text: Talk:A New Catalogue of Vulgar Errors

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title: Talk:A New Catalogue of Vulgar Errors


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Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/48

44 can see all right. And please tell me the truth. I can stand it. I'd really rather not be flattered. This way." He threw open the door and walked in familiarly.

But before Ivy had taken a step she heard a sound,—a heavy rasping sound as of some one using a meat saw on a taut rope, She stood stockstill.

"What's that?" she whispered timorously. In spite of the role she was playing, her voice trembled. Her misgivings took shape and she reprimanded herself for being placed in such a position. "What's that?" she repeated.

"Come on," came her guide's voice from within the room. "It's only my room-mate. He sleeps like a log—in a sawmill. The lights won't wake him. Come on. And be careful of that chair—to the right of the door."

But Ivy was running away. On tiptoe she slipped down the corridor in the dark and, hearing him stumble over a chair and call out again softly, she stole down the stairway in mouselike silence. It was plain desertion. Yet the absurdity of it made her want to laugh aloud.

She ran a block after she had left the building, then stopped to look around. But before she could discover where she was, to her surprise, almost consternation, she caught sight of a tall shadow a block away,—a fleeting figure in headlong pursuit. She caught her breath. Pursuit! She hadn't dreamed he'd follow. For a moment she stood almost breathless, while he hammered on toward her.

Afterward she could recollect that a precious instant had been wasted while the thought flashed into her mind that she was glad in a wild, unaccountable way that the boy was following her. Then she had fled.

The rest of that mad chase she remembered as a breathless nightmare, a mere chaos of impressions. There was one vivid recollection of a narrow escape when, dodging about in a parked square, only his stumbling over a "Keep Off" sign had saved her. She had sped away, smock knotted about her waist, hair uncoiffed but safe in the bagging fold of the tam-o'shanter, free-limbed and swift, only a boy running in the shadows.

A street, darker than the rest, presented itself, its narrow opening partly concealed by a projecting porch. Dimly she realized that it led to a less admirable part of the city, but she could not halt. Into it she turned, running on tiptoe so that he might not hear her when he came to the corner behind. A short block and then a turn; another short block and a blank wall.

In consternation, Ivy paused. Back against the wall, her breast rising and falling in tumult, she listened. Only the city's sounding silence fell on her ears for long minutes that seemed like hours. She relaxed. The sigh she gave was genuine, not of relief, but akin to disappointment. Because now that she had escaped she felt sorry for the boy whom she had treated so badly—not intentionally, but badly, nevertheless. Then she remembered that he had been intent only on regaining his fleeing art critic; he had not known that this was a girl he pursued; he had given chase for none but selfish reasons. Indeed, she had fled to


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Rh prevent his discovering that it was a girl who had run away from his roommate's snores. She was glad she had succeeded in eluding him. Only now that she was free she would like—she half wished that he could guess.

Then came footsteps pounding at the entrance of the blind alley.

Ivy thrilled, looked this way and that, laughing in the renewed joy of the chase. Overtake those flying feet, impertinent boy? Never. For beside the house at her left Ivy had discovered a narrow flight of stone steps mounting to some unknown level in the darkness.

Up she sprang, two steps at a time. But tired muscles refused to climb a thousand steps in five hundred bounds; and these steps were steep. So she was obliged to slacken her speed and plod step by step, up and up, until there seemed no end, and she was beginning to puff and pant. And in climbing those endless stairs she had to raise both hands several times to the faithful tarn in order to prevent its slipping off and spilling her hair about her shoulders.

Just as she saw the deep blue of the night sky above the top step, there came to her the sound of ascending steps, two at a time on the first few stairs, then one at a time, and slowing perceptibly. Ivy had come above the tops of the houses crowded close under the hill in the older part of the city, and when she saw the top step and beyond that the street along the edge of the hill and heard the hurrying footsteps behind her, she bounded up the remaining steps. Sharply to the left she turned, along the road overlooking the city, and came to an abrupt and jarring stop in the embrace of a giant, who resolved into a policeman at a glance. The insecure tam-o'-shanter slipped and dropped to the nape of her neck, revealing its burden of wavy curling locks to the copper's astonished eyes for a brief moment before she swept one arm swiftly upward to replace it and conceal her disordered hair.

"Holy St. Swithings! It's a girl!" whistled Officer Corrigan, and grasped Ivy's two arms just below the shoulders holding her off for inspection. "And a queen at that. What's up, my pretty lady? And where did you get the rig?"

"Let me go! Let me go,—p-please!" panted Ivy, weaving from side to side in a struggle to escape the arm of the law. "Come, officer. I've got to go on. You'll be sorry if—" Then changing her tone—"Please, sir," and smiled at him.

"Sure," chuckled Officer Corrigan, and still holding her in his great paws, he looked up and down the street "Just one, little queen, and I'll forget I met you." He released one of Ivy's arms so that he could press back his straggling mustache with two caressing sweeps of his great fingers. Ivy realized his intentions and fought madly, but succeeded only in keeping one arm free while he bent over her with a smug, grimacing face.

"Just put up your bail, little bird, and you're out o' jail," he smirked. "Put up your pretty face and you can say good-bye."

"You ugly mutt," sobbed Ivy, in rage and desperation, her free hand striving futilely to break the grip on


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46 her arm. "You're on the force to protect women. You—I'll see you smashed for this."

Officer Corrigan laughed nastily. And, as if bent on choking that ugly sound, out of the darkness of the stairway came a leaping figure. One machine-like blow and Ivy was free. She shrank back into the shadows, watching the blonde boy in action, fascinated. Unconsciously, keeping her eyes on the fray before her, she assured herself that the tam-o'-shanter was securely in position, hiding all her hair. And instinctively she drew farther back into the shadows, seeking a hiding place. She knew that whichever man was victorious she must not be found. But she crouched behind a fence to watch the struggle because she could not bring herself to run away.

The man from whom she had fled was proving himself a match for the burly policeman. After that one blow, delivered with all the force in him, he was in the grip of the bigger man.

"Blow your whistle," he panted as he locked his left arm in Officer Corrigan's right to prevent his reaching for the club behind him. "Make a row. Go on! I dare you!"

The officer struggled on in silence. Back they went against the railing that bordered the terraced street. Below them were the roofs of squalid houses and beyond that the great expanse of the city. The rail was stout iron yet it quivered under the weight thrown against it. Officer Corrigan was heavy. And for that reason—for his weight was fat, and malt liquor fat at that—Officer Corrigan began to puff and weaken. Swiftly the blonde boy's right arm went under the stout policeman's left armpit up to the shoulder. His chest pressed tight against the officer's; the moving arm came up behind Officer Corrigan's neck, then to the left side of it, and the hand slipped in front of his throat close under his chin. Officer Corrigan found his head going back, his chin up, his back bending backward. He attempted to relieve the strain and straighten up by stepping backward and away from the tense-faced, stern-jawed figure. His foot struck the other's foot placed behind him, and down he fell like a slaughtered bull, on his back.

The boyish man stood over him.

"Get up, scum! Get up and get out. Complain and howl for help if you dare. Come on! Up!" And he stirred the prostrate bully with his foot. Up clambered the fallen guardian of the law's majesty, pale of face and gasping.

"I—I'm—going—to die," Ivy heard him whimper, breathing jerkily.

"I hope so," said the stern figure over him. "But I'm afraid not. Haven't you ever had the wind knocked out of you before? Move on, officer. Move on!" Whining and cowed, Officer Corrigan moved.

The boy wiped the palm of his hand over his brow and laughed mirthlessly. He looked about him slowly, turned toward Ivy's hiding place and took a few doubtful steps. She knew he was looking for the man who could criticise his pictures.

"Girl!" he called. "Hello! Where are you, girl? Where are you?"

Crouched behind her fence, Ivy felt her heart leap as never in her happy


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Rh life had it leaped before. With the tide of crimson that swept over her, swept also a tide of joy. He knew! He had known! The pursuit then had been the pursuit of life, the pursuit of man for woman! But within her was a strange constraint, perhaps a stupified happiness, or perhaps more; in any case, an influence she did not understand, but which restrained her.

"Girl!" he kept calling, up and down the shadow. For awhile she could not see him, but his voice came to her faintly. Again he passed near her hiding place. Soon his voice grew fainter and fainter—farther and farther away; then she heard it no more. Panic-stricken she sprang to her feet. She took two steps in the direction in which he had vanished, paused, then went on hastily.

"Boy!" she called. "Where are you? I'm here. I was hiding. Boy, where are you?"

Presently she saw him leaning on the iron rail.

"Boy," she called, "were you calling me? Were you looking for me?"

When he heard her, his body straightened and the blonde head raised swiftly. He came toward her, both hands extended.

"Why did you hide? Why did you run away from me?" he asked, the serious light burning in his eyes made her aware that on his questions depended the continuation of the earth's revolution or the rising of tomorrow's sun.

"I—I didn't think you knew," she whispered, her profile toward him, her gaze directed at the far horizon which suddenly flared a hot red in an arc over the gas houses where a door had been opened on roaring fires.

"Knew what?" His earnestness amounted to a compelling force.

Either from an instinctive resistance to force or from that strange constraint that had laid its hand on her once before, she was silent, still looking away from him.

"You were afraid," he accused.

Slowly she nodded. "Yes, I—I was afraid to have you know."

"Know what? Please, don't torment me."

"That I am a woman."

"Lord, yes! I knew that!" He laughed queerly, his flashing eyes betraying repressed emotion. The gas house flamed again on the edge of the sky. In a moment she was crushed against his breast, breathless, but tumultuously happy. She heard him whisper something unintelligible, but somehow she knew what he was saying and put her face up to his without a thought as to the wonder of it.

