Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, May 12, 1908, Image 1
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By CLARENCE
n!Un<niwwwiftiwiwwiww?i|
CHAPTER XXVI.
Picked Up?In London.
As soon as Lurline Bannottie was
safely at sea she transferred the money
and diamonds from Mr. Lyman's
valise to her own. She knew the possession
of that old valise was only a
little thing?an unimportant thing?but
she knew that little things were sometimes
liable to develop and grow into
great ones. She did not mean to let
this relic of Samuel Lyman's life be
fraught with danger to hers.
When the valise was empty, she filled
It again. She put in various articles
which were almost valueless, and very
heavy. She cut small holes In the
sides of the valise, so that the water
might enter freely: she was careful that
the holes should he so small that the
articles used to weight it could not es
cape through them: she was not going
to run the risk of having that valise
found floating anywhere on the broad
Atlantic. Think how strongly she
built for safety: think of the walls of
caution and cunning she erected against
danger and suspicion: that of her art
and her skill! Wonderful! Wonderful!
And yet?think of the trivial chances
against which she provided: Suppose
Lyman's valise found and identified,
who could say that she had ever had
it in her possession? Suppose it proved
that she had had it in her possession.
who could guess that it haa contained
the money from the Boomville
Bank, or that her ownership of it began
in force, and on the night when
Samuel Lyman walked the fiery path
of torture to the debris-heaped fields
of oblivion? Suppose the valise picked
up at all. who would be likely to
have any curiosity regarding its owner?
Who would be likely to think of
it as belonging to some one who had
met his death by the power of fire in"
* "1 n'o far9 Tn
steaci 01 Dy me niiBiii. ui
whom would the knowledge that it had
been the property of Samuel Lyman
Kive any further doubts or wonderings?
Suppose the valise left to float
on the waves of the sea, how many
chances in a million were there that it
would ever be seen again by any human
eye? How many in a billion that
any human hand would ever touch it?
The eye of God would watch it: the
Hand in whose hollow are all the waters
of all the seas would hold it.
Would not that be all?
But Lurllne Bannottie was careful,
very careful. She brought the weighted
and perforated valise up on deck, one
night, concealed under the thick folds
of her heavy shawl. She waited until
no eye saw her. except the All-seeing
Eye which never sleeps. She cast the
valise overboard, and the waves seemed
to reach up for it, as though anxious
to drag it down into the depths of
the sea. and eager to conceal her secret
from the handsome woman who learned
over the vessel's side and looked
down at them.
Well, Lurline Bannottie. you have
done well! The crime against Samuel
Lyman's life and against Elsie Senn's
property shall never come home to you.
But?you must not forget that there
are other things, other serious things,
against the penalties for which, even
from a human standpoint, you have
not so cleverly provided. You must
not forget that she who tells another
her wishes and her deeds?tells the
world. You must not forget that she
who writes down what she has done?
proclaims it as though from the housetops.
And?you must not forget that
beyond human laws, human acuteness,
and human justice?there is God!
Miss Bannottie's journey was a
pleasant one. She arrived in London
safelv. found ways in which to dispose
of the diamonds?and without amusing
suspicion on the part of the gentlemen
who had her London business
in their charge, and invested the money
she had brought from New York,
as well as that received for the diamonds
and for some bonds and other
securities which she dared sell. As for
the rest of the securities which Mr.
Lyman had stolen from the great safe
in the Roomville Rank, and which she
had stolen from him?the securities
which could not be safely offered for
sale?she burned them. No matter to
her if they were of no use to her; no
matter if they represented fortunes to
those to whom they belonged: no matter
if the return of them would have
been easy?and not very unsafe; no
matter. She would not trouble herself
to do even a partial charitable justice.
She burned them.
Miss Lurline Runnottie was now
rich. She had told those who cared
for her interests in London (for a li
beral compensation, of course) that a
friend?a distant relative, I believe she
said?had died in the United States.
She showed her cautious ingenuity by
giving him a name which was new to
them: as new to them as to herself:
and she located him and his business
in a thriving city which isn't down on
the maps, and for the name and some
account of which you would look vainly
in any gazetteer with which I am
acquainted. In her story for Mrs. Senn
?for- Miss Rannottie intended to take
no risks by having to invent her explanations
on the spur of the moment
? her recently deceased friend had lived
in some unheard-of place in Scotland.
Miss Rannottie was rich: she
had over a million of dollars invested
in London. She and Mrs. Senn, nee
Miss Elsie Rarron. had been such firm
friends for so many long years, that it
was fortunate?though, perhaps, no
more fortunate than strange?that she
had become rich enough for both (as
the other's father, and, later, herself,
had been rich enough for both), at
just this time. For, long before Lurline
Rannottie reached London on her
return journey from America, the cable
had dashed the news of the burning
of Rarron's Rooinville Rank to rhe
shores of the Old World. It had been
the hard task of Walter Aldrich. in
the absence of the deud-and-gone Lyman,
to send the terrible story of her
in.tihiHAMiiuaM.iii.iMim miimiiMi
t
.
BOUTELLE.
wmwifiwuwwfwm m m m HI i
misfortune to his lost love?the story
that she was a beggar!
