Ital- 
 ian summer, though short, is hot and sultry enough 
 to suit the most fastidious native of the tropics. 
 
 Mr. Greldamo did not tarry long by the Po or the 
 Adriatic — he was soon among the mountains of 
 Switzerland ; and found Berne and Basle much 
 pleasanter resorts than Eome, Florence, or Venice. 
 While in Berne he received a number of Chicago 
 papers, containing accounts of Arbyght's arrest and 
 incarceration. These papers had been sent to 
 Eome, and were forwarded from that city by the 
 American -Minister to Berne. They were accom- 
 panied by a long letter from Allsound, who had 
 sent the papers. For what purpose the reader may 
 judge. 
 
 Vida had lately lapsed into a listless, apathetic 
 indifference. She was sick of traveling, tired of 
 sight-seeing, and seemed to take no interest in any 
 proposed excursion or so-called pleasure trip to the 
 mountains, or to some old ruins that might inter- 
 est an antiquarian, but certainly not a heart-sore 
 woman, whose mind and soul were far away across 
 
394 THE OTHEK SIDE. 
 
 the blue Atlantic. She seldom left her room ex- 
 cept toward sundown, when she would invariably 
 seek some prominent eminence looking toward the 
 west ; and there she would sit and dreamily watch 
 the declining sun slowly sink below the western 
 horizon, aijd when the last golden beam had faded 
 from the mountain tops, and the shadows of the 
 Alpine twilight began to gather, she would wearily 
 seek her room. What cared she for natural or 
 artistic beauties when not beheld with him? It is 
 an infallible test of true love that the amount of 
 enjoyment derived from any amusement depends 
 upon the extent that it is mutually enjoyed. 
 
 The father had noticed the change in his daugh- 
 ter, and was pained and chagrined at the evident 
 failure of his plans. He would gladly have made 
 known to her the disgrace of her lover, but he 
 feared the result — feared and dreaded the news 
 would have a serious effect upon her. He thought 
 the matter over, and resolved to impart the in- 
 formation by piecemeal, or such portions of it as 
 he deemed prudent. He first told her he had re- 
 ceived news of Arbyght's connection with a plot 
 to destroy Mr. Kelvason's property, and read an 
 extract from Allsound's letter, somewhat altered, 
 which lent coloring to the story ; but Vida refused 
 to listen to anything reflecting upon the name and 
 reputation of her lover. Whenever her father apr 
 preached the subject she left the room. She be- 
 lieved him true and stainless, and would not wrong 
 him by even harboring a suspicion or listening to 
 an accusation. 
 
 " Papa," she said one day, when he hinted that 
 all was not right with Arbyght, " I do not wish 
 to hear a word about it. Richard has enemies 
 who seek his ruin for selfish purposes. You well 
 know why Mr. AUsound is so deeply interested, 
 
THE BARRIERS BURNED. 395 
 
 and I well know why others are equally bent upon 
 disgracing him. I have had positive proof of it, 
 but I feel that justice will one day be done, and 
 then all will be clear. Until then I wish to hear 
 nothing, know nothing. Papa, if for one moment 
 I should harbor a disparaging thought in connec- 
 tion with Kichard, I would feel unworthy of him. 
 I would sooner die at once; so please, dear, 
 good papa, say no more about it." 
 
 These words were uttered with a gravity and 
 positiveness that carried the conviction to the 
 father that she meant every word of what she said, 
 and he wisely forbore recurring to the matter 
 again . 
 
 It had been part of the agreement between Mr. 
 G-eldamo and Kichard that no correspondence 
 should take place between Vida and him while she 
 was abroad. Bertha and Vida had, of course, 
 written to each other, but when the dreadful blow 
 came Bertha ceased writing, and this was the only 
 circumstance that puzzled Vida. It looked suspi- 
 cious, but she scorned that idea and attributed 
 Bertha's neglect to some other cause. 
 
 Paul had written to his father and urged him 
 to withhold the news from Vida, as he felt confident 
 the whole matter was a horrible conspiracy, planned 
 by Relvason and, perhaps, Allsound ; and of course 
 Paul thought his father had heart enough to do as 
 he suggested ; therefore, he never hinted in his 
 letters to Vida that anything was amiss. On the 
 other hand, Allsound kept Mr. Geldamo constantly 
 advised of all that occurred. When the news of 
 Arbyght's escape, subsequent drowning, identifi- 
 cation and burial, came to Berne, Mr. Geldamo 
 was so rejoiced that his reason and discretion left 
 him, and he laid all the papers before Vida and 
 then withdrew to another roomi 
 
396 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 It would he a vain attempt to portray the 
 anguish, the torture, the living deathendured by 
 that fair, tender creature, as the poison-tipped, 
 sorrow-barbed arrow entered her virgin soul. 
 
 " It was a dreadful moment ; not the tears, 
 The lingering, lasting misery of years 
 Could match that minute's anguish — all the worst 
 Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst 
 Broke o'er her soul, and, with one crash of fate, 
 Laid the whole hopes of her life desolate." 
 
 When her father came back, he beheld a statue r 
 the papers had dropped and lay on the carpet ; 
 Vida seemed in a trance, life had apparently left 
 her, and her face looked like a marble Venus. 
 
 "My poor child," said the father, coming up 
 and laying his hand on her shoulder. She turned 
 her face toward him : 
 
 "Papa?" 
 
 "Well, my child?" 
 
 " You will take me home now ? " 
 
 The father did not answer. There was some- 
 thing in the look and tone that froze the blood 
 in his veins. Why did she leave the sentence 
 unfinished ? What else would she have said ? 
 The father felt the unuttered words tingling 
 in his ears ; heard them deep in his soul ; heard 
 them floating in the air around him; saw them 
 before him in letters of fire. Yes, he knew if she 
 completed the thought it would be, " you will 
 take me home now — and bury me? " But he did 
 not take her home, he took her to Basle, and 
 thence down the Rhine, through Germany and 
 across the North Sea to England. 
 
 "I can't believe he is dead," said Vida to her 
 father one day, after they had reached England. 
 
 " Why, my child ? " 
 
 "If he were daad I would not have lived so 
 
THE BARRIERS BURNED. 39 T 
 
 long," she answered very decidedly; then added: 
 " There is something within me that tells me it is 
 not true." 
 
 "When do you propose to leave for home?" 
 she next asked. 
 
 " In about a month;" he replied. 
 
 This was the only conversation she had with her 
 father about Arbyght since that dreadful day. 
 She seldom spoke now, never sang, never smiled. 
 In a month she would start for home ; this 
 thought filled her with a sad, secret joy ; she would 
 visit his grave and pour upon it her sea of sorrow. 
 
 Their journey homeward began sooner than she 
 expected. The next morning she met her father, 
 but he seemed to have grown twenty years older 
 during the night. In a faltering, broken voice he 
 told her they were to start for home that afternoon. 
 
 "Papa, dear, what has happened? " 
 
 " Oh, some business troubles you could not un- 
 derstand — did you see the morning papers ? " 
 
 "No, father. Why?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing of consequence." 
 
 "lis it very serious? " 
 
 " No, no, child ; pack up at once." 
 
 Vida obeyed, and two days afterward they were 
 
 again on old ocean's bosom, homeward bound ; 
 
 but oh ! how difi'erent, how changed were both. 
 
 father and daughter in a few short months, 
 
 * *'* * * * * 
 
 "What did you say? — that safe not reliable, 
 not fire-proof? " 
 
 It was AUsound who spoke, or rather, abruptly 
 interrupted a gentleman who had incidentally 
 made some disparaging remark concerning the 
 ability of a large safe, which stood in AUsound's 
 store, to withstand a severe fire test. There was 
 something extremely eager and questioning in All- 
 
398 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 sound's voice — a shade of deep concern, anxiety, 
 and solicitude. 
 
 " I have seen many of them which, after pass- 
 ing through even ordinary fires, rendered up their 
 contents in anything but a satisfactory condition," 
 coolly replied the man who had excited Allsound's 
 nervousness. 
 
 He supposed he was doing Allsound a service by 
 giving him the benefit of his experience on the 
 reliableness of certain safes. The information wor- 
 ried and annoyed Allsound to an extent his friend 
 could not comprehend. In fact, he regarded it as 
 a piece of exceedingly bad news, and at heart did 
 not thank him for the interest he manifested in 
 his affairs. Unsought advice, or remarks appar- 
 ently disinterestedly made, but which are in them- 
 selves advisory or admonitory, seldom fall upon 
 pleased or thankful ears, no matter how unselfishly 
 pure the motive that prompted them. No maa 
 cares particularly to have his own judgment im- 
 pugned or estimated at a discount. However, in 
 this case there was a stronger reason why All- 
 sound should be provoked and worried. Not only 
 was his judgment impeached, but as the safe then 
 held over one hundred thousand dollars in " hard 
 cash " and collaterals, he had a strong motive for 
 wishing it a model of fire-proof as well as burglar- 
 proof strength. 
 
 Lately Detective Magaw had been industriously 
 at work investigating the part Allsound had taken 
 in the Eelvason conspiracy, and some damaging 
 evidences of complicity had already been unearthed. 
 The old locksmith had been visited, and acknowl- 
 edged having made the key which Sergeant Sool- 
 fire had the wisdom to secure and the caution to 
 retain. _ The detective visited nearly every lock- 
 smith in the city before he found the right one ; 
 
THE BARRIERS BURNED. 399 
 
 and, unfortunately for Allsound, this man knew 
 the person for whom he made the key. The sim- 
 ilarity between the trade-marks on the pistol and 
 cable chain has already been noticed, but it was 
 accidentally discovered that it was the trade-mark 
 invariably used by Allsound. Several other links 
 in the chain of evidence were, after diligent search, 
 brought to light ; but through some agency un- 
 known to the detective, Allsound discovered the 
 danger that so threateningly menaced him, and he 
 made the most of his time. Young Trueson was 
 the only link missing to complete the chain — 
 he had been home for the last eight months, but 
 efforts were being made to secure his presence ; 
 and this fact was not unknown to Allsound, who 
 had now resolved on flight ; and, with that object 
 in view, he had hurriedly disposed of nearly all of 
 his available property, which was then in the safe. 
 This was the cause of his uneasiness and trepi- 
 dation. 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 "What light is that?'-" 
 
 "It's nothing — only a fire over in the West 
 Division !" 
 
 The question was asked by an inquiring stran- 
 ger stopping at the Sherman House, and lazily 
 answered by some half-asleep porter. This was on 
 Saturday night — and that bright-red light which 
 burst upon the horizon, and *vividly illuminated 
 the district around Jefferson street and the south- 
 ern bend of the river — though only a fire up in 
 the West Division, nevertheless converted four 
 magnificent blocks into a heap of smouldering 
 cinders. 
 
 Sunday came — a bright, beautiful day ; and en- 
 terprising, pleasure-loving Chicago enjoyed a day 
 of rest. 
 
400 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Sunday is a day of equality, as far as exteriors 
 go : the poor and lowly gather under the same 
 roofs with the proud and haughty rich, and feel, 
 for the time being at least, that they are equals. 
 An unparalleled event shortly occurred, however, 
 which forced absolute equality upon thousands. _ 
 
 Sunday night an alarm of fire suddenly rang 
 out upon the still air. 
 
 " Where is the fire?" asked some anxious indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 " Don't know ; in the West Division, I think," 
 was the reply carelessly given ; and the man 
 asked hurried on, wrapped up in his own affairs. 
 
 "A fire in tbe West Division " — nothing more ; 
 and yet it was the beginning of an end, the equal 
 of which the world never saw. 
 
 A description of the great Chicago conflagration 
 will not be attempted except so far as it is inter- 
 woven with and bears upon some of the characters 
 and incidents entering into the thread of this 
 story. 
 
 Soolfire's cottage stood in the direct road of a 
 column of fire, which had leaped the river at Van 
 Buren street and moved southward with a sullen, 
 rushing roar — and so rapid was its strides that the 
 cottage was on fire before the inmates were aware 
 of it ; and the probabilities are they would have 
 perished had not Paul Geldamo apprised them of 
 their danger. • 
 
 It needs no prophecy of mind to divine why 
 Paul happened to be there at that moment ; but, by 
 some strange coincidence, Detective Magaw came 
 upon the scene a few seconds later. The family 
 and Bertha were aroused and safely extricated from 
 the cottage — however, not before escape was cut 
 off at either end of the street. Sparks, cinders, 
 and circling tongues of fire were flying through 
 
THE BARRIERS BURNED. 401 
 
 the air in all directions, like a line of skirmishers, 
 that prepared the way for the inevitable ruin which 
 followed. 
 
 The little party they rescued from the cottage 
 were not, however, doomed to perish. They found 
 an outlet through an alley into another street, 
 along which they ran, closely pursued by the fire- 
 fiend, which really traveled or sprang from build- 
 ing to building and block to block nearly as fast 
 -as they could run. Magaw, who was in the ad- 
 vance, suddenly stopped and wheeled 'round — his 
 face like marble notwithstanding the fearful heat. 
 
 " Great heavens ! the fire has headed us off," 
 -exclaimed Paul, pointing up the street ; where, 
 «ure enough, streams of flame issuing from both 
 sides of the street, effectually rendered further pro- 
 gress impossible. Behind, an ocean of rolling 
 fire — ahead, a sea of flame. It was an awful mo- 
 ment. No wonder the little group were stricken 
 -with cold, paralyzing terror. Escape seemed be- 
 _yond hope. Already the stately, towering build- 
 ings on both sides of the street were on fire, and 
 the smoke and hot air became unendurable. They 
 gave up all idea of escape and heroically prepared 
 to meet their fate. Bertha put her arms around 
 Paul's neck, and with a look of loving, deathless 
 <ievotion, said : 
 
 "At least, love, we will be united in death — 
 •who can part us now? " 
 
 Pressing her to his heart, Paul kissed her then 
 for the first time, and replied : 
 
 " Oh, God ! thus to die, if die we must, is a 
 pleasure." 
 