"Little sweetheart," he murmured, "did you think I didn't know the minute I saw you? Did you think your working clothes could fool me?"

She smiled up into his face greatly comforted. "Then you didn't mean me when you said 'we men,' back there? You never thought I was a man?"

He pressed her closer. "Glory, no! You couldn't even fool a policeman."

"But," and she forced herself to say it, "I'm not an artist. I don't know the difference between a palette and a—an easel."

Then he laughed aloud, his seriousness lost. "I knew that, too,—away back there when the taxi stopped under a street lamp and I saw your smock. It's entirely too clean."


text: The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/Lost—A Star


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Category:Republican Party (United States)

The Republican Party is one of two major contemporary political parties in the United States along with the Democratic Party.


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Category:Republican Presidential Debates

Republican Party debates


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Category:Republican National Conventions

National Conventions of the Republican Party.


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 Appendages of anterior pair very large and chelate.
 * Sub-order Pterygotomorpha, Pterygotidae (Pterygotus).

Appendages of anterior pair minute and chelate.

Remarks.—The Gigantostraca are frequently spoken of as “the Eurypterines.” Not more than thirty species are known. They became extinct in Palaeozoic times, and are chiefly found in the Upper Silurian, though extending upwards as far as the Carboniferous. They may be regarded as “macrourous” Xiphosura; that is to say, Xiphosura in which the nomomeristic number of eighteen well-developed somites is present and the posterior ones form a long tail-like region of the body. There still appears to be some doubt whether in the sub-order Eurypteromorpha the first pair of prosomatic appendages (fig. 46) is atrophied, or whether, if present, it has the form of a pair of tactile palps or of minute chelae. Though there are indications of lamelliform respiratory appendages on mesosomatic somites following that bearing the genital operculum, we cannot be said to have any proper knowledge as to such appendages, and further evidence with regard to them is much to be desired. (For literature see Zittel, 22*.)

Grade b (of the Eu-arachnida). (Aeropneustea).

In primitive forms the respiratory lamellae of the appendages of the 3rd, 4th, 5th and eth, or of the 1st and 2nd mesosomatic somites are sunk beneath the surface of the body, and become adapted to breathe atmospheric oxygen, forming the leaves of the so-called lung-books. In specialized forms these pulmonary sacs are wholly or partly replaced by tracheal tubes. The appendages of the mesosoma generally suppressed; in the more primitive forms one or two pairs may be retained as organs subservient to reproduction or silk-spinning. Mouth situated more forwards than in Delobranchia, no share in mastication being taken by the basal segments of the 5th and 6th pairs of prosomatic appendages. Lateral eyes, when present, represented by separate ocelli.

The prae-genital somite, after appearing in the embryo, either is obliterated (Scorpio, Galeodes, Opilio and others) or is retained as a reduced narrow region of the body, the “waist,” between prosoma and mesosoma. It is represented by a full-sized tergal plate in the Pseudo-scorpiones.

Section. Pectinifera.—The primitive distinction between the mesosoma and the metasoma retained, the latter consisting of six somites and the former of six somites in the adult, each of which is furnished during growth with a pair of appendages. Including the prae-genital somite (fig. 16), which is suppressed in the adult, there are thirteen somites behind the prosoma. The appendages of the 1st and 2nd mesosomatic somites persisting as the genital operculum and pectones respectively, those of the 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th somites (? in Palaeophonus) sinking below the surface during growth in connexion with the formation of the four pairs of pulmonary sacs (see fig. 17). Lateral eyes monostichous.

'''Order 1. Scorpiones.'''—Prosoma covered by a single dorsal shield, bearing typically median and lateral eyes; its sternal elements reduced to a single plate lodged between or behind the basal segments of the 5th and 6th pairs of appendages. Appendages of 1st pair tri-segmented, chelate; of 2nd pair chelate, with their basal segments subserving mastication; of 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th pairs similar in form and function, except that in recent and Carboniferous forms the basal segments of the 3rd and 4th are provided with sterno-coxal (maxillary) lobes, those of the 4th pair meeting in the middle line and underlying the mouth. The five posterior somites of the metasoma constricted to form a “tail,” the post-anal sclerite persisting as a weapon of offence and provided with a pair of poison glands (see figs. 8, 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 21 and 22).

Sub-order Apoxypoda.—The 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th pairs of appendages short, stout, tapering, the segments about as wide as long, except the apical, which is distally slender, pointed, slightly curved, and without distinct movable claws.

Family—Palaeophonidae, Palaeophonus (figs. 48 and 49).

Sub-order Dionychopoda.—The 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th pairs of appendages slender, not evenly tapering, the segments longer than wide; the apical segment short, distally truncate, and provided with a pair of movable claws. Basal segments of the 5th and 6th pairs of appendages abutting against the sternum of the prosoma (see fig. 10 and figs. 51, 52 and 53).

Family—Pandinidae (Pandinus, Opisthophthalmus, Urodacus).

”     Vejovidae (Vaejovis, Jurus, Euscorpius, Broteas).

”     Bothriuridae (Bothriurus, Cercophonius).

”     Buthidae (Buthus, Centrurus).

Remarks on the Order Scorpiones.—The Scorpion is one of the great animals of ancient lore and tradition. It and the crab are the only two invertebrates which had impressed the minds of early men sufficiently to be raised to the dignity of astronomical representation. It is all the more remarkable that the scorpion proves to be the oldest animal form of high elaboration which has persisted to the present day. In the Upper Silurian two specimens of a scorpion have been found (figs. 48, 49), one in Gothland and one in Scotland,

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 a lance, called Satuhoran, with tumach; at the sixth, a lion called Satuhorimau; at the seventh, two white elephants called Gagiapute. The palace contains seventy-nine halls, in which dwell only the ladies destined to serve the king; there are always torches burning there. It is not possible to go round the palace in less than a day. In the upper part of it are four halls where the ministers go to speak to the king: one is ornamented with metal, both the pavement and the walls; another is all of silver, another all of gold, and the other is set with pearls and precious stones. The gold and other valuable things which are brought as tribute to the king are placed in these rooms; and when they are there deposited, they say, Let this be for the honour and glory of our Santoa Raja. All these things and many others relating to this king, were narrated to us by a Moor, who said that he had seen them. The Chinese are white, and are clothed; they eat on tables like us. They have crosses, but it is not known why they have them. It is from China that musk comes; the animal which produces it is a kind of cat, like the civet cat; it eats nothing but a certain soft wood, slender as a finger, named chamaru. To extract the musk from this animal they attach a leech to it, and leave it till it is full of blood, and when they see that it is well filled, they crush it, and collect the blood in a plate, and put it in the sun for four or five days, moistening it every day with urine. In this way it becomes perfect musk. Whoever keeps one of these cats pays a tribute to the king. The grains of musk which come to Europe as musk, are only small pieces of kid's flesh soaked in real


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 musk, and not the blood, since though it can be made into grains, it easily evaporates. The cat which produces musk is called castor, and the leech is called Linta. Continuing along the coast of China, many nations are met with, and they are these: the Chienchi, who inhabit the islands in which they fish for pearls, and where the cinnamon grows. The Lecchii inhabit the mainland: the entrance to their port is traversed by a large rock, for which reason all the junks and vessels which wish to enter must take down their masts. The king of this country is called Moni. He has on the mainland twenty kings under him, and he is subject to the King of China: his capital is Baranaci, and here is situated Oriental Cathay. Han is a high and cold island, where there is copper, silver, pearls, and silk; its king is named Raja Zotra. There is also Miliaula, the king of which is named Raja Quetischeniga, and Guio, the king of which is Raja Sudacali. These places are cold and on the mainland. Friagonba and Trianga are two islands which also produce copper, silver, pearls, and silk; their king is Raja Ruzon. Bassi is a low land on the continent. There come afterwards Sumbdit and Pradit, two islands very rich in gold, where the men wear a large ring of gold round the ancle. In the neighbouring mountains dwell people who kill their parents when they are old, so that they may cease from travail. All the people of these countries are Gentiles. Tuesday night (between it and Wednesday,) on the 11th of February of 1522, we left the island of Timor, and entered upon the great sea named Laut Chidol and taking a west-south-west course, we left to the right and to the North, from fear of the Portuguese, the island of Zumatra, anciently named Taprobana; also Pegu, Bengala, Urizza, Chelim, where are the Malabars, subjects of the King of Narsinga: Calicut which is under the same king; Cambaya


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 in which are the Guzeratis; Cananor, Goa, Armus, and all the other coast of India major.

In this kingdom dwell six classes of persons, that is to say: Nairs, Panicals, Franas, Pangelins, Macuas, and Poleas. The Nairs are the chiefs; the Panicals are the townspeople; these two classes live and converse together. The Franas collect the wine from the palm trees and the bananas. The Macuas are fishermen; and the Poleas sow and harvest the rice; these last always dwell in the fields, and never enter the city, and when it is desired to give them anything, it is placed on the ground and they take it. When they go along the roads they always cry out, po, po, po, that is take care of yourself; and we were told that a Nair who had been accidentally touched by a Polea, not to survive such a disgrace, had himself killed.

In order to double the Cape of Good Hope, we went as far as 42° South latitude, and we remained off that cape for nine weeks, with the sails struck on account of the Western and North-western gales which beat against our bows with fierce squalls. The Cape of Good Hope is in 34° 30' South latitude, 1600 leagues distant from the Cape of Malacca, and it is the largest and most dangerous cape in the world.