A beggar, did I say? Worse than
that! The story that besides her own
losses there was more than a halfmillion
of money for which she was
morally?at least?held, and toward
which she would not have a penny to
offer in payment.
Fortunate, wasn't it, that Miss Bannottie
had inherited, at this crisis in
J o cnm
me lire mm neeun <>i mnu, u .......
of money that would enable her to offer
her old friend the means to be
generously just, and still leave luxury
and ease for both?
Fortunate? Bah!
Miss Bannottie had been in London
a week. Her business was all done.
Her money was all securely invested,
and in such a way as to give her a
very large income. She was very well
satisfied with herself and with the
world. She even felt thankful?thankful
for dangers passed and benefits
bestowed, though, as I do not believe
in the idea of a personal Devil, I don't
exactly understand to whom her emotions
of thankfulness went out: bad
as she was. I scarcely think she
would have dared rise to the height of
blasphemy it would have been for her
to have taken "Thank God" upon her
lips.
In London a week. And tomorrow
Miss Bannottie was going to leave for
Naples.
She was slowly walking home?that
Is. to the hotel she called home?
through the gloom of an early evening
in London, with the atmosphere growing
more and more full of fog. She did
not mind the darkness?she was used
to that, you know; she did not care for
drifting mist and floating fog; she was
quite sufficient unto herself, this quiet
and self-possessed young woman of
the world, and as much at home in
London as in Naples; as much at home
in the streets as she would have been
in a palace; as much at home in the
night of the world's metropolis as she
had been in?(but, on the whole, and
in the interests of exact truth and perfect
accuracy, perhaps I had better say
almost as much at home, and almost as
thoroughly In her element)?as she had
been in Barron's Boomville Bank, the
last time she honored it by a visit.
She came to a place where she wished
to cross the street?one of those
streets where the traffic of morning
begins before that of evening ends, and
where commerce-never rests nor slumbers.
There was no policeman at hand
to assist her; she had no gentleman
friend to whom to appeal for protection;
and she felt no need of either.
She stepped off into the whirling vortex
of trade, into the crush of hurrying
teams and shouting men. She was
coo], calm, collected?for she had done
this thing: scores of times before?until
a team struck some tiny parcel from
her grasp.
She turned to get it. stooped to pick
it up. And then?one wagon jostled
her on this side, and almost ran her
down, another struck her on that side,
and bruised her cruelly. She staggered
to her feet, more than content to
let the almost worthless bundle go, and
attempted to get out from her danger.
But. turn in whatever way she would,
there seemed no escape. On every side,
danger to limb and life menaced her.
She lost her self-control, her quiet
good sense, and raising her hands
above her head in an agony of terror,
she shrieked for help.
Ah. Lurline Bannottie, do you remember
what is true of the way of
the transgressor? The danger is, indeed.
great when those hands which
so MWUUiy sum o?i111 un uj uiuu * *??
an earthly hell, and which have done
other terrible thing's without trembling.
are raised in helpless terror. The
danger is, indeed, very great when your
voice, which spoke treacherous acquiescence
to the man who was once
your husband, and later gave him scorn
unmixed with pity, is raised in a despairing
cry for help. It would he a
vivid illustration of the certainty of
Divine Justice. Miss I,urline Bannottle.
if you were to die in the London street:
if you were to die here unknown: if
you were to die here with dozens looking
on. and with no one to help you:
if you were to die, despite your money
and what it has cost you: if you were
to lie trampled and crushed until no
one could tell whether you ever had
beauty in your face and a smile on
your lips?or not; if you were to be
dragged and trampled on, with the mud
and mire and the nameless filth of
this London street soaking into and
through your rich silks and delicate
laces, and leaving its awful foulness in
your hair. It would be a deserved fate,
Lurline Bannottie, so far as Fate has
power to go with you; there would be
only one inappropriate thing in it at all
?the fate that your body, in spite of
all that might thus come to it to detile
and dishonor it. would still be
white and nil re and beautiful to look
upon?when compared with your soul!
Seconds count at such a time a?
that. The seconds between the beginning
of such a trouble and the end of
it, one way or the other, will be few
indeed, in any and all cases. Already
the drivei-s. angry at each other, but
but each anxious for himself that hf
should not be responsible for any fatal
accident, were pulling this way and
that on the reins, and constantly making
a bad matter worse. One or twr
lauses were already beyond control:
one of two vicious brutes were beginning
to kick and struggle, unmindfu
of the harsh cries of command uttered
by their drivers. It looked, with a woman
thus surrounded and attacked
and especially as she had lost hei
wits, as though it would be the end of
the world?for her. And then?somt
one sprang from the sidewalk into tin
very midst of the sudden turmoil anc
danger in the street. He caught t
horse by the bit. here, and forced tin
rearing animal hack on to his haunches,
while he darted beneath the forelegs
of the furious beast and went or
his way unharmed; lie struck anothei
horse over the head with his stout cane,
there, and took advantage of the momentary
drawing' back caused by the
blow; he sprang over an obstacle in
one place; he darted beneath some
seemingly final barrier in another; he
took advantage of a narrow opening
between a horse and wagon, at his
right; he found his way through, in
some way, when there seemed no crack
or crevice large enough for a man, at
his left. In less time than it takes to
tell it this man was at the side of the
frightened and danger beleaguered
woman, and had one strong arm about
her waist.
