Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

^ IS9UBD SEMX'VBEKL^ . V l m. grist's sons, Publisher., j % ^amilg Ueirspaper: 4or the $romotion of the goiitieat, Social, ^grienliinpt and Commercial Interests of the feople. {ce? vancf" established 1855. * " YORKVILLE78- CTFRIDAY,"FEBRUARY' ^1,1908. ~ "NO. 1ST V > >11 n hi numiuuiuiitiiuiu < i rprrro itr X.U3 m I 0' 3 t i By CLARENCI rnmmmimmmmwwmwiww CHAPTER II. Check to "Check to By-th-way, old fel low, how time flies. It was ten year; ago tonight, wasn't it?" Gilbert Senn looked up from th? chessboard into his friend's face as h< spoke. "Check! H'm! 1 wasn't looking fo just that. Let me see. There"?mov ing a piece?"I think that settles you plan for the present. What were yoi saying? Ten years ago; what was i that happened ten years ago! Oh. yes I remember; it is ten years since then ten long years since the 5th of Xovem ber. I860.". "Ten years?ten years?check t< your king?and?" "See here, Senn." Interrupted Waltei Aldrlch, good-naturedly, "you are tak ing a decidedly unfair advantage of me You t,et me to uunKing in a Mniinuru tal mood, perhaps, if a man with mj health can be sentimental, and thet you crowd me to the wall. Well"? moving a piece reluctantly and irresolutely?"that is bad enough, but it's th< best I can do." "Check!" "I?I " And Aid rich thinks Ion* and looks earnestly before he venture; to make another move, and makes if with a vague hope which is not warranted by the probabilities when hi; friendly antagonist is as keen a mar as Gilbert Senn. Senn studies the board. His hanc wavers doubtingl.v over a piece, drops resolutely upon it, and he makes his move. "Checkmate!" he says, "and now lei us put away the board and the men anc talk of more important battles than this mimic warfare. Chess is not half sc much like the battle of life as som< would like us to think; if it were, 1 shouldn't be winning over you." "NTo? I don't know. Life has its complications which are far strnngei than any which chance or circumstance can bring: into our favorite game. One day a man is up, another day he if , ' down: one day .rich, another day poor; honest now, now lost; the admlratior of friends today, the scorn of foes tomorrow." % "Don't be a cynic, TUdrich," sale Senn; "if any one in the whole wide world has a right to keep the fact ol the ups and downs of this life in his mind always. I have. But I am not sc foolish as to scorn the present, nor sc weak as to doubt the future." "And the past?" Tears sprang- up in Senn's eyes. He reached his hand across to his friend and clasped his in a warm and clinging grasp. "The past? You know of what I was thinking a little time ago. I have never done thanking you. in my heart, foi making it possible for me to have a y part in the battle of life; I have nevei forgotten what you did ten years ago; I never shall forgot it. If there evei comes a time when my life, my fortune or " "There?there?that will do. It waf nothing. Any one could have done what I did." "But you did it." "And I would have done it for an\ | one. I " "For any one!" interrupted Senn, hi? face coulded and his tone a little bitter; "for any one! I should think so. Ter years ago I was "any one/ a tramp, s vagabond, an outcast: not a criminal not a beggar, not a drunkard; but lift had narrowed?narrowed?narrowed? until the Indistinct buildings in the hall darkness seemed in another world There was wealth there?gold, goods clothes, food, pictures?and I was clothed in rags and had barely a quar ter of a dollar which I could call mj own. I stood on the platform at th< station, and looked in at the window o the ticket office?in from my darknes: and misery, at the joy and careleisnes: and happiness of those within. I couh not bear it. The contrast was too great My heart was hungering for home my soul was crying for home; I hat dreamt of home every night for month: ?home?home?home, sweet home; ant the train was coming: I could hear it: thunder through the evening's dark anc silence: It could take me home in i single night?hut I had no money: d< you know how long it will take a wea ry. discouraged, disappointed, sick half-starved wretch to walk, mind yoi ?as far as an express train can go ii twelve hours?" i "F'or Ood's sake, Senn " "Wait. Hear me out. You neve knew the half you did. I am not sun you ever can. for I know my recita of it must fall far short of the truth. . shrank back from the lighted windov into the darkness, is it any wonder was careless? Down the track, I coul< remember sorrow and tears and hun ger. T'p the track, lying so strong an< grand under the lights of the station like two long lines of silver, was mj future?my fate?with more tears, ant more sorrow, and more hunger ant weakness and weariness I think I wa: , a little delirious: I had not tasted foot for twelve hours; the train was com ing; I saw its headlight come rount the curve, flash up the track, and pusl the lines of silver a little further?jus a little further?into the shadows. Ant r then " "Stop a moment. I shall be crying i you go on. I want to ask you two o three questions. You will answer then truthfully, will you not?" "Truthfully?" cried Senn. "have yoi ever known me to answer any questioi in any other way?" "No. I never have," said Aldrich firmly; "I never have. Only?as thesi questions are a little peculiar?andand?personal?I thought you migh not care to answer them. I confess shall not blame you if you tell me it i none of my business." . Senn laughed. "I will tell you that." he suid, "if am not willing to answer truthfully frankly and fully. Though why should be other than truthful and franl IMlfcllUlMHIlfc.iiUlLIH m 111 III itil Mi ll AH ! WTSfBI1 I ? BOUTELLE. minimrHtfiffHiumf in in mm i to one who has been such a friend, I am sure I cannot tell. Please ask the . quest ions." s "I