University of South Carolina Libraries
lewis jvc. grist, proprietor. |ui independent Jiainily |Jeu;spaper: .Jjot the fromotioii of the folitical, Social, Agricultural and (Commercial interests of the 3$o?th. jterms?$2.00 a year in advance. VOL.40. YOBKVILLE, S. C., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 87, 1894. 1STQ. 56. ftftGfff FOf BY JOHN J. Copyright, 1891, by the American Press Asso C'HAPTKR I. BEHIND CONVENT WAI.US. On the outikirts of the city of Brooklyn stands a convent of one of the Catholic sisterhoods. The building, or series of buildings, shoots upward from an eminence that gives the monastic structure a conspicuity strangely in contrast with the lives of its gentle inmates?some of whom daily visit the city to teach in j the parochial schools assigned to their order; others who care for the orphan, making their lullabies?even more tender than a mother's?a soothing, prayerful song of heavenly praise and appeal in reparation for the manifold sins of humanity. In the convent reception room, in the first year of the last decade of the present century, two lovers sit opposite the superior. Mother St. Gertrude, the | three engaged in a conversation which i deals with the two young people, and yet the unn takes more than a passing interest in it. She stands in the rela- J tion of a mother to the girl. Mother St. Gertrude is a woman of medium height. She is nearing the half century mark, but the happiness enjcyed in her community has kept the funows of time from touching the face that looks out from her hood like a Kaphaelistic picture of the Madonna in sunshine, and not dolorous. The management of the large institution over j which she presides, embracing branch establishments calling for much judg- i ment and knowledge of financiering, necessarily gives her a deeper insight. : into the ways of the world than the average nun can ever gain. The greatest saints in the calendar j have had the most buoyant of dispositions; the deeds that earned their can- j onization?acts of startling miracle and surprising mortification?having been drawn from the catacombs of ecclesiasticism, where they had been preserved with the embalmment of?what? Humor, sweet and subtle; fancy, free and florid; humanity, broad and^ blessed, all exercised in exorcising evil by exciting joy and awakening the people into a new life that leads to the eternal; the holiest of men and women who have walked in the shadow of ascetism, disseminated in their wake tber light and incentive to pleasure that kept their memories hallowed until the church placed upon them the aureole ? of benediction. Of this type is Mother St. Gertrude, a pleasant woman, with a mind as susceptible to mirth as her heart is to suffering, her interest in all her friends, worldly and religious, not ignoring any feature of their lives. "Laurence, you know yonr own | mind, don't you?" she asked, addressing the young man. "Isabel thinks yon may change, if her ancestry turns out to have been plebeian." "Nonsense," said the young man. "The aristocrat of today was a barba- j rian yesterday. The old aristocrat was dethroned and the title confiscated by j the savage conqueror who assumed, generally with poor grace, an air cf gentility he fancied was in keeping with his stolen grandeur. 'The rank la but the guinea's stamp,' you know." Laurence Mangan was about 26 years j * of age. tall, athletic, manly. He was a newspaper man whose caustic articles had made him feared as his honesty had made him respected by the politi- i cians whom he had often thwarted in their designs upon the city and county treasuries. His bearing indicated self i | dependence?never vanity nor offensive ; L pride. His features were handsome; |t his character chivalric. A Byronic brow, surmounted by curls that distinguish the sculpture typical of the Greek gods, rose above eyes whose sparkle?or fire, if you will?gave you no better idea of his mental strength than of his j physical energy. Isabel Le Clair, aglow with the health and beauty of 20 summers, looked at him archly, gratified with his sentiments, but apparently still mistrust- ! ful. as if something hidden in the fu- 1 ture were yet to come between them. "Laurence," she asked, "are you sure Mother St. Gertrude has told you all?" "Of course. " interjected the nun. "I will repeat it, because 1 know it will give you more satisfaction." 'You needn't," 6aid Laurence. "Let me assure Isabel that it is herself, not her ancestry. 1 ain in love with. Circumstances may undermine the romance 1 have built around her birth, but it cannot change ber character. The sins of our ancestors, by commission or omission, mar not us, unless we brood upon them, aud the false social spirit rejects us through fear of their ebullition ; in ourselves. But, I believe"? und in the enthusiasm of the moment he stepped forward, lifted Isabel from her chair, and pressing her to his bosom kissed the upturned face?"1 believe with the poet Moore: "Oh, what was love made for, If 'tis uot the same Through joy and through torment, through l glory and shame? i know not, 1 ask not, if guilt's in that heart, 1 but know that 1 love thee, whatever thou art." tie litteu nis eyes to uiotner at. uertnide, who had herself arisen. She had meant to chide one or the other, probably both, but as she looked at the willowy form of her fair protege, heaving with delight, a blush of maidenly fervor making Isabel more beautiful than ever, her chidings failed to find voico, and it was Laurence's words that broko the silence: "Don't mind what I do. mother: tell your story." "It isn't very long," resumed the sister. "Isabel evidently came of a good family. She was brought to this institution nearly 20 years ago by her father, George Leland. I was assistant superior then. Mr. Leland said be had a boy, some years older, being cared for elsewhere. We never heard from him but once after. As she grew up, Isabel, not knowing or seeing any relative, took a fancy to the name by which Lk 1 was known in the world?Le Clair. V It was a child's whim. 1 humored it, just as 1 have humored her in other things, but she isn't spoiled yet. is she?" This was intended to rally the girl, who was a little disconcerted and looked from the sister to the lover as the story was being told. In her restless conspection a shrewd eye would detect that she was wondering if Mother St. Gertrude's love for her hadn't conjured before her vision a lineage which the girl could not claim. It could be seen, too, that Isabel was doubting whether Laurence would remain unchanged by the story. " Mr. Leland said he was going west." The nun added, "Isabel was an infant. Her mother had died a few weeks beL fore her father brought her to us. Ho would not trust the child, ho said, to other hands. Mr. Leland left a few hundred dollars with Mother Xavier, then in charge of this institution, tell' ing her she would hear from him frequently. Wo got one letter from Denver inclosing a money order. Since then not a line has reached us. 1 can not understand it, for his parting from the child was most affecting." "flow long since he wrote last?" asked Laurence, his newspaper tuition * involuntarily suggesting the query. "About 13 years. His letter we have still." "Did he talk of his plans or purpose, > or give any clew that could be followed?" "No. 1 take it," said the nun, "that j McGINNIS. : L'iation. he was not a man who cared to discuss his personal affairs with anybody. His letter was very brief. " "Did he write of Isabel?" "No." "Nor ot her