}LBREITYrP,,.. BI,.STADT, NEW YO.K



A WOMAN
[N TH'E CASE
BY MIss BESSIE TURNER,
AUTHOR OF "CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE,"
" I do but beg a little changeling boy."-Siakspeare.
NEW  YORK:
G E.W. Carlelon &  Co., Publishers.
LONDON: LOW, SON & CO.
MDCCCLXXVI.




COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY
G. W. CARLETON & CO
JOHIN F. TROW & SON,
PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS,
205-213 East I2th St.,
NEW YORK.




P RE FACE.
SOME books are written to sell; others to illustrate
a principle.  I shall have attained both objects, if
this little work meets with popular favor. I believe
in individual freedom of writing and buying. I have
written for my own pleasure and profit. If the public
purchase for the same reasons, both parties will be
satisfied. My story is founded on fact, but I think
it will be conceded that it is " stranger than fiction."
If curious people expect to find anything in it bearing directly or indirectly on the great "; trial," in the
elucidation of which I was necessarily made a witness,
I am happy to know they will be disappointed. It
may, however, be some consolation for them to learn
that had it not been for that misfortune, it would be
possible for me to earn an honest living in a less
public way than this. As it is, I have chosen a path
which I hope will lead to profit and favor.
B. T.
NEW YORK, October, I875.








CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
TIhe Russells.......................................................   9
CHAPTER II.
A Woman in the Case................................................                     i6
CHAPTER III.
He Asks.  She Answers.............................                  22
CHAPTER IV.
Ten Years Later.  A  Summons.................................                          27
CHAPTER V.
The Boy!  Oh Where Was He?.....................................   31
CHAPTER VI.
Short and Bitter.............................................   36
CHAPTER VII.
Love Melteth Even Pride...........................................  37
CHAPTER VIII.
Till Death Doth Them  Part.........................................  43
CHAPTER IX.
Twenty Years After.......................................... 47
CHAPTER X.
He and She....................................................  53
CHAPTER XI.
Some Strange Developments.......................................  58
CHAPTER XII.
The Snake in the Grass..............................................  71
CHAPTER XIII.
A Terrible Temptation..........................................   8o
CHAPTER XIV.
Fire!  Fire!  Fire!.................................................  86
CHAPTER XV.
Trouble in the Household.......................................              9
CHAPTER XVI.
What Next?  The Programme....................................   02
CHAPTER XVII.
The Scene Shifts.  The Tempter at Work............................. 107
CHAPTER XVIII.
Templeton's Story............................................. 11




8                                CON TENTS.
CHAPTER XIX.
One-Eyed Charley at Home.......................................... 12
CHAPTER XX.
She Waited Patiently......................................., I26
CHAPTER XXI.
John Hardy's Story.  A Sudden Stop..............................  3T
CHAPTER XXII.
The Miller and his Man...............           T42
CHAPTER XXIII.
Robert Delaney, Clergyman, appears.................................  53
CHAPTER XXIV.
Miller Goes to Church.  A Toe for a Toe............................. I59
CHAPTER XXV.
Maud Russell as Florence Nightingale................................  73
LCHAPTER XXVI.
On the Track at Last................................................  82
CHAPTER XXVII.
Bill, Bob, and Harry................................................. I88
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Snake and Mary Miller........................................    98
CHAPTER XXIX.
On the Rocks........................................................ 204
CHAPTER XXX.
Miller does some Talking............................................ 2i6
CHAPTER XXXI.
Beware, Poor Girl, Beware......................................   224
CHAPTER XXXII.
Forewarned, Forearmed...................................... 231
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Two Playing at the Same Game...................................... 236
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A  Soft Answer Turns Away Wrath................................... 247
CHAPTER XXXV.
The Surprisers Surprised............................................ 253
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Walking Down Broadway............................................ 258
CHAPTER XXXVII.
John and Maud.......                                                               269
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
At Last, at Last.................. 274
CHAPTER XXXIX.
There's no Place Like Home........................................  287




A WOMAN
IN TI-IE CASE.
CHAPTER I.
THE RUSSELLS.
TEIL you, mother dear, I love her with
all my heart, and marry her I will."  So
spoke Horace Russell, as, with his arm
about his mother's neck, he looked at the retreating
form of Jenny Marvin, his sweetheart and intended
bride.
Born in a manufacturing village of England, and
reared in the immense establishment of which his
father was the founder and proprietor, Horace Russell was as fine a specimen of the better grade of the'English middle class as one would care to see. He
had barely turned his twenty-third year, stood six feet
in his stockings, carried himself with the air of a hun



o1              THE R USSELLS.
ter, and was noted, at all the fairs, as the best jumper
wrestler, boater and marksman in the county.  His
early years had been spent in acquiring the ruder
elements of education; but his head was bent on
mechanics, and his delight was to go to the factory,
watch the machinery, learn of the men the why and
the wherefore, and perfect himself in all that pertained
to his father's affairs. At the age of eighteen, at the
urgent request of Horace, Mr. Russell, senior, put him
at work, and on his twenty-first birthday the young
man was hailed as foreman of the works.
The Russell family was of humble origin, self respecting, frugal, and vell-to-do. Joseph Russell came
of virtuous stock, and looked upon merry-making as a
sin. Nevertheless, he i.:arried young, and, at the
period of which we write, was the contented husband
of a devoted wife, and the happy father of two sons,
Horace and Harry, the latter a cripple.  In the factory and at home the will of Joseph Russell was law.
The wife, as good a soul as ever breathed, trembled at
the least exhibition of impatience by Horace, who
had a high temper, and shrank with apprehension at
every elevation of tone, lest it might be the beginning
of an unknown end to be avoided and dreaded.
Harry was a cripple from his birth; he was intelli.
gent, quick-witted, sagacious and kind. Books were
his refuge, and study his delight.  Between the tender-hearted mother, the sturdy Horace and the pale



THE R USSELLS.                II
featured Harry, were bonds of sympathy to which
Joseph, who was brusque in manner and rude of
speech, was an utter stranger.
And yet, Joseph loved his wife and loved his sons.
Of Harry's proficiency at school he was very proud,
and whatever the young man desired, was readily
granted, at whatever cost; while in the tact and marvellous intuition of Horace, the honest manufacturer
found not only pleasure but profit.
Twenty-three years had passed, and aside from the
little misunderstandings incident to well-regulated
families, nothing had happened to mar the home-harmony, or jar the sense of love till now; but now it
had come. And this was it.
Jennie I\'Marvin worked in the factory.
Pretty?
She was beautiful in the eyes of all who saw her,
but to Horace she was the incarnation of all that is
good and sweet, and true and pure. Her parents were
very poor while living; so much so, that in sunshine
and in rain, Jennie was compelled to walk daily to the
factory, that the small wages she received might eke
out the pittance gathered here and' there by a willing
but a shiftless father.  Fever deprived Jennie of her
father, and consumption, tantalizingly cruel in its
grasp, threatened for months the life of the mother,
upon whose blessings Jennie lingered long and wistfully
after death had closed the poor womlan's eyes, leaving




1 2. TIlE R USSELLS.
the orphaned girl of eighteen to fight for bread as best
she could.
A pretty picture was the dainty girl, as turning
through the stile, dressed in modest garb, she blushingly acknowledged the foreman's kindly greeting,
and hastily passed to her section. They had known
each other from infancy, and with the crippled
brother had sat upon the same forms, played the
same pranks, suffered the same punishments, and
shared each other's lunch. As years rolled along, the
exactions of domestic drudgery kept Jennie at home,
the studies of Harry required his attention at the academy, and Horace's love of his father's work sent him
to the factory, so that save a glimpse now and then at
church, an occasional meeting on the street, or, perchance, a dance at the county fair, the three rarely met.
In the course of time, however, Jennie sought and
obtained employment at the mill, and from  that
time on, her daily presence revealed to Horace the
charms of head and heart which later led him to the
step which eventually changed the course of his life,
and brought about a collision froim which he would
willingly have shrunk.
Between Horace and Harry there were no secrts.
The boys loved each other. In the heat of summer
Horace protected Harry, and in the winter he shielded
him fron the blast. Whatever the one lacked in
physical requirements, the other more than sutpple



THE RUSSELLS.                  3
mented. Play and interplay was the habit of their
lives.  Horace rejoiced in HIarry's successes at the
academy, and when the elder disclosed in the secresy
of their chamber an invention with which he hoped to
surprise and profit their father, the delight of the one
far eclipsed the hopefulness of the other. And between the boys and their mother, too, was a most
delightful sympathy. To her they confided the troubles
of their boyhood, to her they told the embarrassments
of maturer years.  She, mother-like, was full of consideration, of kindness, of sympathy. She concealed their
faults, made peace with their father, aided and abetted
them in all their schemes, and did as all good mothers
do, oiled the machinery of home, so that there was but
little friction and not a bit of flame.
And yet, although Horace had told his mother every
trouble he had ever experienced, every annoyance of
his life, every purpose and ambition of his heart, when
he discovered his love for Jennie Marvin he said nothing to her-but told it all to Harry.
They both jumped to one conclusion.
They both knew the opposition to come from their
father.
And when Horace said to Harry " if I can gain her
consent to-night, I shall do it," they both felt it was
the entering wedge of serious trouble in the family.
Now Joseph Russell was by no manner of means a
bad hearted mann  On the contrary he was as honest




r14            7-E R USSELLS.
and true as steel. He paid his debts, went to church,
had family prayers, spoke kindly of his neighbors,
dealt generously with his people, and was reputed one
of the most straightforward men in the county-but
he had a weakness.
Ile wanted to leave his sons one grade higher
on the social scale than he was himself.
Nothing that money could do was grudged in
Harry's education.
Nothing that time and patience, and industry and
zeal could accomplish, was withheld in his pursuit of
wealth for the elevation of his son and heir.
In his eyes the marriage of his son with one of his
factory hands would be a step backward, which the
boys well knew he would never for a moment sanction.
Harry and his mother canvassed the matter time
and time again while Horace and his father were at
their work, but the way seemed darker the more they
searched for light. Harry was fond of the girl; she
had always been kind and considerate of him when
they were children, and even if there were no other
bond, the fact that Horace loved her, made Jennie
sacred and loveable in his eyes. To his mother Harry
recounted all the tender things Horace had told him
about Jennie, and after much persuasion induced her
to agree with him, that after all it was the happiness
of Horace they were bound to consider, and further
to pledge her influence with her husband, in favor of




THE R USSELLS.                 5
the union, or at all events the engagement. With a
light heart Horace heard Harry's report one pleasant
summer night, and he determined that not another
day should pass before he disclosed his love to Jennie,
and received by word of mouth her acceptance of his
hand.




CHAPTER II.
A WOMAN IN THE CASE.
R. Russell's great factory gave constant emi ployment to three hundred men and women during the busy season, and by a system of gradation-payments furnished them all a comfortable living the entire year.  Very naturally the
master of so many people was the great man of the
town, and his influence was acknowledged and sought
by the neighboring gentry and magnates of the county.
Always a self-willed and imperious man, Joseph Russell became in time little better than a conscientious tyrant, exacting from everyone a full measure of
work, and giving with equal fairness a full measure of
pay. At home he was never genial, but never morose.
He was making money, his wife was anxious to please,
and his children were reputable and industrious and
obedient.   He knew that Harry's infirmity would
necessitate a life of ease, and for that he was prepared. To Horace he looked for aid in business,
and after several years of trial concluded to make
him a partner, establish him in a home, and gradually




A WOMIAN ZN THE CASE.             1 7
leave to him the entire management of his affairs.
Hie talked freely with his wife of his plans, and announced to her that on Horace's next birthday he
should hand to himn the papers of partnership, give a
grand holiday-party to the hands, and make his son
in name, what he had been for somue time in factthe master of the mill.
The good mother was delighted and imparted an
added zest to her husband's pleasure by accepting
his plan as perfect, and endorsing his idea as the best
that could be devised.
At breakfast Mr. Russell said: "Horace, will you
drive over to town with me this morning?  I have
business with Mr. Wilson, the lawyer, which may
need your counsel."
Horace, glad of an opportunity to tell his father of
his love, cheerfully consented, and together they
drove off, waving good-bye to the " housekeepers "as they called Mrs. Russell and Harry- as they
stood together on the broad stone in front of their
pleasant home.
The father was full of his project, and he meant
to broach it that morning.
The son was full of his love, and he meant to tell
it then and there.
"Horace," said Mr. Russell, "you have been in
the factory a long time, and are the best foreman I
ever had. That's good.  I'm glad of it, for I should




I8        A WOMAAIV N IN THE CASE.
hate to have my son behind the rest. Your mother
and I have been talking the matter over, and I have
concluded to take you into the business, half-and-hall
-now don't speak-so that you can have your hand
on the crank if anything should happen to me. And
that's what I'm taking you over to town for."
For a moment Horace looked at his father in blank
astonishment. If all angel from Heaven had promised him the desire of his heart, he wouldn't have
been more delighted and surprised. Tears filled his
eyes, and the warm blood flushed his cheeks, as he
grasped his happy father by the hand, and thanked
him with an iron grip which meant much more than
words.
Then in a moment he said: "Whatever you say,
father, I will do, and thank you."
"Well, well, that's all settled then," said Mr. Russell. "' And now, Horace, you must get a wife-get
a good wife. Get a wife like your mother, my boy,
and life will be easier. Look at me. Look at home
-everything bright as a guinea and round as a ball.
By the way, Horace, our Member was saying the
other day that he would be pleased to have us call at
his place. He has a fine family —two beautifiul
girls. Who knows what might happen, eh? Butbless me; what's the matter with the boy?  Why
don't you speak? I believe-but no, nonsense, that's
absurd; Horace, what are you thinking of?"




A WOMAiV IN THE CASE.             19
"Well, father, there's no use in my trying to keel)
secret what must come out. I had determined to tell
you all about it, anyhow, to-day. I was thinking or
the dearest girl on earth, father. You know her, you
like her. So does mother, so does Harry. I wanted
to tell you that although nothing final has passed be
tween us, I am in love with Jennie Marvin; and with
your permission mean to make her my wife."
If Horace had knocked his father out of the wagon
he could not have shocked him more.
Had he lost his senses? No, the bay team were
making ten miles an hour over a lovely English road,
the sunlight was dancing through the trees and across
the meadow, the reins were in his hands, and Horace
sat by his side, sturdy as an oak and gentle as a
child.
"Conscience guide me!" said Mr. Russell, and
then turning to his son, broke out in a perfect torrent
of expostulation, censure, abuse and invective, until
fairly white with rage he said: "Next Monday will
be your birthday. I give you till then to decide.
Forget this girl, strike hands with your father, and be
a man. Adhere tc her, and I disinherit you, turn
you off,-and don't you dare to darken my dooi
again. You know me. Now no more about it."
" But, father," began Horace   -
"' I tell you no more about it," rejoined his father.;' Here we are at the post-office; mail this letter,




20         A WOJMAN IN THE CASE.
order these books for Harry, and let's get back as
soon as we can. We won't see Mr. Wilson to-day,
I'm in no mood for business."
Horace did as he was bid; and together they drove
homeward, unhappy, discontented, and utterly uncongenial.
As they entered the drive-way, Mrs. Russell met
them near the gate, and in a moment saw that there
was trouble between them.
"Why, what's the matter, father? " said she.
"Ask Horace," was his reply; and without another
word to either of them he turned his back and strode
off to the mill.
As he did so, the sweet face of Jennie Marvin
peeled out from a group of nurslings by the hedge,
and a soft voice said: " Good morning, Mrs. Russell;
good morning, Horace." There she was, the cause of
the first serious misunderstanding between father and
son; the simple-hearted, blue-eyed beauty for whom
Horace would give his life with pleasure.
"Why, how late you are, Jennie," said Horace.
"Yes, I know it, Horace; but I was kept at widow
Harden's until after eight; she is very low, and I
promised the Doctor I would care for her till some
of the other neighbors looked in. But I'm all right
now, only I thought I'd give you a surprise, and
catch you making love to your mother. Good-bye,"
said Jennie, and off she went to her work.




A,WOA1VN IN TtHE CASE.            2 1
"And that's the girl you love is it, Horace?" said
Mrs. Russell.
" Indeed it is," said he, "and I tell you, mother
tlear, I love her with all my heart; and marry her I
will."
He then told his mother all his father had said,
and, after begging her to intercede with her husband,
said: "If the worst comes, mother dear, I have
~200 of my own. We are both young and strong.'ll marry Jennie at once, and together we'll fight
our way through life, bringing no discredit on the
name, and perhaps be able sometime to repay the
love and kindness you have always shown me. So,
mother, dry your eyes; help me if you can-and if
not, I'll help myself."
13*




CHAPTER III.
HE ASKS: SHE ANSWERS.
-i  OT a word was exchanged between Horace
and his father all day. After tea, at night, the
young man, -who was as frank and honest in
heart as he was noble and truthful in appearance, laid
his hand upon his father's shoulder, and giving it a
loving grip, said: " Father, I am going down to see
Jennie. Let me take a kind word from you? "
It was well meant, but the boy did not understand
the man.
Without changing his position, Joseph Russell said:
" You know my wish —obey it, and all's well; thwart
it. and we are no imore to each other forever."
Mrs. Russell said nothing, though she looked unutterable sympathy; but Harry, who loved his father,
mother, and brother as one, rose hastily from the
table, and throwing himself full upon his father's
breast, begged and implored him to be considerate,
to wait, to hear what Horace proposed, and at all
events to withdraw what seemed, to an over-sensitive
nature, very much like a curse.




HE ASKS: SHZE ANS WERS.           23
But it was useless.
A stubborn man is harder to move than a mules
and Joseph Russell was precisely that.
The end of it all was that the father pretended to
read the county paper, his wife busied herself with
tearful eyes about her domestic duties, Harry wept
alone, full length upon his bed, and Horace went to
see his love.
Of course he went.
He had told Jenr:ie that afternoon, as she was leav.
ing the mill, that he should see her in the evening,
and as he had something to say to her, should wish
her to take a walk with him by the side of the river.
Quick as a flash Jennie saw, or rather felt-for
women always feel situations long before they are apparent to men, — that something had gone wrong; but
wisely saying nothing, she quickly put on her hat, and
together they passed into the street.
Ordinarily, Horace was tired with his day's work,
and inclined to rest. He didn't object to being talked
to, but he hated to answer questions. He was like a
vast majority of the better grade of men who like the
attentions and loving ways of women, but do not encourage inquisitiveness, even if it be born of genuine
interest.
But on this occasion every nerve was alert, and
every fibre on a quiver. He hurried Jennie along at
a pace very much faster than a lover's lounge, until




24       HE ASKS. SHE ANSWERS.
they reached the bank of a beautiful stream, protect.
ed by superb old trees, through whose leaves the
bright beams of an August moon gleamed and gis
tened.
Taking her head in his two hands, he turned up te
the full gaze of his impassioned eyes, and the full
light of the curious moon, one of the sweetest ot
faces.
He didn't stop to kiss her.
Without a caress, without premonition of any kind,
he spoke to her, and in such earnestness that she felt
the gravity and sincerity of every word.
" I know you love me, Jennie. You have told me
so a thousand times and more. You love me devotedly, and I-well, I love you well enough to make
you my wife, and that's -about as much as man can
do. I leave nmy father.  I go at once. I have.200
in cash, my head, my hands, and a constitution of
iron. I want from you an answer now; will you
be my wife, will you join me hand to hand and go
with me in search of home and fortune? Say yes.
Don't mar it by a but, or an if, or a why. If you
love me, say yes. Will you? "
Throwing her arms about his neck, and burying
her face in the bosom of her lover, Jennie answered
as he wished; but how, or in what language, is not
given us to tell.
The passion was over, and after the natural inter.




JIGE ASKiS: SIZE A. S r e'ERS.  5
change of vosws, assurances, and asseverations cus.
tonary at such times, Horace told Jennie the whole
story, and anticipated her objections and demurrals,
by saying that he had written to Liverpool for information respecting the steamers, and that doubtless the
whole affair, separation, marriage, and embarkation
for New York, to which point he had concluded to go,
would be consummated by the close of the followring week.
"And yet," said he, " I shall hate to leave mother,
it will almost kill Harry, and how father and the mill
will get on without nme, is more than I can tell."
But with an effort, he pushed away all the unpleasant features, turned to Jennie, his betrothed, kissed
her again and again, and after leaving her at her door,
started homeward at a rapid gait.
At the gate he met his mother. "Why, mother,
it's after ten o'clock; what are you doing here?"
" Waiting for you, darling," said she; "waiting for
my first-born son. Can you not give up this love, dear
Horace? "
" Mother  -"
"But hear me, darling.  Can you not wait? "
" Mother, I love Jennie. She has promised to be
my wife, and before a week is passed marry her I
will. "
" Heaven bless you, my son. Heaven bless you.
Come what may your mother loves you, trusts you,
2




26         HE ASKS: SEE ANSWERS.
and will always pray for you and yours. Good-night,
my boy. Remember he is your father. Speak gen.
tly. It will do no harm, for he loves you very much
and his disappointment is very great. "
They parted affectionately, as their custom was, and
long hours passed before Horace reached his room,
and throwing his arm over his beloved AHarry, fell
into a deep and restful sleep.




CHAPTER IV.
TEN YEARS LATER. A SUMMONS.
EN long years of hard work, disappointment,
domestic comfort, bereavement, hope, anxi.
ety and struggle passed over the heads of
Horace Russell and his faithful wife. They had
crossed the ocean, found a home in Michigan, buried
a daughter, made a fortune, lost it in a fire, and grown
mature in each others respect and love.
Occasional letters from home had told of the gradual decline and death of the gentle mother; of the
sudden paralysis and death of the loving Harry; of
the princely wealth and hardening character of the
father, and such lighter gossip as brings one's childhood's home and days so vividly before the absent.
With a few thousand dollars laid away for a rainy
day, Horace felt that he was comfortable, but not
content. His mind was active, but the necessity of
daily occupation left him but little leisure for study in
his peculiar line. He knew that he had material in
his mind, which if utilized, would make him rich and
perhaps famous. But like Mary of old he hid all these




28    TEN  YEARS LATER. A SUMMONS.
things in his heart, and never by look or word gavc
hint to Jennie of the unrest which was ca canker tc
his life.
On the I6th of August I854 he received a letter
postmarked London.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, and with some
apprehension he opened it.
THE LETTER.
LONDON, AUtgust 2d, 1854.
DEAR SIR,-A message from my old friend, the Rev.
Mr. Marsh, received this morning, tells me that your
dear father has not long to live. When I occupied
temporarily Mr. Marsh's pulpit, I had occasion to see
much of Mr. Russell, and one evening he unbur.
dened to me the secret of his life. He loves you.
He longs once more to see you. And yet so stubborn was his pride, that he would not consent even
that a message might be sent to you.  Knowing as
I do his critical condition, aware as I am of his fatherly affection for the boy of his early manhood, the
first-born of his love, I have taken this liberty in youi
common interest, and beg you to lay aside whatever
your occupation may be, and come here that you
may receive your father's blessing, and I greatly fear
to close your father's eyes.
Pardon me, if in sending y)ou the enclosed Bill for




TEN  YEARS LA TEN. A S U~JMMONS.   29.ioo I offend, but not knowing your circumstances,
I take the samle liberty with you, that I would wish
taken with my son, if his father were dying, and he an
exile.
With best wishes for your health, and earnestly
begging you to come home at once,
I am, yours most truly,
JOHN HALL,
R2ector of St. John's.
To HORACE RUSSELL,.Milwaukee.
Enclosed, Bill on Brown Bro's & Co. for Lioo.
Jennie's round fair arm was encircling her hus.
band's neck, and the little fat hands of Harry, their
boy, were tearing the envelope at his feet.
For a moment the tears refused to come, but only
for a moment. Then rising to his feet, the noble fellow said: "Jennie, love, see to the traps. I'll go
down to the agent's-learn about the steamers, and
be back in half an hour. For dearest, he is my
father after all, you know; and if he had known you
darling, as Heaven grant he may even yet, we never
should have left him."
And off he went.
Of course the /Ioo were not needed.
The next day Horace drew his money, paid his
lbills, placed his affairs in the hands of a lawyer,
packed up, and started for New York.




30    TEN YEARS LA TER. A SEUMMONS.
One week later he stood upon the deck of a
superb Cunarder —but he stood alone, crying like a
babe.




CHAPTER V.
THE BOY, OH WHERE WAS HE 
ERHAPS you think men should never cry.
Well, let us see.
Three days before this, Horace, his wife,
and little Harry reached the Astor House, and were
shown one of the best rooms in the hotel.
The next day was spent in necessary preparations
for the voyage.
The day preceding the day of sailing was equally
occupied until about six o'clock, when Jennie, being
utterly exhausted, threw herself on the bed to rest.
Horace was weary, too.
But little Harry was cross.
Of course he was.
Two long days he had been left in the care of a
chambermaid, who was kind and careless. He rolled
a hoople through the halls till a call-boy stole it. He
slid down the banisters until one of the guests complained at the office. He went into the dining-hall
twenty times a day, and gorged himself until he was




32      THE BOY, OH WYERE VWAS HE?
sick. He played marbles with a little boy frem Boston, and won all his stock.
He wore himself out in the endeavor to alnuse
himself.
And when his father carried him up-stairs on his
back, after dinner on Friday evening, he begged him
to take him out for a walk.
Little Harry was five years old, tall of his age,
smart, bright, quick, and full of fun. His hair was
jet black, like his father's; his eye was a blue gray,
like his mother's.  Nothing frightened him, but he
could be easily moved by his sympathies.
Altogether he was a loving, lovable boy-one of
the kind that fathers whip and mothers shield; who
always turn out well in spite of the lash, and develop
qualities precisely the opposite to those which their
"teachers and guardians" predict for their man.
hood.
However, out they went. The father. proud of the
son; the boy pleased with his father.
They walked over to the City Hall Park, and admired the architectural wonders of the building with
its marble front and freestone rear. They wandered
over the green grass, watched a free fight between
two rival fire companies at the corner of Chatham and
Frankfort streets, bought a penny glass of ice cream
of an old wonlan near the Park, and were turr-ing
down-town towards the Astor House, when



THE BOY, Off WHERE WAS HE?           33
"Hallo! where's the boy?"
Quite a question, wasn't it?
Horace looked in vain.
He met one of Matsell's watchmen in an oldfashioned police hat, and told him his story.
Of course he wasted time.
What should he do?
The unfeeling crowd hurried by him. Carts and
wagons and stages passed in everlasting procession
along the street.
But the boy, the apple of his eye, the core of his
heart, the darling of his wife-his wife I How should
he tell his wife?
What should he tell his wife?
Half crazed with fear, full of bitter self-reproaches,
uncertain which way to go, unfamiliar with the city
and its ways, the poor fellow grasped the first man he
could, and asked him to show him to the station.
Thinking Russell was drunk, the man shoved him
off, and hurried on.
He spoke to another and was directed to the Chief's
office, where all the satisfaction he could get was the
tantalizing reply that if the boy turned up, the office
would keep him until his father called.
" But I leave the country to-morrow," said Horace;
" the steamer sails at nine, and we must be on board
by eight."' Oh, wait over," replied the Sergeant.
2




THE B 0 Y, 01 WHERE WA S  E?
"My father is dying and I must go," rejoined Rus.
sell."
But of course " talk " did no good.
The officer took little Harry's name and descriptiox
in his Book, thus:THE RECORD.
Person-Small boy.
Name —Harry Russell.
Age-Five years.
Description-Tall, slender.
Remarks-Lost near lower end of the City Hall
Park. Horace Russell at Astor House.
"There, sir," said the "Sergeant, that's all right.
You go home, and if the boy is found we'll take care
of him. Now don't make a fuss. Good night." And
with that he slammed the book upon the desk, by way
of emphasis, and turned to read his paper.
Horace moved off with a heavy heart and hesitated
long before he gave up the search, and went to tell his
wife.
What words are adequate to picture that scene?
The heart-crushed man and the horror-struck woman
looked at each other, as shrouded in despair, they
saw their utter'helplessness, and felt their desolation.
If Harry had died, they would have known the ex,
tent of their loss; but the very uncertainty of his fat4
added to their misery and gave poignancy to the sick.
ness of their hearts.




THE BOY, 0X WHERE WVA IS  iE.        35
Those of you who have laid your hearts in the grave
can understand, partially, the feeling with which Jennie sat at the window through the weary hours of that
long night, while Horace paced the streets.
You who have not known Death, need not seek to
understand.




CHAPTER VI.
SHORT AND BITTER.
MORNING of anguish ensued upon a night
of frantic grief.
Horace felt the urgency of the errand he
was on, and when the Police suggested that if he
must go, possibly his wife could remain and prosecute
the search, he accepted the proposition, and at once
broached it to Jennie.
Well-she was a woman and a wife and a mother,
and that tells the story. He went on, and she stayed
behind.
She drove to the dock and watched the steamer;
waving her handkerchief to her husband, as he stood
leaning against the rail.
What wonder that the strong man wept?




CHAPTER VII.
LOVE MELTETH EVEN PRIDE.
H, the long, long days at sea!
And the nights-would they never end?
His heart was with his wife and boy, but
his duty sternly beckoned Horace to his father'q
home.
Not an hour passed in the'dreary day without its
prayer to Heaven, that little Harry might be saved.
And in the weary watches of the night, the father
heard the little fellow's cry, and starting, found he
heard it not.
The Captain and some of the passengers knew of
the circumstances attending Horace's trip, and endeavored to console him  by such suggestions as
naturally occur to men of the world; but the heartsick parent heeded them not. And even while he
looked ahead to the meeting with his father, his very
soul lingered longingly near the dear ones in New
York.
Every storm brought pictures of Harry's distress




38     LOVE MELTETH EVEN PRIDE.
before his eyes; and when the full features of the August moon disclosed themselves in the placid sky,
wonder and imagination were busy with the possibilities of accident or harm to the wanderer.
At length Liverpool was reached, the kind Rector
seen and repaid, the brisk drive made to the county
town, near which were his father's works, and finally
the mill itself loomed up beyond the stream, quickly
followed by the house where he was born, and where
his dear ones died.
Horace had left his home a youth, full of hope and
courage.
He returned a man, sick in heart, anxious, restless,
worn with care.
A strange face greeted him at the door. Entering
he met the Doctor and a neighbor, to whom his coming was like the appearance of a welcome ghost, for
not an hour in all the days went by in which the sick
man did not murmur, " Horace, Harry, Horace
Horace."
In a sentence, the condition of Joseph Russell
was disclosed. It was possible, the Doctor said, that
he might rally, and recover his senses before morning, but his death was a question of brief time only,
and might indeed occur at any moment.
Hastily passing his friends, Horace made his way
to the well-remembered bedroom.
On the wall hung the portrait of'his blessed mother




LO VE MEL TE TH E VEN PRIDE.
There was the chair in which She sat and read to him
on Sunday. The old-fashioned bureau standing in
the corner still held the sampler she worked at school,
and in a frame at the end stood a silhouette of her
mother, cut by an artist at the County Fair. The
brass hand-irons and the wooden stool were as natural
as life, and the high-posted bedstead —
On that was his father.
His father indeed, but not the father of his
thoughts.
He remembered a strong, athletic man; he saw a
faded, dying paralytic.
Advancing cautiously to the side of the bed, Horace
laid one hand gently on his father's ample brow, and
pressing with the other the attenuated fingers which
nervously played with the outer covering, whispered:
"Father, I am Horace, do you know me?"
For a moment all was still.
The sick man opened his eyes.
His parched lips wanted water, and after it was
given him, with an effort he partly raised himself in
bed and began to speak, when he fell exhausted on
the pillow.
Almost distracted, Horace called the doctor, who
knew he was of no use, but very kindly came in,
looked solemn, suggested the wetting of the lips, advised perfect quiet, and went out.
Presently Joseph Russell opened his great black




40        O FE MEL TE TH E VEN PRIDE.
eyes again, smiled, sat up in bed, threw his arms upon
his son, murmured: "Horace, Harry, Mary," and
gave up the ghost.
For an instant Jennie and little Harry were blotted
from existence.
For an instant boyhood resumed its being, and
Horace was a romping lad, cheered on by Harry,
laughed at by his mother, and chided by his prouder
father.
And then —well, it only lasted an instant. Then
he was a man again, with a father dead before him, a
sorrowing wife he knew not where, and a boy-oh,
what would IIorace not have given if he could regain that boy?
After the funeral services, which were largely at
tended by all the county some three days after, Mr.
Wilson who had been Joseph Russell's man of business in all matters affecting law and formula, begged
the favor of Horace's presence in the library.
He went.
"Mr. Russell," said Mr. Wilson, "as the sole heir
and legatee of Joseph Russell, deceased, I have invited you here to take formal cognizance of the will
of the decedent. He was a queer man, sir, a queer
man. Would you believe it, sir, I never have read
this will. He wrote it himself, sir, six years ago, the
very night poor Harry died, when he tore up one I




L 0 VE lILEL TE THE VEN PRIDE.      41
did write, and about which I of course knew everything. The will has been iA my box six years, handed
me by Joseph Russell himself, witnessed by me and
my clerk, and we will read it sir, together.
THE WILL.
In the name of God, Amen. I, Joseph Russell,
of Lewes, County Sussex, England, being in clear head
and sound body, make this my will and testament, all
others being destroyed and of no avail.  My wife
Mary is dead, God bless her. My son Harry is dead,
God bless him. And I have no other kindred, heirs,
or assigns."
Up to this point Mr. Wilson had read quite glibly;
now he began to be apprehensive. Horace sat like
a stone.
Mr. Wilson continued:-" My oldest. son Horace
Russell, God bless him, left his home years ago. I
threatened to disinherit him. I never did, I never
shall. He is bone of my bone, and flesh of my
flesh. He has my pardon-I hope for his. To him,
Horace Russell, I leave my house, my mills, my
real estate, and all my property, real and personal,
of whatever nature, to do with as he may elect, re.
serving such sums as he may find necessary for the
discharge of mly funeral expenses and other debts;
and excepting G~5o to each foreman, ~2 to each




42      LOV  E MEL TE TH E VEN PRIDE.
operative,.~500 to the parish of St. Sarah, and. ia
per annum for the care of the ground where rest the
dear bodies of Mary my wife, and Harry my son.
Written with my own hand on one sheet of white
foolscap paper, this IIth of August, I849, and signed'
by me, and witnessed by John Wilson and Henry
Place.
JOSEPH RUSSELL, L. S.
Witness,
JOHN WILSON, L. S.
H]ENRY PLACE, L. S.' Gracious heavens, Mr. Russell!" said the gratified attorney, " this is handsome. Why, sir, you've a
plum at least, sir. The mills themselves are worth
three quarters of that, and you may rely on my calculation. I congratulate you, sir. When shall we
go on? "
Horace never said a word.
In a moment ~Ioo,ooo were placed at his disposal,
and he never said one word.
Mr. Wilson began to feel out of place. Presently
he was convinced that he had better retire.
Then he laid his card on the table, took his hat in
his hand, and quietly stole away.
And Horace sat motionless for hours, and never
said one word aloud.




CHAPTER VIII.
TILL DEATH DOTH THEM PART.
ORACE met his wife at the wharf.
Not a word was needed.
Her looks answered his distressed and
anxious eye.
She had come home without the boy.
That night they slept in the old house, the dear
old home where Horace was born, every room of
which had its precious memory of those who were
gone.
Slept did we say-far from it.
Held tightly in her loving husband's arms, Jennie
told the ten days' story of her terrible experiences;
how she had wearied the police with her importunity;
how the Astor House people had kindly interested
themselves in her trouble, and laid it before the chief
magistrate of the city; how the press had aided her;
and how after ten days of ceaseless energy, tireless
activity and most faithful inquiry, they and she had
been forced to see the utter uselessness of further
search.




