»-»A\'as«AW«*"4.'.^-%i(rt!?ns''A!;:Xiv« . ■ .\: ^^' STRUCTIO OOTH\M C) f-> vmmmmmmmmmmmmBk mmiiiiiBiifinniii'iiiii ^Ss TL'J i.ti49^ ^^^bTiEacfxi^yu^^ D UKE UNIVERSIT Y LIBRARY The Glenn Negley Collection of Utopian Literature / Digitized by the Internet Arciiive in 2010 witii funding from DulTK(TI0N"' 93 IV CONTKNTS. PAOK CHAPTER XII. I)owN-T(j\vx 107 CHAPTER XIII. " A Placuk Si'ot" liy CHAPTER XIV. Clinging to tuk Wrecks 130 CHAPTER XV. In a Nkkvois Statk i;}7 CHAPTER XVI. Ti! i; Man "with a Closed Hand 145 CHAPTER XVII. The Uninvited Ouept 153 CHAPTER XVIII. The Ari'AiuTiON 103 CHAPTER XIX. " The Public" 173 CHAPTER XX. TwilkjhtStud.es 180 CHAPTER XXI. " Wk. the Pf'.orLE. " 184 CHAPTER XXIT. Vkuy TiUEi) TOO CHAPTER XXIII. ""WnosE Child is This?" 197 CHAPTER XXIV. "Fike!" 20<5 PROLOGUE. Twelve Drunken Wome)x Sent Up. Policeman Wemeu arraigned before Justice O' ReiUy, in the Tombs Police Court, yesterday, twelve filthy-looking women. He charged theui all with drunkeuness Justice O'lleilly sentenced them to the Island for one month. The janitor of the Tombs sprinkled carbolic acid about the room after the women were led off to jail. — Evenimj Tdey striking the highest po.-^sible average you can see clearly that a city lies here in the shadow of its doom ; that its destruction is not far oil if this condition of things long prevails. But here are the a';*!;!!]! 6 I'KOLOULE. two examples of life from the higher walks. "Wo quote from private letters : " You shoulil have come to the great dinner. It was the greatest affair that has ever been. Kome, in her pulmiest days, was sur- passed in every particuhir. It was a great mistake for you to have said what you did ; for besides the honor and the remeuibran<;e of the gorgeous event, we had at least fifty kinds of wines, to say noth- ing of the brandies, the benedictiue.s, the liquors of all names, nations, and cellars. I am told the dinner cost $80,000. The Herald puts it at a round hundred thousand. Read its ten-column account of it. My head aches too much to write more now. But do not speak of him as being tight-fisted, my boy, after this big dinner." ******** " Dear Sib : You are entirely in the wrong about your great-little man ' Stone, ' of Wall Street. His habits are most exemplary. And if he has got hold of your money in Wall Street, why he has done no more than you or any other man would have done with his money if you only could have beaten him. No, my friend ; the fact is, the little giant of Wall Street has more money-brains than you and his other enemies. So be manly enough to admit it, and let him alone ; for he has his load in life to bear as well as you and the others. Do you think it any easy thing to take care of fifty railroads and fifty millions of dollars ? " It is not an easy thing. And if you could have seen his face to- day as I saw it, all furrowed over, as if full of railroad tracks, hard, and dry, and bloodless, twitching nervously now and then as his bright eyes beamed with intense excitement, you would have felt no bitterness at all, but have been your dear old self, and have felt only pity. The fact is, for all his exemplary and well-ordered life, he is far from well in body or in mind. He is compelled to have con- stant recourse to artificial stimulants to keep up and not fall under the great load under which he stoops. His hand trembles sometimes as if he had an ague. And what wonder ? The life he leads is too arduous. It is unnatural, and, of course, he must resort to unnatural Biimulants for support. " But bear in mind his life is exemplary. And even in his weakest moments he never makes a spectacle of himself, as do so many great men. You might bo with him all day, I think, and never once see him take a single glass of l)randy or anything of the kind in public. And so, whatever his life is or has been, you cannot say that he has set a bad example to any one. But as his life is unnatural and his I'KOLOCUK. 7 nerves constantly strung to the most terrible tension, why ho must resort to opiates, and bavo more than natural support. Yet when tbo enil conies —and it cannot bo very far oil — no ouo can say that his lifo was not cxonii>lary." Dear and in(lulnt I have kept back this ui^ly and offensive beast in the dark ])lace8 as far as possible. We catch a breath of the f nnics of alcohol only as we hastily pass np and down Fifth Avenue now and then, and that is about all. More than that might offend just now, and mar the force of the story. But I am willing that you shall understand very clearly, and from the lirst, and all the time, that the paragraph at the liead of this Prologue is the argument and the excuse for this work. And if you will now turnback a page and read it over you will see clearly that a story devoted entirely to these twelve women would not only be unpleasant, but would be a work entirely fruitless for good. I will merely men- tion the fact that they were wives of laborers, car- drivers, freight-handlers, and so on. Thoy were not im- moral women. One of them, I learned, had once been a teacher in the public schools. The point is to begin at the bottom and make it tinally impossible for such things to transpire in the light of the sun, here in the grandest commercial centre of the world. The like of such scenes must and shall be nuide impos- sible, though we arc dust when it is done. ****** And now, as you, after the haste and fashion of the time, run swiftly through these pages, 1 implore you look a little carefully at the character of the man with the hundred and more miUions of money. Look at the man with the v;ust smile and the big, red, round hands that holds them so tightly chusped, as if he feared that one of these hundred millions of dollare should escape from his big, fat hands and fall to the ground. Look at him. Think of him. Is he happy i 10 PROLOGUR. Look at him at tliu last, when liu sits in liis great l)ro\vn-stoiie palace, all alone, after the grandest y<^^ that was ever given. Sec him sitting there all alone with his glass. See him lift his gUuss to his lips, and set it down untasted, for some one lias come and sat down in the cliair opposite, and is looking him in the face. Some one has come and sat down in the chair opposite, and also sets another sort of glass down on the table between them — Death, with his honr-glass ! Oh, the agony of that time ! The terror of that man ! Happy ? Well, his life and his death ought to be of some use to the world. 1 think that God meant it as an example, to show how worthless this wealth is which we are all so drunken and mad about. And, if you please, look at the nervous, treacherous little giant of Wall Street as you hasten through these pages. You do not see much of him, for he is so unpleasant. Like the twelve women at the head of this prologue, he is.as unpleasant in soul as they in body. If he should walk through these pages much I would have to sprinkle them with carbohc acid, as the janitor did the Tombs. But you get a good glimpse of his back as he leaves the stage and flies away from the face of man in his de- lirium and madness. A strange drunkenness is this of his, a silent, sullen drunkenness ; a drunkenness of soul as well as of body, as if his dark, desperate, despicable little soul had grown dnnik in the blood of the innumer- able victims he plundered and finally drove to suicide. THE DESTllUCTJON OF GOTHAM. CHAPTER I. CROSSING A FERRY, One May edging on June, and late in tlic afternoon, coming in against the tide of people pouring out, a dark- eyed, shy, and timid girl, Avitli a hesitating air, a face lifted, tired and helpless, toward the great city beyond the river before her, stepped on the ferry-boat as it ground against the groaning and swaying timbers. Slie looked back over her shoulder as