Some of our men, and among them the sick, would have liked to land at a place belonging to the Portuguese called Mozambique, both because the ship made much water, and because of the great cold which we suffered; and much more because we had nothing but rice and water for food and drink, all the meat of which we had made provision having putrified, for the want of salt had not permitted us to salt it. But the greater number of us, prizing honour more than life itself, decided on attempting at any risk to return to Spain.

At length, by the aid of God, on the 6th of May, we passed that terrible cape, but we were obliged to approach it within only five leagues distance, or else we should never have passed it. We then sailed towards the north-west


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 for two whole months without ever taking rest; and in this short time we lost twenty-one men between Christians and Indians. We made then a curious observation on throwing them into the sea, that was that the Christians remained with the face turned to the sky, and the Indians with the face turned to the sea. If God had not granted us favourable weather, we should all have perished of hunger.

Constrained by extreme necessity, we decided on touching at the Cape Verde Islands, and on Wednesday the 9th of July, we touched at one of those islands named St. James's. Knowing that we were in an enemy's country, and amongst suspicious persons, on sending the boat ashore to get provision of victuals, we charged the seamen to say to the Portuguese that we had sprung our foremast under the equinoctial line (although this misfortune had happened at the Cape of Good Hope), and that our ship was alone, because whilst we tried to repair it, our captain-general had gone with the other two ships to Spain. With these good words, and giving some of our merchandise in exchange, we obtained two boat-loads of rice.

In order to see whether we had kept an exact account of the days, we charged those who went ashore to ask what day of the week it was, and they were told by the Portuguese inhabitants of the island that it was Thursday, which was a great cause of wondering to us, since with us it was only Wednesday. We could not persuade ourselves that we were mistaken; and I was more surprised than the others, since having always been in good health, I had every day, without intermission, written down the day that was current. But we were afterwards advised that there was no error on our part, since as we had always sailed towards the west, following the course of the sun, and had returned to the same place, we must have gained twenty-four hours, as is clear to any one who reflects upon it.


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BY ERICH BRANDEIS

HAD just taken a headache powder. Every time I go to one of Bill Curtis's parties I have to take a headache powder the next day. The powder had not taken any effect yet. I was stretched out on the sofa, my head buried in a pillow which was the only heritage from a rich aunt. She had left all the rest of her belongings to charity.

The pillow was perfectly plain, just as plain as my aunt had been; nothing on it but green trees and red flowers on a yellow background. But, the way I felt, I imagined that I was in the midst of an African jungle with gorillas and snakes surrounding me. Just as a roaring lion approached to do me harm my man entered and announced:

"A Mr. Jennings."

"Who?"

"Mr. Jennings. He says he is from Kalamazoo and came here especially to see you."

"Mr. Jennings," I pondered, "and from Kalamazoo. Never heard of him."

Nevertheless, I told the servant to show him in after he had assured me that this man Jennings did not look as if he wanted to borrow money or sell me life insurance or books.

A callow youth entered the door. The thing I noticed first was that he had many freckles on his nose. If anybody had told me that there was room for so many freckles on one single nose, I should not have believed it.

The clothes indicated small town. The shoes, turned up in front, had been half-soled; and I noticed that that clean young man took the expensive little Belutschisten near the door for a door mat, as he respectfully scraped his feet on it. Then he advanced two steps, bowed and introduced himself.

"Joseph Jennings, student of physiology from Kalamazoo. At present I am studying Oriental languages at St. Vitus."

"Pleased to meet you," I lied.

"You will be surprised—" He stopped. But as I did not, as he expected, lie about it, he continued. "You may be surprised that I am calling on you. I am from Kalamazoo, Michigan, you know."

As I couldn't see any cause for surprise in the fact that the young man was from Kalamazoo and as, in my present condition I would not even have been surprised had he been from Jamina or Wadi Haifa, he soon resumed, stroking his knee:


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Rh "I have a recommendation for you from your friend, Doctor Mclntyre from St. Vitus."

I knew that kind of recommendation. Mclntyre was a great friend of all aspirants in art and letters and whenever anybody wanted anything he gave him a recommendation to friends in New York.

Only three weeks before he had sent me a flute player with a recommendation. The man was thin as a stick, wore a celluloid collar and had a whole book full of testimonials from his home town friends. He was bound to go into vaudeville and did not leave me until I started him on the road to success with a dollar. Therefore my enthusiasm for friend Mclntyre's recommendations was way below par.

Still, Jennings was a student, and I had been a student myself. "May I ask what you are doing here in New York?"

"Oh, yes, that's why I am calling on you."

He hesitated a moment then he asked: "Of course you know the Modsahabat?"

"The Modsahabat?" I pondered. Was that a Spanish dancer, or did she play in musical comedy, or—

"I am sorry," I finally said, "but I can't just place the lady. Is she supposed to be in New York?"

"A lady!" Jennings looked at me as if I had suddenly gone daft. "But you must remember the Modsahabat, those narrative poems of pre-Mohammedan origin which the Arabians wrote in golden letters on Byssus and which now hang on the walls of the Kaba in Mecca."

I thought that in my present condition the Arabians would have done me a great favor if, instead of the Modsahabat, they had hung Jennings of Kalamazoo on the walls. But I simply answered:

"Oh, yes, in the Kaba." "I am thinking of writing a book on the Modsahabat," Jennings then informed me.

I assured him that I had been waiting a long time for just such a valuable book to be published.

"I intend to prove, furthermore, that at the time the Modsahabat are supposed to have originated, the Arabians did not even know the art of writing on Byssus," continued Jennings.

A hypothesis which appeared much more important as I did not have the slightest idea what Byssus meant. I remembered Issus, where Alexander the Great had been victorious; I knew of Nessus who poisoned Hercules in such a mean manner; but Byssus was a stranger to me.

"And I intend to prove that before the days of Mohammed such prize poems of Arabian poets were generally written on camels' bones and that on all preserved camels' bones there is not the slightest trace of Modsahabat."

"And you see," he continued, scratching his freckles, "I am looking for one of those camel bones."

"In my house?"

"No, of course not. But I have been told that at the museum here they have one of those bones. My father gave me my travelling expenses and enough money to stay here as long as it will take me to decipher


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50 the writing on the bone. Tomorrow I shall start on my search in the museum. I thought that perhaps—and your friend Doctor Mclntyre said that you—"

That was just like McIntyre; flute or camel's bone—I never played one or read the other,—but, in both cases, McIntyre stamped me as an authority. I therefore assured Mr. Jennings of Kalamazoo that as long as I had lived in New York I had never heard of the camel bone.

He was very sorry and our conversation began to lag until I finally asked him:

"How do you like New York?"

"It seems rather a noisy town for quiet study," replied Jennings, "and the arrangement of the streets is somewhat strange. One seems to take the wrong cars continually."

I was afraid he might begin to talk about Modsahabat and Byssus again, and, as I did not care to display further ignorance, I began to draw an elaborate map for him, showing the nearest and safest way to the museum.

Finally I explained the route with all its street car, subway, elevated and bus connections, and as I happened to have a ticket for a musical comedy which I could not use on account of my headache, I offered it to him, apologizing for the fact that it would be rather a frivolous entertainment for a man of his mental calibre, but then—this was New York.

He was kind enough to accept the ticket, remarking at the same time that while it had nothing to do with his studies and that he was especially opposed to the shameless display of hosiery which one sees in such entertainments, out of mere curiosity he would look in for a few minutes.

Before he departed he promised to keep me informed about his progress with the Modsahabat.

Two days later, one of my cousins called on me. He is a fruitgrower on a large ranch near a small town and his principal accomplishments are high-balls and a book on "The Removal of Spiders from Young Peach Plants," which he considers one of the best books ever written.

But when cousin Edward comes to New York he generally forgets all about spiders and peach plants and thinks mostly of his other accomplishment. He is especially interested in the night life. And as he stoutly maintains that he can not get along without me on his night trips, his visits generally mean numerous highballs and splitting headaches for me.

This time, as usual, I had to accompany him. He managed to find a statuesque blonde with a raucous voice, who chewed a toothpick and was inordinately fond of champagne at five dollars the bottle. While Edward was telling her about crops and spiders, she flirted with a college student at the next table.

I was bored and felt extremely de trop when suddenly I saw something that attracted my attention. There in one of the stalls, with his arms around a very thin lady, sat Jennings from Kalamazoo, freckles and all.

When he saw me he came over to our table, his steps rather insecure, and he expressed great pleasure at seeing me.


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Rh "You are no doubt surprised to see me here," he said, "but, you see, I met that young lady after the theatre the night you gave me the ticket and she has been a great help to me ever since."

"Have you found the camel bone?" I asked.

He told me that he had not and, to be perfectly frank, had not even been to the museum.

"In spite of your description, I got the wrong car and instead of going to the museum I landed in Fourteenth Street."

He was about to tell me what he had done in Fourteenth Street, when his female friend came over to the table.

"Say, Jennings," she queried, "are you trying to ditch me?"

He informed her, tenderly, that he had no such intentions.

It then developed that my cousin's blonde and Jennings's bony beauty were friends. They kissed and embraced and the two joined our party.

I took French leave and went home.

The next day Cousin Edward called me up on the 'phone and informed me that Jennings was an awfully good scout and although he had been very drunk he had told him all about the Modsahabat and the camel bone. For two days I heard nothing from Cousin Edward and I forgot about him and Jennings.

The third day, without knocking, Cousin Edward came in, sat in my most comfortable chair, lighted one of my cigars, and began to whistle.

"Did you ever see a real Salome dance?" he suddenly asked me.

I told him that I had not and was informed that I had missed the chance of a lifetime.

He then gave me a description of a little trip he and Jennings from Kalamazoo had taken into the tenderloin the previous evening after a good dinner with much wine, and how they had dropped into a place which advertised real Arabian dancers.