"My God," he exclaimed, as he
reached her side, though she was so
thoroughly beside herself that she did
not notice it, and perhaps did not hear
it at all: "my God, it is the same face
?the very same face?but more beautiful
than I supposed possible?more
beautiful than any I ever saw before!"
He caught her firmly. He held ner
tightly. And then, more slowly but no
less surely than he had fought his way
into the midst of the dangers in which
she had been placed, he fought his
way out with her. He met and conquered
brute force on this side by his
own physical strength; he eluded danger
on that side by u quick and alert
exercise of cautious cunning which was
marvelous. Little by little, now moving
to the right, now to the left, now
standing still for a moment, and then
hurrying forward, he won his way.
He set the feet of Miss Lurline Bannottie
in safety up on the sidewalk; he
took off his hat and bowed to her.
"Shall I have the pleasure of seeing
you to your home?" he asked.
"If you will be so kind," she replied,
giving him one of her marvelous
smiles; "I am really very much in
need of asistance."
"I do not wonder. You were in no
little danger."
"True. I suppose you saved my life,
At A nnl >'
VI 111 wu ||W V .
"I think so. Perhaps it was not so
serious as that, but "
"Put it looked as though it would
be? Is that it?" inquired Miss Rannottie.
"Yes," replied the gentleman.
He offered his arm. She took it. and
leaned heavily upon it. Perhaps her
nerves were really so much shaken
that she felt she needed this support.
More likely she had taken it into her
wicked little head to play the clinging
and dependent woman with this man.
Here was evidently a gentleman: a
gentleman who was brave and quick?
quick with his thoughts and his hands
alike: a gentleman whose face indicated
experience, a large knowledge of
the world, and an acquaintance with
hardship and suffering.
Perhaps one might excuse a woman
for clinging to such a man as this, a
man whose strength and dignity?
maturity and manhood? proved him
"a foeman worthy of her steel." But
I suppose Lurline Bannottie would not
have hesitated to play her pranks upon
any man who had crossed her path in
the populous "wtMemess of London.
"I can never thank you enough."
she said, earnestly, turning her glance
upon him again: "you saved my life,
and life is very sweet to me."
Her rescuer looked at her. Admiration.
respectful and chivalrous, but
ardent and earnest, shone in his eyes.
Bluffly and frankly, perhaps half in
mischief and half in carelessness, he
spoke the thought in his mind:
"And your beauty, your face?I saved
that too."
Slip thought of the danger from
which she had just come, and of what
an iron-shod hoof might have done for
her. and still have left her many long
years of life. She shuddered, for a moment.
in spite of herself. Then, with
a light laugh, she faced him once more,
and saucily answered him:
"My face is not my fortune, sir,"
she said.
"Perhaps not." he replied, gravely,
but as frankly and carelessly as before:
"but it is your power. Did no
one ever tell you that?"
She let her head fall forward a little
upon her breast. She made him no
answer. How could she answer that?
Men had been telling her of her beauty?all
her life. Hut no one had ever
quite dared, before, to tell her just
what he had. Power? How much she
mnnh nmro til Jin PVPn
urrviru it. i?"?t uv. ....? ?
we. my dear reader, know or can know!
And she knew he told the truth. And
she had lived years enough to see
beauty fade?in .the faces of others,
though the mirror had never had but
one tale to tell her since the happy,
girlish years of the long ago?ere yet
she had left innocence behind her. ere
yet she had found womanhood, and an
unavailing love to curse it?ere yet she
had let passion burn and sear her very
soul.
What answer could she make to this
bold man? What answer, indeed?
She made him none.
Hut she spoke again, after a little.
She came back once more to the
thanks she felt?or at least spoke.
"I can never repay you," she said,
earnestly.
Ti.*. .1 nnijiif innir breath.
"L suppose not." he replied; "but why
should you try? Pass the benefit on
to another. Save and assist the next
: needy one who conies in your way. I
cannot think of danger escaped having
I filled the purpose for which it was
' wisely designed unless it has planted
more of love and the spirit of brave
and devoted self-sacrifice in the heart
; and soul of the one from whom it was
averted. I-et my act bear fruit in your
. actions, and I shall be more than blessed
and more than content."
"You speak strongly."
"I feel strongly. It is only a short
' time since my own life was saved un:
der very singular circumstances: only
' a short time since I was in very peI
miliar danger. You remember your
I own escape; what would have been
your fate if I had been dead?"
> The woman shuddered again.
"I?I do not know," she said.
"No." said the man, "nor do I. But
I we may either, if we are brave enough.
I guess. No one else attempted your
rescue. What if no one had?"
"I?I don't like to think of it."
"I should think not. And yet. is not
T this life a strange one? Who would
1 have supposed that I was to come
? across the Atlantic?to save you?"
I "To save me?"
i "Yes. What more important thing
? have I done?" he asked.
Miss Bannottie laughed.
"1 don't know. You must remember
i that I have not known you long
r enough, and that I do not know you
i
(well enough, to know much about
what you have done or may do."
"Well," continued the man, speaking
slowly and gravely, but with an admiration
shining in his eyes which he could
not ? perhaps would not ? conceal;
"well, what more important thing could
I do?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," replied
Miss Bannottie.