if she feared she might 1)0 pur- sued ; or, maybe, it was habit nuidc her look back and about in a weary and troubled way. Unhappy people are always looking back. They look wearily back, as if they had Ictst something, left some- thing behind. Happiness ? This dark-eyed, silent chihl — for she was only a child — had been seen Ijy some of the men nearly all day hover- ing around the wharf, not (piite decided to cross, yet not daring to turn back. She had been seen also by an old monster, a woman with a foreijjn accent and a breath smellimr of jrarlic and gin. As for this creature with the batl breath and a dirty basket on her arm, all men who knew New York well knew her ; and tliey knew lier business perfectly, too. This wonderful city — this marvellous city hereby the 12 THE l^ESTULXTIOX OF GOTHAM. sea — seems to me like the sudden blossom and flower of a germ planted fur buck in the dawn of time. Rome has her certain and definite days of carnival. This wonder- ful new city of New York luis three hundred and sixty- live days of mad, maddening, wild, and delirious carnival every year. Her merriment is a type of madness. She never rests. She never sleeps. She has not slept since the days of her birth and baptism. Even her people scarcely seem to sleep. They run forward day and night, night and day, until each one, in the impetuous rushing, comes sud- denly to the end of his road, and so falls headlong in his grave. And falling so, rushing forward so, you some- times see, in the twilight, in the dusky evening of the carnival, that two are rushing, running, hand in hand. The one falls suddenly ; the hand lets go ; the kind earth closes her lips and says no word ; and the next year the place of the grave, the face of the dead — all are for- gotten. Forgotten, because in the place of the one that has perished, however beautiful, however brave, gifted, good, ten others have poured in from the countless forces of the earth ; ten others, all equally brave, good, gifted, beautiful. Let us cross the moat which surrounds this mighty citadel and take part in the splendor, the glory, the de- light, the mad revelry, the misery there ; for to know this city is to know the universe. All Europe, all Asia, all Africa, the whole wide earth has sent up her best, worst, weakest, strongest — ay, most wicked, wild, and reckless people to the building of this new Babel. This ditch, surrounding this stronghold — ^this island, which has gold enough heaped upon it to sink it — has many drawbridges crossing it from many ways. Over these iigly ferries, these wooden drawbridges, cross- CROSSING A FKUUV. 13 ing the ^roiit inoat, iiilllloiis of people pour inces- santly. Those who enter here do not all return. Tlio places of the dead must be supplied, filled, and the rush for- ward must be kept uj). It is a battle in which ten step forward to take the place of the one who has fallen. It has been said that in this city no one is born now ; and this is largely true. But let us look after the beautiful little waif, this leaf that has fallen from the tree and is being borne on, down the willing stream. Once having set eyes on the beau- tiful girl who hesitated and hardly dared enter the great city, the monster did not lose sight of her. She sat down licr basket and sat herself down finally. She could afford to wait. By and by the tired and frightened child, who had evidently walked in from the country to the river, went into the waiting-room to buy a cake. The old woman followed, set down her basket close by her side as she stood at the counter, and also bougbt a cake. Then she bought two boiled eggs. One of these she offered to the lone, hungry, and frightened child. The poor thing was alxnit to take this gratefully ; she had only three pennies remaining. But lifting her great, beautiful Southern eyes to the red and vicious face be- fore her, she dropped her half- reaching hand with a cry of dismay and hurried away. She heard a low chuckle, a laugh as a demon might laugh, as she left the place and stood out close by the wharf, as near the edge as possible. The boat was coming in. A sea of white faces was lifted before her and shone above the foamy water in the fading sun : and standing there, she did not dare turn about. She feared, she felt, she did not sec, but she 14 TIIK DESTUL'CTIOX OF GOTHAM. knew tluit tlio old wonuiii had followed her, was close at her side. What did she want with that basket { It was a market-basket. But it was not market time. Yet she liad some vegetables, some stale fniit, and some few bad eggs in the basket. When arrested, which was not nnfreqiiently, she was in the habit of exhibiting this miserable stuff and pro- fessing to the court that she was a poor but honest board- ing-house keeper who went across tlie river and hung about the ferries in order to buj cheai^er of the farmers. Feeling, knowing, as said before, that she was pur- sued, this girl, more frightened now than before, appalled even at the step she had taken, the mighty city before her, the monster behind her, she stood in the midst of the crowd, trembling like a leaf. Two liandsome, fashionable, sleek, and gentlemanly men turned back with apparent unconcern. They had seen the girl's face. That w\is enough. They understood the whole thing well when they saw the old woman. They were not particularly bad men. They were New Yorkers. Let us do them justice. Either of these men, had they seen this girl — even the old monster pursuing her — thrown down in the street or in any way at a grave physical disadvantage would have given a hand of help or a bit of silver, and then passed on and forgotten the whole affair. But in the moral fight of life they had no help to give. They did not understand such a thing as that. In the rush and roar of the great carnival their ears had been made deaf. They had their eyes only ; and they saw that she was strangely, pitcously beautiful. Some others saw all this too. They understood it all too. They quietly smiled CROSSING A FKUUV. lo at cacli other mid G;avc tlic field nj) to the two liandsoinc young men who liad iirst set out in the chase. Sucli is tliis wonderful city. It was a strange, a stirring scene, as tlie hoat drew out across the Hudson. The great city seemed to. rise uj) in its strength and splendor as the sun sank in the west. Away to the right, down the l)URy ])ay, ships of far- oif lands went to and fro, seeking the golden fleece of commerce ; great, stately ships, with a thousand happy souls, came sailing in from Europe ; little steam-tugs shot in and out, vicious and piratical-looking ; revenue ships sent to lay tribute on the strangers — the weary travellers coming to their rest — forbidding the landing of those who thought to come to a land of liberty, laying tribute on all who come to our white sea-doors seeking peace and the right ; thousands of men with officers over them, with oaths fashioned to be broken, bribes in one hand and Ijibles, " greasy with oaths," in the other ; and so all these things to the right, to the left, the silver Hud- son sliding to the ocean ; the city rising in glory in the east as the sun settled in the west ; the spluttering and splasliing ferry-boat, rocking, groaning, sighing, almost crying out with pain, drew hastily in toward New York. One of the two handsome young men who had turned back with his friend to follow the dark eyes and Madonna face hurriedly approached the old hag and thnist some money in her hand. He was quick about it, but not quick enough to escape the eye of an officer set to watch such as she. Instantly the otKecr approached the two men. But only one of them fled. The other young man coolly and quietly thrust hi.s thumb and forelinger in his left vest-pocket, let his liund IC, TFIH DKSTllUCTlOX OF