"It was not a very inviting place," he said, "and the drinks were awful. I didn't feel like going, but Jennings thinks there isn't a better chance to study life than in these places.

"It was too early for the crowds and two of the Arabian girls were sitting around in the half empty place. They joined us and started a conversation. One of them did not look very genuine and was quite old, but the other was great! Young, classy, with big black eyes, very black hair and teeth like ivory.

"The girls soon became familiar, the older first. Finally, the younger of the two proposed to give a special performance for twenty dollars; and she danced the real Salome dance. It isn't necessary to describe it, but it was the real thing, all right. And with the drinks, and the dance, and the heat, Jennings became very lively.

"He took a great fancy to the younger girl and she told him that her name was Zuleika and that twice as a child she had been in Mecca with her father, a respected Bedouin sheik of oldest desert nobility, and that she had in her personal possession one of those rare camel bones on which the Modsahabat is written.

"She did not brag about it. Jennings, clever as he is, just wormed it out of her by numerous questions.


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52 "He then tried to speak Arabian to her, but did not succeed, because he knew only the classic Arabian, while the pretty girl apparently spoke the modern dialect. But because Zuleika had been working in New York for a number of years—publicly showing the greatly modified Salome dance—she spoke English very well, in fact, with the typical Bowery slang.

"As it was Jennings's greatest wish to gain possession of the camel bone before a museum or a college could take it away from him, he immediately offered the girl fifty dollars for it. But Zuleika only smiled and gave him such a look that he felt very cheap for having made such a low offer."

At length Edward came to the purpose of his visit. Jennings's money had temporarily given out, and he also was a little embarrassed at present. He had written home and expected funds shortly, but he needed two hundred dollars right away to buy the camel bone. And as they, of course, wanted to celebrate the good luck, a few dollars more for a nice, quiet, wine supper with the Arabian girls was necessary.

It was hard for me to say what I thought of Edward and Jennings. But rather than be called stingy, I gave Edward my check; and he promised to return the money in a few days.

Several months passed. I never saw Jennings again, but from Cousin Edward I received this letter:

I agreed particularly with the last part of the letter and did not lose any time. I took the bone to the curator of the Museum of Natural History. He is an authority on Oriental matters and examined the hieroglyphics carefully, covering his nose. He said it wasn't Assyrian, nor Arabian, nor Babylonian, nor Chaldean. It was Bunk. As to the bone, he advised me to consult a butcher.

I threw Modsahabat in the garbage can yesterday. Then I wrote a letter which read as follows:


text: The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/The Bone of a Camel


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1537.] again. Of the many strange scenes which must have taken place on these occasions, one picture, but a striking one, is all which I have found. It occurred at the house of the lord chancellor, in the presence of the privy council and a crowded audience. Darcy was the subject of examination. Careless of life, and with the prophetic insight of dying men, he turned, when pressed with questions, to the lord privy seal:—

'Cromwell,' he said, 'it is thou that art the very special and chief causer of all this rebellion and mischief, and art likewise causer of the apprehension of us that be, and dost daily earnestly travel to bring us to our ends, and to strike off our heads. I trust that ere thou die, though thou wouldest procure all the noblemen's heads within the realm to be stricken off, yet shall there one head remain that shall strike off thy head.'

Of Aske, too, we catch glimpses which show that he was something more than a remarkable insurgent leader: a short entry tells us that six or seven days after his arrest, 'his servant, Robert Wall (let his name be remembered), did cast himself upon his bed and cried, 'Oh, my master! Oh, my master! they will draw him, and hang him, and quarter him;' and therewith he did die for sorrow.' Aske had lost a friend when friends were needed. In a letter which he wrote to Cromwell, he said that he had been sent up in haste without


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32 clothes or money, that no one of his relations would help him, and that unless the King would be his good and gracious lord, he knew not how he would live. His confessions during his imprisonment were free and ample. He asked for his life, yet with a dignity which would stoop to no falsehood, and pretend to no repentance, beyond a general regret that he should have offended the King. Then, as throughout, he showed himself a brave, simple, nobleminded man.

But it was in vain; and fate was hungry for its victims. The bills being found, Darcy was arraigned before twenty-two peers, and was condemned, Cromwell undertaking to intercede for his life. The intercession, if made, was not effectual. The fifteen commoners, on the same day, were tried before a special commission in Westminster Hall. Percy, Hamarton, Sir John and Lady Bulmer pleaded guilty. The prosecution against Sir Ralph Bulmer was dropped: a verdict was given without difficulty against Aske, Constable, Bigod, Lumley, and seven more. Sixteen knights, nobles, and gentlemen, who a few months before were dictating terms to the Duke of Norfolk, and threatening to turn the tide of the Reformation, were condemned criminals waiting for death.

The executions were delayed from a doubt whether London or York should be the scene of the closing tragedy. There remain some fragments written by Darcy and Aske in the interval after their sentence.


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1537.] Darcy must have been nearly eighty years old; but neither the matter nor the broad, large, powerful handwriting of the following words show signs of agitation:—

'After judgment given, the petition of Thomas Lord Darcy to the King's Grace, by my Lord Privy Seal.

'First to have confession; and at a mass to receive my Maker, that I may depart like a Christian man out of this vale of misery.

'Second, that incontinent after my death my whole body may be buried with my late wife, the Lady Neville, in the Freers at Greenwich.

'Third, that the straitness of my judgment may be mitigated after the King's mercy and pleasure.

'Fourth, that my debts may be paid according to a schedule enclosed.'

Aske, in a few lines addressed also to Cromwell, spoke of his debts, and begged that some provision might be made for his family. 'They,' he said, 'never offended the King's Grace, nor were with me in council in no act during all this time, but fled into woods and houses. Good my Lord, extend your pity herein. And I most humbly ask the King's Highness, and all his council and lords, lowly forgiveness for any mine offences or words attempted or said against his Grace or any of them any time of my life; and that his Grace would save my life, if it be his pleasure, to be his bedesman—or else—to let me be full dead or that I may be


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34 dismembered, that I may piously give my spirit to God without more pain; and that I desire for the honour of God and for charity.'

The requests relating to the manner of the executions, it is satisfactory to find, were granted; and not only in the case of the two petitioners, but so far as I can learn in that of all the other sufferers. Wherever the scaffold becomes visible, the rope and the axe are the sole discernible implements of death. With respect to the other petition, I find among loose memoranda of Cromwell an entry 'for a book to be made of the wives and poor children of such as have suffered, to the intent his Grace may extend his mercy to them for their livings as to his Highness shall be thought convenient, and for payment of their debts.' The 'mercy' seems to have been liberal. The forfeited properties, on the whole, after a longer or shorter interval, were allowed to descend without diminution, in their natural order.

After some discussion it was settled that Darcy should suffer on Tower Hill; and he was executed on the 20th of June. Sir Thomas Percy, Bigod, the Abbots of Fountains and Jervaulx, Hamarton, Sir John Bulmer, young Lumley, and Nicholas Tempest were hanged at Tyburn; four who had been tried with them and condemned were pardoned. Lady


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1537.] Bulmer died the dreadful death awarded by the English law to female treason. 'On the Friday in Whitsun week,' wrote a town correspondent of Sir Henry Saville, 'the wife of Sir John Bulmer was drawn without Newgate to Sniithfield and there burned:' and the world went its light way, thinking no more of Lady Bulmer than if she had been a mere Protestant heretic: the same letter urged Saville to hasten to London for the pleasures of the season, suggesting that he might obtain some share in the confiscated estates, of which the King would be soon disposing. Aske and Sir Robert Constable were to be sent down to Yorkshire. The King had been compelled, by the succession of fresh disorders and the punishments which had followed, to relinquish his intention of holding a summer Parliament there. The renewed disturbances had released him from his promise, and the discussion which would inevitably have been opened, would have been alike


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36 and useless. He had thought subsequently of going to York on progress, and of making his presence the occasion of an amnesty; the condition of the Continent, however, the large armies, French and Imperial, which were in the field in the neighbourhood of Calais, the possibility or the alarm that the Pope might succeed in reconciling and directing them upon England, and still more the pregnancy of the Queen and the danger of some anxiety which might cause the loss of the child, combined to make so distant a journey undesirable. These at least were the reasons which he alleged to the world. His chief ground, however, as he stated in private, was the increasing infirmity of his own health and the inhibition of his physician. He resolved, therefore, that Norfolk, and not himself, should 'knit up the tragedy,' by conducting the last executions on the scene of the rebellion, and after they were over, by proclaiming a final and general pardon.

At the beginning of July the two remaining prisoners were placed in the custody of


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1537.] Sir Thomas Wentworth. They were paraded in formal state through the eastern counties, and at each town a few words of warning were addressed on the occasion to the people. Wentworth brought them thus to Lincoln, where they were delivered over to the Duke of Norfolk. Constable suffered first. He was taken to Hull, and there hanged in chains. Before his death he said that, although he had declared on his examination that he had revealed everything of importance which he knew, yet he had concealed some matter connected with Lord Darcy for fear of doing him an injury. 'He was in doubt whether he had offended God in receiving the sacrament in such manner, concealing the truth upon a good purpose.' This secret, whatever it was, he carried with him from the world. His own offences he admitted freely, protesting, however, that he had added nothing to them since the pardon.

A fuller account remains of the end of Aske. He, too, like Constable, had some mystery on his conscience


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38 which he would not reveal. In a conversation with his confessor he alluded to Darcy's connection with the Spanish ambassador; he spoke of the intention of sending for help to Flanders, and acknowledged his treason, while he shrunk from the name of traitor. He complained that Cromwell had several times promised him his life if he would make a full confession, and once he said he had a token of pardon from the King; but his bearing was quiet and brave, and if he believed himself hardly dealt with, he said so only in private to a single person.