"Nor I," asserted the man, with fervent
emphasis.
"Certainly nothing more important
for me."
"Nor?for me?"
He faced her with this sudden question.
She flashed her marvelous smile
and glance down upon him. He stood
waiting for the answer she did not
give him. They faced each other thus,
for a little; then her eyes faltered, and
she turned away her head. Miss Bannottie
had met men who had made
love to her on very short acquaintance,
men who had found an early opportunity
to protest that they had loved her
at first sight; she had had most men
of her acquaintance (we must make
some exceptions) at her feet?figuratively
speaking. But she had never
met just such a man as this. Her prosaic
day in London was having an
?n<tinp- niiite nnioue?even in her ex
perienoe.
She did not answer. He took It upon
himself to speak again. He did not
press his Impudent question. He did
not put some other impertinent question
in the place of it. He did not
even look in her face, trying to determine
whether she wished he would.
He looked straight ahead. He walked
a little faster?just a little. He
brought the conversation abruptly back
to himself?like the egotist he was
showing himself to be.
"Shall I tell you what happened to
me?" he asked; "shall I tell you how
I escaped?"
"Yes; do."
"I was picked up at sea."
"How was that?"
"An ocean steamer cut us down." I
"Yes."
"And they were too cowardly and inhuman
to attempt* to rescue us."
The woman winched. Rut she came
back to the task of the conversation
again?if task it was.
"When was that?"
He told her?told her the night, and
almost the hour. She knew what that
meant, and at once. It was her desire
that had cut this man's yacht in
o umio hf,r iifisOt'p which had left
him to his chances with the forces of
tlie winds and waves.
She turned away her head. I hope
she did not lie when she spoke aguin.
"I?I am very sorry." was what she
said.
"I am not. Every event in the voyage.
from its beginning to its ending,
has been a link in the chain which
drew me across the ocean to London,
and gave it into my hands to be the
fortunate man to rescue you. If I
had not crossed the sea, I should not
have saved your life, should I?"
"No." " ?1
"And I should not have crossed the
sea, should I, except in the steamer
whose officers and crew saved me?"
"I presume not."
"And you will grant, will you not,
that I should not have been rescued
if I had not at first been wrecked?"
"I suppose I must."
"Very well. That proves my case. I
am glad I was cast away?glad for
myself. I mean."
"Glad for yourself? What do you
mean?"
"I am sorry for the others."
"What others?"
"The crew, and "
"The crew was lost?"
Even the voice of this supremely selfish
and superlatively wicked woman
shook a little as he asked it.
"All lost; all lost."
"And?and any one else?"
"Yes; my private secretary."
"Ah? A friend, too?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Of many years' standing?"
"No; I had only known him a short
time. But he had a grandly pure and
noble soul."
"Indeed?"
Lurline Bannottie was not well calculated
to judge of purity and nobility
of soul. Perhaps for that reason?
and perhaps for some other?she usually
lost interest, temporarily, in any
conversation into which such topics intruded
themselves.
"Yes, indeed. And, in spite of the
terrible trouble in his life, a trouble
which would have soured most men?
and ruined some."
"He had trouble in his life, had he,
serious trouble? How romantic! Tell
me about it? What was it?"
"Ho was accused of a crime he did
not commit. He escaped being unjustly
punished, but it turned almost every
one against him."
"And now he is gone?"
"Yes, he is gone."
"And undoubtedly better off than
when living?living with the world
against him?"
"I believe that firmly. But he was
too good a man for the world to lose
him fpiite so soon."
"I?suppose?so." replied Miss Bannottie.
absentmindedly. She was reflecting
on some events in the life of a
certain young woman she had seen,
...i *U ..I,,. ^1^...*.
ilCTOS.S | '< 11II Mniir Mimiwnn iiuai
fallen. She was wondering what she
should do if?or when?the ex-cashier,
whose life stood between his wife and
a happy union with Walter Aldrich,
should die. She was wondering' whether
she would have power then to
coerce and control the unhappy woman,
waiting her return so lovingly and
yearningly in Naples?the woman to
whom she intended to dole out the
means of living?from that woman's
own money?though unknown to her,
as long as she could have her own way
with her in all respects; that woman
against whom she intended to close
all avenues of honest and honorable
labor, shutting the iron gates of despair
by virtue of the power of gold, if
the time ever came when doing that
would count the weight of a feather
in favor of one of them with Walter
Aldrich?or against the other!
With her husband dead. Rlsie Senn
would turn toward Aldrich as naturally
as the flowers turn toward the
sun. With her husband dead, Walter
Aldrich would stoop to raise her to
him?"as high as his heart"?though he
found her a beggar.
How glad she was that Senn was not
a man to brave the storms of the
ocean, as this gentleman's private sec-|
retary had done. How glad she was
that Walter Aldrich had no right to
be Elsie's friend, while she had a right
to pretend to be. How happy it made
her to feel that Walter Aldrich could
not bring this unfortunate creature to
his own home, there to let her strong
and womanly nature expand gloriously.
How she gloated over the power
she would have?over the authority she
'would exercise?over the gifts she
would grudgingly bestow?over the
tender girlish heart she would wound
?over the womanly will she would
bend to her devilish wishes, or break!
