in an out-of-the-way place on a bay steamer and
awakening to find yourself in State’s prison with
a fifteen-year sentence hanging over your head, how
would you feel?
John Larsen had such an experience last Friday. He
was, and may yet be, a deckhand on the schooner
Mary. He imbibed a quantity of refreshment on
the water front and then hid away in the steamer
Caroline for a quiet nap. He didn’t know that the
Caroline was about to go over to San Quentin with
a load of supplies for the prison. The first thing
he did know was that a husky guard with a big gun
was prodding him into wakefulness and saying hard
things. Captain Smith of the Caroline was standing
near.
“Yes, it’s that fifteen-year man, all right,” the
guard said, as he gave Larsen a stiff jolt under
the ribs.
The sleepy sailor was yanked out into daylight and
taken ashore, where he saw only prison walls and
men in stripes all about him. He was marched to the
office of the captain of the guard, the man beside
him meanwhile commenting on the fine disguise
Larsen wore. The poor sailor was dumb from fright,
and could not make an intelligible protest. But
when the officials looked him over, they laughed
and told the guard to throw him out. He was not the
man.
“Ay scart lak djefoul ven woke oop in yale,” said
Larsen yesterday after he had got back from San
Quentin by ferry. “Ay ban sleep on bale yute in
Caroline ven gun stick me in ribs an’ ay see mens
vid stripes all aroond, an’ man vid gun say ay ban
fifteen-year faller. You bat heart went in boots
and ay ban sick. Ven man stick gun in ribs an’ say
‘Git!’ You bat ay coom quick avay. No more sleep in
Caroline on bale yute, you bat!”
* * * * *
A STOWAWAY
_Boston Journal_
Abraham Grabau wanted to get into the United States
mighty badly.
He was poor and had never had a chance. But he had
read a lot about America and thought how fine it
would be to come here and retrieve himself and
really do something worth while before it was too
late.
So at Port Said he hid away on board the steamship
St. Patrick, which was bound for Boston from
Yokohama.
Of course he knew it wasn’t right to become a
stowaway, but he couldn’t see what real harm there
was in it. Besides, he hadn’t any money and it
seemed to be the only thing that was left. And he
never dreamed that the great free country beyond
the seas often keeps worthy men outside its borders
just because they haven’t the price of a ticket.
But he learned many things that worried him from
the St. Patrick’s crew during the passage, after he
had made himself known, when he couldn’t starve any
longer, and had been put to work.
He was told that an alien stowaway has a mighty
poor show of “getting by” with Uncle Sam--that, in
fact, he hadn’t a chance on earth of being landed
here. It nearly broke his heart, for there seemed
to be no way out. But he finally found one--and
why not? It was as good a way as any other. And,
besides, he might win.
While the St. Patrick lay at anchor off quarantine
Thursday night, Abraham slipped off his shoes and
stole on deck noiselessly. He placed his shoes
on deck alongside the railing and pulled down a
life-buoy.
He gave a last look toward the lights that were
twinkling on shore and dropped into the water.
Next morning the shoes were found near where the
life-buoy should have been.
Of course the ship was searched, but Abraham was
missing. Immigration officials at Long Wharf and
the harbor police were notified of the escape. But
there was no trace of the stowaway.
Yesterday the Hebrew’s daring act was talked of
admiringly in many quarters, and the hope was
expressed that he had won. There is a slight chance
that he was picked up and carried to safety. But
those best informed declare that the little Hebrew
has beyond a doubt reached the Port of Missing
Men, where entry is never refused, even to the
friendless and the hopeless and the forlorn.
* * * * *
SEARCH FOR LOST TREASURES
_New York Sun_
In the gray hours before the dawn this morning,
when all Ulmer Park sleeps and nothing is heard
along the reaches of Marine Basin but the crowing
of the restless cocks, will slip from her moorings
a low, rakish craft. With hawseholes muffled and
silence cloths on port and starboard anchor,
hatches muzzled and even the kick of her propeller
smothered by a blanket, this phantom will speed
past the clam factories and chowder distilleries
out to the bounding main.
Hush! ’Tis the Mayflower, onetime defender of
the America’s cup, bearing her daring crew of
gentleman adventurers down to the isles of spice
and the bloodied seas where Morgan trod piratical
quarterdecks and Teach snicked off the heads of
treasure bearers. Skipper Scull is at the helm,
Buck Harrison in the galley; four more, good men
and true, stand in the port chains and shade their
eyes as they scan the waters of Gravesend Bay for
the police boat.
Romance lies behind the horizon and the glint of
the rising sun has the glint of Sir Henry’s gold.
For, mark ye well, Skipper Scull has wrapped in
tarpaulin, next to his open front undershirt,
a chart. Red and blue is the chart; it marks a
reef in the Caribbean; it limns in the sea the
boundaries of a precious spot; it tells where lies
the English corvette, Good Faith, out of Santo
Domingo City in 1684 with five millions in plate
and minted doubloons in her strong boxes.
But who are these men, tried and found trusty, who
sail with Skipper Scull on the converted yacht
Mayflower out of Marine Basin this morning? Skipper
Scull, Harvard, ’98, a venturesome soul who lived
in Tokio many, many months, and who, wishing to be
a war correspondent, finally was allowed to get
as near as forty-five miles from the scene of a
battle. Then there are Gordon Brown, Yale, ’01, who
was captain of the football team that laid Harvard
so low in 1900, Stephen Noyes, Harvard, ’03, H.
L. Corbett, Harvard, ’03, Buck Harrison, Harvard,
’04, fullback, whose name was a terror to all
opponents, and Roger Darby, Harvard, ’05, a tower
of strength on the Crimson line in his time.
Consider this, that Matsukata, whose father is
a Baron in Japan and holds fief over hundreds
of samurai, was offered a place in the intrepid
crew--as cook. Matsukata yearned for adventure, but
he could not so demean himself, and that is why
Buck Harrison of the line holds his place in the
galley when the Mayflower slips out of the Basin
this morning.
With the Mayflower steaming out of Gravesend Bay,
nose to the south, there must come a hiatus in this
tale, and the curtain of the past must be lifted,
revealing dark and bloody scenes.
.................
. .
. CURTAIN .
. .
.................