brother?" "Not a word." "Have you ever tried to locate him?" "We had no way to. without going I into print. That we disliked. A few I years ago, however, when we felt it was time to make known to Isabel ev- | eryiuiug, ?vv neeij uui [>ci uiikmuu to use whatever means she herself would choose, after counsel with us, to get information of her father. Our re- I sources were olfered to her. She proposes, or did propose before she and you became such good friends"?and the nun smiled as the two blushed?"that ^ she would go out to the convent of our order in Denver and from that point make her inquiries." "What do you think of the plan?" queried Isabel, addressing Mangan. "Not a bad one. But one used to the tranquillity of u convent is hardly qualified to put it into execution." "That's a reflection on my sex." re- t plied Isabel impetuously. "Havo yon forgotten history? From the days of Deborah and Judith down to the present, whenever great deeds demand accomplishment, the women of peaceful hours and restful habits have been called upon to bear the brunt of battle, not the men and women reared in a biting atmosphere and inured to hardship. My sex would not be against me, nor would my training be. " "Ask her, Laurence, if she. will go to Denver now," jokingly suggested the sister, "since she has been so severe upon you." "Not unless 1 go with her," unswered Mangan. " I m lucky that she didn't go there before I fell in ?in" "In love with her." suggested Mother St. Gertrude, ere he recovered from his hesitancy. "Well that, if you please to have it so. But 1 was thinking of other words. " "That would mean the same?" "Go ahead, mother; don't spare mo You are teasing Isabel as well as me." Isabel didn't appear as indifferent as Laurence to the raillery of the mother superior. Each sally heightened the carmine of her cheeks and added to her embarrassment. For want of aught else to say or do, she again turned to her lover: "What would you do under the circumstances?" "1 know what I'm clad vou didn't do." "And that is?" "That you didn't go to Denver." "Why?" interrogated Mother St. Gertrude. "Because she might have been disap- i pointed and in despair drift into anoth- i er mood?one that might ultimately have enveloped her with the veil of the ! sisterhood. Sometimes, sister, I'm afraid that you'll yet steal her from me." "There are reasons why you should have no fear," said Mother St. Gertrude, j smiling. "First, our order is unusual- j ly strict in regard to its postulants, i Now, the acceptance of Isabel could turn out to be a great sorrow to us and : a disappointment to her. A few years hence her father may return from the ; west with one of those immense for- j tunes people make there almost in a day, by some accidental stroke. He would come here and find his daughter j a nun. Yearning for affection from his i child, he would rush into print, and what a story you newspapermen would weave around these incidents! Yes, you would actually say that wo had coerced Isabel into taking the vows and veil of our community, and that we had conspired to get control of her wealth, if it came to pass that such would be hers by inheritance." "It may uot bo right tor me to say it, mother," said Laurence in a half humorous way. "But 1 would help him to get her out from behind these walls, if 1 knew, as 1 now do. how lovely she was." "Stop, Laurence," pleaded Isabel. "1 don't mind him, child," said Mother St. Gertrude. "Laurence has t been a friend to this institution. He has been the one newspaper man who has pictured the work of our convent, asylum and schools in words that have inspired public generosity to our aid and made possible legislation relieving us of many little burdens, giving us greater opportunities to make our income fruitful of good. I ought to put up with something from him." "You forget, mother," said Isabel, "to say how kind you have been tome. 1 have staid here"?turning to Laurence?' because I wanted to pay as teacher some of the debt I owe for the education and support 1 have had. Then, again, you know my ambition to find out something about my parentage, fearful sometimes that it may not be all 1 desire." "An angel 60 fair need not worry about that." "1 wanted to tell something else. Mother St. Gertrude," she resumed, turning to the sister, "1 would like not to enter another state?you know what She rested her head upon his shoulder. 1 refer to?until 1 was certain that there was nothing?nothing"? and Bhe was searching for a phrase that would hint more than state her idea? "nothing that would impair bonds iin posed at the altar. "You want to say that you will not marry until you have learned more about your parents, " interposed Mangan. " Yes." "Now that is a littlo unreasonable, isn't it, sister?" appealing to Mother St. Gertrude. "You two must settle that." "Yes, but what do you think about it?" "That you two had better do the thinking. I'm partial to Isabel and \ i ' am friendly enough to you to advise you for your own sake not to turn to a judge who is prejudiced." "1 am unalterable in this resolution," Isabel maintained. "Why didn't you tell me this long ago?" said Laurence. "It is over two years since the commencement exercises where I first met you. later to win your love." Sho looked up imploringly, her fea- , tuies requesting him to stop, though her 1 tongue gave not utterrance fo the ' thought that played upon her countenance. "Tin afraid I won her for you," said i Mother St. Gertrude. "In recognizing that she was not always to bloom behind convent walls, and urging her to accept the social invitations extended to her by the parents of her old class mates and pupils, 1 gave you your opportunity. J was going to ask how you succeeded, but 1 knew it would be your ' same old answer that 'a newspaper man can generally be trusted to win.' But this is your first and last lovemaking here, isn't it, now?" and she lifted j her right hand, the forefinger extended warningly. "You have come to me as to Isabel's guardian," 6he pursued. "1 have per- j formed my duty and can only say that I'm glad you've won her, for I know that while she is with you she will never forget Mother St. Gertrude." As she was saying this, she advanced to Isabel, who arose to meet her, and one clasped her arms around the other, both much affected. "Mother!" "Child!" Their feelings were deep, warm, overpowering. Tears alone could give relief. Laurence went to the window and looked out to conceal his own emotions. When he recovered, he turned back, took ono hand of each in his and said: "Since Isabel has said that she would like to hear soniethiug of her parentage before she married, that while she has given her heart she will not give her hand until she knows more about her- | self and her people, 1 promise not to ask her to kneel with me before the altar j until I place in her hands the history of her family." "You'll do it, if you say so." said Mother St. Gertrude. "It may be the hardest assignment of my life,"he added, "hut the prize is bo great that my ambition will be fired ai^d kept active by dreams of it night and day until I succeed." His. left hand dropped Mother St. j Slertrude's and stole around Isabel's waist. She rested her head upon bis shoulder, and Mother St. Gertrudo stepped back to the convent corridor that her presence might not rob their affec- ' tion of its full expression at parting. Later, as Laurence was leaving, the nun said: "May God 3 blessing be upon you, and may He reveal that which is good." CHAPTER II. schemes in