She was glad?glad.
She suddenly looked up, and remembered
that she had been very silent and
must have seemed preoccupied. And
she had not meant to be rude?she had
meant to be very kind to this man: she
might see the time when she would
wish to use him.
He was looking down at her, a smile
that was half amusement and half annoyance
curling: his fine lips. She asked
him a question.
She asked her question hurriedly. It
was the most unnatural question, perhaps.
upon which she could have
chanced?I will not .say the most unnatural
of which she could have
thought: for thought (in the proper
nUanlng of the term) had llttie or
nothing to do with it. She asked because.
she did not think.
'She only asked the question to make
talk?to seem natural and interested.
She didn't care to have this gentleman
answer it. It was a question In which
she was not conscious of having the
^lightest or remotest interest.
"What was your private secretary's?
name?" she asked. And the gentleman
answered, as carelessly as she had asked,
this question which must have
seened strained and irrelevant to him.
"His name was Gilbert Senn," he
said.
To be Continued.
DOG VARIATIONS.
Pointers and Setters Are of the Canine
Aristocracy.
It is a mistake to suppose that dogs
are anywhere near alike in character.
Even those of the same breed vary,
and about as much as men and women
of the same nationality. As to the
manners and the morals of dogs, they
are to a great extent the result of
meir comaci wun num. unu iney utvelop
along the same lines. And. on
the other hand, it is impossible to
make anything out of a mean spirited
dog, just as it is out of a mean spirited
person. Dog instinct is about the same
as human instinct. A dog reasons,
learns. Judges by facts, exactly as a
man reasons. He is quicker of observation.
He has the keen sense of
smell, which makes up to him in some
measure for the vicarious experience
of human beings. The dog must experience
a thing to know it, and his
faculities have been trained by generations
of observation, of taking note,
until they have reached their present
perfection.
A dog has not the power of speech
with which to conceal his thoughts.
Consequently he is franker than man.
but quite unconsciously so. When he
is a dependent, he has the faults of
one. He is vain, jealous, suspicious
and a snob.
Pointers and setters are essentially
of the aristocracy of the dog world,
and they have gentlemanly qualities.
They have the grand air. They will
allow themselves to be admired by ordinary
people, but they never give
their allegiance to any except the accomplished
hunter. They are elegant
or lorm and vigorous or muscie, line
any. athlete, and have a power of discrimination
and thought.
The well bred contempt of a fine dog
of one of these breeds for a man who
has not intelligence enough to understand
his strategy in the Held must be
seen to be appreciated. There is a
story told of a traihed pointer that
was taken out with a party of inexperienced
hunters. She was seen to
spring to the top of a wall and then
fall back. It was supposed she had
caught her foot, and they ran to release
her. She was holding by her
paws and was beaten down as a stupid
dog and turned and walked deliberately
home. Tt was finally found that she
had scented a covey of birds on the
other side of the wall, and fearful of
flushing them before the hunters came
up. had fallen back out of sight.
You can note the dignity and moral
worth of some dogs in their carriage,
the poise of their heads and the expression
of their eyes. A dog of sterling
character never steals any more
than a human being of this kind steals.
?Amateur Sportsman.
BISMARCK'S ANGER.
The Incident That Made Certain the
Franco-German War.
The Princess Bismarck, so the story
goes, changed the political history of
France unwittingly, and but for her
the Franco-Prussian war might never
have been waged.
Bismarck was unfriendly to France,
but the Kmpress Fugenie hoped with
her beauty to influence him so that the
little trouble with France and flermany
might be smoothed over. She
therefore invited the German prince
and his wife ' to visit the court of
France, and the Prince and Princess
Bismarck arrived in great state at the
tulleries.
rnai evening uu*i<- ?u.-> ? *ception,
and Eugenie received the
guests in a gown which made her so
ravishingly lovely that even Prince
Bismarck, German, stolid and in love
with his wife, stood and gazed upon
her with admiration. And Eugenie
was not slow to observe the effect of
her beauty upon him. She called him
to her side and Bismarck came, with
his wife upon his arm.
Xow, the Princess Bismarck was tall
and gaunt, and her feet were generous.
As she walked she showed a
great deal of sole.
While Bismarck stood talking with
Eugenie an audible titter was heard
along the line of ladies. Bismarck, who
was quick as a flash, followed the
glance of their eyes and saw them rest
upon the feet of his wife.
That settled the matter. The political
history of France was altered
from that moment.
A year later, when Paris was besieged,
Bismarck himself fired a cannon
over the ramparts, and those who
were near him heard him shout:
"Take that for the feet of the Princess
Bismarck!"
The slight was avenged.
^HisccUaneous ^catling.
WOMAN WHO CAN KEEP SECRETS
On That Ability Is Based Miss Giles's
Business Success.
Miss Katherine M. Giles is probably
the only woman in Wall street who
could, were she so inclined, turn the
tide of cotton speculation so that
operators would win or lose millions
of dollars, for Miss Giles is the cotton
statistician, who every now and
then bucks up against the government
reports and comes out with flying
colors, beating men grown old in
the business at their own game.