OOTIIAM. fall down in close fellowship with that of the officer's, and then he passed on unmolested. On these boats jou sometimes see another class of men. Thej are pale, thin, sometimes starved-lookiiig. They say little. They are not there to talk, but to write. What they see, just what they see — no more, no less — will be set down in the papers. They are reporters, teachers in the great University of Life. One of these newspaper men, a timid, tired, and sensi- tive-looking man of middle age, pale, impractical, a poet with his wings trailing in the wet and mire, saw all this ; saw man and monster exchange glances ; saw that all was well understood, and that in the great city, in the next day's carnival, or the next — maybe the next week, next month, certainly some time, this young man, this New Yorker, would demand and receive of the old monster an account of her stewardshijx But let us follow this girl now in the great city. CHAPTER II. IN THE GKEAT CITY. It is estimated that every day hundreds of young women enter New York never to return. More than as many young men, also strangers, young, eager, am- bitious, pour in upon tlie wonderful city from the Soutli, the East, the "West — from tlie four parts of the world. The girls are mostly good girls. The men are honest and industrious in the main. They have left poverty, obscui-ity, ignorance — all that is intolerable to pride and 6])irit and enterprise — behind them. This is the temple of fortune, where all may enter and implore their goddess. There is much to do here ; money to be had for honest labor ; a world to see. There are more than two hun- dred thousand women at work here. So you see clearly there is no shame in entering the great city for a young girl, even alone, if she comes here to work, to learn, to earn bread for those she loves and leaves beliind. But tlierc are many motives. Sometimes a poor girl, disheartened at home, heartsick and solitary in the far- out silence of the rural home, sees a certain newspaper, famous, or rather infamous, for its coai*se and suggestive " personals, " couched in language she does not (piite understand, but reads as one reads a romance or listens to the story of Aladdin's lamp. There is love waiting for her in the parks, the cool and restful places ; strong and handsome men, rich, romantic 18 THE DKSTUUCTIOX OF GOTHAM. as herself, are ready to receive lier. This is the jncture as she sees it. She is quite certain she can protect her- self ; and anyhow she will have seen New York — she will have seen the great city, whatever comes of it. This girl, with this romantic nature, is drawn thus into the great maelstrom. And this girl, who has no fixed purpose of toil and no lasting bravery in earnest effort, appears on the surface. She swims for a day, a year, sinks, drowns, dies. She perishes utterly ; and her name, alas and alas ! is legion. The pretty child whom we have seen enter the city was not quite of this latter class ; neither Nvas she of the former. Indeed, there are many more reasons than the general ones just given why a young and beautiful girl enters a city alone. Some seek it to hide. Some come to find friends. This one was, perhaps, more nearly of the lat- ter class. A wicked smile of satisfaction lit up the old woman's face as she saw the girl set foot on shore. She was now in the great city, on the monster's own ground, in her trap. She would take her own time to lay hand upon her now. She had been half afraid all the way the girl would turn back to the other side ; but now there was no turning back. The old woman could see from the red stains of soil on the girl's worn shoes that she had walked a long way from her home, wherever that home may have been. There- fore she must be very weary, and could not go far. She would follow her closely ; offer her hospitality ; take her to a boarding-house hard by. Exchanging a glance of perfect understanding with tlic handsome young man v/ho had given her the money and now stood leisurely biting off the end of a cigar prepani- IN TnE OllKAT CITY. 19 tory to Hii!;liting it and rctuniin<^ witli liis companion across the ferry, slic hoisted lier old 1)asket up a little liigher on lier big, fat arm, and stepped briskly on after the beautiful girl. The woman, who gave some signs of a knowledge of good society, came quickly on, turned sharp across the girl's way as she sped on, her great, honest eyes to the ground, and crossed her path sharply on the pavement. The poor child looked up, saw the leering face, and instinctively and instantly, with a half-suppressed cry of alarm, left the pavement and fled across the street. She sped up the street on the other side as fast as her feeble limbs could carry her, till (piite out of sight. A low chuckle of surprise, not unnn'xed with admiration, was all that escaped the old woman. She did not at- tem})t to follow her at the moment any farther. She saw that she had been inistaken, and was glad. Here was a real prize — one worth winning. She would have her yet, of course. It was only a question of time and care.' She turneda aside into an alley, set down her basket, fumbled in her greasy pocket for a greasy bunch of keys, unlocked the greasy door, took up her greasy basket and entered, slamming the door hastily behind her. The girl pushed on, confused, frightened, lost in the wilds of civilization ! Each step forward bore her oidy deeper in the heart of this new and to her almost terrible wilderness. At last she came to the great, throbbing, pulsing artery of the mighty city. This w;us an impassable river. It had been impassable to many a stouter heart than hers at a time like this, when all the world seemed i)ouring up Broadway to the upper city. 20 TlIK DESTUUCTION' OF GOTHAM. Tlie side^valk was a rnsliing river of liumanity, flowing upward and on, with thundering vehicles, which packed and blocked the strong, roaring street. This stream, this rushing river of humanity, caught her up and bore her on ; and in this she found a singular and fearful satisfaction. She would at least be hidden in the midst of the sweeping, surging stream from tlie mon- ster whom she felt was still pursning her. To one accustomed to cities and strange forms and faces all this seems absurd. To one who, familiar only with woods, wilds, the face of nature, comes suddenly, weak, worn, frightened, upon a great city with its surg- ing crowd of humanity escaping from the day's toil, it is perfectly unintelligible. This girl did not know whether or not she was being borne on in the right direction ; yet she could not have asked any one of the dense crowd if it had been to save her life. And would any one have stopped to answer if she had ? Yes, she had a vague purpose, a place to go to ; some one to seek — her cousin, Ilattie Lane, one whom she had seen but once before, long ago, when her indulgent young parents, now dead, had seen better days ; when, in a happy, dreamful time. Cousin Ilattie had visited them in the country. This child, the only issue of an unhappy love nuitch, had been very tenderly reared — too tenderly. She liad been kept in ignorance of the city, the world, life. And so when her father, a ruined officer of the Southern army, died suddenly, and was followed to the grave in a few days by his young wife, leaving the girl penniless, what did she know ? What could she do ? When May came on — when all the world was waking U]), stirring, moving, pulsing, and throbbing with warm IN" TIIK OHKAT CITY. 21 new life, tliis girl, helpless in her management of ;ifF;i.irs, friendless because penniless and proud, left all behind her, and as if on a point of honor, taking not so much as the price of a night's lodging with her, set out from the little village in the hills to reach her cousin, who she