 He looked toward heaven as he uttered these 
 words, as if for succor, and it was well he did so — 
 -and it were well if mankind ever looked heaven- 
 ward, not only in fateful moments, but at all 
 26 
 
402 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 times. As he looked, his face lit up with a hope- 
 ful expression, for he saw a building on the oppo- 
 site side of the street, and, through the blinding^ 
 smoke, he recognized it. 
 
 "As I live," he exclaimed, " there is my father's 
 warehouse ! " 
 
 But it was already afire in several places. Pant 
 looked at the building a moment as if in thought, 
 and then astonished the rest by shouting at the 
 top of his voice : 
 
 " Saved ! saved ! saved ! " as he rushed toward? 
 the sidewalk followed by the others. 
 
 In almost a second he tore the cover off a man- 
 hole in the sidewalk, through which coal was con- 
 veyed to the cellar. He ordered the sergeant and 
 detective to drop through quickly, and they 
 obeyed, although they knew not how an escape 
 could be effected in that direction ; but then it 
 afforded temporary relief, and even that was some- 
 thing in such a moment. 
 
 Bertha and Mrs. Soolfire were next carefully 
 lowered by Paul, who followed almost instantly. 
 He was nearly smothered, but the cool air of the 
 cellar soon revived him. 
 
 They were now among, casks and general rub- 
 bish of all kinds — overhead they could dis- 
 tinctly hear the awful, surging roar of the fire. 
 Paul now led the way directly across the cellar, 
 which proved to extend from the street they had 
 just left to the next parallel street, into which 
 they soon emerged throiigh a similar manhole in 
 the walk. The street in which they now found 
 themselves was slightly afire, but they came out 
 of the cellar directly opposite an alley which led 
 to a street the fire had not yet reached, and thus 
 escaped. 
 
 When they had arrived at a place of compara- 
 
THE BARRIERS BURNED. 403 
 
 tive safety, the detective told the sergeant that a 
 higher power had relieved them of their labors. 
 
 "As I came running up La Salle street," said 
 Magaw, "a man was seen rushing madly toward 
 the fire. We tried to stop him, but failed. He 
 entered a store in the lower part of a large build- 
 ing, the upper stories of which were a crackling 
 furnace of fire. We all expected he had perished, 
 but in a moment or two he appeared, hatless and 
 coatless, and waved aloft triumphantly a neatly 
 tied-up parcel; but the next instant the front wall 
 of the building fell outward, and we saw him no 
 more." 
 
 " That man was " 
 
 "Allsound ! " said Magaw. 
 
 The death he would have meted to Richard Ar- 
 byght was meted to himself — he was crushed and 
 buried beneath a falling building in an effort to 
 rescue his money from the safe in his store, the 
 same safe which his friend had inadvertently told 
 him was not fire-proof. 
 
 On another fire-girt street at this hour were two 
 women fleeing before the ravenous-ton gued flame. 
 One was small and delicate in appearance, and 
 the other tall and queenly in form and movement. 
 In their rear glared a mighty, menacing monster 
 of destruction, its hot breath fanning their cheeks ; 
 and to the right and left its long arms were reach- 
 ing out and leaping from building to building in a 
 mad race with the fugitives. One of the women, 
 the larger of the two, was aiding her companion 
 who appeared to be nearly exhausted. Suddenly 
 a lurid sheet of flame and smoke flashed across the 
 street in front of them, apparently cutting off all 
 chance of escape. 
 
 The two women stopped and gazed in despair, 
 and the smaller one, raising her pale, fair face up- 
 
404 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ward, breathed a silent prayer. Into the dark 
 eyes of her companion came a look of stern resolu- 
 tion ; and, turning suddenly, she jerked a heavy 
 woolen shawl from her shoulders and threw it 
 over the head and shoulders of her companion, 
 wrapped her closely in its folds, and picking her 
 «p like a child dashed through the wall of flame 
 and smoke. 
 
 On she dashed while the smoke blinded her and 
 the angry flames snapped and hissed, as they 
 •curled and whirled in her pathway, and smote 
 lier with their fiery fangs. On, on, she pressed 
 with the courage of a great resolve, inhaling heat 
 and fiery smoke, when suddenly a great gust of 
 hot air smote her in the face and drove back the 
 environing smoke and flame. She had passed the 
 danger ; but, unmindful of herself, with garments 
 scorched and singed, flesh seared and blistered, 
 her beautiful hair crisped by flame, her strength 
 well nigh spent, she staggered on until a hand laid 
 on her shoulder caused her to stop and look up. 
 
 "■Thank God! I have found you," said John 
 Lanspear, as he took his wife from the arms of her 
 companion, while the latter dropped to the ground 
 in a swoon. She was quickly placed in a carriage 
 standing near, Lanspear and wife followed, and 
 the carriage dashed away. 
 
 " Oh, my husband! Oh, John, thank Grod you 
 found me!" said the wife as he tore the scorched 
 wrapping from her head. 
 
 "I thought you were lost, darling, my train 
 was late, and I did not dream of such a danger 
 threatening you." 
 
 When they had reached a place of safety and 
 the unconscious woman was lifted from the car- 
 riage, the wife said : 
 
 " Oh, John," as she gazed upon the prostrate 
 
THE BAERIEKS BURNED. 405 
 
 form, " I owe my life to her ; let us attend to her 
 first," and they both knelt down by her. 
 
 But the smoke and flame had entered her lungs 
 and done their dread work ; she was beyond 
 human aid. _ With a grand self-abnegation, with a. 
 heroism beside which the deeds of Homeric heroes 
 and courtly knights pale, Marcia Nullus had given 
 her life for her friend and mistress. What could 
 she do more ? In this last act she had proven be- 
 yond all cavil and doubt what a grand womanhood 
 and pure soul the selfishness and cruelty of a cold 
 world had overlooked, leaving to Him who noteth 
 even the fall of a sparrow to decide, in that last 
 day between her and those who had persecuted 
 and slandered her. As they bent over her, the wife 
 weeping bitterly as she raised the poor, fire-scarred 
 face to her bosom, Marcia opened her eyes and 
 gave her mistress a longing, loving look. 
 
 The latter, in answer, bent down and pressed a 
 tender, loving kiss upon her scorched lips. 
 
 The face of the dying woman was softened by a 
 sweet smile, and she faintly whispered : 
 
 "At last — rest — Freddie,'' and all was over. 
 
 In one of Chicago's cemeteries a plain marble 
 shaft, placed there by Mr. and Mrs. Lanspear, 
 marks the last resting-place of mother and son. 
 
 The party from Soolfire cottage were domiciled 
 beyond the reach of danger, and the next day 
 Bertha went to Elgin to her aunt's. 
 
 Paul Geldarao telegraphed to his father that his 
 colossal fortune had vanished in a day ; his splen- 
 did residence, stores, warehouses, bank, and 
 other buildings were all destroyed, and his con- 
 nection with insurance companies, whose liabili- 
 ties were uncountable, would sweep away what 
 real estate he had left. It was this news that so ex- 
 peditiously hastened his departure from England. 
 
406 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 IN THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 Mr. Geldamo and Vida arrived home safely, and 
 took up their abode in a neat unassuming cottage, 
 far out in the suburbs of the West Side, which. 
 Paul had procured and fitted up for their recep- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Geldamo was now an old man — all his life 
 and spirit were crushed out. He placed the con- 
 trol of his affairs in Paul's hands, with the simple 
 injunction : 
 
 " Save, if you can, from the general wreck sufH- 
 cient to keep me from actual want the balance of 
 my days, which, I fear, are few." 
 
 Vida had lost her youthful appearance ; she was 
 indeed changed. A little wrinkle, which looked 
 strange in one so young and fair, marred the 
 classic beauty of her fair forehead ; around her eyes 
 trouble and sorrow had left visible traces, little 
 marks of agony, and even around her mouth, which 
 was a few months before ever tremulous with a 
 lovely smile, grief had drawn a cruel line. 
 
 One afternoon she asked Paul to accompany her 
 to the ruins of their once beautiful home. 
 
 "I would like to see the dear old place," she 
 pleaded, in a subdued, melancholy manner, as a 
 crowd of thronging memories of pleasant scenes 
 and days gone by rushed full upon her. 
 
 " I am more than ordinarily busy to-day," said 
 Paul, after pondering a few moments, "but will 
 manage to come home early, and we will go down 
 this evening." 
 
 " Very well, Paul ; that will do just as well," 
 said Vida. 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT. 407 
 
 " The ruins will look romantic, and have a 
 ■weird beauty when flooded by the pale moonlight, 
 l)ut, if we were to go now, their unsightliness 
 would, perhaps, be too suggestive," added Paul, 
 •either in favor of the evening visit or in extenu- 
 -ation of the postponement. 
 
 That evening the proposed visit was made. The 
 air was soft and hazy, and the white moon was 
 sailing grandly in the heavens, shedding streams 
 -of mild, mellow light upon the ruins. It was 
 strangely romantic. The blackened walls of the 
 mansion ; the tower, rising grimly above them like 
 a silent sentinel ; the sashless windows, through 
 which shone the glimmering moonlight ; the long 
 tshadow of the tower stretching across the lawn ; 
 a wide chasm, made by a partly-fallen wall ; large 
 projections of stone, which seemed to hang in the 
 air, all conspired to give the place an appearance 
 resembling the ruins of some old castle or monas- 
 tery ; and the blasted, leafless trees added not a 
 little to the wild beauty of the scene. 
 
 "How ghostly it looks!" exclaimed Vida, a 
 little tremor in her voice, a slight chill creeping 
 through her body. 
 
 " You are not afraid, dear sister? " 
 
 " No ; but I feel very queer. Are you sure there 
 is nobody here but ourselves ? " 
 
 " Why, who would be here at this hour ? " 
 
 "I suppose it is imagination," said Vida, hesi- 
 tatingly ; " but I can't shake off the feeling ; it is 
 ■overpowering me." 
 
 "Nonsense, sister; but tell me, would you be 
 much frightened if we really saw a spirit here?" 
 
 " Paul, how you talk 1 You know I don't be- 
 lieve ' ' 
 
 She stopped very suddenly ; a conviction burst 
 (upon her, vague and dim, to be sure, something, 
 
408 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 like the echo of an inspired truth, hut a convictiou 
 nevertheless. She looked Paul full in the face, but 
 seeing there no reflection of the thought that had 
 just rustled, as it were, through her brain, she- 
 gave a deep sigh, and, as she trembled visibly, 
 Paul led her to a rustic seat close by. Being 
 seated, she dropped into a reverie, profound and 
 oblivious. When she raised her head Paul was. 
 not in sight. This circumstance gave her no- 
 alarm, as she thought he had wandered off and 
 was lost in the shade of the ruins. Again 
 she became convinced of the proximity of a. 
 presence ; her heart began to beat violently,. 
 and she seemed unable to rise or speak. 
 Presently she heard some one approaching,- 
 and, looking up, she beheld — not Paul, but 
 the form and countenance of Richard Arbyght. 
 Was it a vision ? She knew not, neither did sh& 
 fear ; and then the apparition, if such it was,, 
 smiled sweetly and tendeily upon her as it came- 
 nearer, and directly, through every nerve of sen- 
 sation in her body, there vibrated and thrilled the- 
 cadences of a loved and familiar voice : 
 
 " Fear not, dear Vida — oh, darling I at last we- 
 meet again." 
 
 In the next instant two sorely-tried beings were- 
 united in a long, tearful, heavenly embrace. After 
 the first burst of rapture, the mutual interjections- 
 and exclamations of love, they sat down, and Vida,, 
 with her head resting upon his shoulder, looked 
 into eyes that reflected naught but love and devo- 
 tion. 
 
 "How were you saved ? How did it all hap- 
 pen ? " were Vida's first coherent words. 
 
 " I owe it all to Bertha," said Richard ; " she- 
 insisted that I should escape from prison, and then 
 by some means have it appear that 1 died or was- 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT. 409 
 
 tilled ; to use her own words^ it was necessary 
 that I should die that I might live. She believed 
 from the first that Mellen and Miller were not 
 dead, and she rightly divined that should I escape 
 and ray death be afterward, to all appearances, 
 successfully established, Mellen and Miller would 
 come to life. I instinctively abhorred the idea of 
 flight, and fought against it a long time, and, but 
 for Bertha and you, my own loved darling, I would 
 not have consented, and in all probability I would 
 have been hanged, as money was more than a 
 match for even-handed justice in my case. When 
 the Morning Star went down I secured some loose 
 lumber, which, with a life-preserver, kept me afloat 
 until the wind drove me ashore near the spot where 
 my supposed body was found. When I reached 
 the beach I saw a body with hardly a shred of 
 clothing and no evidence of identification — the 
 body itself being mutilated beyond recognition ; 
 and, as I knew it could not be identified, I had no 
 scruples in using it to save my own life. You al- 
 ready know the rest." 
 
 During this recital Vida's eyes filled 'with tears 
 and she wept freely. 
 
 " Oh, Richard ! how you have suffered I we have 
 both suffered much, very much. What do we not 
 owe Bertha?" she said, after she had partly re- 
 strained her tears. 
 
 " I indeed owe her much ; but, perhaps, it were 
 better for you if T had died." 
 
 " Richard ! what can you mean ?" gasped Vida, 
 and the tears again flooded her eyes. 
 
 " Oh ! Vida, you do not know all I have suffered 
 and now suffer. I tried so hard to make a start in 
 the world, to lay the foundation of a competence, 
 to do something to win your father's confidence 
 and esteem, and at the very outset my plans were 
 
410 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 thwarted and I was disgraced. I shall never for- 
 get the awful anguish of soul I endured when that 
 sea of faces turned upon me in the crowded court- 
 room, to he gazed and gaped at like a common 
 felon, to be questioned by brutal, coarse, heartless 
 lawyers, was a degradation, a laceration of soul I 
 thought I could not survive." 
 
 " But, Richard, it is past now. Let us never re- 
 fer to it again." 
 