If has been said that a woman
can't keep a secret, but the author of
that saw didn't know Miss Giles, for
she is known as the sphinx among
cotton speculators. She never by a
word, a look or even the inflection of
her voice indicates In the slightest degree
any of the secrets for a knowledge
of which some men would pay
thousands of dollars.
It isn't because she hasn't been approached
that she hasn't told her secrets.
Many men have attempted to
extract a word from her as to crop
conditions. wen 10 wnoin aiinmest
inkling would mean heavy gains
have tried ruses of all sorts to catch
this young woman off guard. They
have yet to be successful.
It was some six years ago that Miss
Giles earned the name of the Cotton
Queen. It was on that eventful December
5 when her report of the
cotton crop, differing from the government
returns by a large percentage,
turned the tide of the cotton
market and Increased cotton values
by some $5,000,000.
Before that time she was comparatively
unknown, but when this happened
telegrams began pouring into
New York from all over the country
asking, "Who is Giles?" Few knew
she was a woman then and plenty of
her suscribers today have yet to learn
the fact, for the address on the hundreds
of return postals she sends out
to the big cotton growers of the south
to get information as to the extent
and condition of the crop is simply
"K. M. Giles, statistician."
She Is probably one of the very
few women in the country who by
their own efforts are earning an annual
income of $10,000. She has risen
to this position by hard, conscientious
work from a salary of $8 a week
as assistant in the office of a cereal
statistician in the Wall street district.
Miss Giles was found by a Sun reporter
at her office in the financial
district pouring over a big pile of tabulated
reports, while beside her lay
symmetrical piles of return postals,
some 300 of them, which had just
come in the morning's mail from the
cotton growers of the south. Somehow
one naturally expects that a
woman whose business Is almost
wholly concerned with figures and
mathematical problems should herself
be cold, dry and calculating. Miss
Giles does not meet expectations in
this respect.
She is youthful looking, exceedingly
feminine, with a pretty, well
rounded* figure, real golden hair and
clear, steady eyes. With a pleasant
smile she greeted her visitor and explained
the nature of her business and
how she happened to enter into a
profession which taxes even the resources
of the government of the
United States.
"To what do I owe my success?"
repeated Miss Giles. She sat far back
in her big revolving desk chair and
thought a moment and in doing so
her blue gray eyes took on a deeper
color. "To the fact that I never
speculate," she finally said, Razing
steadfastly at her visitor to emphasize
her words.
"Yes, I am quite positive that to
this fact I largely owe my success.
You see," she went on rapidly as the
idea grew on her, "the temptation to
do so is almost overpowering, but it
has proved the Waterloo to more than
one statistician. If one speculates it
Is only human nature to be biased in
the direction in which you want the
market to go. But you can see it is
the utmost folly to do so, for though
you might win and you might not. in
either event you would lose the confidence
of your clients.
"Another important thing is to allow
no one to influence you. You
must rely solely on your own judgment.
This is absolutely imperative.
"Many persons have attempted it
with me but have not succeeded, at
least in the way they meant to. I well
remember that one man who tried to
make me believe that my calculations
of the crop should be greater than
they were managed to send me in the
other direction. That season as a
consequence my estimate was way too
low."
"Do the speculators ever try to get
information by strategy?" Miss Giles
was asked.
"Indeed, yes," replied Miss Giles,
her face lighting up in amusement at
some of her experiences. "All sorts
of subterfuges are worked in order to
get a line on what my report will be
and all sorts of stories and rumors
are circulated for which 1 am held
responsible.
"When first I started in with this
work 1 was kept in hot water all the
time by these tricks. You can fancy
yourself how it would seem when you
were guarding your information as
you would your life from the knowledge
of any one, and some one came
to you saying they heard you had
given out certain important facts. It
certainly used to try my soul. But I
have got so now that I almost never
answer the ohone even for fear of
being betrayed into a reply that, no
matter how innocent it looked on the
surface, could be construed into news
of crop conditions.
"Why, I have had men to call me
up and talk about the weather, then
turn and twist what I said into a
statement regarding cotton, which
would be quite sufficient to put the
market up or down as the case might
be. Only last year a couple of days
before my report came out a man
called me up on the phone saying:
" 'Is this Miss Giles?'
" It is.'
" 'We hear your report is coming
out tomorrow.'
" 'Did you?'
" 'Yes, and we get rumors that conditions
are better in the south than
they were a week ago, and we want
to know whether your report agrees
with that rumor.' 1
"You can see how cleverly these
questions were framed. I had to do
a lot of quick thinking In order not to t
make any admissions that I didn't t
wish to make. So sparring for time f
I asked, 'Who is this talking?" <
"Then, making up my mind quick- i
ly. I replied, 'I haven't sufficient re- <
ports in to tell you,' and closed the j
wire. As a matter of fact the reports
were all tabulated and ready on my l
desk to be sent out on the following ^
day, but I made up my mind that any |
one who was so inquisitive hadn't a t
right to expect the truth. This is j
only one of many similar experiences <
that I have to contend with." j
Curious to know how it happened (
that a woman ever took tip such an
occupation, the reporter asked Miss
Giles to tell the story of her business
career.
"It was my good fortune," she said,
"to be associated in business with one
of the finest men in New York city,
and to him, I am very frank to say, I
owe all my success. He was a cereal
statistician and his office is now
scarcely a stone's throw away. He
could look ahead and see the possibilities
of my career, and so was in*
sistent upon my making my own way.