44     TILL DEA Tit D O TH THEM PAR T.
"And then. darling," said Jennie as floods of tears
relieved her tired head, "I turned to you.  I turned
to you and longed to have you tell me where to
look for comfort; how to reconcile my sorrow with lly
faith; how I could pray to a loving Saviour, with the
grieving voice of Harry calling' mamma' in my ears."
What could the strong man say?
How could he, whose very heart was dried to dust
in grief, find waters of consolation for the crushed and
broken woman at his side?
And so the night rolled on, beguiled by Horace's
report concerning his father's death, his will, his business cares and sudden responsibilities, until as the
early morning came they dropped to sleep.
To sleep, but not to rest.
Not to rest, for every noise startled Jennie from
her slumber, and every movement of her husband
brought her back to grief, and in every breath she
dreamed of Harry, till, with the bright sunlight streaming in the window, she woke to repeat her experience, and Horace more exhausted than before, found
nothing in his heart to say.
There are griefs and griefs, just as there are different kinds of people.
Some wear off; others wear in.
Horace felt quite as deeply as Jennie did, but upon
him was laid her care, her comfort, and, perhaps he
found in that duty a certain relief to which she was




TILL DEA TH D O Tl THEM PAR 7'        45
a stranger.  And then he was at once so thoroughly
immersed in business care that for many hours
every day his mind was forced into other channels,
and thus he was comforted.
But Jennie had no cares.
Her housekeeper took care of the establishment.
She had no little ones to look out for. She found very
little pleasure in renewing acquaintance with the few
who remembered her as " that factory-girl who run off
with Horace Russell," and she was literally left to
self-communion and self-torture the greater part of
the time.
She had authorized the police to pay one thousand
dollars to any person who would give provable information about Harry, dead or alive, and she communicated regularly, through Mr. Wilson, with the
New York authorities. At the end of a few months
the lost boy had become a very old story to the officials, and finally the Chief wrote to Mr. Wilson that
further correspondence was unnecessary, but that if
anything was discovered at any time he would, of
course, and at once, communicate with him.
From that date Jennie declined.
She declined fast.
Horace watched her like a lover, and tended her
like a mother. Her slightest wish was a command.
All her bodily wants were anticipated by the kindest
of husbands, and assuming a cheer he was far from




46     TILL DEATH DO TH THEM PART.
feeling, the generous fellow often endeavored to lead
her into such pleasant paths of social excitement as
were open to them.
But he failed.
His heart wasn't there,-and what excitement can
take the place of interest?
Slowly, but surely, her decline developed into the
foreshade of Death, and one bright moonlight night,
with her feeble arms around her husband's neck, as his
encircled hers, she sweetly smiled her crushed and
broken heart into the eternal silence of an early grave.
I~O,




CHAPTER IX.
TWENTY YEARS AFTER.
HE grave and reverend Matsell, superinten i.
ent of the New York police force, sat in his
cosy inner office, dividing his precious time
between the demolishment of a huge bunch of grapes
and the mastery of a copy of formal "charges" preferred against the Board of Comlmissioners, when a
formidable looking document, bearing the impress of
the City's seal, was handed him.
Naturally cautious and careful of his digestion, he
first finished his grapes and then broke the seal.  In
the envelope was the following
LETTER FROM THE MAYOR.
MAYOR' S OFFICE, NEW YORK, August IO, 1874.
SIR, —You will on receipt of this, detail a reliable and
efficient officer from the Detective Bureau to aid
Horace Russell, Esq., in a matter of importance. Mr.
Russell can be found at the Clarendon Hotel to-mor



48         TWENTY YEiARS AFTER.
row morning at nine o'clock, at which time let the
officer report to him, and place himself absolutely at
his disposal, until such time as his services are of no
further use. Mr. Russell will provide whatever funds
may be necessary in the undertaking, and the officer
will be relieved of all other duty, until dismissed by
hintm.
By order of the Mayor.
GEORGE C. KING, Chief Clerk.
To GEO. W. MATSELL, Supl. Police.
"Heaven bless me," said the old Chief. "What
can this be?  In the whole course of my official life
I never have read such an order as this before. However, I'll soon know all about it."
Summoning Captain Irving, he asked which of the
detectives would be most likely to serve the purpose
desired.  Without a moment's hesitation, Captain
Irving replied:
" John Hardy, the keenest man I have, but I don't
care to spare him for any length of time."
"Never mind that," rejoined the Chief, " send him
to me."
In a few moments Officer John Hardy presented
himself at the Superintendent's desk. Standing erect
in the presence of his superior he was as handsome a
man as one would see in a long day's walk.  Apparently about twenty-four years old he was at least five




TWIVENTY YEARS AFTER.              49
feet ten inches high, straight and slender; his hair
was jet black; his eyes an indescribable gray, looking
blue or black as they were enlivened by humor or
anger; his nose was not purely Grecian, but passed
for such; and over a well formed lip, firm though full,
hung a soft and graceful moustache.  John had fun
in him.  Quick to detect the grotesque, easy tempered, with a sunny disposition, nervous, industrious and
persevering, he had worked his way from the humble
post of messenger, through every grade in the service,
until he stood high in the esteem of his superiors as a
detective of rare sagacity, wonderful intuition, and
fairly magical in "luck."
All men have histories, but very few can look back
upon a more eventful career-in humble life-than
John Hardy.
His parents were scavengers. That is, his father
was, and his mother —well she was a scavenger's wife,
with the same skeleton and general formation as the
rest of her sex: with love for her child like other
women, and full of the ambitions, cares and anxieties
common to us all.
John Hardy's father was a scavenger. That is, he
used to go out in the morning with a bag, or basket,
and a pick or rake, searching for what he might find.
And he found a great deal. He found so much in
gutter and street, in mound and filth, in sewer and refuse, that whzn he died his wife and son were heirs to
3




50         TWENTY YEARS AFTER.
$5,000 and a tenement house worth $Io,ooo more,
with a rental of $6oo per annulm.
The secrets of New York sewers are not open to
the world. Even the keen eyes of New York reporters have not searched them out, and what reporters
have not discovered must be tolerably well hid. Down
in the dirty depths so black and full of gloom, myriads
of nasty creatures hunt each other.  Rats and slimy
creeping things prey on weaker evidences of Nature's
omnipresence.  Water and slime slush through the
channels; all manner of refuse finds its way to the
outlet; jewels, the lost of every name, sink to the
bottom, or lodge on the jutting stones;'in other words
under our streets, there are other avenues where life
conceals itself, where riches pass side by side with the
offscourings of the earth, and where the lantern of the
scavenger discloses much that is terrible and sickening, but much, also, that is valuable and worth preserving.
A life spent in unveiling the mysteries of sewerage is
not likely to be rich in anything, lest it be in the discovered wealth to be found in the dirt and muck of
the streets; but scavengers are men, and there is no
reason why they should necessarily be bad men.
At all events, John Hardy's father was so good a
man as this: He loved his wife, and idolized their
son.
He knew nothing of books, cared nothing for news



TWENTY YEARS AFTER.
papers, and never went to church. But he sent John
to school, and when the little fellow marched to the
head of his classes, developing talent in every line of
study, and, finally, stood before an audience of a thousand strangers, wearing the medals of honor, as he
spoke the valedictory of his class, who shall say that
the tears which coursed down the old man's cheeks
were not as manly and as creditable to the scavenger,
as though they were born of a philosopher or a student?
The Hardys' humble home was quite near Police
Head-quarters, and long before John had left the public school he was as intimate and familiar there as any
of the officers.
He was a bright boy, quick as a flash, and always
ready to do errands for the iabiluies of the place.
When he left school he was made messenger in the
Inspector's office, then a clerk, and after a subsequent
term as roundsman, was detailed to detective duty,
where we have found him.
" Officer Hardy," said the Superintendent, c" I have
received an order fiom the Mayor directing me to detail a prudent man from your bureau for an important
duty. The Captain recommends you, and I confirm
his selection. You will call on Mr. Russell, at the
Clarendon, at 9 o'clock to-morrow morning, and place
yourself at his disposal. I have no information as to
his desires.  Do whatever he directs, and in case of
doubt repoit at once to me; you are relieved from




52         TfWENTY YEARS AiFTER.
duty here until further orders.  Now do your best,
HIardy. I have a feeling that this is to be a great
opportunity. Why, I'm sure I don't know: but I do.
That's all," and as Hardy went away the Chief reread
the order from- the Mayor, and wondered what it
could refer to.




CHAPTER X.
HE AND SHE.
T nine o'clock on the following day officer
Hardy, in citizen's dress, was ushered into
the presence of Mr. Russell.
It was Horace.
Time had told upon him.
His head was bald as a billiard ball, and the locks
which fringed the scalp and hung curling over the
ears were gray. His eye was as bright as in the olden time, but his form was bent, and the close-shut
mouth marked the firmness of his will, which had developed of late much like his father's.
Advancing to meet the detective, Mr. Russell looked at him with undisguised interest.
He expected to see a cast-iron soldier, straight,
stiff and pompous.
In place of such a one he was confronted by an indiividual who might as well be taken for a gentleman of
leisure as a man whose life was devoted to the un
earthing of villany.




54              HaE AND SHE.
" Mr. Hardy, you are the officeI I was told to expect this morning, I. presume, and I am very glad to
see you," said Horace Russell; "this is my wife and
this my daughter."
At the moment of speaking two ladies entered the
room, the elder a woman of perhaps forty years, a
matron grave, dignified and handsome; the other a
petitfe young miss, upon whose fair head some eighteen
summers had cast their loving sunshine, leaving the
golden impress on every waving tress.
"Take seats, please," said Mr. Russell; "I have
much to tell Mr. Hardy, and he needs to be attentive."
"' You would much better let mamma tell him, papa
dear," said Maud, as she put a lump of sugar between
the bars of her canary's cage. "She knows all about it,
and you say yourself she is just as much interested in
poor dear Harry as you are, and as for me, I'm fairly
wild about him. Come, Mr. Hardy, you sit there near
the window. Papa can have the easy-chair. I'll sit
on this hassock by papa's knee; and mamma, let's see,
mamma must take the piano-stool so she can gesture.
There now, who says I'm not a manager? "
Even Mr. Russell laughed at the girl's vivacity.
All were seated as Maud directed, and John Hardy
pinched his arm. He really didn't know whether he
was in Heaven or at his work.
He soon found out.
"Well, Mr. Hardy," began Mrs. Russell, "it's a




HE AND SHE.                55
very long story. I don't think you'll need that notebook, for I'll make it simple, and there really is very
little in the way of dates and names and places. You
know our name, and that's the only name you need
to remember, and you certainly know New York, and
that's the only place involved; so what's the use of
notes? "
John put up his book, and Mrs. Russell went on.
Horace shut his eyes, and Maud held his hands
like a vice.
" Ten years ago," said the lady, " I went to England, from my native city, New York, a widow with
my little Maud, then eight years old and very delicate. Mr. Russell met us, and nine years since, this
very month, we were married. Three months ago,
on my husband's fifty-third birthday, we gave a grand
holiday party to the hands of his factory, and everything was going on splendidly, when I accidentally
stumbled on him in his study, with his head on his
desk, crying like a baby. It was the third time I ha-d
found him so. The other times I went away quietly,
thinking it best not to disturb him, but this seemed
so strange I really couldn't resist the impulse to
speak. I did so. At first he parried my questions,
but finally told me about a little boy he had lost in
New York twenty years ago; how he never slept
without dreaming of his child; that in his thoughts by
day and his hours of wakefulness at night the little fel



.56               iE AND SHE.
low was ever present; that bitterest Self-reproaches
were constantly heaped upon him, and that over all
his life of prosperity and success hung this dreadful
mystery, like a pall of blackest gloom, and at times
he felt he should go mad in sheer despair."
" And you," said the detective.
I," replied Mrs. Russell, " I saw my path as plain
as daylight. In less than ten minutes I had the master among his men, the happiest of them all, for I had
settled it then and there that his duty and my pleasure were one. His duty was to find that boy; my
pleasure was the same-and that's why we're here."
"Yes, Mr. Hardy, that's why we're here," broke in
Maud, " and that's why you're here, which is much
more to the point. Only I don't see that mamma has
told you as much as she might have.  For instance,
mamma, don't you remember how papa says he was
just at the lower end of a park, and was looking at a
picture of a fat woman and a zebra on a great banner
across a street, when all of a sudden little Harry was
gone?"
"Perhaps nIr. Russell can -give me the details of
the loss, now that I have heard the story of your coming," said Hardy, and taking his note-book from his
pocket received from Horace Russell the particulars of the eventful night, when all that made life
dear and sweet to a loving mother and a happy father
was in an instant blotted from their sight.




HE AND SHE.                 5 7
Then as he rose to leave the detective said: "First
of all I'll hunt up the police blotter and find out all
they knew at the time of the disappearance."' And then," said Maud.
"And then, Miss," replied he, " we'll consider our
course."
It was arranged between Mr. Russell and Hardy that
the latter should call every morning at nine, and
report every evening at eight, and that whatever happened should be disclosed in full at the latter hour.
Bidding the Russells good morning, John Hardy
found himself hurrying down town to the Central
office, as if wings were on his feet, and ether in his
lungs.
The man thought he was interested in his mission.
Perhaps he was.
He certainly was heels over head in love with
Maud Rubsell, and didn't know it.




CHAPTER XI.
SOME STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS.
HEN  Hardy reached Headquarters he reported at once to Superintendent Matsell
the developments of the morning, and was
gratified at the great interest the old gentleman took
in the matter; especially, when upon comparing dates
it was found that little Harry had been lost when
Matsell was Chief of the Municipal Police, some
twenty years before.
Reference to the official documents afforded nothing
beyond the bare fact of loss, and so far as any practical help was concerned, the books might have been
burned years before.
This much was ascertained-no dead body answering Harry's description had been found at or near the
time of his disappearance, and on that they based
a hope that he was still living.
" It nlight be well, Hardy," said the Chief, " to examine the records at the Tombs.  Suppose we go
down there now "-and jumping on a Bleecker street
car, down they went.




SOMVE STRANGE.DE VELOPM ENTS.    59
Warden Quinn stood at the open gateway of the
City Prison, as the Superintendent, in full uniform,
gold spectacles and high hat, stepped upon the sidewalk. A second after John Hardy appeared from the
car, and together the officials walked up to the Warden, who saluted them with a calmness of demeanor
which very inadequately pictured the wonder of his
mind.
4'Ah, John, good morning, John," said Matsell,
addressing the Warden.  "Hardy and I have a little
business with your old books this morning. I-low
long will it take Finley to get down the record book
of i854? I want to see it. Let's see; we want
August. Tell him to get us the August record, John.
and then show us through the prison."
The Warden gave the necessary orders to the
kindly-faced keeper, who has been on duty at the
Tombs, man and boy, since the first prisoner was
taken inside its dreary walls.
IThe three then passed the keeper at the inner gate,
who respectfully touched his hat as he facetiously
proffered return tickets to the Superintendent and the
Detective, and walking along the stone-covered
enclosure, reached the entrance to the prison for
men, just as that relic of barbarism, the "Black
Maria," was driven in for its morning load of island
prisoner.;.
The " Black Maria" is a heavy wagon, shaped like




6o    SOME STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS.
a windowless omnibus. At the extreme top is a slit,
extending around from front to rear, and immediately
back of the driver is a small hole. Through these
utterly inadequate orifices air is supplied to the people
shut and locked in, on their way from the Tombs to the
island ferry.  Men and women, old and young,
drunk and sober, filthy and clean, innocent and guilty,
the hardened offender and the neophyte in crime are
packed into this noisome van, as sheep were formerly
crowded in the cattle cars, before the happier days of
Henry Bergh and his Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Dumb Animals.
Who can exaggerate the scenes possible in that
hideous vehicle? Instances of horrible brutality and
physical outrage are of frequent occurrence, and every
trip makes known its report of blasphemy and indecency, wicked and repulsive in the extreme. The
Commissioners of Public Charities and Correction
are good men and kind. They love their families,
and give humane directions to their subordinates; but
what do they know of the actual life of the prisoners
nominally controlled by them?
Take this very small part of the daily routine, the
transfer of criminals from the temporary to the
permanent prison. They see it done every day of
the year; they see the rude conveyance, the brutal
keeper, the unfeeling driver; they know that men
and women are crowded into the narrow, unventi




SOME STRANGE DE VELOPMENTS.    6 
lated, stomach-turning coffin, like pigs-they know
and see it all, as their predecessors did for thirty
years before them, but they make no change, effect
no improvement.
And if there is this indifference to matters directly
before their eyes, what are the probabilities of the ten
thousand horrors concealed from their gaze, kept out
of sight by cunning officers, or perpetrated when the
superintending eye is turned away? The holiday story
of our public institutions is often told, and paraded
at length in the columns of our papers, but the great
everyday suffering-that's as yet unwritten.
The Warden's quick eye saw the disgust pictured
on John Hardy's face, as sixteen hideous looking
brutes were packed in the wagon, and turning his
attention, said to Mr. Matsell: "Well, Chief, it's rather
a novelty to see you down here.  What's up?"
"That's a fact, Quinn," replied Mr. Matsell, "I
really don't believe I've been here before in six
months. I know very little of the details of our
office. It isn't as it used to be.  Bless my heart!
Why, in the old time the Chief knew everything, and
did pretty much everything too. We didn't have any
political Board to bother us. The Mayor was head
of the police, as he ought to be; and head of everything, as he ought to be. But he never interfered
with me. Many's the time I've put on an old slouch
and dove down amo: g the roughs, wormed into their




62    SOME STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS.
secrets, been arrested and taken in, and never found
out till the magistrate ordered me to take off my hat
in the morning. In those days, John, a Chief was a
Chzief. Talk about this uniform; why look at that
picture hanging in the office when you go back. It's a
picture of me in the old fashioned uniform, hat and all.
That was a uniform, and it meant something too."
" That' twenty years ago' seems to stick in your
crop, old man," said Warden Quinn, as he gave a sly
wink at the detective.
"Yes, yes it does," said Matsell.  "The Mayor
was saying to me only a few days ago, that with all
our'modern improvements' he thought there was
really less security on the public streets now than
there was then. It seems harder to get the right
kind of men on the force.  Politicians boss the whole
job, and it's simply impossible to move on the works
of some of'the worst criminals in the city, with success. They know all about our purposes about as
soon as we do who make them. You'll be surprised
to know what I am here for now. Oh! good morning, Mrs. Foster."
This salutation was in honor of the matron of the
prison for women, a good dame of perhaps fifty years
of age, combining keen qualities of head with kindly
graces of heart; and as rigid a disciplinarian as any
martinet in the army of tradition.
Mrs. Foster has been matron of the prison thirty




SOME STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS.    63
years. She is one of the few persons in New York
official life who hold position on account of fitness
Wardens may come and wardens may go, but matron
Foster holds on forever. With the unfortunate she is
kind, as becomes a woman. With the vicious she is
stern, as befits a matron. She tolerates no breakage
of her rules, but looks with great favor on the erring
sister who would be glad to do better. Mrs. Foster
is not so famous as Florence Nightingale, but her
sphere is as important and her mission as holy.
Were she relentless and cruel, as many women are,
she could make the Tombs a hell. Were she a
gossip, as many women incurably are, she has it in
her power to retail evil enough about New York to
afford the press sensations for a decade.
She's no such person.
Advancing with a quick, elastic step, she cordially
greeted her old friend the Superintendent, nodded
hastily and pleasantly to the Warden and the detective, and invited them into her sitting-room.
After a moment's rest they passed through a narrow
passage into the Female Prison, white and clean as
constant scrubbings could make it, and chilly as a
tomb. On the left of a contracted corridor were a
number of small cells, most of which were empty. In
one of them was a " Drunk " —a young hearty-looking woman, who, fighting and screaming, had been
pushed in but a short time previous, and falling flat




64    SOME STRANGE DE VELOPMENTS.
upon her face soon passed into a dull and heavy sleep
She was brought in by a policeman, too drunk to
care for anything or anybody; naturally a good-hearted
girl, gin made her a demon.
She was full of it, and from her shapely lips fell
such terrible profanity as made even the accustomed
ears of the matron and her assistant, Mrs. French,
shrink with disgust.
Her bottle was taken from her pocket, and when
the Warden and his guests looked through the iron
grating her heavy snore resounded through the hall,
and beastliness seemed perfectly disclosed.
This is not the forum for a lecture on temperance
-but that sight was a text from which lectures might
well be drawn.
It is true enough that women and children, as a rule,
suffer from the intemperance of their husbands and
parents, but no one who is unfamiliar with the police
blotters of our station-houses, and the sad records of
the lower courts, and the fearful scenes witnessed every
day in every year by the prison officials, can understand the extent to which whiskey drinking is carried
by the women of this generation.
Surely intemperance is the Sin of the Time.
Every fashionable saloon, has its patrons on whose
tables light wines sparkle.  At the parties of out
"best people" wine is offered in the supper room,
and  young men find stronger stimulants in their




SOIME STRANGE DE.EL OPMENTES.    65
retreat above. The lady who accepts the invitation
of her friend to dance, finds herself in an all-embrac.
ing aroma of punch or toddy. On the cars, one constantly sees little flasks produced, turned up and
emptied.  Every hotel's finest apartment is its bar
room, made brilliant with gorgeous adornments and
magnificent fixtures.  From the earliest dawn of New
Year's morning to the last flicker of December's stars,
wine and rum, and whiskey and gin are regarded by
many as Heaven's best gifts to man.
Pious men rent their stores for gin mills.
Christian gentlemen pay their plew rent fromli in.
comes derived from the traffic in liquor.
And are women so different that the temptations of
palate and physical sensation which fascinate men, are
powerless over them?
Let the Tombs answer.
Go to Blackwell's Island and examine the sickening
record.
We have Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals, and Associations for the Conversion of Foreign Heathens, but it seems to us that if ever there
was a need for societies and associations now is the
time, and this the sphere of operation.
Old and young, male and female, are on the broad
road to death and destruction,-and rum is the devil
who leads them.
Mrs. Foster's iron steps were bright as a new dollar.




66    SOME STRANGI,  DE VELOPVENTS.
At the head of the staircase is a circular corridor,
white-washed and damp, from which open cells like
those on the lower tier. In these are always crowded
many girls, the majority of whom await trial, or are
serving short sentences of ten to thirty days. Now'
and then one has a book or a paper, but as a rule, they
sit or lounge all day and sleep all night; the hardened
and the beginners together, with no distinction of any
sort or kind between them.
It is all wrong —but how to remedy it is a huge
problem.
As the party passed along to a private receptionroom at the end of the corridor, Mr. Mlatsell said:
" Mrs. Foster, I came down to-day more especially to
see, if by reference to the old records, I could find out
anything about a little boy who was lost twenty years
ago this August. I was Chief at the time, but all I
can recall is that the papers made quite a fuss about
it, a small reward was offered, and nothing came of it.
I thought there might possibly-but it really isn't
probable —be some clue from the books here. Ah!
here's Mr. Findley with the record."
The keeper handed the Record-book to the Superintendent, who adjusted his great gold spectacles and
slowly turned the pages until he found the date.
There were " drunks " and "disorderlies" by the
score, two murders, a few burglaries, the customary
allowance of milder offences, but no clue to a lost




SOME STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS.    67
boy. Ordinarily there would be no sense in looking
at the Tombs' books for such a record, but it will be
remembered that neither the police memorandum noi
the coroner's office furnished any information whatever, and the only other chance was that little Harry
had been taken directly before a magistrate and
committed by him to the temporary care of the warden.
Under the head of August 2 Ist, appeared this entry:
Name: James Delaney.
Age: 45.
Occupation: Builder.
Residence: Stranger.
Orfence: Drunk.
Sentence: io days city-prison, $io fine.
RJemsarks: When brought in had small boy, five
years old, with him. Boy sent in to Foster. Discharged after two days' detention, and fine remitted by
Dowling.
"Let me see that," said Mrs. Foster.
Seizing the book the good old lady put on her
glasses, ran her finger over the entry, and then gave
a long whistle.
"Bless my heart. That's the same boy," said she.
"Why, French and I have talked that child over and
over a hundred, yes, a thousand times. He was the
dearest, sweetest little fellow you ever saw, and he no
more belonged to that Delaney than I do. The boy
seemed to like him, too, but there was something




68    SOlVE STRANGE DE VELOPMENTS.
about them both that didn't hitch. I had the little
chap right in this room and I held him right in this
chair. I rocked him on my lap, and all I could get
out of him was' I want my mammra,' or' where's papa?'
He wouldn't tell his name, except' Bub' or'Bob,' so
we called him' Bob.' I got Dowling to let the man
go for the child's sake-you can always manage Joe
Dowling through his heart-and when they went off
the fellow was sober and ashamed, and the tears stood in
his eyes because they fixed him up a pass for Chicago,
and a kit. Remember that boy! I remember him
as if he sat before mle this blessed minute."
"God bless my soul!" said Matsell.
The Warden, though a kind-hearted man, was too
much accustomed to sensations, to be particularly affected, but Detective Hardy, who was young and enthusiastic, jumped at what he clearly saw was one end
of a clue, which might lead him to professional suc.
cess, and perhaps aid him in making an impression
on the young lady at the Clarendon.
Even while copying the record and making memoranda of the matron's story, John Hardy's active imagination was building castles in the airy future.
He saw-what is there that young men and women
do not see at such times? —fame, fortune, success
in all that makes life worth the living, all absolutely
in one's grasp, almost.  How often we wake from
sunny dreams, so real, so true, that they challenge




SOME STRANGE DE VELOPMENTS.          69
physical experience itself in reality, only to find that
they nmay be, but are not, true.
But Hardy was hopeful. He had a royal physique.
Every movement, from the flash of his eye to the
tread of his foot, showed spirit. He thought quickly,
spoke well, bore himself as became a man, never
fo rgot his position, and was one of the few men in
this queer world, who have sense granted them before
they have wasted life, and lost its opportunities in
experience.
He knew perfectly well the social difference between himself and Maud Russell, and that she had
seen in him simply a means of briniging peace and
comfort to her father's heart. He knew that she
cared no more for him than for the driver of her
carriage. And, to do him justice, he had not as yet
detected in himself any feeling deeper than that of,
aldmiration for a very beautiful and winsome woman.
But for all that, he was conscious of an influence, an
attraction which made him think, and was gradually
affecting his purposes and plans.
Taking down all that the record disclosed, and
making full notes of all that Mrs. Foster could recall
concerning Delaney and the little "Bob," Hardy said
to the Superintendent that he thought he would go to
the Hotel, and see Mr. Russell, although he would
not be expected until eight in the evening.
They parted at the entrance, the Superintendent




70    SOME STRANGE DE VELOPRMENTS.
going down to meet the Mayor, with whom he went
every noon to eat clams in Fulton Market, and the
detective to the Clarendon.




CHAPTER XII.
THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS.
GU.OHN  HARDY reached the hotel at four
o'clock in the afternoon.  Mr. and Mrs.
Russell were out driviing, but Maud, knowing the arrangement between her step-father and the
detective, inferred that this call must be a matter of
importance, and directed the waiter to show Hardy
to the parlor.
When Hardy entered, Maud advanced to meet
him with an eagerness born entirely of her interest in
his mission.  He was disappointed and pleased to
hear that Mr. Russell was not in, but deeming discretion the better part, simply said that he would call
later, and made his adieu.
As he left the room, a gentleman in the undress
uniform of a naval officer entered, and greeted Maud
with earnestness and evident delight. Hardy looked
long enough to see that the interest was reciprocal,
and with a muttered disgust hurried away.
Holding Maud's hand in his, William Templeton




72       THE SNAKE NV THE GRASS.
drew the fair girl to a seat in the window, partly concealed by the heavy drapery, and sat beside her.
"Well, dearest," he began, "is it true at last?
Have I really found you, and is it possible I hold
your dear hand in mine, uninterrupted for a moment?
Really, it seems too good to be true."
Maud smiled sweetly, and after a moment's linger.
ing, drew somewhat away from  her ardent lover
and laughingly said: "There, AWill, that must do foi
now; how fortunate that you should see me here; do
you know who that person is I was talking with?
He's a detective, and is going to help father find his
little boy."
"His little boy? " echoed Templeton.
"Yes, his little boy, lost ever so many years ago,"
replied Maud.  "'Papa hasn't seen him  in twenty
years, and he's determined now to find him, if it's
a possible thing."
"Well, don't waste time in talking about little
boys," said Templeton.  " If he has as hard a time
in finding a son, as I have had in trying to find a father,
I pity him, that's all."
William Templeton was a waif.
He was found in a Massachusetts work-house by a
benevolent party of Boston.
By him he was taken to the Hub, educated and
fitted for college. When the civil war fever broke
out, William was fond of the water, and begged his




THE SNAKkE  iLV TIHE GRASS.         73
friend to get for him a commission in the navy.  He
did so, and the lad entered the regular navy as ensign, and at the end of the war ranked as Lieutenant,
with an unusual record, creditable to him as a man
and a sailor.
His protector died shortly after, leaving him a small
fortune. The lieutenant went to Europe on leave of
absence, and on his trip home met and admired Maud
Russell.
Together they promenaded the Cunarder's deck
long after the old folks had "turned in."
Tile moon, the skies, the ships in the distance, the
astronomical perplexities, the sea serpent, the phosphorescence in the water, the gulls and the passengers
were for them a never-failing source of interest and
conversation.
She became entangled. Her affections went out
toward this stranger, and he was greatly taken with
this charming Eliglish girl.
Men are curious creatures, and take the oddest
possible fancies.
Everybody on that good ship liked William Templeton except Horace Russell, and Horace Russell was
the only man for whose good-will William Templeton
cared the toss of a copper.
When Maud or his wife appealed to him to be
more courteous towards Templeton, Mr. Russell be..
came insanely angry. He gave no reason for his dis4




74      ~THE SNAKE Z1V THE GRASS.
like, all lhe knew was that he would not like him,
and he forbade his wife and daughter eveli to speak
to him, in the improbable event of his crossing their
path after reaching the city. Mrs. Russell's influence
over her husband was great, because she rarely exerted it.  He was a good man, and although very set in
his ways, was never deaf to sensible argument.
in this matter Mrs. Russell quietly told her husband
that his opposition to Lieutenant Templeton's steamer
attentions seemed rather strained.  The man held a
position of honor, and was well spoken of by every
one who knew of him among the passengers, and as
he would doubtless soon have his own affairs to attend
to, it was not likely they would be in any way embarrassed by him.
Mr. Russell was not convinced, but he was silenced,
and as Maud, who was really very fond of her newmade fiiend, was wvise and prudent enough to avoid
any scene that might annoy her father, there was no
further cause of trouble on the voyage.
Templeton was a brave officer and a bad 1man.
In the service he was esteemed for the qualities
that endure under privation and trial.  He had won
his way unfavored by politicians, the bane of every
public department, and his theory of life had condensed into one hard maxim': Let every man take care of
himself.
With all his bravery and pluck, in spite of his good




THE SNAKIE IN THE  GRASS.            75
nature and happy-go-lucky manner, he had a weak.
BlESS.
He loved money.
No man ever made fortune honestly in the service
Of'his country.  Templeton was not morally above
certain grades of dishonesty, but lie had never been in
position to take or speculate, or falsely audit; he had
his pay, and a very meagre income fromt the estate of
his adopted father; but the most rigid economy would
not nmake him rich, and he hated economy.
He was about twenty-six years of age, and at a time
when most men are trustful and genuine, had become
suspicious and deceitful.
He deliberately planned his future, basing it on a
mlarriage with mloney-give him the money, and the
rest he was willing to risk.
He saw Maud, he liked her; he thought her the
daugllter of the rich manufacturer, and believing her
to be his heir, resolved to win her.
Introductions at sea are easily obtalned, and when
Miss Russell and Lieutenant Templ,iton bade each
other "good-night,' after their fr3t introduction, they
were as well acquainted as many people would be only
after many years of friendship.
Maud was a queer combina'tion of prudence and
indiscretion.  She had just passed her eighteenth
birthday, was bright, sweet-faced, and elegant in manner. She had the air of a beauty and the innocence




76      THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS.
of a pet; she idolized her mother, and Mr. Russell
had found in her the most loving of children.
But she was fond of admiration, and so fond of it
that a close observer could see that she catered for it.
Some men and women are born flirts, and flaunt
their purposes before the public eye, careless of the
world, and reckless of its opinion, so long as their own
" good time " is assured.
Maud was not one of those.  She shrank from
vulgarity of manner, or vulgarity in display, as quickly
and as naturally as from rudeness of speech. And
yet there was a curious boldness about her which
manifested itself in an over desire to please, the
motive being, whether she knew it or not, to gain
thereby the flattering income so grateful to her.
She was as gracious to the steward as to the captain; she met the detective with the same smile that
beamed on Templeton. Compliments pleased her,
come firom where they might. And if a beautiful face,
a distinguished air, and a kind heart with a winning
smile, would not elicit compliments in society, what
would?
She had had but little attention at home; indeed,
there were but half a dozen families in the town, and
the Russells, though well-informed and living in good
style, were not on visiting terms with the older
county families.
Still Maud knew something of life, and her regular




THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS.              77
trip to London brought her more and more, year after
year, into the cauldron of social excitement. She
read some, was fond of music, played the piano tolerably well, rode dashingly, and was esteemed an acquisition at the parties she attended.
Of course she received at such times much attention.
Every woman has mnore or less of it, and it is by no
manner of means determined either in quality or
quantity by the prettiness of the face. There are
thousands of doll-featured girls who go through life
without attention; and in what circle do we not find
a plain face the recipient of all the courtesy and civil
ity possible. It is evidently what there is behind the
face that attracts.
However, Maud was very beautiful and winning as
well. Her manner was bright and jolly, her heart
sunny, her general air that of contentment.  She was
greatly pleased with the attentions of her friends, but
she had never met a friend who had taken such perfect and all-absorbing possession of her as Willianm
Templeton.  He seemed to know by intuition what
were her desires, and he never hesitated to gratify
them.
In spite of the dislike of Mr. Russell, Mr. Temple-,ton found frequent opportunities to be with Maud
on the steamer, and when they reached New York,
although no formal engagement had been made, both




78       THE SNAK41E IN THE  GRASS.
felt that their betrothal was but a question of time and
prudence.
As they sat together on the sofa, Maud becoming
apprehensive of her father's return, said: "Why can't
we go out for a walk or a drive?  It is so long since
I have seen you, and I have so much to say to you."
Templeton was only too glad to go. He rang the
bell, ordered a carriage, and Maud went to her
room.
The Lieutenant believed Maud to be not only the
daughter, but the only child of Mr. Russell, who
always spoke of her and to her as " daughter," so that
her remark about the "little boy" meant more to
Maud's lover than she could have imagined, or he
would care to have known.
He was very fond of Maud, but fond or not, he
had determined to marry her, and thus gain her
father's wealth.
Presently she appeared, perfectly equipped, and
leaving the Hotel by the i8th street exit, entered the
carriage and drove off towards the Park.
"Maud,' tell me about this'little boy's' busi
ness," said Mr. Templeton.  " What is it, who is he,
any way, and how is it I never heard about him  before?"
"Well, I declare, Will, that's ralter a long
string of questions, I should sayt," replied she; "but
as we have plenty of time, and you are so good as to




THE SNAKE IN TIHE GRASS.            79
give me this delightful drive, I'll tell you all about it.
And then, too, if you only could help us, papa would
love you just as I do."
She then gave Templeton a narration of the story,
so familiar to her and the reader, and by the time
they had reached the Mt. St. Vincent Hotel in the
Park, he had mastered it all, and was quite prepared
to say to Maud: "Suppose we stop here for an ice;"
and to himself, "this is just precisely ny luck. I
only wanted this to make assurance doubly sure.
Three cheers for me —and the' little boy!'".4s' 




CHAPTER  XIII.
A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.
full of events.
I. Lieut. Templeton had secured a pledge
from Maud Russell, that she would consider herself
his betrothed, and him, her accepted lover.
As yet, and indeed until Mr. Russell's antipathy
could be conquered, the engagement was to be secret
from her family.
2. Detective Hardy had made his report to the
Russells, and found to his surprise that the stern,
quiet-mannered Englishman, was a perfect fire of
enthusiasm, kindled into flame, and outburst by the
meagre story the detective had to tell of his morning's
gleanings.
3. Mr. Russell had outlined a plan of operations,
including an immediate trip to the West, the offer of
a large reward through the Chicago police, and such
other operation as a review of the ground might
suggest.
4. And last, but by no means least, Maud in hei




A iTERRIBLE TEMPTA TOiV.           8 
good-night letter to her lover, wrote to Templeton
every word reported to Mr. Russell by the detective,
as well as the entire programme for the future.
Bidding Mr. Russell and the ladies good-night, and
promising to take the anxious father to see Mrs.
Foster early the next day, John Hardy pulled his soft
hat over his eyes, lit a cigar, and moved slowly down
4th avenue. Just as he reached I4th street, he was
accosted by a gentleman, who, touching him on the
shoulder said: "I beg your pardon, sir; are you
Detective Hardy?"
There was no reason for Hardy's denying his name,
and yet his professional caution was on the alert, and
his suspicions were aroused. Hastily glancing at his
companion, he was about to answer, when the light
from a street lamp disclosed the handsdme features
and manly figure of Lieut. Templeton.  The detective placed him at once, but pretending not to, replied:
"Yes, sir, that's my name. What of it? "
" That depends," rejoined Templeton. "'If you
have half an hour to spare, come with me, and we
will discuss a matter of some interest to both of us —
and perhaps of profit. Where shall we go —Del
monico's? "
"' No Delmonico's for me I " said Hardy. " That'll
do well enough for pleasure. If you want to talk
business, where you can be as noisy as a Bedlamite,
or as quiet as Greenwood, come with me."