be- lieved, from old letters found in her mother's trunk, lived far up on Fifth Avenue. The girl had written to her cousin in the city when the great trouble came ; but no answer. Yet do something, go somewhere, she must. The remembrance of this one friendly face was the loadstone. True, she might not be made right welcome ; but she would learn to work. She would go into the kitchen, even, till she learned to do something to earn her bread, and something better offered. Then, there were younger sisters. Maybe slie could serve them ; be a maid in waiting ; tend the door of the great, grand house on Fifth xV venue — do anything that was honest and right to earn her bread, and not be de- pendent upon strangers who despised her for her liel])less- ness and her pride ; and, let it be also addod, for her dangerous beauty. It is said if you throw even the smallest pebble in the middle of the sea the ripples will roll and recede till they reach the utmost shore of the ocean. This helpless and lone girl here, borne along with the throng, was a waif, a ripple, a last feeble wave of the civil war breaking on the strong and stony shores of the North. The force of the human stream flowing up the roaring street, the rapidity of it, the velocity and the rush of it, gave her strength to keep steadily on with it for a long, long time. She had travei-sed almost the whole of that distance of 22 THE DESTRUCTION OF COTIIAM. Broadway reachinf^ from Liberty Street to Fifth Avenue l)efore tlie melting away of the crowd left lier unsup- ported on either side, as it were, and brought real weak- ness to her limbs. And by good fortune she then caught siglit of the de- sired numbers of the cross streets on the lamp-posts. This gave her help, and she wearily, slowly but surely, kept on in the gray twilight. The mist and fog crept up the streets on her right hand, and she heard the doleful call of the fog-horns as if the wail of monsters that had lost their way in the gathering night. To the left, away down the dark brown streets, she saw ships sailing up and down cheerily. All at once the electric lights flashed out above her head, and on and up the avenue. It was so brilliant, so sudden, that she was almost blinded. She stopped and threw up her weary hands in this weird confusion of light and sound and strange things above and about her as one drowning ; and then, in the full light, face to face, she saw grinning there before her the fat and greasy old woman of the feny. But she did not seem so fat and greasy now. In fact, had it not been for her bright and wicked eyes, that seemed to burn in their intensity, the girl had hardly rememl^ered her. This old woman had merely muttered between her teeth as she turned back from her an hour before and up her alley: "Ah! mon Dieu ! it's Fifth Avenue; it's a Fifth Avenue bird. I must go there ;"" and she glanced up at the elevated railroad as she spoke. As Ave have seen, she arrived on Fifth Avenue before the girl ; but she came not with the basket and the bear- ing of a market-woman at all. On the contrary, she IN TIIK GUKAT CITY. 23 wore silk and bore a parasol of silk — red silk, black silk, and silken ribbons of all the hues of the rain- bow. She stood there in the heart of the fashionable city, arrayed in all splendor, as if slie owned the avenue. Evidently she had been there before, and knew her trade in all its fearful points and branches. Ample time she had had to dress and reach this fash- ionable quarter as soon as the weary and discouraged litle stranger. She had taken the " L" road. " My dear," began the woman. The girl did not speak. Iler hands clutched together as the miserable old French monster glanced and grinned at her tears. There were not many people passing. The cold fog blowing over the town from the east had emptied the streets of humanity. Tlie fog-horns called dolefully in the distance ; almost within reach of her left liand, as it seemed to her, although it was blocks away, the elevated railway cars made a stream of lire high up in the gathering night. " Mademoiselle, they have sent mo to bring you. It is just here, my beautiful mademoiselle. Come !" The woman pointed back over her shoulder toward Thirty-second Street with the thumb of her left hand empliatically, insolently, as she said, in a coai*se and com- manding tone: "Come with me." With the otlier hand she attempted to seize the girl by the arm. Chil- dren of the wilderness are easily startled in cities — in strange cities particularly. They arc almost like wild beasts at first ; they are afraid of everything. The animal — all the wild animal — is aroused in them ; and if I could be persuaded to believe in the folly of Darwin and doubt the ability of God to create man directly and at once after Ili.s own image, 1 should bu 24 THE DESTRUCTION OF GOTIIAXI. more influenced ]>y this one evidence that we had come up tlirough a race of animals tlian by any otlicr. For you may take almost any one from a city and set him down in the woods for a day alone, and he is soon almost as wild as a wild animal, and will fly from the face of man. A child will take upon itself all the wildness of a wild beast in a much less time if left alone in the woods than a man. The civilization of years can be overthrown in jJ- most any human being in a very few days. In a little time we return to our real nature. Darsvin might have argued his cause better than he has. The girl, with all her gathered strength of desperate fear, sprang into the middle of the street, crossed it, and fled on up-town, looking back only after she was a full block away for the cause of her dread and alarm. The persistent old Frenchwoman with the colored parasol was slowly but surely following in the driving and dreary fog. The girl redoubled her steps. You — you who know the city, would have paid no at- tention, felt no fear, gone quietly on your course. If persecuted or too hard pushed you would merely, at most, have called an officer and given the woman in cus- tody. This old woman had read correctly the great, timid eyes. The broad country hat, covering the wealth of tumbled black curls, told all she cared to know of the his- tory, the heli)les8nes8, the honest fear of this poor, tired stranger. She followed leisurely, confidently ; flic even gayly swung her gay parasol, so out of place at that hour and in the dismal mist, and felt perfectly certain of her prey. The bright and cheery lights flashed pleasantly through peeps in the great, curtained windows as the girl lifted IX tin; (iUKAT CITY. )lb licr face ill fear and trem])liiijx f<»r tlic Tuimher slic Her lieart leapt up with tlio lii-st real delight of tlic dreary and ]K'ril()iis day as she saw she was so iie:ir to safety. She hurried on faster than ever before. Glanc- ing hack, she saw that the woman was nearer now than when she last saw her. By what means had she glided so swiftly upon her ? The girl now almost ran. She must reach her number — 517 — before that woman came up ; she felt, somehow, she must do this or die. She knew that if the woman spoke to her she could not speak, not answer her, nor control her feet, but would l)reak into precipitate flight — fly anywhere, she knew not where, but fly on, and on, and on. At last, breathless, she came to the number. She struggled up the great, massive stone steps, dragged her- self to the door, and pulled the l)ell with all her might. The woman did not attempt to come up the steps after her, but noting the number and quietly chuckling to herself, passed on and stood on the corner of the block, a dozen doors away. A trim, slim, and liveried man, with a red face and a dainty hand, opened the door. A flood of soft light fell upon the poor girl in i)lack, and lay like a mantle upon her. A halo seemed to play