York was chosen as his place of execution. He was drawn through the streets upon a hurdle, to be hanged afterwards from the top of a tower. On his way he told the people that he had grievously offended God, the King, and the world. God he had offended in breaking his commandments many ways; the King's Majesty he had greatly offended in breaking his laws, to which every subject was bound; and the world he had offended, 'for so much as he was the occasion that many a one had lost their lives, lands, and goods.' At the scaffold he begged the people to pray for him, 'and divers times asking the King's Highness' forgiveness, the lord chancellor, the Lord of Norfolk, the lord privy seal, the Lord of Sussex, and all the world, after certain orisons he commended his soul to God.'


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1537.] So we take leave of Robert Aske, closing his brief greatness with, a felon's death—an unhappy ending! Yet, as we look back now, at a distance of three centuries, when the noble and the base, the conquerors and the conquered, have been all long dead together, when nothing remains of any of them but the work, worthy or unworthy, which they achieved, and the few years which weak false hearts could purchase by denying their faith and truckling to the time appear in the retrospect in their proper insignificance, a man who risked and lost his life for a cause which he believed a just one, though he was mistaken in so believing it, is not among those whose fate deserves the most compassion, or whose career is least to be envied.

The insurrection had sunk down into rest; but it had not been wholly in vain. So far as it was just it had prevailed; and happy were they whose work was


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40 sifted for them, who were permitted to accomplish so much only for their intentions as had been wisely formed. If the reins of England had been seized by Aske and Darcy, their signal beacons of insurrection would have become blazing martyr-piles, shining dreadfully through all after-ages; and their names would have come down to posterity swathed in such epithets as cling, and will cling for ever, to the Gardiners and the Alvas.

While the noble Catholics were braving danger in England, Reginald Pole sat at safe distance on his Liège watch-tower, scenting the air for the expected battle-field; and at length, hungry and disappointed, turning sullenly away and preparing for flight. He had clung to hope till the last moment with desperate tenacity. He had laboured to inspire his friends in Italy with his own confidence. 'The leaders of the faithful,' he wrote to the Pope, 'had been duped and murdered; but the hate of the people for the Government had deepened in intensity. They were subdued for the instant by terror; but their strength was unimpaired. They were furious at the King's treachery.' 'Twice,' he wrote to Contarini, 'the children of Israel went up against Benjamin, and twice they were put to confusion, God having encouraged them to fight, and God permitting their defeat. The third time they prevailed. In like manner had the children of the Church been twice conqxiered, once God so willing it in Ireland, and now


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User talk:Ryan Vesey

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title: User talk:Ryan Vesey


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Rh

longer could McKinley be said to be unknown. His practice was extending in all directions, and the winning of several important cases gained him a reputation which was rapidly spreading beyond the confines of Canton and of Stark County.

"He will make his mark yet," said more than one shrewd old lawyer. But what a high and glorious mark few of them lived to witness.

He still kept up his studies, and all of his spare time was spent in reading. Rarely did he go on a railroad journey that he did not have a history or a law book with him.

He was generally slow to make up his mind, but once he had reached a conclusion nothing could change him. Yet that he could also act quickly when the occasion


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136 demanded it, the following anecdote will prove:—

One day he was just preparing to go to dinner, when a telegram was handed to him from a lawyer in Youngstown. The telegram read:—

"Cannot possibly get to Canton to-day. Have case there at two o'clock. Have it postponed if you can, or do your best."

McKinley read the telegram and then looked at his watch. It was just quarter past twelve. There was exactly an hour and three-quarters in which to learn what the case was about and get up his argument for a postponement. He did not then dream of going further with the case.

At five minutes of two he was in the court-room, and when the case was called he promptly moved an adjournment and stated his reasons.

"I object to an adjournment," said the opposing counsel, who thought he saw his way clear to getting a judgment. "This case has been adjourned twice already. We are all prepared to go ahead, and the defendant should be, likewise."


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Rh There was an earnest argument, and at last the judge said the case must go on, regardless of the absence of the lawyer in Youngstown.

"Very well, then, we'll go on," said McKinley, and pitched into the case with all the earnestness at his command. The other side had hoped to obtain a verdict in two or three hours, but McKinley argued at such a length, and asked the witnesses so many questions, that the judge had to adjourn the case to the next day. Then the young lawyer rushed off to the telegraph office and sent this message to the lawyer in Youngstown:—

"No adjournment allowed. Am keeping the witnesses at it. Will you be on hand to-morrow?"

Having sent this message, he went back to his office to study up the real details of the case. He waited, expecting an answer, but none came until the following morning.

"Cannot possibly come. Do your best. You have had a night to think it over."


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138 The lawyer who sent that message knew McKinley thoroughly. The rising young advocate had had a night to think about it, and the case was now as clear to him as it probably was to the man he represented. Promptly on the minute he was on hand to continue the argument. In the corridor of the court-house he met the opposing counsel.

"Say, how long are you going to keep US at it to-day?" asked the lawyer.

"Not a minute longer than is necessary," was McKinley' s prompt answer.

Soon the judge arrived, and the case was continued. The opposing counsel expected McKinley to be as long-winded as before, and was taken by surprise when the young lawyer wound up some time before dinner. In that short time he had brought together all the various threads of the case, and he wound them into a conclusion which could not be disputed. Decision was reserved, and everybody left the court-room wondering:: what the outcome would be.

The next day the lawyer from Youngstown came to Canton and rushed into McKinley's office.

"I am glad you went ahead," he said.


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Rh "I was afraid I was going to have a whole lot of trouble over that case."

"I did the best I could," answered the young lawyer. "I hadn't much time." Then he told of what had been accomplished. The other lawyer approved and praised him for the work. A few days later the judge rendered his decision, and it was in McKinley's favor. His fee was of good size, and his good work at such short notice added greatly to his laurels as a rising lawyer.

On one occasion the young advocate showed his sterling honesty in a way that brought to him the praise of one of his bitterest legal opponents.

It was a case of one large manufacturer against another, and the amount involved was several thousand dollars. The case was set for a Tuesday, and McKinley was all ready to go on, when he heard that the other side wanted a delay.

"We can't delay unless there is a good reason for it," said McKinley, and then learned that a clerk hired by the opposite counsel had lost several important documents.


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140 That afternoon McKinley visited a law library close by to obtain a certain rare book. While looking over the shelves he found the very documents the other lawyer had lost, dropped in a dusty and dimly lit corner.

The temptation to keep these documents, or at least to read them, must have been strong. But without hesitation McKinley called an attendant to him.

"Here are some papers belonging to Mr. Blank," he said. "I found them in yonder dark corner. You had better have them delivered to him at once."

"I will, sir," answered the attendant. "Mr. Blank is in the next room."

The attendant went off, and in a few seconds the other lawyer came rushing up to McKinley.

"Where did you say you found these documents?" he demanded.

"Right over there," and McKinley pointed to the corner.

"Your clerk was over there a few days ago, Mr. Blank," said the attendant. "He had a large package of documents at the time."


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Rh "Oh!" Mr. Blank paused for a moment, then held out his hand to McKinley. "I am very much obliged to you," he said. "I owe you one for that."

"You are welcome, I am sure," was the quiet answer.

When the case came up, the opposing lawyer was afraid McKinley had read the documents, but soon the drift of affairs showed that the young lawyer had not done so, and his admiration of the honest young advocate increased. McKinley lost the case, and immediately put in a notice of appeal.

"He might have won if he had read those documents," said the other lawyer to a close friend. "Well, wait till the case is reopened," was the answer. The lawyer did wait, and on the appeal McKinley won. But even with this, the two after that were warm friends, for the other lawyer knew that, though McKinley might be sharp in his practice, he was thoroughly honest and above board.

In those days in the middle west, nearly every lawyer took a strong interest in


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142 As we know, McKinley had cast his first vote for Abraham Lincoln. When election time came round, he was asked to speak for the Republican party, and he made many addresses in Canton, in Youngstown, in Poland, and elsewhere. The time spent in debating when a boy now stood him in good stead, and he became a fluent and convincing speech-maker. His arguments always went straight to the point, and although some people did not agree with him, they could not help but be impressed by his earnestness.

When the time came for electing a new prosecuting attorney of Stark County, the nomination on the Republican side almost went a-begging. This was because the county was considered strongly Democratic, and the Republicans felt that any man they put up would be almost certain of defeat.

"Let us put up Major McKinley," said somebody. "He's pretty popular all round."

"No, it isn't fair," said another. "He'd be like a ninepin that is set up merely to be bowled over."

"I don't know about that," returned the


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Rh first speaker. "He has some good friends even among the Democrats. They know him to be a first-class lawyer and straight as a string."

But a number demurred, for they hated to see such a rising and ambitious lawyer "led to the slaughter," as they expressed it. At last it was decided to put the question to McKinley himself.

"Yes, I will take the nomination, but on one condition," said the young advocate. "You must all promise me your earnest and not your half-hearted support. Give me what help you can, and I'll take care of the rest."

"We'll do that willingly," said one of the committee. Accordingly, when the county convention was held, William McKinley's name came up for the office of prosecuting attorney, and he was placed on the ticket by almost unanimous consent.

Hearing of this, the Democrats also put a strong man in the field. At once the contest waxed warm, and many public meetings were held in various parts of the county. McKinley spoke here, there, and


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144 all around, and kept it up until the night before election. Then he went home to await results.

It was the first time he was up for public office. Would he win or lose?


text: American Boys' Life of William McKinley/Chapter 14


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 tiger-cat, dangerous as hell and twice as beautiful!"