 " Yes, but all this has widened the gulf between 
 us," he replied, in a choking voice. 
 
 Vida looked at him keenly, and the lovely glow 
 began to fade from her cheeks. The truth of the 
 matter was, Richard was not aware of the change 
 in Mr. Geldamo's fortunes. Paul had a little of 
 the old family pride and was loth to acknowledge 
 the depth of their fall. 
 
 "I cannot comprehend your meaning, Rich- 
 ard," she finally said, in a soft, low, tremulous 
 voice. 
 
 " As heaven is my judge, Vida, I have never 
 thought of you in a selfish sense, never thought of 
 you but as' the peerless being you are — far too good 
 for any man, and I would sooner suffer all my life 
 than transplant you to a position in life inferior to 
 the one you now occupy. To lose your love, dar- 
 ling, will be death ; it has been my life for the last 
 year, the bright, pure, disinterested incentive of 
 my ambition. I tried hard, heaven knows, and 
 failed ; I can try again, it is true ; but it would 
 be selfish to ask you to wait, and, moreover, it 
 would be a sin to have you waste the best and 
 brightest period of your life waiting for a man who 
 feels he would be unworthy of you even with a 
 fortune. Oh no, do not think of it ; I am pre- 
 pared to suffer myself, but I cannot, will not see 
 you suffer." 
 
IN THE MOONLIGHT. 411 
 
 " Richard you talk of poverty — are you so very 
 poor ? Are you not rich in strength and health ?" 
 «he asked through her fast falling tears, but there 
 was a bright, calm smile upon her face. 
 
 " I am indeed poor ; I have scarcely a dollar in 
 the world ; what money I did have was swallowed 
 up in lawyers' fees, and fees we paid detectives for 
 procuring evidence. I am a homeless wanderer, 
 and the sooner I leave the city the better " 
 
 A silence ensued. Vida looked at him curiously, 
 then laid her head upon his shoulder again and 
 her arm stole gently 'round his neck with a loving 
 caressing movement, and looking up into his eyes 
 archly and lovingly, she said : 
 
 "How little you know me, Eichard, if you think 
 my love can be affected by any such argument. 
 We are very poor, too ; but darling it would make 
 no difference if I was the heiress you thought I 
 was. All father's fortune is gone ; he may save a 
 portion of it, but it would not change me a particle 
 if he recovered it all. Richard," (in a timid, 
 faltering voice) " we can be happy without money, 
 you know I will love you through life as I do now, 
 as truly and as tenderly as woman ever loved man, 
 and I am sure" (and her arm stole closer 'round his 
 neck) ' ' while you have two strong arms and a good 
 little wife to love and care for you and help you all 
 she possibly can, you need not fear the battles of 
 life. And if we are happy in the fulness of our 
 love, ever devoted and attached to each other, 
 sharing mutually our joys and sorrows, what need 
 we care for wealth or the doubtful pleasures it 
 brings?" 
 
 Drawing her within the circle of his strong arms, 
 clasping her to his breast, he rained warm, passion- 
 ate kisses upon her upturned lips, and in a voice 
 tremulous with emotion said : 
 
412 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Vida, my darling, you are more than mortal — 
 you are an angel." 
 
 " A guardian angel who proposes to watch over 
 you, dear," she said, as she kissed him in return^ 
 and then added chidingly, "and yet I had tO' 
 almost coax you to take me." 
 
 " If the labor of a whole life can repay you for 
 the sacrifice you propose to make, it will be cheer- 
 fully given. Love you, Vida ! I am the happiest 
 man in this great city to-night. Am I not rich in 
 unpurchasable love and inconceivable happiness ? 
 With your love, Vida, to cheer and guide me, I 
 feel no obstacle insurmountable, no vicissitude of 
 fortune implacable." 
 
 A moving shadow was seen at this juncture by 
 Vida, and she blushed like a rose, as she thought 
 of Paul. It was the first time he entered her mind 
 since Kichard came upon the scene. When Paul 
 joine.d them they were walking toward him, arm 
 in arm. 
 
 "Well, Vida," he said, with a mischievous 
 twinkle in his eye, "this is not such a ghostly 
 place after all." 
 
 " It is a dear, delightful place," she said boldly, 
 and tried to look imperturbable. She failed, how- 
 ever, but succeeded in looking beautifully, bewitch- 
 ingly confused. 
 
 The next morning when Vida came down to 
 breakfast her father was struck with the Wonderful 
 change in her manner and appearance. The 
 wrinkle had nearly disappeared from her forehead, 
 and the little lines of grief and marks of agony 
 could be seen on her face no more. She was all 
 life — blooming life and animation. 
 
A STARTLING IlB\'ELATION. 413 
 
 CHAPTER XXXXV. 
 
 A STARTLING REVELATION. 
 
 Alvan Relvasoa was, what might be termed ia 
 the strictest sense of the word, a lucky man. The 
 great desolation of flame that ruined thousands left 
 him comparatively unharmed. The bulk of his 
 property was located in the district not touched 
 by fire. He had some very valuable buildings in 
 the South Division, which were destroyed ; but his 
 good fortune did not by any means desert him even 
 there, as they were insured in responsible foreign 
 companies. Still, Fortune is a fickle jade, and can- 
 not be depended upon absolutely. There is no 
 telling when she will desert and frown upon her 
 most favored — those upon whom she was wont to' 
 shower her choicest benedictions. There is another 
 peculiarity noticeable in the whimsical, eccentric 
 phases of her ever-changing character : when For- 
 tune does frown upon a man, her frown is inex- 
 orably relentless ; she seldom, if ever, smiles upon 
 him again ; moreover, she may toy with and smile 
 upon us all our lives, but in an instant, unexpected 
 and unwarned, we are debarred forever from all 
 participation in the favors she so lavishly bestowed. 
 
 A few weeks after the fire Magaw accidentally 
 met Miss Estella Relvason at the house of a mutual 
 lady friend, and, under the circumstances, an in- 
 troduction was unavoidable. Miss Eelvason was 
 superbly if not extravagantly dressed. Among 
 other devices to enhance her appearance, she wore 
 around her neck a heavy and artistically-wrought 
 gold chain, to which was attached an unusually 
 large and costly gold cross, studded with diamonds. 
 It was certainly a beautiful, magnificent jewel. 
 
414 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 So thought Magaw when he first saw it ; no one 
 could form any other opinion ; but there was some- 
 thing in the cross that riveted the attention and 
 the gaze of the detective. There was something 
 odd and peculiar about it which would, in all 
 probability, escape the notice of the ordinary 
 superficial observer ; but the detective was not one' 
 of that class. The strangeness or peculiarity arose 
 from a want of uniformity in the diamonds, and 
 in the gold or body of the cross. The diamonds- 
 in the arms of the jewel were of that pure, white, 
 transparent variety, known as diamonds of the 
 first water ; the diamonds in the other arm were 
 not so pure nor so white, besides there was a 
 slight difference in the color of the gold between 
 that arm and the rest. There was also a differ- 
 ence in the refractive powers of some of the dia- 
 monds. 
 
 Magaw seemed very anxious to conciliate Miss 
 Kelvason, but she was chillingly cold, formal, re- 
 pellent. He was, however, a close observer of 
 human nature and knew full well that the direct, 
 open road to a proud woman's heart or good graces 
 lay through her vanity, and he took advantage of 
 that knowledge. 
 
 " I am a passionate admirer of rare and exquis- 
 ite jewelry," said Magaw, in an ingratiating voice, 
 " but I must say I never saw anything so chastely 
 beautiful. Miss Relvason, as that diamond cross." 
 The lady smiled ; the words were gratifying to her 
 vanity and pleased her greatly. 
 
 " Oh ! you are complimentary," she said, with 
 the faintest touch of, I thank you, in her voice. 
 
 " But not unjustly so," replied Magaw. 
 
 " Papa bought it in New York many years ago 
 and gave it to me for a Christmas present ; it is 
 very old — came from France, I believe. When 
 
A STARTLING REVELATION. 415 
 
 papa bought it one of the arms was missing, and 
 though he searched the whole city he could not ob- 
 tain a diamond of the same variety." ■ 
 
 "Yes; I noticed that, and no doubt you will 
 think it strange when I tell you that I have the 
 missing arm of that cross." 
 
 " Strange ! of course I do ; it can't be, it's im- 
 possible — but have you, though ?" 
 
 Magaw produced the arm of a cross ; it had three 
 points at one end, the diamonds were of the same 
 pure, white, brilliant variety, the workmanship 
 and gold were exactly similar — in fact, there could 
 be no mistake, it was the missing arm. 
 
 "I am delighted — I know papa will buy it of 
 you — but how did you come by it ?" 
 
 ' ' It was given to me by a man who picked it up 
 many years ago. He deemed it of no especial value, 
 I suppose," replied Magaw. 
 
 "You will sell it?" 
 
 " Possibly," slowly answered the detective, "for 
 a consideration few men would care to give," he 
 added, with peculiar emphasis. 
 
 The next day this note was delivered to him by 
 a servant : 
 
 Wednesday, 30th. 
 Mr. Magaw. 
 
 Dear Sir: My daughter informs me that you have 
 in your possession the missing arm of a valuable 
 cross, which I purchased years ago, minus said arm. 
 I have serious doubts about the genuineness of the 
 part you hold, but am willing to be convinced, ana 
 would esteem it a favor to have you call at my resi- 
 dence to-morrow evening. Will purchase the rem- 
 nant, if genuine, at your terms. My servant will 
 bring your reply. 
 
 Yours, truly, Altan Rblvason. 
 
 Chicago, 111. 
 
416 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 To this note Magaw returned this answer : 
 
 Wednesday, 30th. 
 Alvan Eelvason, Esq. 
 
 Dear Sir : I am in receipt of your, note of this 
 date. If you desire to purchase the remnant you 
 can call at my office at your convenience. 
 Respectfully, 
 
 W. P. Magaw. 
 Chicago, 111. 
 
 The following evening Mr. Relvason called upon 
 the detective. 
 
 " Mr. Magaw, I believe ? " 
 
 "I am so called ; you are Mr. Relvason, I pre- 
 sume? '' 
 
 " I am, sir." 
 
 "Pray, be seated," said the detective, present- 
 ing a chair. 
 
 Relvason sat down quite close to a plain, hard- 
 wood table, on which a few books, some papers, 
 and a quantity of writing material were neatly 
 and orderly arrayed. He sat quite close to the 
 table because the chair had been placed there 
 by the detective, who, taking another chair, sat 
 down on the opposite side of the table — facing the 
 visitor. The room was very scantily furnished, a 
 few chairs, an ordinary lounge, and the table com- 
 prising all that could be seen. From this room a 
 door opened into an inner or back room, which 
 served the detective as a sleeping apartmerit. The 
 door leading to this lonely and forbidding-looking 
 dormitory was open, and Relvason sat oppo- 
 site to it — his face toward it. The room was 
 lighted by a small, metallic, kerosene lamp, hav- 
 ing a paper shade on the chimney. The light was 
 not very brilliant, but was sufficiently bright to 
 
A STAETLING REVELATION. 417 
 
 readily distinguish everything then in the room or 
 anything likely to occur therein. 
 
 "You doubtless know why I am here?" said 
 Eelvason, in a pointed, business-like way, as if he 
 wished to come directly to the object of his visit. 
 
 " I might possibly surmise the motive to which 
 I can attribute the honor of your presence," replied 
 Magaw, in a voice tinged with considerable latent 
 sarcasm. 
 
 " Have you the missing arm of that cross with 
 you ? " asked Eelvason, in a constrained tone. 
 
 " I have," answered the detective in an abrupt 
 but firm voice. 
 
 Eelvason' s teeth glistened in the pale lamplight, 
 tut it would be difficult to say whether the answer 
 j)leased or angered him. 
 
 " Would you like to see it ? " 
 " Certainly ; otherwise I had not called." 
 Magaw drew a small parcel from his pocket and 
 T)egan to unfold it. Eelvason's lips parted wider, 
 the teeth shone more fiercely, and the shaggy eye- 
 brows fell and rose nervously during the operation. 
 "There it is," said Magaw, placing the "arm" 
 under the shade, where the rays of light fell full 
 •and strong upon it. 
 
 Eelvason started as a mail would were a gun 
 ifired unexpectedly and close to his ear. He uttered 
 a vehement exclamation, seemingly of mingled 
 surprise and alarm. 
 
 " By heavens, it is the missing arm !" 
 The detective noticed that his voice" was slightly 
 undulatory ; it did not have the clear, uninter- 
 rupted flow or intonation peculiar to the speech of 
 Ihe man whose mind is at peace and ease. 
 " How — where did you obtain it? " 
 " It was given to me by a man who had no use 
 ibr it^and who, perhaps, was not aware of its value." 
 27 
 
418 THE OTHEK SIDE. 
 
 " Well, I will not be particular how you came- 
 by it ; howf much do you want for it ? " 
 
 Ma^aw leaned across the table, a fierce_ smile on 
 his face, a direful fire in his eye ; looking with 
 mocking, scornful triumph at the would-be buyer, 
 he hissed rather than spoke : 
 
 " Sixty thousand dollars, sir !" 
 
 " Sixty thousand devils " 
 
 "Beg your pardon, sir," interrupted Magaiw,^ 
 " dollars, sir, dollars. I have no desire to discuss 
 the numerical strength of Zamiel's legions, for just- 
 now the subject is dollars. Sixty thousand dollars- 
 is my price." 
 
 The detective spoke with cool soberness and with 
 an imperturbable nonchalance, unbearably provok- 
 
 Eelvason had sprung to his feet, and his face 
 presented an appearance frightful to look upon — 
 fearful to contemplate. 
 
 ' ' You must either be a madman or a fool 1 ' ' he 
 finally managed to say. 
 
 "Pray, be seated," replied Magaw, with mock 
 gravity ; let us talk the matter over." 
 
 The fearful emotions depicted upon the great 
 employer's face gave place to a contemptuous sneer,- 
 and presently he broke into a loud, derisive laugh. 
 