82        A TERRIBLE TREMPTATION.
" I'll do it," said Templeton; and he did.
A short ride on a 4th avenue car took them tc
Houston street, and a shorter walk led them to the
door of Harry Hill's noted resort for all sorts and
sizes of pleasure seekers of New York and vicinity.
Passing through Hill's wonderful stable, where he
keeps trick ponies,educated dogs, and wonderful sheep,
and through the dimily lighted bar-room, they reached
a flight of stairs which led to the concert-room.
Templeton had never been there before, and
wanted to linger; but to the detective it was an old
story, and calling Harry Hill, a stout built, cheery
faced Englishman, to hinm said: " Harry, this gentleman and I have a little matter of business to talk over.
Let me have the use of your parlor for a few
moments: that's a good fellow."
Harry Hill took a good look at  Hardy's compan.
ion, shook his head as if half in doubt, and preceded
fhe two to the room.
The average mlan living in New York knows about
Harry Hill's saloon; its Punch and Judy, its dancers,
and singers, and boxing matches; its free and easy
opportunities for safely seeing a great deal of what
young men call " life; " and the fact that it is one of
the regular " shows" of the city.  But probably not
one in five hundred of Harry Hill's visitors could
correctly picture even the outer characteristics of the
proprietor's inner home.




A  TERRIBLE TEMPTA TON.               83
Pictures of prize-fighters, fancy sketches of noted
boxers, bronze horses, flash story-books, foils and
gloves, brass knuckles and billies were the paraphernalia wvhich rose before Templeton's mind, when he
thought of the probable adornments of the home of'
Hill.  As matter of fact what Templeton saw was as
follows: Two very fair specimnens of Kaulbach's
skill, several fine photograph5., and one or two
admirable English engravings hung on ti,_ wralls;
in one corner was a small bou'doir book-case bearing standard literature from  the;BijI  to Hume,
from  the book of Common Prayer, to Byron and
Thackeray; in another a larger table and desk, fitted
with writing materials, and ornamented by curious
Japanese ware; in the centre was a handsome round
table, with books and cigar case, while two doors
opening outward disclosed a dressing-room and a bedchamber.
Templeton was astonished.  Mr. Hill saw the
look, and similing, said: "A  trade's a trade, my
firiend.  "Arry'111's one thing'ere and another there.
That's all," and shutting the door left the two men to
their business.
Neither cared to begin, but Hardy, lighting a fresh
cigar, threw himself on a lounge, and Templeton was
forced to take the initiative.
"Mr. Hardy," said he, "I am  a friend of the
Russells, and aware of their plans.  They are in.a*t




84       A TERRIBLE TEMPTA TION.
search of a little boy Mr. Russell lost some twenty
years ago. And I am that boy."
" WHAT! " cried Hardy, and jutmping from his seat
like a greyhound, banged his hand heavily on the
table, and stared through Templeton's eyes down to
his very soul.
"6 Don't make a noise, man," continued the Lieutenant, "you would do yourself greater credit if you
listened. I say, I am that lost boy, and you can
prove it-if you care to. Old Russell has heaps of
money, and can be bled like an ox, for anything that
is genuine. He loved his child, lost him carelessly,
left him cruelly, and mourns him sincerely. I know
he would spend $Ioo,ooo to find that son. And I
think if you were to find him, your fortune would be
insured. Now listen. I can satisfy you that I am
Russell's son, and your business will be to convince
him. Is it a bargain?"
For a moment Hardy was nonplussed. He had
met many rascals in his police experience, and had
worked out many a plot, but the cool impudence and
suicidal audacity of this putter-up of villainy, eclipsed
all previous examples of the kind.
He thought rapidly, and concluded it would be
well "to lay in" with Templeton until the plan was
ripe. Nothing could be gained by bluffing him;
much might be learned by pi etending to work with him.
After a brief pause, he said:




A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION.             85
" I don't know you, sir. Are you quite certain you
can satisfy me?"
" Of course I can," replied Templeton with a cunning smile; " of course I can, and I'll agree to put it
off for six months too. How will that suit your royal
highness? "
"Perfectly," rejoined Hardy; "you have my address. I shall be in town two or three days, and then
we're off to Chicago.  Come in and see me when
-you're ready to talk finally; —and now let's see what
Harry has to show us to-night."
Together they passed into the saloon, and taking
seats at one of the little round tables, made part of a
large and laughing audience, listening to the jokes and
songs of the character-people on the stage of Harry
Hill's.




CHAPTER  XIV.
FIRE, FIRE, FIRE.
HAT night Horace Russell seemed a boy
again.  Long after his customary hour of
retiring, he walked his parlor, talked ear.
nestly and rapidly of his plans, read and reread the
slips cut from the papers of twenty years back by his
former wife, told for the one hundredth time the story
of little Harry's loss, and worked himself and Mrs.
Russell into a state of excitement bordering on frenzy.
Maud had long since kissed thenm both good-night,
and went to her room to write to her lover.
With her long, soft tresses hanging over the bed, she
was a pretty picture, when her mother, entering the
room, found her on her knees in prayer.
Folding her in her loving arms, Mrs. Russell said:'"Darling, don't think to deceive your mother. You
are more deeply interested in Lieutenant Templeton
than you care to confess. Tell me, darling, is it not
so? andl if so, let me know exactly how you feel, and
what your relations are with himn. Conceal nothing
fronm your best friend. Tell your mother all."




FIRE, FIRE, FIRE.             87
Maud, as we have seen, was bright and quick,
cven pert and almost forward at times, but she was
truth itseif in speech, and this one secret of her heart
was all slie had ever sought to keep from the mother
she idoli7ed, and for whom nothing could be good
enough.
She had promised Templeton to be his wife, and
to keep her promise secret.
What should she do between her mother and her
lover.
Right was with the imiother, but might seemed to
be with the lover.
"Has he told you that he loves you, dear? " said
Mrs. Russell.
" I know he does," evaded Maud.
"And how does my darling know so much?"
continued Mrs. Russell, as she pushed a little closer
to the citadel; "did he tell'you to look in his heart
and see?"
" No, darling manmma," replied the girl, "L he didn't
say that, but please, mamlma, don't ask me any more
questions. I cannot tell you; really, I cannot say
another word.  I do love him, mammia.  He's as
brave and noble as he can be, and he loves me so
dearly. Don't be angry, mammla darling. Don't be
angry. We can wait, you know, ever so long; and
besides he's going to help find little Harry. He said
he would, and he will; and if he only could find hiln




88           IFIRE, FIRE, FIRE.
and make papa happy, what a splendid thing it would
be for all of us. And he likes you too, mamma  "
" Mrs. Russell smiled faintly at her daughter's en.
thusiasml; but, taking her head in her arms, she
pressed her warmly to her heart, apprehensive for the
future, for she knew the feelings and passions and
bitter prejudice of her husband.
"Come, my dear," called Mr. Russell from  the
parlor, "' you mustn't keep daughter awake all night.
Let her go to sleep. Good-night again, little girl."
Mrs. Russell rejoined her husband in his planning,
and it was quite one o'clock ere the consultation
ended, and even then they were undecided whether it
was better to go to Chicago, or start the search in
New York city itself.
The entire hotel was resting quietdy at three o clock
in the morning, when the cry of " Fire! Fire! " startled
the sleepy watchman on the corner of the avenue,
and a policeman, who was resting against the iron rail,
actually knocked three times for help before he
opened his eyes.
Smoke was rushing in volumes from the upper windows. The story below that was in flames.
Clerks ran hastily through the house to arouse the
people, servants were driven from their rooms in
the attic, children were bundled out of the house, and
efforts were made to save the baggage of the guests.
The adjacent streets fairly hummed with excitement.




FIRE, FIRE, FIRE.              89
Crowds thronged about the firemen, the engines
puffed and snorted and whistled, while the quick buzz
of the wheels made merry music on the air.
If there is any one thing existing which resembles a
fully developed, fiery devil, with wings of flame and
a blazing tail, it is a modern fire engine as it flies to
the scene of disaster, with its bells and whistle, and
steam, and smoke, and screams, and dash of speed
along the streets.
Half a dozen of these wonderful machines were at
work, and the conflagration was largely under control.  Still the building was burning, and great clouds
of smoke overhung it and permeated every room.
Mr. Russell had been, for many years, in the habit
of waking very early in the morning.  As regularly as
the seasons in their course, Horace Russell rose
every morning of his life at three, looked over at his
mills, drank half a glass of water, looked at the mills
again, and resumed his sleep.
When at sea, his mind worked the same way.
And in pursuance of this habit, he woke on this
morning just as the porter in the lower hall discovered
the smoke. By the time the other guests were fairly
awake, Mr. Russell had his wife and Mlaud downstairs, and was hurrying them into the street, when
Maud, eluding his hand, slipped by him and ran in
the direction of their rooms.
Half wild with fear, Russell did not at first know




FIRE, FIRE, FIRE.
what to do; finally, and quicklyr, however, he g';,e his
wife in charge of an officer, and directed her to walk
down toward the Everett House, while he flew to
find Maud.  The halls and staircase were flooded
with smoke.  Guests rushed down-stairs half-dressed,
with such things as they had hastily caught up. The
hotel people were shouting and directing. The police
were in the way as usual, and the firemen worked
like heroes.
If ever men earned their pay, these fire laddies of
the paid departmlent earn theirs, and ought to have
it prolmptly.
Blind with the smoke, half paralyzed with apprehen
sion for Maud's safety, and really anxious about her
mind, Mr. Russell felt his way to their apartments.
They were filled with dense, black, stifling smoke.
Groping to the window, he stumblled and fell on the
body of his adopted daughter.  Desperate, and half
conscious only, he instinctively grasped her in his
powerful arms, and sought the door.
Had he overestimated his strength?
Possibly, but not lhis love.
Love for the dear girl who had caressed his weariness to sleep at the close of many an anxious day,
who had brought sunshine to his heavy heart in many
a time of gloom, gave him inspiration, and he achieved
in an automatic way, halt heedless of what he was
about, an act of heroism which, under other circuml




FIRE, FIRE, FIRE.             9 
stances and for alnother person, would have made him
famous. Staggering towards the door he fell. Half
rising, he dragged the unconscious girl on and down
the single flight of stairs separating their apartments
from the ground floor, step by step, till together theyr
attracted the attention of men at the entrance, and
the cheery voice of John Hardy said: "Brace up,
Mr. Russell, brace up, old man; it's all right, brace
up.'
And he did brace up, but, overcome with smoke
and excitement, fell exhausted on the stones.
Hardy had turned for a moment to give some directions to his partner, as they called the detective who
worked with him, but seeing that Mr. Russell could
no imore "brace up" than Maud could jump up, he
extemporized a litter for thenm both, and had them
carried along throughl the crowd down to the Everett
House, where Mrs. Russell had ordered romls, and
was waiting pluckily to meet thelm.
Mr. Russell soon revived, and after a glass of
brandy felt quite like himself, and wanted to see
Maud.
But Maud had been put to bed, and in her hand,
tight grasped, her mother found the cause of her return to her room-a little gold brooch in which was
a picture and a lock of curly hair.
The picture was Templeton's; so was the hair.




CHAPTER XV.
TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD.
HE next morning, Mrs. Russell, overcome
with excitement and fatigue, slept late; and
Maud, who had been tended during the night
by her mother, rested at her side.
The detective called at ten o'clock, and finding
Mr. Russell in the reading room, was surprised and
delighted at his freshness and vigor. Together they
walked to the Clarendon, arranged for a transfer of
the luggage, which was in no way injured, and then,
in pursuance of their agreement, drove to see Matron
Foster at the Tombs.
The good woman was very cordial in her greeting,
and gladly rehearsed the story of little " Bob," adding
that it would be the happiest day of her life when she
could see him restored to his father's arms.
Mr. Russell was deeply affected both byr the story
and the interest Mrs. Foster exhibited in the fate of
the child; but he did not conceal from himself the
great improbability of a successful search for a boy




IWOUBLE  Ar THE HOUSEHOLD.            93
whose life for twenty years had been withdrawn from
his knowledge, nor the greater improbability that
" Bob" should in reality be the Harry of his heart.
Nevertheless, in the absence of other suggestion,
he determined to adhere to his scheme, and go with
Hardy to Chicago, even if Maud and her mother were
unable to leave the city.
After an interested examination of the prison, Mr.
Russell bade Mrs. Foster " good-morning," and, accom.
panied by the detective, turned towards the door,
when, quick as a flash, the sturdy officer dashed into
a reception room just inside the iron gate and rail.
As he did so, Lieutenant Templeton handed a pass
to the gate keeper, and walked over towards the
female prison.
" Did you see that man? " said Hardy.
"No," replied Mr. Russell. " That is, I did, and
I did not.  I saw somes one come in, but was so
thunderstruck by your rushing off that I paid no
attention to him. Why, who is he? "
"'That's just what I want to find out?" rejoined
Hardy. " You go on to the hotel; wait there until
you see me. Just take the yellow car, tell the conductor to let you out at the Everett House, and
you're all right. Excuse me now; every minute's an
hour."
Mr. Russell did not precisely see the force of what
Hardy said, but though somewhat dubious in his mind




Z94    TROUBLE IN THE HIOUSEHOLD.
as to the propriety of the young man's conduct, did as
he was directed, and soon regained the hotel.
Hardy went at once to Warden Quinn's room,
borrowed a uniform, put on a belt and cap, and with
baton swinging from his wrist, re-entered  the prison
yard, and walked quietly over to the Matron's office.
Fortunately he met her as she was leaving the washhouse. Accosting her, he said: "Don't start, Mrs.
Foster; I'm Hardy, the detective.  I have a point to
mhake here. There's a gentleman in your room who
wants to see you. If I happen to seem rather curious,
take no notice of me. I'm on business."
The sagacious woman twinkled her eyes in token
of comprehension, and quickly entered her office.
As she did so, Lieut. Templeton rose firom  his
seat, and advancing with great politeness, extended
his hand, bowed, and said: "This is my old friend,
Matron Foster, at last. And not a bit changed,
either.  How kind you were to me, and how often,
when a boy, I added to my lisping prayer,' God bless
Malmma Foster.' Do you not remember me? "
" Remember you?" said Mrs. Foster.  " No, I
don't.  How  should I? I never saw you before.
What do you mean?"
Mrs. Foster is no fool.  She has had her eye-teeth
cut these many years.  She is sympathetic, but not
at all credulous. Real suffering elicits her condolence and aid; but bogus complaints could never




TROUBLE ZIN  THE' HOUSEHOLD.          95
3vring a tear from her, if they were to try a thousand
tyears.
She didn't "take" to this honey-dropping gentleman. He was altogether too grateful, and his gratitude came rather late in life.  }Iad lie found her at
last? Why, for thirty years she had not left her post i
Every day of every year she had opened and shut her
room. She is never sick; never away; vacations
are an unknown quantity to her, and as for sleepwell, they do say she never sleeps; but that is probably not so.
" No, I don't remember you.  Who are you? " said
the robust Matron.
"Wlho am  I?  Why, I am  little'Bob,"'" said
Templeton.  " Surely you remember little'Bob' to
whom you were so kind in this very room, now twenty
years ago."
" Little' Bob'!" cried Mrs. Foster; "little' Bob'
little fiddlesticks! M_/ly little' Bob' had no such snakc
eyes as you've got, nor such hair, nor suchi-oh, don't
bother me.  If that's what you came here for, you've
lost your time.  I don't know you, and I don't want
to."
"But hear me, madaml; I have proofs of what I
~say," said  Templeton, now  thoroughly  alarmed.'" And it may be worth money to you to help me, too.
I have reason to believe I have found my dear father,
and your aid is indispensable to me."




96     TROUBLE ZN TIlE HOUSEHOLD
Just at this juncture, John Hardy, in policeman's
dress, appeared at the door.
" Here, officer," said Mrs. Foster, "just tramp this
party out of here. He's made a mistake. He belongs
in the male prison, I guess, and if he had his deserts
he'd go there."
Hardy raised his cap.
Templeton looked up quickly, turned black as his
boot, and muttering a curse, hurried rapidly by his
tormenter toward the gate.
Hardy stopped him by a whistle, and then taking
him into the Warden's office, said: " Mr. Templeton,
I give you just four hours in which to leave New
York. If I catch you here after that, I'll go for you;
and what that means you know. Now, get out."
And he got out, right away.
That evening Mr. and Mrs. Russell were dining in
their parlor, and Maud, still very weak, was reclining
on a lounge, thinking of Templeton, longing to see or
hear from him, and wondering how it could be possible for her to convey to him information of her
situation, and the necessity of his being content
not to see her until she should be able to get out
and about, when a servant handed Mr. Russell a
letter.
Not having seen the detective since his singular
conduct at the Tombs, Mr. Russell was wondering
why he did not hear from him, when the letter was




TR7OUBLE IN THE HO USEHOLD.           97
brought in. Without looking at the address, Mr.
Russell broke the seal.
He read a sentence, turned the page, read again,
and then, with a face white with rage, went to the
door, opened it, shut it, looked at the feeble girl upon
the lounge, and sank despondingly in his chair.
Maud's eyes were closed; her soul was with Templeton.
But her mother saw her husband's passion, and
knew that nothing but his love for Maud kept him
quiet.
" What is it, Horace?" said she.
" Read that," said he; " read that, and see what
an infernal scoundrel you've cherished between you.
Oh, that I had him here! Oh, that I had him here! "
His raised and excited voice roused Maud from
her reverie.
She, too, knew her father's ungoverned passions and
trenmbled when she saw them upon him.  Her sweet
voice rarely failed  to calm  him, and her gentle
caresses were mlany a time and oft the balm which
brought peace and comfort to a disturbed circle and
a troubled mind.
" Why, papa darling," said she, half rising from her
position; "what has happened?  Don't look so
black; tell mle, papa, what is it?"
"What is it? " replied Mr. Russell. " What is it?
You're it.  Your niother's it.  Heaven only knows
5




98     TROUBLE IN THE  O USEHOLD.
who isn't it. I must think this out.  It puzzles me,
I can't understand it.  I leave you together. When
I return, I must and shall know all."
Without another word the angry man left the room.
And he left two sad, and crushed, and sorrowful
hearts as well.
The mother, heart-sick for her daughter; and the
daughter, conscious only that something terrible had
happened, but what she knew not.
As the door closed, Mrs. Russell caught her daughter in her arms and, wild with grief and apprehension,
said: "Sweetest, you cannot wonder at your father's
anger, nor at his anxiety. This letter is from Lieut.
Templeton to his betrothed bride. Think of it."
" Give it to me, mother," said Maud; "how dared
he open it. Mother, give it to me; I"-but she could
go no further.
Her mother bathed her head, and kissed and sooth.
ed the young girl's temper down.
Then together they read
THE LETTER.
FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL, NEW YORK, August 2I, 1873.
"Maud, my darling, my own betrothed, I have but
a moment to write you and I have volumes to tell you.
I have heard, darling, of your night of peril, and although
I cannot see you, I understand that you are quite
well, though weak to-day.  I have to leave town at




TROUBLE ~N THE HOUSEHOLD.    9g
once. Danger, of which I cannot safely write, threatens me. I had hoped to be of service to your father,
but it cannot be.  I leave, and leave at once. Consider, darling, my proposal. You are virtually riy wife.
Why can you not be so absolutely? if you are strong
enough, and can manage to elude the vigilance of your
over-anxious mother for an hour do so, and meet me
in the corridor near the ladies' entrance.  I will be
prepared with a carriage, and in half an hour's time my
sweet-heart will be my bride,-nmy darling will be
my wife. I beg you will not, at this crisis, hesitate or
yield to scruples which can only delay what must happen sooneror later. You love me, do you not? Then
prove it. Bear in mind, darling, that I must leave
town. Shall I go alone? And if so, may I not at
least carry the picture of my wife with me?  I can
think of no mode by which I can be informed of your
purpose, so I will, at all events, go to the rendezvous,
and trust to the promptings of your loving heart for
a favorable response. And till then, sweet one, darling, adieu.' Ever yours,
"W. T."
" Grea*t Heavens!  Papa will meet him, and "Again Maud fainted, and her thoroughly frightened
mother threw water and lavished kisses upon her until,




oo    TR 0 UBLE IiV TilE HOUSEHC LD.
half dead with fear, she opened her eyes, and whisper
ed, " Save him, save him! "
Mrs. Russell was not a woman of the world, nor a
society-woman in any sense. She was born in New
York City, and at the age of thirty-four was a widow,
with a daughter six years old. With the child she
went to Europe, traveled two years, met Horace Rus.
sell, then a widower, at the house of a London friend,
and at the time of the present occurrence, had been
Mrs. Horace Russell ten years.
She was a clear-headed, kind-hearted woman, very
fond and proud of her husband, and idolatrously devoted to her daughter. Like her daughter, she was
the incarnation of truth, and nothing of whatever
molent or consequence had ever been, or could ever
be, a temptation to one or the other to swerve even by
a look from the line of perfect veracity.
But here was her daughter-and there was her husband.
Without a word, she kissed Maud on the forehead,
left the room, and passing quickly down the private
stairway, stood near the ladies' entrance, her figure
partially concealed by the curtain of a window.
Would he never come?
MAoments seemed ages, and her courage was oozing
fast when the well known form of Lieut. Templeton
appeared at the head of the staircase.
A slight movement of the curtain attracted his watch.




TRO UBLE IN THE HO USEHOLD.    I01
ful attention and, in a moment, he was at the side-not
of the loving daughter, but-of the indignant mother.
It was a study for an artist.
But there was no artist there; only two embarrassed and mutually anxious individuals, neither one knowing precisely what to do or say.
Presently Mrs. Russell, with fire flashing from her
eyes, said: " Mr. Templeton, we thought you were a
gentleman.  We find we were mistaken.  For my
daughter's sake, and that there may be no scene between you and my husband, I came here to tell you
you that we decline all further acquaintance with you,
and to assure you that no member of our family has
the slightest desire to see you again.  Now go, and
go quickly, unless you care to meet Mr. Russell, for
there he comes, and with him the detective."
Without a word, Templeton, who was thoroughly
alarmed, hurried away, while Mrs. Russell quietly regained her room, and drawing Maud's arm through
hers, gently led her heart-broken daughter to the
privacy of their chamber-and what passed there, we
may imagine, but certainly cannot know.




CHAPTER XVI.
WHAT NEXT? THE PROGRAMME.
HEN Mr. Russell so abruptly left his wife
and Maud in the parlor, he had no definite
plan before him, but having read enough of
Templeton's letter to get a general idea of love and
an engagement, and only so much, he saw the absolute necessity of his being alone for a few moments,
ere he trusted himself to speak.
He understood his own passionate nature thoroughly, and being very anxious about Maud's physical
condition, wisely and kindly checked his outburst and
simply left the room.
His meeting with Hardy at the door was purely accidental, and without alluding either to Templeton or
his letter, Mr. Russell entered at once upon a discussion of their Chicago plan, as together they passed
within twenty feet of his vife, on their way to the
general parlor.
Hardy was in trouble.




THE PROG zRAMME.             103
He had seen but little of Mr. Russell, but he liked
him, and was interested in his mission. Still he knew
so little of the man, that he was in doubt as to the advisability of telling him about Templeton's proposal
at Harry Hill's, and the expos6 at the Tombs. The
detective felt competent to manage Templeton in
any scheme he might attempt, and as yet knew nothing of the condition of affairs in the family. He had
seen Maud and Templeton together and had noticed
the warmth of their greeting, but the only thought
suggested by that, was the difference between Templeton's social opportunity and his own —a thought which
had often made him curse the world, which, even in
epublican America, is disposed to be sensitive on social points.
Hardy's maxim was: "When in doubt, hold your
tongue;" and, being in doubt, he obeyed that
teaching, believing that if at any time it became
necessary to bluff, outwit or confront the plotter, he
had the game in his own hands.
Unsuspicious, then, of Templeton's design upon his
fortune, Mr. Russell, as calmly as he could, canvassed
the possibilities of a search at the West, while Hardy,
uninformed of the new development that had upset
the peace and harmony of his employer, quietly
aided him. During the interview, Hardy presented
this programme for Mr. Russell's action, as the best
he could, after consultation with the Chief, suggest:




ro4           T. YE PROGRAMM4E.
THE PROGRAMME.
I. Obtain official letters of introduction from  the
mayor and police to the Chicago authorities.
2. Obtain personal letters to people of prominence
from the New York correspondents of Mr. Russell's mills.
3. Go to Chicago with Hardy, secure a local detective, offer privately or through the press, a small
reward for information, leaving all negotiations
in the hands of Hardy and the western officer,
and then be guided by circumstances.
" That's not very long,"' remarked Hardy, " but it's
the boilings down of many an hour's thought. The old
man has given time and consideration to this matter
astonishingly.  If ever you want to interest Matsell,
just connect your subject with something that occurred twenty or thirty years ago, and he'll jump in
lively."
"Well," replied Mr. Russell, "'it seems sensible.
The only point is that we seem to be giving up New
York altogether.  This'Bob' search may be a farce
and result in a fizzle. If so, we waste our time and
throw away our money-although, to be frank about
it, money is really no object. Do you know, Hardy,
that boy of mine would be only twenty-five years old
now; yet, from the agony and suspense that I have
been suffering ever since, a lzzndred and twentyfive years it would appear to be. God knows I




THE PROGRAMMiiLE.            105
have but the one wish upon my heart. I miss him
all the time; I think of him, dream of him, talk to
him —but always as my baby, my Harry boy of
twenty years gone by.
"Come, come, this won't do; I'll see Mrs. Russell
and the doctor.  As soon as they say Maud may
travel, off we go.
"Now, Hardy, I need hardly assure.you of my
earnestness in this life-work. I trust you. In any
event your reward shall be ample; but if we succeed,
your heart's desire shall be granted-I'll make you
rich and independent for life. Now go, my friend,
learn all you can from the prison people, and get all
needed letters from Mr. Matsell; I'll attend to the
rest. Good night."
Hardy bade Mr. Russell "good night," and Mr.
Russell went to get it.
He found the gas brightly burning in the parlor,
and the door of Maud's room shut. He entered his
own chamber. The bed was undisturbed; evidently
his wife was with her daughter. Knocking gently at
Maud's door, Mr. Russell waited for an answer.
None came.
He softly opened the door and on tip-toe approached the bed. Fast asleep in her mother's arms
lay the beautiful girl, with flushed cheek and eyelids
wet with tears.
Mlis. Russell's eyes were wide open, but she dared
3*




ro6  WHA T NEXT ON THE PROGRAMiIiE.
not stir lest Maud should be disturbed.  She saw
love in her husband's smile, and as he bent over her
to press a father's kiss upon the " daughter" of his
heart, though not of his race, Mrs. Russell whispered:
" Good night, father; I will stay with Maud-she is
very nervous, but all will be well. Good night."
For a moment Horace laid his hand upon her brow,
then kissed her tenderly, and, without a word, left the
weary and the comforter together.




CHAPTER XVII.
THE SCENE SHIFTS. THE TEMPTER AT WORK.
IEUT. TEMPLETON  drove quickly  to
the Fifth Avenue Hotel, purchased a
through ticket for Chicago by the morning
express, paid his bill and left orders to be called in
time for breakfast and the train.
The evening he occupied in looking through all his
papers, and deliberating as to what was best for him
to do with' his commission. He was liable at any
hour to be ordered on duty, and resignation after the
receipt of orders would not be tolerated: or rather it
would subject him to such criticism in naval circles
as he would not care to brave. And then, too, it must
be borne in mind that Templeton was not so foolish
in his ordinary life as he has shown himself in dealing
with Hardy. He doubtless believed that the average
policeman, of whom Hardy wan a type, had only to
be approached, to be secured. A bribe, he thought,
would never be refused unless it were too small, and




Io8       THE TEMIPTER A7 WORKC.
he had purposed making his offer to Hardy so tempt
ing as to be irresistible.
He failed.
What Hardy, or the average officer might do under
some circumstances we know not, but Templeton's
manner was unfortunate; his time was badly chosen,
his plan was too startling-and, besides, the detective
had warmed towards Mr. Russell, and the sweet face
of Maud was constantly before his eyes.
Having failed with Hardy, Templeton's next hope
was to work on Maud's affections through her fear
for his personal safety, induce her to marry him, and
then leave or take her with him, as might seem best
at the time.
He failed in that also.
Had the letter been handed to Maud, it is quite
certain she would have met her lover; and had she
gone, weak, nervous and unsettled as she was, it is
more than probable she would have yielded to his importunities, and placed herself at his disposal, and
brought desolation on her mother's heart.
From that she was spared, but at what a cost!
Failing in his second endeavor, Lieut. Temple.
ton bethought him of a third and better scheme.
He knew Mr. Russell perfectly. And he was well informed of the plans, as arranged in general by Hardy
and Russell before the morning of the fire. With
this in mind he was discussing the advisability of re.




THE  TEMPTER AT WORk.              o9
signing his commission in the service, that he might
risk all he had in one desperate venture-a claim to the
right and title of Horace Russell's son.
He took time to think of it, and pondered it well
before he decided.
He then wrote his resignation and had it mailed at
once.
His trunks were packed, his travelling preparations
made, his bed ready.
And he slept like a boy till the porter called him
to rise.
In due time, Templeton reached Chicago and on
the following day placed himself in conimunication
with the detective office at police headquarters.
Securing an introduction, through a hotel clerk, to
Charles Miller, or, as he was there more familiarly
known, " One-eyed Charley," he made an appointment
with him at the hotel, at which time, as he told him,
he would lay before him a matter directly in the detective's line of business, and in which there was "big
money."
One-eyed Charley was a character, and not altogether a good one., He was very much esteemed by
his superiors, his intuition being remarkably clear and
his experience great. He knew all the regular thieves
and professional men well. His twenty years' dealing with the counterfeiters, and burglars, and minor
rascals of the Mississippi Valley had educated him to




IIO       THE TEMPTER AT WOR-AK.
a point of sharpness and cleverness that entitled him
to higher rank in the office than he ever held, but he
had risen as far as he could, for gin was his failing,
and rum was his delight.
Half the number of sprees in which Miller indulged
would.have " broken " a less useful man. He knew
it, and accepted his lot without a murmur. It was
rumored, now and then, that there were other potent
reasons for the lack of promotion, but they never rose
above a whisper; for much as men might suspect,
fear of Miller's vengeance kept the tongues of his bit
terest enemies quiet.
He had two daughters, the only living beings for
whom he cared the value of a rush-for whom he savy.
ed what he could; and that was by no means inconsiderable.
Physically, he was ugly. His head was well covered with a reddish thatch; in a fight he had lost his
left eye; his face was badly marked with traces of
small-pox, and in stature he was tall when he sat, and
short when he stood. Morally he was queer; he believed in no God, no heaven, no hell, no future of any
kind; his motto was "keep all you get, and get all
you can." Mentally, he was shrewd and quick; shrewd
enough to see that, in his business, honesty, as a rule,
was much the best policy, and quick enough to see
when he might safely serve a dishonest purpose with
profit to himself.




THE TEMPTER A T WORK.             II 1
And this was the man  who called on Lieut.
William Templeton at his elegant apartments, in pur
suance of an agreement made at the general office.
Templeton saluted Miller, as he entered the room,
with: I' How are you, my friend; what will you take to
drink? "
"Well, sir," replied the detective, " I don't mind a
stiff rum and gum, after we've finished our talk; but
if you mean business, defer the refreshments till business is done. My chief clerk is my brain, and liquor
is his worst enemy."
"' All right," said Templeton, "as you say; but you
surely will let your chief clerk have the flavor of
a good cigar under his nose, won't you? "
~" Yes. I don't object to that; but I really think as
how that curious creature would very much prefer a
pipe, if it's handy," rejoined Miller; and, suiting the
action to the word, drew from his pocket a common
clay pipe, filled it with " horse cut," lit it, and puffed
vigorously.
"Now, young man, as the widder said, pitch in,
and what you've got to say, out with it."
Templeton eyed him closely.
Under any circumstances he would have done so,
but his experience with Hardy had taught him a lesson, and he meant to profit by it.
He eyed him closely, and concluded he would do.
Miller pretended not to notice the scrutiny, but he




I 112     THE  vIEMPTER A T'ORK.
saw it all, and made up his mind that there was deviltry in the air, and he meant to profit by it.
Pulling from his pocket a huge wallet filled with
papers, Templeton settled himself in his chair and
opened the ball.
" Mr. Miller," said he,' I have a long story to tell
you, and I want you to listen to it carefully, professionally, and in mny interest. To that end I hereby
retain you, and ask, is it a bargain? "
With this he laid five $20 bills upon the table,
pushed them over to Miller, and waited for his reply.
Miller puffed quickly, counted the bills carefully,
stuffed them in his vest pocket, nodded to Templeton,
and simply said, " Go ahead."




CHAPTER XVIII.
TEMPLETON S STORY.
NTIL yesterday," began Templeton,' I was
a lieutenant in the navy. My resignation
was forwarded last week, and last night's
mail brought me official notice of its acceptance. I
see you think a man who has so pleasant a berth is
foolish to get out of it. Well, possibly, but I hlave
two strong motives, and one equally a motive but not
so strong.'" First, I want money.' Second, I want a father.
" Third, I want a wife.
" The way to each and all of these, I believe, lies
through my resignation, whereby I am left free to
prosecute a plan, in the outwork of which I need your
aid.
" Don't misunderstand my position. I am not poor.
In any event I can abundantly compensate you.  My
game is higher and my prize greater.
"Who I am, no one knows.




II4         TEMPLETON'S STORY.
" Where I came from, no one can tell.
" I may be the son of a beggar, and I may be heir to
one of the largest employers in Great Britain.  I
have chafed under nly assumed name of William Templeton till my mind is sore, and, at times, the very
mention of it makes me wild. I hate it. I hate its
origin and everything connected with it.
"As near as I can make out, I am twenty-five or
thirty years of age. I run back connectedly until my
tenth year, a, follows: thirteen years I have been in the
service; four years I was at college and three years I
was preparing for college under the protection, and at
the home, of a good-natured Bostonian who found me
sick and homeless, and with no other name than' Bill,'
in the workhouse.
"Prior to that, and young as I was, I had been a'bunm.' Nothing that you know by observation of the
life of a homeless boy, can equal what I knew by daily
experience. I've been through it all. I blacked boots,
sold papers, ran errands, slept under stoops, in ash
barrels and over steam escapes, eat when I had food,
and bore hunger when I had none. Dirty, half-clad,
bare-footed, often never washed, on the Island in New
York, in the Tombs, known to the watch, and often
sick, I led the life of a vagabond as long as I can remember."
"Well, I'm  blowed," interrupted Miller.  "Say,
stranger, do you know, I like you. Pitch in again."