the legislature. "Another stroke and the heritage of TcjoViqI T.a Pluir icimina myi/1 imt n kincrln bouI in the world shall ever know it. The governor of the state of New Yorksigns the bills, and I become a millionaire! A millionaire! What am 1 saying? A multimillionaire I will be! And she will never dream that my millions are hers by right." So spoke Francis Raymond, lawyer J and politician, leader of his party in the county of Kings, which embraces | Brooklyn. We find him a visitor at Alban)*, the capital of the state. Ho is not thero many hours before he is surrounded in his suit of rooms in the Delavan by senators, assemblymen and others whose influence is potent for good or bad in state and municipal government. He seldom visits Albany, except when more than usually interested in some legislation, and his word goes a great way, for he is a man of power. Hence ! the number and the character of his guests. A man about 40 years of age, his commanding position has been won by shrewdness that has allowed him to pose as a public spirited citizen, while selfishness has really dominated all his actions. He is the controlling power behind one of the leading daily newspapers in his city?The Trumpet?and he secured for it, through special legislation, a large income for publication of | corporation and other legal notices that guaranteed it support from the start. j The rival papers?there were three of them?could find 110 fault with this, for he very generously included them in his scheme at the expense of the taxpayers. This was a trick learned from the Tweed ring in New York, which j paid over $3,000,000 for work that $70,000 covers now in the publication of the The City Record. In this way pub- | lie opinion, as represented in the press, j was at a low ebb and, ns a result, the j people were not disillusioned of the j idea that the new order of things was anything but an honest, aye?magnam- j inous?deed of public officers who j wanted to keep their constituents post- j ed on their actions! "Our city has grown rapidly," said Raymond to the legislators around him. "Our buildings are scattered over an area of 32 squaro miles and our ' population is close to 800,000. Wo i have neglected the creation of parks, 'the lungs of the city' some one has styled them, and the people demand these improvements. I am up here to have a bill presented appointing a commission of three to outline a system of parks connected by a boulevard, to appraise and condemn property, with another measure giving the city officials authority to issue bonds to meet the expenditures. 1 have herotho reports of public meetings suggesting and approving this, and as our county alone has to stand the cost there should be no objections." Ho knew thero would be none. A i state convention of unusual importance would meet shortly after tin close ot i the legislative session. His own delegation, by virtue of its numerical strength, would be much sought after and courted. Francis Raymond was known to bo very modest at conventions. Ho never sought a state nomination for himself or his county, except when it was expedient to have a candidate for other purposes than nominating. In other words, ho would invariably withdraw his man on assurances of legislative favor that would increase his patronage in his own district and strengthen his hold upon the local government and tho party machine. Thus are dictators made, clothing ! themselves with powers that only a revolution can set aside. Next morning the bills were introduced in the senate and assembly. They were reported from the cities committee at the evening sossiou, again read ; U11U JiUOOCVI, UUU 1>C1U H U I i KJ11 II1V1I ? HJ to the executive chamber to receive the signature that would make them the law of tlio land, before Francis Raymond thought of leaving Albany. What wonder that ho looked in the mirror and surveyed himself with pride? Ho was not a bad looking man either. His exterior?dark features, with straight hair and imperial mustache and eyes almost coal black?might have suggested the nature of the man. But his suavity, his diplomacy, his erect carriage and general bearing repelled the suspicion that he was anything but a prince ef good fellows. "And Inez Mot timer," he mused, "expects mo to make her my wife. What nonsense! I have millions in my hands. I need assume no burdens and i throw aside the admiration and regard of many pretty girls for the love of one. I will not do it either! Her brother Phil I have made registrar of j arrears, where ho can enrich himself under my counsel. lie will not complain, and I guess will reconcile her. I ought to make love to Isabel Le Clair, though, and marry her, just to ease my conscience! My conscience, I'm afraid its gone! Ha! Ha! That fellow, Man- i gan, confound him, is favored in that quarter! But time will tell whether ho stands a show with me!" Ho laughed. It was a hearty out burst, so sudden that it staitled himself. Ho stood silent a few minutes, i thinking whether or not his utterances | ' had been as clear as his musical cachin What icondcr that lie looked In the mirror and surveyed himself with prldct nation?it was musical, for his vocal chords had been tuned by elocutionary art, and they sounded in harmony at all times, even in moments of greatest excitement. "It is all right, " he said to himself reassuringly. "Noone will ever catch me telling howl know Isabel's history and acquired wealth that should be hers. All the papers are destroyed, she has not a living relative, and her property is ail mine, and all mine by law. Just to think that her father's $.")(),000 investment in farm lands 21 years ago | is worth millions today! Well, maybe I ought to marry Isabel, after all." There are many men in public life today who think nothing of appropriating public funds to their own uses, and yet in private matters they are scrupulously honest. They would put their I ? ClUl'l L'ill tf nlllAlV deep into the city treasury, but wrong an individual they would not. Raymond was not so sensitive as this, but tho enormity of his injustice to the girl had touched him. Ho wss I never likely to relinquish his design, but he was moved by the beauty, the accomplishments and the utter helplessness of his victim. He had unconsciously been driven into a new field of philo- ; sophical speculation. Money, in his eyes, atoned for everything. Others ! could have place; he sought profit. As he himself lived, ho judged his neighbors, and gold was to him a magic talisman to soothe away all pain. It must be such to others! Would ho share his j wealth with Isabel and in this way make atonement? Such a thought, possibly, prompted him to conclude his soliloquy with tho remark: "I'll think it over." CHAPTER III. A STIR IN A NEWSPAPER OFFICE. The loud voiced gong that rang the alarms of fire in tho office of tho Brooklyn Daily Bugle had struck 12?the hour of midnight. Tho office is not what the readers of the paper have pictured it?the traditional title of sanctum sanctorum lifting it to a dignity in public imagination that it could not claim even under tho latitudiuous license of journalistic pretension. The plato glass windows of the building facing the city hall aro covered with gilt letters. The handles 011 the j massive front doors are oxidized. The counters in tho business office are of polished mahogany, and tho railings from the cashier's desk to that of the advertising clerk arc of heavy brass, of beautiful design, and shining almost like gold. Round the walls aro elegant