will. Have the last ten years of your life been happy?" e "Happy? Yes. No life is perfect. No 2 jov is unmixed with sorrow. But the ten years just past have been happy? very happy." "You are slad, then, that I saved r you?" ^ Senn stretched out his hand and t caught those of his friend. "Glad?glad!" he cried. "And now?well " "What is it? Ask it." "I?I scarcely know how to ask you. j You will pardon me. will you not?" "Pardon you? Of course I will." r "Was what happened an?an accident . ?or were you so discouraged?and? , and?" "Was it an attempt at suicide? Is f that what you mean?" j "That is it." "It was an accident, purely and sim. ply an accident. I suppose the thought ? of suicide runs through every man's mind, the sane as well as the mad sometimes, and I shall not pretend that , I had never found it running through , mine. While I remember the old home j among the New England hills; while I remember the grav-haired mother who , lives there and who counts the days, j almost, between my visits at home? while I cherish her memory in my j heart after she shall have gone from , me, I shall be safe. No suicide or mur, der shall stand at my door. It was an accident." t "Pray pardon my thought; I " I "It is pardoned. Your suspicion was ? not an unnatural one." > "And now?will you tell me about > your sensations, your thoughts." [ Senn shuddered. "It isn't a pleasant thing to think 5 about nor to talk about, but I will try : to tell you. I heard the train coming; ; I saw it round the curve; I saw the ? light strike upon the darkness and push i it further back. Then, suddenly, I felt fnint. Mv head grew dizzy, the icy i platform seemed to reel beneath my . feet. I felt myself falling. I tried to catch something. My efforts were use1 less. I went down?down upon the ? track. My head struck the rail. I felt f the blood gush down over my cheek. i Then a strange thing come to pass, > namely this: I was mentally strong > and vigorous, while I was physically nothing. I could not move. I could not shriek. I could not make a sound. ? I heard women shriek. I saw one fall , fainting on the platform. Why? I was . only a lagged tramp, and she had drawn her cloak closer about her so as s not to touch me, when she had passed . me a half-hour before. I saw a man, who could have saved me as well as L not. falter and turn away. I saw men stop to count the chances, unwitting that chances counted at such a time were chances thrown away forever. I , heard hoarse cries. I heard the brakes applied to the wheels, but knew then. ; as well as 1 know now, that the train > could no more have been stopped before reaching me than the earth can be stopped in its course. I suffered a thousand deaths. I never knew how sweet life was before. Then?I saw t you dash across the platform, spring upon the track. You lifted me from the i rails, you threw me out of danger. I i have never forgotten it. I never shall." "Pshaw! It was nothing'." > "You risked your life, though." "In a sense, yes. There was no time f to lose. A false step, a stumble, and neither one of us would have been here , tonight. But any man with a cool head < and quick hands could have done it." "But you?you did do it." "I did." ? "And you did it for me." f "Yes." 5 "And you helped me to work, helped s ine to a,place of honor and responsi1 bilit.v." True. But let us not dwell longer I on the past. Light another cigar, the 1 one you have has gone out. And get * the chessboard and men again. I must 1 have my revenge before you go." * They sat down to their chess again. I But the lawyer, keen and acute and i far-seeing though he might usually be, "> seined preoccupied. It was not many - minutes before Senn quietly captured his queen, saying "Check!" as he did i so; and. soon after, he had driven Ald1 rich once more to hopeless defeat, saying that word of victory from which there is no appeal?"Checkmate!" r "I cannot play tonight," said Aldrich. ? "Your story of ten years ago has un1 nerved me, somehow. And beside " I "Besides?" i' "Besides that, there is another thing I which I cannot keep out of my * thoughts. A thing?a fact " "I think I understand. I've been 1 waiting for you to tell me. Shall I take * the privilege you had a little time ago, > and ask you a few questions?" 1 AMi ieh laughed. 1 "You needn't do that. The matter is * happily settled. I am the most fortu1 nate man in the world. She is good - and true, and as beautiful as she is i good. tmngratuiaie me. i Aldrich held out his hand, t Senn took it. 1 "I do congratulate you," he said. "1 give you good wishes for your whole t future, and with all my heart. I eonr gratulate her. too; you may tell her so i when you next see her. 1 have known you so long and so well, while i Hut you know her. You have chosen i wisely, 1 douht not. 1 heartily congratulate you both." i. "Thank you." p "When shall I lose you?" "What?" t "When shall I lose you? When are I you to he married?" s "That is a question I cannot answer yet. Not before next spring: possibly not until June. Hut you are not to I lose ine at all. You will only gain another friend when I marry, for my I friend will be my wife's friend as well." It Senn shook his head. I "i don't know about that," he said, 1 gloomily; "I don't know about that. 1 Marriage takes many a man from his 1 friends and companions." I "Nonsense! We shall have many < repetitions of this evening; we shall try our powers and our fortunes many a \ time over the narrow battlefield of the i chessboard." i "I hope so," said Senn, rising and go- l ing over to the chessboard and men. r He touched them lovingly and as if it I were reluctantly, came loitering back to where his friend sat. I I "I hope so," said Senn again; "I hope j so; but someway I cannot help doubt-}i | ing it. The news of your engagement [j has strangely affected me. I