 The detective stood up, eyed the man with a. 
 fixed intensity for a moment or two; then said 
 with stern distinctness : 
 
 "Mr. Eelvason, sit down." 
 
 There was something in the detective's look, 
 something in his voice, which cowed the strong,- 
 haughty millionaire into enforced compliance, 
 
 "Well, what is your pleasure?" he ironically ,- 
 sneeringly demanded, as he again sat down. 
 
 "You want this bauble," answered the detec- 
 tive, speaking very deliberately, " but its value 
 
A STARTLING REVELATION. 419 
 
 to me you underestimate. Perhaps my figuree are 
 high " 
 
 " I should think so !'' interposed Eelvason, and 
 he laughed a hollow, mocking laugh. 
 
 " That may he a matter of opinion," replied the 
 detective. " Our knowledge of this " 
 
 "Arm," suggested Eelvason. 
 
 "Pardon me, sir; link is the word. Oh! you 
 need not stare so. Why should you start or seem 
 disturbed ? The difference between a link and an 
 arm should occasion you no uneasiness. I was 
 saying, our knowledge of this missing. link may 
 not be the same, and the diversity of information 
 respecting it may occasion our difference of opin- 
 ion touching its value ; but if I should give you 
 all the knowledge I possess in connection with it, 
 your views might, doubtless, be in a measure 
 modified." 
 
 " Man or idiot — I care not what you are — I 
 want no more of your insinuations or innuendoes. 
 I am ready to hear any revelation you have to 
 make." 
 
 The tyrannical employer was now as collected 
 and soberly cool as the detective ; apparently or 
 externally so at least. 
 
 " It has a history. Would you like to hear it?" 
 
 " I will he delighted. Is it romantic?" 
 
 "Yes — very/' replied Magaw, taking no notice 
 of the other's assumed bravado. Then, eyeing 
 Eelvason as a panther eyes a victim, he continued: 
 " Yes, singularly — I might say bloodily romantic. 
 I fear the air is chilly, Mr. Eelvason." 
 
 "Never mind the air; I am subject to chills. 
 Let us hear this wonderful and, doubtless, en- 
 chanting story." 
 
 "Fifty years ago," began the detective, "you 
 were born near the little village of Silverville, 
 
420 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Pennsylvania. Your father, William Eelvason, 
 had married Mary Morris a year or so previously, 
 and two years subsequently she died, after having 
 given birth to your sister Edna, who died in Cleve- 
 land a few years since." 
 
 " Your knowledge of my family history is singu- 
 larly accurate," said Relvason, with mock com- 
 mendation. 
 
 " You will be better able to judge when I have 
 finished," retorted the other. "Your mother," 
 he continued, " when dying, left you the cross of 
 which this arm is a part." 
 
 " Man or devil, who are you ?" cried Relvason, 
 losing for a moment his self-control. 
 
 "Your father," continued the detective, not 
 noticing the interruption , ' ' married again, and the 
 result of the last marriage was Ethalind Relvason, 
 who, in the course of time, married the youngest 
 brother of your father's first wife. So it seems 
 that you have an uncle and brother-in-law in the 
 same person, and that man, Mr. Morris, now lives 
 near the same village in sight of which you were 
 born." 
 
 " But what has all this nonsensical verbiage to 
 do with the manner in which you came into posses- 
 sion of this arm ? You can spare yourself the 
 trouble of reciting my family history ; it is already 
 familiar to me." 
 
 " You grew to be a man," pursued the detective, 
 as calmly and indifferently as if Relvason had not 
 spoken. " Your father died — of a broken heart. 
 A financial panic — one of those safety-valves to a 
 rotten financial policy — ruined him. You will, I 
 hope, overlook this digression. After your father's 
 death you were a penniless young man, with no 
 aim in life except a desire to marry the beautiful 
 Irene Adair " 
 
A STARTLING REVELATION. 421 
 
 '_' Stop ! I will hear no more ; your impudence 
 is insufferable," said Kelvason, rising from his 
 seat, " permit me to bid you good-night." 
 
 _ The detective again fastened his eyes upon his 
 visitor. 
 
 " Mr. Relvason, you will hear more; you will 
 hear all I have to say ere you leave this room. If 
 you will not hear me, my story will be told to thou- 
 sands who will be only too glad to listen." 
 
 ''Go on," said Relvason, and, wrapping him- 
 self in his armor of dignity and assumed indiffer- 
 ence, he sat down again. 
 
 " Irene Adair spurned your suit. She preferred 
 another — the son of a Chicago merchant, whom 
 she married. She lived happily with her husband, 
 their wedded life being in reality- a continued, un- 
 ending honeymoon. Their married life was a per- 
 petual love feast, not marred or clouded by a 
 single regret or sorrow, except the decease of the 
 wife's parents. And thus they lived until one ter- 
 rible night the husband was sit down, sir 
 
 was be calm, sir, be calm was murdered I 
 
 most shockingly, foully, brutally murdered !" 
 
 "What is this to me?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir, I assure you. ' Let the galled 
 jade wince, our withers are unwrung ;' not only was 
 he murdered, he was also robbed of twenty thou- 
 sand dollars — his wife and children's inheritance, 
 and now I come to the point where the story is con- 
 nected with this trinket. Covered with blood, this 
 piece of your cross was found upon the very spot 
 where that man was murdered ; and now, Alvan 
 Eelvason, I, the son of that man, yes, I" — flinging 
 off his detective's disguise — "I, Richard Arbyght, 
 brand you, Alvan Relvason, as the murderer of my 
 father — yes, and my mother also, and the robber 
 of our property !" 
 
422 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 Both Relvason and Arbyght had arisen and were 
 now facing each other — the workman a personified, 
 maddeniag fury — the employer the embodied 
 quintessence of rage indescribable. Arbyght's face 
 glowed as if in burning fever, and his eyes shone 
 with unwonted and unnatural brilliancy — seemed 
 like incandescent carbon. Eelvason's face was 
 blanched and fearfully contorted, his eyes glared 
 revenge, mischief,, death. 
 
 " Liar, scoundrel, dog, die!" the employer fairly 
 shrieked as he, with flashing rapidity, drew a re- 
 volver and fired at Arbyght, but the latter antici- 
 pated such a movement, as the light went out be- 
 fore the revolver was fairly outof Relvason 's pocket, 
 and though the ball passed directly over the spot 
 on which he stood, it hit him not, because he was 
 not there. 
 
 The echoes of the report had not more than begun 
 to reverberate through the room ere Relvason ut- 
 tered an appalling, prolonged shriek which termi- 
 nated in a succession of choking gasps, as he fell 
 on the table from which he rolled like an inert 
 mass on the floor. He had seen a sight which had 
 frozen his blood, frozen his heart into stillness. 
 From the open door, leading to the sleeping apart- 
 ment, a bright shadow or illuminated image of the 
 murdered man seemed to advance toward the table. 
 The features of the shade were vivid, plain and 
 clearly distinct. So awful, thrilling, and appar- 
 ently real was the scene that Richard, though he 
 knew it was an illusion, could hardly disabuse his 
 mind of an impression of genuineness. And yet it 
 was only the production of a phantasmagoria lan- 
 tern in the hands of Sergeant Soolfire, who was in 
 the back room and had listened to all the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Richard had that day received a note from Rel- 
 
"a death bed's a detectoe of the heart." 423 
 
 "vason to the effect that he would call upon him 
 iihat evening. Arbyght had previously made Sool- 
 fire a confidant of the secret discovery he had made 
 the evening he first saw the cross on Estella Kelva- 
 eon, and the sergeant had undertaken to aid him 
 in bringing the culprit to justice. 
 
 The lamp was again lighted, Relvason's collar 
 torn off, stimulants administered, and other res- 
 toratives applied, and in a few minutes he was so 
 far restored to animation as to he removed to his 
 -carriage and driven home, a more wretched, if not 
 a wiser man. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VI. 
 
 "a death bed's a detector of the heart." 
 
 The Marmane family consisted of father, mother, 
 .^nd daughter. Some years previously they had 
 lived near Elgin, and were neighbors of Vida 
 <jreldamo's family on her mother's side, and 
 from this circumstance arose the close and inti- 
 mate friendship between Vida and Mary, as the 
 former, during her school days, spent nearly all 
 of her vacations in and around Elgin. Mary 
 Marmane' s connection with the G-eldamo family 
 sprung from choice and not necessity, as Mr. Mar- 
 mane was a well-to-do farmer. He was not 
 •wealthy — at least not in the estimation of the 
 world — still, his land was productive, his stock 
 numerous, and no incubus in the shape of debts 
 or mortgages disturbed his peaceful serenity. He 
 -was as wealthy as he desired to be. As a general 
 
424 THE OTHEE SIDE. 
 
 rule, farmers are poor ; very few of them ever be- 
 come burdened with a great share of this world's 
 goods ; as a class they are independent, but not 
 wealthy. Reliable statistical data teach us that 
 the productions of the land — labor deducted — 
 amount, per annum, to only about three per 
 cent, of its value. But speculators, money loan- 
 ers, bankers, and the gods of finance generally,, 
 demand eight, and even as much as ten per cent., 
 for the use of money ; in other words, money in- 
 creases on an average of nine per cent. The odds, 
 therefore, against the farmer are three to one, and 
 in this we find a reason why, as a class, they are 
 not as wealthy as bankers and speculators. The 
 interests of the farmers — being laborers — are- 
 identical with the interests of all workingmen. 
 
 Though raised on a farm, Mary Marmane pos- 
 sessed a delicacy of feeling, an educated refinement 
 of mind not always found among the belles of elite 
 society. Still in girlhood she was a wild, romp- 
 ing, happy, blooming child of nature, full of vim, 
 vivacity, verve and life, delighting in out-door ex- 
 ercise and sports ; fond of roaming the wide fields,, 
 chasing butterflies and plucking wild flowers ; at 
 home on a horse's back, and not afraid to ride 
 even unbroken colts. As she grew older, she as- 
 sumed the household duties— could bake, cook, or 
 churn butter better than her mother, was a capital 
 seamstress — made all her own dresses, arranged" 
 her own linen, and sometimes helped her father 
 by keeping his accounts — in a word, she was never 
 idle or unemployed ; and yet, amidst all these du- 
 ties, she found time to read and study and become^ 
 pretty well versed in all the needful modern arts- 
 and sciences. She could sing well ; could play th& 
 piano admirably, and could talk understandingly 
 upon all ordinary topics. She had many suitors. 
 
"a death bed's a detector of the heart." 425 
 
 for her hand, hut was heart-free when she first 
 pitied, then loved Oscar Wood. 
 
 When Mr. Geldamo and Vida left Chicago she 
 went home to her parents and settled down to her 
 old life. Her love for Oscar was her secret. She 
 was at times sad and melancholy, but alwaj's 
 hopeful. She loved in the abstract, platonicallj' — 
 the feeling we sometimes experience for a hero or 
 heroine, the creation of some master mind ; but the 
 restoration of Oscar to sanity, and his presence 
 under her father's roof, suddenly changed the cur- 
 rent of her thoughts, the course of her dreams. 
 At first she was happy beyond measure. Her 
 guileless soul seemed to already enjoy the bliss of 
 the angels, but a cloud arose when she thought of 
 this affection as it really was — a unitary love ; she 
 loved, but was her love returned ? Custom and 
 conventional tyranny, but more especially womanly 
 delicacy, forbade her to seek his love or declare her 
 own. Would she unsex herself by wooing him? 
 Common-sense said no, but the refinement and 
 delicacy of her womanhood said yes, and she 
 crushed her swelling heart with a vice-like grip, 
 and determined and resolved that no human being 
 should, from her lips, learn of the love she bore 
 Oscar Wood. Her family were already aware of 
 his sad story, as she had imparted it to them, but 
 they knew no more. 
 
 The homeless wanderers were now in good hands. 
 Their future for the present would at least be 
 cheered by the soothing presence and kindly deeds 
 of sympathetic humanity. Little Amy was lov- 
 ingly and tenderly cared for, but it was doubtful 
 if any care, tenderness, or medical skill could now 
 stay the ravages of the fell, consuming destroyer 
 which had already fastened upon the pulsing 
 mainspring of life. Her thin, transparent skin. 
 
426 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 fair hair, rosy, delicate complexion, and extreme 
 sensitiveness indicated a system constitutionally 
 liable to consumption. In fact, this dread disease 
 had already planted in her lungs the tubercular 
 germs of dissolving life, and the fatigue and ex- 
 haustion experienced since she left the asylum, 
 followed by the severe drenching, brought on an 
 acute attack of lung fever, which developed the 
 disease in all its fury and virulence. Still, the 
 physician was hopeful ; thought a change of cli- 
 mate would effect a cure, but it was necessary 
 that she be so far restored as to be able to with- 
 stand the travel. 
 
 Oscar was for the first few days quite weak — 
 unable to leave his room. On the fourth morning 
 he awoke very much refreshed and feeling quite 
 strong. The sun had just arisen, and the large 
 room was filled with golden, mellow sunlight. He 
 arose, dressed himself, and tried to think it all 
 over as he sat in a large arm-chair which he drew 
 to a window facing the velvety lawn. He thought 
 and pondered for some time. What would he do ? 
 What could he do ? Certainly, not leave his little 
 sister. He knew the doctor had been there night 
 and morning since they came. No, he could not 
 do that, but then his proud spirit rebelled at the 
 idea of being a burden to these good people under 
 whose kindly protection Providence seemed to have 
 placed them. What would he do ? Glancing out 
 of the window, he beheld Mary Marmane upon the 
 little rustic bridge, gazing, as she did when he first 
 saw her, dreamily into the glassy, gurgling, ever- 
 moving mirror. What would he do ? Go to her ? 
 Yes, though he knew not why. When he first 
 saw her she was plainly attired, but whatever of 
 artificial adornment she wore then, she wore none 
 now — an unassuming morning dress, plain but 
 
"a death bed's a detector of the heart." 42T 
 
 neat, linen collar and cuffs — there she stood, her 
 hair floating in the light breeze of that September 
 morning, a slightly obscured Hebe or Pandora, 
 her only adornment her natural beauty, crowned 
 with a loveliness which — 
 
 " Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, 
 But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most." 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Marmane, if I intrude, but 
 seeing you here, I thought I would speak to you 
 about my — about Amy," were the words Oscar 
 mildly spoke as he came up hat in hand. 
 