It is a fair day in June, Anno Domini 1684, and
the tropical palms that fringe the beach about
Santo Domingo Bay are nodding in the breeze. [Santo
Domingo Bay is used as a disguise of the real port,
which it wouldn’t do to reveal.] All is astir about
the wharf, for the good English corvette, Good
Faith, is sailing this day for Plymouth, laden
fair to the gunwales with plate of price, spoils
of cathedrals in Mexico and hard minted gold in
doubloons--and oh, yes, pieces of eight!--that is,
the ransom of cities in Salvador and the Guineas.
Spanish gold it is, torn from the grasp of bleeding
men.
A cheer, a roundelay as the anchor comes up, and
with sails bellying and the crosses of St. George
and St. Andrew whipping from the gaff, the Good
Faith ploughs her way past the reef and out to sea.
But wait! From around the bluff beyond the sea
gate, which is hidden from the Good Faith by the
rocky headland, come stealing two long feluccas.
The brass of cannon glints from bow and taffrail;
sails strain with the wind; the gorgeous banner of
Spain streams from the mainsail peak.
The watchers on the headlands of Santo Domingo City
drop on their knees in prayer at the sight, for
are not those two feluccas the sea vultures of
Don Sebastian Fernando Hacienda y Juan Fernandez,
plunderer of towns and pillager of altars?
At gaze stand the citizens of Santo Domingo City as
they watch the feluccas steal into the track of the
Good Faith. Tortured with anxiety are these good
folk when they behold the Good Faith swing about
the headland and come into view of the dastard
Spaniards. Now the Good Faith is aware of her
peril. See her crowd the canvas on! See her leap
to the tug of the wind and race for her life down,
down the watery way to the horizon! The feluccas
follow fast; they gain yard by yard; still they
gain and yet still.
The horizon rises and swallows up the Good Faith
and the Don’s feluccas, mere dots on the horizon.
Alack, never again did man set eyes on the Good
Faith. Plymouth awaited her in vain; Santo Domingo
City sent out sloops and men-o’-war to search for
her. Never again did Don Sebastian ravage the
coasts of Salvador and plunder the galleons of the
Main. Men forgot that there had ever been a Good
Faith or a Don Sebastian.
* * * * *
[Stars here indicate hiatus of 220 years.]
A fisher of sponges, an American fisher of sponges,
in sooth, is sailing his craft about the Caribbean
in search of his prey. It is some years later.
It is only a few years ago in fact. A storm
comes roaring out of the Gulf, and the fisher of
sponges with his native fishermen is driven in his
cockleshell far, far out of his course. In the dead
of night and the murk of the storm the boat is
piled up on a reef and they rub elbows with death
until the ruddy streaks of dawn come.
Then this fisher of sponges, this American fisher
of sponges--he was also a diver and he helped
raise the Merrimac in Santiago harbor once--looked
over the side of his boat and he saw down about
fifteen feet in the blue water the prow of a ship.
Straightway he dived. He came up with pieces of
eight sticking through the cracks of both fists, or
maybe it was doubloons.
Forthwith all of his native fishermen dived,
and they came up with silver and golden coin
representing maybe $1,221.34 American, who knows?
They dived again and brought up the ship’s bell.
About the rust eaten rim was graven this motto:
“Good Faith yclept Dom. 1680 Plymouth. Ringeth this
Belle God’s hours and telleyeth man’s life Space.”
Straightway did this American fisher of sponges get
him his sextant and his latitude. He had to guess
at the longitude. Then with the ship’s bell and the
pieces of eight he sailed to Jamaica.
There he found one who was interested in his tale.
Together they went to a lawyer, and he recommended
them to another lawyer, whose name is Reginald R.
Leaycraft and whose office is at 129 Pearl street,
this city. Many old records in Santo Domingo City
and in England were gone over, so say this fisher
of sponges and his lawyer, and at last the shipping
register of the original Good Faith was discovered.
Then they knew of her fatal journey out of Santo
Domingo City on that June afternoon so long ago,
and knew, so say both, of the treasure that was in
her bottom.
Skipper Scull, and he alone, knows how it was
that the sponge diver happened to meet such an
adventurous spirit as himself here in New York.
Yet, hark ye, within a month after the sponge
fisher and Skipper Scull had met fortuitously,
all of those other brave gentlemen and true from
Harvard and Yale had met to form a solemn bond and
compact.
This was the bond and compact: That the
organization should be made under the auspices of
the Southern Research Company, a duly registered
organization; that the sponge fisher and his lawyer
should have share and share alike with the others;
that the sponge fisher should be one of the party
of discovery, in that he knew best how to interpret
the chart that he had made that blue morning after
the storm; and that, chief of all, Matsukata, the
man whose father is a baron in Japan, should be
cook.
All of these conditions, save the last, so
recalcitrant did Matsukata prove, were fulfilled
to the letter. Then went the representatives of
the company to Mrs. Eva M. Barker, the owner of the
old cup defender, Mayflower. Five years ago the
old defender had been converted into a sloop with
auxiliary power. The Mayflower was brought around
to the Marine Basin and all sorts of strange stores
in boxes and crates were lowered into her hold.
Diving suits flopped upon her decks and grappling
hooks shoved their prongs through burlap sacking.
Skipper Scull was there on the deck of the
Mayflower each day to shoo away the curious and
to scowl at the prying. Not a word would the war
correspondent skipper say to the most veiled
interrogations. Until the Mayflower slipped past
the chowder distilleries in this morning’s early
light the mystery of her mission and her bourne
remained inviolate.
But Skipper Scull, Buck Harrison and the rest have
overreached themselves in their secretiveness. For
know that over a long glass clinking with ice one
sleepy night up at the Harvard Club on Forty-fourth
street one of the sextette of adventurers revealed
the scheme of the expedition. That is why not even
Skipper Scull knows what fell plot is now a-brewing
to rob him of his putative treasure.
This is the plot: Up in Boston lives Alexander
Forbes, the grandson of John Murray Forbes. He is
the possessor of the yacht Merlin. To his ears
came the tale of the treasure hunt. Not long did
the grass grow under the Forbes foot. He called
together the following men, known to be desperate
pirates: Jim Field, Harvard, ’03; Donald Gregg,
Harvard, ’02; Ralph Page, Harvard, ’03; Buz Baird,
Harvard, ’04, and W. Davis Conrad, also of Harvard.