aT)out the beautiful head. She almost fell upon her knees with thankfulness and praise ; but the elegant figure before her did not reach a hand. No word of welcome did she liear. The well-drilled servant stood as still, as straight, as mute as a post. Slie struggled to speak. At last, la u voice that fright- ened even herself, she gasped : " Colonel Lane ?" " Does not live here." 36 THK DK.STIIUCTION OF GOTHAM. " Does not live here ? Then — then — where is he ?" " Do not know ; failed last year ; gone ; and, miss, they don't want no help here, miss." The great door closed. The servant drew back the flood of light and glory with him, and the girl stood there as one cast forever out of paradise into eternal dark- ness. The old woman came back slowly toward her as she tottered, heartbroken and desolate, down the great stone steps. The terrible, grinning creature before her knew all that had happened. It had happened before. She had waited. Now the reward ! CHAPTER III. MADISON SQUARE AT NIOIIT. Whex tlie door closed in the face of tlic poor girl on the steps of the great Fifth Avenue mansion, and she found herself again in the street, it seemed to her that she must sink down and die where she stood. Alone in the groat city — so utterly alone, so weary, 60 worn and hungry, faint, frightened almost out of her senses as she thought of the old woman coming to lay hold of her if she did not fly, and fly instantly. But where could she go now ? Up the street or down the street ? To the East River or the North River i Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the fat and leering old creature was only a few dooi'S away. There was but one course open now, but one way of escape. She hastily turned about and took that course as fast as she could fly. Surely she was not in her best senses now. licr terror was the terror of a child who has seen, or rather fancies she has seen, a monster in the dark, and flies to her mother. Rut this poor child had no mother to fly to this side the great dark river of death. Tiie only mother that she had waiting now this side of heaven was ^[othcr Earth. Come, let us see what became of her. Nearly sixteen years before this dreary, weary night, in the proud, strong city, the now terrifled child had come down out of heaven alone, helpless, naked, and had rested safe in a fond and i^rateful mother's arms. 28 THE DESTRUCTION OF flOTHAM. The mother luul made lier very welcome, this little waif entrusted to her keeping through God's hand, reach- ing silently and unseen from out the great somewhere. A tiny thing, so small, so helpless, and so alone, had iilled completely that mother's whole wide world. Right here it may not be out of place for us all to pause and reflect that ev^ery poor waif of this world, no matter how poor, lone, friendless, despised, did, at one time, fill some such young mother's cup of life completely with unalloyed delight. 1 think a reflection like this might make the most of us just a trifle more humane and tender to the wretched. And here is another thought — and oh, the comfort of it in the desolate days of abandonment and despair ! — any one of us, even the most miserable, had at one time, in the beginning of our troubled journey of this life, the entire love of some sweet woman, the one undisputed place close to her wann and grateful heart ! This frail child, flying here now, frightened, looking back in terror, had been so small, so frail at first. Peo- ple are like plants. Some plants are strong and tall and amply able, even in the beginning ; some are so little, so frail and feeble, that they can hardly find their M'ay through the ground. These flowers are the sweetest. This little girl had been called " Dot" in the begin- ning. Maybe it was because she was so small. Maybe it M'as because the happy mother wanted to call her daughter a pet name, and so shortened it into this. After awhile she was called Dottie. " This was the name she had when I first knew her — Dottie Lane. I never knew that she had any other name." This last sentence is taken from the testimony of one of the witnesses at the inquest. Finally the old woman Ix^gan to show Impatience as MADISON S(iLAKK AT ^'I01IT. 29 she looked after tlio flying cliild. She stopped in the empty street after a few blocks, and it seemed as if at last the girl was to escape lier brutal clutches. A man entering the elegant club-house at the corner distinctly heard the old monster muttering dreadful oaths, as she paused, putUng and blowing, at the edge of the curbstone. The nuin — not a Kew Yorker — stopped sud- denly, looked at her. lie knew her and licr i)urpose. She felt this, and, closing her lips, she kept sulkily on. Tlien she apparently reflected that she must earn her money, and she redoubled her pace on down Murray Hill toward Madison Square. Os^er this beautiful square, the centre of all that is s])lendid, costly, and attractive in the most opulent city of the earth, there had recently risen a glory like a sun- rise, a something altogether new, strange, indescribable, nuitchless, and magnificent — a lofty shaft of electric light. People had stood for the first few days, or rather nights, in tens of thousands in a vast circle, as if held there in awe and admiration. By degrees they had melted away and gone on in their various swift ])ursuits in the great city. No pen had at- tempted to describe this new splendorof the night. The World had come to accept it as one of the miglity mile- p(»sts set np in the march of the genius of man. It seemed like a miracle ; but it was soon accepted as a scientific fact. Beautiful woman in the great city saw that she was even more beautiful in this miraculous light, (^ay, ardent men made love with even more fervor than before under its soft and sensuous rays ; and the world moved on. Yet this strange, new thing can never grow old. Here is a creation by the hand of num. Man has made some- thiuii: out of nothini;. 30 THE DESTRUCTION' OF GOTHAM. Out of wliut has liG created this ? From wluit dark laboratory of science has he brought forth this marvel- lous, this miraculous light ? When the beautiful girl had dragged her weary limbs past the Brunswick and come full into the burst of light, with all the friendly trees before her, a cry of jo}' burst from her lips. Oh, tlic cheering, alluring, and restful light ! Oh, the kind, oiitreaching arms of her old and familiar trees ! She ran to the outstretched arms of the largest tree in the centre of the park as to the arms of her mother. Close behind her had come the old woman. But this mighty circle of light, this new halo about the head of science, appalled her. She feared the light. It seemed to draw an impassable circle about the poor girl, which she, with a sort of super- stition, did not, for a time at least, dare to cross. And while the girl sought the inmost heart of the new-leaved trees close under the lofty shaft of light, and there threw herself on an iron bench as one almost dead, her pursuer hovered, with an oath on her lips, on the edge of the mighty circle of light under the branches of the trees. Here, close to the curbstone, almost under these trees, stands perpetually a row of cabs. Tlie woman waddled to one of the tall, strong, vicious-looking cabmen famil- iarly, and threw her left thumb back toward the heart of the park, lie knew her, knew her business, for he had seen the girl pass, and so he promjitly answered her with a knowing wink and a nod. She felt stronger and greatly encouraged as, through the new leaves far away in the centre of the park, she saw the girl totter and fall into the cold iron arms of the chilly and dripping iron bench. MADISON" RQl'AKF, AT MfiHT. 