cannot explain it. Do you believe in presentiments?" "In presentiments? No, I do not. Do ' you?" "I think not, and yet there seems to be a deepening shadow all around us. I cannot get it out of my mind that something is about to happen which will deeply affect us both. It seems impressed upon me that this 5th day of November, in the year 1870, is a crisis in the lives of us both. It seems as though I had laid aside the chessmen for the last time; I find myself wondering?not whether this is to be our last evening together, but why It Is to be the last." Aldrich took out his watch. "Don't think me inhospitable," he said, lightly; "you know I've never driven you away from here yet, late though it might be. But the fact is you cannot be well; you wouldn't talk as you do if you were; let me prescribe for you." "All right. What do you prescribe?" "Rest. Go home and go to bed. Get a go<Kl night's rest. Get these foolish fancies out of that brain of yours. You are working too hard, or?" "I'm not working too bard," said r Senn, stoutly. a "Or worrying too much," concluded j Aldrich. ^ "I'm not worrying. Business is dull j in some places, and some firms are go- ^ ing down. But B. is going through all ^ right: there isn't the slightest doubt of that. I should be no loser, except the ^ loser of a position, if he didn't, but you t know me well enough to be sure I ^ should be troubled if he were in any . danger. The fact is he is safe?perfectly safe." "Yes." "And now, I'll take your advice, I t will go home. I will get a good night's f rest. We'll laugli over the foolish fan- y cies of this night, many and many a <. time, as earnestly as we wept over the ^ almost tragedy of ten years ago." Senn lighted another cigar. The two d men stood talking pleasantly. Senn opened the door. The friends stepped t out. The night was calm and still. November though it was, the air was warm and pleasant. The sky was ^ cloudless, and the stars seemed unus- ^ ually bright. ' Yet, at that very moment, Jasper ^ Jahnway, sleeping before his library fire at Jahnway Park, was letting the self- ? originated fancies of his dreams mingle with the sound of the awful thunder of the tempest outside. Gilbert Senn had j never heard the name of Jahnway Park: he knew nothing of the existence { of Jasper Jahnway, nor did Jasper know aught of him: yet the tempest ^ was coming into the deep-blue, starstudded sky of his life as surely as it is that the wind blows, or the waters ^ flow. Aldrich turned suddenly, almost abe ruptly. # He held out his hand to his friend. "Good-night." he said. Then c he went in. And Gilbert Senn, happy again, mov- ^ ed slowly away. Away from the house ^ whose threshold he would never cross again; away from the friend whose ^ hand he would never clasp again; away from the past he cherished 'and the present he loved; away, as far away as the imagination can picture, from the ( future he had dreamed about. g He walked slowly down the street, smoking and thinking as he went. From time to time he spoke to himself. a s r>wi A lf1rir?h." snicl Senn to himself; "I wonder if I shall ever have J, a chance to make my account with him o even? It isn't likely. He isn t the sort ^ of fellow to pro blundering- down under the wheels of an express train." And he smoked and walked in silence. He reached the door of his boarding-- . house. He paused a moment there, and . looked up at the sky. "Dear old Aldrich." he said again; ^ "he deserves it all?all. I hope he will be happy. Of course he will be. Nothing amiss can happen." He paused in his self-addressed talk, seemed ^ to think suddenly of something which troubled him, then said, vigorously: "The fact is, he is safe." Another pause. "Perfectly safe?unless " And Senn walked downed the street. , And * And it is getting late. Do you know ^ that there are times when it is better? ( safer, perhaps?for the gentle reader to ^ let the actors in a drama like this go their ways alone? Let us go to rest. o Or, if you cannot rest until you see Gilbert Senn safe at home, let us wait by the door of his boardidng house un- . til his return. It was very late when he came back. He looked worn and wan. There was { anguish in his eyes. There was un. , o doubtedly a heavy load upon his mind. He seemed to have grown much older. j' He went up to his room. He threw himself upon his bed. For hours he tossed and turned, groaning. # It was growing almost daylight when sleep began to conquer the wornout n man. Slowly his breath grew deeper and slower; little by little he became t calm and quiet; one by one his senses k faded into sleep. u "Dear?dear old Aldrioh. I swore?" e jte muttered. v (The tempest was still raging at li Jahnway Park, and looking east from n nil's window one might have seen a cloud across the morning sky. where a the sun would soon be coming.) s And then, just before, there fell upon F him the peace of such a. sleep as too many of us, men and women of the world, must look back to childhood's days to ponder over and wonder at? the sleep which poets tell us is the j characteristic of careless innocence. He v sighed softly: "Check?to " 0 1: CHAPTER III. j A Puzzle For Prier. v That black band, which men call a light, which bound Saturday, Novemaer 6th, 1870, to the Sunday which folowed, had a strange influence over :hose with whom this history has to leal. Old Donald Barron found that night sery unpleasant. It might have been ndigestion, for Donald Barron was very eckless in the matter of suppers. As le was inclined to be reckless in the natter of business, too, it might have >een worry. Donald Barron had commenced life >oor. It was his pride that he had iassed the most of his life well-to-do. 3eing a private banker in Boomville, ind the only man doing a banking busness there, he was not unlikely to resize his dearest