Golden Wings' black brows drew together angrily at the open, insolent admiration on the face of Khal Kan. She spoke to her father.

Bladomir looked down frowningly at the tall, grinning young warrior and his two companions.

"Watermen!" grunted the dryland chief contemptuously, using the desert-folk's name for the coast peoples. "What do you want here?"

"We're from Kaubos," Brusul answered quickly. "We had to leave there when the Bunts took our city last year. Being men without a country now, we thought we'd offer our swords to you."

Bladomir spat. "We of the desert don't need to hire swords. You can have tent-hospitality tonight. Tomorrow, be gone."

It was what Khal Kan had expected. He was hardly listening. His eyes, insolent in admiration, had never left the girl Golden Wings.

A shrill voice yelled from the drylanders feasting in the big torchlit tent. A thin, squint-eyed desert warrior had jumped to his feet and was pointing at Khal Kan.

"That's no Kaubian!" he cried. "It's the prince of Jotan! I saw him with the king his father, two years ago in Jotan city!"

Khal Kan's sword sang out of its sheath with blurring speed—but too late. Drylanders had leaped on the three instantly, pinioning their arms. Old Bladomir arose, his hawk-eyes narrowing ominously.

"So you're that hell's brand, young Khal Kan of Jotan?" he snarled. "Spying on us, are you?"

Khal Kan answered coolly. "We're not spying on you. My father sent us into the Dragals to see if the Bunts were in the mountains. He feared that traitor Egir might lead the green men north that way."

"Then what are you doing here in our camp?" Bladomir demanded.

Khal Kan looked calmly at the girl. "I'd heard of your daughter and wanted to look at her, to see if she was all they say."

Golden Wing's black eyes flared, but her voice was silky. "And now that you have looked, Jotanian, do you approve?"

Khal Kan laughed. "Yes, I do. I think you're a tiger-cat as would make me a fit mate. I shall do you the honor of making you princess of Jotan."

Swords of a score of dryland warriors flashed toward the three captives, as the desert warriors leaped to avenge the insult.

"Wait!" called Golden Wings' dear voice. There was a glint of mocking humor in her black eyes as she looked down at Khal Kan. "No swords for this princeling—the whip's more suited to him. Tie him up."

A roar of applause went up from the drylanders. In a moment, Khal Kan had been strung up to a tent-pole, his hands dragged up above his head. His leather jacket was ripped off and his yellow shirt torn away.

Brusul, bound and helpless, was roaring like a trapped lion as he saw what was coming. A tall drylander with a lash had come.

Swish—crack! Roar of howling laughter crashed on the echo, as Khal Kan felt the leather bite into his flesh. He winced inwardly from the pain, but kept his insolent smile unchanged.

Again the lash cracked. And on its echo came the voice of Golden Wings, silvery and taunting.

"Do you still want me for a mate, princeling?"

"More than ever," laughed Khan Kan. "I wouldn't have a wench without spirit."

"More!" flashed Golden Wings' furious voice to the flogger.

The lash hissed and exploded in red pain along Khal Kan's back. Still he would not flinch or wince. His mind was doggedly set.


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BY LEROY KENNETH

HE day was heavy with the promise of wind; there was a smell of frost in the air, and the big white flakes slowly sifting down were already covering their trail across the ice. Tom O'Neil, the master watch. surveyed his gang of sealers. The regular crew was overseas to the war, and the bunch of lubbers he had taken to the ice would be helpless in a blow.

"Come on, you loafers," he shouted. "We can't skin 'em now."

He jammed his pike into a cake of drift ice to pole-vault a fissure. The cake turned when he was in the air and, as his body slapped the water, his head crashed on the ice and stunned him.

The Sculpin plunged to the rescue, Scotty whipped a drag-line into the water, and the gang pulled them onto the ice.

"I wa'n't afraid," the Sculpin chuckled, pulling his wet shirt over his head.

His drawn face, and fishy eyes that seemed always staring with fright, had won him the title, "Sculpin," the most worthless fish of the sea. He was unpopular at the sealing grounds because he wore gloves. Gloves are a woman's garment; mittens the badge of a man. The Sculpin wore gloves always, eating, hunting, or sleeping. Even now, as he humped his back to the gale and stripped to the hide to wring the freezing water from his clothes, he kept on his gloves.

"We're caught," shouted O'Neil, above the moan of the wind, as the storm drove down upon them.

The Sculpin looked at the cloud of flakes waltzing among the ice-hummocks. "Better'n gas," he yelled. "I ain't afraid."

"This is hell," chattered O'Neil, as he tried to pound the ice out of his reefer.

"Nothing like," called the Sculpin, struggling back into his crusting clothes,—"just man-sized weather."

O'Neil searched the horizon of blurring white. The maze of hummocks was confusing, and the drifts over the bodies of the dead seals were constantly changing shape. He had come due north when they "walked the ship down;" but the compass was useless on the floe, for the whole mass might have turned since morning and the ship they had left at the south, might now be north, east, or west, while the bergs he had depended on to guide them back were erased from sight in the thick sheets of snow that went racing past.

"Have to hold her down 'til


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what was to come to him in after years, the office of prosecuting attorney was a small one to William McKinley, but in those days it appeared highly important, and he anxiously awaited the returns, on election day night. His political career had started. Would it come to an inglorious finish before the first goal was reached?

Slowly the returns came in, showing that his opponent was ahead. Then came in other reports more encouraging, and at last came the final and deciding votes.

"Hurrah, McKinley, you are elected!" shouted a friend, rushing up and wringing his hand.

"Don't be too sure," was the cautious answer. "Are all the districts accounted for?"


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146 "All but two."

"The two are coming in from another supporter. He read off the figures. "You are safe. You have a margin of at least a hundred and fifty votes."

The news that McKinley was elected was true, and soon a host of friends surrounded him. He had run ahead of his ticket, and of this he was rightly proud. He was called on to make a speech and did so. Among other things he said:—

"I shall not forget that in this election I have been supported by many Democrats. I shall try to administer the office of prosecuting attorney with justice to all."

And administer it with justice to all he did, as the records of the county show. Never was there a fairer prosecuting attorney than William McKinley. Every criminal prosecuted by him received what the law intended he should have, no less and no more.

The young prosecuting attorney had been elected for two years, and these years were filled with work from one week's end to the other. Many criminal cases came up, including that of a number of young fellows


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Rh accused of stealing ironware from some factories. The young fellows, who were little more than boys, were four in number, and their parents begged hard that they be allowed to go.

"I will have a talk with them," said McKinley, and went to each separately, delivering a lecture that none of the young men ever forgot, telling them of the wickedness of stealing, and of how such a course could lead but to one place, the state's prison. Then he told of how their mothers had passed sleepless nights thinking over what was to become of them. At this one of the young men burst out crying, and catching McKinley's arm begged to be let go, promising that he would surely turn over a new leaf. The others promised the same, and in the end the indictment against the young men was pigeon-holed, and they were released. They did turn over a new leaf, and in after life blessed McKinley for his kindness toward them.

Although the young prosecuting attorney attended successfully to the duties of his position, his thoughts were not altogether on his work. Years before, while paying


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148 a visit to the sister who was teaching school at Canton, he had met a schoolgirl named Ida Saxton, the daughter of James A. Saxton, a rich banker of the town. The two had become friends, and when the young lawyer started to carve his way to fortune, this friendship continued until the two were quite intimate.

Miss Saxton had been educated at a seminary in Media, Pennsylvania, and after this she went to Europe for a number of months. But a correspondence was kept up between the pair, so it is said, and when she returned, McKinley was often seen escorting her to church or Sunday School. At that time she taught in a Presbyterian Sunday School, while he was connected with a Methodist Sunday School.

On returning from abroad, Miss Saxton had entered her father's banking house as cashier, for her parents believed in teaching her how to support herself. She was a beautiful young woman, and many remember her as a belle of that period. The family was cultured as well as rich, her grandfather having been for years the editor of the Repository, a paper still


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Rh in Canton, and which was founded by John Saxton in 1815.

The wedding of William McKinley and Miss Ida Saxton occurred on January 25, 1871. At that time the Presbyterians of Canton were hard at work on a new church, built largely by money furnished by Miss Saxton's grandmother. The building was hurried along as much as possible, and the wedding was the first to be celebrated in the quaint old edifice.

Having been married, the couple made a tour east, including a visit to Washington, and then settled down in a pretty cottage surrounded by fine shade trees, a place that was to be their home for many years to come, although it has been altered and improved several times. This house in Canton has now become famous, for there McKinley was notified of his nomination for Congress, for governor, and twice for the Presidential chair.

But those were still the days of small things, and although his wife was rich, McKinley determined to continue carving out his own fortune. He was a devoted husband, and although a busy man, spent


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150 all the time he possibly could with his wife in their cosey little home.

In those days two children came to bless their union,—Kate, born on Christmas Day, 1871, and Ida, born April 1, 1873. The latter lived but four months and twenty-two days, while the former lived three years and six months. Both are buried in the McKinley plot, at Westlawn Cemetery, Canton.

The loss of these dear little ones was a great shock to both parents, and Mrs. McKinley received an additional blow in the loss of her mother. These sorrows told upon the wife, and from that hour she was more or less of an invalid. Yet she bore up bravely, and whenever she was able, was her husband's companion, to brighten his labors and make his home life of the happiest. In return he poured out his affection upon her and kept this up to the day of his untimely end. It is said by those who knew them best that they were "a pair of old-fashioned lovers from first to last." Nothing nobler than this can be said, especially when it is remembered that their married life covered a period of thirty years.