31 At last tlio <^aine liad l)cen l)rouu;lit to hay. Tnu;, slio was very tired lierself — almost as tired as the girl. J>ut hur woik was at last nearly accomplished. She took in a long breath of satisfaction, sanntercd on along the lino of cabmen, and tinally, coming back, with an eye now and then thrown toward the little black heap in the centre of the scjuare, she fell into earnest conver- sation with the Hrst of these petty land ])iratcs to whoin she had spoken. After awhile he drew something from his ample pocket, looked about, and handed it to the woman. She stepped np to the cab door, put her head in, raised the bottle, and drank long and gratefully. Ah ! you hate, abhor this monster ! Stop ! Abhor and hate the handsome, gay, dissolute men of this won- derful city wlio make her trade, and the growing trade of those like her, profitable. Look at the great gand^lers, the big, red-faced men, with their big, red fists clutching tight and close to their millions upon jnillions. These are the men who maintain her in her trade — great spiders, in their webs of wire and railroad tracks, waiting to devour the body and soul she brings. Destroy these, and you destroy her. Hers is a hard business at best, full of peril and un])leasant work. She earns her money. To destroy this new and growing traffic, this dire fungus growing out of the unexampled opulence of this city, this more than lloman revelry and recklessness, you must know this woman, know these men. Hence these pages. CHAPTER IV. PEPORTEKS. A GREAT dinner was being given at Delmonico's, just across the street, that night. The great generals of a fratricidal war, who had sold tlieir independence, if not their honor, to tlie great politicians of the great city for houses and horses and purses of money which had been " presented " to them, were being entertained by the great politician of a great and grateful party. It was important that these great soldiers should make great speeches. To this end some able but honest, and hence threadbare, reporters were necessarily a part of this great company. Some of these reporters were now hast- ening to their respective newspaper offices down at the other end of the city. They had been told by the managers of this magnificent affair what the great generals would say, or rather should say, and each, sharing his notes with his fellows in helpful fraternity, was hastening on his way. One of these saw the old woman talking emphatically M-ith the cabman. The liquor had warmed her for her work. It had floated her wicked nature very near to the surface. She talked loud and aggressively as she now and then jerked her thumb back in the direction of the little hcaj) now doubled up in a corner of the iron bench under the great white light that gleamed high in the air like a halo around some sacred and dimly outlined image. The doleful fog-horns had died away. The last re- REPORTERS. 33 nuiiiiin^ elements of storm and winter, whicli had battled long to hold, even in this lovely month, some place in the city, had now fled to the north. The night was clear and beautifnl. The stars seemed to recognize the rivalry of this new light on earth, and shone with uncommon lustre from all the awfnl arch of lieaven. The moon came shouldering up in the cast in all her full glory, and looked down with undiminished splendor against this new creation of the children of men. This made the quaintest tracery of leaves on the smooth, hard pavement, and paths in and about the P(piare, ever seen. A light wind lifted the new leaves, and shadows danced up and down and about the poor girl under the great white light, beautiful as dreams of fairyland. Iler head was low on her breast. Iler small brown hand held hard to the iron arms of the bench on either side. She was afraid even as she slept. But she dreamed — dreamed almost beautifnl dreams. And let us thank God for this other world into which we can pass, which we can possess without challenge, price, or question, when weary of this one. She dreamed she had found her strong and beautiful cousin, Ilattie Lane ; that Ilattie had gone only a little way farther on, and would soon be back and take her home, where it was warm and bright. She felt that she wius cold and full of pain ; but in her dreams she knew Ilattie would come. 1 do not know that 1 have described Ilattie Lane to you perfectly. And yet it seems to me that the very name means strength, purity, splendor of mind, charac- ter, form, and face. I always remember her, somehow, as a sort of magnolia tree. 34 THE DESTRUCTIOX OF GOTHAM. But people reared in the woods are too apt, 1 think, to associate those they love or admire with some stately or impressive tree or flower. This fair and perfect woman was one of the few honi in the great city. She had grown with its growth. She loved this city. She thought she knew it well ; at all events, she felt equal to it at all times and under all cir- cumstances. But her father, as we have seen, in the whirl of fortune's wheel, had lost his footing on Fifth Avenue. Another woman was mistress of the fine mansion where his daughter had once reigned supreme, the queen of Murray Hill. And the dethroned queen had not been missed greatly. Hundreds stood ready to take her place. They made up in numbers and in audacity what they lacked in heart and in accomplishments. They were rich — all very rich. The chief requisite was amply at hand. It was a case of meeting on the social stairway. As she had descended she had met the handsome and brill- iant, yet dissolute and daring young Matherson, whom we first saw on the ferry-boat, and who gave the dis- guised old woman the bountiful fee. Here her feet must take hold. Having briefly described Hattie Lane, the dethroned queen of society, let us glance at her accepted lover, of whom she knew literally nothing save that he was rich and rising. Yet these things were much — all. Oh, these new men ! They are bold, aggressive, insolent ; misfortune indeed makes strange bedfellows. Matherson was a typical New Yorker. It is due the great city to say that he was a type only of a type — a man who had grown up in the city suddenly, as mush- rooms grow, and from the reeking compost of it, and a chronic drinker. UEPOllTERS. 35 There were tliose who liad seen tliis same man, a lad, wasliing ghisses behind a bar, listening as he wronght to the politicians whose glasses he washed. When he had come of age he not only had saved some money, but he had laid up much general political knowl- edge of the great city — practical knowledge, too ! lie was soon counted a young man of ability and promise by those who count only the money a man ol> tains. lie now left the low haunts and took employ- ment with a broker of much ambition and little charac- ter. Both the broker and himself soon stood on solid footing, so far as money went. And now he needed nothing really but character. But his low instincts, as we see, still asserted themselves, lie was not yet a gen- tleman, by a good deal, although his course was upward. Could he ever be a gentleman ? Lie down on the banks of the Kile and watch the actions of a crocodile. At Urst you only see his black and ugly head. After awhile, and before you fairly know it, he is half Avay out of the water ; then he is half way up the bank, lie stops here quite a time. Then suddenly he jerks forward and is on a level with you. Another pause, and then the next thing you know he is right alongside of you. Such was Matherson. But to return to the brilliant scenes of Madison S(juare. We will see Ilattie Lane and her lover in that vicinity soon, arm in arm. On either hand down the short streets toward the rivers you could see the elevated railway cars, with their lights of many colors, shoot and thunder through the air. Now and then, a little farther on, the wide, white wings of a ship glistened and gleamed