hope. Recklessness in natters of business might possibly ostpone the time when, dying, he vould leave behind him the fortune hlo huiii't and snill coveted. Recklessness in his attention to the traductions of his cook might hasten he day when, rich or poor, as the day night chance to find him, lie would lave to die. To tell the plain truth, however, Don^d Barron had been unusually abstemous that evening. Business, had some igly features In sight for the future; tut he had that laid aside which will lways make the crooked straight In Inancial matters?money?end much f it. So. on the whole, I am inclined to hink that It was the night and its inluences which ailed Donald Barron. He lay in uneasy and restless wakeulness for hours. Then, just as the sun came up, he fell sleep. And in his sleep he dreamed that he ras in his place of business. It was alnost night. In a few minutes it would ie time to close up and go home. He ras very, ve*y tired, and the time hat7 lever seemed to drag so before; he was nxious, so anxious, for rest and sleep, t seemed to him as though the day lad been filled with worry and trial, ilucli money had been paid out, while iut little had been received. Men who lad done business with him for years, rho had trusted him fully, had come a with their hands full of his obligaions to pay; had come in hurriedly; o breakfast. He attended church, and ;ept awake much better than was isual. He appeared to give the most arnest attention to the sermon, not a wonderful tiling, when we remember iow near he came to remaining1 permalently in bed that morning. It was almost dark when there came ring at the Barron mansion. The ervant brought up this card to Mr. Jafron: J. P. PRICR, Boston. "Show the gentleman into the paror," said Mr. Barron, "and tell him I rill be with him directly." When Mr. Prier rose at the entrance if Mr. Barron, the latter thought he lad never seen so remarkable a man. Ir. Prier was entirely bald, and his face i*as smoothly shaven: the wrinkles bout his mouth and eyes seemed to in taxi come with clou in ana suspicion urking in tlieir eyes, and had gone way showing on their faces that its iresence there was an insult and a nenace to him. The strong had jostled he weak: men had pushed women and hildren aside, eager to get money rhile there was money left to get. iuch, it seemed to him. had his day ieen. And now he was waiting for the ime to come when he could close the oors and go home. Suddenly a mar. aine hurriedly in at the open door of he bank. He laid a certificate of deosit before the astounded banker. It ore the signature of Donald Barron, "he old man remembered, now, when ie had received the money and issued he certificate; but it seemed in his ream as though he had forgotten its xistence up to that very moment. Cash, quick," said the man. The mount reached far into the thousands f dollars. There was no such amount o the money drawers or on the couner. Barron turned to the safe. He ook'from it a tin box, in which he had reserve fund ready for an emergency; ie brought the box to the counter; he pened it. There was nothing inside ut a handful of ashes! That was )onald Barron's dream. Donald Barron awoke when the opend box disclosed its worthless contents, woke and stared straight up at the eiling. A forgotten certificate of deiosit? Not at all. He was too wise nd careful to have any lingering oubts on such a subject. He knew to . penny the amount of his outstandag obligations. But the tin box?the iaft about the tin box had seemeo earfully real?and there was a tin box, nd it had a reserve fund in it, and he wasn't quite easy now, and he would Go! He could not move! He could lot cry out! He could not stir so much s a finder or a toe! In perfect conciousness, knowing his needs, knowing hat every moment during which this earful incubus kept its dread power ver him lessened his hopes of leaving lis hed alive, he could do nothing. How he fought! How he struggled? ctive will against deadened nerves and inresponding muscles. It could not last long. Such a tight s a warfare between man and death. Victory for one is speedy. And this ime the man won. He moved a hand, 'he horrid spell was broken. The man crept weakly from his bed nd dressed hurriedly. It was not uslal for him to go to the bank on Sunay, though he did sometimes go in for , little while before church-time to ead his paper on write a few letters. This morning lie hurried. He unncked the door and went in. The esks and papers were all in perfect rder. The safe was closed and locked, 'he dream was already growing dim n his memory. The man laughed oftl.v to himself, thinking how foolish le had allowed himself to he, as he pened the safe. And then He didn't find his tin box with a landful of ashes in it. He didn't find any tin box at all! Donald Barron was prompt and acive. He had not lived long and grown Id without getting wisdom. In ten ainutes after discovering his loss, his elegram was on the way to one of the iest private detective agencies in Boson: "Boomville, Me., Nov. 6. 1870. "Send your best man by first train, 'oday if possible, Donald Barron." Then Mr. Donald Barron went home dicate age, but his quick and restless movements implied youth. His deepblack eyes seemed to look through one, and to see everything at once, they were eyes well calculated to confuse and abash a guilty man, while an innocent person could not fail to read a reassuring penetration and wisdom, together with a stern and resolute friendliness, in their wondrous depths. "You wanted a detective?" "I did; I sent for the best man." "Exactly. I am here! I am at your service." "Your name Is Prier?" "J. B. Prier." - "You are ready for business?" "I am. I'll be blamed if I don't hang somebody." Donald Barron smiled. "I think this is scai'cely a hanging >11 * I Jl !<? .. 