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Rh The home in Canton, as it stands to-day, is not a very large or pretentious affair. It is somewhat of the Swiss cottage architecture, with many gables. It stands well back from the street, and a broad stone walk leads up from the gate to the piazza, which was enlarged but a few years ago. The hall is in the centre, and on one side is a double parlor, while on the other is a room which used to be used as a governor's office and also a library. To the rear is a dining room. In the hall is a broad staircase leading to a number of sleeping apartments above.

Probably the most interesting room in the house is that which McKinley used when he was governor of the state of Ohio. Here on the walls hang pictures of Grant and other military celebrities, as well as photographs of Lincoln, and of a number of prominent public officials. There is also a spirited war scene, and the mantel is loaded with pictures and with bric-à-brac, all equally interesting. The bookshelves teem with books relating to the public service, and there are also some telling of McKinley's war experiences.


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152 In his home life William McKinley was always of a cheery disposition. He loved young folks, and having none living of his own, used often to have relatives and friends pay his wife and himself a visit. He liked music, and would often join in a song, and though not particularly a story-teller, he could still interest the boys and girls when they made the demand upon him. He often read the newspaper aloud to his wife, sitting either in the cosey home, when the weather was cool, or else in his favorite corner on the piazza. He was an early riser, and was frequently at work by seven o'clock in the morning, and it was often midnight ere he retired. His health was of the best and suffered little from the strain to which he subjected himself until, when he was President, he was attacked with the grippe, which left him with a somewhat weak heart. Although inclined to be stout, he was well proportioned, with broad shoulders and a chest which gave him good lung power and that clear, full voice which is so essential to every public speaker.


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text: An Act respecting the Militia and Defence of the Dominion of Canada


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Rh

world of Bath was of a sudden delighted by the intelligence that Lord Mauleverer had gone to Beauville, (the beautiful seat possessed by that nobleman in the neighbourhood of Bath,) with the intention of there holding a series of sumptuous entertainments.

The first persons to whom the gay Earl announced his "hospitable purpose" were Mr. and Miss Brandon; he called at their house, and declared his resolution of not leaving it till Lucy (who was in her own room) consented to gratify

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210 him with an interview, and a promise to be the Queen of his purposed festival. Lucy, teased by her father, descended to the drawing-room spiritless and pale; and the Earl, struck by the alteration of her appearance, took her hand, and made his inquiries with so interested and feeling a semblance of kindness, as prepossessed the father, for the first time, in his favour, and touched even the daughter. So earnest, too, was his request that she would honour his festivities with her presence, and with so skilful a flattery was it conveyed, that the Squire undertook to promise the favour in her name; and when the Earl, declaring he was not contented with that promise from another, appealed to Lucy herself, her denial was soon melted into a positive though a reluctant assent.

Delighted with his success, and more struck with Lucy's loveliness, refined as it was by her paleness, than he had ever been before, Mauleverer left the house, and calculated, with greater accuracy than he had hitherto done, the probable fortune Lucy would derive from her uncle.

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Rh No sooner were the cards issued for Lord Mauleverer's fête, than nothing else was talked of among the circles, which at Bath people were pleased to term "the World."—Sometime or other we intend more poetically than these pages will suffer us, to take notice of the amusements and pursuits of that said "World," in whatever corner of England it may be found. Grant us patience, Heaven,—power and patience to tell the people of what stuff "Fashion" is made;—while other Novelists praise, imitate, exalt the vicious inanities of a hoary aristocracy, grown to that age when even the respectable crimes of its earlier youth sink into drivelling,—grant us the ability to expose and to deride them, and we will not ask the blessing to bequeath any other moral to our sons!

But, in the interim, caps are making, and talk flowing, at Bath; and when it was found that Lord Mauleverer—the good-natured Lord Mauleverer!—the obliging Lord Mauleverer!—was really going to be exclusive, and out of a

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212 acquaintances to select only eight hundred, it is amazing how his popularity deepened into respect. Now, then, came anxiety and triumph,—she who was asked turned her back upon her who was not,—old friendships dissolved,—Independence wrote letters for a ticket,—and as England is the freest country in the world, all the Mistresses Hodges and Snodges begged to take the liberty of bringing their youngest daughters.

Leaving the enviable Mauleverer, the godlike occasion of so much happiness and woe, triumph and dejection, ascend with us, O Reader, into those elegant apartments over the hair-dresser's shop, tenanted by Mr. Edward Pepper and Mr. Augustus Tomlinson:—the time was that of evening. Captain Clifford had been dining with his two friends, the cloth was removed, and conversation was flowing over a table graced by two bottles of port, a bowl of punch for Mr. Pepper's especial discussion, two dishes of filberts, another of devilled biscuits, and a fourth of three Pomarian crudities, which nobody touched.

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Rh The hearth was swept clean, the fire burnt bright and clear, the curtains were let down, and the light excluded. Our three adventurers and their room, seemed the picture of comfort. So thought Mr. Pepper, for, glancing round the chamber, and putting his feet upon the fender, he said,

"Were my portrait to be taken, Gentlemen; it is just as I am now that I would be drawn!"

"And," said Tomlinson, cracking his filberts—Tomlinson was fond of filberts—"were I to choose a home, it is in such a home as this that I would be always quartered."

"Ah! Gentlemen," said Clifford, who had been for some time silent, "it is more than probable that both your wishes may be heard, and that ye may be drawn, quartered, and something else, too, in the very place of your desert!"

"Well!" said Tomlinson, smiling gently, "I am happy to hear you jest again, Captain, though it be at our expense."

"Expense!" echoed Ned, "Ay! there's the rub! Who the deuce is to pay the expense of our dinner?"

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214 "And our dinners for the last week?" added Tomlinson;—"this empty nut looks ominous; it certainly has one grand feature, strikingly resembling my pockets."

"Heigho!" sighed Long Ned—turning his waistcoat commodities inside-out with a significant gesture, while the accomplished Tomlinson, who was fond of plaintive poetry, pointed to the disconsolate vacua, and exclaimed—

"In truth, gentlemen," added he, solemnly depositing his nut-crackers on the table, and laying, as was his wont, when about to be luminous, his right finger on his sinister palm—"In truth, gentlemen, affairs are growing serious with us, and it becomes necessary forthwith to devise some safe means of procuring a decent competence."

"I am dunned confoundedly," cried Ned.

"And," continued Tomlinson, "no person of delicacy likes to be subjected to the importunity of vulgar creditors; we must therefore raise

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54 ," he admitted at last.

The Sculpin threw back his head, took a long breath of the cold air, and laughed. The danger they faced seemed to give him pleasure.

O'Neil's clothes were wet, and they made him shiver as the stiffening ice-envelope rubbed against his body. His head was pounding and the chill of his freezing garments was eating into his blood.

The men huddled together, a helpless mob, and the wind whipped stinging particles of ice and snow into their faces.

"Blowin' harder every minute," whined Scotly in despair.

"Let it come," sang the Sculpin, a smile of delight at the prospect wreathing his ice-cemented face. "Let it come. I ain't afraid."

O'Neil knew a desire to sleep was a symptom of freezing, yet his eyes would close in spite of him, and the icicles on his lashes seemed to lock his eyes if he even winked.

"Every man for himself," he said, and slumped to the ice.

"Steady, boys." The Sculpin's voice rose above the howl of the storm. "He's down. I'll take command."

The frightened men accepted his leadership, for not one of them knew what to do. He ordered them to build a wall of frozen seal-bodies, ice, and snow. When it was done, they crouched close together in the lee of it for protection from the wind. The blow on the head had left O'Neil as spiritless as a jelly-fish, so the Sculpin got him to his feet and kept him walking.

"It's no use. We're done for."

"Without a fight," bellowed the Sculpin, angrily.

Holding O'Neil at arm's length, he deliberately struck the master-watch in the face with his gloved fist.

"Gone clean off his head," said Scotty. "I say, you—"

"Get back," barked the Sculpin, pushing Scotty into the lee of the wall. "I'm in command."

"Crazy as a stingaree," whispered Scotty to himself; but he obeyed. "Now, you slacker," the Sculpin bellowed at O'Neil. "You've got to fight."

O'Neil did not want to fight; he wanted to be left alone—to sleep. The sting of the Sculpin's blows roused him, and he attempted to ward them off. Then, in petulance, he fought back; but not much science can be shown with nearly a pound of ice and frozen woolen on each hand.

The Sculpin tripped over the body of a dead seal and fell. O'Neil, now thoroughly angry, leaped onto the fallen body and clawed for the throat; but the oil-skins were buttoned high and thick with ice, and his frozen mittens made a choking hold impossible.

"Say when," yelled the Sculpin, as they rolled over and over, a confused jumble of flying arms and legs.

The snow they kicked up in the struggle was pounced on by the wind and instantly streaked away into the dusk. The Sculpin slammed O'Neil into a drift and sat on his chest.

"Enough," panted O'Neil.

"Awake?" the Sculpin asked, and O'Neil nodded assurance. "Then listen." The Sculpin spoke slowly, and earnestly. "I've taken your place, here—on the ice. You take my place,


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Rh for the liquidation of our debts. Captain Lovett, or Clifford, whichever you be styled, we call upon you to assist us in so praiseworthy a purpose!"

Clifford turned his eyes first on one, and then on the other, but made no answer.

"Imprimis," said Tomlinson; "let us each produce our stock in hand; for my part, I am free to confess—for what shame is there in that poverty which our exertions are about to relieve?—that I have only two guineas, four shillings, and threepence halfpenny!"

"And I," said Long Ned, taking a china ornament from the chimney-piece, and emptying its contents in his hand, "am in a still more pitiful condition. See, I have only three shillings and a bad guinea. I gave the guinea to the waiter at the White Hart, yesterday; the dog brought it back to me to-day, and I was forced to change it with my last shiner. Plague take the thing! I bought it of a Jew for four shillings, and have lost one pound five by the bargain!"