To them he broached his counter plot, and all
gleefully agreed, if they did not sign a pact with
their life blood.
So it will be--and one of these Boston pirates
said yesterday that it cannot but be--that
after the Mayflower has gone to her all but
secret destination in the Caribbean and is
sailing homeward, either laden with gold or with
experience, the yacht Merlin will one day stalk out
of the horizon and confront her. The Jolly Roger
will fly from the peak of the Merlin and a six
pounder will cough out demand for the Mayflower’s
surrender. The Mayflower will have to heave to
and be robbed or go to the bottom with all of her
gallant gentlemen adventurers weltering in their
own blood.
It will be about three weeks hence, so swore this
Boston pirate by book and ring yesterday, that the
Merlin will sail on her fell mission. After that
the Spanish Main will roar again and bloody death
will be abroad over the mellifluous waters of the
Gulf stream.
* * * * *
RELIEF SHIP
_New York Evening Post_
Capt. Pickels--“Pickels of the schooner Cluett,”
as they called him on the Labrador coast--standing
on the deck of that stanch little vessel, which
will soon be bucking ice in Baffin Bay, is not
the figure of an Arctic explorer. To the mildly
interested visitor to the East River dock, where
his ship was moored, there was nothing about the
square-set skipper in shirt sleeves and straw
hat, watching supplies come aboard, to suggest
that he is the man selected to command the
relief expedition which will search for Donald
B. MacMillan, starting to-day. MacMillan set out
from New York just two years ago to find mythical
Crocker Land, and now the American Museum of
Natural History, one of the chief backers of his
expedition, is sending Pickels to find MacMillan.
Both the captain in summer city garb and his little
schooner, dwarfed by the overhanging pier, and not
so different to the unpracticed eye from hundreds
of sailing craft loading here, refused at first to
fit into the picture which he painted in simple
language of the months ahead. Within a few weeks
the Cluett will be feeling out open reaches in
the ice which is rarely absent after Nachvak Bay,
on the north Labrador coast, is passed, laying a
course almost due north up Davis Strait. Thence to
Melville Bay, near Etah, the MacMillan expedition’s
base, it will be nip and tuck between the Cluett
and rapidly descending winter. She will be late,
and, skirting the ever-present “middle ice” of
Baffin Bay, on a course not far off shore, she will
be lucky to reach her objective before the waters
close entirely.
And luckier still if she finds MacMillan and
his party waiting. For then there is the chance
that, with more good fortune and able seamanship,
Capt. Pickels may be able to bring all hands out
through the thin crust which by September will
cover all those waters. In that event he will
have made a season’s record to be very proud of.
What is far more likely--and that is the reason
for the two years’ supply of foodstuffs on board
the Cluett--the schooner will nose her way into
Melville Bay with hardly enough time in which to
select a winter berth in the ice. If MacMillan has
to be waited for or search made for him, the long
winter will make either task easy. The diminutive,
unpretentious wooden sailing ship which now reeks
of oil and ship stores under the warm sun, will
then find herself encompassed with leagues of ice.
Eskimo ice huts will spring up around her like
mushrooms, and in the long Arctic night it would be
difficult to identify the little Cluett with the
picture at the foot of East 21st Street.
But closer acquaintance with Pickels and the Cluett
helps one’s imagination to bridge the gap. Ever
since she was built at Tottenville, some four
years ago, for the Grenfell Mission service on the
Labrador coast, Pickels has commanded her. She
was designed for work in northern waters. As the
bronze plate in the captain’s cabin sets forth,
she was presented to Dr. Wilfred Grenfell in July,
1911, by George B. Cluett, of Troy, N. Y. That she
went to sea with purposes other than those of the
ordinary trading schooner, the plate makes plain
in these few words: “The Sea is His and He made
It.” The inscription in the brass band which binds
the wheel, “Jesus saith I will make you fishers of
men,” serves to distinguish her from the run of
fishing craft which infest the Labrador waters. But
for these symbols of a higher vocation she is just
like them, save that she is much more stanch.
From stem to stern the Cluett measures 142 feet,
and her beam is 26 feet. Every foot of timber
in her is white oak. And back of the thin steel
plate on her bows, where the impact of ice is
concentrated, she can boast about two feet of solid
timber. The outer shell forward is composed of
white oak timbers eight inches thick. Behind them
is nearly a foot of timbering, and then an inner
shell of six-inch white oak all stiffened with
drift bolts. The Cluett can be counted on to stand
up to the force of her eighty horse-power kerosene
engines, against all but solid ice. And she has
proved it more than once.
That brought the captain to the recital of an
achievement which probably had much to do with the
selection by the Museum authorities of him and
his ship for the work in hand. Making ordinarily
about three trips a year as supply ship to the
chain of missions established by the Grenfell
Association, it was no new thing for the Cluett to
show her seaworthiness in ice and dirty weather.
But last summer she did something out of the
common. Chartered for a few months by the Carnegie
Institution for magnetic investigations in Hudson’s
Bay, she and Capt. Pickets displayed remarkable
facility for edging into ice-strewn waters and
slipping out with promptness.
In a month’s time she made the circuit of Hudson’s
Bay, undeterred by almost constant snow-storms and
gales, frequently traversing untried waterways.
She escaped without misadventure, where a less
careful pilot might have lost his ship. Once the
two principal members of the party, the observers,
were swamped in a small boat. Losing instruments
and all their equipment they went five days without
food or fire, and owed their lives to Capt.
Pickels’s prompt appearance with relief. Getting
into Hudson’s Bay in mid-summer of last year was
not easy on account of the ice. After cleanly
threading Hudson Strait, the Cluett encountered a
Canadian icebreaker, smashed by the very element
she was designed to combat, and breaking up. As
this point was a long way south of his present
destination, Capt. Pickels is mindful of what may
be in store for him this summer. But he regards the
MacMillan relief expedition with as much serenity
as if it were one of his regular northern visits,
and with as little timidity as might be expected
from a mariner who has navigated every ocean and
circumvented ice in Bering Sea as successfully as
in Grenfell’s Tickle.