 Mary quivered slightly and did not look up 
 immediately ; when she did the little tinge of 
 crimson which had darted into her face was slowly 
 fading away. 
 
 " I am glad to see you so well, Mr. Wood," she 
 replied. 
 
 " I must thank my kind benefactors for that," 
 he answered very gratefully. \ 
 
 Mary was one of those beings who do good for 
 its own sake, and who feel more than rewarded by 
 the consciousness of having performed a meritorious 
 act. 
 
 "Mr. Wood, do you like selfish people?" 
 
 " No," stammered Oscar in surprise. 
 
 "Selfish people live and work for reward, and 
 thanks are a reward for service. Whatever you may 
 think of us, do not think us selfish." 
 
 "Yes; but, Miss Marmane, would it not be 
 base ingratitude — the worst form of selfishness — on 
 my part to be oblivious to all that has been done 
 for us?" 
 
 " You need not be oblivious or unthankful, for 
 your appreciation will be observed without formal 
 expression ; they who would refuse to give of God's 
 etore to God's sufi"ering children, are not fit to 
 
428 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 bear the image of Him whose mercy and justice 
 they abuse But come, Amy will be glad to see 
 you," and silently they wended their way to her 
 bedside. 
 
 She was awake when they entered the room, 
 and her face and eyes showed how pleased she was 
 because they came. The physician had the lung 
 fever pretty well under control, but the fever in- 
 separably connected with the disease was beginning 
 to manifest itself; her pulse and breathing were 
 very hurried. But what struck and appalled Oscar 
 was the thin, sharp, emaciated appearance of her 
 face. 
 
 " How did you spend the night, Amy?" asked 
 Oscar after he had kissed her tenderly. 
 
 " Very well. I was not lonely, I had such 
 blissful dreams or v^isions ; mother was here, dear 
 Oscar, with a great many angels ; their brightness 
 filled the room with heavenly light. They will 
 come again to-night, and mother said they would 
 come another time and take me home." 
 
 Oscar hung his head and sobbed aloud. Mary 
 left the room, but came back presently and said 
 to Oscar that breakfast was being served. Though 
 he felt like anything but eating he arose and 
 mechanically followed her to the dining-room, 
 where she left him and returned to Amy. 
 
 " You must not talk so to Oscar, at least not for 
 the present," she said, a little reprovingly. 
 
 " 1 am sorry for Oscar," Amy replied. 
 
 "Are you sorry for him?" she asked Mary, 
 after a pause. 
 
 Mary was .slightly amazed by the question, but 
 she answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "Touare so good," said Amy, "you are all 
 good. May I call you sister ?" 
 
 "Why of course you may," cried Mary^ in a 
 
429 
 
 burst of tears, " you know we are all children of 
 one Father," she added, as she kissed the child 
 over and over again. 
 
 "And will you be Oscar's sister^ too?" she 
 asked, very coaxingly. For answer Mary kissed 
 her again and left the room with a swelling heart. 
 
 After Oscar had moodily swallowed his break- 
 fast he went out on the laWn again to think it out. 
 In a short time he was joined by Mr. Marmane, 
 ■who made him this proposition : 
 
 " I have been looking for some time for a man 
 to take my place on the farm ; I am growing old, 
 and I want to secure a good, reliable man to act as 
 ■overseer, and I think you will suit me capitally ; 
 if you will try it one year I assure you we will not 
 quarrel over the compensation." 
 
 Oscar thankfully accepted the old man's offer, 
 and said he would begin immediately, and thus it 
 was settled. 
 
 As the days went by, the old folks became more 
 and more attached to Oscar. He was so gentle, 
 kind, and amiable, and withal so wise and provi- 
 dent, that he completely won their hearts. He was 
 the theme of every gossiping tongue in the neigh- 
 borhood ; but, strange to say, no one spoke an un- 
 kind or disparaging word of him, and, as every 
 one praised him, the Marmanes grew fonder and 
 prouder of him. 
 
 A month had rolled away ; Mary's love had, day 
 by day, grown stronger ; it filled her soul and be- 
 came the bright hope of her young life, but still 
 there was no outward sign that Oscar Wood was 
 more to her than any of her numerous suitors. 
 He was not a suitor, though he loved her madly 
 from the first. But, like all noble-hearted men, 
 he was humble, and thought her too good, too 
 wise, too refined for him ; and then, again, he be- 
 
430 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 lieved it would be infamously ungrateful to fall in 
 love with his benefactor's daughter, at least not 
 until he felt assured his love would be returned . 
 
 Men, however, may not declare their love in 
 words, but they can illy conceal it from an observ- 
 ing woman. Mary was not long in divining that 
 her love was reciprocated. Every word that Oscar 
 uttered, every glance he gave her, spoke to her 
 soul the language of love, and hence it was her 
 star of hope. 
 
 Meanwhile Amy was slowly but surely eking 
 out the sands of her earthly existence. Her coun- 
 tenance had grown more emaciated, her breath and 
 pulse more hurried ; the cheeks were now very 
 prominent, the eyes hollow and languid. But, 
 through all this suifering, her mind remained clear 
 and active. Mary was seldom from her side, and 
 the old folks were all a father and mother could be. 
 
 Time flew on ; October came, the leaves began 
 to fall, the death song of the flowers — 
 
 " The melancholy days are come, 
 The saddest of the year — " 
 
 was being sung by rustling leaves and autumn 
 winds ; Amy had grown much worse. One bright 
 afternoon she sent for Oscar, and with a heavy 
 heart he went to her bedside. 
 
 Mary was singing one of Moore's melodies, a 
 favorite of Amy's mother, when Oscar entered. 
 The air and words had a powerful effect on him ; 
 they brought him back to the days when Amy, hia 
 mother, and himself were happy in their Canadian 
 home. 
 
 "It was to please me she sang it," said Amy, 
 "you are not displeased, Oscar? " 
 
 "Why no, little angel, I am only sad," he an- 
 swered, seating himself by her side. 
 
"a death bed's a detector of the heart." 431 
 
 " Sister Mary, I would like to sit up for just a 
 moment," said Amy. 
 
 Mary took the little thing in her arms and ten- 
 derly placed her in a large-armed rocking chair, in 
 "which a number of pillows were arranged. Oscar 
 was seated on one side of the big chair and Mary on 
 the other. 
 
 "Sister Mary, give me your hand ; Oscar, give 
 me yours." They complied. "I will leave you 
 very soon," she continued. " You may have de- 
 ceived each other, but you have not deceived little 
 Amy ; you love sister Mary, Oscar, and sister Mary 
 loves you, and as I love you both, I will not go 
 home until you are married." 
 
 She placed Mary's hand in Oscar's, and then 
 leaned back among the pillows. The lovers arose 
 and looked timidly, Ijut lovingly, at each other ; 
 they were quivering from head to foot and blush- 
 ing like peonies. 
 
 " Mary, you know I love you ; is there any hope 
 for me?" pleaded Oscar. 
 
 She still held him by the hand, but the only 
 answer to his question was a tightening of the fin- 
 gers, as she led him toward the parlor where her 
 father and mother were discussing sonje project. 
 She knelt before them and Oscar knelt by her side. 
 
 The old folks were much surprised — amazed. But 
 it was a pleasing -surprise, for as soon as they com- 
 prehended the situation, they blessed them, kissed 
 them, and cried over them,and then went and kissed 
 and blessed Amy, and were supremely happy. 
 
 Amy now insisted that the marriage should take 
 place immediately. In vain they told her she 
 might live months, and there was no need of such 
 haste, but she begged, and coaxed, and pleaded 
 so softly and sadly that they had not the heart to 
 refuse her. 
 
432 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "Every thing in life is so uncertain," she said, 
 " something might part you," and then the poor 
 child began to cry, and so affected the old folks 
 that they declared the ceremony should take place 
 at once. 
 
 They were married that very evening, and Amy, 
 dressed in white muslin, a bunch of wild flowers 
 on her breast, and a wreath of garden flowers on 
 her head, was propped up in her big arm-chair 
 and acted as bridesmaid. 
 
 When the man of God had ended, the happy 
 lovers turned first to little Amy. A serene, 
 pleased smile illumined her thin, worn features. 
 Turning her lustrous eyes toward Mary, she said 
 in a low, plaintive voice : 
 
 "Sister Marj"-, I am so happy, so very happy, 
 and ray heart is full of joy.". Her eyelids drooped 
 and closed for a moment, and when they opened 
 again, she continued in a lower tone, " dear sister, 
 I am tired, so very tired; put me to bed now, my 
 eyes are so heavy, I want to sleep." Oscar raised 
 her carefully and tenderly, carried her to her 
 room and gently laid her upon the bed. 
 
 " Where is sister Mary ? " 
 
 " I am here, Amy." 
 
 " Oscar, you must always love sister Mary and 
 be good to her," she said in a whisper as she 
 placed her hand softly in his. 
 
 "Sister Mary?" 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "My head is too high — there, that will do, sis- 
 ter ; kiss me now and I will go to sleep." Mary 
 kissed her eyelids down while Amy repeated in 
 voice scarcely audible : 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to take." 
 
CASTAWAY MEETS ARBYGHT. 433 
 
 The lips ceased to move, and no sound save half- 
 suppressed sobs was heard in the room. Amy's 
 Viands were crossed upon her breast, and she slept 
 ^8 gently and peacefully as a child. Presently her 
 lips began to move, and Mary, bending low over 
 her, thought she beard her say : " Oh 1 how bright 
 the light is!" — but the voice grew so faint that 
 she heard no more. She continued to sleep calmly 
 and naturally ; occasionally a heavenly smile 
 glorified her pallid face, and her lips moved 
 slightly, but her eyes remained closed. 
 
 " They watched her breathing through the night, 
 Her breathing soft and low ; 
 As in her breast the wave of life 
 Kept heaving to and fro. 
 
 Their very hopes belied their fears, 
 
 Their fears their hopes belied; 
 They thought her dying when she slept, 
 
 And sleeping when she died." 
 
 And thus she fell asleep, thus she slept till 
 awakened by the angels in the morning of a bright, 
 Amending day. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 CASTAWAY MEETS ARBY8HT. 
 
 " Hello ! Arbyght, I'm glad to see you. Allow 
 ■me to congratulate you. Oh ! you need not look 
 surprised ; the boys all know it ; they will be 
 around here in delegations prett}'' soon to wish you 
 the joy and happiness you so richly deserve " 
 
 "Why, Castaway, where have you been? I 
 haven't seen you for a long time." 
 28 
 
434 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 " Oh ! I've been east in Ohio- 
 
 "I thought you had concluded to settle down," 
 interrupted Arbyght. 
 
 " That's just it, old fellow ; I'm moored at last ; 
 been down to Ohio for the anchor — secured it, too — 
 though the gender is not neuter ; congratulations 
 are in order, my friend " 
 
 " I'm more than pleased to hear it ; but who i» 
 she. Castaway ?" 
 
 "Now, Dick, you must not laugh, but it's 
 Kanie." 
 
 " What ! the old flame — your first love, Tom? " 
 
 "Yes, Dick. You see, I met her accidentally, 
 about two months ago, and all was explained. 
 You must come 'round and see us. She is just as 
 handsome as ever ; the same old roguish smil& 
 plays around her mouth ; the same merry twinkle 
 sparkles in her eye ; she has the most lovable dis- 
 position, and is the strangest compound of womanly 
 dignity and girlish gaiety you ever saw. Oh t 
 I had to succumb ; I couldn't help it ; I surren-^ 
 dered gracefully, and find the yoke of bondage not 
 only light but deliciously pleasant." 
 
 " But how aboutthatsimileof the cluster ring? " 
 asked Richard, laughingly. 
 
 "That is a good simile, Dick; but you seeitdon't 
 apply in this case ; I thought it did, but I was mis- 
 taken. The fact is, men are unreasonable in these- 
 matters. All women are fond of admiration. If 
 men admire them and pay them attentions they 
 can not always prevent it without appearing rude. 
 Just think of a man treating every lady he met 
 discourteously, simply because he was engaged. 
 Why, just before we were married I received a 
 little note from Ranie, which reads : 
 "'My Own Tom: 
 
 " 'I have thought of you, darling, every mo- 
 
CASTAWAY MEETS ARBYGHT. 435 
 
 ment since you left me, and loved you with a love 
 that shall be always fresh and new. What greater 
 torture could be inflicted upon a loving heart than 
 to be separated from the object of its love ? You 
 often speak of being jealous of me, dear. Having 
 known your love, Tom, could I ever love another? 
 Even the thought is loathsome. You are the only 
 star in my heaven. I am yours always, darling, 
 heart, and soul and life. Better than ever before 
 I love you, Tom. May God make me what I should 
 be for your sake. 
 
 "'Ranib.' 
 
 " I tell you, Dick, none but a good, true girl 
 could write a note like that." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Tom, I did not mean any- 
 thing by the remark ; I am, indeed, glad to hear 
 of your good fortune, and will be pleased to meet 
 your wife ; and, as you seem to know that I am 
 to be married, I hope you and Mrs. Castaway 
 will- find it agreeable to call upon us when we are 
 settled." 
 
 "Thank you, Arbyght, we will most certainly 
 do so. But, Dick, you are a lucky man, after all. 
 Every one says Miss Qeldamo is the sweetest girl 
 in the city. You know I met her at the hospital 
 one day. As the poet says, she has a voice with a 
 tear in it " 
 
 " There, there, Tom ; that will do ; I am a very 
 happy man ; my cup of joy is full, the clouds have 
 passed away, and the future seems very bright in- 
 deed ; but, Castaway, I suppose we will have to 
 erect that brazen cenotaph " 
 
 " Never mind that, Dick ; I knew you would 
 not forget it ; but I can assure you I would not 
 have thought of getting married if Mr. Fargood 
 had not promised to retain me until I was admitted 
 to the profit-sharing class." 
 