1 muiicr, ne sa.ia. my saie iiaa uceu robbed, that Is all.?Serious enough, of course, but not serious enough for hanging." "Excuse me," said Prier, "my language was only figurative. It's a form or speaking I have." Donald BatTon smiled again and bowed. "Safe robbed?" said Prier. "Tools left? Let me see them." "No tools were left. In fact, I think none were used. The bank seems to have been entered by some one who didn't need tools." "Bank? Safe in bank? Let's have a look at the bank." The two men walked down to the bank building together. "I studied architecture once," he said. "Beautiful subject?beautiful. This is a tine building." Mr. Ban-on made no answer, hut proceeded to unlock the door. Prier watched him as intently as though locks and keys were entirely new to his experience. Once inside, Mr. Prier . helped Mr. Barron close the blinds and draw the curtains so that they should be free from observation. He helped him light up the room. Then he went to work. He measured more than a hundred different distances, Barron watching him in utter bewilderment. The distances from the door to the counter, from the counter to the safe, from the window to the stove, and so on. Then he examined everything he could find; picked up the inkstands, the pai>er-weights, the blotters; peered into the money-drawers; opened the stove and looked in; looked at the doors, at the windows, at the walls, at the tloor and the ceiling. Then he drew a chair up to the stove in which Barron had made a fire, and sat down. "Well " said Barron. "Well," said Prier, in an exceedingly puzzled tone, "this seems the most orderly place I've ever seen for a bank that has been robbed. I confess I'm a little at a loss, and I never made a failure yet. I'll be blamed if I Bythe-wf v, speaking of hanging, I have had^ty'o very similar job& to this in my experience, and I did hang a man in each case." "You did hang a man?" "Figuratively, of course. I traced out the guilty one in eaph case, connected him conclusively with a murder, and the authorities did the rest." "I see " "Oh, no, you don't. You don't see anything more regarding those cases than I do regarding this; and that,"? rubbing his face with a huge red silk handkerchief, and speaking with a happy briskness?"is nothing at all. I'll tell you all about them some time," he continued, "some time when I am at leisure?I am very busy now. Will you be kind enough to give nr.e a look into that safe? Thank you," he remarked, when Mr. Barron had compuea wun ms request and unlocked the safe for him? "thank you. Don't let me forget to tell you those stories the very first time I have a ha If-hour to spare." Prier examined the safe, outside and in. "What was the money in?" he asked. "In a tin box." "In what part of the safe?" Mr. Rarron showed him. "How much was there?" "Two hundred thousand dollars." Prier whistled softly to himself, and looked a little nervous. He conquered his feelings, however, and came and sat down by the stove again. "Were you ever hanged?" he asked, with a smile. "Ever hanged?" cried Barron, in astonishment. "That's what I asked. I was once; a mere accident, of course, but it came near being; the end of me. I've always felt a little sorry, since then, when it was necessary to send a fellow-being; to l he gallows. Rut you ought to try it; the experience is worth all the suffering, provided, of course, that you are not kept in a state of suspense too long." Mr. Rarron said nothing. He looked closely at Mr. Frier. Rut that gentleman had taken .a cigar from his pocket and lighted it, and appeared entirely engrossed with the pleasure of smoking. and oblivious of the scrutiny to which he was bqjng subjected. "I suppose you've no objection to my looking over the books of your business?" said Frier, suddenly, throwing away his cigar and getting briskly on to his feet. "That would be a little irregular, wouldn't it?" asked Mr. Barron. "Certainly, and if you object " "I don't object. Do anything you wish. Do anything in the world which will help get my money back, and I shall approve it all." "Eh? H'm!" said Prior, and proceeded to bury himself, figuratively speaking, in the books of Donald Rarron's business. "I studied book-keeping once," he said, when he had been working silently for nearly an hour. "Indeed?" asked Barron. Hut Prior was deep In the booKs again, and made no answer for another hour. Then he looked up and said: "Yes; called an expert once. Might have made lots of money by It, too. Liked detective work better. Rather lock you up than look you up; do you see the point? Ha! ha! ha!" And he closed the book with a bang, and walked to his chair liy the stove again and sat down. "Rooks seem well kept. Do it yourself?" "No." "H'm! Rich, are you?" "Yes." "Make it yourself?" "Yes " "Poor boy, perhaps?" 'I was." s "H'm!" c And then Prier lighted another cigar, I and smoked in silence for a while. \ "Two hundred thousand dollars, did e you say?" he asked, after perhaps a quarter of an hour. "Two hundred thousand dollars." "In paper, of course?" "Yes." "In what shape?" "Hundred-dollar bills." "Two thousand of them?" "Yes." "Got the numbers?" "Of course." "Let me see them." -Mr. Barron got the book in which the numbers of the bills had been entered, but Prier did not do more than give It a gluncc. Whatever use he might wish to make of it in the future, the mere fact that there was such a list seemed all he cared to know in that direction for the present. "The money cannot be used, then?" he asked. "Not unless the persons passing or attempting to pass it can show good t reason.for an assertion that they came by it honestly." a "I see. This money was yours? Yours ^rsonally, I mean, and not money on ^eposlt In your bank?" "It was mine." r "When did you get It?" p "On Saturday." li "It isn't entered on your books yet?" r "No." "That isn't exactly business-like, is q it?" . E "Perhaps not, but " li "Never mind. Where did you get it?" ti "It came from Boston." r "How did you get It?" "By express." p "Of course. I took that for granted, f I didn't mean that. I didn't make my n question clear. I intended to ask how I you raised it." ii "I raised it on mortgages." "Mortgages on real estate?" "Yes." "Good. I may see the deeds, I sup- o pose?" r "Certainly," said Barron, rising and f moving toward the sa,fe. ji "Sit down; sit down," cried Prier; t "I don't want to see them now, Tomor- t row will do as well. One thing at a t time. What did you get the money e for?" t "To pay outstanding obligations? t notes, drafts, certificates of deposit." d "Where is the money which was de- f posited?the money paid in. for which f this must be paid out?" 1< "Lent again." u "On long time?" u "Some of it." r "On good security?" "Most of it." r "Good rates of interest?" "Very good indeed." s "Some in speculation, I suppose? t Stocks and shares?" a Mr. Barron gave the detective a quick h glance of suspicion. But that Individ- c ual was looking vacantly at a ring of r blue cigar smoke, and seemed to have a forgotten Barron's very existence for ^ the time being. So that his answer had nothing of indignation in its tones, e though he used the same words which 9 had rushed angrily to his lips when the t question was asked. t "Not a dollar of any man's money 0 but my own," he said. n "But some of that which is loaned is p hard to collect?" persisted Prier. D "There is some of it which it is impossible to collect or to raise money on f at present." p "And some, I presume, will be a loss at last?" c "A little, no doubt." Ii "Then you will be unfortunately sit- |, uated if you cannot get your money back?" jj "I shall be ruined!" cried Mr. Barron. y "You would prefer getting your mon- s - - ey, then, to finding and punishing1 the s thief ?" o "I certainly should." j "I'll keep that fact in mind. A de- fl tective's work is a strange one. Did c you ever think of being one yourself?" u "Never." tl "You wouldn't know how to test a man of whom you were suspicious, _ would you?" "I shouldn't. I suppose I should either swear out a warrant and put it in the hands of an officer, or perhaps hunt him up and give him a piece of my p mind." The detective leaned back in his chair ^ and laughed heartily. p "Ah!" said he, at last: "a man ar- f? rested on suspicion is either innocent ^ or guilty. If innocent, he is likely to make trouble for one who has been rash and hasty." "That is true'.' "And if guilty he is put upon his p guard at once Therefore I don't arrest a men on suspicion. I arrest men when I have proof." ? "What plan do you pursue?" asked Mr. Barron. t "Various ones. I will wager you an oyster supper that I can meet you p twelve times on the street tomorrow, appearing to your eyes as twelve entirely different persons, and never excite your suspicions regarding my dis- tl guises. I have a dozen different plans L for every disguise. The art of the de- ^ tective is the highest variety of art." y "But you have some common plan, have you not?some plan which you use oftener than you do others?" "Certainly." tl "I've a curiosity to know what it h is." ' tj "I'll tell you. First of all, I make a r friend, a familiar and confidential friend, of the man I suspect." "Isn't that difficult?" \\ "Not very. Then I impress him with d the idea that I am much less acute than * I really am." p "A good point, I should think." p "A very pood point. Then I manage h to get him alone with me." "That is difficult, surely?" u "Oh, no. that is usually the easiest b tiling in the world. I interest him ? n then: I turn his thoughts away from s, the matter in hand, and I study him? d study him?study him!" {l "I should think he would suspect " what you were at." U "Not often. Sometimes I don't care e if he does. I not infrequenty tell him Jj that I make a careful study of a sus- ^ pected man a special feature of my t< work." tl "I shouldn't have suspected you of ^ having such frankness in your nature." 0 "Very likely not; I have it, though, fi Following my study of him I usually p question him pretty fully, and find out ? ill I can about hiin and his actions in (titer ways. By the time I've done this am usually certain that my suspicions vere well-grounded, or that the man Is ntlrely Innocent." "I should think you would be." "But I usually end by frightening the nan almost to death, and getting him ully in my power. If he is innocent, t harms no one, and is a valuable test n addition to what has gone before; if te is guilty, his actions usually show t. and I have him beyond the power of njuring or resisting me. Why, Mr. Barron, when I am done with a man to vhom I have given the valuable discidine of such a course as that, I am nore certain of the facts in his case han any so-called 'intelligent Jury* ould possibly be after having tried ilm 'according to the law and the cvilence'?and the lawyers?" "I don't doubt that. But you seem to lave forgotten one thing, one principle rhich you yourself laid down a little ime ago." "And what is that?" "The principal that a man i? likely o be armed and likely to resist." "I don't forget that. I disarm him, nd put handcuffs on the individual." "Easily said??" "And easily done!" Prler rose lazily, and laid Mr. Baron's pistol on the counter; he dropied his hands leisurely Into his pocket; ie sauntered slowly back to Mr. Baron's side. And then There were two or three motions too uick for the eye to follow; and Donald larron's wrists were ornamented with rons; and J. B. Prier was looking into he eyes of the man as though he would ead his very soul. 