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216 "Fortune frustrates our wisest schemes!" rejoined the moralizing Augustus. "Captain, will you produce the scanty wrecks of your wealth?"

Clifford, still silent, threw a purse on the table; Augustus carefully emptied it, and counted out five guineas; an expression of grave surprise settled on Tomlinson's contemplative brow, and extending the coins towards Clifford, he said in a melancholy tone—

A look from Clifford answered the interesting interrogatory.

"These, then," said Tomlinson, collecting in his hand the common wealth—"These, then, are all our remaining treasures!"—as he spoke, he jingled the coins mournfully in his palm, and gazing upon them with a parental air, exclaimed,

"Oh, damn it!" said Ned, "no sentiment!

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Rh Let us come to business at once. To tell you the truth, I, for one, am tired of this heiress-hunting, and a man may spend a fortune in the chace before he can win one."

"You despair then, positively, of the widow you have courted so long?" asked Tomlinson.

"Utterly!" rejoined Ned, whose addresses had been limited solely to the dames of the middling class, and who had imagined himself at one time, as he punningly expressed it, sure of a dear rib from Cheapside. "Utterly; she was very civil to me at first, but when I proposed, asked me, with a blush, for my "references." "References?" said I; "why, I want the place of your husband, my charmer, not your footman!"—The dame was inexorable, said she could not take me without a character, but hinted that I might be the lover instead of the bridegroom; and when I scorned the suggestion, and pressed for the parson, she told me point blank, with her unlucky city pronunciation, "That she would never accompany me to the Halter!"

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Rh over there—with the old crew."

"Where?" perplexedly.

"Overseas—in the trenches. They need men. They need us both. You wouldn't go for yourself. You will go for me. That's what I'm saving you for."

"Afraid to go yourself?" O'Neil sneered.

"Will you go?" grimly.

"Get me back alive, and I'll enlist," he agreed. "You're a nervy coward."

"You'll take my place?" The Sculpin spoke sadly, as he waved his hand to the east. "And you'll not be afraid?"

"I'll not be afraid," promised O'Neil, as the Sculpin helped Kim to his feet.

The Sculpin turned to the gang. "Bruce, Scotty, get out here and fight. Never mind why—just fight. Get mad. Hit hard—and don't be afraid."

Their only hope of fighting sleep was in fighting one another, so the gang wrestled and fought, sang and yelled, and tried to keep from thinking of their peril.

In the darkness, O'Neil wandered from the shelter of the wall. They found him in the open, fast asleep. The gang carried him to shelter and peeled off his frozen clothes, while the Sculpin gathered the drag-ropes of the gang into a pile and touched a match to the grease-soaked hemp.

In the flare of heat from the burning stack, the men rubbed O'Neil with snow, and roused him, while the Sculpin thawed and dried the clothes in the heat from the burning lines.

When the ropes were smouldering in a last red glow, the Sculpin broke up all save one of the pikes and clubs and, husbanding the precious fuel, managed to keep the fire burning through the lagging hours of the night.

As the embers faded, leaving only a charred spot on the ice to remind them of the fire, a little streak of dawn came sifting along with the snow, and with the light came the "whre-ee-e-ah I" of the ship's siren.

The wind had shifted and brought them the sound they had been tuning their ears all night to catch. It gave them the direction of the ship. With a shout, they broke from the lee of the wall and started into the teeth of the storm.

In the rush, O'Neil stepped into a snow-covered blow-hole and fell. He tried to scramble to his feet, but sank back with a broken ankle.

The Sculpin paused long enough to toss him on his shoulder and plunged on toward the sound of the whistle that came trembling through the air at ten second intervals. He caught the men at the crevass, where there was only the one pike with which to leap the open water.

He could not leap a five-year fissure with a cripple in his arms, so he ordered the men to the ship, and to send help.

He laid O'Neil in the lee of a pressure-ridge and sat down beside him to wait. "I'm tired," he admitted to himself, "but I ain't afraid."

The ice under them was groaning with the heave of the water. Across the floe raced a reverberatory crackle as the seams strained with the pulse of the sea. Down the wind came the boom of monster ice-cakes churned in the waves.

"She's breaking," whispered O'Neil,


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218 "Ha, ha, ha!" cried Tomlinson, laughing, "One can scarcely blame the good lady for that. Love rarely brooks such permanent ties. But have you no other lady in your eye?"

"Not for matrimony:—all roads but those to the church!"

While this dissolute pair were thus conversing, Clifford, leaning against the wainscot, listened to them with a sick and bitter feeling of degradation, which, till of late days, had been a stranger to his breast. He was at length aroused from his silence by Ned, who bending forward, and placing his hand upon Clifford's knee, said abruptly,

"In short, Captain, you must lead us once more to glory. We have still our horses, and I keep my mask in my pocket-book, together with my comb. Let us take the road to-morrow night, dash across the country towards Salisbury, and after a short visit in that neighbourhood to a band of old friends of mine—bold fellows, who would have stopped, the devil himself, when he was at

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Rh work upon Stonehenge,—make a tour by Reading and Henley, and end by a plunge into London."

"You have spoken well, Ned!" said Tomlinson, approvingly. "Now, noble Captain, your opinion?"

"Messieurs," answered Clifford, "I highly approve of your intended excursion, and I only regret that I cannot be your companion."

"Not! and why?" cried Mr. Pepper, amazed.

"Because I have business here that renders it impossible; perhaps, before long, I may join you in London."

"Nay," said Tomlinson, "there is no necessity for our going to London, if you wish to remain here; nor need we at present recur to so desperate an expedient as the road—a little quiet business at Bath will answer our purpose; and for my part, as you well know, I love exerting my wits in some scheme more worthy of them than the highway—a profession meeter for a bully than a man of genius. Let us then, Captain, plan a project of enrichment on the property of

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56 faintly. "We're done; we're done."

"Alive, to take my place," muttered the Sculpin, as he clambered to his feet, and wrestled O'Neil to his shoulder.

He lumbered across the ice with his burden, tripped and fell; regained his feet, and plunged forward with a dogged persistence. The crack widened; but in the shadow of a berg, it was veiled with a thin rubber-ice. Putting down the now silent body, he tested the ice with his foot. The waves coiled out in widening circles until they touched the other side. It was thin ice, very pliable, the result of the extreme cold on the sheltered salt water.

With O'Neil in his arms, he might not be able to keep on the crest of the wave their weight would make. If the wave got ahead of them, left them in the hollow, the rescue party would find only the hole, when they came.

His feet were numb with frost, but he took the crumpled form in his arms and made his big try. With a running start, he glided onto the ice and ran. He heard it snapping behind him. He knew it was broken;—that the water was in the hollow, rushing after him, licking at his heels. He felt the ice sinking beneath him and, with a supreme effort, he threw the body in a sprawling heap to the firm bank of the other side. As his feet broke through the shivering glare, he pitched forward and gripped the flipper of a dead seal, frozen to the floe. His body sank into the frigid water, but he dragged himself out.

He gathered O'Neil's body into his arms and stumbled blindly toward the faint sound of the ship's horn. The air seemed filled with siren sounds, and he staggered as he walked, staggered and fell; fought his way to his feet again, reeled in a circle, lurched on a few shambling steps, and sank to the ice. He dragged himself forward until his body shielded O'Neil from the wind—and lay still.

When the rescue party found them, the blizzard had banked the snow against the Sculpin's body; but O'Neil was still alive in the shelter of the human wind-brake.

In the Sculpin's pocket they found his commission as lieutenant in the Newfoundland first contingent for overseas duty, and a newspaper clipping:

They found the powder-marked hole in the Sculpin's palm and buried him with his gloves on.

The whole gang enlisted as a "pals platoon," and are now with the old crew, "somewhere in France." They know now that the Sculpin got the brand hurling a bomb from the trench. It exploded just after it left his hand. A fragment drove through the palm, and the powder finished the indictment. The wound was not serious; but the military records did not show that he was left-handed.


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220 some credulous tradesman! why have recourse to rough measures, so long as we can find easy fools?"

Clifford shook his head. "I will own to you fairly," said he, "that I cannot at present take a share in your exploits: nay, as your chief, I must lay my positive commands on you to refrain from all exercise of your talents at Bath. Rob, if you please; the world is before you; but this city is sacred."

"Body o' me!" cried Ned, colouring, "but this is too good. I will not be dictated to in this manner."

"But, Sir," answered Clifford, who had learnt in his oligarchical profession the way to command. "But, Sir, you shall, or if you mutiny, you leave our body, and then will the hangman have no petty chance of your own. Come! come! ingrate as you are, what would you be without me? How many times have I already saved that long carcase of thine from the rope, and now would you have the baseness to rebel? Out on you!"

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text: The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/The Sculpin


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Rh Though Mr. Pepper was still wroth, he bit his lip in moody silence, and suffered not his passion to have its way; while Clifford rising, after a short pause, continued: "Look you, Mr. Pepper, you know my commands, consider them peremptory. I wish you success, and plenty! Farewell, gentlemen!"

"Do you leave us already?" cried Tomlinson; "you are offended."

"Surely not!" answered Clifford, retreating to the door: "But an engagement elsewhere, you know!"

"Ay, I take you!" said Tomlinson, following Clifford out of the room, and shutting the door after him.

"Ay, I take you!" added he, in a whisper, as he arrested Clifford at the head of the stairs. "But tell me, how do you get on with the heiress?"

Smothering that sensation at his heart which made Clifford, reckless as he was, enraged and ashamed, whenever, through the lips of his

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