lithographs, so artistically framed and so neatly arranged that they seem to be the original masterpieces of which they are but copies. Let us look behind the paitition, running from floor to ceiling, that separates the richly decorated business office from tho editorial and reporterial rooms, and shuts out from them light and air. Tho rich dress of tho newspaper Cinderella turns into rags; not even the rubbing of Aladdin's lamp could work a stranger metamorphosis. Tho entrance is by a narrow hallway, such a hallway as you would find in a tenement where travel has worn the softer wood and tho knots, refusing to sink beneath sole leather, stand up in gnarled determination to upset tho unwary. . Entering a side door, tho uninitiated is staggered by the sudden transition from tho business palace to a miserable, stuffy, dingy apartment, where tho intellectual force of the paper is both annalizing and analyzing the history of a day and molding the policy of decades, as the great presses in tho basement below are about to awaken to breakfast on tons of paper while all the world is asleep. Away oft in the farther corner of the room is a boxlike arrangement formed by running two sides of a half partition iin ncuinst tho walls, comnletiiur the "X- ?o . *. ^ quadrangle that makes a private office for the managing editor. At a desk near the door of this little office is seated the night city editor. Two gas jets light a long tabic in the center of the room, where a number of reporters are seated, turning out stories of murder, suicide, fire, romance and intrigue that, after a few touches of the blue pencil, will read tomorrow liko the classic productions of a feuilletonist who, unlike the reporter, is not hampered by facts nor hastened by time. Against the walls are a few common desks of rude construction, and each has a g;is jet to itself. At cue sits the telegraph editor. Tho others are reserved for those who have risen to the distinction of department men, or specialists, to whom some particular feature of the paper, from religion to sports and politics, has been assigned. At one of these is Laurence Mangan. There has been a rush of big stories, the finishing paragraphs arc awaited in the composing room, some articles must be cut down, the facts compressed into lesser space, for newspaper columns are not elastic. Mangan is pressed into duty da a uupj 1 Lciuti "What do you think of that, Mangan?' asked the night editor, as he handed him a telegram from Albany announcing the passage at the evening I session of the legislature of tlie hill appointing a commission to plan a system of city parks for Brooklyn and another to bond the city for the amount required. "Think of it," he replied: "why, it is a conspiracy. It can be converted into a public benefit, but it is most likely to become a public swindle. These commissioners are Francis Raymond's men, and you can depend upon it ho owns some property he wants to dispose of at a big price, or he knows people who nwn Kiidi and will nav him liandsnmelv to get rid of it, if they themselves can get an advance above the current realty value. However, it will not do to say that now." "Let us have a good story," ho said, for every article is called a story in newspaper circles. "Siangan," called out tho managing editor, who had overheard Laurence's criticism, "when you finish that. I want to see you." "All right," ho responded. Mangan went to his desk, and tho ! paragraph of telegraphic matter in less than half an hour was an article no reader of Tho Bugle would overlook. It reviewed the origin ot tho movement, in which Tho Bugle played a prominent part, suggested tho probable features of tho new parks, outlined tho prospects of pleasure and enumerated many little details of the system ^hut would stir young and old into blissful 1 1 anticipation of enjoyment, until, as Goldsmith said: Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom Thoso calm desires that asked but littlo room, Those healthful sports that graced tho peaceful 6ccne, Lived In each look and brightened all the green. Tho article was finished, tho head written, and after he had placed it on tho desk of the night editor Mungau stepped into tho office of the editorial chief, whoso desk was covered with proofs which ho had been reading, "1 heard your criticism of Ray monu," mo inanuguig euuor uegan. "I think you have 'not libeled him. Now, I want you to follow up this matter, go to the bottom of it, hunt up all the records, and whether or not your suspicions about Raymond are confirm' ed give us a page story, and I'll have an artist illustrate it. It is a subject in which there is great interest, and we'll run it on a Sunday, just as soon as you i can get it ready." "I don't care to doit, " said Mangan. "Why? "1 was going to ask leave of absence tomorrow for an indefinite period, and failing to receive it to tender my resignation." If Laurence Mangan had had the least idea of Raymond's design and its inspiration, that assignment would have been accepted with ulacrity. As it was, ho knew nothing of its possibilities to him. " What's the matter?" ho was asked. "I'm going west on private business. It is imperative." "We've always treated you squarely," said the managing editor. "It was due you, of course, but hero, in a matter of great importance, right in " lV/iat'8 the matter, old man?" asked the managing editor. your department, you leave us just when we want you most. It isn't fair." "Not fair?" "No." "May 1 go when I turn in this story?" "Yes," was the reply, "and your position is always open to you while I am here." "Then I'll do it, just to leave no reason for any one to say Laurence Mangan ever went back on his paper or his friendships." "What's the matter, old man?" asked the managing editor, observing that Mangan acted like a man who was taking a long farewell of old scenes and old friends. Mangan was certainly affected. He had decided to inquire into Isabel's antecedents, go west to discover, if possible, her father or some account of him that would clear up the mystery. He felt that if he failed he might never return, unless Isabel relented. A number of weird thoughts went whirling through his mind. "I'm all right," he said to his chief. "I was a little put out to think that you accused me of not being fair." "Fair! Everybody knows you're fair," was the editor's conciliatory answer. "Now, I'll show you I'm fair, too. I'll put another man on your department, and you just stick to this story until you have it all in hand." "Thank you; good night,"said Laurence. "Good night. Take care of yourself," was the parting salutation. "No fear of that." Mangan stepped out into the dimly lighted hall and made his way to the street, bound for his lodgings. He looked up at the city hall clock. It was after 1. The morning was cold and a biting breeze was sweeping the thoroughfares. Ho buttonod his overcoat about him and glancing again at the time remarked: "Well, I'll get up early, and if I don't give Raymond a shakeup before 1 leave town it is because he is a more honest man than I give him credit for, oven if he is not as high minded and pure a citizen as the ring organ paints him!" CHAPTER IV. RAYMOND AND MANGAN DECLARE WAR. Philip Mortimer, the registrar of arreais, was a lieutenant of Francis Raymond. Both men were lawyers. They had studied in the same office and had succeeded to the practice of their patron. There was much friendship between them. It was a sincere friendship on Mortimer's part. Raymond had the