TIXT LE ETON'S STORY.          II 5
Templeton who was too much in earnest to smile,or to welcome the interest, proceeded.
"I have a vague memory of stowing myself on a
schooner, but whether it was accidental or intentional,
I don't know, and of being very ill. From then, until
I found myself in the hospital of the workhouse near
Boston, I recall nothing. I have had of late a pleasant life. My associates were gentlemen. Society is
always open to a uniform; and then, too, I prided
myself on my record. At college, although among the
youngest, I ranked well and my protector was so
pleased with my general progress that he left me his
property when he died, from which I have a small
annual income.
I see the power of money-and I want to wield it.
" I see the advantage of family connection-and I
think I see my way to it.
" I have met a woman whom I love: and through
her boundless love for me, I see the clue to both family and wealth."
"' Well, if you've got it all down so fine as this, where
do I come in? " said Miller.
"Are you a Mason?" asked Templeton.
" No, I ain't," replied the detective; " and I don't
want to be. I can keep a secret better than any
Mason can, if that's what you mean."
"Well, that was not what I meant," rejoined Templeton, who was wondering in his mind whether Hor



I I6        TEMPLETON'S STORY.
ace Russell's high rank in Masonry could in anyway
baulk his plans.
For several minutes neither spoke, and then, as if
inspired, Miller jumped up, and, resting his two hands
on the round table, over which blazed four fan-tailed
jets of gas, he looked his companion full in the eye,
and said: " Stranger, there's something on your mind,
and you don't do justice to the subject. When you go
to a doctor, you tell him just what's the matter, don't
you? Well, then. And when you go to a lawyer you
tell himz the whole story, don't you? Well, then. Now
you've come to me. This cash is my fee. State your
case. If I like it, I keep the cash and go on. If I
don't like it, I keep the cash and step out. That's all.
How old are you, anyhow? Don't be a boy."
Templeton smiled at the idea of his being a boy,
for he felt as if he had had about two hundred years
of experience in the ruggedest paths of life, but he
naturally hesitated to repeat the mistake he had made
with Hardy, and preferred to feel his way more cautiously with Miller.
Fearing to lose a hold on him, however, and with a
desperation born of the reckless adventure before him,
Templeton determined to lay the case in detail before
the detective, and trust to luck to get it out plausi.'bly and successfully.
Taking a cigar from its case, he walked to the nmantel, struck a match, lit his weed, and, leisurely return



TEMPLETON'S STORY.            I[7
ing to his seat, apparently resumed his nalration, as
though there had been no interruption.
"This woman whom I love," said he," is the daugh.
ter of an enormously wealthy Englishman. His name
Js Russell. He owns and runs immense mills and factories in the interior of England, and is said to be
worth five or six millions. He used to live in Michigan, and has, like most men, a romance.
Twenty years ago he lost a son in New York, and
he is fool enough to believe that he can find him now.
He has no clue to his whereabouts. He knows absolutely nothing of him. He is in New York now, with
his wife and daughter, and, before long, is coming to
Chicago with a New York detective to look up an- old
party who was sent out here by the authorities, having
with him a boy somewhat answering the description
of Mr. Russell's child. Of course he can't find either
of'em-unless we help him i
" I believe I am that boy.
" You believe I aln that boy.
" And we must make him believe I am that boy.
" What do you say? "
Miller said nothing for a moment,
Then he pulled from his pocket an oblong shaped
document, and, opening it carefully, read it to the astonished Templeton, as follows:




I 8         T2TEMPI E TOVN'S STOR Y
HEADQUARTERS POLICE DEPARTMENT,
CHICAGO, Azugust 3oth, I873.
SIR: —-In conformity to the endlosed request from
the Superintendent of the New York police, you are
hereby directed to place yourself and services at the
disposal of Horace Russell, Esq., who, accompanied
by Officer Hardy of the New York force, is expected
to reach this city some day this week. You will report
daily at these headquarters.
Per order of the Chief,
J. G. NIXON, Clerk.
To Detective Miller.
The enclosure, a copy of a letter from Supt. Mat.
sell to the Chicago Chief, read as follows:
DEPARTMENT OF POLICE,
NEW YORK, August 25hZ, I873.
SIR:-Mr. Horace Russell, a reputable and responsible gentleman from England, in company with detective Hardy of our force, will call on you in the course
of a week or ten days, advising you by telegraph the
day before, for aid in a matter of some delicacy and
importance. I am desired by the Mayor to say that
any assistance afforded Mr. Russell, will be well bestowed. We have done what was possible here and
have assigned him the keenest man in the detective
bureau. Whatever expense is incurred, Mr. Russell




TEMPLEZTON'S STORY.             I I9
will defray.  Commending him to youir professional
and personal regard, I am
Very respectfully,
GEO. W. MATSELL, Szu't Police.
To Chief Police, Chicago.
The fire died away from Templeton's cigar.
But the fire in his eyes fairly glowed with excite.
ment.
"What do you think of that?" said Miller, as he
replaced the documents in his pocket.  "Ain't that a
stunner?  How's that for a lone hand?"
Every nerve in Templeton's body was alert. He
was in Miller's power for good or ill. With him, fortune was assured; without him, he was worse off than
ever. What to say he knew not.
Miller paced the room for some time.
Then he stopped as if he had been shot.
Turning quickly, he said:  "For Heaven's sake,
man, do you really care anything for that girl?"
"Of course I do," said Templeton; " and, what is
more, she is my affianced bride, and it's only an accident that she's not my wife."
" Why, don't you see that you're to be her brother,,you fool?" shouted Miller.
"Great God i I never thought of that," said the as.
tonished Templeton, and he sank back in his chair,
utterly dumbfounded.




120         TEMiPLETON'S STOR Y.
Had he known that Maud was Mrs. Russell's
daughter by a former husband, his perturbation would
have been less-but that was something he had yet to
learn.
Miller quickly brushed that aside, and evincing even
more interest in the plan than Templeton had dared
to hope, said: " Now, my friend, this sort of thing is
new to you, very evidently, for you have told me nothing whatever of your relations to the Russells, nor
how you became informed of their purposes."
Templeton then made a clean breast of everything,
and gave a clear and connected report of his acquaintance with the family on shipboard, his betrothal
with Maud, his gleanings from her of Mr. Russell's
loss and search for little Harry, and, last but not least,
his wily endeavor to bribe Hardy, before he had really
laid out his plan of operations or knew how to utilize
him.
"And this Hardy is the same'Officer Hardy' referred to in these orders," said Miller.
" Certainly," replied Templeton.
Taking a sheet of paper fiom Templeton's portfolio on the table, Miller rapidly wrote, crossed out,
wrote again, read it carefully, aud then said:
"Templeton, I like you.  Never mind why; but I
do. Some time I'll tell you. I think I see my way
here. But there are three emlbarrassments.
"And you are the chief.




TEMPLETON'S STORY.               1 21
" Detective Hardy is the next.
"And that sweetheart is She third.
"You. must all be got rid of, or the plan won't work
at all. Now, my idea is this:
"' FIRST, I'll take you out of this elegant crib, and
give you less ample quarters in the Hotel de Miller.
You'll have to keep as snug as a bug in a rug.  If
Hardy finds you in Chicago, up goes our job. I'd
send you away, but there's no telling when you may
be needed. It's worth a little trouble, anyhow. So
if you agree to it, to my house you go, and in it you
stay till I say " come out."
"SECOND, If Hardy can't be bought-and that's
ticklish, if what you say is true-he must be managed. Of course, I'll have a big pull on him, as I'm
assigned to the job, and if I don't corner him, he must
be tolerably wide awake, and New York is too small
a place for him; he must stay in Chicago.
"THIRD, I hate to interfere with women. So I
won't say anything about the girl till she gets here, and
I've got the cut of her jib.
" Now, what do you say? I'll get in for $I,ooo cash
down, and will take your word for $io,ooo more, payable six months after you're the accepted son of Hor.
ace Russell. Is it a go?"
" It is," said Templeton; "and now what will you
take?"
6




CHAPTER  XIX.
ONE-EYED CHARLEY AT HOME.
T ten o'clock of that evening, a carriage
drove up to the door of detective Miller's
modest home; one of the neatest and prettiest cottages, near the lake. One might easily imagine it to be the "ideal home" of a happy family,
whose head and father devoted himself and all his
better energies to humanizing his race, and elevating
his kind. It stood in the centre of a well-kept enclosure, about fifty feet from-the road, and attracted
the attention of every passer-it was so clean, and
cosy, and inviting.
From the open door-way, a flood of light shone
upon the walk to the gates, and thence upon the
street.
Miller hastily jumped from the carriage, and, while
Templeton followed, assisted the driver in taking the
luggage off the box, and into the house.
"Why, father, how late you are," said a sweet voice
at the head of the stairs; " and we thought you were




ONE-EYED CI(HARLEY AT HOMEE.    I23
lost," said another, while- a pair of round arms embraced the detective's burly figure, and a pair of
pouting lips gave him a cordial welcome homne.
Mary and Martha Miller were twins, and had been
partners in this vale of tears and smiles eighteen
years. Their mother, a wise and careful Scotch woman, died when the children were ten years of age,
leaving them  to the curious care of "One-eyed
Charley"-abroad, a rough; an indulgent father at
home.
Chicago's schools are Chicago's pride, and of the
many pupils graduated in the past ten years, none
have better records, none stood higher than the pretty
daughters of this ugly featured man; and no father
in all the great assemblage was more nearly choked
with joy and pride than " One-eyed Charley," when
his girls received their blue-ribboned diplomas, and
joined the class chorus in honor of their Alma Mater.
Ile was a strange compound, this Charley Miller.
On the very threshold of a great crime, with an accomplice at his side, his mind full of a nefarious
scheme, and his thoughts burdened by his plan, he
slilingly greeted his daughters, affectionately kissed
them, was really delighted to be at home, and looked
forward to a few hours' rest and domestic relief,
with satisfaction and delight.
His life had been hard and bad.
His companions were often the vilest of the vile.




r24    ORL-EYED CHARLEY AT H 1OM1tE.
He prided himself on knowing all the rascals in
the West; and if report was to be credited, he was
not unfairly classed with them.
But his wife loved him when living, and blest him
as she died.
And his girls-they fairly idolized him, and mani.
fested their regard, in every way known to loving woman and ingenuous children.
Miller entered  the parlor, followed by Lieut.
Templeton.
Mary and Martha stood near their father.' Girls," said he, "this is an old friend of mine.
His name is Harry Russell. He will stay with us for
some time, and none must know of his being here.
Ann, the cook, can be relied on, as she has been
for twenty years; and, when I tell you that it's for my
sake and in my interest, that this gentleman shall be
made to feel at home, and that his being here is not
to be talked about, that ends it. Mr. Russell, these
are my daughters. This is Mary, and this is Martha,
the best girls in the world; not so pretty, perhaps, as
their old dad, but quite as good."
Templeton bowed pleasantly, and, as he did so,
wondered how it was possible to tell which was Mary
and which was Martha.  There was not a discoverable difference in the color of their hair, the calm
beauty of their eyes, the shape of their features, oI
the style of their figures.




ONE-E YED CHARLE Y A T HOME.    12 5
"We will see that your room is in order, Mr. Rus.
sell," said Mary, as she left the parlor.
"Would Mr. Russell have anything to eat, fa.
ther?" said Martha.' Nothing for me, I assure you," replied Templeton; " we dined late, and I am so very tired that I
shall welcome most of all a hospitable bed."
Presently Mary returned, saying that Mr. Russell's
room was in readiness, and bidding the young ladies;'good-night," Templeton and Miller carried their
trunks up-stairs.
The room assigned the new guest was not large,
but very comfortable and well furnished.  Froml the
front windows, he had a perfect view of the broad
calm lake, on which a magnificent harvest moon was
gloriously shining, and friom the side he could look
upon one of America's greatest marvels, a vast and
populous city, striving with zeal for supremacy in all
that is enterprising and beneficent, and cursed with
extremest temptations to vice, and the widest opportunity for every species of debauchery and sin.
Templeton had an eye for the beautiful, and gazed
long at the silvered lake, ere he unpacked his "room
trunk" and prepared for rest.




CHAPTER XX.
SHE WAITED PATIENTLY.
HE sun was high in the heavens when Maude
and her mother greeted Mr. Russell the day
after the scene at the table, and it was evident to all that an embarrassment lay upon their intercourse. For the first time since her mother's marriage, Maud did not look Mr. Russell in the eye
when she greeted hirm. She was not ill-tempered,
but she felt hurt, and could not understand the extremity of her father's antipathy to Templeton.
After a rather uncongenial hour at breakfast, Mr.
Russell walked to the window where Maud was
standing, and putting his arm about her, drew hei
towards him, and said: "Daughter, I cannot bear to
have the least shade of trouble between us. Let us
be perfectly frank and truthful with each other, as we
ever ]have been, and see if, in any way, we can come
together on this subject, which seems to be very near
your heart, and which has given me more anxiety




SHE WAITED PA TIENTL Y.          I27
than all my business cares for years. Your mlothet
tells me you love this man."'
"Oh, father, darling, I do, I do!" interrupted
Maud, and bursting into tears, she threw her arms,
about her father's neck and sobbed upon his breast.
This was more thaln Mr. Russell had bargained for,
but, remembering Hardy's advice at the time of the
fire, he'" braced up " and bore it like a man.
After a little the paroxysm passed, and Mr. Russell
continued:
"I anl quite willing to concede," said he, as, like
all fathers, he prepared to yield a point he could rio
longer hold, "that Lieut. Templeton is a fine-looking,
well-behaved person. I find his record in the navy
is exceptionably good, and although I can learn
nothing of his family antecedents, he is a man
of some property, and generally liked by his associates. But I don't fancy him. Why, I cannot tell;
but I never see that man without a shudder. I'll
say nothing about his letter to you. You are old
enough to know  your own heart; and what reason he had for believing that such a proposition as
he made would be acceptable, you know better
than I.  I have talked the matter over with your
mother, who is your guardian, and the only one in
authority over you-for, although I love you as if)
you were my own flesh and blood, I remember always
that I can only advise you —and we have concluded




2 8     SHE WA4ITED PA TIENTL Y.
that you may, if you choose, invite Mr. Templeton to
call here this evening. We will receive him pleasantly, and if he then makes any formal prolposition
for your hand, I will answer himl precisely as if you
were my own child, asking such questions as a father
with propriety may ask, and putting him on such
probation as is both decorous and just. And then, if
all is well, my darling shall have her heart's desire,
and all my prejudice shall be whistled to the wind.
How does my plan please you? "
Maud's generous nature appreciated the sacrifice
her father was making on the altar of her love, and
thanked and kissed him again and again.
The three were as happy as mortals could be.
At Mr. Russell's suggestion, Maud wrote a note
to Templeton at once, and sent it by a messenger to
the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
Stupidly, the boy simply left it at the counter, and
the clerk on duty not knowing that Templeton had
gone, placed it in his box.
Of course, Templeton did not receive it. And
equally, of course, as hour after hour passed on, and
her lover failed to answer her summons, which she
hoped would be to him both a surprise and delight,
Maud's feeble physique drooped, and when the lateness of the hour showed the folly of further expectation that evening, she threw her head upon her moth.
er's lap and cried most bitterly.




SHE WAITED PA TIENTLY.           1.29
Neither Mr. Russell nor his wife could furnish
apology, excuse, or reason for Templeton's absence.
They shared Maud's disappointment to a certain extent, and the constant strain upon her nerves made
them anxious for her health, which, of late, had be.
come less firm than when at home.
During the evening Hardy called, but, as between
them, nothing had ever passed in reference to Templeton, the perfect explanation he could so easily
have given was not made, and a cloud rested on the
entire group because of the absence of a man, whose
presence to-day, four hours before, would have
created a perfect storm of indignation.
As Hardy started to leave, he said: " How soon
do you think you will be able to go West, Mr. Russell?"
"That depends on Miss Maud entirely," replied
Horace. "We can't afford to have a sick daughter
on our hands; can we, darling?"
Maud looked up mournfully enough, and said t
" Go when you wish, father. I'm ready to-night, if
you say so."
"Nonsense, nonsense!" broke in Mr. Russell.
" What you'll do to-night, is sleep. A good night's
sleep will bring you out as bright as a button, and tomorrow we'll take a drive in the Park. By Monday
next I think we'll be all right, Hardy. Some friends
of mine arrived by the steamer to-day. We dine to6*




X30      SHE WAITED PATIENTLY.
gether to-morrow. Next day I'll get my letter of
introduction, and you be prepared with your share by
Sunday at the latest. We'll take the earliest train on
Monday  morning.  Good-night, my boy, goodnight!"
Hardy bade them all "good-night," and walked
away full of wonder.
On his way up town he stopped at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, inquired of the clerk if Iieut. Templeton
was still there, and learned that he had gone West
that morning.
" Gone West!" thought Hardy.  "What under
heavens does that mean?  It isn't possible that he
would be so foolish as to try to cut in again. But
no; that's too absurd " and, dismissing the mattei
from his mind, he lounged easily up the avenue.




CHAPTER XXI.
JOHN HARDY'S STORY-A SUDDEN STOP.
rLEASANTLY seated in a Pullman car, the
Russells and detective Hardy sped swiftly
on their way to the wonder of the West,
the pride of Illinois. It was a beautiful morning, and
the perfect ventilation of the car kept the party comfortable, in spite of the excessive heat of the day.
Mrs. Russell was a good traveler.
She was burdened with no surplus luggage. A strap
held her wraps and those of her daughter; a small
valise contained the needed changes of apparel on the
road, and by her side were books and papers for entertainment or relief.
"What time are we due at Chicago, Hardy," said
Mr. Russell.
" The schedule timne," replied Hardy, " is 5.30; but
I understand we have lost timle, and may not be in
till an hour later.  I can't say that I care much, foi
the scenery is beautiful, and now that we are accus.




132       J7OHN HARDY'S STORY.
tomed to the motion of the cars, it's almost as pleas.
ant here as anywhere. I've been thinking for the last
hour or so about that boy of yours. What a life he
may have led! Perhaps he has had everything' dead'
against him, and possibly he has been helped from the
very start. I know how it is myself, and I tell you it
makes a great difference to a fellow whether he paddles his own canoe or is towed along by a tug."
" If it's a fair question, Mr. Hardy, which was your
lot," asked Mrs. Russell.
The detective colored up a little, and glanced
across the seat at Maud, who was half listening to
the conversation, and half gazing at the clouds which
kindly shielded them from the fierce rays of the boiling sun.
As Hardy looked at her, she smiled, and said: " Oh,
yes, Mr. Hardy; do tell us all about your life. It
must be a perfect marvel of romance and adventure.
I should dearly like to hear it."
" In many respects," said Hardy, " I have had anl
easy life; in some a very hard one. My business is
peculiar, and leads one into queer scenes and amnong
odd people now and then. But, as a rule, I see the
same kinds of human nature in men and women you
do, and find life in any one spnere Is not so very different in motive from life in any other. I have a litJle property, but I had a very humble origin. I hard.
ly like to tell you that my father was a scavenger, but




7OHN HARDY'S STORY.              133
he was; and he was as good and true a man as ever I
knew; kind and indulgent, though very reticent and
not at all informed about matters which interest ordinary men. I was the only child, and, of course, had
my own way.  I really can't remember much about
my childhood, and what I do recall is so strangely
mixed up with fancies and fables that it is not at all
satisfactory. I think the first event I remember, now,
is having a blue suit with bright buttons, one exhibition day at school, and speaking a piece before quite
an audience. Queer, isn't it?  One would imagine
that he'd remember some toy, or playfellow, or a
thrashing, or some out-of-the-way thing; but I can
see father and mother sitting in the Hall, as distinctly
as if they were here this blessed minute.
" Mother was a quaint old body.
" Her Johnnie was the apple of her eye, and the
core of her heart.
"And how she did sing!
"I can see and hear her sing now. She was a great
Methodist, and she had all the camp-meeting tunes
lnd songs at the end of her tongue all the time.
"I never knew father to speak a cross word to her
or to me, and I never saw a frown on mother's face
till the day of her death.' I don't give much evidence of it, I know, but I
was always ambitious and successful at school, and
especially when I saw that it tickled father so. Every




134        yOHAIr ARDY'S STORY.
time I received a medal he went wild. Every time
my teacher gave me a book, or my report was partic.
ularly good, he acted as if a new heaven was opened
to him, I don't look a particle like either of'erm.
I have a very fair picture of mot1her in my room, but
we never could persuade father to sit for one. He
seemed superstitious about it. When he died, I was
a messenger in the chief's private office. I was only
seventeen, and had been there going on two years,
when one of the neighbors' children came running over
to headquarte's —we lived right round the cornerand said:' Johnny Hardy, run home as quick as you
can, your father's got a fit."  I rushed into the police
surgeon's room, got Dr. Appleton, and hurried home.
" 1 was just in timle.
"'The good old man had fallen in a fit at the corner
of Prince and Mulberry streets, and was taken home
by people who knew him. As I entered the room he
opened his eyes and smiled. I was very fond of him
and he of me. Said he: Johnnie, boy, look out for
your mother. Be a good boy; be a good boy, Johnnie,' and falling back, died almost immediately.
" The doctor said it was apoplexy-and perhaps it
was.
"' He left mother comfortably provided for, and then
I had my pay every week, so we got along nicely, but
not for long.
" You see they had lived together forty-two years,




yOHNV HARDY'S STORY.            I35
and had grown in and about each other's nature so
that when cne was torn away-and so suddenly, toothe other had to follow.'" She wanted to follow.
" I saw it pained mother to think of leaving me, but
all through her illness she thought and spoke of hard.
ly anything else but her meeting and rejoining father.
"Well, she died too.
"' In a little while I was transferred to one of the
bureaus as clerk; and, as soon as I was old enough, I
was made an officer.'" I didn't like it.
66 There's too much'red tape' and' boss' business
about it. And a man has no chance for promotion
unless he has friends, and friends are of no use unless
they are politicians.  I saw enough of it. Politicians
keep men from being' broken' every day in the year.
They put them on the force, and keep them there,
too. However, I was lucky enough to do some detective work, in which my mother-wit helped me very
much more than my experience did, and I was detailed
to detective work altogether. I can't say I like it, but
I find it pleasanter than being in the club brigade.
But I've seen some queer sights in my time."
" Did you ever have anything to do with a real
Murderer? " said Maud.
" Oh yes, yesindeed," laughingly replied Hardy;
c"murderers are not always such dreadful people to




I36       yO0HV HIARDY'S STOR Y.
deal with. Not very many years ago, I was one of
five men put on a murder scent, and it occupied us
three months constantly. The victim was a very old
lady, rich and much respected. She was killed in
her own bedroom, one summer night; and the room
exhibited signs of a violent struggle. After a sensational funeral we were sent for and given our in.
structions. Each man had his theory.  Burglars, or
interested parties, must have done the deed. Nothing
had been stolen, so I dropped the burglar idea. I
believed the woman was killed accidentally by some
one who, for some occult purpose, was in her room;
and then, surprised, for fear of detection, did a deed he
was very loath to do."
"Well, well, go on," said Maud.
"I wish I could," continued Hardy, "but I was
never permitted to. Or, perhaps, I shouldn't say that;
but it is a fact that every line of search seemed to lead
directly to one of the dead woman's nearest friends.
I followed clue after clue, and invariably came to the
same point. Then I was bluffed, or foiled, or ordered
off on some other job, or pooh-poohed, until I found I
was treading on toes which wouldn't stand it, and I
must get off."'" But has the murderer never been discovered?"
jlsked Mr. Russell.
" No, sir. There is a kind of open secret about it.
And it conies up in the papers every little while,"




OIOHN HARD Y'S STORY.            I37
said Hardy; "but money, and politics, and social influence manage to keep it down. I believe I could
point the man out as easily as I could point you out.
But, if I should do it, in the first place, I would forfeit
the confidence of nmy superiors; in the next, I would
doubtless lose my position, and last, but by no means
least, very likely I should fail to prove mly suspicions.
Circumstantial evidence which satisfies me might not
have weight with the public or a jury."
"That's so," said Mr. Russell; " but do the other
fiiends of the dead woman regard this one of whom
you speak with suspicion? "
" Certainly they do," said Hardy, "and that's the
very point. They have from the first; and although,
for social pride's sake they keep up an external toleration of the man, I suspect in private they despise him,
and really have nothing whatever to do with him.
Possibly they have struck a kind of domestic balance;
and, remembering all the other hearts that would
suffer, have deliberately chosen silence and condonea
tion rather than the shame and disgrace resulting
from a public trial. Or, again, there may be nothing
in it.
"One of the queerest cases I ever met," continued
Hardy, " was that of a lady living in Troy. She was
rich, or rather her husband was, and owned some superb diamonds. They were lost-she said they were
stolen. Suspicion fell on her maid, and the poor girl




138        7yOIIN HARD Y'S STORY.
was arrested.  I became quite interested in the case,
because I felt that the accused party was innocent. I
knew the thief would take the diamonds at once to a
pawnbroker in New York, so I simply caused it to be
known among the professional thieves that, for cer-'
tain reasons, the detective bureau wished those diamonds found. In less than a week I received information that they were in a pawnshop up town; and,
on inquiry, it turned out that the lady who owned
them was the party who pawned them. She was
short of money and adopted that mode of raising it,
knowing that her husband would be very angry if she
were to sell them. I was perfectly delighted when I
found it out, and compelled her to compensate heI
servant for the infamy she had put upon her."
"That was just right," said Maud.
" What did her husband say?" asked Mrs. Russell.
" Oh, I don't know," replied  Hardy; " I said
nothing to him. If she told him, all right; and if
not, what was it to me? "
"'Were your parents American,' Mr. Hardy?"
asked Mrs. Russell.
"My father was," replied he, "' but I have an im-r
pression that mother was English. She had relatives
in England, at all events. I have a trunk of hei
things at my lodgings, which I mean to rummage some
time. It is full of books, and newspapers, and letters,
which, I dare say, would throw some light upon hei




7OHN HARDY'S STORY.             I39
early life.  At all events, I think I'll devote my first
leisure evening to an inspection, and "Hardy never finished that sentence.
Ere the words could come the air was dark and
filled with smoke. Dust and cinders, and fire and
noise, and hissing steam drove life and breath away.
Crashing timbers and splitting wood flew in every direction.  Over and over Iand over again the car
rolled, and groaned, and broke into confusion.
The people were like dust in the balance. High
and loud, and shrill over the shrieks of the murdered
men and women, sounded the fierce rushing of the
escaping steam, and, for a moment —long as eternal
night-hell seemed to have its home on earth and
every fiend was busy.
The engine had struck a pile of rails heaped high
upon the track, and had bounded from its iron path
full tilt upon the adjoining ties. Two cars rolled
over an embankment and four were drawn with
terrific jolts across the rugged edges of the parallel
track.
The uninjured passengers hurried to the relief of
their less fortunate companions.  The engineer was
dead, the fireman joined him later.
Several passengers were very seriously injured.
Mr. and Mrs. Russell were bady strained, Maud
was well shaken but not hurt; but Hardy, when
extricated from the wreck, though carefully carried to




140         OHNIV HARD Y'S STORY.
a bank near by, gave no sign of life, and was pro
nounced dead by the conductor and the rest.
Fortunately the accident, or rather outrage, was
within a few miles of one of the " line towns," and
messengers were at once dispatched for aid.
Mrs. Russell and Maud, with other ladies, were
seated in one of the ordinary cars, while Mr. Rrussell, who had become very much attached to Hardy,
stayed by his body.
It was well that he did so, for, after a long time, he
noticed a tremor of the lips and a partial opening of
the eyes.
" Thank God," said Russell, as he applied a flask
of brandy to the lips of his friend, and calling for aid,
did what was possible to bring him back to consciousness.
A series of fainting fits showed the weakness of
the poor fellow, and suggested also the probability of
some internal injury.
A wrecking train came up in about three hours
with surgeons and help of all description.
The dead were coffined, the wounded cared for,
and, when the debris was cleared away, the train proceeded slowly on to the station, drawn by the engine
of the relief.
Of the wounded, Hardy was the only one whose
case the surgeons pronounced dangerous. They decided that he must not be carried further on. He




O70HN HARD Y'S STOR Y.          I41
was therefore left at a house where boarders were
taken, and a nurse, hired by the company, was placed
with him.
Mr. Russell was completely disheartened by what
the doctors said, but was somewhat comforted by his
wife, who reminded him that they were only two
hours' car ride from Chicago, and that, after they had
secured their apartments there, it would be easy to run
out and see Hardy, and, if he were providentially
spared, to remove him, when convalescent, to the city.
The company's officials assured Mr. Russell that
Hardy should have the best of care, and having himself made the nurse promise to advise him immediately if his presence was necessary, or anything
whatever was needed, he took his wife and Maude,
and sorrowfully finished the journey.




CHAPTER XXII.
THE MILLER AND HIS MAN.
HEN detective Miller brtished his hair down,
and paid close attention to his beard, he
was not absolutely ugly. Indeed, if he had
retained the use of both eyes, he would be tolerably
presentable.  Ordinarily, however, his short reddish
hair would not stay down, and a day's neglect of the
razor imparted a tinge to the rude man's cheek which
by no means enhanced his beauty.
Two days after Templeton, or, as he was there
called, Mr. Harry Russell, was made one of the
Miller household, the young ladies were pleasantly
surprised when their grim  father appeared at the
breakfast-table dressed in his best, clean shaven, irreproachable as to linen, and with his hair as slick and
smooth as brush and comlb could make it.
Evidently something out of the common routine
was on the carpet, and Miller's manner made it more
apparent.
Breakfast was served, and nothing of moment was




THE  HITLE~E  AND  LHIS 171AN.      I43
said or done until Miller, who was reading the morning paper and drinking coffee at the salne time,
choked, coughed, jumped up and spluttered, and
then recovering himself, said: " IHere, Mary, read this
out loud, and the rest of you listen."
Somewhat surprised, Mary took the paper, and read
as follows:
"A  fiendish outrage, resulting in the killing of
several railroad men, the probable death of others,
and the wounding of twenty or thirty passengers, was
perpetrated on the Michigan Central Railway, yesterday afternoon, about ten miles beyond. Johnson station.
The New York express, due here at 5.30 P.M., was
somewhat behind time, and the engineer was doing
his best to recover what he safely could, when he
made the sharp turn just below Wilson's Grove.  At
that point the road is visible but some thirty feet at a
glance, and, failing to observe aiy obstruction, the
engineer drove at full speed upon what is represented
as a pile of railing. The concussion was tremendous,
resulting in the demolishment of the engine, and the
instant killing of the engineer.  The train was thrown
from the track; two of the cars rolled over the
embankment, and the rest were jolted at a fearful rate
across the rails of the adjoining track.  The fireman
was drawn from the wreck still living, but he died soon
after in great agony.  The wounded were attended to
as well as was possible by the uninjured passengers,




'144     THLE MILLER AND FIS 2r1AN.
until the arrival of the wrecking train, when all but
one were brought speedily to this city, where the3
were taken at once to the hospital or their homes.
"The passenger who was so badly hurt as to be
unable to endure the fatigue of the trip is Mr. Hardy,
a member of the New York police force. He was
accompanying an English family, who were on their
way to this city on matters requiring his professional
aid. It seems that Mr. Hardy and the gentleman of
the party were sitting vis-a-vis to two ladies, wife and
daughter of the Englishman, whose name was not
obtained.'The collision was abrupt and sudden, of
course, but Hardy, with praiseworthy presence of
mind, caught the younger lady, who sat facing him,
in his arms, in such a way as to protect her from contact with the iron work of the seat, by which, as the
car turned over and over, he was terribly bruised,
while his companions, beyond the shock, experienced
no injury of any kind. The surgeons find that Mr.
Hardy's left arm is fractured in two places, three of his
ribs are broken, his face is badly cut, and his whole
body so battered that it is a wonder he lives.  He
seems to have a strong constitution, and if his mind
can rest while his body recuperates, he may possibly
recover."
Miller and Templeton looked at each other.
The girls were interested in the romance of Maud's
escape.




THE MIIILER AND HIS AMAN.    I 45
The men were excited to extravagance of hope by
the reality of Hardy's danger.
" What an infernal outrage that is," said Miller.
"Yes," chimed in Templeton; "the fellows who
would do such a deed as that would murder their own
mothers. Now, what earthly motive could they have
for throwing a train full of strangers off the track, and
perilling the lives of hundreds of people? "
" Perhaps their object was not earthly," said
Martha.
Mary smiled, but the men did not seem to notice
her sister's suggestion.
Presently Miller rose, kissed his daughters, and
turning to Templeton, said: " If this report is true, it
won't be necessary for you to keep so quiet; but wait
till I find out. I shall be back, perhaps, at one, but
certainly in time for supper.  Good-bye."
Leaving home, Charley Miller went first to headquarters and reported.  There h.e learned that the
facts were substantially as set forth in the paper, and
that inquiry had already been received from New
York about Hardy and his condition. The Chief
thought Miller ought to go to the hotel at once, and
see if he could be of any service to Mr. Russell; so
he went.
Mr. Russell received the detective, and in the
presence of his wife and Maud rehearsed the story
of their accident, words failing only when he sought
7




146      THE MILLER AND HIS MAN.
to picture the noble conduct of Hardy, who had
undoubtedly been much more seriously injured in his
efforts to shield Maud than if he had cared only for
himself. The ladies were also enthusiastic over
Hardy, and begged Miller to advise them  if Hardy
would really be as well cared for where he was left, as
if he were brought to the city.
Miller replied that if Hardy was kept quiet for a
week or two where he then was, he might be able to
endure the jolting of the cars each day a short
distance, and then be made more comfortable during
his coInvalescence.  He did not concealfrom himself,
however, the very probable fact that Hardy would not
only never see Chicago, but never leave his bed, for
the reports received at headquarters said he had
passed a very bad night, was in a raging fever, and
could not be kept quiet.
Mr. Russell was not prepossessed by One-eyed
Charley; but Miller was so quiet, so plausible, so kind
in his reference to Hardy, and so blunt in the expression of his opinion, that before the business on which
le called was broached, Miller felt that he had the
confidence of the family.
And besides he was the detective detailed from
headquarters, and presumably as reputable a man as
was on the force.
"I suppose," said he, "you don't feel like talking
business to me to-day, do you. I called partly to see




THE MILL ER AND HIS iL4iV.          I 4 7
if I could do anything for you or Hardy, and partly
because I am directed to report to you for orders. If
it isn't agreeable to-day, I'll call to-morrow; and if
you don't feel up to it then, I'll call next day, and so on."
Mr. Russell hardly knew what to say. Whatever
thought occupied his mind, was sure to be driven out
by his anxiety about Hardy.  He wanted to begin
his search for his boy, but even that desire brought
him at once to the consideration of what he could do
without Hardy.  Insensibly a feeling of personal
regard had grown up between them. Hardy was
always respectful, willing, good-natured and sensible.
He had tact and knew when to leave.
Few men have that faculty.
He was bright, and jolly, and full of fun, but he
was also serious, business-like, and full of resource.
Russell liked him because he was a thorough mian
of the world, with a clean tongue, and an honest
heart.
And the ladies liked him because he was useful,
without intrusion, and attentive without gallantry.
Still, much as Mr. Russell thought of John Hardy,
it was clear that he could be of no benefit to him
now, beyond securing to hina the best of care, and
most experienced nursing.
That, as we have seen, was attended to, and Mr.
Russell concluded that'he might as well unfold his
plans to the Chicago detective in person.




r 48    T7'E MILLER AN'D HIS 1VAAN
Mrs. Russell and Maud retired, and Mr. Russell
proceeded to business.
" I had hoped," said he, " to have the benefit of
Hardy's already acquired information, so that yo:.
and he might get to work at once, leaving me rather
in the position of one to whom reports are made; but
this accident deprives us both of valuable aid, and
I find I must take a hand in myself. In brief, my
case is this. Twenty years ago I lost a boy in New
York. He was five years old. Next day I went
home to England. My wife stayed over two steamers, but nothing was heard of the little fellow. She
followed me. We nearly died with grief at the time,
and the poor girl did succumb at last. Well, twenty
years are gone. Harry, if living, is twenty-five years
old. I want to find him. Money is no object, time
only do I grudge-not that I am unwilling to spend
time, and strength, and all to find the boy, but I long
to ha/ve him."
" Have you no clue at all?  Couldn't the police
help you in any way then or now? " asked Miller.
"Not much," replied Russell; "not much. We
did find at the Tombs a record of a man named
Delaney, who just at that time was picked up drunk,
aad taken to the Tombs. He had a boy with him,
and was sent out here. Hardy seemed to think it
might be well to hunt Delaney up, and trace the boy.
It could do no harm, at all events, and might be pro



THE MILfLER ArD HrI~S MAX.    149
ductive of good. But, as Mrs. Russell says,'if Delaney was a hard drinker, and had gotten So low as
the Tombs, twenty years ago, we are not likely to find
him alive at this late day.' What do you think? "
"Oh, I don't know  about that," said Miller;
"some hard drinkers live longer than temperance
folks. That's nothing to the point. But this boy,
what was his name? "
"Harry," said Mr. Russell.
"Well, Harry," continued Miller, "' this boy Harry,
did he have anything peculiar about him?  I don't
mean curly hair-they all have that-nor anything
fancy, but marks or scars, or anything that would
hold. Look at my cheek. See that scar?  That's
nothing but a mosquito bite. I had that bite fifty
years ago when I was a baby. I scratched the bite,
and made the scar. I don't suppose the little chap
had a mosquito bite, but did he have anything at all?"
"Upon my word, I never thought to speak of it,
nor has the question ever been asked," replied Mr.
Russell; c" but when Harry was in my place in Milwaukee "' In where?  In Milwaukee?  Did you ever live
in Milwaukee? " cried Miller.
" Of course I did," said Mr. Russell.  "I had a
shop there, and turned out the best cold chisels you
ever saw in your life. I lived in the city over eighi
years, and in the vicinity two years more. Why?"