'To finish my discussion of my usual Jan," said Prier, slowly, taking a key rom his |>ocket and unlocking and re wving the handcuffs, "I may say that never release a guilty man until he s in charge of the authorities." He paused a moment. "Donald Barron," he said, quietly; we have played out the comedy part f :hls affair, and we are ready for seious work. I ha,ve found and taken a dw things?pardon me for declining ust now to say what?which will make he crime we are to study a help toward lie solution of more Important myseries than the theft of mere money? ven though It be as large a sum as wo hundred thousand dollars. I will ell you frankly that when we came own I believed you the guilty man; I ully expected to have had a full conession from you before this; but I now now that you are innocent. Let is go home; I will be your guest; let is seek the rest we need; all will be ight In the morning.'' In the morning? Perhaps so?some aorning! They went home together. Prler was hown to his room. He sat down upon he edge of his bed. He took several rtlcles from his pocket. He opened lis valise, took out a sort of case or asket which it contained, opened it, iut the articles in, locked the casket, nd placed It carefully In a pocket of lis overcoat. "The money matter is simple nough," he said; "simple enough. The afe was opened by some one who knew he combination; it will be easy enough i> examine all who knew it. It was pened by some one who knew the noney could not be used; that is, it is Ikely it was, and it ought not to be dlfIcult to llx upon the guilty individual." Before retiring, he took the casket rom his pocket and put in under his Mow. He smiley grimly to himself, under over of the dense darkness, and reachrig up his hand, he caressed the casket ovingly. Crime, whatever you may be, there s light coming! Criminal, whoever ou may be. shudder tonight! Victim, leep in peace in the grave you fill! The enses fall aside; sleep claims dominion ver the brain of the great detective. Jut the grim smile dasts; the sleeping ingers clasp still closer the precious asket. And?hark! He speaks! Let is listen; let us eateh his sleeping hought: 'Til?be?blamed?if?I?don't?hang -somebody!" To be Continued. Two ?Nkw Circuits.?A house bill roviding for an additional judicial clrult has been amended in the senate so s to provide for two more circuits, naking twelve in all. The bill as it assed the senate divides the state as allows: The 1st circuit shall be composed of he counties of Berkeley, Dorchester, irangeburg and Calhoun. The 2d circuit shall be composed of he counties of Hampton, Aiken, Bamerg and Barnwell. The 3rd circuit shall be composed of he counties of Clarendon, Lee, Sumter nd Williamsburg. The 4th circuit shall be composed of he counties of Chesterfield. Darlington nd Marlboro The 5th circuit shall be composed of he. counties of Kershaw and Richland The 6th circuit shall be composed of he counties of York, Chester, Lancaser and Fairfield. The 7th circuit shall be composed of he counties of Cherokee, Spartanburg nd Union. The 8th circuit shall be composed of lie counties of Abbeville, Newberry, aurens and Greenwood. The 9th circuit shall be composed of fie counties of Charleston, Colleton and teaufort. ' 1 The 10th circuit shall be composed of , he counties of Anderson, Greenville, 'ickens and Oconee. The 11th circuit shall be composed of i ne counties of Lexington, Saluda and j !dgefield. i The 12th circuit shall be composed of he counties of Florence, Marion, Hor- ' y and Georgetown. 1 a \- vi.vsis of the Hazer.?A hazer ! ho goes to the room of a stu- j ent and inflicts injuries upon him ! hould be punished exactly as he , ,-ould be if he were to go out and en- . f?r the home of a citizen and inflict unishment on the members of the ! ousehold. The hazer should be sup- 1 ressed. He Is a cowardly sneak, the ! azer is. The boy who goes around 1 nder cover of darkness and backed 1 y superior numbers of cattle of his 1 wn stripe wantonly Inflicting punishlent on his fellow students, has a treak of cowardice as broad as a barn oor running through his whole mor- < 1 system. A hazer will never fill a lan's place when either moral or phyical courage is needed. He is a whltevered, cringing coward, the hazer is, < ver and always when the bugle calls i or true bravery are sounded. He is ( he fellow who will desert a friend in he face of danger, who will go over o the enemy in the storm of battle his is the stripe of "man-thing" your azer turns out to be after he leaves chool and goes out into the world f men. In after years you will always ( nd that the hazer's soul is made of utty when men of iron-soul are calld upon to perform any duty.?Monoe Enquirer. < ^tiscrUaucous BANK AND WAREHOUSE. Two Things of Which th? Farmer? Stand In Need. Editor of The Yorkville Enquirer. I have a suggestion or two that I desire to throw out for the consideration of the farmers of York county and that is that it will be well for them to look forward to the organization of a bank and warehouse, both to be strictly under the control of the Farmers' Union. I am not disposed to offer any unfavorable criticism of any qf the existing banking institutions. There has been some complaint against some of them; but so far as I have been able to Inform myself, this complaint has not fefeen based upon objection? that can be sustained as legitimate refection. It may be that some of the banks are not disposed to look as carefully after the Interests of the cotton producers as they might; but then they are not owned and operated in the interest of cotton producers. If we had a bank so owned and operated, then we would be able to know the why and wherefore. All of iia who have nnv idea of bus iness, of course, understand that if we undertake to organize a bank, we must go down Into our pockets after the necessary capital, and we must put the institution In charge of the most competent and experienced ability that