436 THE OTHBK SIDE. 
 
 " What a pity all employers are not like Far- 
 good," said Arbyght, regretfully. 
 
 "Indeed it is," replied Castaway, "and the 
 strangest thing about it is," he continued, "that 
 ■they can't see that Fargood's course is the best 
 even when regarded from a selfish standpoint, for 
 although his men really work but eight hours per 
 day, and receive twenty per cent, of the net profits 
 besides, yet Mr. Fargood realizes more upon his 
 investment than any capitalist in the city." 
 
 " That is not strange, Tom; his works are always 
 running, his ware is the best made and commands 
 the highest market price ; there is no waste, be- 
 cause the men in the profit-sharing class — and most 
 of them are in that class — are really partners, and 
 though the hours of labor have been reduced, as a 
 matter of fact production has been increased ; but 
 besides all that the real secret of his success lies in 
 the fact that light hearts prompt, and intelligent 
 brains guide the action of willing hands." 
 
 " You are right, Arbyght, the man who is im- 
 bruted by long hours of toil and poor food has no 
 more interest in his work than the convict has in 
 his task ; the dressmaker tires and grows weary 
 over her labor ; but the woman who makes and 
 fashions a dress for herself does not tire of the task, 
 because her mind is filled with pleasant thoughts ; 
 the garment is her own, and while she plies the 
 needle she sees her form arrayed in its beautiful 
 folds." 
 
 "Yes," answered Arbyght, "the capitalist is 
 short-sighted who does not understand that edu- 
 cated, happy, contented workmen are moi^e pro- 
 ductive, as well as being safer and better citizens, 
 than laborers whom natural wages have dwarfed 
 into mere machines." 
 
 "It is strange, indeed, Dick, that the world does 
 
CASTAWAY MEETS ARBYGHT. 437 
 
 not apply to this matter the common sense that it 
 does, say to breeding stock. Just think of a dray- 
 horse being entered in a race against Dexter. Why, 
 if we were to give to animals only the credit we give 
 to men, the man who owned the stable would be 
 entitled to more praise for endurance and fleetness 
 than the horse that won the race. But what do you 
 think will be the outcome of all this agitation? " 
 
 " Well, Tom, I am full of hope for the future, 
 though the problem may not be solved in our day. 
 The solution will be wrouglit out through educa- 
 tion, organization and the action of social forces." 
 
 "Why not organization and education? " 
 
 " Because organization, without education, is 
 like a locomotive without an engineer." 
 
 " The force would exist, but there would be no 
 guiding thought to direct it ; that's what you 
 mean, Dick?" 
 
 "Precisely, Tom; organization, as a factor in 
 the labor movement, involves the principle of 
 moral force ; and force of any kind which rights a 
 social wrong means revolution ; and a revolution 
 in the sphere of matter, to be successful, must be 
 preceded by a revolution in the realm of mind. 
 Of course, organization will direct attention to the 
 necessity for, and aid in, a more liberal diffusion 
 of knowledge, but organization will never be effec- 
 tive until education is more general and perfect." 
 
 " Yes, I can clearly see the necessity for educa- 
 tion," said Castaway; "for instance, the great 
 trouble in labor organizations is lack of stability, 
 cohesion, and patience. A union is no sooner 
 formed than the members insist that prices shall 
 be advanced and conditions be improved at once. 
 They seem to forget that 
 
 ' The patient dent and powder shock 
 "Will blast an empire like a rock ; ' 
 
438 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 or, rather, they do not comprehend the full im- 
 port of these lines, for they immediately begin to 
 drill holes in the empire of selfishness, and with 
 no regard for the patient dent, in goes the powder, 
 with the inevitable result, a ' flash in the pan,' but 
 instead of the empire's being blasted, the union is 
 shattered by the recoil ; they organize quickly, go 
 up like a rocket, but come down like a stick be- 
 cause they lack the stability and cohesion, which 
 can only be secured by intelligent and thorough 
 organization." 
 
 "Then again," said Arbyght, "wage-laborers 
 must rely more upon self-effort and their own 
 power and good judgment, than upon the promises 
 of politicians or the advice of hot-headed leaders." 
 
 " That's true, Arbyght ; it is really astonishing 
 how quickly some so-called statesmen discover that 
 labor has grievances which ought to be redressed, 
 when they learn that a powerful union has been 
 organized in their district. It is as easy for one 
 of this class to talk eloquently, but insincerely, 
 upon the iniquity of the wage-system as it is to 
 vote for subsidies and laws in the interest of 
 monopolies, or build blocks of houses with the 
 meager or nominal salary received by a member of 
 the common council of a city of the second class." 
 
 " Such men may keep the word of promise to the 
 ear of labor, but they will break it to its hope. 
 They are simply demagogues. The man who has 
 lived all his life on politics is poor material for a 
 genuine labor reformer," said Arbyght. 
 
 "But how do they manage to so successfully 
 deceive the people and keep themselves in office?" 
 inquired Castaway. 
 
 "Simply enough," responded Arbyght, "they 
 are well equipped in all the essentials of the dema- 
 gogue — smooth, oily speech, the ability to make 
 
CASTAWAY MEETS AYBYGHT. 439 
 
 •deceit and falsehood appear candor and truth, an 
 abundance of impudence and cheek, and a certain 
 -order of cunning which is often mistaken for genius. 
 By a shrewd application of these qualifications, and 
 ■a small expenditure of money to subsidize such 
 newspaper reporters as are willing, for a consider- 
 -ation, to disgrace a noble profession, they manage 
 for a time to ride upon the topmost wave of popu- 
 lar applause ; but the public, sooner or later, es- 
 timate them at their real value, and relegates them 
 to the obscurity out of which they issued." 
 
 " But what do you think of arbitration?" asked 
 ■Castaway. 
 
 " It will come into general use when capitalists 
 "become more intelligent and humane, or when they 
 'learn that labor is so thoroughly and intelligently 
 •organized as to be able to enforce any demand pub- 
 lic opinion would sustain. 
 
 " The reason why arbitration is not more gener- 
 :ally invoked at present is, the employer and the em- 
 ploye are suspicious and distrustful of each other ; a 
 spirit of mutual forbearance and conciliation must 
 be cultivated; each must bear in mind, at all times, 
 that there are two sides to every controversy, and 
 that in case of difficulty it is the part of wisdom to 
 •change places and view the issues in dispute, in all 
 their bearings, from opposite directions. If this 
 -were done in every instance with an honest deter- 
 mination to act justly there would be less friction 
 -and less trouble." 
 
 "And strikes?" asked Castaway. 
 
 "Strikes," answered Arbyght, "are a relic of 
 barbarism, but they would not exist in this age un- 
 less some, at least, of the conditions out of which 
 -they first grew existed. They are, in fact, revo- 
 lutionary ; so, also, are the acts of monopolies and 
 :«jndicates who wreck railroads, absorb the pub- 
 
440 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 lie domain, and in various ways rob and plunder 
 the people. The truth is, society has been frouor 
 the beginning in a state of warfare, but out of this 
 conflict has been evolved every advance in intelli- 
 gence, freedom of thought and action, and material 
 prosperity. The warfare will continue until mart 
 reaches the highest plane of social and mental' 
 progress of which he is capable ; and by organiza- 
 tion and the diifusion of knowledge we but amelio- 
 rate conditions and hasten by peaceable means an^ 
 end which will in any event be reached, though, 
 perhaps, through the agency of material force and!, 
 violence, a solution to be deprecated by the states- 
 man, the patriot and humanitarian." 
 
 " I think you are right, Arbyght ; this conflict- 
 must go on ; we can only aid the natural forces inv 
 society by agitation, the enactment of wise and 
 the repeal of unjust laws ; and yet it seems to me- 
 that the strike has not been given its full measure 
 of credit as a warring social force. Some ten years- 
 ago a great strike came under my personal obser- 
 vation ; a thousand men stopped work and suffered' 
 and starved like martyrs for six months and were- 
 finally beaten in the struggle, but there has been 
 no trouble in that establishment since ; all differ- 
 ences are now arbitrated ; both the employers and 
 the men now think that although the amount they 
 paid for their lesson in experience was large, yet 
 they have been fully repaid ; both sides fear and 
 dread another such strike and are always willing to 
 come together when differences arise and amicably 
 adjust them." 
 
 " You are quite right, Tom ; but, by the way,. 
 I read your interview, in the Voice of the Press^ 
 during the railway strike. It interested me much,, 
 though, I think, you did not fully elucidate onfe 
 point." 
 
CASTAWAY MEETS ARBYGHT. 441 
 
 "Which one?" 
 
 " Don't you think the natural differences be- 
 tween men to which you referred will eventually 
 disappear ? ' ' 
 
 ' _ "Not entirely," replied Castaway. "The so- 
 -cialists," he continued, "contend that these natural 
 differences are the result of present social differ- 
 ences ; hut the fact is, social differences first sprung 
 from natural differences, though it must he ad- 
 mitted that the latter are now fearfully augmented 
 by reason of the former ; yet, to admit that the 
 time will come when all men will he equal in 
 physical, moral and mental power is to admit that 
 it is possible to eliminate from the earth, sin and 
 disease and replace the race again in the Garden of 
 Eden." 
 
 " But is it not true, Tom, that better social con- 
 ditions would result in improved types of physical 
 and intellectual manhood? " 
 
 " Certainly, Dick ; but there is undoubtedly a 
 point beyond which the race can not be improved — 
 where evolution must stop — and when that point 
 is reached it will be found that there will still 
 exist natural differences between men." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Do you think it possible to destroy sin?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And from sin spring excesses and disease?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " There will always be cities ? ' ' 
 
 " Unquestionably." 
 
 " Urban life, agricultural pursuits, pure air and 
 healthy exercise produce the best types of physical 
 development? " 
 
 " That goes without saying." 
 
 "A sound mind generally exists in a sound 
 body?" 
 
442 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "True." 
 
 "The vine that produces delicioils wine in 
 France, if transplanted to American soil will not 
 produce the same results R" 
 
 "No, that's admitted." 
 
 " And climatic conditions affect animal as well 
 as vegetable life?" 
 
 " Tliat can not be denied, Tom." 
 
 " Well, then," said Tom, by way of clinching 
 the argument, " while these conditions continue, 
 ■while the human organism is liable to be impaired 
 by excesses, sickness, or disease of any kind, the 
 laws of procreation, which are immutable, will 
 produce human beings of unequal physical and 
 mental power. In trying to reach the millennium 
 by this path the socialists will be lost in the 
 wilderness of folly and fallacy ; and it is because 
 I am fully impressed with the truth of this position 
 that I believe co-operation, as we understand that 
 term, will never accomplish more than temporary 
 relief. The ignorant and improvident generally, 
 by some means, forfeit their share or stock in the 
 enterprise to the wise and the prudent." 
 
 "You are on the right track, Castaway; I 
 merely wanted your views upon the subjectj I can 
 see no way to a better environment except by the 
 means we have already discussed. My only fear 
 is that when the organizations ot labor become so 
 potent as to attract attention, the politician and 
 others, actuated by selfish motives only, will 
 crowd into and cripple them ; but this is a lesson 
 in experience, which must be learned in order to 
 be avoided in a future wherein organization will 
 be intelligent and perfect." 
 
 ^ -(("Ihave tho^ghtof that, Arbyght. We can only 
 be vigilant and hope for the best ; but I must go. 
 Mr. Fargood gives an entertainment to his men 
 
MUEDBR WILL SPEAK. 443 
 
 ■this evening, and I have promised to take Eanie. 
 If I don't put in an appearance pretty soon the 
 poor child will think I have fallen over a bridge 
 ■or lost my way in this big city." 
 
 And Castaway started off briskly, laughing 
 heartily. 
 
 CHAPTER XL VIII. 
 
 *' MURDER, THOUGH IT HAVE NO TONGUE, WILL SPEAK." 
 
 '' I am satisfied in my own mind, from to-night's 
 ■experience," said Sergeant Soolfire, "that Relva- 
 «on murdered and robbed your father, but how to 
 convince a jury of that fact does not seem so ap- 
 parent." 
 
 "There's the rub, Sergeant," replied Eichard. 
 " The more I study it, the further I seem from a 
 solution of the difficulty." 
 
 This conversation occurred in the detective's 
 office between Soolfire and Arbyght, after Eelva- 
 son had been placed in his carriage. 
 
 " You mentioned a man in California. Would 
 Jiis evidence amount to anything ?" asked the ser- 
 geant. 
 
 " His evidence would be mainl," circumstantial. 
 The night the deed was committed this man, Hun- 
 ter, left his home for the West. His father went 
 with him, or rather drove him to the nearest rail- 
 way station, to reach which they had to travel 
 •over the road and very spot on which my father 
 -was murdered, and about sixty rods beyond the 
 place where the body was found they saw a man 
 
444 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 ruDniDg down the road 'before them. A little fur- 
 ther on they passed him as he was turning off the 
 road into a pasture, where they saw him endeav- 
 oring to secure a saddled and bridled horse. Au 
 hour after the same man passed them on horse- 
 hack. They marked both rider and horse well^ 
 and when they reached the town they again saw 
 the same man at the livery where the' old man 
 stabled his team. Seen by daylight, the man 
 proved to be Alvan Kelvason. Hunter knew him 
 well. The horse he rode belonged to Mr. Morris, 
 and was left at the stable to be taken home. Hun- 
 ter feels satisfied that Relvason is the man, and 
 says he will swear positively to these facts. Still, 
 I doubt if, as evidence, it would be of any signifi- 
 cant value." 
 
 " Taken alone," replied Soolfire, " it would not 
 avail much. Still, it is a very criminating cir- 
 cumstance. A few more like it would convict 
 him." 
 