stronger will of the two. Mortimer was completely under his control. He had lifted him up as ho advanced himself, not that ho desired to honor him, but that ho was useful. Mortimer had such an exaggerated idea of Raymond's difficulty to placo him, where so niauy were clamoring for preferment, that his spirit of gratitudo developed into subserviency, completely obliterating every quality that woukl interfero with the performance of any duty Raymond might impose. He had been named as registrar of arrears because it suited Raymond? that was all. To bo suro Mortimer's sister had been receiving the attentions of the political chieftain and imagined, as Mortimer did, that he was sincere. Sometimes Raymond himself thought the same, but tho truth was, though he might not at all times own it, that ho sought Inez Mortimer's companionship as a relaxation from a life otherwise exciting. Poor Mortinnr believed that Raymond's favors were partly duo to the regard in which his sister was held by his political sponsor, and in this belief his devotion to Raymond steadily increased. Mortimer was a consumptive, but his work took little of his time and exacted no exertion beyond visiting Raymond at stated times and making his reports; so he was as hopeful and buoyant as consumptives, free from the other vexations of life, usually are. Raymond occupied a house in a respectable section of the city. He could easily keep an establishment in the most aristocratic quarter, but it wasn't policy to do so. Ilis home was luxuriously furnished and cared for by a woman whom ho called his niece, and whom tho world believed to hear that relation to him. Sho was a charming hostess. Her queenly grace and winning manners assured her the entree to some of tho best circles, and as society never questioned her standing why should we? Sho is nothing to us, beyond a figure exemplifying how Raymond lived. In tho well appointed library Mortimer is received by his chief. Tho registrar of airears is nervous. Ho has made unusual haste to reach Raymond's home "**fliof cmnpflntirr rmf iWlU ^Jltllil IJ ail IM>3 uiuv Mv*i.vvn?.id *_???. of tlio ordinary lias occurred. This is not lost to Raymond, but ho puffs coolly and leisurely at his cigar, taking it \ from between his lips just long enough to say: "Get your breath, man, and tell us what has happened." "Look out for Mangan!" ho gasped as ho leaned forward on the library table and breathed more heavily from the effort. The coolness of Raymond, who sat I | smiling, helped him to regain his com- | , posure, and he resumed"Mangan met us this atternoon. We wero in the United States court"?a , name given to a resort for city officials and politicians generally?"and the commission hill came up. fie said it was a 'deal,' that the commissioners wero your men. that you were at the top, middle and bottom?in fact, he used words 1 hate to repeat." "Never mind I Repent thein. Ho 1 says queer tilings at times. He's a peculiar character. What wero his words?' "Ho said you posed as a philanthropist, a patron at church entertainments of every denomination, but that you wero a political serpent, a constrictor wound uround every interest and institution, and crushing such as wero not | beneficial to yon. He sounded the company, and a few, tho same you have mistrusted, laughed and told him ho generally hit tho nail on the head." "Is that all?" "All? No. He declared that lead- j er, lawyer and all as you were, ho i i meant to give you a ehakeup before ho left town." "Leave town?" "Yes. He said no more, but he said that vindictively." "Why, 1 offered him tho managing editorship of Tho Trumpet. I endeav- , ored in every way to show friendship for him. He can have no feeling against me. If I knew any ono who was close to him, I would help him even now in his fresh ambition, give him financial j aid to start out well, for it must be Borne great ambition that moves him to | leave this place. Did he say when bo was going?" "Yes." "When?" "He said not nntil he exposed the inside of the commission, and he hinted that he would be greatly disappointed if yon were not disclosed in a new light to the people," "Well! Well!" laughed Raymond, "Who would ever think he is such a dreamer?" "It's not my business, of course," mildly suggested Mortimer. "But none of the land to be appraised is yours, is it?" "My dear fellow," said Raymond, "don't worry! None of the land is mine?yet." "It is some of the land you hold through tax sale certificates?' "What if it is?" "This,"said Mortimer. "Someyears ago you had the law passed. Property owners did not pay taxes promptly. The law as it now stands is that the property is sold at auction to private individuals just for the taxes. To redeem it, the owner must pay a bonus of 10 per cent and interest at lii per cent, and if ho fails to redeem it in 10 years the city gives a clear title to the man who purchased the land and the buildings thereon, if any, for the taxes." "Proceed." "Now under that law you have bought, or others have bought for you, and legally secured to you, many blocks of real estate, some of which will never be claimed. If these blocks are to be selected by the commission, Man* gan will say so; he will find it out. He is a second Heller; he can see in all di- i rections." "It seems to me," remarked Ray- i mond, "that you have been budly ; scared. You forget that under the law t there is no record of those transactions j in the offico of the register of deeds in j the county, where Mangan will turn for his facts. You are simply the registrar of arrears. What you know is not all a matter of official record." "But he knows tho law." "Suppose, for tho sako of argument, that ho does," responded Raymond, a little nettled at Mortimer's persistence. "Suppose, again, that the commission decides on theso lands that I may have within my leach. The day after the commission reports, tho legal limi- j tatior.s will expire and the property will he legally mine. Tho deed will como to me directly, or indirectly, to a trustee, most likely the latter, and no paper can say a word about it without j rrn : "Look out for Manqan!" he uatsped. leaving itself open to a libel suit. Everything is honest and regular. That is tho law. It may not bo the fact that the lands will be those that friends ot mine held, you understand? I have as suined that much, just to satisfy you. Your deputy would not talk like this." "I assure you, Frank," for Mortimer so called him when the warmth of conversation demanded some nominative of address. "I was looking after . your interests; that was all." "I know it," was the reply, intended to convince Mortimer that the personal allusions had not undermined tho confidence reposed in him. "I'll go home, now," said Mortimer, arising. "Wait a minute." said Raymond. "Inez is acquainted with Isabel Lo?Le Clair, is she not?" "I think I have heard her mention the name." "Look here, Philip"?and Raymond threw tho stump of his Havana into the cuspidor, locked tho fingers of both hands, inclined forward, supporting his body by resting his left elbow on his kneo and looking seriously at Mortimer. "There is some private business 011 foot in which I want the good offices of Mother St. Gertrude. Miss Le?Lo Clair is influential in that quarter. 1 cannot see her in the eonvent or at school. Inez has met her socially at many places. 1 have frequently seen both together, and they seem to be great friends. 