Although the proved nimbleness of the Cluett leads
her charterers to hope that she may slip into
Melville Bay and out with the rescued MacMillan
party in time to get back to New York in November,
the way food supplies have been poured into her
show that no chances are to be taken, in a locality
where, as the captain remarked, “ye can’t fetch
stuff from a grocery ’round the corner.’” He shed
light upon what for a dozen men might be considered
a two years’ food supply. Some two thousand pounds
of beef, nearly half of it canned and the rest
pickled in brine, and an almost equal quantity of
mutton and pork, formed the backbone of the stores.
Beans and potatoes and barrel on barrel of pilot
bread set off this impressive meat supply, which
winter hunting is to vary with fresh steaks and
roasts.
Several hundred pounds of coffee and a hundred of
tea, onions and many gallons of lime juice to ward
off scurvy, were important items; strangely enough,
not a particle of chocolate or cocoa. A comment
upon the rather small supply of milk--condensed,
of course--as compared with, for one thing, three
hundred pounds of rolled oats, drew from the hardy
captain the explanation that crews in the North
preferred molasses with their oatmeal, and of
molasses he had nearly a hundred gallons.
Perhaps these assurances of creature comfort have
had their attractions. At any rate, Capt. Pickels
has been pestered with would-be passengers who want
to make the trip with him or put in a winter of
hunting on Melville Bay. And they were not all men.
One young person from Vassar sent a request. But
Capt. Pickels will have none of them. So that, when
he starts on the last leg of his journey north,
with decks piled high with barrels of kerosene--the
Cluett is to be stocked with nearly five thousand
gallons of kerosene and 900 gallons of gasolene
for her engines--the only person aboard beside his
crew of eight hardy Nova Scotians, will be the
representative of the Natural History Museum. Capt.
Pickels’s Newfoundland dog “Chum” completes the
list.
* * * * *
SQUIRREL
_New York World_
Somebody let a squirrel loose in City Hall Park
yesterday, or more likely Saturday night, and as a
result that part of the green grass plot just north
of the Nathan Hale statue was the only busy section
in the business district from 2 until 3 o’clock
on the Sabbath. If there was one cat there were
thirty. Of all sizes and conditions they ranged,
hailing from Cherry Hill and other points. Toms,
tabbies and kittens were all there, and in circles
they sat about a big tree on which a gilt sign read
“Ulmus Americanus.”
Above, perched in the branches, was Mr. Squirrel.
Intently he looked down at the cats and the crowd
of park loungers and others leaning on the fence
and flicked his gray tail saucily at the feline
delegation. One venturesome Tom scooted up the
tree, but when he began to crawl out on the branch
on which “Brer” Squirrel sat the latter lightly
jumped to an adjoining tree, not labelled, and
chattered back at Tomcatus Cherryhillibus.
The other cats with uplifted eyes watched the
flight of the squirrel and camped under the second
tree, while the crowd of human onlookers increased.
The siege was getting interesting.
“I wonder will the cats get him, Jimmie,” said one
young woman, but the squirrel only kept on scolding
to himself.
Not long after a young man in a gray suit stepped
over the fence and stood beneath the tree. He
carried a small bag over one shoulder. The moment
the squirrel saw him he ran down the tree and
perched on the man’s other shoulder. When the man
opened the bag he popped in, and they started off
for a Jersey ferry.
The disgusted cats dispersed and the crowd melted
away.
* * * * *
POLICEMEN’S PET
_Philadelphia Telegraph_
Just as the “joker” tapped 12 o’clock today in the
Trenton avenue and Dauphin street police station, a
file of unhelmeted patrolmen marched silently into
the back yard and reverently placed the remains of
“Benny” in his last long resting place.
For a moment they stood sad-eyed, while Bill Tufts,
the old turnkey, softly dropped the earth upon the
coffin, and then, when only a memory marked the
spot near the patrol house where “Benny” slept,
they went back to the roll-room and discussed in
whispers the unexpected death.
“Benny” died at 11.20 o’clock, despite the efforts
of House Sergeant Site, who immersed him in fresh
water and tried in every way to restore the
fast-ebbing life. But a broken heart could not thus
be appeased, for “Benny’s” heart had undoubtedly
been broken when a younger rival for the affections
of the bluecoats turned up in the station house not
long ago.
Old age might also have contributed toward the
death, for “Benny” was 7½ years old, and his
species never exist longer than seven years,
according to Street Sergeant Murdock, who is well
posted on the subject. “Benny” holds the record
for age around the station house. There have been
others of his ilk there constantly for fifteen
years, but “Benny” was the longest liver of the
entire crowd.
“Benny” was a fan-tailed goldfish.
* * * * *
ZOO STORY
_New York World_
This rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as I.
--Hippopotamus Pete.
“He’s a pig-headed brute,” say the keepers in
the Bronx Zoo after they have been up all night
watching Pete, who weighs 1,300 pounds--more than
four Tafts.
“He’s a wise old guy,” say the keepers admiringly
after they have slept and are wondering at Pete’s
sagacity.
Director Hornaday, of the Zoo, and the keepers
fondly hope to remove Pete to-day from his old cage
in the antelope house to his apartment in the new
and splendid elephant house. But whether Pete goes
or stays in the antelope house depends upon how
hungry he was last night.
The World has told of the futile efforts to move
this Gibraltar of hippopotamus flesh. As a last
resort, Director Hornaday has been starving Pete
for two days and nights. When Pete is hungry he
is very hungry, indeed. He eats a wagon load of
provender a day, shovelling in the food as stokers
shovel coal into a steamship’s furnace.
Taking advantage of this, Director Hornaday had
placed in Pete’s cage a “moving case,” a very
strong box big enough to hold Pete. At one end of
the box is a drop door rigged to a fall and tackle.
At the closed end of the big box the keepers placed
a tempting meal of all the things Pete likes best.
It was all very simple. Two keepers watched Pete
every hour of the twenty-four. Pete, hungry, was to
walk into the box after the food, the keepers were
to let the drop door fall and--there you are, or,
rather, there Pete was.
The simple plan did not work out well. By day Pete
seemed to have lost all appetite. But by Saturday
night he had thought out a plan in his turn. While
the sleepy keepers watched, Pete entered the box,
but he carefully stretched back his hind legs so
that they remained outside it. The keepers dropped
the door; it fell on Pete’s hind quarters.