 " There is another matter which in some myste- 
 rious manner seems to be connected with this case," 
 answered Richard, "or at least has some bearing 
 upon it. I will tell you what it is, and probably 
 you may see further into it than I can, for I must 
 confess it puzzles me. When I first came to the 
 city I stopped at the Nevada House, but had hardly 
 taken possession of my room ere I was called upon 
 by a very seedy-looking individual, whose very 
 appearance and presence filled me with an inde- 
 scribable horror and loathing. When he told me 
 his name — Jack Terwillager — I was somewhat 
 surprised, as I had heard it frequently before from 
 my mother, as a man of that name was at one tima 
 employed on the old farm, and was one of the men 
 who brought my father's body home. When I 
 asked him if be had ever lived in Silverville he 
 
MURDER WILL SPEAK. 445 
 
 changed color and seemed visibly disturbed, and 
 ■when I told him my father had at one time a man 
 of that name in his employ, he rushed from the 
 room, exclaiming audibly, ' 'Tis him ; 'tis him !'" 
 His conduct amazed me, and presently it struck 
 me that he knew something of the murder and rob- 
 bery, and I followed him down stairs, but could 
 obtain no trace of him. Now comes the most sin- 
 ■gular part of this story : I, no later than last night, 
 fiaw that man prowling around Relvason's house." 
 
 " This is really a strange story," mused the ser- 
 geant ; " it is mysterious, but I think there is more 
 than a little in it. This man Terwillager must be 
 found." 
 
 " I tried to approach him last night when I saw 
 iiim, but he eluded me. I afterward learned that 
 Relvason was out and it now strikes me that Ter- 
 willager was waiting to intercept him, or waiting 
 to see him." 
 
 A silence ensued. 
 
 "Hal" ejaculated the sergeant, very abruptly, 
 *'let me see," he continued. "A year ago last 
 spring the department had information concern- 
 ing a Terwillager, who, it was claimed, was pass- 
 ing counterfeit money. By my_ soul, I think 
 there is something in it and I will find out be- 
 fore I am much older," and, rising, the sergeant 
 terminated his interview by bidding Arbyght good- 
 night. 
 
 " Will call to-morrow afternoon," he said at the 
 
 door, "at three." 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 " I see you are punctual and prompt," said Ar- 
 byght, smiling, as Soolfire walked into his ofiice 
 the following afternoon at three o'clock, sharp. 
 
 "I have just dropped in ; I can stay but a mo- 
 ment. I have discovered that the information 
 
446 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 against Terwillager was lodged by Eelvason — 
 something devilish queer in that. Think 1 hav& 
 evidence of the man's tracks. Will see you again," 
 and before Eichard could say a word he was gone. 
 
 About ten o'clock that evening the sergeant 
 called again. 
 
 "Well?" said Richard, embodying in the ex- 
 pletive by voice and look a host of questions. 
 
 Soolfire sat down and seemed decidedly non- 
 plussed. 
 
 " I was never so fairly eluded — cheated — in my 
 life. I have been following that man since six 
 o'clock. I tracked him to Abaddon Hall, thence- 
 to Relvason's private office, thence to the North 
 Side and back to Relvason's office, thence down 
 Lake street, and may I never die if he did not 
 elude me — at least, I lost sight of him in some of 
 the depots. And it seems I was not the only maa 
 anxious about his welfare, as he was also dogged 
 by three men since he left Relvason's office the last 
 time, and I hardly think they are particularly 
 anxious for his welfare." 
 
 "What can it mean?" 
 
 " To my mind it means simply this," replied 
 Soolfire, "the man is endeavoring to blackmail 
 Relvason and the latter wants him out of the way — 
 hushed up — killed. We must not let them head 
 us off. Come, put on your hat and let us go to- 
 gether. My eyes are not as good as they used to 
 be ; if they were I had not lost him." 
 
 Richard complied, and they were soon on the 
 street. But though they visited the depots and 
 every other locality or place in which he might be 
 likely to rendezvous, they failed to obtain a glimpse 
 of him or any clue to his whereabouts. 
 
 "Perhaps he has left the city," suggested Ar- 
 byght. 
 
MURDER WILL SPEAK. 447 
 
 "Don't think it," curtly answered the enraged 
 Soolfire. 
 
 Disgusted and worn out they resolved to go 
 home, and thitherward their steps they turned. 
 They walked along in silence until they came to 
 the corner of Franklin and Washington streets, 
 when suddenly Soolfire seized Arbyght fiercely 
 hy the arm. 
 
 " Seel see! " he whispered. 
 
 "What?" asked Richard in surprise. 
 
 " Are you blind ? That man going toward the 
 tunnel? It is Terwillager! Come, walk fast, we 
 will overtake him before he reaches the opposite 
 opening." 
 
 They trotted along briskly, reached the tunnel, 
 went down, passed rapidly through the lonely, 
 somber, vault-like passage, came up into the re- 
 lief-giving air on the opposite side, but saw him 
 not. Seeing a patrolman near the opening, the 
 sergeant asked if a man had just passed from the 
 tunnel. The officer shook his head. 
 
 "No?" exclaimed Soolfire. 
 
 " You are the first that came through for the last 
 ten minutes," shiveringly replied the patrolman. 
 
 Soolfire looked at Arbyght, and he looked at 
 Soolfire. 
 
 "Three men went down just before you came 
 np," remarked the patrolman abstractedly. 
 
 "How long before we came up ? " eagerly asked 
 the sergeant. 
 
 "About two minutes, I should judge." 
 
 "Got it!" ejaculated Soolfire, starting up the 
 street. Stopping quickly, he ordered the patrol- 
 man to follow him. When the sergeant reached 
 the point where" the wagon- way of the tunnel 
 merges into the street, he turned and went briskly 
 back along the wagon passage into the tunnel. 
 
448 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 The other two followed as fast as they could, but 
 he maintained the lead. Midway in the tunnel 
 there are two or three openings from the foot cor- 
 ridor or passage to the wagon-way, and beneath 
 one of these openings — the foot passage is some 
 feet higher than the bed of the wagon-way — they 
 found the body of Jack Terwillager covered with 
 blood, and, to all appearances, dead. His right 
 hand was thrust between his vest and shirt, and 
 when it was withdrawn by the sergeant, it was 
 found that the clinched fingers grasped an old, 
 well-worn wallet or pocket-book. 
 
 " There is a secret in that wallet for which you 
 lost your life — it can't be money," said the ser- 
 geant, feeling the wallet, as he calmly looked upon 
 the blanched face of the dead. 
 
 The fingers were unloosed and the wallet partly 
 removed, when the fingers again closed convul- 
 sively and half the pocket-book remained in the 
 hands of the sergeant, the balance in the clinched 
 hand of the supposed corpse. As it came apart, a 
 dirty, piece of paper fell to the pavement. 
 
 Richard stooped, picked it up, and was about 
 to hand it to the sergeant, when happening to 
 glance at it, he suddenly stopped, approached a 
 gas-jel., and hurriedly scanned it. 
 
 " What is it?" asked Soolfire. 
 
 "Something astoundingly important, can't 
 rightly make it out — my sight seems scattered — 
 my eyes swim." 
 
 " Give it to me," said the sergeant," as he took 
 it from his trembling hand, and going closer to 
 the jet, his astonished eyes fell upon a diary leaf, 
 of which the following is a fac-simile : 
 
MURDER WILL SPEAK. 
 
 449 
 
450 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 The sergeant first gasped a surprised exclama- 
 tion, then uttered a prolonged whistle. 
 
 "Well worth the hunt — by ray soul it's worth 
 a life — worth sixty thousand dollars, my boy I" 
 flapping Arbyght on the back ; " the mills of the 
 
 :gods grind slowly but they do grind " a groan 
 
 from Terwillager, "what, not dead? so much the 
 ibetter, your evidence will make matters much 
 {)lainer and conviction doubly sure. Here, my 
 Iboy, take good care of that," he concluded, as he 
 (handed the paper to Kichard, who, though not 
 ■clearly aware of all it contained, was, nevertheless, 
 .alive to the importance of its preservation. 
 
 Terwillager was carried out of the tunnel, thence 
 to the nearest police station where his wounds — 
 two stabs in the breast and one in the right cheek — 
 were dressed and the man otherwise provided for. 
 He was soon able to talk rationally and gave a full 
 account of the transaction. 
 
 "I found that paper," he said, in the right 
 hand of my murdered master. My first thought 
 was justice to the family, but then the devil entered 
 my soul and I concluded to make Relvason pay a 
 good round sum for it. For many years I failed 
 to find him, and when I finally succeeded, I found 
 lie was a tough customer. He paid me a thousand 
 -dollars on three occasions, and about eighteen 
 months ago I drew on him for another thousand, 
 of which more than half was counterfeit, for pass- 
 ing which I was forced to fly from the city. But 
 I returned a few days ago and demanded three 
 ithousand dollars. I made the demand following 
 ibis encounter with the son of his victim, and so 
 terrified him, by threatening to go to Arbyght, 
 that he promised to comply and appointed a 
 (rendezvous, whither I was going at the time 
 I was attacked. Why I was not killed outright 
 
MURDER WILL SPEAK. 451 
 
 and the paper taken is a matter of surprise to 
 me." 
 
 "I think I can account for it," said the ser- 
 geant, "we must have entered the tunnel about 
 the time you encountered the assassins, and as we 
 were running they no doubt heard us coming, and 
 the fear of capture or detection drove them from 
 their uncompleted task." 
 
 "I think you are right," he replied, "I did 
 hear some one following me and the fellows did 
 seem half inclined to let me pass." 
 
 " Do you think Relvason employed those men ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it ; I know I was followed and 
 dogged ; he must have had nearly a dozen men after 
 me as I eluded two gangs and thought there could 
 be no more, hence I was off my guard when at- 
 tacked." -' 
 
 About ten o'clock the following morning Sool- 
 £re and Lanspear called upon Eichard, whom they 
 found in a very brown study. 
 
 "Why, Arbyght,what'supnow?'' asked Soolfire. 
 
 " Well, Sergeant, the truth of the matter is, I 
 feel like a man who had suddenly gained a prize 
 for which he had struggled long and hard, but 
 who finds that actual possession detracts very 
 materially from the pleasure which he expected 
 to derive from that for which he so assiduously 
 labored. Now that Eelvason is really in my 
 power, half the vindictiveness and desire for revenge 
 has left me. In fact, I am at loss how to proceed. 
 Justice must be done ; but can I insist upon justice 
 without seeming revengeful ?" 
 
 " My dear fellow, you need not trouble yourself 
 about these abstract points of justice ; for a higher 
 power has superseded an earthly tribunal in this 
 case, and Alvan Relvason will answer for his crime 
 before the bar of eternal judgment." 
 
452 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 "What! dead?" said Richard, in a startled, 
 questioning tone. 
 
 " Yes ; he is dead. After leaving you last- 
 night I took the precaution to have police officers 
 in citizens' clothes stationed around Eelvason's^ 
 house, at such a distance as to avoid suspicion, s» 
 as to prevent his escape. This morning, as soon 
 as I could procure the proper affidavit, I proceeded 
 to effect his arrest. When I reached his house, I 
 found him dead. The morning papers contained 
 a full and accurate account of the attempt to mur- 
 der Terwillager. When Eelvason came to break- 
 fast, he called for the morning papers, as was his 
 custom, and, as soon as he opened one of the 
 papers, he became deathly pale, jumped up from 
 the table, his face flushed up and turned a purplish 
 hue, his eyes bulged out, and then he fell vio- 
 lently back upon the floor, and died before med- 
 ical assistance could be had. Death was caused 
 either by apoplexy or the bursting of a blood 
 vessel." 
 
 Richard, Lanspear, and Soolfire now held a short 
 conference as to the proper course to pursue in this 
 new turn of affairs, and it was finally decided to 
 allow Lanspear to act as he thought best in the 
 premises. 
 
 Eelvason having made no will, an administrator 
 was appointed, who took charge of the estate. 
 Shortlyafter his appointment, Lanspear called upon 
 him and laid before him the proofs they had of 
 Eelvason's having murdered and robbed Mr. Ar- 
 byght, and told him they proposed to proceed 
 against the estate at once, unless the matter was 
 settled. The administrator, after a consultation 
 with his counsel, concluded to accede to the demand 
 made by Lanspear, and paid Arbyght sixty thou- 
 sand dollars in full settlement of the amount stolen. 
 
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 453 
 
 and interest for twenty-five years and the legacy 
 willed Bertha by Edna Relvason. 
 
 Sergeant Soolfire called upon Richard the morn- 
 ing the settlement was made, about an hour after 
 its consummation. 
 
 " I congratulate you, old fellow," said the ser- 
 geant ; "and I hope you will have all the good 
 luck you deserve in the future and live to enjoy 
 many happy days." 
 
 " But how will I ever," said Richard, grasping 
 his hand, " how can I ever repay you for all you 
 liave done for me ? You have, indeed, been to me 
 a. true friend." And the strong man's eyes grew 
 moist with tears as he shook the hand of the kind, 
 noble-hearted sergeant. 
 
 The sergeant left shortly afterward, and Rich- 
 ard was alone. He pondered and thought and 
 meditated a long time. He could hardly realize 
 the turn affairs had taken. The poet who said 
 that "Grief treads upon the heels of pleasure" 
 might have adapted his line to Richard's case by 
 «aying "Joy treads upon the heels of grief." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 ■"who ever loved that loved not at first sight?" 
 
 When an unselfish man is in the ecstacy of 
 iiappiness, he invariably desires to make others 
 happy also, especially those who are dear to him. 
 
 That afternoon Richard found himself approach- 
 ing Geldamo cottage. Vida saw him and ran out 
 to the gate to meet him. Her beaming face, 
 
454 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 sparkling eyes, and tewitching, smiling mouth 
 gave unmistakable evidence of the joy and pleasure 
 liis appearance excited. 
 