5 0      THE  vIIZLLER AND HIS MAN.
" Why, my dear sir," exclaimed the detective, who
really saw a point in honest search, and certainly saw
a bigger point in his little game in Templeton's
interest, " don't you see that everything bearing on
the boy's early life is of interest? And if you lived
in Milwaukee five years with this boy, and he was a
boy of any parts at all, he must remember something
of his father's home and surroundings.  If we were to
find a young man who answered the description, and
forced us to think he really was your son, unless he
could give you some evidence drawn from the experience of his life ill Milwaukee, I should very much
doubt him. And on the other hand, even in the absence of other conclusive proof, if the youth did remember, to y.our satisfaction, any marked occurrence
of the life at home before you lost him, I should yield
a much readier assent. I beg your pardon for the
interruption, but take my word for it, that Milwaukee
life will prove a pivot in this entire search."
What a fortunate thing it is that men and women
are unable to read each other's thoughts. There are
clever people, now and then, who can make out a little
of the inner life of their friends and companions, but
as a rule the unknown ground is impregnable.
It was especially fortunate for Detective Miller at
this moment; for his lively imagination had already
packed itself with facts, drawn firom future talks with
Mr. Russell, and in turn, Templeton's ready wit was




THE MILLER AND HIS iMAN.            151
stored with much that would puzzle, embarrass, and
delight the heavy-hearted father, and perhaps convince him, that he was the lost boy of his search.
Determining then and there to draw from Mr.
Russell all he could concerning his Milwaukee home,
Miller settled back in his chair again, and Mr.
Russell proceeded as follows:
"Well, as I was saying, I had a little factory,
hardly that, and yet it was more than a shop, where I
turned out a high grade of tools, and was getting
along quite nicely, when I was called home to see
my father die. About a year before that, Harry, then
four years old, and quite tall of his age, was playing
about the place one day when I was out. The
hands were b-sy, and didn't notice him as he went
up stairs, where the finished tools were packed for
shipment. Prese tly they heard a sharp cry of pain,
and rushing up to s -' what was the matter, found that
Harry had pulled,'sharp chisel from one of the
benches, and had drc red it on his foot.  One o,
the men quickly took.. his shoe and stocking, and
ascertained that the litti toe of the right foot was
cut through, and hung by. mere shred. The stupid
fellow cut the little film ol' flesh by which the toe
hung, and hurried with Harry to my house, which was
only a block away. My wife bound the foot up, but
neither of them  thought of the toe itself, till the
doctor camle an hour later, and then it could not be




15 2    THE MILLER  ANAD HIS MAN.
found. We fear6d the mutilation would lame hillm,
but he soon recovered, and, really, I don't believe I
have thought of it, or of the occurrence in twenty
years."
" And yet that very mutilation, as you call it, may
preserve you from being deceived by schemers, and
fooled by rascals," rejoined Miller.
And to himself, he added: " Off goes Templeton's
toe, as sulre as fate! "
Mr. Russell then narrated their experience in New
York, and concluded by asking Miller if he was willing to begin to hunt up Delaney at once, and to take
charge of the whole investigation independently of
Hardy, whose recovery was a matter of months at
least.
Miller said he was not only willing, but would'
be very glad to do so. Before making any suggestions,
however, he would go home and think it over.
Meanwhile, he proposed that with Mr. Russell he
should take the two o'clock train, run out to see
Hardy, and return by the train due at Chicago at
9.30. To this Mr. Russell assented, and Miller went
to the office t;o report.




CHAPTErR  XXIII.
ROBERT DELANEY, CLERGYMAN, APPEARS.
self confironted by the fact that the old
man Delaney mig/,ht be found, and that the
boy he was reported to have with him might be the lost
son of Mr. Russell. To be sure, if, through the efforts
of the Chicago police, these people were found, and
the object of Mr. Russell thereby attained, Miller
would be certain of a large reward; but he believed a
greater profit could be derived from Templeton if his
plan were to succeed. Already $Iooo had beer
paid to Miller, and $ro,ooo additional were pledged.
but to the shrewd detective's mind, Templeton, as
Harry Russell, would prove a perpetual mine to one
who held his secret, and could at any time expose his
fraud.
Miller determined at once to put all his machinery
in motion to discover Delaney; and, first of all, went
to the Mercantile Library, where were kept the
7*




154          ROBER T DELAVNE Y.
Directories of the city for nmore than twenty years
back.
There were quite a number of Delaneys, but no
"James" among them until the year I865, and he
was a clergyman. The fact that no James Delaney
appeared in the list was not conclusive proof that
there was no person of that name in the city; but it
was presumptive evidence. In the Directory of I870
there was "James Delaney, builder;" but after that
year, although there were several of that name, none
of them were builders.
Miller was about giving up the search, when his
eye lit on " Robert Delaney, clergyman."  He wondered for a moment why that name should be familiar
to him, and then suddenly recalled that at a little
Baptist church not far from his own home, his daughters frequently worshipped; and that once or twice
the minister, whose name was Delaney, had called at
his house.
He further remembered that the only serious discussion that Mary and Martha had ever held before
him was about this very man, who had asked Martha
to take a class in his parish Sunday-school, and to
visit among the poor as a kind of reader to the sick
and infirm. Mary thought it was presumptuous in Mr.
Delaney to propose such a thing to a stranger; but.
Martha insisted that the pastor of a church was
charged with the Lord's work, and had a perfect right




ROBERT DELANEY..55
to assume that every person who attended service in
his church would be ready and willing to do what he
could to aid the suffering and cheer the sick.
The end of it all was, that Martha did not teach in the
school, but very frequently called upon the poor people
of the district, and in a quiet, womanly way, won the
hearts of many sick persons by her gentle endeavors
to relieve their troubles, and. break the monotony of
weary days and sleepless nights.
Miller had heard his daughters talking about these
visits occasionally, but it had never occurred to him
to say anything about them. He gave Mary all the
nmoney she asked for, trusting to her to keep the
house books of expense, and knowing that between
her and her sister there was no jealousy, and no rivalry, except in their endeavor to make home attractive and pleasing to their father.
The Rev. Robert Delaney was about twenty-six or
seven years of age, tall and stout. He walked a
trifle lame, but he bore himself with the air of a
soldier. Indeed, he had served two or three years in
the army, entering as a private, and leaving as a
brevet-colonel.  He began his service long after the
fuss-and-feather days of the earlier years had passed,
when for awhile it was easier to be made a brigadiergeneral than to earn an honest five dollars per diem;
but when fighting had become a business, politicians
had less and less power every month, and at the close




156          ROBERT DELANE Y.
of the war, brevet-colonels really ranked higher in
the estimation of men who knew anything, than theix
superiors whose stars were conferred to please the
whim of a politician.
When Robert Delaney began his work in Chicago
he had a small hall and a slim audience; but he was
full of zeal, and talked to his hearers as if he were in
earnest for their good.  He was simple in his tastes,
and modest in his manner, but magnetic and impulsive
in speech. In prayer and exhortation he was peculiarly impassioned, and his efforts in behalf of
young men were so sensible and practical that his
reputation soon extended, and, had he chosen, he
might have been called up higher many a time. But
he preferred to stay where he was and work. His
friends appreciated his love of the place, and determined to build him a larger church. This they did,
and on the Sunday following the search made in the
Directories by Miller, the building was to be dedicated, and the church formally installed in its new
home.
Wondering whether he had actually had the very
man he wanted under his own roof, Miller made a
memorandum of Delaney's residence, and returned
to the hotel for Mr. Russell with whom he intelided
to go to see how Hardy was progressing.
Miller found Mr. Russell in a state of great excitement over a dispatch just received from Hardy's




R OBER T DELANE Y.               I 5
nurse. The niessage reported Hardy in feverish condition, and said that the doctor would allow no one
to see him or enter his room.
Of course, there was no need or use in their going
to the place where the wounded man was, if they
could neither see him nor do him any good.  So the
trip was given up, greatly to Maud's regret; who
had secretly determined to make one of the party.
"Well, Miller," said Mr. Russell, after it was decided to defer the visit to Hardy, "have you thought
of any plan?"
"Yes, sir," replied the detective; "I shall first try
to find Janies Delaney.  You told me I think, that
the matron said the little boy was five or six years
old. How old exactly was Harry?"
"Let me see," said Mr. Russell.  "Harry was
more than five. I /hilnk he was nearly six, or he may
have been over six and nearly seven. I have no way
of fixing his age precisely, except by reference to
some of my wife's letters, and I haven't seen them in
five years. Anyhow, he was a little fellow, and I
should say five, or six, or seven years old-there
really is very little difference, you know."
"No," rejoined Miller, "I don't suppose there is.
fl was only thinking that if living, he must be getting
on toward thirty years old; and that, for a driving
western man, is the prime of life.  Out here, if a
man is ever to amount to anything he knows it by




I 5 8        R OBER T DELANE Y.
the time lie turns thirty. I may not see you for a few
days. I have an idea. I may go to Milwaukee, and I
may go elsewhere. Meanwhile, keep your eyes and
ears open, and your mouth shut. If you are allowed
to see Hardy I hope you'll go. There isn't much fulln
in being sick away from home, and ten to one he
frets about the job besides."
Maud thanked Charley Miller with her tearful eyes
-for the kind word he spoke about Hardy. She longed
to speak to him about Lieut. Templeton, and to ask
if any such name had been mentioned in the arrivals,
but she knew better, and did nothing of the kind.
Mr. Russell acquiesced in Miller's proposition, assuming that he knew what was best to do; and after
urging him to spare neither expense nor care, bade
him "good day," and the party separated.
The Russells drove out with a gentleman to whom
Horace had letters, and Miller went directly home.




CHAPTER XXIV.
MILLER GOES TO CHURCH. —A TOE FOR A TOE.
N pursuance of a suggestion made by theii
father, Mary and Martha Miller invited the
Rev. Mr. Delaney to dine with them the day
of the dedication of the new church, and for his convenience six o'clock was the hour named.
At the morning service the sacred edifice was
densely thronged, and several distinguished clergymen
of the city participated in the ceremonies, the dedication sermon being delivered by the pastor.
Detective Miller astonished his daughtes by volunteering to accompany them to church, and, as in
their recollection he had never done such a thing before, it may well be imagined their astonishment was
thoroughly leavened with delight.
None of the pews had been rented as yet, and on
this occasion all seats were free. The Millers were
well known in the society, and, as they were early at




6o          A TOE FOR A TOE.
the door, were taken to excellent places quite near
the pulpit.
The services were rather prosy until the delivery
of the sermon.
Up to that time Mr. Delaney had taken no part in
the proceedings, and as he sat quite out of sight,
Miller began to think he was wasting time.
Presently, however, the pastor approached the
desk, and Miller was his most careful observer.
The detective element was in full play.
Miller studied Delaney's head, hair, eyes, Imouth,
and carriage, as a turfnman does a horse.
He examined his points, mental and physical, and
confessed himself puzzled.
Is he the son of Horace Russell, or is he not?
There was nothing in Robert Delaney's look or
bearing that forbade the supposition, and there was
much that might be considered confirmatory evidence,
if the theory were already advanced and partially
proved.
The young preacher was not a time-server.
He felt himself the bearer of a message from the
Ruler of the world, and as he delivered it earnestly
and eloquently, self never obtruded, and Delaney
never interfered with the envoy.
Little by little Miller became interested in the
subject.
He forgot the man in the matter.




A TOE FOR A TOE.               I6i
And when the minister wound up one particularly
imnpassioned appeal to fathers as exemplars before
their children, the old rascal actually found a tear on
his cheek, and an uncomfortable sensation in his throat.
Robert Delaney was a sensationalist, but not a vulgar one.
All earnest men and women are sensationalists.
It is necessary that they should be.  In this world
of hypocrisy and sham, honest endeavor and earnest
work win their way and attract attention by their
novelty; and whatever is novel is sensational.
The young man succeeded because success was not
his aim.
He was popular because he cared nothing for
popularity.
He was a good thinker, a magnetic preacher, and
thoroughly imbued with the sacredness of his calling,
and the universal need of moral and spiritual education. With no other care upon his mind, he had deliberately chosen his field, and now this abundant
harvest was rewarding his industry and zeal.
He was loved by honest men, and toadied to by
fools; he was appreciated by earnest women, and
flattered by silly ones.
The honest and the earnest he loved and appreciated as they deserved; the fools and silly women he
understood, and tolerated only because he hoped in
time to do them good.




I62          A TOE FOR A TOE.
Like all popular men he had his besetting temptations.
Had he been weak-headed, and vain, and selfish,
flattery, and incense, and social preferment were at
his command.
But he chose the wiser course, and in giving up
all worldly plans, in the interest of his Master's cause,
he gained the more desirable rewards of respect,
esteem and honorlof his fellow-citizens and his flock.
He was apparently twenty-six or twenty-seven years
of age, with no parents, and no home save the modest lodgings he called his "' rooms." Attached to the
new church, however, was a small parsonage, and
into that he proposed to move at an early day.
His deacons had often told him he ought to marry,
but his heart very properly suggested that he should
wait until he had met a woman whom he loved.
Delaney had a high regard for his deacons, but
there are some matters about which even deacons
know very little.
He was in no sense a ladies' man.
He thought of women mainly as co-workers in the
field he tilled so faithfully.
As teachers, readers, visitors, distributers of helpful literature, and nurses, women were to him a right
hand and a left, but no more.
Indeed, until accident led him to the house of
Martha Miller he had never met any woman whom




A TOE FOR A TOE.               I63
he cared to meet or know outside of professional occupation.
He liked Martha.
There was no nonsense about her.
She was genuinely good, and although she had declined to take a class in his Sunday-school, Mr. Delaney
was more than gratified at her common sense way of
calling on and helping sick people, and especially her
happy faculty of brightening up a home of gloom and
disappointment.  He met her frequently on her
charitable rounds, and had on one or two occasions
partaken of her hospitality at her father's house,
where he had become well acquainted with her sister
Mary, and had wondered where under Heaven such
a queer-looking fellow as One-eyed Charley had procured two such charming children.
Between Martha Miller and her young pastor no
word of love had ever passed.
And not only that, no word of sentiment or anything akin to suggestive remark had ever passed their
lips.
Nevertheless-and it is queer how naturally that
"nevertheless " follows-close observers were quite
convinced that there was an understanding between
them, and in spite of the seeming contradiction, it is
more than likely that there was a sort of unwritten
law, like a social code.
The invitation to dinner had been gladly accepted




I64         A TOE FOR A TOA
by Mr. Delaney, and when his quick eye savr not only
the Miller ladies, but their queer old father in one of
the front pews, he could not refrain from taking a mloment of his official hour for a personal wonder as to
what the strange circumstance could portend.
Miller was delighted with the sermon and more than
pleased wvith the preacher.
And as he bent his head when the final prayer was
said, he almost resolved to give up Templeton, and,
if convinced that the Delaney of Chicago was the little Harry of Milwaukee, to aid Mr. Russell in finding
a real rather than a bogus son.
At the close of the services there was the usual
hand-shaking of the members and the " buzzing" of
the pastor, somewhat increased on this occasion by
the peculiar circumstances attending the dedication,
and then, accompanied by Miller and his daughters,
Mr. Delaney left the church.
It so chanced that Mary walked at her father's
side, while Mr. Delaney escorted Martha, a circumlstance that afforded Miller food for thought, and
added some little weight to the idea which had forced
itself upon him during the closing prayer.
Nothing of special note occurred at the dinner table,
except that the girls wondered why their father had
directed Templeton's dinner to be served in his room,
until Miller said: " Mr. Delaney, you are a native of
Chicago, are you not?"




A TOE FOR A TOE.                165
The clergyman hesitated a moment and then replied, "I really don't know, Mr. Miller, whether I
was born here or not. I have some reason for believing myself a native, and some for thinking I was
born in New York. My early life is largely shut out
from my memory by reason of a severe illness I had
when quite a boy, the somewhat singular consequence
of an accident which, though trifling in itself, gave my
nervous system a shock, and laid me up for months.
From that, however, I entirely recovered, and with the
exception of rather an ungainly walk, I suppose I aml
as hearty and rugged a man as we have.  M y father,
I am quite sure, was English; the name is English,
and he had many habits which none but an Englishman could have. He was a builder, and did a great
deal of good work here. Poor man! he was very kind
to me; and, having no mother, I was his entire family,
absorbing all his care and love. His death was sudden and terrible. Possibly you recall it. He fell
from a scaffolding on the Episcopal church near the
post-office, lingered unconscious but a few hours, and
died without a word or sign of recognition. From
that time I had a -hard row to hoe, but"
"But you hoed it," interrupted Miller.
"Yes," continued Mr. Delaney; " yes, I did hoe it,
and save the aid which I got from the All-Helper I
was literally m; own guide, philosopher and friend.
The war gave.ae an inspiration for good. The phy



i66          A TOE FOR A TOE.
sical suffering I witnessed in the hospitals and on the
field led me by a natural process to regard the moral
degradation and distortion of the race, and I determined if my life was spared to devote myself to the
regeneration of my fellows. I am free to' say I enjoy
my work and take genuine pleasure in its prosecution.
I saw so much destitution and depravity result from
what I believe to be the greatest curse of our day and
generation, that I resolved to make Temperance a
distinct and prominent feature of my public teachings. Of course I encountered great opposition, but
that's nothing.
"One glimpse of a rescued man' s face is ample compensation, and one letter of gratitude from a reformed
drunkard's wife or daughter is cheer enough to pay
for the abuse of a thousand rumsellers.  But you
asked if I was a native of Chicago, and not for an
autobiography.  As I said, I don't know. Father
lived in Cincinnati awhile and also in Kalamazoo,
and I think in Milwaukee, but he seemed more at
home here than anywhere.  How long have you lived
here, Mr. Miller? "
" Oh, I'm an old settler," said Miller; "both my
girls were born here. I'm a western man myself and
haven't been east of Illinois in forty years. And I
haven't been inside of a church in twenty years that
I know of; not that I -mean to brag of that before
you, sir, but its merely a fact, that's all. The girls at



A TOE FOR A TOE.                r6 7
tend to that branch of the business, and do it pretty
well, too, I judge."
"Yes, indeed they do," said the clergyman, and:turning to Martha who sat at the head of the table he
/entered into a discussion about the church music, in
which she was specially interested.
But Miller didn't care about the music.  He had
his thoughts concentrated on Mr. Delaney's foot.
"' Has he or has he not lost a little toe," thought he.
And he thought it till it seemed as if he should go
wild.
After dinner the ladies led the way to the drawingroom, their father walking slowly in the rear with his
one eye bent on Mr. Delaney's feet.
The man certainly limped a little.
But whether the lameness was in foot or leg, Miller,-ould not determine.
He wanted to ask his guest, but he did not dare.
He thought of a hundred different ways of getting
at it, but hesitated to put any one of them  to the
proof.
Finally, in despair, he excused himself, went to his
room, took a razor from its case, put two handkerchiefs in his pocket and then knocked at Templeton's
idoor.
Entering he found the ex-lieutenant at full length
on his bed reading an official gazette.
Templeton bounded to his feet, and said: "For




168          A TOE FOR A TOE.
I-eaven's sake, Miller, let me get out of this for an
hour or two to-night. I really cannot stand such confinement.  If Hardy is mashed, why need I be cooped in nmy room? I need exercise and musl go out
to-night for a walk, even if it be but for an hour.
Come, now, what do you say?"
Miller eyed him curiously and half laughed to himself as he said: " Templeton, how many toes have
you? "
Templeton looked at Miller in unfeigned amazement, but seeing no reason to doubt his sanity, and
never having encountered in his host even th6 glimmer
of a joke, answered as soberly as he could: "Ten, I
believe. At all events I had ten this morning."
" I'm  very sorry," said Miller; "that's one too
many."
"Well well," rejoined Templeton, "out with it,
what's the joke?"
" There isn't much joke about it," said Miller; " I
mean just what I said, and further, if you expect to
prove that you are old Russell's boy, you've got to
prove that you have only nine toes."
" And one must come off? " asked Templeton.
"'And one must come off," answered Miller.
" Good Heavens, I can never do that," said Templeton, as he pictured himself in pain, on crutches,
lame and, perhaps, disfigured for life.
"But I can," struck in Miller; " it won't hurt. I




A TOE FOR A TOE.                169
can take off your little toe in a jiffy, and can dress it
and tend it, and have you all right in two weeks, just
as good as new. Seriously, I can. And equally as
seriously, if you don't lose your toe, you lose your fortune and we can't afford that; can we?"
Templeton said nothing.
He was a handsome fellow with a swinging easy
walk, a firm step and an elastic bearing, born of perfect health and his life upon the sea. He was not
vain, but-well, he knew how he looked, as every one
does, and was not dissatisfied with himself either.
He knew that the loss of a toe would certainly
lame him some, and possibly cripple him more than
he could endure. He knew, too, the danger of lockjaw, and he shrank from the mutilation also.
"' Well," said Miller, "it takes you a long time to
think of an answer. What do you say? shall it be
fortune and no toe, or all toe and no fortune? "
" Couldn't we get a surgeon? " replied Templeton,
"I am afraid to risk your home-made skill."
" Of course we can get a surgeon," said Miller; " and
if, when the world knows that Horace Russell, the
millionaire Englishman, has found his long-lost son and
heir, by means of a lost toe, this blessed surgeon wants
to spoil the job, or halve the proceeds, what's to prevent?  Oh! by all means let's call in a surgeon.
Well, now I guess not. I tell you I can take that toe
off just as easy as rolling off a log.  It will smart
8




1 70         A TOE FOR A TOE.
some; but a little healing salve, and careful dressing
will cure it up right off, and in ten days or a fortnight
you'll be up and about, as lively as a cricket."
*' But you haven't told me why," said Templeton,
who hated the idea of losing even a little toe.' Oh, I thought I had," said Miller; " the'why' is
very simple. Russell's boy's toe was chopped off with
a chisel. Of course he never got another. Ifhe lost
his toe then, he hasn't it now. And if you're to be
the son, your toe is doomed."
" All right," said Templeton,': get me some whiskey
to steady myself with and cut away. All I ask is that
you are careful, and do unto others as you'd be done
by."
"' Why, what's a toe more or less anyhow," muttered Miller.
"Well, it doesn't amount to very much on another
man's foot," answered the Lieutenant, "but on one's
own its a very desirable feature. Now, you go and
get the whiskey."
Miller obtained the whiskey and the salve, and in
less than five minutes the toe was off, the salve was on,
and the wound was done up in rags and a compress.
Templeton bore the mutilation bravely. Indeed, he
acted better than Miller, who was keyed up only by
the necessities of the case, and was forced to steady
his own nerves by thoughts of the game he was playing and of the stake he hoped to win.




A TOE FOk A TOE.               I
Templeton laid down to rest, and Miller, promising
to send one of his daughters to read to his guest, and
also to return as soon as Mr. Delaney should leave,
went down stairs.,But he had not reached the last step when, in perfect bewilderment, he exclaimed: "' How in thunder
do I know which was the foot? "
knd then he re-entered the parlor where the young
women were entertaining Mr. Delaney, or he was entertaining them, and it made but little difference to
him, which was the case. If he had known that Harry
Russell had lost the little toe of the right foot, while
Mr. Templeton had been despoiled of the toe of the
left foot, Miller would probably have cursed his luck.
But he did not know it, and, on the whole, he was
rather pleased with his success.
While Miller and Templeton were going through
their amateur surgery up stairs, Mr. Delaney and the
daughter of the operator were enjoying themselves
below.
The preacher had a fine voice and sang well.
And Martha had a sweet voice and sang very
charmingly.
Mary played and the others sang duets.
Mr. Delaney was fond of Russell's ballads and
quite enjoyed singing "The Ivy Green," "' The Earl
King," and other songs of that style, and the girls
were delighted to hear them.




172           2 A  TOE FOR A  TOE.
As Miller entered the room, Mr. Delaney was singing:' Oh, a rare old plant is the ivy green."
And to save his life the detective could not help sayj
ing:
"Oh, a rare old plant is Templeton's toe."
But he said it to himself, and laughed at his own conceit.




CHAPTER XXV.
MAUD RUSSELL AS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
NE bright morning Maud Russell said to her
mother, as they were returning from a little
shopping excursion: " Do you know, mamma, I feel quite ashamed that neither you nor I have
seen Mr. Hardy since he was brought to town. It
will be five weeks to-morrow since he was hurt, and
two weeks the day after since the doctor said papa
might have him brought to the hospital? "
"Well, dear, what do you want to do?" replied
Mrs. Russell.
" I don't know that Zwant to do anything that we
all ought not to do," rejoined Maud; "' but you must
remember the poor fellow wouldn't have been so
badly injured if he hadn't tried to save me, and I
think we should do all we can to make his misfortune bearable. If you wait for me, I'll buy some
flowers and some fruit, and we can call at the hospital to leave our names with the flowers, if we cannot see him."




I 74          MAM UD R USSELL.
"Why, my dear girl," said her mother, "your
father and I have seen John Hardy every day since he
was brought up here.  I have said nothing to you
about my going, for the hospital, though clean, is
a hospital, and you might have encountered some
unpleasant scene. Hardy is doing quite nicely. I
doubt if he is ever perfectly well, and it will be several weeks before he can hope to walk. I have no
objections to taking you with me this afternoon, but
we must be sure to be back in time to meet papa on
his return from Milwaukee."
"Oh, thank you, mamma," said Maud; "' you always
let me have my own way without coaxing, and are
such a dear good friend.  I'll keep right on and get
the things, and you order a carriage at the office."
Mrs. Russell went slowly to her rooms, wondering
as she walked, whether Templeton's singular absence
and more strange silence, were having their normal
effect on her daughter's mind and heart.
For a few days after the scene at the Everett
House, Maud was greatly depressed.
She was never hysterical, but rather moody.
If Mrs. Russell alluded to Templeton, Maud
roused herself and joined the conversation, wondering where he had gone and what had become of him.
But both Mr. and Mrs. Russell noticed with pleasure
that Maud's pride was wounded and her self-respect
hurt so seriously that her mourning for Templeton




MA UD RUSSElL.              x75
bade fair, in time, to be relegated to the background.
After their arrival at Chicago his name had not
been mentioned but twice, and on each occasion
Maud simply asked her father if he had seen any
record of Templeton's arrival at any of the hotels.
Between semi-weekly trips to the scene of the
disaster, and daily conferences with Detective Miller,
Mr. Russell's time had been pretty well occupied, although he had not been unmindful of the social attentions extended him and his family by people to
whom he bore letters of introduction.
Mrs. Russell was very quiet in her tastes and domestic in her habits. So much so, in fact, that, were
it not for Maud, it is doubtful if she would ever
leave her hotel during her husband's absence.
She knew, however, the necessity of keeping her
daughter's mind busy, and never refused to go with
her either to entertainment or for exercise. 
Maud had made a good impression on the friends
who had been civil to the Russells in Chicago, but no
impression other than that of passing pleasure had
touched her in head or heart.
Not that she mourned Templeton as a woman of
deeper nature might, but she was worried mentally,
and uncomfortable generally about her recreant lover.
If she could have known that he was false, pride
would have rescued her from grief, but she knew




176            MA UD R USSELL.
nothing. From the pinnacle of affectionate devotion
her ardent admirer had plunged into hiding.
Of course, then, she was annoyed and embarrassed
as any other woman would be under similar circumstances.
Mrs. Russell watched Maud's health anxiously, and
was delighted to observe her cheerfulness and contentment.
Nothing now seemed to interfere with sleep or appetite. Her color was good and her spirits generally
fine. She was amiability itself, and the brightness of
her little circle.
While the two ladies were busied in their social
rounds, their shopping and driving, Mr. Russell, with
characteristic conscientiousness, devoted himself to
business.
He had two branches to attend to-John Hardy
and the search for his boy.
As already told, Hardy had so far recovered that
he was taken by stages to Chicago, where Mr. Russell daily and Mrs. Russell often called to see him.
The other branch was attended to with evehi greater
assiduity and regularity. Mr. Russell had taken a liking to One-eyed Miller, in spite of the first impressions, and after a series of adventures in Chicago, had
gone with him to Milwaukee.
There Mr. Russell was bewildered.
His old friends and neighbors had died or gone off.




MA UD R USSELL.              I7 7
The town had become a glorious city.
Nothing was as he left it.
Even the place where once stood his modest shop
and factory, had been merged into a public park ot
square, so that it was with difficulty he found it.
Together they remained in Milwaukee several days,
during which Miller pretended to gain information
about Delaney and the little boy he had with him,
and one morning, with flushed face and flashing eye
he entered Mr. Russell's room, crying: " Good news,
Mr. Russell, good news, sir; I'm on the track at last
-thank God,. I've struck a trail."
c" Is it here? " said Mr. Russell, almost wild with
excitement.
" No, but it was," answered Miller, " and it led to
New York.  Sit down and I'll tell you all about it
-unless you want to get back to the women folks tonight. If you do, let's be off."
"Why, of course I do," rejoined Mr. Russell, and
together they started for the depot, stopping on the
way to telegraph Mrs. Russell of their coming.
" Miller," said Mr. Russell, suddenly stopping in the
street, " wait till we get to the hotel. Don't tell me
a word till we are all together."
" All right," returned the detective.
At the time Mrs. Russell told Maud she expected
her husband's return, there were several hours before
the arrival of the Milwaukee train, and entering the
8*




178          MA UD R USSELL.
carriage, mother and daughter were driven to the hos
pital.
Mrs. Russell was so well known to the attendants
that no passes were required, and they went at once
to Hardy's room.
Receiving permission to enter from the nurse, Mrs.
Russell, followed closely by Maud, softly opened the
door and stood at the side of the wounded man.
He was sleeping.
Maud approached with her flowers and basket of
fruit, and looked at the pale face of the brave fellow
who had perilled his life for her safety, and was deeply
impressed by the change.
Hardy had grown thin and his lips were pinched.
His curly black hair was pushed carelessly back from
a smooth, clear forehead, and his partially parted lips
disclosed two rows of teeth which a belle might well
have envied.
Maud was deeply touched.
She had seen Hardy in the flush of strength, and had
known him as a driving, energetic person, to whom
physical oppositions were as playthings, and now to
find him weak and helpless, asleep in broad daylight,
on a hospital cot, was indeed a shock.
Hardy opened his eyes.
Before him stood, with undisguised pity and sympa
thy on her face, the woman of his inner adoration,
to whom he would no more think of speaking tenderly




MA UD RUSSEL;L.             I79
than of flying, but for whom he gladly risked life, and
health, and hope.
Love cannot be analyzed.
It defies rules, and ignores bounds.
Whatever is most absurd, that Love does.
That which is never prophesied, is Love's certain
doing.
Grant but the "' circumstances " and many " cases "
would soon be altered.
Time and opportunity denied, are the obstacles to
many a love match, and the spoilers of many a happy
possibility.
It llay be that these young people did not then
and there canvass the exact status of their feeling for
each other.
Most probable they did not.
But, however that may be, when Maud handed
Hardy the bouquet she had tastefully arranged with
her own fair hands, and smilingly said:' Dear Mr.
Hardy, I am so sorry for you, and I do hope you will
be well very soon," it seemed to the poor fellow as if
he had inhaled several gallons of oxygen, and he had
suddenly been transported from the cot of his ward
to a bed of roses-from the hospital to Heaven.
"Now that I've found the way, I mean to come
and see you every day," said Maud; "' and I'll read
you to sleep if you'll let me."
If he'd let her!




IS 0           MA  UD RUSSELL.
The ladies remained nearly an hour at the bedside
of John Hardy, giving him such gossipy information
as might tend to divert his mind from himself, and
then Mrs. Russell rose, saying: "' Mr. Russell is expected back at half-past six, and we must go now, so
as to meet him."
Hardy turned a little in his bed.
"You knew, didn't you," continued Mrs. Russell,
"that Mr. Miller is quite confident that old Delaney's
companion,' little Bob' was Mr. Russell's son? "
"Yes," replied Hardy, "so Mr. Russell tells me,
but until I see and hear Miller myself, I don't take
much stock in that idea. I wish I was able to be out,
or at all events to be up. Then I could judge for
myself. Please ask Mr. Russell to see me as early
as he can to-morrow. I believe I'll make an attempt
to get up then, and if I can, it won't be long till I
can get my hand on the wheel."
Hardy thanked Maud  again and again, for the
flowers and fruit, choice in themselves but radiant as
evidences of her kind thoughtfulness of him, and gratefully pressing her hand, he sank back to rest, as mother
and daughter bade him " good-bye."
" Handsome, isn't he? " said Maud as they stepped
into their carriage.
"Yes. I always liked Hardy's looks," said heI
mother.  "He is not only handsome but good, which
is better."




MA UD RUSSELL.               81
As they drove to the hotel, Maud thought of all
she.could do for the young man who had saved her
life, and who, when she began to thank him, had begged her not to say one word about it, if she wished to
please him, and in her programme, Lieut. Templeton
had neither place nor thought.




CHAPTER XXVI.
ON THE TRACK AT LAST.
[71rITH  a quick, decided step, Horace Russell
entered his parlor at the hotel, followed by
Miller.
" Well, daughter. Here I am," said he, and hardly
had he spokenw hen two pairs of arms welcomed him,
and two loving mouths saluted him.
"Here's Miller" said he, when the greetings were
done; "and I tell him he must dine with us. We'll
have the table spread here, so that we can be by ourselves.  He has a story to tell, and I wouldn't allow
him to speak of it till we were all together, so that we
could all enjoy it. Isn't that so, Miller?  Come,
mother, Mr. Miller wants to refresh himself a bit after
his ride; and as for me-well, look at me, I'm nothing
but dust and dirt.  How's Hardy? "
The ladies bustled about as requested, and in due
time the travelers were made presentable; dinner
was served, the waiter dismissed and Miller proceeded to lie.




ON TSHE TRACK AT LAST.           183
If ever a man had a hard task before him, Miller
had on this occasion, for it was absolutely necessary
for him to concoct a report which would drive all interest away from Robert Delaney who, he believed,
was the son of Mr. Russell; and to lead, in some way,
the mind of his employer to the conviction that the
little bo7 brought to the West by Delaney, the builder,,,was the son, in order that eventually he might produce
Templeton as the man grown from "little Bob."
And yet it was an easy task.
There was an anxious, eager father, looking and
hoping for the desire of his heart.
And by his side were two trusting women interested for the sake of him whom they both loved better
than all the world besides.
It could not be very difficult to deceive that trio.
At all events Miller was quite ready to try.
He would have given five dollars for a pipe, but as
Mr. Russell did not even use a cigar, his chance
for a smoke was hopeless.
In a moment, he rallied and plunged at once into
his story.
" I think," said he, "we're on the right track.  Indeed, I'd almost swear it. When you first came here
I didn't see any very great show in the job, but I've
about concluded that I was wrong.  I wasn't given
any very remarkable clue, as you know very well.
All I had to go on was, a boy with nine toes.