Pete backed out, scooping the food along with his
fore legs. Once outside he had a hearty meal, which
he seemed to enjoy exceedingly.
They built a much longer moving case yesterday and
put food at its closed end. A hippopotamus is not
built like a dachshund. To get that food Pete must
include his whole bulk in the box.
* * * * *
CAT
_Chicago Inter Ocean_
Tom Stroller is dead.
Tom Stroller was only a cat, and he was old and
ugly and never even had been allowed within the
sacred precincts of a cat show, so, perhaps, it
doesn’t matter much.
And yet there were a hundred girls, students at the
Art Institute, who looked wistfully at the desk of
the Klio Club when they went to their lunch. And
there were 100 others who didn’t smile as they sat
about the tables. One or two attempted a eulogy,
but the efforts were not inspiring, for the best
that could be said of old Tom Stroller was that “he
was such a friendly cat.”
Time was when Tom was young and useful. Those were
the days--twelve years ago--when there was a stern
work to be done at the Klio Club, then at South
Michigan Avenue and East Monroe Street. Those
were the days when Tom stepped proudly through
serried ranks of rodent dead, the days when he was
tolerated because he was useful, and was forgiven
his ugliness because he was so friendly. Those were
the days when Tom achieved his first love--the love
of Mrs. Bush, mother of the club.
Side by side Tom and Mrs. Bush grew old together.
When the girls at the institute moved their club
to 26 South Wabash Avenue, Tom, now toothless, and
Mrs. Bush, now almost at the end of the road, were
established together at the cashier’s desk.
New students came to look amused and remained to
love them both. Old students came back to Chicago
to rush up to the Klio Club and cry: “Why, if there
aren’t Tom and Mother Bush. God bless you both!”
But one day last year Mrs. Bush was stricken with
an illness that soon may prove fatal. She was taken
to the Mary Thompson Hospital and a new cashier
came to the club’s desk. She was kind to Tom and
stroked his grizzled fur, but things were different
now, and Tom began to grow old very fast. He died
yesterday morning.
* * * * *
DOG
_Chicago Herald_
Colonel is only a dog, but he is believed to be
dying because he did his duty.
Colonel is a dignified St. Bernard, with a fine
head and kindly eye. He belongs to Sven Carlson,
a saloon-keeper at 3300 North Racine avenue. When
Colonel could lie on the floor, keeping one eye on
the door and the other on his master, the dog was
happy.
Carlson was proud of Colonel, too. He boasted
of the dog’s cleverness--how he would fetch and
carry from the grocer’s, and even carry notes to
tradesmen in the neighborhood. Colonel never failed
to go to the right store.
It was for Carlson that the dog sacrificed himself.
A few minutes before closing time Saturday night
Carlson went behind the bar and Colonel followed
him.
Two men entered the saloon and walked over to the
bar. They did not see the dog.
“Hands up,” ordered one man.
“It’s late, gentlemen; if you wish to drink you
have no time for such joking,” replied Carlson.
Both men drew revolvers.
“It’s a long way from a joke,” said the man. “Hands
up or we’ll shoot.”
“Go for ’em, Colonel,” ordered Carlson.
The dog sped around the end of the bar as though he
had been shot from a catapult, his hair bristling,
uttering deep growls; and the bandits backed away.
Then one of the men fired a shot, and the dog
toppled over and lay still.
Carlson gave a roar of rage when he saw Colonel
fall, and, grasping a bung starter, climbed over
the bar.
The holdups fled.
Carlson chased them a block before he gave up the
pursuit.
Colonel was taken to Thomas Kendrew’s veterinary
hospital at 3039 Sheffield avenue, bandaged and put
into a private kennel with clean, sweet straw to
lie upon.
“He surely will die,” said Dr. Kendrew. “I think
there is no hope for him. The bullet went into his
hip and through some of his vital organs.
“If every man could die as gallantly as Colonel
this would be a better world.”
* * * * *
TRICK MULE
_Kansas City Star_
If you’ve been to the horse show this week you’ve
seen Henry and Zip. Henry--his last name is
Harbaugh--is 18 years old and lives near Bedford,
Mo., when he’s at home. Zip is 8 years old, and if
you don’t believe he’s the most wonderful trick
mule in the world, you’d better not mention it to
Henry.
Zip knows how to sit up on his haunches like a
rabbit and walk around on his hind legs with Henry
on his back, and walk across the tanbark arena on
his knees, and--oh, innumerable things. Also he can
buck in the most humorous way--you’re quite sure
nobody but Henry could stick on.
There’s an interesting story connected with Henry
and Zip. Zip is an educated mule, and he is helping
make Henry an educated boy. For, the money that
Henry receives for his talents and Zip’s goes for
Henry’s education. The boy is half way through the
high school at Avalon, Mo., and when he finishes,
he hopes to go to the University of Missouri.
And the talented Zip is a great help to a fellow
who’s trying to get an education. For Henry is
drawing down $50 and expenses for his week’s work
at the Kansas City Horse Show, and he has hopes of
repeating the performance at St. Louis next week.
Col. W. V. Galbraith, general manager of the horse
show, got a letter from the trick mule’s owner
last week. The letter told about all the wonderful
things Zip could do--and he can, too--and said if
the colonel could find a place for him, please to
let Henry know at once, as it’s one hundred miles
from Bedford to Kansas City, and it would take some
little time to ride. The boy, having no money to
spend on railroad fare, proposed to ride his mule
to Kansas City. The colonel was so pleased by the
boy’s enterprise that he sent him word to come and
enclosed money to bring Zip by railroad. Of course,
strictly speaking, a mule doesn’t belong in a horse
show, but Colonel Galbraith figured that a trick
mule named Zip was too good a bet to overlook.
The boy started training his mule five years ago,
when he was 13 years old and Zip was 3. Henry lived
on a farm and he had no brothers and sisters. So
he made a pet of Zip, and taught him all sorts of
tricks. Then he began showing him at county fairs
and saving the money that he got to spend for
education. One of these days he hopes to be as well
educated for a boy as Zip is for a mule. And if
they gave degrees to mules, Zip would certainly be
a Ph.D.
Zip is also quite a teacher. He has taught this
country boy a philosophy of life.