 "I am so glad you have come, dear, I wantedl 
 to see you so badly, and papa wishes to see you^ 
 too ; he wants you to forgive him ; he is very sorry 
 and of course you will for my sake ; won't you,, 
 darling? " and she glanced up at him so lovingly, 
 so innocently, so tenderly, that, had she asked for 
 his life, she might have received it at that moment. 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive, hut have much for 
 which I should ask forgiveness ; for instance, for 
 having dared to fall in love with you, my own 
 sweet Vida." 
 
 ' ' Now, I won't hear another word ; we will 
 quarrel ; 1 forbid you .to ever mention that subject 
 again," and she raised a tiny finger, which sh& 
 shook deprecatingly. 
 
 By this time they had reached the parlor, and 
 Mr. Geldamo came forward and warmly welcomed 
 him, and formally gave him his daughter's hand. 
 There were mutual congratulations, mutual self- 
 condemnations, mutual forgiveness, mutual happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Eichard remained all the afternoon, and wa» 
 never so happy in his life. Vida sang and played 
 and talked as only a woman in love can. And 
 this was but the beginning of the many pleasant, 
 happy days they enjoyed together. Before he left, 
 he told her about his change in fortune. 
 
 " Are you not pleased? " he asked, taking both 
 her hands in his own. 
 
 "If it makes you any happier, 1 am, indeed, 
 pleased, but I would not care for the wealth of the 
 world unless it added to our mutual enjoyment. 
 But I will tell you a great secret," and she looked' 
 very wise and demure. "I was not going to^tell 
 
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 455- 
 
 you until — "(blushing) "until we" — (a rosier 
 blush) " were " 
 
 "Married," smiled Richard, as he drew her 
 lovingly to him, and reverently kissed her glowing;, 
 cheek. 
 
 " Yes, I was going to keep it a secret until then,, 
 because I feared it would disturb you, but I don't 
 think it will now worry you, or make you feel 
 badly. Now, listen, the secret is this : We are 
 not as poor as papa at first thought we would be, 
 and he has promised to buy us a nice house and 
 furnish it comfortably, and then he proposes to 
 have you and Paul go into business ; and perhaps 
 in time we may be able to rebuild the old home 
 as it was formerly, and be all happy there together." 
 
 Richard was unable to answer for some little 
 time. 
 
 "I know not what to say, Vida, I have, indeed, 
 suffered much, but I could endure the torture st 
 hundred times were I certain it would end in suchi 
 heavenly sunshine as this." 
 
 " Why, Richard, how extrvagant you are in? 
 expression ; I don't think you love me half as 
 much as I do you, do you, darling?" and she 
 nestled closer to him, and while her arms stole 
 softly around his neck, an arch smile rippled o'er 
 her features, and a roguish, merry twinkle glis- 
 tened in her eye. 
 
 "Love you, Yida? Does the ship-wrecked' 
 mariner, in his frail tempest-tossed boat, love the 
 sight of the rescuing sail ? Even so do I love you, 
 darling. What the mild rain is to the parched, 
 plant your love is to me ; I love you with all the 
 strength of a strong, passionate nature ; with the 
 tender, soft affection of a young mother for her 
 first-born." 
 
 "I know you do, Richard, and I am so happy. 
 
456 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 I did not know how much I loved you until we 
 parted at New Orleans. Those were cruel, long, 
 Jong days. The yearning, longing desire to see 
 you was so great that my heart ached until it was 
 sore." 
 
 " There, there, Vida, never mind it now," said 
 Eichard, and, drawing her closer to him, he 
 kissed away a tear that sparkled like a dew-drop 
 on her fair, soft cheek. 
 
 " I know I am foolish to think of those days, but 
 I can't help it sometimes." She then went to the 
 piano and sang., in a very tender voice, a verse of 
 the song beginning — 
 
 " I'd offer thee this hand of mine.'' 
 
 When she ceased Eichard was visibly affected. 
 Going up to her, he gently stroked her hair, and 
 said: 
 
 " Vida, I will never forget that night. What 
 was a hope before, that evening became a convic- 
 tion. I knew then that you loved me." 
 
 " And you did not discover it before? " and she 
 glanced at him reprovingly, and tried to look a 
 little displeased; "but when did you first love 
 we .^ " she asked, as the affected frown melted away 
 as he gazed at her with laughing eyes. 
 
 "The day we met in the tower chamber — and 
 you, darling?" 
 
 " How provoking you are, Eichard ; you know 
 the lines of our lives crossed that da)'." 
 
 "Yes, Vida, that was our day of destiny ; but 
 I must go now, love," and he arose to depart. 
 When he had donned his overcoat and was stand- 
 ing near the hall door, Vida said, gravely : 
 
 " Eichard, I want to ask you a question." 
 
 "Why, certainly ; nothing serious I hope ? " 
 
 " Very serious, Eichard." 
 
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 45T 
 
 *'But what is it, dear?" 
 
 "I'll whisper it in your ear, for it is a very grave 
 matter," and as he bent his head she asked in a 
 low, sweet, tender voice : 
 
 "Who loves you, darling?" And before he 
 could recover from his surprise, she kissed him, 
 darted away, and her merry, silvery laugh floated 
 through the open door as he passed out. Before 
 he reached the gate, she called him, and when 
 he returned she asked when he had heard from 
 Bertha. 
 
 " I had a letter from her this morning ; hut that 
 reminds me of a question I wanted to ask — where 
 is Paul?" 
 
 " Could you not guess ? " she asked, by way oi 
 answering ; but she smiled so archly and looked 
 80 mischievously, that Richard responded promptly: 
 
 "At Elgin." 
 
 " How shrewd you are I I have had a long let- 
 ter from Bertha, and I am dying to see her, and 
 am going down as soon as Paul returns ; but I will 
 only stay over night ; that's why I called you back ; 
 I wanted to tell you, as I may go any day." 
 
 Richard was now almost a daily visitor at Gel- 
 damo cottage. Time flew quickly, unheediagly 
 by, and the course of love flowed smoothly and 
 grew stronger as the days rolled speedily into 
 weeks and months. 
 
 The new year came, and Eichard and Vida, Paul 
 and Bertha were married. A quiet double wed- 
 ding took place at the cottage. A short tour east, 
 and the happy couples returned and settled down 
 to the unromantic realities of every-day life. 
 
 Paul Geldamo and Eichard Arbyght formed a 
 partnership, each investing fifty thousand dollars. 
 They are manufacturers of a staple article of com- 
 merce, and employ over three hundred mechanics. 
 
458 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 After the firm had been in existence and in active 
 operation for a period of six months, the men were 
 called together, on a pay-day, and after they had 
 assembled, Arbyght addressed them substantially 
 as follows : 
 
 " Fellow- workmen, it is now six months since 
 these works were formally opened. You are doubt- 
 less aware that there has been invested one hundred 
 thousand dollars in the business, which, as you 
 know, has been conducted under the personal 
 supervision of Mr, Geldamoand myself. We have 
 devoted to it our time, energy and labor. Thanks 
 to your skill and care, our work, owing to its 
 superior merit, has found a ready sale. The busi- 
 ness has been quite profitable, not as much so, 
 however, as we expect it to be in the future. After 
 deducting from the profits a sum equal to a rea- 
 sonable and just rate of interest on the money in- 
 vested, the cost of insurance and taxes, the salary 
 of Mr. Geldamo and myself, which we have fixed 
 at three thousand per annum, and an amount ta 
 cover the probable depreciation of the machinery 
 and buildings, owing to natural wear and decay^ 
 there remains a surplus which divided equally 
 among the men employed will give to each of you 
 about forty-five dollars. This amount we propose 
 to now pay you. We have, however, this sugges- 
 tion to make : that you place this first installment 
 of profit in the hands of trustees, to be named by 
 yourselves, as a fund for the purpose of aiding those 
 of your number who may, either by sickness or ac- 
 cident, need assistance ; and, secondly, for the pur- 
 pose of establishing a library and a reading and 
 lecture-room ; and from subsequent profits you can 
 deduct such an amount only as will be found nec- 
 essary by experience to successfully carry out 
 these objects." 
 
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 45? 
 
 To these suggestions the men readily acceded. 
 During the ensuing six months not only did pro- 
 duction increase, but the quality of the goods man- 
 ufactured was considerably improved. Each man 
 felt that he had a direct interest in the business, 
 and manifested therein the same interest and care 
 that he would were the business wholly his own. 
 The result was that at the end of the next six 
 months the surplus of profit to be divided between 
 the workmen was fifty per cent, greater than at 
 the end of the first six months. During the suc- 
 ceeding six months the increase was still greater. 
 The men now insisted that the compensation of 
 the employers should be raised a thousand dollars 
 per annum. 
 
 At the end of two years, however, it was found 
 thatj owing to commercial and business depression, 
 the profits were barely sufficient to meet the ex- 
 penses. As soon as the men were informed of this- 
 fact, they, of their own volition, agreed to accept 
 a reduction in wages uutil such time as business- 
 again revived, which revival occurred during the en- 
 suing year, when the former scale of wages was 
 again restored. 
 
 At present the men in this establishment work 
 but eight hours per day. Every six months all 
 profits, after deducting the expenses as above speci- 
 fied, are divided among the men. These profits 
 are steadily increasing, and the men are becoming^ 
 more intelligent, more skillful, more productive, 
 more industrious than the workmen of any other 
 establishment in the city. Tom Castaway is the 
 superintendent of these works and is the same 
 genial, large-hearted, charitable man he was when 
 we first made his acquaintance. The men respect 
 and revere him, for his conduct toward them i& 
 always pleasant, kind and courteous. 
 
460 THE OTHER SIDE. 
 
 The winter after Richard's marriage passed, 
 spring and summer came and went, and autumn 
 again came 'round. As he returned home one 
 evening, Vida met him with a lovely smile, but 
 there were tears in her eyes. 
 
 " What is it, love?" he asked in alarm. 
 
 "Poor Mary 1 am so glad too, but here, 
 
 read the letter yourself, I know you will be glad 
 to hear from Oscar." 
 
 Richard took the letter, which proved to be long, 
 and full of love and affection. At the end he 
 found this postscript : 
 
 P. S. — ^603^ Tuesday is the anniversary of 
 Amy's death, and Oscar and I are going to strew 
 the grave with wild prairie flowers. We wiU take the 
 baby along too. It is four weeks old now, and is the 
 dearest, sweetest little piece of humanity you ever 
 saw. We called it Amy. It looks just as she looked 
 when I first saw her. Poor Amy 1 1 often wonder 
 if she is not continually hovering near us, she loved 
 us so well. M. W. 
 
 But little remains to be told. Spindle forfeited 
 bail and fled. Miller died of mania-a-potu, remorse 
 of conscience having driven him deeper into hope- 
 less inebriation. Cassie Miller is the adopted 
 child of Richard Arbyght. Mellen left the city, 
 and report says the country. Sergeant Soolfire 
 was liberally rewarded by Arbyght, and is ever 
 his staunch and true friend. Mr. Fargood prospers 
 and is loved and respected by his men. Unionism 
 flourishes in the city, and through its - agency 
 workingmen are fast becoming more thoughtful, 
 more industrious, more temperate, and are making 
 rapid strides in mental and moral worth and 
 social elevation. 
 
LOVE AT FIEST SIGHT. 461 
 
 And now the last scene closes, and as we make 
 our obeisance, we fancy we. hear the applause of 
 some, the hisses of others, and finally we imagine 
 we see the silent, thoughtful faces of many as the 
 curtain drops. 
 
 THE END. 
 
ROWEN. 
 
 Monday Evening. 
 My Dear Arbyght : 
 
 During the last hour I have revolved very seriously in my mind the 
 subject-matter of our conversation this afternoon. I think your asser- 
 tion that strikes are a relic of barbarism is not strictly true, though 
 popularly so regarded. A " relic " means that which is left or re- 
 mains after loss or decay of the rest. While the wage-system con- 
 tinues there is almost too much of the body of social barbarism left 
 to justify the use of the expression ; but aside from that, I am inclined 
 to believe that strikes are the result of existing barbarous conditions, 
 and even this seems paradoxical, for they are unknown exceptin civ- 
 ilized countries. Perhaps it would be more correct to say they are 
 one of the social forces, v\fhich must exist until the "struggle of 
 classes " ceases, or becomes as feeble as it can be made by education 
 and the evolution of mankind toward better conditions. M. Guizot, 
 as statesman, sought to give such a gloss to the facts of history as 
 vifould countenance the political acts and designs of his royal master, 
 Louis Phillippe; but, as historian, he was forced to admit, in his 
 ■" History of Civilization," " that the struggle of classes constitutes the 
 "very fact of modern history, of which it is full. Modern history," he 
 says, " indeed, is born of this struggle between the different classes 
 •of society." Modern history means the liberty and freedom we now 
 «njoy, and which was born of the struggle of classes — it is the herit- 
 age of the trade unionists, peasants, and burghers of Europe. The 
 organizations of labor, the guilds or trade unions are as old, in 
 origin, as the struggle of classes itself. De Cassagnac says they ex- 
 isted in Syria over fourteen hundred years before the birth of Christ ; 
 they existed in the reign of Solomon, as is clearly shown in the eighth 
 book of the history of Flavius Josephus; they existed among the 
 Greeks from the time of Theseus and among the Romans from the 
 time of Numa. After the Augustan period Roman history is full 
 and explicit upon the subject of trade or labor organizations, or 
 guilds. But there were no such organizations during the so-called 
 Dark Ages. When Roman civilization was overturned and sub- 
 merged by the Goths, Vandals, and Quadi, in the fifth century, trade 
 pnions or guilds disappeared and were not again heard of until hu- 
 manity, as Vico would express it, " returned upon itself," seven centu- 
 ries later. Upon the advent of barbarism and ignorance, these organiza- 
 tions vanished and did not appear until humanity returned upon itself 
 and civilization again dawned upon society. They are an adjunct of 
 intellectual and material progress, and are found only in civilized 
 communities. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 Tom Castaway.