1 am very well acquainted myself with Miss Le Clair, have enjoyed her company at many parties, and she herself has told me she is enthusiastically fond of Inez. Let Inez invite her to your house, and I will there get a chance to enlist her aid. Tell Inez to manage this for me." "Certainly; sho will do it. Is that all?" "That's nil." Mortimer batto goouoy to nnymonu nt tho door. Tho latter, when ho had returned to the library, mused: "Mangan cannot harm me. For his bitterness, however, I will punish him. Out of Isabel's great love for him, lean force her to marry me, and he will not know it until he reads the wedding notice. And Inez? Oh, she'll?well, 1 can get over that, too. hut, on every ; consideration, I think it will he better to wed Isabel Le?Lo Clair. Strange, ! how I find it hard to pronounce that name!" CHAPTER V. ISABEL UNDER RAYMOND'S INFLUENCE. Numerous incandescent electric bulbs, , added to tho floral embellishments that break out in every direction, muko j J . w .. I brilliant tun rooms in mo .Mortimer i homo on tho classic Brooklyn Heights. > Inez is tho hostess. Isabel is there, happy and no less radiant than when i last wo saw her. Old school companions arc present, too, with friends par- j ticuhirly selected with a view of mnk- j ing her feel at home. Inez had deter- j mined to please Raymond and demon- j strato her woman's tact by having none i there before whom Isabel might act con- ' strainedly. Inez had also asked Isabel to remain over night, as otherwise she would have to leave early for the convent. Inez was a petite brunette. Vivacious, witty, intellectual and artistic, she had many admirers. She was so sensitively constituted that she particularly avoided, in a most natural way, the assertion of any accomplishment that, might incite jealousy in those of her sex who moved in circles with her- , self. So strong a feature of' her char- ' acter was this, that even they who thought .Raymond an eligible subject for their feminine wiles never could _ i. ~i.: u:.? .a v..11 tiue ill ucr ruiuuuiia ? un nun, ui uun or fete, anything beyond the usual amenities of friendship. Could Inez read her own heart, she might ha76 discovered that her feeling for Raymond was not what she took it to be. Unconsciously she had come to accept her brother's opinions and sentiments with respect to the man us her own. She looked upon him as her brother's benefactor. And had not Raymond himself, by his attentions, his compliments and references to a future where he and she stood together, made evident his own intentions with regard to her? Little did she dream that her brother was repaying Raymond a hundredfold, and that she herself, tonight, was rendering him a service whose worth time alone could disclose, if indeed the curtain of mystery was ever to bo drawn aside. i There she stood with Isabel by her side, as the guests one after another were received. Why describe that social panorama, in which these two shone as queens; two impressive types of beauty singled out for admiration in a kaleidoscopic maze of enchanting forms and faces? Would it be puzzling to any one who knew Raymond's design, and could read his thoughts, to assign a reason for his own approval of the course he had resolved to pursue? "She's a woman among a million," was his mental comment as Isabel offered him her hand, her cheeks aglow with the mild excitement of the scene. But all things come to an end. The entertainment was on the wane. The guests began to depart. Somehow Raymond, with his unobtrusive diplomacy, had managed to engage Isabel's attention. He escorted her to nn ulcove invitingly embowered with all the taste of the florist's art and suggesting itself, in exotic exhalations, as a reposeful retreat, now that the whirl of the evening had begun to pall in its decline. "Yes, it has been a very enjoyable evening, "she said in answer to a remark of Raymond. "I never met so many friends at once before." "And 1 haven't had the pleasure of seeing you for months. I'm at fewer events of this nature than you." "Yes. What is there in politics at- j tracts you men so?" "I can't say; some people have suggested it is the passion for power." "Commendable, when the power is exercised for good." "But people will not give us credit | for so exercising it. It is in the political world, like the social world, the jealous and the disappointed are quick to spread scandal that originates in their own minds and has nothing but | spite to feed and live upon." "You judge the world harshly." "Harshly! You do not know it. j Even you, in whose life there is nothing of the dross, cannot escape criticism." "I?" "Why, yes. Is it possible that you have never been annoyed by the envy that I have seen and heard?although but little in society?the envy of designing mothers?" "That isn't so, is it?" 6he queried, regret and alarm starting her into an attitudo that was winsome. "Never mind," said Raymond sym- j pathetically. "It is to be expected, and their fears are proof that their judgment is better than their manners." "You are jesting," said Isabel, sur- I prised at his speech. "Every one knows my status here?that of one who by j virtue of the courtesies of old school companions has been permitted to share in the festivities that broaden her ex- ; npHenre and add to that 8U111 of knowl edge which for the sake of her profession she would enlarge. The friction of contending minds brightens the intellect. I nil) a poor teacher. Therefore to you it is unnecessary to state why I ain likely never to be asked in places such as this, where wealth casts its glamour over all, to change my name to that of a family which would con- I sider the union of one of its scions to a person out of their social kingdom as a j terrible mesalliance." "Believe me, I am not jesting," said Raymond. "As I think so, let us diop the subject." "I do not mean to; i would like to place you beyond these people's criticism," he said slowly, with a look that was portent in its firmness, and yet so full of tenderness that Isabel hesitated until the explanation which was evidently coming could be offered in justice to him and her. "I am prompted to talk in this vein," he said, "out of regard for one who is J dear to you, I understand?Laurence \ Mangan. It is in my power to make him and you happy." "Not by putting"? she began,while a flush of resentment mantled her cheeks. "No, not by putting you apart," he interrupted, "if that is what you were going to say. Let me tell you I will bring you closer. His name is not Laurence Mangan, no more than yours is Isabel Le Clair." Isabel was startled. She awaited in j fear the words that were to follow. "If Mangan knew it, his real name is Laurence Leland, and ho is your brother," was Raymond's next decla- i ration. "My brother!" she exclaimed. " Your brother." "Thank God!" "That he is?" "No-o. Never mind," was her reply, her right hand mechanically rising to her brow as if to keep her dancing brain from beating its way outward. What conflicting emotions! Gratitude that she had escaped marriage with her brother; grief that she had lost Laurence in a relation, the very thought of which had, in days gone by, awakened within her the tenderest sensations of peace and bliss. Sho stared blankly at Raymond. Her eyes were upon him; her spirit was in other realms, where golden memories, crystallized with ideals that must never evolve into realities, wero flying before her vision, dissipating before this revelation like mist on the mountains when the morning rays break in upon them. She was thinking, too, of the truth in the poet's lines: Ah, such is the fate of our life's