in the breeze ;vs it sailed slowly across the end of the street. The sailors would lift their hats and salute the two mighty lights of 36 THE DESTRUCTION OP GOTHAM. tlie city at Mudi.son and Union squares as they poured tlieir new-found ^lory away out over the waters and over tlie decks of the ships. Around the ishmd of Manhattan, and even far away at sea, men Hfted their faces and marvelled at this wonder- ful work of nuin glowing here in the lieart of the mighty city. Commerce had reared her proudest altar here on this most opulent island in all history. These two mighty lights were two colossal candles set up on the altar of commerce, '' Here ! here ! you can't sleep 'ere. Don't you know we can't let girls sleep 'ere ?" The policeman struck the iron arm of the bench loudly with his club. The blow shook her little brown hand loose, and, with a cry of alarm, the girl staggered to her feet. " What are you waiting 'ere for ?" " Ilattie Lane," piteously cried the startled girl, clasp- ing her stiffened hands helplessly together. It was such a wail, such a cry as if for help, a call as if calling for one who was only now with her, maybe, that theothccr knew at once that this child was honest — helplessly, pitifully honest. " Well, sit down and wait ; but don't sleep." He pushed on around a lot of Howers, and then lie suddenly stopped, turned, and came back. " I say" — he tapped the iron arm of the bench with his club, as he saw her head again settling on her breast — " I say, miss, sleep if you wants to. I'll watch, and if I see 'em comin' by tliis way — no, don't be afraid now ; I mean anybody — I'll wake you up, and you must hold up your head. No, 1 won't take you to the 'ouse ; won't run ye in, sis. You seem square. But, you see, REI'OIITKUS. 37 if I'd let you sleep 'ere, miss, it would break uic, it would." The little head was already low on the weary hrciist even as he spoke. Peeriiiij^ through the trees he eaught sight of the heavy figure of the old woman stealing, in a diminishing circle, nearer and nearer. The well-filled llask of the cabnum, who was waiting for his work, had greatly emboldened her. The ofiicer knew her mission. He continued to keep his eyes on the bench, but moved in her direction. She knew his purpose, and fell back even beyond the square. He followed her, and the two eyed each other at a safe distance across the street. The reporter had sent his work forward by a brother scribe, and he now witnessed the scene as he stood be- neath the shifting shadows. He made a story of it for his paper even as he stoorl there. There was nothing tangible ; nothing had been done. A stranger passing would have seen nothing, suspected nothing. But love, hate, treachery, romance, tragedy — all these were there in inception under the quivering leaves in the little square, under the great light of the wondrous city. Hattie Lane, holding gracefully the arm of John Matherson, the rich, rising, and handsome man of the ferry-boat, was happy. A coai"so num of this city once remarked, with more force than gramnuir, " that in Xew York a man can live as many lives as he has money." Matherson now lived many lives, for he now had much money. These two were approaching by chance the iron bench under the great white light. The officer suddeidy dis- continued his surveillance of the woman, whirled about, and came rapidly down the circling path to where the girl sat sleeping. He was almost face to face with thg 38 THE DESTRUCTION OF GOTHAM. lovers. lie struck the arm of the iron bench as he passed, and the i^irl was again on her feet. AVould she now speak ? AVould she now utter her startled cry, " Hattie Lane"? Could she only open her parched lips now, cry out and be heard, be known and saved ? Her great eyes looked straight ahead, helpless, and as if she were still asleep. But she spoke no word, and the lovers passed on. Ilattie was looking in the face of her lover ; he liad said something very tender to her. Her eyes, her heart, her whole being, were lifted to him. She saw no one, heard no one. To lier nuthing existed now save the man she loved. But he, a perfect New Yorker, cold, deliberate, selfish, saw and understood all — everything. The cabman, the old woman, the officer, even the man of the press, whom he hated and despised too, were no mysteries to him. Quickening his pace imperceptibly, in a few moments he led, in all his splendid indilference, into the Bruns- wick, and soon had the whole party at dinner. It was observed by one of the young ladles that he left the party for a moment to talk to a hard-looking man waiting about the door, and it was observed by her also that the man suddenly disappeared up the street. But soon they were all gayly laughing, drinking, feast- ing ; and the handsome and dashing John Matherson, bowing now to tliis friend and now to that, as the gay and galhmt hahltnes of the place came and went, seemed to be the happiest and merriest of the merry group. Suddenly tliere was a cry of lire, and engines, in a stream of lire, poured up tlie avenue. The party sprang to their feet ; but Matherson coolly put forth his hand, KKl'OKTEHS. 39 set tlicm ill their places, and tlie merriment went on. A cal) dasliod by ; an old woman, lookin<>; through tlic win- dow of the cab, leered as she passed. She hchl a yonu*^ <;irl in her arms. Ilattic Lane saw this cab, and wondered if it was dashiiiir on to the lire. CHAPTER Y. AX (Jl'KX HEART. " You can live as inaiiy lives in New York as you have money to pay for," With this almost popular sentiment permeating at least a very substantial element of society, it can be understood what a prodigious price men, and women too, are will- ing to sometimes pay for money. More than two years had j)assed since that brilliant May night in Madison Scpiare — that night of blended starlight and moonlight, with occasional drifts of sea fog, when the dingy carriage was seen to whirl toward that doubtful quarter of the city lying between Twenty- sixth and Thirty-second Street hard by, and many changes had taken place. In this M'onderful city the hands of the clock turn swiftly on the face of the dial. Nothing stands still here. Even the tombstones move on. The living de- mand the places of the dead. The fann'lyof Hattie Lane was even more unfortunate and nearer the brink of what is, commercially speaking, called " ruin" than before. Iler helpless old father, hel2)lessly lionest, amiable, gentle as an old-world gentle- man of a former generation, leaned upon her entirely. And she took all the load upon her fair white shoul- ders, and kept a calm demeanor and a brave face before all the world. Born to luxury, bred only in the gentlest ways of life, she found it hard — very hard — to hold her AN" OPEN HEART. 