184      ON THE TRACK AT LAST.
brought out here twenty years ago by a drunken fellow
called Delaney. There ain't any Delaney, as I can
find, except a Baptist preacher out here, and I know
all about him, and have ever since he was born; and
besides he's got ten toes, so that doesn't count. One
day when I was just about discouraged, I ran across
an old fellow-he's a janitor at the jail-who reinem,
bered a builder named Delaney, and said he had an
idea he went to Milwaukee at least fifteen or twenty
years ago. Well, I wrote over to a friend on the force,
and found.that there was no such person there now,
but that the records of twenty years ago showed the
name quite often.  Then I proposed to Mr. Russell
that he and I should go there. We went, and while
you were being shaved, sir, I called on Billy Oake, my
old chum, and together we hunted out the facts. It
seems that the very Delaney you heard of in the
Tombs, was sent out here by the New York authorities, and, although when he worked he was able to
take care of himself, he wasn't much better than a
common' drunk.' Our folks warned him away, he
went to Milwaukee. While he was there, he led the
same kind of a life, but he was always very kind
to a little boy he had with him. That boy might
have been his child, and it might not. Nobody seem
ed to know. At all events he got so outrageous there,
that the supervisors shipped him back to New York,
and the general belief is he died there.  Nothing




ON THE TRACK AT LAST.             185
definite is known about the boy, except that he had
lost a toe from one of his feet, and took splendid care
of his daddy when he was drunk."
" Poor boy," interrupted Maud.
Mr. Russell sat with his eyes wide open, but his
lips were shut tight.
A thousand boys might,have been in the charge of
drunken men, but it was not likely that this was any
but his lost or stolen son; the missing toe was confirmation strong indeed.
Miller went on.
Every word he uttered was false.
But every point made was strong for Templeton.
"Well," said he, "nothing definite could be got at
about either boy, or man, except that Delaney is believed to be dead, and the boy was heard of a year
or so after they went to New York, selling newspapers.
The way that came about, was rather. queer. That
is, I suppose, it would seem  so to any man in ordinary life; nothing looks queer to me. The keeper of
our city prison was in New York with one of the Milwaukee officers, and this little chap was seen near the
head of Wall street, with a torn cap on the back of
his head, yelling out his papers like a good one.. I
have an idea that I can get more about that before
the week is over. But, further, I learn that the boy
was tracked to a coaster which went to Boston.
He shipped as'Bill' and was very sick when the




i86       ON  THE TRACK A T LAST.
vessel reached port.  That's all I've got as yet,
but-"
"Well, I should think that was considerable," said
Mr. Russell, " for, of course, there is a regular system
about such matters.  If he was sick, he was taken to,
the hospital, and the records will tell what was done
with him afterwards."
"Yes," said Miller, "and that can be ascertained
just as well by letter, as in person. I propose having
our Chief write to the hospital an official letter.
That will fetch the answer quicker than a private
letter."
" When can you see the Chief? " asked Mr. Russell.
"Well, I could see him to-night," replied Miller;
" but I thought, perhaps, it would help a little if you
were to go with me."
"All right," said Mr. Russell; "we'll go together
in the morning.  I congratulate you, Miller.  I
congratulate myself. I declare I begin to feel as if
we were certain of success.  Be here by ten in the
mlorning, Miller. Don't fail, will you."
Miller gave the promise and retired, chuckling as
he went-for he saw his way to Templeton's triumph
as clearly as he saw the moon in the sky.
All he needed now was a letter from  the Boston
officials narrating the facts in relation to Templeton,
who, it will be remembered, was known at the workhouse as "Bill," and only assumed  the name of




ON THE TRACK AT LAST.            I87
William Templeton, when adopted by his Massachusetts friend.
It seemed perfectly plain sailing to Miller, who had
not yet been brought in contact with John Hardy,
and had strangely enough forgotten that Templeton
had once broached his nefarious scheme to the New
York detective, and had been bluffed.
However, as matters were, he was satisfied; and, as
he thought they would be, he was content.
He speedily gained his house, and after a brief chat
with his daughters, went with Templeton to his room,
where they sat together until long after midnight, arranging and planning for future success.
The Russells sat up late also, but all their plans
were born of love, and all their projects pointed in
the direction of hope and happiness, for the object of
their search, in whom the heart and soul of the entire
family now seemed wrapped.




CHAPTER XXVII.
THREE LITTLE BOYS-BILL, BOB, AND HARRY.
MONG the letters on Mr. Russell's table the
following day was one which  attracted
Maud's attention the moment she entered
the room. She took it up. It was addressed to Horace Russell, Esq., but it bore no resemblance to an
ordinary business letter.
She wondered what it might be.
Mr. Russell soon joined her, and she begged him
to open it first of all.
He did so, and found it to be an invitation for himself and ladies, from a leading lawyer of the city, to
meet a few friends at his house on the following evening.
Horace shook his head, but Maud coaxed so
strenuously in favor of an acceptance that he agreed to
leave it entirely to his wife. If she said " yes," he
would go; otherwise, he would not.




ThREE LITTLE BOYS.            189
When Mrs. Russell came in, her husband placed
the invitation in her hand without a word. She read
it and glanced quickly at Maud.
That settled it.
She saw that Maud wanted to go, and at once she
said, "Well, father, I suppose Maud would be glad
of a little change. I think we will go if you can spare
the evening."
Horace laughed good-naturedly. The decision was
in no sense a surprise to him.
Had Maud expressed a wish for a four-yolked egg,
her parents would have secured every hen in the western country, rather than appear averse to gratifying
her desire.
The evening came, and the Russells drove to the
residence of their host.
The house was *one of the finest in the city, the
abode of culture and wealth, the favorite rendezvous
of a circle of refinement and worth, where the best
people of the city met and discussed and often decided plans affecting the moral and physical projects of
the State.
On this occasion a rather notable gathering was assembled, and much interest was felt in the expected
appearance of the millionaire Englishman with the
singular mission.
Whatever may have been the opinion of the people present concerning Mr. Russell, when he entered




g19o         THREE LITTLE BOYS.
the room with wife and daughter on either arm, there
was no division of sentiment about Maud.
She was perfectly dressed and looked like a pic.
ture.
She was under, rather than above, the average height,
very prettily formed, in perfect health, and flushed
wvith happiness and anticipation.
Her beautiful hair was neither "' banged," nor " frizzled," nor tortured in any way. She wore it parted
in the middle of her head, brushed simply back to her
comb of shell, about which it was coiled in thick and
massive plaits.
Her dress was white silk, rich but plain, and her
only ornaments a pair of exquisite solitaire pearl
earrings and cross of pearls.
Maud knew her beauty, but it did not make het
vain.
It pleased her father, and delighted her mother;- -
for what else had she to care?
Mrs. Russell was the recipient of much attention
which she received modestly and bore in a very
ladylike way, while her husband, manly outside and
in, was very soon engaged in earnest conversation
with several "solid men," who, like himself, were interested in the great problem of the day, and perplexed as all men are who try to solve the conundrum of
Labor and Capital.' I- dare say you think,'' said the host of the even



THREE LITTLE BOYS.              jg9
ing, " that our system of quadrennial elections, involving frequent change of administration, has something
to do with what you call our'unsettlement,' Mr.
Russell."
" Yes, I do, most certainly," answered the Englishman;' it stands to reason that officials who are kept
in place only by favor of party, cannot give their entire time, thought and energy to their duty. And without that devotion to duty, no official can be competent.
With us a good clerk in the postal or customs service is certain of his position for life. Here he hard.
ly gets warm in his seat before he has to make room
for another."
i' I grant you there is something in that," rejoined
the gentleman, "but I was referring more especially
to the President."
"Well," said Mr. Russell, "you would hardly ex.
pect an Englishman to agree with the accepted American theory that constant change is as beneficial as
permanence and solidity.  I know you argue that
the President always exists, and only the individual
changes. But I do not think facts warrant the assertion-when your'man' changes, your whole government changes, from  cabinet officers to customs
searchers.  We, on the outside, as friendly critics,
see better than you do, if you will permit me, a gradual tendency to centralization, which we believe will
in the end be of inestimable benefit to this nation.




192        PtHRE'E LITTLE BOYS.
And, unless I greatly misjudge your people, these con
stantly recurring excitements are more and more dis
tasteful year after year."
" You refer to the election excitements? "
" Yes. You elected President Lincoln twice, and
It was often remarked at home that his re-election was
but the entering wedge. His third election was quite
probable-; his death removed the test. But you reelected President Grant, and  -"
"Oh, Mr. Russell," broke in a jolly-face-d party,
who nad held a prominent judicial seat since his early
manhood, and was as full of fun as he was of experience, " that won't do. No third-term talk here tonight; you'll drive our Chicago friends wild if you
start on that."
" Oh, no, he won't," chimed in the host; " Mr.
Russell is evidently a Grant man. Let's hear the
rest of your sentence, Mr. Russell. You were saying
that we had re-elected Grant."
"Yes," said Mr. Russell; " I was simply showing
that although President Lincoln's death precluded
the solution of the problem in his case, you had at
the very first opportunity re-elected a president, and
now, as the next general election draws near, I find
a decided feeling in favor of continuing the incumbent
a third time, and why not a fourth and a fifth? "
"Which of course you think would be a good
idea?"




THREE LITTLE BOYS.               I93
"Certainly it would. Not that this or that man is
necessarily the best to be found for the position, but
being there he retains subordinates who are familiar
with their duty, and who are sure'to be removed if a
new chief is elected."
"Well, as the judge says, this third-term discussion
is apt to be a long one," said the gentleman of the
house; "but it is certainly full of interest, especially
if not discussed for or against any special person."
" Certainly," said Mr. Russell; "I was arguing for
the principle, not at all in the interest of any individual. We think from what we see and read, that President Grant, however, has a tremendous leverage.
His sixty thousand office-holders are a great power.
He ought to be able to control the convention, and
doubtless his nanie is still potent with thousands of
voters in the country, where all memories of the'bloody chasm' are not yet forgotten, and where the'red flag' argument is still very powerful. And then
the capitalists must dread change.  It really seems to
me, you know, that if the present president were
to use his power, he could do pretty much as he
pleased."
Mrs. Russell had been leaning upon the arm of her
host during this conversation, and several ladies had
joined the group, evidently interested in the turn the
discussion had taken.  As Mr. Russell closed his last
sentence, a young gentleman entered the room, and
9




THREE LITTLE BOYS.
approaching the lady of the house, saluted her and
her husband. After a moment's conversation he was
turning away, when the lady said:
"' Mr. Delaney, let me present you to Mrs. Russell
of England, and Mr. Russell also."
Horace started, looked quickly at the handsome
face and sturdy figure, and then grasped the young
clergyman's hand with marked and noticeable interest.
Opportunity was not afforded at the moment, but,
in the course of the evening, Mr. Russell asked his
host " what he knew about Mr. Delaney? "
He replied that he was a very popular and much
respected preacher of their city, a native and life-long
resident of Chicago, and a man not only of great
force, but of great goodness of character as well.
Mr. Russell brushed away from his imagination the
dim outlines of a picture there forming, but he could
not efface the impression the young man had made
upon his mind.
As he looked about the spacious apartment, he saw
Maud and the young clergyman in conversation.
Excusing himself, he approached them as Maud
said: " I should be very happy to go, I assure you,
and if you can call at the hotel, both papa and mamma
will be pleased to see you."
"Yes, indeed, we will, Mr. Delaney," said Mr.
Russell;,' we shall doubtless be here three or four




THREE LITTLE BOYS.              195
weeks longer, and if you can spare the time, we'll be
heartily glad to see you. Where is it you want Maud
to go?"
" I had been telling her of my new church, sir,"
replied Mr. Delaney;' and of what we consider a
delightful feature-an admirable choir, with a superb
organ, and your daughter was kind enough to say she
should be pleased to go to the church."
"' Of course she would," said Mr. Russell; " of
course she would-and so would Mrs. Russell and
myself. We'll go next Sunday. Why can't you dine
with us on Sunday? Oh, I beg pardon; perhaps Mrs.
Delaney —-"
Mr. Delaney laughed.  " You need have no fear of
that good woman, Mr. Russell. As yet she exists
only in imagination, and is as manageable as she is
ethereal. I was trying to recall whether I had an engagement to dine at Mr. Miller's on Sunday. I think
I have."
Mr. Delaney was a clergyman, to be sure, but
clergymen are men, and men are apt to remember
their engagements with the darlings of their hearts.
It was the young preacher's custom, now, to dine
every Sunday at Mr. Miller's.
On that day One-eyed Charley was rarely at home,'as the dinner hour was at one instead of six o'clock,
as usual. Not that he would have objected to Mr. Delaney's visits. On the contrary, he liked the man,




I96         THREE LITTLE BOYS.
and, possibly, if he had kept his eye about him, he
would have seen, what everybody else saw, that the clergynlan was desperately in love with the pretty Martha
And if he had seen that, would he have done his
best to keep Delaney and Russell apart, or would he
have kicked Templeton's dirty money into the street,
and bade the schemer and his nine toes depart?
It was finally arranged that Mr. Russell would take
his wife and daughter to Mr. Delaney's church the following Sunday, and they all looked forward to the
time with pleasure.
The evening passed agreeably.
Maud was a favorite at once. She danced gracefully and was very fond of it. Her hand was ill constant requisition, and she enjoyed an exceedingly
happy time.
Mrs. Russell was well cared for, and Horace was
the lion of the occasion. Every one knew that he was
a man of mark among his fellows at home, that he
represented very large commercial interests, and that
he was at present engaged in a search as romantic as
it was creditable. He was not a brilliant man, but
he had hard common sense, and like all sensible men,
he made himself felt wherever he went.
It was quite late when Mr. Russell's carriage was
announced; then bidding his friends "good night,"the good man with his wife and daughter returned to
their hotel.




THREE LITTLE BOYS.              197
There they found Miller.
Without a moment's delay, Miller took Mr. Russell
by the arm, and leading him toward the window, said:
" Mr. Russell, keep calm, sir; I believe we have a
clue to your son. The Chief has received a letter
from Boston, which says they have ascertained that a
boy called' Bill' was either adopted by a gentleman
or bound out to a harness-mlaker, at the time referred
to, and they will spare no pains to ascertain the fancs,
and when we get them, the galme is done."
It would be idle to attempt to paint the delight and
joy of Horace Russell and his wife and daughter.
"Truly," said he, " my cup runneth over."




CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE SNAKE FASCINATES MARY MILLER.
N conversation with Templeton, Miller had
so thoroughly convinced him that their deception would succeed in the end, that all
thought of marrying Maud had been driven from his
mind.
So far as Templeton knew, Maud was Mr. Russell's own daughter. Marriage with her was, to him,
obviously impossible in the event of Mr. Russell's accepting him as his long-lost son. And, beside, Tern
pleton had found in Mary Miller a much more congenial companion.
It was now nearly three months since he was first
introduced to the Miller home.
A large part of that time he had been forced into the
society of Miller's daughters, and as Martha was devoted to the humanitarian duties assigned her by her
pastor, Templeton had no choice in the matter-he
remained with Mary.
Mary Miller was a good girl.




MARY MILLER FASCINATED.             I99
She loved her sister and idolized her father.
Outside of the church circle she had but few acquaintances and no near friends.
The society of gentlemen was unknown to her.,
What wonder, then, that she became interested in this
young friend of her father, who added to graces of
person, the charms of culture and the polish gained
by travel?
They read and talked together. She sang to him,
and he told her of all he had seen at home and
abroad.
Insensibly she passed from interest to regard, and
thence to love.
In her eyes Templeton was a hero.
No romance ever painted serener beauty than his.
No fairy ever wove more exquisite garments than
those in which Mary Miller's fancy invested her lover.
And he-well, he did not love her, for love was a
feeling whose depths he never sounded, but he liked
her, and was pleased at her attentions.
Intentionally he never led her a step, but, for all
that, the steps were taken, and, before he really suspected it, Templeton found himself the girl's idol, her
all in all, the one thing needful for her heart's comfort and the delight of her soul.
Man-like he did nothing to stop it.
He simply shrugged his shoulders and let her love
him.




oo200    MARY IMILLER FASCINA TED.
When he one day was left by her for a few moments,
Miller being about his duties, out of town, and
Martha on her circuit, Templeton looked the matter
squarely in the face. " If I permit this girl's love for
me to be known to her father, will it help or mar mly
plans? Will Miller consent to her marriage with a
man he does not trust?  And if not, what becomes
of her?  If, again, I marry her unknown to her
father, am I not in position to turn his flank when
occasion requires, and, through his love for his
daughter, hold him to any bargain and any secret,
whether he like it or not?"
Thus pondering, Templeton slowly walked the
floor, supporting himself a little with his cane; for
although his foot had entirely healed, there was still
a sensitiveness about it when pressed, that induced
him to favor it in walking.
The right or wrong of his conduct in no way
trouble or influenced Templeton.
All he cared for was success.
That, he believed, would certainly be assured
through Miller, in whom he had implicit confidence;
but into Miller's hands he did not care to trust everything-and because of that unwillingness, he deliberately concluded to retain the affections of the detective's daughter, and be guided by his necessities, when
the question of matrimony arose.
Presently, Mary returned, and said: "' Oh, Mr. Rus.




MARY MILLER FASCINA TED.          201
sell, here is some new music we have just received;
wouldn't you like to come down stairs and hear ame
try it? It's an arrangement of Aida, and they say it
is perfectly charming."
Templeton acquiesced, and together they went to
the parlor, but it was some time before the piano was
opened, for, drawing Mary to a seat, the curious
fellow said: "Mary, we have been thrown very
strangely together. Why, of course, you do not
know, nor is it necessary that you should. Suffice it
that being here, a happy fate has made me almost
your constant companion. Before my accident, you
were kindness itself, but during the two weeks of my
confinement to my room, had you been my own
sister, or my lover, I could not have asked or looked
for more attentive courtesy and help."'" Oh, Mr. Russell, surely I did nothing more than
was natural," said Mary.
"That I grant," continued Templeton; "and the
fact that it was so natural, is all the more creditable
to you, and perhaps more complimentary to me. I
find our tastes are similar. You are fond of reading,
and on your shelves are the books I prize the most.
You are devoted to music, and how our likes and
dislikes in that direction harmonize, you know very
well. On the whole, I think we are tolerably good
friends, Mary, and why not more than good friends?
Why not the best- of friends?"
*9




202     MARY MIL L ER FASCNA TED.
Templeton had gone further than he intended.
Had he been talking to a woman of the world, he
might have continued in that strain indefinitely, satisfying himself and amusing her.
Had he been practicing his arts upon a flirt, he
might have met his match in retort and repartee.
But Mary was neither one nor the other.
She was a genuine woman.
To her a spade was a spade.
She had no lovers.  Her father and Mr. Delaney
were the only men she had ever known intimately.
Her only outside life had been in the school-room.
She was but eighteen years old. She never lied. She
knew nothing of the world, its tricks, or its manners
She believed what she heard, and invariably said precisely what she meant.
She loved Templeton.
To be sure, he had never uttered a syllable
which could be construed into a declaration or an
invitation.
But she loved him.
And now that he had, with tender accent, respectfully, courteously and with apparent sincerity, asked
if she knew any reason why they should not be the' best of friends," it seemed as if her dream of happiness had been realized.
Turning quickly to him, Mary looked her lover
full in the eye, with unmistakable meaning, and




MARY MILLER FASCIN4TED.   203
then as he pressed her closely to his heart, she whispered her consent.
If there is a Devil, how happy such scenes must
make him i




CHAPTER XXIX.
ON THE ROCKS.
OOR Hardy!
How he chafed, and rolled, and tumbled,
in his bed!
The days were years, the weeks were ages. It
seemed to him as if his life was a blank, and he a
cipher.
That is, it seemed so until Maud Russell's daily
visits made his life a holiday, and his experience an
intoxication.
Probably many may regard Maud's every-day call
with disfavor.
That is their privilege.
The fact is, she did go every day in every week,
carrying flowers and fruits, and books and cheeriness
of angelic type, making the sick chamber radiant with
joy, and the sick man a convalescent speedily.
Of all the men here told of, John Hardy was most
liked by Horace Russell.




ON THE R OCAKS.              205
He was a fine specinen of nanhood —tall, straight
and strong.
His features were regular, but not feminine.  tHis
eye and lip showed courage, and his manner, though
not offensive, was aggressive rather than quiet.
Mr. Russell had " taken to " him at the very first,
and every interview increased his respect and esteem
for him. He found him earnest, intelligent and truthful, and when, in a moment, the young man was reduced to a scarcely breathing mass of flesh and bones,
the strong Englishman felt as if part of himself had
been broken away.
With Maud, Hardy had been thrown but very little
until the trip westward.
She had seen him every day at the hotel in New
York, and he had been one of the party of four on
their excursions in and about the city; still, until the
memorable ride, which ended in disaster, Maud had
really felt but little interest in the young man, on
whose skill and service so much of her father's future
happiness depended.
Love of romance has a strong hold on a young
girl's mind.
Of late Hardy had seemed to Maud like a charac-,ter in fiction, rather than a being of ordinary type.
His personal history had interested her, as it had
her parents. His chivalrous endeavor to preserve hei
life, and shield her person, inspired her with gratitude




206            ON THE ROCKS.
His suffering and long confinement excited her sym.
pathy. And now that he was slowly gaining, being
permitted to sit in his chair several hours every day,
his pale face and lustrous eyes, and evident delight at
her attention, elicited an interest which strengthened
at every interview.
Mrs. Russell and Maud always called together, but
on several occasions Maud remained, while her mother drove elsewhere, and read to Hardy the news of
the day, or from such current literature as she thought
would divert his mind.
Insensibly they became well acquainted and thoroughly at home in each other's presence.
Hardy was one of Nature's gentlemlen-a much
better article than that of the world, although not so
good a dancer.
He would have died rather than say or do aught
that could offend Maud Russell, and yet he loved her
with all his heart, and worshipped her very shadow.
WVhile she was with him, he was in heaven; and
when she was gone, he counted the hours till she
should return.
By day, he thought of her; by night, he dreamed of
her.
And why not?
What ins-lrmountable difference was there between
them?
Money!




ON THE ROCKS.               207
Nothing but money!
Not that John Hardy sneered at money. No sensible person does that. Money is a good friend,
though a bad master. What a good man can do with.
money can never be exaggerated. And the good men
who insist that money is nothing to them, and proclaim that they are happier without it than they would
be with it, are either liars or fools.
The world never yet saw the sane man who would
not gladly take all the money he could honestly get.
One might as well decline to use his brains, or his
hands, or his feet, or any other useful convenience, as
to ridicule the usefulness and desirability of moneyand the more the better.
Still, as between John Hardy and Maud Russell,
money was the only embarrassment.
Maud had none, but her father had naillions.
" Suppose," thought Hardy, in one of his ten thou.
sand dreams; "suppose I could win Maud's heart,
how could I gain her hand? I know her parents like
me, but would they consent? These English people
think so much of social position, and I am only a de.
tective, the son of a scavenger!"
Poor Hardy!
Over and over again, he thought and thought the
same old story, and it always ended the same way.
He could not seem to bring it to any other close. " I
am only a detective, the son of a scavenger."




2Q8           ON THE ROCKS.
One day Maud came alone.
Hardy was sitting up as usual, and had been felici.
tating himself on the progress which enabled him, for
the first time that morning, to walk unaided from his
bedside to the adjoining room, when Maud Russell
entered.
Something had happened.
The girl was bewilderingly beautiful.
Her eyes were half filled with tears, and fairly bright
with excitement.
Withort stopping for explanation or query as to
Hardy's condition, Maud broke out: "Oh, Mr.
Hardy, what do you think, what do you think we've
found? There's no doubt about it. Mr. Miller says
so, and father says so, and father's almost wild with
he doesn't know what;" and bursting into tears, the
excited girl sat down, sobbing from the bottom of her
heart.
Hardy was alarmed.
He had always seen Maud so quiet and composed,
so perfect in deportment, so self-poised and gentle
in her bearing, that this flood of passion disconcerted
1il.
His experience should have taught him that a calm
and placid exterior is rarely an exponent of a womanly
interior.
All he did or said was: "Why, what's the mat.
ter?"




ONV THE ROCKS.               209
"A  great deal's the matter," replied Maud, who
threw back her veil, wiped her eyes, arranged her
hat by the glass, and continuing, said: " You know
papa and that horrid Miller have been trying to find
that' little Bob,' that ma and I never hazve believed in,
and they've been writing to Boston-but you know
all about that, for papa told you. Well, they've found
wezohe is, but they don't know wzehere he is. And
who do you think he is? The last man on the face
of the earth that anybody would have dreamed of.
Guess."
"Why, bless your heart, I never could guess.  1
light guess one man as well as another," said Hardy.
WVell, it's Mr. Lieutenant William Templeton,"
cried Maud, springing to her feet; "that's who it is.
Now, what do you think of that?"
John Hardy looked like a ghost. He was as pale
as a sheet, and about as stiff. Two thoughts present.
ed themselves at once:
Either Templeton was an infamous and a successful scoundrel;
Or, he was sincere and in earnest when he told
Hardy that he was Russell's son, and wanted Hardy
to help him prove it.
If the former were the fact, how could Hardy bluff
him?
If the latter, farewell to all hope of happiness with
Maud.




210           1ON TRE ROCKS.
"Well, what do you mlean by saying your father is
almost wild?" asked Hardy, at last.
" Why, father hates Templeton. The very sight of
the man used to make him cross and ugly. He forbade us to speak to him. He actually 1zated him,
and now to find out that he is his own son; that they
have been rude to each other; that-ooh, I don't know;
it does seem to me as if everything and everybody was
mad and out of sorts.  Papa will be here, by and
by. Mamma told me to drive down, and to tell you
to be just as cool and calin as you can be; for papa
is dreadfully excited. And he trusts that old Miller
almost as much as he does you; but we don't. Mamma and I never liked him. He rolls'that wicked old
eye all over the wall, and never looks at anybody. I
hale him. But you'll be cool, won't you?"
Hardy laughed in spite of himself.
It seemed to him that Maud's endeavors to keep
him cool, were very much like the effort made to
keep powder safe, by stirring it with a red hot poker.
He had no time to reply before the door opened,
and Mr. and Mrs. Russell entered.
Horace Russell was getting on towards his fiftyfifth year, but he felt as if he were in his prime.
He enjoyed perfect health, and this long rest from
active and constant business life was doing hinm an
immensity of good.
He was handsome as a picture.




ON TSHE ROCKS.             211
His head was bald, but his eye was strong and
clear. No beard obscured the perfect lines of face
and mouth, and chin. His body was erect and stalwart, and every action told of the manhood of the man.
Although greatly excited, his strong common sense
controlled an exhibition of his feeling. Taking Hardy
by the hand, he said: " My dear boy, you cannot
know, you never can, how perfectly delighted I am
at your progress. I thank God, day and night, for it.
You look better, you are better, and the doctor tells
me we can have you with us at the hotel next Sunday. Much as I want, yes, much as I need you, you
know I am most glad for your own sake. Doesn't he
look bright to-day, mother? "
Maud and Hardy were deceived, but Mrs. Russell
was not.
She knew that her husband meant every word he
said.
But she also knew that his heart was crushed, and
his soul in agony at the news brought that morning by
Miller's eastern mail.
Sweetly smiling, Mrs. Russell, who was the embodiment of all good old-fashioned ideas of motherliness,
took Hardy's hand in hers, and turning to her husband, said: c" Mr. Hardy is doing so well, dear, that
he will forgive you for being selfish to-day. Sit down
and tell him just how you feel, and what you have
heard."




2I2           ON TILE ROCKS.
"I see Maud has told you the news," said Mr.
Russell.
" Only a little, papa," said Maude.  " You would
better commence at the beginning and tell him all."
Mrs. Russell handed her husband a chair, and he
proceeded with his report.
" I told you that Miller had heard from the Boston
people the bare fact of'Bob' Delaney's leaving the
workhouse hospital, and being adopted by some unknown party, didn't I?"
"Yes, sir," said Hardy; "that was the last I
heard."
" Well, I told Miller to send $ioo to his friend,
and direct him to follow that clue. He did so, and
last night Miller received this letter, which he brought
to me this morning. I'll read it to you, if I can, for
I declare, it has almost taken my pluck and strength
away. I'll tell you why afterwards.  Here, mother,
you read it. Oh, you haven't brought your glasses.
Daughter, you read it, I-upon my word, I dislike
even to look at it."
Maud read the letter as follows, and Hardy listened
as if to a choir of angels:
BOSTON, October 22d, 1874.
MR. CHARLES MILLER,
Police headquarters, Chicago.
" SIR-Your favor of the I8th was duly received,




ON THE ROCKS.                213
and requests noted. I an -pleased to reply that with
out much trouble I can satisfy your bill of inquiry.
It seenls that the boy' Bob' was entered on the books
as' Bill,' and when taken to the hospital that was all
the name he had. I was in some doubt as to his
being the boy, but I have found a sister of the man
who adopted him, a maiden lady living in Chelsea,
who satisfied me on that point. She went with her
brother to see the boy while he was sick, and when
her brother brought him home, she heard him ask the
boy whether he preferred to be called by his old
name or take a new one. And she tells how pleased
her brother was when the little chap said:' I'll take
your name if you'll let me.'  So I aln confident on
that point. The rest is simple. The boy was thenceforth known as William Templeton.  He went into
the navy, and now he is a lieutenant in the service.
" If I can be of any further use, command me, and
it shall be done. Respectfully,
"' JAMES HOWES,
"State Constabulary."
"What do you think of that? " sai Mr. Russell.
"Where is Templeton?" said Hardy, without
noticing the question.
" We don't know," replied Mr. Russell. "' He left
New York very suddenly, and has never been heard
of since."




2I4             ON THE ROCKS.
"Does Miller know him?"'I think not; he said he must try to hunt him
Up.,,
"The doctor says I can go out on Sunday, does
he? " said Hardy.  "Well, that's day after to-morrow. I think, when I join you at the hotel, I must
meet Miller. You know he has never seen me. I'll
meet him in your parlors as an English friend just arrived, and perhaps I can judge him better there than
I could if he were on his guard against a fellow officer. Meanwhile, let him talk and plan,- and report.
It may be he is perfectly honest, and Templeton is
your son; it may not be. I feel that there is some
trickery, but-"
" Oh, my God," said Mr. Russell.  "I thank you,
Hardy. Much as I love my boy, much as I long,
yes, hunger for him, I cannot believe that man to be
my son. Hardy, my boy, I won't insult you by talking of money. I trust you, my dear fellow, absolute.
ly. We all do.  Mother will tell you how perfectly
I trust you. Now, don't let me weary you, but for
Heaven's sake put your wits to work. If there is
aly trickery here, let's have it out.  If not —well,
hIeaven's will, not mine, be done."
Hardy grasped the poor man by the hand, but he
could not speak.
He saw the grief and the wreck, but he dared not
tell his suspicions.




ON TlRE R0 CICS.            215
If Templeton really were the son, it would only
make matters worse to expose his meanness and
craft.
If he were not the son, time and circumstances
would doubtless establish the fact.
But Miller was now in Hardy's mind.
And, sharp and shrewd, and hard as Miller undeni.
ably was, it was a bad place for Miller to be.




CHAPTER XXX.
MILLER DOES SOME TALKING.
ACT is often quite as strange as fiction, and
odd as it may seem, although the Russells had been several times to hear Mr.
Delaney preach, and, on one occasion, the young
clergyman had passed an evening with the ladiesMir. Russell having an engagement elsewhere-the
fact that his name was "Robert" had never been
made known.
Indeed, if it had been, it is doubtful if they would
have thought anything of it, for their confidence in
Miller had not been shaken, although Maud disliked
him from the first.
And yet the simple fact remained that Mr. Russell
was spending money like water, hoping to find a
"Bob" Delaney, and was now confronted with one
who had changed his name to "William Templeton,'"
while, in his own parlor his wife and daughter were
entertaining the " Bob " of his search.
Of this Miller had satisfied himself beyond a doubt.




MILLER DOES' SOME'AI'LKIANG.    217
He knew perfectly well that old Delaney, the
builder, the "father " of Robert Delaney, had never
returned to New York; that he had never left Cliicago at all.  He knew when and how he died; and he
knew the young man at whose church his daughter
attended, and who visited at his house, was the idefltical " Bob" for whom his employer searched.
As yet he did not know that he was also the son
whom Mr. Russell lost.
But he was in dread of such a revelation, and feared
every day of his life that some accident would confirm
his suspicions.
Neither did he know that Mr. Russell had met Mr.
Delaney, much less that the clergyman was an occa.
sional caller at his rooms.
Judge then, his surprise, when, on Saturday afternoon, prior to the anticipated Sunday of Hardy's
emancipation, Miller came face to face with Mr. Russell and Mr. Delaney in the corridor of the hotel.
Mr. Delaney's greeting was cordial and straightforward, but it was really a test of Miller's admirable
training. He controlled himself perfectly, and when
Mr. Russell said: "Al, you know, Mr. Miller, do
you, Mr. Delaney?" both men smiled, and with
some affirnlatory remark, the three passed up stairs
to Mr. Russell's rooms.' Anything new, Miller? " asked Mr. Russell.
"Yes, a little," said the detective.  "I fiadO that
IO




218    Ml'ZLLER DO.ES SOME TALKING.
our bird took passage for Nassau about the time you
say he left New York.  His resignation from the service was dated the day before he sailed. I have sent
a letter, or rather the Chief has, to the consul there,
with instructions upon two points only.  They are,
first:' Has Templeton lost a little toe?' and second,'When is he coming back to the United States?'"
"' Very important that," broke in Mr. Russell; "I
declare, Miller, you give me new life. That man
never lost a toe; I know he never did. His walk
was perfect.  Bless my soul! do you know I never
thought of that?  Of course he never lost a toe."
"But, my dear sir," said Miller, "what am I to
understand?  Do you want to find your man or don't
you?"
Mr. Russell looked at Miller sharply.
He remembered what Hardy had said, and here
at the very first interview, he was disclosing to. Miller
his feelings and his fears.
"Why should I distrust this man?" thought he.
"He is recommended to me by his chief. He stands
at the head of his fellows. He has be n kind and
industrious. I pay him well. What can he gain by
being false. What will he not gain, if successful?
I'll tell him all."
Thus resolving, Mr. Russell drew Miller away from
the group, and putting his honest hand on the old
rascal's shoulder, said: " Miller, I know this man




tMILLER DOES SOME TLKIZN;'G.    215
Templeton. He was a fellow-passenger of ours. I
disliked him exceedingly. He was attentive to my
daughter, and although that is generally an open
door to a father's heart, I disliked him all the more.
And besides, I am not Maud's father.  She was Mrs.
FRussell's child by a former husband."
Miller's red hair wanted to stand up, but Miller's
detective nerve kept his red hair down.
"Not his daughter," thought he; "what then might
become of Mary, his own daughter, whose affections
he saw plainly were twined and interlaced with Templeton's very life. If Templeton could be proved Mr.
Russell's son —he thought-of course he could not
marry Russell's daughter: and if he married Miller's
daughter. there was another bond between the father
and the conspirator."  But this revelation opened a
way by which Templeton might play Miller false.
Once let it be shown that Templeton was Russell's
son, and that Maud was not Russell's daughter, what
could bar their marriage?
Meanwhile Mr. Russell, all unconscious of the
hubbub he had caused in Miller's mind, proceeded"She was Mrs. Russell's child by a former husband, but I love her as my own. She was passionately fond of Lieut. Templeton, but I would not permit her to see him. After the fire, the dear child
seemed to droop, and reluctantly we consented that
Templeton should call. A note was sent inviting him




220     MILLER DOES SOME TALkTING.
to do so, but it was unanswered.  He never sent a
word of apology or regret, or explanation; and I had
hoped we should never hear his cursed name again.
Judge then, Miller, how utterly unprepared I was
for such an astounding revelation as yours. I feel
that there is no truth in it.  And yet-do not nlisunderstand me, I do not doubt youz-the trace seems
clear, and I see that your mind is settled-"
"Hold on, Mr. Russell," said Miller, with well assumed warmth; " if you were to say to me,'Miller, I
don't want this followed up,' that would end it. But
don't make any mistake.  I'm  by no manner of
means settled in my mind. No, sir. What I want is,
first of all, to see that toe! Or, rather not to see that
toe. And after that I want to see the rest-of him.
I think we must both own up that the clue so far is a
strong one. But suppose he has never lost a toethat settles it, doesn't it? Well, then. But if, on the
other hand, his toe is gone, we must admit again that
the. clue is all the stronger. And then if, on acquainance and careful examination, we find he is the
boy, why it seems to me, as honest men, we must
say so.
" If you don't like the fellow you needn't have anything to do with him. He can't prove himself your
son, unless you help him, can he?  Well, then. Now,,
you just leave this to me.  If you don't want another
step taken, the job stops right here.  If you do, on it




MILLER DOES SOME TALICNIV.    22I
goes. Very much depends on the toe, and after all
he may be a nicer fellow than you thought."
Mr. Russell was impressed by Miller's manner, and
had it not been for a recollection of John Hardy's
advice, would very likely have yielded then and there.
As it was, he simply said: " Come and see me tomorrow evening.  I'll think it all over, and by that
time we will come to some conclusion."
Miller bowed himself out without much formality,
and Mr. Russell turned to Mr. Delaney, who, with
the ladies, was looking at the sunset from the window.
"That's a queer character, Mr. Delaney," said
Mr. Russell.
" Oh, Miller? Yes, indeed. I can never make out
whether he is in fun or in earnest," said Mr. Delaney; "his daughters attend my church and are
among my warmest friends. I have visited at the
house a great deal, though I see but little of the
father. He is certainly a very strange man to have
such charming daughters. One of them, by the way,
is betrothed to a gentleman of your name, AMr.
Russell."
" Do you know him?" asked Maud.
" No. I have never met him, but he is well
spoken of, naturally, by the young ladies, and I
judge, from all I hear, he is quite accomplished.  He
lives in New York, I believe; but really I don't know
anything about it."