“You have to be patient--patient and kind,” Henry
said yesterday. “The first thing I ever taught Zip
took me two hours and a half. I wanted to see if
I could make him lie down. I grabbed his opposite
foreleg and held it up. I just had to tire him out,
but at last he keeled over. Next day he did it in
two minutes. He had learned what I wanted. It was
easy after that.”
Henry had never seen a trick mule, but he began
thinking of other tricks. With infinite patience he
showed Zip what was wanted.
“Then he did it because he loved me,” said the boy
simply.
Henry never uses a whip to teach Zip tricks. He
feeds him sugar, and is just kind to him and works
with him and is patient. Now he learns faster
than ever. You can teach an old mule new tricks,
according to Henry.
INDEX TO NEWS STORIES
Accident, automobile, 23, 24.
Accident, drowning, 39, 40, 42.
Accident, fall from scaffold, 39.
Accident, humorous treatment of, 25.
Accident, marine, 32, 34, 35.
Accident, mine, 36, 38.
Accident, pathetic treatment of, 25.
Accident, railroad, 29, 30, 31.
Accident, shooting, 42.
Accident, storm, 35, 196.
Accident, subway, 26.
Accidents, 22-44.
Addresses, 127-131.
Adoption of child, 100.
Agricultural fair, 143.
Alumnae meeting, 228.
Animal stories, 19, 256-259.
Anniversary, church celebration of, 228.
Arrest for embezzlement, 50.
Arrest for forgery, 49.
Arrest for hold-up, 55, 56, 57.
Arrest for intoxication, 48.
Arrest for murder, 59, 65.
Arrest for passing worthless checks, 50.
Arrest for swindle, 49.
Arrest, humorous treatment of, 48.
Arrest, pathetic treatment of, 57.
“Asleep at the switch,” 48.
Assignment in bankruptcy, 96.
Attorney general, opinion of, 90.
Automobile bandits, 55.
Automobile collision, 23, 24.
Automobile drivers’ strike, 187.
Automobile ordinance, violation of, 78.
Automobile parade, 149, 150.
Automobile show, opening of, 142.
Bandit, automobile, 55.
Bandit, pathetic story of, 57.
Bandit, street car, 57.
Bankruptcy case, 95, 96.
Banquet, 157.
Baseball, 212-216.
Baseball game, humorous treatment of, 215.
Bazaar, charity, 230.
Bonds, sale of municipal, 245.
_Boston Advertiser_, story from, 25.
_Boston Globe_, story from, 212.
_Boston Herald_, stories from, 23, 40, 143, 171, 246.
_Boston Journal_, story from, 251.
_Boston Post_, story from, 212.
_Boston Transcript_, stories from, 16, 18, 34, 138, 192,
219, 224, 239, 240, 244, 247.
_Boston Traveler_, story from, 29.
Bridge party, 229.
_Brooklyn Eagle_, stories from, 42, 88.
Building of new hotel, 244.
Burglary, 54.
Burglary, human interest treatment of, 54.
Business merger, 242.
Card party, 228, 229.
Carnegie, Andrew, toast by, at banquet, 157.
Cat, death of, 258.
Cathedral service, anniversary, 160.
Charity bazaar, 230.
_Chicago Daily News_, stories from, 68, 136.
_Chicago Evening Post_, stories from, 102, 226, 228, 229.
_Chicago Herald_, stories from, 47, 54, 55, 66, 91, 95, 105,
115, 120, 222, 223, 227, 228, 229, 234, 236, 258.
_Chicago Inter Ocean_, stories from, 67, 108, 109, 171, 222, 258.
_Chicago Record-Herald_, stories from, 37, 146, 184.
_Chicago Tribune_, stories from, 19, 39, 42, 73, 105, 130, 137,
138, 164, 187, 188, 244, 246.
Children, news stories of, 25, 26, 39, 41, 42, 43, 47, 54, 154,
158, 159, 250.
Children’s court, 79.
Chinese girls in court, 79.
_Christian Science Monitor_, stories from, 217, 235.
Christmas dinner, family reunion at, 227.
Christmas in children’s hospital, 154.
Christmas pantomime, 155.
Christmas, preparations for celebrating, 152.
Church, anniversary celebration in, 160.
City bonds, sale of, 245.
City council meeting, 117.
College alumnae meeting, 228.
College class day, 166.
College commencement, 162-166.
College crew prospects, 216.
College crew races, 217.
College fraternity dinner, 226.
College glee club, entertainment for, 229.
Collision, automobile, 23, 24.
Collision, railroad, 30, 31.
Collision, ships in, 34.
Colorado miners’ strike, 188.
Colorado miners’ strike, investigation of, 108.
Commencement exercises, college, 162-166.
Common council meeting, 117.
Conventions, 119-123.
Convict, capture of escaped, 67.
Convict, pathetic story of escaped, 68.
Council, meeting of city, 117.
Counterfeiter, human interest story of, 83.
County fair, 143.
Court decisions, 88, 89, 90.
Court, pathetic story of, 78.
Court, police, 78.
Courts, civil, 88-105.
Courts, criminal, 81-87.
Courtship, unusual, 221, 222.
Crew, prospects of college, 216.
Crew races, college, 217.
Dancing parties, 226, 227, 228.
Deaths, 171-177.
Decision, court, 88, 89, 90.
Decoration Day parade, 151.
Defalcation of bank clerk, 51.
Delinquency of young girl, 66.
_Detroit News_, stories from, 83, 94.
Dinner parties, 226, 227.
Disorderly conduct, arrest for, 58.
Divers, death of, in ship’s hold, 32.
Dividend, railroad company’s, 246.
Divorce suit, 93, 94.
Docks, stories from, 250-254.
Dog, death of, 258.
Drowning, 39-42, 196.
_Duluth Herald_, stories from, 87, 89.
Easter, 193.
Eclipse of sun, 197.
Elections, 179-184.
Election day, 180.
Election, forecast of, 179.
Election, returns of city, 183.
Election, returns of state, 182, 183.
Elopement, 223.
Embezzlement, 51.
Engagement, announcement of, 226.
Entertainment, Christmas, in hospital, 154.
Entertainment, Christmas pantomime, 153.
Entertainment for charity, 230.
Entertainment in children’s hospital, 158.
Entertainment, lawn fête, 159.
Entertainment, school, 158.