early promise, So passing the springtide of Joy we have known; Kach wave that wo danced on at morning ebbs from us, And leaves us at eve on the bleak shore alone. I Summoning all her will power to her aid, she concentrated her mind on the tituation and. its suircrestious. Reason came back to its throne, and hIio usked: "How have you learned this? How do you know it.is true, that his name and mino is Leland?" Raymond was cool and collected. He had not made up bis mind how he would broach the subject. He realized that ho bad not done it delicately, but lio had anticipated mo return, mm ?m prepared. If alio expected to read in j ilia face anything of that which alio had long dreamed to mako clear?the secret of her ancestry?she was disappointed. Not a tremor of a muscle! His look was really 0110 calculated to give her confidence in the sincerity ho professed. "If you do not believe mo to be a friend," he continued, "I will say 110 ' more about the matter. Let me assure I you I thoueht you would bo pleased to I hear news you must have long yearned i for. It was my great solicitude for your welfare that caused me to speak as I have, and that, too, is my apology for being so abrupt. Let mo take you back." "Stay a moment," she interposed. How rightly had he etudied woman's nature! How often has her curiosity cost her the most priceless jewels in tho circle of her womanly treasures! But in Isabel's case much might be pleaded i in extenuation. "Will you tell me all?" she asked, her arms involuntarily outstretched in abjuration. Gently ho took her hands and held them in his own. He looked at her lovingly, for his heart went out to her more man 11 ever uuu io any umer ui her sex. "Don't think me hard," he beseeched. "I'll tell yon, but if my story makes you happy, as I kno'w it will, can I not hope for happiness in return V "Are you sure that?that?Lau? Laurence is my brother?" "As sure as I am that you are Isabel Leland." "You could not ask me to answer now. I have never imagined this. Do not press me. I will certainly be grateful. Let mo not think you anything but manly, when the recollection of your kindness will rise before nie." "This means much to Laurence? Laurence, you call him, and my friendship warrants me in using the name," continued Raymond. "He is under a cloud. If you were ray wife, I could appeal in his behalf to those who mean to ruin him, ruin him through wrong, 1 feel. As a disinterested person, I could not stay the storm that lowers above him, but to protect 1110 and mine from dishonor these people could be induced to consent to an investigation that j would vindicate Laurence. Then, again, r 1 1 . 1 .t x_ 11 ft L! x~ il.^ i nave long uesireu 10 1111 mm iu mw highest place in his profession. It is 1 within my power to do so." "But I know nothing of this, or of what it means. Am I asked to pledge myself before there is justification? Will you still torture me with suspense?" Miscellaneous Heading. (KIT EVEN WITH BEN BUTLER. A (liiiithler Who Sklimeil an Army 1'ayniUHter Out of #10,000. There is today in Boston one of the shrewdest and most during gamblers iu the United States. His name is George II. Devol, and it has been said ( of him that he could, at the age of 10, stock a deck and beat all the card- i players in the little Ohio town in which lie was born. Mr. Devol is over GO years of age, and his history is a most ; interesting one. Mr. Devol comes from one of the oldest families in Ohio. His grandfather, Jonathan Devol, was an officer in the war of the Revolution, and was well known in the early days I of the West as an Indian fighter. From him the present Mr. Devol must have inherited a spirit and love for battle, for it is said of him that in the old days, | when times were piping on the Mississippi and gamblers who made big winnings on the steamboats often had j to fight for their lives, he would rath- ; er fight than sit down to a goldenrimmed sirloin. He gave a modest i outline of bis life to a Globe reporter. ; When a comparative handful of men under Zachary Taylor were showing four times their number of Mexicans bow the Yankees could fight, Devol reaped rich harvests on the Rio Grande | steamers at poker, roulette or monte. Paymasters were his special quarry, | and whenever he saw one he never lost I an opportunity to lure him by the most tempting bait. Cotton buyers, defaulters, and thieves have become entangled in the inesbes set for them and j hundreds of thousands of dollars have j left their pockets to help fatten his purse. As a student of human nature j few could excel Mr. Ocvol. One look at a man was sufficient, and he seldom I made a mistake. In May, 1802, Mr. | Devol was doing a rushing business in New Orleans. He had a racing stable j and ran games at the track and all the j athletic games till money came like j water in a tropical shower: When j Oeneral Butler entered that city he j heard that Devol was having a high ( old time with the officers and fearing ! that some unsuspecting and easily led paymaster might full into his hands he sent for him and delivered a lecture in j 110 uncertain language on the dangers I of gambling with any of his officers. Devol paid no attention to the lecture, but kept right 011 playing with all who cared to meet him. This went 011 till General Butler heard of some j heavy losses by some of his staff, and j he again sent for the conjurer-up of strange tricks. This time he not only read Devol a lecture, but had him taken to court, where he was fined $1,000 and sentenced to one year in ; jail. And this was not all; h 1 confiscated all his property and brcse up j his gauibling-rooms. Life in jai was , a dream in those days. A fee was I given to the jailer and Devol, vitli ' several others, was allowed out at night to go to the city for a sport, j Their friends sent them wine and ail the delicacies of the season. Stiff poker games were carried 011 inside : the barred windows and one day, after the expiration of six months of the sentence, Governor Shepley, who thought a $1,000 fine and one year in jail an unjust sentence, set him free. Wishing in some way to square matters with General Butler, Devol laid for all the steamers, and one day coaxed into a quiet little game a paymaster connected with the general's command and won something over $10,000. This is one of the stories Mr. Devol likes to tell. One of the most amusing reminiscences recalled by Mr. Dcvol was an incident that occurred at a town called Donaldson, where be was waiting for a steamer to take him to New Orleans. He fell in with an oily-tongued, goodlooking young fellow, who suggested a game of curds while they were i waiting. Mr. Devol being agreeable, j his companion brought out an old, greasy-looking deck of marked cards. The cards were recognized immediately, and, knowing that he had been taken for a greeny, Devol watched for a chance to come down 011 the man and beat him at his own game. It came finally, and all the money the wouldbe gull catcher had, about $80, went to Devol's pocket. Then there was the very dickens to pay. The loser started for an oflicer, who arrested Devol just as the boat for New Orleans hove into view. He was taken before a judge, who had just begun to dress him down previous to lining him, when Devol asked and obtained permission to explain the game. "This man," said lie, pointing to the late victim, ''asked me to play poker and brought out a deck of marked cards. I recognized them and could tell every hand he held just as he could tell by the backs of my cards what kind of a band T held. Just to show how it's done," he continued, holding the | the cards face to the judge, "I'll read .1 Con- ,W tlm?n in vnn This is the till ?V ?