222    MILLER DOES SOi7E TArIiVNG.
" It seems strange that lMiller should have two
daughters and never allude to them," said Maud.
"' Oh, I don't know," said her father; " we have had
nothing to do with him outside of business; although,
come to think of it, all the time we were in Milwaukee
he received no letters, and never spoke of home at all."
" I suppose men in his position sink their individuality in their business," suggested the clergyman.
"Yes, and they are naturally chary of their con
fidence," said Mr. Russell; " but I have met one offi
cer of whose friendship and regard I shall always be
proud. When we left New York, a Detective named
Hardy, John Hardy, was assigned to aid me in my
search, and, as doubtless you remember, he was very
seriously injured in the accident from which we so
providentially escaped.  I think I never met an
officer more cool, more prudent, more clear-headed;
and he has absolutely devoted himself to our service.
He nas won my heart completely, and as for mother
here, she thinks there never was such a man."
" Oh, father, that's rather strong," said Mrs. Russell; "but we certainly have cause to be grateful to
Mr. Hardy, and, as Mr. Russell says, he seems
honesty and goodness itself."
"'I'm  sure I like him," said Maud; "I always
did like him. He was so respectful and kind to papa,
and then he saved my life, you know, Mr. Delaney;
and   "




MILLER DOES SOME TALA'ING.           223
"And so you chant his praises," laughingly said
Mr. Delaney; "that is right, perfectly right.  And
where is Mr. Hardy?"
" He is still at the hospital," said Mr. Russell;
"but he will be here to-morrow, and, before we leave
town, I hope you will meet him. You will take to
each other, I know."
In some way the conversation turned. Mr. Rus.
sell and his wife, anxious and ill at ease about Templeton, while Maud and Mr. Delaney, after talking
about some new music Maud had bought, went to
the piano, where, for a long time, the petted, girl en
tertained the visitor, and cheered the sorrowing hearts
of her troubled parents.
How or why, we never know and can never explain,
but, at times, that which on other occasions would
seem offensive and intrusive, becomes most natural
and welcome.
And so it was that Mr. Delaney, who felt, without
knowing, that something had disturbed the comfort of
his hosts, cemented the regard already existing as a
bond between his new friends and himself, by saying:
" Before I go, let us ask the direction and blessing of
our Father," and, kneeling at his chair, he uttered a
tender, honest petition for protection, guidance and
forgiveness, to which, with one accord, they said:
"Amen."




CHAPTER XXXI.
BEWARE, POOR GIRL; BEWARE.
HEN Miller left Mr. Russell's hotel he pulled
his hat hard and far down over his eye.
Every word he had told his employer
was false.
It had not been received as he had hoped.
Templeton had, indeed, informed him of Mr. Russell's dislike, but Miller had detected a muc't deeper
feeling than simple dislike.
He saw that the very name of Templeton was distasteful to the entire family, and that Maud, instead
of hailing the news with joy and hope, shared her
father's annoyance and repugnance.
And then, too, Delaney's presence troubled the detective.
"How came he there? What is he there for? Is it
possible that other trails are being followed? " These
and kindred queries thrust themselves upon Miller's
perplexed mind, and insisted upon solution.
Since undertaking  this search, Miller had not
touched a drop of liquor. Now and then he took a




BEWARE, POOR GIRL.              225
pint of ale or a glass of beer, but nothing stronger.
He had deliberately chosen Templeton as against
Russell, and having laid out his programmne, pursued
it with absolute loyalty. He had given time and
money and thought to the prosecution of his plan,
He had kept Templeton at his own house, had compelled him to sacrifice his toe, had gone off on long
trips, apparently on Mr. Russell's business, but in
reality to further Mr. Russell's deception, and had
gradually worked up his case so that it was now susceptible almost of exact demonstration that Templeton, little "Bob," and the lost Harry Russell were
one and the same person.
Miller had done all this, but with a detective's intuition he felt that something was wrong.
Whether it was Delaney or Templeton upon whom
his plan would wreck, he could not determine.
In his heart he believed Robert Delaney was Mr.
Russell's son.
He had devoted days to the investigation, and had
clearly proven to himself that the clergyman was not
the son of the old builder, that he was the boy who
was sent with Delaney from the Tombs, and that he
was lame.
But the toe?
Miller had done his best to ascertain if Mr. Delaney had lost a toe, but without success. He had
ingeniously pumped his bootmaker and tailor. He
10*




226         BEWARE, POOR GIRL.
had talked with the men who were in Delaney't
regiment.  He had followed him for hours ill the
streets.
And he was as ignorant now as at the first.
Dreading the possibilities of confidence between
Mr. Russell and his new friend, Miller determined to
bring the Templeton development to an immediate
issue, and went directly home.
He found Templeton sitting with Mary in the dimly lighted parlor and greeted them both cheerily.
His daughter welcomed him with a loving embrace,
and hastened to order dinner.
Templeton and Miller were alone together.
The old man placed one hand on the knee of the
handsome youth beside him, and said very quietly:
" No nonsense, young man; no nonsense there. If
you don't love that girl, don't pretend to."
Templeton colored up and began to speak, but
Miller interrupted him and simply said: " There now,
that'll do, I know you pretty well, and you know me.
All I say is, no nonsense; and that ends it. After
dinner I want to see you alone. You propose a walk
or a game of back-gammon up-stairs, and whatever
you say, I'll agree to."
Templeton saw that Miller meant all he said, and.
inwardly resolved to back out of his pleasantry
with Mary before the father's ire had good cause to
rise.




BEWARE, POOR GIRL.             227
And poor Mary?  Oh i he didn't think of her at
all. He cared for Templeton, not for Mary.
At the dinner table sat two scoundrels and two in.
nocents. The scoundrels were quiet and thoughtful.
So were the innocents.
Miller was completing his plans.
Templeton was seeking a way out of his social embarrassment.
Martha had received a long, loving letter from Mr.
Delaney, and was expecting a call from him in the
morning.
And Mary's heart was filled with love and admiration for the only man she had ever really known, and
for whom she was willing to give up all else that made
home happy and life endurable.
Each was so occupied that the other's occupation
was not noticed, until Miller saw the absurdity of a
Quaker meeting then and there, and twinkling his eye
at Martha, said: "Well, baby, how goes our parish?
Anybody dead, anybody born?"
Quick to appreciate her father's intent, Martha
laughed and said: " Oh, yes. And we are to give Mr.
Delaney a house-warming on Monday night. He goes
into the parsonage to-day, and the church people have
arranged a surprise party there on Monday night. I
want you to go with us, Mr. Russell, won't you?"
" He would if he could, I have no doubt," said Mil.
ler; "but he won't be in town on Monday."




228         BEWARE, POOR GIRL.
As he spoke Miller pressed Templeton's foot under
the table, and taking the hint, he said: "I am really
very sorry. I would go with pleasure. But, as your
father says, I shall probably be away. I don't doubt
you will have a jolly time. But be careful. Don't
monopolize the pastor. Yc u'll make all the others
jealous if you do."
Templeton uttered his protest jokingly, but he unwittingly hit a nail squarely on the head.
Mr. Delaney's respect for Martha Miller had grown
into friendship, thence to regard, and finally to unspoken love.
His attentions attracted observation and remark,
until it was necessary for him to stop or go on.
He preferred to go on, and to that end wrote his
fair parishioner a letter, in which he in a very manly
and characteristic way laid his circumstances and
plans before her, told her that he loved her and asked her to be his wife, promising to call early the next
day for an answer.
Martha had, of course, told her sister of Mr. Delaney's proposal, but had as yet found no opportunity of
speaking to her father.  Her heart had answered
"yes " almost before the question had been put in,form, and she knew her father so well, that his acqui~scence in aught that could contribute to her happiness
was sure to be given.
Rising from her chair Mlartha went to her father




BEWARE, POOR GIRL.             229
and placing her arm about his neck, kissed him tenderly on the forehead.  "I want to see you alone,
papa," she whispered, and with another kiss left the
roonm.
As Miller prepared to follow his daughter, Templeton said: "I haven't been out of the house to-day,
Mr. Miller; what do you say to a little tramp down to
the lake. Can you spare the time? "
"Yes, of course I can.  Wait till I speak with
Martha a moment. Then I'll take a pipe and join
you," said Miller, and off he went.
Templeton and Mary were left to themselves and
withdrew to the parlor, where Mary took her seat at
the piano and sang.
Her voice was very sweet and true.
She was especially fond of singing " The Wanderer," and Templeton was especially fond of hearing
it.
He rather liked the girl.
She was pretty, graceful, good.
She made no concealment of her regard for him,
and he knew he had but to say the word, and she
would go or stay, fly to the end of the world with him
or wait his time for an honorable and happy union.
But that word he had never spoken.
And Miller's warning had convinced him that to
speak it and not mean it, would involve hinm in a quar.
rel with a man who would butcher him as readily




230        BEWARE, POOR GIRL.
and uncQncernedly as he would an ox. So he deter.
mined not to speak it.
And- the poor girl gave her heart to a man who
not only did not want it, but was afraid to take
it.




CHAPTER XXXII.
FOREWARNED FOREARMED.
ILLER rejoined Templeton after half an
hour's absence and together they walked towards the lake.  Miller puffed vigorously
at his pipe, but did not speak. And Templeton, who
was greatly embarrassed by his equivocal position with
Mary, limped very gingerly, as he blew great smoky
rings from underneath his long moustache.
Martha had shown Mr. Delaney's letter to her father
and read it to him as she sat upon his knee.
The old fellow had a soft heart for his children and
he assented at once to her desire.
But what a vision rose up before him.
His own daughter cheated by himself!
Her husband, the real Harry Russell, swindled out
of home and property and love by the rascality of her
own father!
A liar and pretender seated in the chair which of
right belongs to Martha's husband! and he the instru.
ment by which the infamy was done!




232            F ORE WARNED.
Even Miller was disconcerted. He had no fear of
Templeton, but he had given his mind to accomplish
a certain end, —had taken pay for it. HIe was not
responsible for the curious combination- of circunmstances attending the case. ButOh, those "buts."
"'What shall I do?" thought Miller.
" Martha loves and will marry Mr. Delaney. It is
only necessary now, to complete the extraordinary
drama, tar Mary to love and marry Templeton.
"Sooner or later it will all come out.' Well, what if it does?
"The girls love each other and the lucky one will
take care of the other."
But the more Miller thought, the more complicated
matters became.
The entanglements seemed endless.
He could get no aid from Templeton. He had
tried him before. Whatever Miller suggested, Templeton would carry into effect; but his mind was
not fertile and his inventive faculty was undeveloped.
Finally, Miller knocked the ashes out of his pipe,
filled up, lighted, puffed, and then said: "Templeton, we're in a bad box; but it's a wise father who
knows his own son, and I hojle for the best. You
know I have all along had my fears that Delaney
would be in our way, so I investigated him. I believe,




FORE WARNED.                  233
as firmly as I believe we live, that Delaney is Russell's
SOn."
"The devil!" said Templeton.
" Yes, and all his angels," said Miller; "and if I
only knew for certain, that he had lost his toe, I'd
swear that he is Harry Russell. But, as you know, I
have been busy in our matter, and this afternoon I
followed up my Templeton suggestion, by giving MI.
Russell a report of your having gone to Nassau, of
our Chief's writing to the consul there, and so on. He
took it hard. He doesn't like you. His wife doesn't
like you. And the daughter is worse than either of'em.
Still, he seems to be a square kind of a man, and if it
turns out to his satisfaction, toe and all, that you are his
son, in you go, and time must take care of the rest."
"Well, I don't see any very'bad box' so far," said
Templeton.
1" Of course you don't, because I haven't shown it to
you yet. The'bad box' is made up of two important
facts; their dislike of you, and their acquaintance with
Robert Delaney."
"Whew i I see," said Templeton.
"And if to that," continued Miller, 1" they shouldc
in any particular distrust me, why up goes the sponge
and the jig is over."
"Well, what's to be done? " asked Templeton.
"My idea is this. You go to New York, and stay
there for about a week.  On the arrival of a steamel




234            FORE WA RNED.
from Nassau, have the papers announce the arrival of
Lieut. William Templeton, U. S. N., at some first-class
hotel. I'll show that to Mr. Russell, and at the same
time I'll have a copy of a letter from the Consul to our
Chief giving a good account of you, and telling all we'
want to know, except the toe. That we'll keep for a
grand sensation. You can take the Pacific express
to-morrow morning at ten, and from that on we must
trust to luck, and stare fate in the face."
"All right, Miller," said Templeton; " you are a'brick,' and ten to one we'll come out ahead in this
matter yet. But how about Hardy? I understood
from a paragraph in last night's paper that he was not
doing well; had had a relapse or something."
"I don't know," replied Miller, "about that. I do
know, however, that it's a mighty fortunate thing for us,
that we have not had another smart fellow to bother.
Why, he might have upset the whole affair, if he had
been with me all the time. As it is, I never hear him
mentioned without a shudder."
And so talking, these two worthies gradually neared
the house, and were about entering when suddenly
Miller stopped.
Catching his companion by the arm, he said:
"Templeton, you know I like you, but, I don't value
your whole carcase, soul included, as much as the
least of the hairs of Mary's head. I have seen with
somle dread her regard for you; for I know you, root




FORE WARNRED.                235
and branch. Still, if you are serious and the girl insists
upon it I won't stand in your way.  But —" and here
Miller drew nearer to Templeton's ear, "if you are nzot
serious, and aught of hlarnl befals my girl, expect no
mercy from me.  I'd shoot you like a dog."
Templeton endeavored to laugh and speak freely,
but he failed.
He knew it, and Miller knew it.
The rest of the evening was passed pleasantly in the
parlor, but Templeton retired first, instead of waiting
as his custom was, until Miller and Martha had gone,
that he might steal a farewell kiss from Mary.




CHAPTER XXXIII.
TWO PLAYING AT THE SAME GAME, ONE BADLY
BEATEN.
OHN HARDY'S arrival was an event in the
hotel life of the Russell family.
Though not entirely strong, the young
man was able to walk from the hospital door to the
carriage, and when Mr. Russell offered assistance to
help him up stairs at the hotel, it was declined as uni:
necessary.
A pleasant room adjoining Mr. Russell's suime had
been engaged for Hardy under the name of Wilson,
by which name he was to make the acquaintance of
Miller.
Mrs. Russell and Maud had placed flowers on the
table, and given to the room as home-like an air as
was possible; but Hardy needed no other charm than
that of the kindly grasp of the hand, and the undis-,guised delight in the countenance of every member of
the little family, of whom for a brief period he was now
to be part.




BAD)L Y BEA TEN.             23 7
Hardy's mind was active, and worked rapidly. He
had devoted much thought to the complication as reported by Mr. Russell at their last interview, and
confessed himself embarrassed.
"If it can be proven that William Templeton was
the identical Bob Delaney, what right," thought Hardy,
"have I to throw discredit upon him?
"And if detective Miller has really done a good
piece of work while I was laid up at the hospital, what
right have I to appear as a marplot and upset all his
operations?"
John Hardy was honest, as well as clever, but in
this it would seem as if he were more honest than
bright.
What if Templeton was Delaney?
Did that necessarily establish him as Harry Russell?
Old Miller thought further ahead than Hardy in
this matter, although it will be remembered that, as
yet, Hardy had never -heard anything about an
identification by means of the loss of a toe.
" Now, Hardy," began Mr. Russell, after they had
talked over the hospital for the hundredth time,
" Miller will be here this evening, and he expects me
to give him my conclusion about Templeton. I will
introduce you as my friend from Liverpool, Mr. George
Wilson, button-maker, and as Miller goes on, you
make up your mind. All you have to do is to indicate
your ideas, and I'll follow them out to the letter. Mind




238            BADL Y BEA TEN.
you. I want to do the correct thing by every one.
If I have wrongedTempleton, I'll make amends-but
I haven't."
Not long after this, Miller was announced. Mr. Russell introduced Hardy as an intimate friend from
Liverpool, who being familiar with the whole story
would make one of the council, on the occasion.
The two detectives looked at each other well.
Hardy was rather pleased with Miller's offhand way,
and Miller saw swiftly a handsome-featured, well-built,
honest-appearing youth, who looked straight out of
his eyes, evidently afraid of nothing.
"Mr. Russell has been telling me of your success,
Mr. Miller," said Hardy, "in tracing up little Bob Delaney, and of the most extraordinary coincidence
that he should prove, probably, to be Mr. Templeton,
a former fellow-passenger of his. Would you mind
giving me, in detail, the plan you pursued? It must
be very interesting, and I am sure it is most creditable
to your ingenuity and skill as an officer."
Miller longed for his pipe.
It was difficult for him to think clearly without a
pipe, and his lies were halting unless his head was
enveloped in smoke.
But he was an experienced sinner.
A shrewd old fellow, whose game was honesty.
Looking from Hardy to the ladies, and then at Mi.
Russell, Miller said: " Oh, I don't know about the in




BADL Y BEA TEN.              23 9
genuity, Mr. Wilson. It didn't require such an awful
amount of headwork to find out that old Delaney
had moved away. Then by tracking his old companions, and mine, I heard he was sent back to New York.
Good luck helped me to the fact that the boy he had
with him was shipped on an eastward-bound vessel,
and the hospital record told the rest.  It is a simple
matter of fact, sir. We'can't prove it by seeing the
boy grow, but we can do what is just as good. We
trace him by means of official documents to the date
of his adoption, and from  that moment the high
school, college, and the navy stand as unimpeachable witnesses."'Have you kept any memorandum of dates? " asked Hardy.
" Only in my head," replied Miller.
" Then this boy's name was -"
"Mr. Robert Delaney is below, sir, and asks if you
are engaged," said a servant at the door.
" Mr. Robert Delaney? " said Hardy, springing to
his feet; " surely not Templeton?"
Miller felt as if the floor was sinking from under his
feet.
And Mr. Russell for the first time thought of the
identity of the names of his young clerical friend,
and the little Bob Delaney of his search.
For a moment there was danger of a scene, but
Hardy recovered himself almost immediately, as did




240            BADL~ Y BEA T7EN.
Miller! Mr. Russell turning to his wife said: " I think
you had better see Mr. Delaney in the parlor below,
mother. Tell him we are very busy. He won't stay
long, for he has a service, I am quite sure, at half-past
s;even."'
" Excuse me, Mr. Russell," said Hardy; " why not
ask Mr. Delaney here? If his name is Robert Delaney perhaps he can tell us something about:Bob
Delaney-and at all events I wish you would ask him
lip.)
Miller said nothing, but he thought a great deal.
As yet he had no suspicion of Hardy's real business.
But he was fast growing to dislike him and to desire to avoid hilm.
Mr. Russell directed the waiter to show Mr. Delaney to their parlor, and presently the young clergyman
appeared, bright-faced and cordial in his bearing.
H-e was glad to see the Russells and showed it.
He was surprised, however, to see Miller, and he
showed that.
Mr. Russell it will be remembered had spoken of
Hardy to Mr. Delaney and had promised himself
much pleasure in bringing the young men together.
But it was obviously impossible for him to present
Hardy by his own name to Mr. Delaney while Miller
was in the room; so he simply introduced the two,
Hardy responding to the name of Wilson.
All they needed to complete the party was Tern




BADL Y BEA TEN.              24I
pleton —but he was on his way to New York as fast
as steam and wheels could take him.l
While Mr. Russell was for a few moments engaged
in welcoming Mr. Delaney, and with the ladies formed
a temporary group in the center of the room, Miller
occupied himnself in preparing for a retreat; and Hardy
from his vantage ground made an estimate of his Chicago comrade.
Miller saw the dangerous ground on which he stood
and determined to hold it only so long as it was wise
to do so; resolving if any exposure should suddenly
be made, to affect as great surprise as any, and to be
as profoundly indignant as the best of them.
Hardy was troubled.
He felt distrust of Miller without knowing why, and
believing Templeton to be a schemer and an adventurer, was resolved to trust him in nothing that was
not proved to a mathematical certainty.
When they were all seated Mr. Russell said: " Do
you know, Mr. Delaney, we were just tallking about'"Bob Delarey' when the servant announced your
namne."
The clergyman looked astonished at what appeared
a rather pronounced and unaccustomed liberty with
his name, and smilingly replied:' Well, sir, I hope
Bob Delaney was treated with all due respect. You
mustn't forget that I am in my new house now, with
at least a full cubit added to mly stature."
II




242            BA~DL Y BEA TEN.
This pleasantry did not meet with the expected recognition, and Mr. Delaney became so evidently confused, that Hardy, with his characteristic disregard of
conventionalisms said: " Excuse me, Mr. Delaney, if
at the risk of seeming over-curious, I ask you a question or two, bearing directly on the happiness of Mr.
Russell."
Mr. Delaney bowed.
Miller sat as quiet as a cat.
"Your name is Robert Delaney. Has it always
been so? "
"Certainly," replied the clergyman.
"Are you a native of Chicago? "
" That I cannot answer, but I have lived here since
I was a boy. My history is well known to my fellowcitizens."
"Is there any uncertainty or mystery about your
birth or early childhood?"
"None, that I am aware of."
"Is your father living  "
"No. He died here many years since. IHe was a
builder and fell —"
"' A what? " shouted Hardy; "a buizlder?"  " Mr.
Russell, do you hear that?  A builder?  And his
name, what was that?"
"James Delaney," answered the clergyman, half
bewildered and wholly surprised.
"Thank God! thank God!" said Hardy.  "Why,




BADL Y BEA TEN.              243
Mir. Miller, your man Templeton is a liar, and a fraud
and a scoundrel, sir. I know it. I can prove it.  I
have felt it in my bones from the first. Now I know
it."
"And you," said Miller, utterly disconcerted; " for
Heaven's sake who, and what are you? "
"I," rejoined Hardy; c" I am John Hardy of the
New York office, at your service, Mr. Miller, and I
only hope I shall find in you as square a man as I try
to be."
Words fail in the attempt to picture the overwhelming gratification of Mr. Russell, the sympathizing and
admiring glances of Mrs. Russell and Maud, the helpless curiosity of Mr. Delaney, and the consternation
of Miller.
" I hope," stammered out Miller, "you don't for a
moment imagine that I"" Oh, I don't imagine anything," interrupted
Hardy; " imagination is very well in its way, but
what we want is faczs. I know this fellow Templeton, root and branch. He tried to bribe me in
New York, and I expected to cross his trail here. I
must say he played a pretty bold game, and if he deceived you, he is a clever fellow indeed. But how is
it that you never heard of Mr. Delaney? "
"Well, that is good," said Mr. Delaney, who was
still in the dark.  "Mr. Miller has known me, and of
me, these twenty years, and his home is one or my




244            BADL Y BE A TEA.
resorts. And by the way, Mr. Miller, this coincidence
of names is strange, is it not?  I was telling the ladies
the other evening, that your pretty Mary is betrothed
to a gentleman by the name of Russell, Harry Russell
is it not?  And here I am "Hardy could keep quiet no longer. Impetuously
he broke in on the unfinished sentence with " Mr.
Miller, you are an older man than I, and possibly a
better officer, but my position in this matter ranks
yours. You may consider yourself relieved until I
have seen your Chief. I will call on him to-morrow,
and I promise you then a full investigation of this
most extraordinary case.  If the result is satisfactory,
I will apologize to you for my suspicion; as it is now,
I cannot advise Mr. Russell to treat you with further
confidence."
Miller was a man of the world, hardened, callous,
and indifferent to opinion, but the fiery indignation
of the young officer, cut him to the quick.
But he showed no feeling whatever. Taking his
hat, he said: " I will see you, Mr. Wilson, or Hardy,
or whatever your name may be, at the office to-morrow; and if you think you've seen and heard the last
of' One-eyed Charley,' you mistake your man."
As Miller went out Hardy stepped up to him and
quietly said: "Take my advice, and make a clean
breast of it. I know Templeton, and I know you.
Good-night."




BADL Y BEA TEN.              245
After Miller's departure, explanations were made,
and Mr. Delaney repeated the story of his boyhood,
his father's habits and terrible death, and his general
life as known to the reader.
The early hours of the following day, found the three
men still in consultation, and when they separated it
was understood:
That Mr. Delaney was little " Bob " grown up;
That he was undeniably the son of James Delaney,
the builder;
That therefore little Bob and Harry Russell, were
not identical;
That Mr. Delaney's love for Martha Miller should
screen the lady's father from exposure and disgrace, on
condition that he laid bare Templeton's programme;
for although there was no proof as yet, that Miller
had ever seen Temipleton, it was evident that
the two were working together to establish the
Lieutenant as little Bob, and doubtless to continue
the deception down to the very door of the Russell
home.
Mr. Delaney left Mr. Russell and Hardy together,
the one down-hearted because his time was wasted,
and nothing gained; the latter weary and fatigued, but
thankful that he had been the means of breaking
up what he believed to be an atrocious conspiracy;
and happy too in the belief that he was not indifferent
to Maud, or her parents.




246            BAtDL Y BEA TEN.
It would be difficult to say, what Mr. Russell dream.
ed of that night.
But Hardy dreamed of fairy land, with Maud as
queen.




CHAPTER XXXIV.
A SOFT ANSWER TURNS AWAY WRATH.
ARLY on the following morning, Monday,
Mi[aud, who was a perfect kitten with her
mother, drew a small footstool near Mrs.
Russell's chair in their parlor, and resting her folded
hands upon that good lady's knee, looked up in her
face, and said: "'Mamma, papa is very angry with
Miller, isn't he?"
" Yes, dear, I think he is; why not?"' And is he angry at Templeton, too? "
"That depends.  Mr Hardy intimates that he has
reason to believe Templeton to be, not only an unprincipled person, but a plotter against your father of
the meanest description. After retiring last night
father was very nervous. He could not sleep, and
seeing how excited he was, I canvassed the whole
affair with himl. He trusts, as I do, everything to
Hardy, and will undoubtedly be guided entirely by
him. It now looks as if we should all go back to New
York immediately. This time is all lost, and instead




248           A SOFT ANSWELR.
of gaining any good, we seem to have had simply an.
noyance and distress."
" You surely do not regret meeting Mr. Delaney,"
said Maud, " and one would think Hardy was one of
us, I am sure. I declare he is like an own brother to
me,-only more respectful. But do you think Mr.
Hardy will do anything dreadful to Templeton?"
" You silly girl," replied Mrs. Russell; " you surely
cannot have a particle of feeling for a man, who-"
Maud stood straight up.
"Yes, mamma, I flave a feeling. I have just this
feeling, that I should hate above all things to have
William Templeton imagine for one single moment
that anything he might do, could cause my father one
second's annoyance. I would have him treated with
absolute contempt."
Mrs. Russell looked long and lovingly, at her excited
daughter, and then taking her hand, said: " My darling, I think we can safely leave all this dreadful business to your father and his adviser; but I promise
you, dear, that before any harsh proceedings are inaugurated, you shall know  of them, and nothin.g
shall be done which can in the remotest degree
affect you or put it in Templeton's power to think
his treatment of you, is the slightest motive in his disgrace."
Mr. Russell and John Hardy had been for sonme
time in the reading-room, where Hardy had gone for




A SOFT ANSWER.              249
the purpose of communicating with his headquarters
in New York.
As they entered, Mr. Russell noticed Maud's flush.
ed face, and with some anxiety, asked if she were not
feeling well.
The young girl kissed away her father's fear, and
extending her hand to Hardy, said: " Oh, Mr. Hardy,
what an angel you are! A perfect angel of deliverance. How stupid we all are. Papa is just as bad
as the rest of us. Why, do you know we met Mr.
Delaney at a party, and he talked, and walked with
me along time. We have been to his church, and his
card with that very name printed on it, has been in
my hands half a dozen times at least. And yet till
you fired it out at us, like a cannon ball, not one of
us even dreamed that there was the very man we
wanted."
"'And now we find he is the very man we don't
want," laughed Hardy.
" But a very fine fellow, for all that," said Mr. Russell.
"Yes, indeed he is," said Maud; "and a lovely
preacher. You ought to hear him. He never writes
a sermon. All he has is on a little bit of paper. But
he knows what to say, and how to say it."
"I was a little staggered, wasn't you, Mr. Russell,"
asked Hardy, " when he told us he was engaged to
one of old Miller's daughters, and thought he should
be mnarried in a short time?"
TT:*




250           A SOFT ANSWER.'" Yes, I was," replied Mr. Russell; " and it bothers
mne now."
" Why, father?" said his wife.
" Why, if Miller has been playing us false-as he
has-he deserves to be broken, and punished. I
trusted him. I turned myself inside out before him.
I made him welcome. I paid him well, and if he
cheated me-and he has-he has been not only wicked, but mean. Of course he should be exposed. Exposure means disgrace and ruin."
"Well," said Hardy.
"XVell, his daughters are good girls, I am told.
You know what Delaney says of them. And you
know what we all think of Delaney. Whatever hurts
Miller, hurts his children. And whatever hurts them
hurts Delaney. And what hurts Delaney, hurts me."
"~ Oh father, dear, dear father.  Who wouldn't be
fond of such a father," said Maud, and the impulsive
girl threw her arms about him, and kissed him again
and again.
Hardy looked on with interest. Everything about
Maud Russell charmed him. The affection she manifested for her parents was simlple and genuine. Her
kindliness was always apparent.  Her thoughtfulness
of others' comfort and happiness and ease never slept.
Happy to be of service to her, he said: " I think,
Miss Russell, it will be easy to manage Miller, so that
while his daughters shall be spared all. mortification,




A SOFT ANSWER.                 2 5
he can be useful to your father.  I gave him  an inti
mation last night, on which I think he will act.  If lie
thought fighting would bring him and his man Templeton safely through he would fight; but he must see,
and if he doesn't he will before we get through withl
him, that he has lost the game, and granting that, he
will be very apt to make terms as best as he can.  I
propose to say to hinm that if he will disclose the entire scheme, of which he is part, for his daughters'
sake, Mr. Russell will forgive his offense."
" But how about Templeton? " asked Mrs. Russell.
" WVell, Templeton has no daughter that I know of,
and he's not only bad, but a sneak," said Hardy.
" But what is gained by following these wretches?"
said Maud.
"' Why, daughter," said Mr. Russell, "are we still
tender on the Lieutenant; mlustn't we punish anybody?"
Mrs. Russell caught her husband's eye, and with a
glance, delivered a protest more eloquent than words
could express, and like a model man he changed his
tactics at once.
" Hardy," said he, " we will send for Miller and
conmpromise on your terms.  To-night we will go to
Parson Delaney's house-warlnin,, and see his pretty
bride, that is to be, and to-morrow start for New York.' Little Bob' we have found.' Little H-larry' is still
to be found.  We drop old Miller, push Templeton




252           A SOFT ANSWER.
from our thoughts, and make one final effort for my
boy. If we find him you shall go home with us, to see
the royal welcome he will have. And if we fail, why
then you mzlst go home with us, to rest yourself a
while and to comfort me."
Mrs. Russell and Maud went out to make some
purchases, their donations to the young pastor;
Hardy wrote and sent a note to Miller, requesting his
presence at the hotel; and M. Russell busied himself
with his correspondence.
As Hardy, having dispatched his message, turned
to go to his own room to rest, Mr. Russell rose, and
taking him  by the hand said: "Hardy, my boy,
don't think I am unmindful of your solicitude and
helpfulness. I am not a talker. I feel your kindness,
and am grateful for it. Be assured, young man, I
shall not forget it."




CHAPTER XXXV.
THE SURPRISERS SURPRISED.
~7ONDAY evening was memlorable in the life
of the Rev. Robert Delaney.
His parishioners had arranged a "' surprise
donation party " for hin, but, as is always the case,
the fact leaked out, and being somethingl of a wag.
the young parson thought he would meet his p)eople
on their own ground, and beat themn at their owl,
game.
The only invitations Mr. Delaney issued were to
the Russell family, and John Hardy, a clerical friend
and Charles Miller, the detective.
Each of these he asked, begging them on no account to be later than nine o'clock, and if possible to
reach the house half an hour earlier.
At eight o'clock the good folks began to arrive,
)bearing gifts of every sort and name, from the ponderous barrel of flour in an express wagon, to the delicate Parian vase in the fair hands of the giver. Eatables sufficient to I "keep" a ioderate-sized family an




254       7THE SURPRISED PARTY.
entire season were left at the basement door. Articles
of chamber utility and of parlor adornment were
handed in in marvellous abundance, while the study
and the bookcase were liberally remembered.
Mr. Russell and his party arrived early, and were
especially pleased at the unmistakable earnestness
and cordiality of the greetings between pastor and
people.' I tell you, mother," said Mr. Russell,
"that's the kind of a minister for me. He knows
every one of these people, and they love him like a
brother. No question about it, that young man will
do a power of good here. I wonder if he wouldn't
like to spend a few years with us."
The rooms were full, and Hardy was looking, with
Maud, at a beautiful edition of De Quincey, when Mr.
Delaney approached them, and said: " Mr. Hardy, I
understand you had a long and satisfactory talk with
Mr. Miller this afternoon."
"Yes, sir," replied Hardy; "and the old rascal
owned up like a brick. Mind you, I don't mean anything disrespectful to you in what I say about Miller.
Miller isn't his daughter by a long way. Yes, Miller
gave me some very important assistance, and I must
say I like the way he acted about Templeton.  He
owned up that he and Templeton put up this Bob
Delaney job, and said if it hadn't been for my noticing the similarity of the name with yours, ae would
have convinced not only Mr. Russell, but the ladies




THE SURPRISE PARTY.               25S
and perhaps myself, that Templeton really was little
Bob.  Beyond that confession he insisted it was not
fair to expect hi llto go.  I am convinced that in
some way he expected to connect little Bob with the
lost Harny; but how I could not divine.  For the
sake of Martna Miller, indeed I may say for your
sake, sir, Miller is as free to-day as you are. We
will do him no harm. And not only that, but I vol.
unteered the promise that if he would write such a
letter to Templeton as would scare the scoundrel
from New York, I would never mention to the chief
of police here our dissatisfaction or Miller's infidelity."
"I am very thankful to you, I am sure," said Mir.
Delaney.  " I have prepared a little surprise for Miller and for all my guests to-night, which I hope will
not be displeasing to you, to both of you, and if you
will kindly join Mr. and Mrs. Russell in the front parlor, you will have a better opportunity of understanding me."
Of course they went, Maud saying, as they passed
through the crowd of friends: "I think Mr. Delaney
is a very nice person, don't you?  I am almost sorry
he is not our Harry, after all."
Mrs. Russell had asked Mr. Delaney to present her
to Martha Miller, but he replied that neither she nor
her sister had arrived. Later in the evening Mrs.
Russell reminded her host of her request, and he made
the same reply.