Exhibitions, 142.
Explosion, cause of fire, 16, 19.
Explosion in fireworks plant, 19.
Explosion in mine, 36.
Explosion in subway, 26.
Explosion in tannery, 16.
Failure, commercial, 95, 96.
Fair, agricultural, 143.
Fall from scaffold, 39.
Fête, lawn, 159.
Fight on elevated train, 58.
Fight on wagon, 78.
Financial news, 245, 246.
Fire, fatal, in factory, 19.
Fire, fatal, in lodging house, 21.
Fire, fatal, in tenement, 21.
Fire in university building, 17.
Fire, investigation of cause of, 18, 21, 22.
Fires, 16-22.
Football, 202-212.
Football game, 205, 207.
Football game, analysis of, 209.
Football game, day of, 202, 203.
Forgery, 49, 50, 78.
Forgery, pathetic treatment of, 78.
Golf match, 219.
Hearing before investigating committee, 108, 110.
Hearing in investigation, pathetic treatment of, 110.
Hearing on city ordinance, 112, 113, 115.
Hearing on ordinance, humorous treatment of, 113.
Highway robbery, 55.
Hippopotamus, story of, 257.
Hold-up, 55, 56, 57.
Hospital, Christmas in children’s, 154.
Hospital, entertainment in children’s, 158.
Hospital, surgical operation in, 170.
Hotel, new, 244.
Hotel story, humorous, 249.
Humorous stories, 25, 47, 48, 55, 57, 58, 78, 91, 92, 113, 121,
122, 142, 150, 156, 157, 198, 215, 222, 249, 250, 252.
Illness, 168.
Indian, dying, 169.
_Indianapolis News_, stories from, 133, 134.
Insanity case in court, 91.
Inspection, medical, of schools, 236.
Interview with educator, 134.
Interview with official, 133.
Interview with opera singer, 136.
Interview with woman philanthropist, 135.
Interviews, 133-137.
Interviews, group of, 137.
Investigation, congressional, of strike, 108.
Investigation of drowning, 40.
Investigation of fire, 18, 21, 22.
Investigation of strike, 108, 110.
Investigation, pathetic treatment of, 110.
Jubilee service in cathedral, 160.
Juvenile delinquency, 66.
_Kansas City Star_, stories from, 38, 49, 51, 56, 57, 60, 62, 65,
66, 78, 100, 127, 130, 135, 168, 172, 218, 227, 228, 235, 259.
_Kansas City Times_, stories from, 159, 171.
Labor difficulties and strikes, 186-190.
Larceny, conviction for, 87.
Law suit, humorous treatment of, 92.
Lawn fête, 159.
Lawrence, Mass., textile strike at, 190.
Lecture, 131.
Legislature, meeting of state, 116.
Library, public, 237.
_Los Angeles Times_, story from, 57.
Luncheon, 228.
_Madison Democrat_, stories from, 121, 129.
Mann Act, violation of, 66.
Manual training school, opening of, 234.
Manufacturing, new method in, 243.
Marine news stories, 32, 34, 35, 250, 251, 252, 254.
Market, opening of, 145.
Market prices, retail, 246, 247.
Mawson, Sir Douglas, lecture by, 131.
Medical inspection in schools, 236.
Meeting of city council, 117.
Meeting of Friends, 123.
Meeting of old clothes men, 122.
Meeting of safety council, 120.
Meeting of state legislature, 116.
Meetings, 116-123.
Memorial Day parade, 151.
Merger of business concerns, 242.
_Milwaukee Daily News_, stories from, 31, 43.
_Milwaukee Evening Wisconsin_, stories from, 43, 55, 156.
_Milwaukee Free Press_, stories from, 110, 137, 168.
_Milwaukee Journal_, stories from, 29, 44.
_Milwaukee Sentinel_, stories from, 30, 73, 78, 82, 170, 237, 242.
Mine explosion, 36, 38.
Miners, attempt to rescue, 38.
Miners, strike of, 188.
Mirage, 250.
Mule, trick, 259.
Municipal bonds, sale of, 245.
Municipal equipment, new, 240.
Municipal improvements, 239.
Murder, constructive treatment of, 60, 62, 63, 65.
Murder, pathetic treatment of, 63, 65.
Murder trial, 84.
Murders, 58-66.
Museum, public, 238.
Musicale, 228.
Nelson, William Rockhill, death of, 176.
_New York Evening Mail_, stories from, 70, 158.
_New York Evening Post_, stories from, 22, 74, 123, 138, 142, 147,
160, 162, 165, 174, 177, 187, 195, 202, 203, 209, 254.
_New York Evening Telegram_, story from, 93.
_New York Globe_, stories from, 236, 249.
_New York Herald_, stories from, 103, 112, 131, 149, 186, 194, 225,
227, 230, 241, 249.
_New York Sun_, stories from, 33, 61, 63, 79, 84, 92, 100, 122, 166,
250, 252.
_New York Times_, stories from, 17, 21, 26, 35, 39, 48, 72, 96, 98,
113, 119, 128, 142, 145, 151, 155, 158, 173, 180, 183, 190, 196,
215, 216, 224, 226, 230, 238, 250.
_New York Tribune_, stories from, 24, 32, 49, 59.
_New York World_, stories from, 21, 41, 48, 58, 61, 71, 81, 99, 150,
157, 182, 233, 256, 257.
Obituaries, 172-177.
Obituary of college dean, 177.
Obituary of editor, 176.
Obituary of fireman, 172.
Obituary of Italian undertaker, 174.
Obituary of politician, 173.
Obituary of William Rockhill Nelson, 176.
_Ohio State Journal_, story from, 121.
Old clothes men, meeting of, 117.
Operation, surgical, 170.
Opinion of attorney general, 90.
Ordinance, hearing on, 112, 113, 115.
Ordinance introduced in city council meeting, 117.
Ordinance, opposition to proposed, 118.
Pantomime, Christmas, 154.
Parade, automobile, 149, 150.
Parade, Memorial Day, 151.
Parties, social, 227-229.
Patent case, award in, 98.
Pathetic news stories, 25, 38, 42, 57, 63, 65, 68, 72, 73, 78,
110, 168.
Penitentiary convict, escaped, 67, 68.
_Philadelphia Inquirer_, story from, 170.