<- ? .V, ace of clubs, this is the (luce of hearts, ace of diamonds, trey of spades, ten of diamonds, queen of " "Hold!" inturrupted the judge, "let me look at the cards." Taking them in his hands he shuflled them over for a moment, eyeing them critically. Then with a face | livid with fury, he exclaimed, punctuating his remarks with his pine-knot list: "By the great jumped-up, wounded j catamount! if it isn't the same deck that those blacklegs have been robbing me with for the past two weeks!" lie could not for a moment contain himself. Devol was discharged and the man from whom he won the $80 was lined $50 and costs and reminded that it might he a good thing for him to seek a home in some other county. ? ? THE CIRITLATIOX OK THE BIBLE. The annual meeting of the British and Foreign Bible Society was held in Exeter Hall on Wednesday, the Karl of Harrowby presiding. The report stated that the year's circulation had been nearly 4,000,000 copies, supplied to churches and missionary societies or circulated by the society's own agents. The Bible women, more or less maintained by the society, numbered 402, an increase of 32. They had read the Scriptures to 12,014 native women per week, and taught 1,577 women to read. In France, Spain and Italy the force of colporteurs had been reduced, but the circulation in these countries had grown respectively from 187,302 to 233,598, from 01,870 to 04,835, and from 102,037 to 109,937. Among the Poles the circulation had more than doubled. In Bulgaria and the neighboring lands the vernacular Scriptures were producing changes almost to be compared to the reformation in England. In Egypt the Mohammedans received the colporteurs without the malignant scowl of former days. In Russian territories the circulation had been 514,951. In China the circulation was 235,921, against 182,773. In India the demand was steadily growing, and in Persia the circulation had nearly doubled ; but ?" T.in.m ? I,** noAnrnauJ nl' Plll'ittl liinit lf Ill i/U}Hlll IIIU JM \/^i * no v? v iiu.n.ui.iij seemed to pause before the absorption of the people in their new political passions. The year's new income had been ?141,228, besides ?91,740 bysales, showing respectively an increase of ?3,083 and a decrease of ?8,093. The total receipts, including ?1,310 toward the deficit fund, had been ?234,284. The expenditures had increased (by ?1,890) to ?222,847, and the year thus began with a balance of ?11,437.? London Times. HIS TAILOR HUMORED HIM. The story is told by the "Worcester Gazette of a former clothier of that city, who had for a customer a man rich in this world's goods, and verysharp in many ways, but not destitute of vanity, and always eager to own the very best of everything. This man, of course, liked to dress well, and ordered the best, and, of course, he was humored in this by the tailor. When he would come to try on his coat before it was finished, he was apt to consider it satisfactory, but the head of the shop would come up and look him over, and then say : "Well, Mr. S., I would like to keep this coat for a day or two longer. It looks real well, but I would like to change the shouldersjust a trifle." Then the tailor would take the coat and hang it in the closet. In a day or two Mr. S. would call again to try the same garment. The genial tailor would contrive not to see the "try on" until the customer had expressed complete content. Then he would hurriedly step forward and critically examined the coat again. "Yes," be would say, "it is a verygood fit, but if you are not in u hurry, Mr. S., I would like to keep the coat until tomorrow, so I could straighten that collar just a bit." Of course Mr. S. would be doubly ilattered, and say lie would wait, me next day the coat would be delivered to him, and Mr. 8. would say it was the best lit he ever had. On the quiet, the tailor might tell you that he never touched the coat from the beginning, but kept it banging in the closet all the time. Keeping "Old Nick" Out.?A well-bred man puts his hand over his mouth when he yawns ; but not one in 10,000 knows why. The reason is this: "Four or five hundred years ago there was a superstition common in Europe that the devil was always lying in wait to enter a man's body, and take possession of him. Satan generally went in by the mouth ; but when lie bad waited a reasonable time and the man did not open his mouth the devil made him yawn, and while bis mouth was opened jumped down his throat. So many cases of this kind occurred that the people learned to make the sign of the cross over their mouth whenever they yawned, in order to scare away the devil. The peasantry in Italy and Spain still adhere to this method ; but most other people have dispensed with the cross sign, and keep out the devil by simply placing the hand before the lips. It is a most remarkable survival of a practice after its significance has perished. Is Sunday the Sahiuth??Chronologically speaking, we are badly mixed up on the question asked in the heading. No one, whether he has devoted all his life to studying the question or has only casually glanced at the subject, as is the case with "Ye Curious Man," can strike nearer than six days to the true Sabbath. No one knows whether it is pre-Mosaic or purely Mosaic in its origin. True, the division of the week into seven days originated at a period so remote that it is reckoned as being almost prehistoric; yet the consecration of the seventh day to Jehovah is first biblically mentioned after the exodus from Egypt. There is no trace of its celebration in patriarchal times ; consequently the man or woman doesn't live who can tell which of the seven days is referred to in the command : "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." - ? < The Youxi; Perron.?A considerable crop of young doctors is just beginning the tedious work of waiting for patients. People .are so stupid that they fail to realize that these young men, having studied for years i - j .i... ,-oolu aim jmucuucu in. nit iiwj/iim.o, ivwi.j do know something about disease. It is;reported to the Listener of The Transcript that one young physician, who had just graduated and opened an ollice, went to dine at tiie house of an old friend. During the evening, noticing that his hostess looked worried, he asked her if anything was the matter. "Why," she said, "I am disturbed about Johnny. He is hot, seems sick, and looks so queer. I wish I knew whether lie's got the measles." "Let me look at him," said the young doctor. "Why," cried his hostess, with a a look of genuine surprise, "could vou tell ?" ? flaT" A professor at the University of Texas, says Sittings, was explaining some of the habits and customs of the ancient Greeks. "The ancient Greeks built no roofs over their theatres," said the professor. "What did the ancient Greeks do when it rained?" asked Johnny Kizzletop. The professor took oil' his spectacles, polished them with his handkerchief, and replied, calmly, "They got wet, I suppose." ?aT An Knglish scientist, after careful experiments, finds that when potatoes are cooked without removing the skins they lose only .'J per cent, of nutritive quality through extraction of the juice. When the skins were removed before boiling, the loss was 14 percent., which makes the process of cooking the potatoes without their jackets an exceedingly wasteful one. *