41 place and 1)0 l»rii:;]it jukI cheery, witli only dismay and ruin hefore her. In hooks — indeed in jnany lands — men — great and gtxjd men — select such peerless women f(jr wives : woo them ardently, win them, wed them, love and honor them. But this is a city of commerce, harter, trade. Tliis does not transpire here — not often. She at last loved Matherson. He seemed so strong and manly, so calm at all times and serene and satisfied, as thou'j:h he niiijht stand like a wall of tire hetween her and all trouhle when the dark days came. He loved her, too, in his way, after his fashion ; and she thought it the true way. Indeed, he promised all things. She believed all things. And then, he was rich ! Love is faith. Love is faith, hope, and charity. It is all things on this earth. ^[atherson liad still further advanced his fortunes and liis position, too. lie held a place of trust and honor and prodigious profit as one of the tribute-takers at this great seaport. lie had, by pei*sistent push and political influ- ence, become one of that mysterious, that silent and unseen army of more than a thousand men who are set down by the white sea-doors to M'atch the coming and going of free men to and from this free country, and whose duty it is to open other people's trunks, examine their clothes, Ixtoks, boots, cigars, bread, butter — almost all things, in- deed, known to man or woman, and pass impartial (?) judgment on their value and to demand tribute accord- ingly- He had become a Federal officer with a name. He Wiis now high enough in his ascent to reach the hand of Miss Lane. And she gave it, as we have seen, frankly, bravely, and without a shadow of doubt of liis truth, honor, love, and eterrud constancy. And yet, who could 8;iy it was not all deserved i Place your finger on a spot 42 THE DESTRUCTIOX OF GOTHAM. in his character, if you can. Generous he was to all, it seemed. It was really hard for him to pass a 8tran<^er soliciting help anywhere and not quietly share his loose coins. lie had a pew at the church — the church, mark you — and was admired by many a fond mother, to say notliing at all of innumerable daughters. lie might have married a rich woman. He did not seem to care to do this. And for this Hattie loved him, if for nothing else, with all her great, warm heart. How could she help it ? Among other changes noted in tlie years that liave passed may be mentioned the fact that fate, or fortune, or misfortune had thrown Walton, the quiet man v/ith the slouch hat, pencil, and note-book, in the frequent presence of Hattie Lane, and under the wheels of her chariot. He too could not help loving her. He could not keep from that ; but he could keep from telling his love. He would not trouble her with that. He loved this woman too well to tell her of his love. This Walton was a unique and simple character. He was always persistently, obstinately, serenely poor. He also had a habit of saying things. Once a friend of his, a fellow scribe, who went about night and day, like himself, picking up crumbs of fact and fancy to feed the world upon at breakfast, got dis- couraged. This friend laid down his pencil and note-])ook, and in a burst of eloquent despair drew a picture of the splendor of the world about him and the pitiful contrast of his own poverty and meagre pay. Then he brought his fist down emphatically on the old ink-stained table, away up in the reporter's garret, with its crumbling plaster and its one short, sharp, and wicked gas-jet thrusting out at you into your eyes like a lance, and vowed he would AN OPEN HEART. 43 never again take ii[> pencil or note-book, but go out into tiio world like others and make nioTiey. AValtou listened patiently until his friend had finished, and then said quietly, under his broad slouch hat, which he had tilted a little to one side, as a shield against the glaring gas-jet : '' My boy, listen to me." The bright but pale-faced toiler of the press looked at him gloomily. *' My boy," said he, " there are people who are fit for nothing else but to make money. You can do better things than make money." The companion took up his pencil and book. Once he said to a group of reporters, as he climbed up to the stufiFy garret of his paper : " Boys, I feel mean. I have had every particle of sunshine that God's hand has reached down out of heaven this day. I know that not a single inillionaire in all New York has had as much." It is doubtful, however, that, with all this sunshine, he had really liad his supper. At the same time, sup])er or no supper, it is i)retty clear that no millionaire in all the world was as happy as he at that moment. As I have said, this man was a searcher after " character," a lover of *^ types " — studies in nature he called them. On the night of the scene of lire, as before described, when all the little world blazed in glory about Madison Square, he too had sprung forward with the rest of humimity in the direction of the cry of danger and peril. The flying horses, with their engines scattering fire and leaving streaks of sparks and flame behind, he followed, lie ran swiftly up the street. His duty was to get his crumb of truth for the sleeping and hungry world's breakfast. When he arrived un the spot, the su[)erintendent was 44 TUE DESTRUCTION OF GOTHAM. leaning from liis little wagon and talking earnestly with an officer. The engines were turning about to retrace their steps. There was not a vestige of tire to be seen. There had been no lire, no need of alarm. But those who turn out with such swiftness and precision are so in love with their work that they rarely, if ever, make any question or tind any fault with a false alarm. They are used to that, too. Suddenly Walton remembered the little creature whom he had left in the centre of the square under the great light and the shining leaves. lie hastened back ; the girl was gone ; the officer was also gone. But duty had taken him a little way in the direction of the alarm, and he had, perhaps, not yet returned. Then the reporter saw that the old woman had also gone ; and then he saw that the suspicious-looking cab and its driver had also gone. Ask the next cabman in what direction, and with whom ? You had as well ask the bronze admiral look- ing down there from his unsteady stand on the stern of his ship. The reporter took a turn about tlu npiare after writing a line and a half concerning the false alarm — for which he would probably realize the price of a chop for breakfast — but could find no clew — see, hear nothing. Yet he knew very* well that something terrible had happened. He went over to the stained and beautiful windows of the Brunswick, and, passing by, stole a glance within. Mathcrson was lifting his glass, and in all the splendid authority of health and wealth and happiness, leaning toward llattie Lane and talking elegantly and well. Walton sighed, sliouk his head, and went on. The man put this fact and that fact together, tied AN OPEN HEAllT. 45 tlicm np with fancy, fastened tlicm toii^ctlier with a sort (»f iniai:;inaiy cement, and canic certainly to the conclu- sion tliat tliis girl, this strangely beautiful child, with the pitiful rosehud face, had been foully dealt with. lie crossed over to the west, past the Victoria, across T>road\vay, across Sixth Avenue, and so on down that dreadful block on Twenty-seventh Street to Seventh Avenue. The j)lace was dimly lighted. The police were studi- ously invisible. Strange, pitiful faces met his, and looked up and begged for money. From every door, window, cellar, or garret peered painted faces of all shades of complexion. All kinds of voices, in all tongues, appealed to the man to enter as he hastened on down the dark and bewildering street. Was she in one of these wretched places ? "Was she buried in this cellar^ or carried to that garret, to be watched and kept for days, weeks, years, with these strange and imearthly inhabitants, who are visible only at night i The nuui caught sight of a cab and heard voices down the street in the dark. lie ran forward as fast as pos- sil)le, holding a pistol in his great-coat pocket ; but it was only a drunken party of men who had come in from some country town, and were " seeing the sights." The man walked up and down through many of these dim and dangerous streets, even up to Thirty-second Street. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing of the object of his search, he hastened (jn up Broadway to Fiftieth Street, and there crossed over and strode up Fifth Avenue. He stood before a great brown-stone palace, here on the right, and waited and watched, and watched and waited. At length he saw ^lathcrson enter there in great haste, lie had at his side the wealthiest man in tiie 46 THE DESTRUCTION OF GOTUAM. world — a man wliose ^-reat bii^ red lists clutched ti