"I started in with him as a clerk at
$8 a week ruling slips such as these,
upon which were written the reports
of the cereal crops. From this point
I rose from one position to another,
each time the added responsibility
carrying with it an increase in salary.
"One of the proudest moments in
my career was when I was entrusted
with the key of the letter box. It
seemed to me then that I had risen
quite as far as I possibly could. I
took great pains in laying out and arranging
the cards on the desk according
to states and counties, so that
wfien my employer came he would
find all ready for him. It was also
my duty to see that the subscribers
-tt ? J 11 ?? ~ * IUa
an reueiveu uifir in me taint ^
papers which we sent out with the
reports.
"After a while I was promoted to ]
tabulating the reports and finally to ,
figuring, and eventually went so far j
as to make my own calculations, and
you can imagine this made me feel j
quite important. The thing I dread- ,
ed most of all was the composition of ]
the report from the material at hand.
I used to worry about that more than |
anything else, but since I have been
in business for myself and write the
report from my own calculations it
holds no terrors for me.
"I got along nicely until after I |
had been receiving a salary of $25 a
week for some time, when I got restless
and wanted, yet feared to branch ^
out for myself. I decided I had got ,
in a rut and needed something heroic (
to bring me out of it.
"One day I went to my employer ,
and made a suggestion about the dus- ,
iness which, as I look back upon it ^
now. I see was none of my affairs. I ,
also wanted a raise In salary. My (
employer looked up suddenly. ]
" 'You are dissatisfied,' he said.
" 'Oh, no,' I returned quickly, hav- (
Ing in mind a man in the office who (
had been discharged the week pre- (
viously for this very reason, and
thinking that I had certainly thrown
all the fat in the fire by my impetuos- .
ity. ;
" 'Yes,' he returned, 'you are dis- (
satisfied, and I don't want any one in
my employ who feels that way.'
"I insisted that I was not dissatis- 1
fied, only that I felt I had got in a
rut and wanted to get out of it. Then
I added, 'I hope some day to go in (
for myself.' !
"My employer stared hard at me,
but didn't say much and the matter (
was dropped. I went back to my
desk feeling that somehow I had '
made a fearful mess of things and in 1
all probability would be discharged. <
"I felt ready to cry, and not daring
to talk further on the subject I went
home to mother as fast as I could get 1
there and had a good cry. But mother
said: 'It'll be all right. Don't ,
worry. Just go ahead and do the best
you can and it will come out all right.'
"This in a measure soothed me for <
the time being. But on the second
morning?the day following was Decoration
day?I went down to the office
in fear and trembling and there,
Just as I expected, on my desk lay 1
inai oniciai envelope mai i naa Deen
dreading.
"I opened the letter and read It.
It said: 'If you wish to go into business
for yourself it seems best that
you do it ndw.' Well, everything got
black before me. The worst had
come. Finally I plucked up courage
to ask my employer when he wanted i
me to leave. (
" 'Leave?' he said 'I don't want
you to leave. I want you to stay right
here. You want to go in for yourself,
don't you? Well, here is your oppor- i
tunity.'
"I thought it over, then pointed
out that that would scarcely be feasible
for the reason that others, knowing
I had been in this man's employ,
might think I favored him in affording
advance information concerning
the reports. He agreed that I was
right. 1
"I had some $400 belonging to him (
for the yearly subscriptions of the
farm papers. Before I had a chance
to return it he said. 'You take that
as my contribution toward your sue- (
cess.'
"My employer, became my first sub- ;
scriber and has since continued as
such, though today I have subscri- i
bers all over the world, even so far ,
away as Bombay, India."
Miss Giles has secret cable codes of
her own, one for each customer, and
it may be imagined what a cablegram
sent to Bombay costs, as she must
pay 4 7 cents a word for messages
sent to India.
Among int1 iwtfivc muics Uiai fiiuu
cotton she annually distributes 25,000
postal cards, the returns from which ,
must be tabulated. Monthly reports
are sent out from now until June, but 1
from June to September semi-monthly
letters are directed to her subscribers.
Just now she is getting return
cards from* the growers giving information
regarding the contemplated
acreage, the condition of the soil and <
general remarks as to whether the (
season is earlier or later than last
year, '
Hetween $25,000 and $30,000 is annually
spent by the government in ,
getting a line on the cotton crop from
which to compile its annual report,
but in this, Miss Giles contends, there 1
are many mistakes. Many small
towns, she says are never reported at
all. Then she builds much on the j
tenor of the general remarks of the i
growers, which are a feature of her
card system and from which she be- i
lieves she comes nearer getting at the j
real conditions than the government
with all its special investigators.
Each year about this time. Miss
Giles says, the crop killers are heard
from. They are men who tell what
the crop is going to be before it is
even planted. One of these recently
said that there was likely to be a big
crop this year and that fully 15,000,000
bales would be harvested.
"As a matter of fact." said Miss
Giles, "they know nothing at all
about it. Why, the cotton isn't even
out of the ground."
A FRONTIER MARKSMAN.
^ild Bill Hickok's Skill In Use of the
Six Shooter.