_Philadelphia Ledger_, stories from, 35, 117, 118, 176, 202, 225,
228, 229, 244.
_Philadelphia Telegraph_, story from, 257.
Police court case, 78.
Police news stories, 47-74.
Poultry show, opening of, 142.
Probate court case, 100, 104, 105.
_Providence Journal_, story from, 154.
Railroad accidents, 29-31.
Railroad company declares dividend, 246.
Railroad wreck, fatal, 30, 31.
Railroad’s safety campaign, 241.
Real estate transactions, 244.
Receivership proceedings, 95.
Regatta of college crews, 217.
Report of federal bureau, 138.
Report of federal official, 139.
Report of scientist, 138.
Rescue of drowning man, 41.
Robbery by automobile bandits, 55.
Robbery, highway, 55.
Robbery, hold-up, 56, 57.
Robbery, pathetic treatment of, 57.
Robbery, story of, told in court, 82.
Rowing, college crew races, 217.
Rowing, prospects of college crew, 216.
Runaway boy, 47.
Runaway boy in court, 81.
Runaway, heroism of policeman in, 22.
Runaway, humorous treatment of, 25.
Safety campaign by railroad, 241.
Safety council meeting, 120.
Sailor, story of, 250.
_St. Louis Globe-Democrat_, stories from, 131, 183.
_St. Louis Post Dispatch_, story from, 116.
_San Francisco Chronicle_, stories from, 54, 90, 139.
_San Francisco Examiner_, stories from, 25, 36, 250.
School entertainment, 158.
School for backward children, 235.
School, new manual training, 234.
School, new vocational, 234.
Schools, 233-236.
Schools, medical inspection in, 236.
Schools, new method of spelling in, 134.
Schools, opening of new, 234.
Schools, opening of public, 233.
Schools, reading in, 235.
Schools, reading tests in, 236.
Search for lost child, 43.
Search for lost treasure, 252.
Separation, suit for, 93.
Sermon, 160.
Ship battered by gale, 35.
Ship, divers die in hold of, 32.
Ship news stories, 32, 34, 35, 250, 251, 252, 254.
Ships, collision of, 34.
Shipwreck, 35.
Shooting accident, 42.
Shooting, murders by, 58-66.
Shows, automobile, poultry, etc., 142.
Snow storm, 193.
Speeches, 127-130.
Sporting news, 200-220.
Sporting news, baseball, 212-216.
Sporting news, football, 202-212.
Sporting news, golf match, 219.
Sporting news, rowing, 216, 217.
Sporting news, tennis match, 218.
Spring, first day of, 194.
_Springfield Republican_, stories from, 104, 172, 179, 193,
205, 207, 240, 248.
Squirrel in city hall park, 256.
Statue, unveiling of, 147.
Storm batters fishing vessel, 35.
Storm causes shipwreck, 35.
Storm damages building, 196.
Storm, snow, 193.
Storm, wind, 196.
Stowaway, 251.
Street car accident, 24, 25.
Street car bandit, pathetic story of, 57.
Street car collision with automobile, 24.
Street car kills boy, 25.
Street improvements, 240.
Strike at Lawrence, Mass., 190.
Strike, congressional investigation of, 108.
Strike, investigation of, 110.
Strike of Colorado miners, 188.
Strike of taxicab drivers, 187.
Strike of textile workers, 190.
Strike of wholesale grocers’ employes, 187.
Strike, possibility of, 186.
Strikes, 186-190.
Subway, accident in, 26.
Subway, human interest story of, 250.
Suicide attempted by schoolgirl, 73.
Suicide, cause of attempted, 74.
Suicide of business man, 70.
Suicide of old couple, 71.
Suicide of seamstress, 73.
Suicide, pathetic treatment of, 72, 73.
Suicides, 70-74.
Suit at law, humorous treatment of, 92.
Supreme court decision, 88, 89, 90.
Supreme court decision, human interest treatment of, 89.
Surgical operation, 70.
Swindle, 49.
Taxicab drivers’ strike, 187.
Tennis match, 218.
Theatre parties, 228.
Toast at banquet, 157.
_Topeka Capital_, stories from, 50, 226.
Train derailed, 29.
Train wreck, fatal, 30, 31.
Trick mule, 259.
Tunnel, opening of, 146.
University building destroyed by fire, 17.
University class day, 166.
University commencement, 162-166.
Unveiling of statue, 147.
Vocational school, opening of, 234.
Vote, forecast of state, 179.
Vote on state-wide prohibition, 184.
Voting, election day, 180.
_Washington Herald_, story from, 197.
_Washington Post_, story from, 198.
_Washington Times_, story from, 152.
Wayward girl, 66.
Weather, 192-199.
Weather, cold summer, 195.
Weather, first winter, 192.
Weather, high wind, 196.
Weather, snow storm, 193.
Weather, spring, 194.
Wedding, elopement, 223.
Wedding of cowboy, 222.
Wedding of septuagenarians, 223.
Wedding, result of unusual romance, 222.
Weddings, 221-226.
Wharves, stories from, 250-254.
Will admitted to probate, 100, 104.
Will, suit to break, 103.
Wilson, speech by President, 128, 130.
Wind, accidents due to, 196.
Winter weather, 192, 193.
_Wisconsin State Journal_, story from, 90.
Zoo story, 257.
Transcriber’s Note:
While the width of the articles given within is narrower than regular
text in this ebook, the column width as printed in the original
publication has not been retained.
Punctuation has been standardised. Alternative spelling and variations
in hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained as in the original
publication except as follows:
Page 29
surpervising engineer is _changed to_
supervising engineer is
Page 34
before Coronor Acritelli _changed to_
before Coroner Acritelli
Page 39
susbcriptions to pay the men _changed to_
subscriptions to pay the men
Page 43
neighborhoood for a time _changed to_
neighborhood for a time
Page 53
at the insistance of the man _changed to_
at the insistence of the man
Page 118
Philadephia Ledger _changed to_
Philadelphia Ledger
Page 229
DEBUTANTE’S PARTY _changed to_
DÉBUTANTE’S PARTY
Page 248
and canteloupes 8 to 10 _changed to_
and cantaloupes 8 to 10
End of Project Gutenberg's Types of News Writing, by Willard Grosvenor Bleyer