256        THE S URPRISE PARTY.
When Hardy and Maud joined Mr. and Mrs. Rus
sell, the latter said to Harly: " Have you seen either
of Miller's daughters, Mr. Hardy? I want very much
to meet them, and especially Miss Martha. She is
Mr. Delaney's betrothed, you know, and he seems
very proud of her."
"Well, yes, I should say I do know it," said Hardy,
" considering it has altered all my plans, saved Miller,
and kept Templeton out of jail. I am free to confess I would like to see what kind of a daughter such
a father can have."
Mr. Russell kept suspiciously quiet.  He had had
a long conversation with Mr. Delaney quite early in
the evening, and had been very thoughtful ever since;
so much so that both Maud and her mother rallied
him on his absentmindedness.
Precisely at nine o'clock the door opening into the
hall near the front door swung on its hinges, and four
beautiful girls, of whom Mary Miller was one, entered,
separating two by two, as they semi-circled at the
end of the room, while Martha Miller, leaning on
the arm of Robert Delaney took her place in the
centre.
So complete was the surprise of everybody in the
room, that no one noticed the entrance of the brother minister, nor of old Miller, who quietly took a position near the door.
Mr. Russell enjoyed the scene immensely. To




THE SURPRRSE PARTY.              25 7
him alone the secret had been confided, and only to
him on Miller's account.
WelJ, a bride is a bride, even if she weds a clergy.
man.
And a wedding is a wedding, be it in a garret or
castle.
It was soon over.
But the night was far spent ere the congratulations
were over, and the house was emptied of all but the
bride and grooml, their sister Mary, and old Miller.
The old nman Cwas rather out of bis element, but as
Mary and lie rose to bid Delaney and his wife goodnight, Miller swung his hat in his hand, and said:
" Robert, from this hour you shall have no cause for
uneasiness about me or mine. I shall resign mly position to-morrow. Mary tells me she muzst have a
change of scene. So must I. These girls are all I
cared for in life. To them  I now add you. God
bless you. In a little while, a few days at most, Mary
and I go west for a tramp.  I don't know but we'll
take in California and the Sandwich Islands —anvwhere and anything to please her and change myself.
So don't worry, Martha; you've got a good husband.
Good-night, and God bless you."
The girls hung about their father's neck and kissed
him, while Robert Delaney grasped his hand, and
bade him always be sure of a hearty welcome in the
home of his son and daughter.




CHAPTER XXXVI.
WALKING DOWN BROADWAY.
HE Russells had returned to New York
some two weeks, when John Hardy, whc
had left them at Chicago, for a few days' visit
in Milwaukee, rejoined them.
"Well, Hardy," said Mr. Russell, after a few moments' natural inquiry, " what of the Millers, and how
is my friend Robert?"
" I called on Mr. Delaney the day I left," replied
Hardy, "and told him what you said about his going
over to your place for a month, and be promised to
lay the matter before his people. If they consent, he
will go; his church is out of debt, and he received
your generous offer to pay all expenses in precisely
the spirit you made it. He is a splendid fellow I
think, and that wife of his is just as nice as she can
be."
" And how about Mary Miller," said Mrs. Russell.
"Well, she's in trouble," said Hardy.  "II don't
understand exactly what it is. I only know that she is




WA4LK7ING DO yWN BR OAD W,4 Y.    259
now living with the Delaneys, and old Miller is fairly
wild about something, of which he won't speak. He
wrote to Templeton the day after the wedding, gave
him all the points, and advised him to leave the
country until your departure rendered it safe to
return. Miller had a terrible time with Mary, and
Delaney tells me the poor girl was frantic with grief,
when her father told her of her lover's perfidy. I
imagine he only told her part of it at that time.
Templeton has gone to South America, but before
he went, he wrote Mary a pretty rough kind of a
letter: not ugly, as men look at such things, but
killing to a woman. She drooped and faded, and was
very sick, and while she was hanging between life and
death, she told Mrs. Delaney something or other that
stirred old Miller up fearfully, and when I got back to
Chicago, the old man came to me with fire in his
eye and said he would come on with me, as he had
business with Templeton. I was rather surprised at
that and said,'IWhy, he's gone to South America;' to
which he replied,' He said he was going, but I would
not believe the scoundrel under oath. It's lucky for.Sim if he has gone.' So I infer that something pretty
bad has happened."; Oh, I am so sorry," said Maud.
" Yes, indeed," echoed her mother.
"Well, go on, go on," said Mr. Russell; "where
is Miller now?"




2 6Wo       W!LK~IVNG DO WVN BER OAD WA Y.
"1 sent him to French's Hotel, down by the City
Eall," said Hardy.  "He wanted to be at some cen.
tral point, and handy to the wharves. I don't know
what to do with him. I don't like him, but it doesn't
seem exactly fair to snub him. And then if I could
do anything for his daughter, I should be very glad."
"Yes, and we, too," said Mrs. Russell. " I suppose
you wouldn't care to see him, would you, father? "
"No. That is, unless Hardy thought I could be
of service to the girl.  I can't say I regard a man
wvho conspired against my heart and property, with
any special liking.  Hardy, you do what's best, and
I'll back you. Now, my boy, I have written to nmy
people, that I shall leave the States six weeks fron
to-day. Until then, we must strain every nerve for
the accomplishment of our purpose. And thenwell, if then there is no clue and no hope, I shall at
all events be relieved of a burden I have carried these
long, long years. I have done my duty. Would
that I had succeeded. And I have a little project
in my head about you, of which we will speak an..
other time. By the way, Hardy, don't you think it
would be well for -me to call on the Mayor, and thank
him for his comurtsey and letters?  I haven't seen
hiim since the first week of my arrival."
"Just as you please about that," said Hardy;'he's a nice old gentleman, very kind-hearted and
one of the regular old school."




WALKING DO0WNV BROAD WA Y.         26Y
"I suppose it will be necessary to send word sev
eral days in advance."
"Oh, no" said Hardy; "we'll jump on a car any
day and go right in. His office hours are supposed
to be from ten to three. There's no trouble about
seeing him yourself."
"Why can't we go somewhere this evening, papa,"
asked Maud.
"Where do you want to go, dear?"
"Oh, anywhere. What is going on, Mr. Hardy?"
Hardy looked at the paper, and after scanning its
amusement columns, said: " I see they are playing'LJed Astray' at the Union Square Theatre, right a
the foot of the square here. How would you like
that?"
"Well, I'm sure we've been led astray," said Mrs.
Russell, "suppose we go and see others in the same
predicament."
"Will you get seats, Hardy?" said Mr. Russell.
"Tickets for four, Mr. Hardy," said Maud.
Hardy looked quickly at Mr. Russell, who simply
smiled and said: " You did not suppose he would get
a dozen, did you, dear?"
"Why, no; but you know what I mean, papa," she
answered.
Mr. Russell thought he did know, but he held his
own counsel and said nothing.
Arranging to join the party at dinner, Hardy, whc




262     WALIZNVG.DOWN BROAD WA Y.
had become one of the family in the estimation of all,
bade them good-morning, and intimating to Mr. Russell to join him, left the room.
Mr. Russell followed, and together they walked
down to the theatre. There were no seats, and they
were compelled to take a box or nothing.
"Of all places in these New York theatres," said
Mr. Russell, "'the boxes are most uncomfortable.
Two people can see about two-thirds of the stage; and
the others are lucky, if they see a quarter."
"Well; I suppose people who sit in boxes, as a
rule, care more for the audience than the actors," suggested Hardy.
"What an idea," said Mr. Russell; "what do you
suppose I care about the audience?"
"The ladies might, if you didn't."
" Nonsense. If I thought my wife or Maud went
to the theatre to look at the people, I'd    "
"'You'd  let them  do just what they wanted,"
laughed Hardy.
"Yes, I dare say I would," said Mr. Russell.
"Where are you going now? "
"I was going down to the Central Office," said
Hardy; " but if you would like to call on the Mayor
now, I'll take you there."
"All right," said Mr. Russell; "but why not go
down Broadway instead of by the cars. I would very
much like to walk down part way at least."




WALK ICIVG D 0 WN BR OAD WA Y.     2 6 3
Taking the west side of New York's greatest high.
way, the two friends, arm in arm, proceeded down,
meeting scores of thousands of busy,bustling people,
rich and poor, wise and foolish, like the rest of the
world.
Hardy knew all the notables, and as they passed
pointed them out to his companion.' Here comes one of our Congressmlen," said he,
"he's a gambler now, and used to be a prize-fighter,
but he's one of our political powers to-day."
"You surely do not mean that a man can be in
Congress and be a gambler at the same time," said
Mr. Russell.
"Why, certainly," replied Ha.rdy; "why not?  You
see our city politics are curiously managed.  We
have two great parties, the Republican and the
Democratic. All the foreigners are' taken' with the
name of the latter, and make haste to join it. Some
of them are so delighted, that they not only join the
party, but vote at the polls before they've been
twelve months in the country."
"Bless my soul," said Mr. Russell.  " But they
rarely hold office I imagine, do they?"
"Your imagination does you discredit," said Hardy; "' they hold it all the time.  Look at the policemen we meet between this and the City Hall.  HIere
come three now. What are they?"
"Evidently Irishmen," said Mr. Russell.




264      I WALZING D O WN BR OAD WA Y.
" Prec.isely.  All Irish.  We have hosts of Irishmen
on the force."
" Do they make good officers?"
"That depends.  During the war riots, the police
acted nobly. It was feared that their sympathies for
the poor devils who were dragged off to the war, would
affect them in the performance of their duty.  But
not at all. They obeyed orders like soldiers. The
city was saved by their heroism."
" But your aldermen and so on, of course, as a rule,
they are natives."
"' Not at all. As a rule they are adopted citizens.
Aldermen as a general thing are not remarkable for
wit or honesty. Their stupidity is proverbial. Our
sheriff is an Irishman. The county clerk is a German.  Three of the coroners are German, and in all
our local boards-such as school trustees, excise
commissioners, ward officers and so on-the foreign
element is largely represented."
"How do you account for that?" said Mr. Russell.
" It seems very strange to me."
"Oh, easily," answered  Hardy; "the party in
power has all the;patronage,' as it is called. Patronage here means public employment.  The police,
the fire department, the parks, the public works,
the court officers, all are cursed by the same complaint. The party in-power wants all the places to
pay for services rendered at the polls. Thousands of




WALKING D)O WN BROAD WA Y.         265
laborers are paid two dollars a day on the boulevards
for instance, and every man of them has his work because some politician asked it. Why, even the policemen don't know from day to day how long they
are secure in their places."
"But doesn't the Mayor attend to-"
" The Mayor! " said Hardy; "' the Mayor has just
about as much to do with it as you have. He can't
make nor break a single employe of the entire city
government; not one of them, outside his individual
office, is at his disposal."
" But surely he controls the finances, and the man
who does that is in the seat of power?"
"Just so. If he controlled the finances. But he
controls nothing. Our financial chief is well called
the comptroller. When he is notified that bills are to
be paid or money expended, he makes out a warrant
and signs it. The Mayor countersigns it as a matter
of fbrm. He knows nothing about it. If he refuses
to sign it, the courts will compel him. I tell you the
Mayor is a perfect cipher. All he can do is to receive people, review processions, respond to toasts,
and be a respectable dummy figure-head. Do you see
that man, the tall one, on the corner? That's Lester
Wallack."
" Who is he?"
"Well, he owns the theatre I showed you on the
corner of 13th street. He is considered our best
12




266      W:ALKIzNG DO WN BR OAD WA Y.
American comedian, and is a great favorite in so.
ciety, as well as on the stage."
"He looks a manly fellow," said Mr. Russell; "is
he a New Yorker?"
" Oh, no. He's an Englishman, son of the great
Wallack, and a very fine man."
"What a solid, respectable-looking edifice that is i
What is it? " asked Mr. Russell.
"'That's Stewart's retail store. He has another
about as large further down town."
"Rich man, I suppose? "
"Well I should say so. He is reported as having
about $75,000,000.ooo"
"Bless my soul. Did he make or inherit it?"
"Made every dollar of it."
"Born here? "
"No. He's Irish, or Scotch-Irish I believe."
"It seems to me everything and everybody has a
touch of Irish or English in this town, Hardy."
"It does look so, I declare. Let's see; they are
playing either French, English or Irish pieces at
all the theatres. Nearly all our leading actors are
foreign. A majority of our politicians came from
County Cork, and nearly every beggar one meets
has a brogue on his tongue, or has left his h's at'ome.
" Those are fine photographs, Hardy. Let me take
the number of this place.  Maud was saying last




WALKING DOWN BROAD WA Y.            267
night she lmust have some pictures taken. Suppose
we step in a moment."
They looked at the collection in which Hardy pointed out Edwin Booth, President Grant, Governor Dix,
Mayor Havemeyer, Mrs. Scott Siddons, Miss Rose
Eytinge, Rev. H. W. Beecher, Miss Charlotte Cushiman, P1. T. Barnum, General Sherman, James Fisk, Jr.,
and other well known people, after which Mr. Russel engaged an hour for Mrs. Russell and daughter
the following day.
As they regained the street Hardy noticed the time
and said lie feared it would be too late to find the
Mayor at his office.
Mr. Russell was about replying when his eye caught
the figure of One-eyed Charley Miller.
Miller was walking rapidly on the opposite side of
the street.
His hat was pulled well down over his forehead, but
his figure and gait were unmistakable.
Hardy, without a word to Mr. Russell, ran after
Miller, and surprised him before he had time to think
or speak.
" Hallo, old man, where are you going in such a
hurry? " said Hardy.
Miller stopped short.
His hair was disordered, his eye was bloodshot, his
face unshaven, his linen soiled, his clothing untidy.
He was drunk.




268      WALKING DO WN BROAD WA Y.
"Hardy," said he; " damn you, Hardy, old fel; 1
like you. Say, Hardy, I want to get my flippers on that
Templeton.  Hardy, I'm drunk; and when I'm drunk
I know it. I don't stagger outside, and I don't stagger inside. Where's Russell, Hardy? I like Russell.
Let's get a drink."
Mr. Russell crossed the street and was approaching the two, but Hardy motioned him away and he
retired to a doorway, where he could see what occurred.
Hardy was very anxious to get from Miller the
whole of Templeton's plan, and this he believed to be
a good time to do so. He hailed a couzpe and pulling
Miller in, told the man to drive to police headquarters,
and jumped in himself. And so, for a second time,
Mr. Russell was unceremoniously left to find his way
home alone.




CHAPTER XXXVII.
JOHN AND MAUD.
T the dinner table, Mr. Russell complained
of headache, and told his wife he would
have to be excused from going with her to
the theatre, and that she and Maud must depend on
Hardy for an escort.
While they were discussing the matter, Hardy came
in, and Mrs. Russell said: "Mr. Hardy, we old folks
will stay at home together to-night. You take Maud
to the theatre; she is very anxious to go, and I am
very glad I have so trusty a friend to send her with."
" I shall be very glad to escort Miss Maud, I am
sure," said Hardy, "but I think you make a mistake
in not going."
" Oh, I have a bad headache, Hardy," said Mr.
Russell, "' and I'm not going. So you just take good
care of Maud, and be sure to let me see you early in
the morning. Where did you leave your friend? "
"Oh, he's all right," replied Hardy; " I left him fast
asleep at headquarters in the matron's apartments.




270         yOHA  AND MA UD.
He will be brought to my room in the morning; and,
by the way, suppose you look in about noon. You
know the way, don't you?"
"All right, I will," said Mr. Russell, as they rose
from the table, and Maud retired to dress.
Presently returning, the pride and pet of the happy
pair, Maaud kissed her father and mother good-by,
and gay as a lark, started off with the happiest and
proudest of them all-John Hardy, her lover yet un
announced.
The beautiful theatre was crowded, every seat being taken, and the audience peculiarly bright and gay
In the orchestra stalls sat many people -of repute,
known personally or by sight to Hardy, and the time
passed quickly as they waited for the rising of the
curtain.
The play was full of suggestive points, all of which
Hardy felt; some of which made Maud wonder.
At the close of the second act, Maud was in ecstasies. She had not often attended theatrical representations, and the excitement told upon her. She was
bewilderingly beautiful, and many a glass was turned
full upon her flushed and innocent face, as unconscious of the attention she looked out upon the
people.
"Your father asked me to engage rooms on the
steamer to-day," said Hardy.
"I know it," said Maud; " I am very sorry. A




70 IN AND MA UD.              271z
month will give us very little time here. I am just
beginning to know New York, and I wanted to see
Niagara before we went home. You don't know how
pleasant it is, to have you with us, Mr. Hardy.I
Mamma said to-day, she should miss you awfully
when we part."
" And you? "
" Oh, you know I shall. I am sure you have been
better to me than any brother. From.the dreadful
hour when you saved me from injury, if not from death,
you have been even more than a brother could be."
"I wish I might. That is, I wish it were possible
for me to be where I might always be of service to you,
Miss Maud. The kindness and sympathy shown me
by your father touch me very nearly, I assure you,
and when he goes, I shall feel as if the world were
dark indeed."
"' But papa says you are going over with us," said
Maud.  "He says you need rest, and he's going to
get it for you. You won't spoil all our plans, will
you? Say you won't, please."
Hardy said nothing. He loved the girl devotedly,
but he loved her honorably.  He would have given
ten years of his life to feel that he had the right to woo
her, but he feared it would not be fair towards the
parents who trusted him.
" Well, I declare, Mr. Hardy," said Maud, " you are
as sober as a judge. Why don't you answer me? "




272         7OHN AND MA UD.
" Really, I cannot. I don't know that I can get
leave of absence, and besides, I-"
"You what? I believe my soul there's something
romantic in all this. It isn't pretty Mary Miller, is it? "
And Maud laughed merrily as she asked the question.
" Come, come, Mr. Hardy, I'll tell papa if you don't
entertain me. Is there a lady in the case?"
"Yes, a dear sweet lady, the dearest, and sweetest
in the world."
"And won't she let you go to Europe?"
Hardy looked at her.
He loved her, and he hoped she knew it, although
he had never said it.
He was sitting at her side, but back so that he
neither saw the audience, nor could be seen by it.
Maud turned toward Hardy and he, impulsive in
spite of his caution, took her hand firmly in his and
with an earnestness too marked to be trifled with
said: "Maud, you are that lady. For you I have
perilled life, but it was as nothing. -I have loved you
since we met. I hated and pursued that scoundrel
because he was playing with your love. I began to
take a deep interest in serving your father, because I
loved you, though in the service I grew to love him.
To please you is my ambition, to win you would be a
reward of which at least I have a right to think, if not
to hope for. You are dearer to me than life. Your




7OZIN  AND MA UD.            2 73
love I would prize above all earthly blessings. Am I
rash in telling you this? Do I offend? I would not
have spoken had I counselled of my pride, but asking
Love, I dared to speak. May I have hope? "
Maud's color came and died away. She knew that
Hardy's manliness was as honest and trustworthy as
that of her father.
She respected, esteemed, admired him, but did she
love him?
She allowed her hand to remain in his for a moment.
Then smiling sweetly she withdrew it, and said:
"Thank you, Mr. Hardy. I thank you. You have
neither annoyed nor offended me. I will tell you
more when we leave this place."
" But may I hope?"
" Yes, hope. "
" I will speak to your father to-morrow. I will tell
him of mly love for you. I will beg him to lay aside
his prejudice. I will-"
"Will you go home with us? "
" Yes, to the end of the earth."
The play proceeded on the stage and when the curtain fell on the final scene, so near as we can judge,
the dramatic unities both in front and behind the
footlights were in a remarkable state of harmony.
Maud and Hardy walked slowly back to the hotel
-he an accepted lover, she a hopeful, happy girl.
12*




CHAPTER  XXXVIII.
AT LAST. AT LAST.
HE next morning Hardy was up bright and
early, at peace with himself and all the
He was in love with Mlaud, and she with him.
What more could man desire?
What more?
Oh, //ta/ it was that made him ponder the past, consider the present and forecast the future.
In the past he saw the son of a scavenger.
In the present he beheld a detective police officer.
And in the future-what?
Would Mr. Russell, rich, influential, stern  and
proud, give the hand of his daughter to a man whose
hundreds of dollars numbered less than his own scores
of thousands?
And Mrs. Russell, kind and indulgent as she always
was, would it be possible to induce her to so great a
sacrifice?
These and kindred questions sobered his elated




AT LAST.                 275
heart and toned down his buoyant spirit, until apprehension took the place of peace, and doubt reigned
supreme in the young man's mind.
He had no fear as to Maud.
Before he parted from her at the hotel she had
given him ample assurance of her love, and together
they had planned that the best way to approach Mr.
Russell was through his wife.
That Maud undertook to do.
The dear girl knew that her mother's heart was
bound up in her happiness, and that once a party to
her daughter's project, nothing could turn or swerve
her from her purpose.
Hardy lived in lodgings and took his meals at an
adjacent restaurant. On this occasion he breakfasted unusually early, so that when old Miller was
brought to his rooms he would be sure to be at home.
Having read the papers, Hardy naturally thought
about Maud.
And that led him to think of his mother and of a
picture he had of her, which he had promised to show
to lMaud.
He took the fading daguerreotype from its place on
the mantel, and looked long and lovingly at the seamned
and wrinkled face disclosed. It was not a handsome
face, but it was his mother's. How well he remembered her kind care and thoughtful ways. She was
always very fond of him, and shared her husband's




276              AT LAST.
pride in all his progress at school.  And when he
grew tall and manly, and began to bring home the
fruits of his industry, her old eyes often filled with tears
of gratitude, and her trembling lips uttered many prayers of thanks that the boy of her love was not like the
rude and reckless companions of his age.
Her old-fashioned, nail-studded, hair-covw:led trunk
stood in one corner of Hardy's room.
Years ago he had opened it once and 3aw bundles
and books, and papers and letters, none of which he
looked at.
Miller had not yet arrived, arnd the thought occurred to Hardy that this was a good time f6r
him  to empty the trunk, examine its contents,
throw away the useless matter, and rearrange the
rest.
Suiting the action to the thought, he hauled the
trunk from its corner, opened it, and turned its contents on the bed.
As he did so, a knock was heard at the door.
" Come in," said Hardy.
"All right," said a voice, and in walked " One-eyed
Miller."
"They were going to send a' cop' round with me,"
said lie; "but when they told me the way, I found
it myself; and here. am, as straight as a ruler, but I
want a pipe."
"I am glad to see you, Miller," said Hardy; "you




AT LAST.                  277
were seedy enough yesterday.  Why, how nice you
look. Been to a barber's?"
"Yes," said Miller, as he puffed fast and strong.
" Yes, I wanted to see the old man and make it all
right. I don't worry much about nmy conscience, you
know, but Mary and Martha have been at me about
it, till it seemed as if there was a little hell inside of
me. I can't find that infernal scoundrel of a Temlpleton, with his black eye and curly hair. I'd Templeton him so quick, he wouldn't know which end he
stood on if I had a chance at him. What are you doing with that kit of papers? Heavens, what a lot of
letters   1  hate letters. That is, all but the girls' letters. Every letter mly girls ever wrote to me, I've
got, and some of them are very good, I tell you."
If Miller had blustered, Hardy would have met
him.
If he had commenced to lie, Hardy would have
humored him.
As it was, Miller was fast making a conquest.
Hardy knew enough of Miller's daughters to convince
him that, prior to Templeton's advent, their home was
happy and they contented.  And he now knew that
in some way Templeton had not only endeavored to
deceive and practice fraud on Mr. Russell, but had
done, through Mary, a great wrong to old Miller
himself.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, while Miller took a




278             AT LAST.
chair, Hardy said: " Miller, if I had gone into this
job for money, and had been successful, I would have
made a fortune.  As it is, if my own interest was all
I thought of, I might haul in a very big pile. You
know enough of men in general, and of Mr. Russell
especially, to see that. And you have done enough
business with me to know that I am a man who deals
on the square, and tells the truth. I not only haven't
made a dollar out of this, but I don't intend to. Mr.
Russell was not sanguine at the first, and to do him
justice, he always agreed with me that the Bob
Delaney boy was much more likely to be Bob
Delaney than Harry Russell. Still, the search haq
done the old man a benefit; it has relieved his mind,
He has done all he could, and that's all any man can
be asked to do. / had a chance to go in with Templeton; the same you had. I didn't bluff him at first,
I let him go on, and if I hadn't found him at the
Tombs, trying to honeyfugle mother Foster, I think
I should have given him just rope enough to hang
himself with. Then he tried it on you, and I make
no bones of telling you, you played a deucedly dirty
trick on one of the best men living. And besidesbut, never mind, we won't go into that."
" No," said Miller. "You're right; it was a mean
game, but let bygones be bygones, I'm willing."
Hardy laughed, and went on:
"Of course you are. Now, you have done the.




AT LAST.                 279
square thing by us because you had to, and you must
admit that you've only done it as far as you were
forced to; don't you think you would do a better
thing if you were to tell me the whole plot from end
to end? It won't harm you; it may lead to the punishment of Templeton."
As Hardy finished the sentence, he rose from the
bed on which he was sitting, intending to lower a curtain, so as to shut out the sun, which shone directly
in his face. As he did so, his foot tripped on the top
of the trunk as it lay on the floor, and to save himself he caught quickly at the coverlid of the bed.
This disarranged the bundles and papers, some of
which were thrown upon the floor.
Miller assisted Hardy in picking them up, and as
he did so, said: "Hallo, Hardy, what's this? Here's a
bundle all tied up and sealed up as if it was a mullmmy.
I declare, I haven't seen so much sealing wax since
I was a boy. Seems to me you're not over careful
of your jewelry."
Miller pitched the package to Hardy, who was
about to place it with the rest, when he saw in his
mother's cramped and awkward hand, his own name,
written on the paper.
The bundle was soft, and apparently contained
clothing.
Miller eyed him curiously.
"Why don't you open it? " said he.




280                AT LAST.
Hardy said nothing, but felt of the package from
end to end.
Then taking his knife from his pocket, he cut the
strings.
Inside the paper was a roll of clothing, and a letter
addressed
" JOHN HARDY,
"New York.
" If dead, destroy this."
Hardy was astounded.
For years that trunk had been under his very eye.
He had opened it but twice since it came in his
possession.
Its contents he had never looked at nor cared for,
although he had now and then thought he would at
some time clean out the rubbish, and preserve whatever was worth keeping.
Yet in that trunk was a letter from the dearest
mother man ever had.
He loved her living, and he loved her dead.
She had been so much to him that he never thought
of her without a smile or a tear; and yet for years
within reach of his hand had been this letter.
"Why, Miller," said he, " this is mother's. This
letter's from mother. What can it be? Why have I
never seen it before? I want to read it, yet I do
not. Here, you read it. No, give it to me. What an
idea I Bless her heart! That's her picture, Miller.




AT LAST.                 28I
Bless her heart! She was just the best mother boy
or man ever had. I'll read the letter."
Forgetting Miller and all else besides, Hardy opened the carefully sealed envelope, and read aloud as
follows:
"MY OWN DEAR JACK" God grant you may never see these lines. Your
mother loves you, Jacky, my boy; loves you, loves
you. I am going to write something because I ought
to, and not because I want to. I am getting old, and
it won't be long before I go to meet him you used to
call your daddy. My conscience is heavy, Jacky.
My conscience makes me do this. I don't write it
for you, I only write it because my conscience makes
me. Don't think your old mother doesn't love you,
boy. Don't think your daddy didn't. You know we
did, and this minute, Jacky, you are sleeping where I
hear you breathe; and this minute I kissed your forehead as you slept. Jacky, you are not my sol. Don't
be angry, dear. You are my own dear boy all the
same, and I love you just the same. But you are not
my son. We had a little fellow, too sweet to stay
here long; and one day, these many, many years ago,
your father brought you home.' Here, dear,' said he,'I've found anothler for you,' and you came right in
my heart at once.  He. found you in the sewere, dear.
He was out with his bag, and as he looked in the




282              A7T LAST.
great hole at the foot of the City Hall Park, he heard
a cry. He was a good man. He got you out. He
brought you home. You cried for' mamma,' and you
called for' papa,' but you were young, Jacky, dear, and
such a pretty boy, I could not let you go. Next day,'
dear, we dressed you in our little Jacky's clothes,
and tried to coax and question you. But it was all' ilanmmla' and' papa' with you. Your clothes were
spoiled, and you were sick. You only kept up a few
hours, when fever set in.  The doctor gave no hope,
but I nursed you through, my boy, and in about a
month you sat up straight in bed, for all the world
like a beautiful star. But you knew nothing. We
tried very hard, but could get nothing from you. I
was sorry and glad. I wanted to keep you. We called
you after my dead darling, and I hugged you in my
arms for him. That's all, Jack, my boy. Let me
call you Jack, my son. I shall do these clothes up
in a bundle, and put this letter with'em. You won't
be likely to see it, Jack. If you don't, I shall be
thankful. If you do, my boy, remember how your
daddy loved you, and how your mother loves you, and
forgive us if we have done wrong. Heaven preserve
and protect you, Jack, my boy, my son, my darling.
" MOTHER."
"Forgive you?" said Hardy.' Forgive you?"
Bless you, God bless you, you dear, honest, loving




AT LAST.                 283
mother;"  and he kissed  the picture again and
again.
"' But who, then, amtl I?" said he. " Iet's look at
the clothes."
Nothing.
There was a little jacket with buttons all over it,
and a jolly little pair of trowsers with a pocket on one
side, and a make-believe pocket on the other.
But no mark of any kind.
Hardy's face was red with excitement.
Miller puffed quietly on.
A rap at the door, followed by Hardy's " come in,"
disclosed Mr. Russell, who looked at the two men
and the disordered apartment in undisguised astonishment.
"Ah, come in, Mr. Russell, come in," said Hardy.
" Excuse my lack of ceremony, and my excess of con.
fusion. It doesn't look like nme, I confess; but inasmuch as I don't know who I am, it matters very little.
Sit down, please."
Mr. Russell was so taken aback by this unusual reception, that he hardly knew what to do.
He had always found Hardy respectful and considerate; now he found him brusque, and almost rude.
He looked at him closely, and seeing tears in the
young man's eyes, pushed away the chair Miller had
offered him, and laying his hand on Hardy's shoulder,
said, as a father might to a son whom he loved: " Tell




284               AT LAST.
me, Hardy, what troubles you.. Surely, I have the
right to ask, and you know, my boy, that you have no
right to conceal aught from me. Has Miller annoyed
you?"
Miller looked up quickly, and said: "Mr. Russell,
Mr. Hardy is your agent. We have buried the past
between us. I have confessed my fault, and the truce
is declared. I now ask your pardon, sir, and as I do
so, let me couple my petition with a declaration of
regard and esteem  for this young man, for whom  I
would do anything in my power. No, sir, Miller has
not annoyed him, but Miller will help him, and on
that you may bet your bottom dollar."
Miller spoke slowly as was his habit, but he also
spoke earnestly, and there was something so tender in
his manner and expression, that Mr. Russell, whose
heart was big and generous, extended his hand, and
with a cordial grasp, said: " As you say, Mr. Miller;
as you say.  Bygones shanl be bygones.  Now
tell me what under the sun is the matter with John
Hardy?"
" Read this letter, sir," said Hardy;' that will tell
you. I have lost my mother, sir; and my dear old
-father, too, who used to be so proud of his boy, is
mine no longer. Oh, why did I open that infernal
trunk?"
Mr. Russell read the letter through before he spoke,
Then wiping his eyes, he turned to Hardy and said:




AT LAST.                 285
"Well, Hardy, this is rather rough. I know what it
is to lose father and mother, by death. But I confess
this is a touch beyond that. But those clothes. Is
there nothing on them to indicate a clue? "
"Nothing, nothing at all," replied Hardy.
"Nothing but this," cried Miller, who had been
turning the suit over and over; "nothing but this-."
Mr. Russell literally snatched the little jacket from
the old man's hands.
On the loop, placed there for convenience of hang.
ing the garment on a hook or nail, was a small sales
ticket, on which was printed
" HALL, MILWAUKEE."
fHe could scarce believe his eyes.
"Hall, Milwaukee," cried he. " It cannot be. Oh,
Hardy, speak, Miller, speak! Great heavens, can
this be so! Hardy, Hardy, you are my son!  I
bought this suit myself.  You wore it to New York
when you were lost.  Hardy! Hardy!  For God's
sake, help me, Miller. His foot! His foot! "
Quicker than a flash, old Miller pushed the half
stupefied Hardy to a seat, drew off his gaiter, pulled
off his sock-but no, they were all there!
"The other, man; the other. I told you the other,"
shouted Mr. Russell.
And there, sure enough, was the mutilated foot,




286               AT LAST.
kissed by the father, shook by old Miller, and kissed
and shook again, until in an ecstasy of joy, a perfect
whirlwind of conflicting emotions, father and son held
each other tight in a long and loving embrace.
Miller scratched his head.
"And now for home,"' said Mr. Russell; "how
Maud's eyes will open, how-"
Maud!
Great heavens! Hardy had not thought of
that, and burying his head in his pillow, he, sobbed
aloud.
Miller beckoned Mr. Russell to the window.
Placing his pipe on the sill, he took the astonished
father by the hand.
"Mr. Russell, this is a matter of life or death, and
you can  alone decide it.  Your son loves your
daughter. He has found a father, but he loses a wife."
"Nonsense. Not at all, sir; not at all. Hardy,
old fellow. Harry, my darling, look up! Dress yourself, and come with me. Your mother will want to
see you. Aye, my boy, and your sweetheart will want
to be the first to congratulate us both."
" What do you mean, sir? " said Hardy.
" What do I mean? Great Heaven, what do I not
mean?  Maud is not my child. Maud is not your
sister. Her mother brought the dear girl with her
when we were married. You shall wear her:s you
nave won her, my son. Now, will you come? "




CHAPTER XXXIX.
THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME.
HREE weeks from that happy day a jolly
party stood upon the deck of an outwardbound steamer, and Horace Russell was
crying like a child.
Perhaps you think a strong man should not cry.
Well, let us see.
Just beyond him was a group, laughing, crying,
shaking hands, and kissing:
Old Miller and Mary, Robert Delaney and Martha,
John Hardy, or as he was then, Harry Russell, and
Maud, his bride, with Mrs. Russell at their side.
Mr. Delaney and Martha were part of the travelling
company, and Miller, with Mary, had come to bid
them good-by.
Mr. Russell had arranged it all.
He had sent a check for $I,5oo to the trustees of
Mr. Delaney's church, with which to supply the pulpit for a year, and the young couple gladly availed
themselves of the cordial invitation of their friend to
pass that year abroad.




288           NO PLACE LIAKE HOME.
Maud had told her mother of Hardy's declaration,
and they were discussing it, when Mr. Russell and
his new found Harry made their appearance and disclosure.
Words cannot describe the scene that followed.
Suffice it that the lovers were married by the Rev.
Robert Delaney, and that at the wedding breakfast
the entire Miller family were honored guests.
" Home again," was now the cry of Horace Russell.
His affairs needed him?
Yes, but it was not for that he hurried.
He had found his son.
Twenty years' lost time must be made up.
The sooner he began the better.
With wife and son, and daughter, he craved his
native air. He longed to present his boy, his son and
heir to his workmen and his friends.
The future beckoned him with wide ambitions, in
all of which John Hardy —Harry Russell —was an
element.
How happy he was!
How happy they all were!
No wonder that the strong man wept.
THE END.