is to be found amongst us. -It must not be thought for a moment that a banking business can be organized or operated on wind, and after ouj bank is established we must not encourage anybody to think that they will be able to secure loans or any different basis than how obtains in the banks that are already in the business. We must look forward to doing business on business principles just as other banks do, and lust as other banks pursue the policy of favoring their own customers first, we must look first to taking care of our customers and the members of the Union. The ownership of a warehouse is just as important as the ownership of a bank. It does not occur to me that we should look forward to the Idea of try* ing to confine our business to ourselves. It khould be our purpose to squarely enter the competitive market If other warehouse managers can do better for us than we can do for ourselves then we will give them the business; but if we prove that we can store cotton cheaj>er or more satisfactorily than it Is now being stored, we can bring the others to our basis of operations. . It seems to mo that provided they are oroperly managed a bank and a warehouse can be made to operate to the very great advantage of cotton producers. We believe that the existence of such Institutions under strict Union control and along strict business lines will confer benefits that are not now dreamed of. and the whole thing is well worth careful consideration at the nands of all producers of cotton. Union Man. Clover. February 15. SENATOR JOHNSON AGAIN. Has Arithmometer at Work on Commission's Expanses. There was another personal privilege statement in the senate last Monday anent the dispensary winding up commission and Attorney W. F. Stevenson. Senator Johnson was the speaker, he said: VMrv President: In my remarks on ? Thursday last on bity No. 669, Mr. Christensen's bill, to appropriate the sum of $15,000 to enable Mr. Lyon to secure counsel to prosecute alleged grafters. I stated In opposition of the bill that the investigating committee had already spent $20,000 of the people's money without any results. That fhe winding-up commission had spent $50,000 during the year of their ex- ' istence, and if statements and charges In the public prints were true and to be relied upon, In refusing to accept an offer that was said to have been made by a firm or corporation outside of the state to take over the entire stock of liquors, wines, etc., including dead stock, odds and ends, at their original Invoice price and having subsequently sold the stock at a discount of 20 per cent on the dcllar, which resulted In another loss of $200,000 to the people of South Carolina. I did not say, how or for what purpose the $50,000 was spent, but I simply said that It had been spent by the commission. Any statement to the contrary Is false. But It now develops and is shown by their own record that $59,389.66 was spent by them, instead of $50,000 as stated in my argument, and the $15,000 given them by order of Judge Pritchard and the $20,000 spent by the investigating - it sir aa.i committee, togetner wun me carried by the Christensen bill, will make an aggregate of the enormous sum of $ 110,000 in round numbers of the dispensary fund that has been gotten away with in one way or another, which is over one-eighth of the total amount of the entire assets of the dispensary. "Now comes one W. F. Stevenson, who is said to be the attorney for the commission and who claims that no such ofTer was ever made except in a Jocular way by a Mr. Hull of Peoria, 111. "This alleged offer and loss caused thereby, will, however, be investigated, but Mr. Stevenson says if such an offer had been made it could not have been accepted under the act. This is a most remarkable proposition to come from a man who claims to be a lawyer, but not altogether surprising to > others in view of the fact that if an . offer had been made and accepted, it would have been followed by the loss of some fat legal fees. I do not believe, however, there is a real, lawyer in South Carolina who would read the act creating the commission and place any such construction upon it. "Now I have presented the facts and figures relative to the matter. Just as they appear, and have reproduced my remarks upon the subject just as they were made, and any charge or intimation of unfairness on my part is false and without foundation no matter bv whom made. I will further state that I am responsible for what [ say, here or elsewhere."?The State. Frank Confession.?The house last Saturday morning adopted a remarkable resolution by Mr. J. H. Dobb, confessing by implication that the general assembly has not been behaving well (n turn nvpr a new leaf. ElllU * COUI ? V.V4 VV VV.... ? There was violent opposition to it led by Mr. Rucker, but it passed by about ten votes. The resolution reads: "Resolved, that it is the sense of the general assembly, now in session at Columbia. S. C., that we have been sent here by the people whom we represent for the purpose of transacting * such business as comes before its body, and that it is the duty of the said general assembly to use its utmost, honest endeavors to discharge said duties with dispatch and economy and that during the remainder of this session we conduct ourselves as becomes the dignified body we are supposed to he." W China is supposed to be the largest producer of eggs in the world. The humblest farm hut has hens in plenty. Her entire supply is usually consumed at home, though she sometimes manages to spare a few for Japanese consumers. <tV Lacquer work has been done in Japan from time immemorial, samples of which, centuries old, can be seen in temples, palaces and museums. When gold and silver are used in connection with the lacquer, the product Is often very valuable.