Wild Bill Hlckok was the first fron:iersman
who recognized the impor:ance
of proficiency in the use of the
fix shooter. This was the real secret
)f his supremacy. He was an unerring
narksman and shot as accurately unJer
fire as when firing at a mark, apaarently
taking no aim.
Probably no man has ever equaled
llm In the lightning-like rapidity
vith which he could draw a weapon
n time of emergency and in the
horough self possession that made It
possible for him to take advantage of
;very opportunity In savage conflict,
tic had a standing order to his deputes
that they should not rush in on
lim In any of his affrays and espe;ally
should not come quickly up in
n the rear.
By forgetting this a man named
Williams met his oeatn at ADiiene,
Hickok taking him for an enemy and
Iring so rapidly that it left no oppor:unity
for recognition. He readily
tilled a wild goose across the Smoky
Hill with his revolver. Riding at his
lorse's highest speed, he fired shot
ifter shot Into a tin can or a post a
Few rods distant.
Standing at one telegraph pole he
svould swing rapidly on his heel and
fire a pistol ball Into the next telegraph
pole. These were some of the
simpler feats he performed day after
lay on the street to settle little wafers.
He could shoot a hole through
i silver dime at fifty paces and could
irive the cork through the neck of a
bottle at thirty paces and knock out
:he bottom without breaking the
neck. He could do what the fancy
shots of the present day do, and possibly
some of them equal him as
marksman with a revolver, . but It
must be remembered that he was the
first to acquire the skill, and the so
called crack shots of his day were
poor imitations at best, although
most of them boasted of their fame.
He shot just as well with others
shooting at him and at a man as
steadily as at any other target. There
were certain traits of his character,
however, that were almost womanly.
He was fond of children, and they
liked him. He declined to quarrel
with the peaceful settlers of the community,
the business men, on any
provocation. There was no foolhardy
bravado about him.?Denver Field
ind Farm.
THRILLING SPORT.
Rafting Oown the Canyons of an Unmapped
Glacial River.
With provisions for only ten days a
party of explorers in Alaska found one
September that they must build rafts
and take their chances of letting the
swift river carry them to settlements
where food could be obtained; otherwise
ice and snow would shut them in
from all hope of rescue. In "The
Shameless Diary of an Explorer," Robert
Dunn tells of the journey on the
roughly made rafts.
"At 11 o'clock today began the most
thrilling sport I know, rafting down
the snaky canyons of an unmapped
glacial river.
"Fred and I captained the Mary
\nn II. the other three the Ethel
Way. We rasped and hauled them
ever the gravel shadows of our tributary,
shot out between the main walls
uf the stream and seized upon that
boiling current.
"We reached silently from cliff to
:liff. jammed pike poles into the slate
^helf overhead, twirled out of eddies.
We bumped and grounded. We
dashed overboard and on the run eased
her across shallows. We tugged
half an hour tn make an inch at each
shove through the gravel, suddenly
plunged in to our necks, and she leaped
free as we scrambled on.
"Bowlders rose through white ruffs
of water In midchannel. We might or
might not hang on them for a perpendicular
minute.
"You must be very handy with a
pole. You must have a hair fine eye
for moving angles, the strength of an
eddy, the depth of foam ruffling over
a stump. You must be surer of the
length of your pole than a polo player
of the reach of his mallet. You
must be quicker than a Siwash dog.
You must know the different weight of
each log down to ounces, the balance
of the duffel piled high like a dais,
covered with the tent and the bean
pot. the mackinaws and the ax lashed
to ell the lashings. It's a pretty
?ame." Cf
EDISON THE VICTOR.
He Humbled the Pride of the Fast
Telegraph Operator.
Edison made his first record as a
telegraph operator in Memphis. A contemporary
says he came walking Into
the office one morning looking like a
veritable hayseed. He wanted a job,
and, although his appearance was not
prepossessing, the office was short
handed, and he was assigned a desk at
the St. Louis wire, the hardest in the
office. "At the end of the line was an
operator, who was chain lightening and
knew it," says Francis Arthur Jones'
"Life of Edison."
"Edison had hardly got seated before
St. Louis called. The newcomer
responded, and St. Louis started on a
long report which he pumped in like
a house afire. Edison threw his leg
over the arm of his chair, leisurely
transferred a wad of spruce gum from
his pocket to his mouth, took up a
pen, examined it critically and started
in about fifty words behind. He didn't
stay there long, though. St. Louis let
out another link of speed, and still an
other, and the instrument on Edison's
table hummed like an old style Singer
sewing machine. Every man in the
office left his desk and gathered
around the jay to see what he was doing
with that electric cyclone.
"Well. sir. he was right on the word
and taking it down in the prettiest
copperplate hand you ever saw. even
crossing his 't's' and dotting his 'iV
and punctuating with as much care as
a man editing telegraph for printers.
St. Louis got tired by and by and began
to slow down. Then Edison opened
the key and said:
" 'Hello, there! When are you going
to get a hustle on? This is no primer
class.'
"Well, sir." said the gentleman in
conclusion, "that broke St. Louis all
up. He had been rawhiding Memphis
for a long time, and we were terribly
sore, and to have a man in our office
who could walk all over him made us
feel like a man whose horse had won
the Derhy."