Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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********* REFORMER By GHARlfS M. SHELDON. Aiflw af *iD His Steps.” Robert Hardy’s Seven Days.” Etc. Copyright, mu by Charlu M. Bheliion S*i**i**ii*iii*************w********* Both morning and evening papers contained full accounts ©f the “Tene ment Fire Horror on Bowen Street.” The News printed a list of names of property owners, and I’hilo II. Marsh's name was prominent among them as owner of the "double decker lire trap," as it was labeled. Every paper in the City had an editorial on the subject, but only one of them, the Index, called attention to the fact that for years the nature of the construction had been fully known and nothing done because City politics did not wish to interfere with property owners who paid a cer tain amount of blackmail for the privi lege of ignoring city ordinances. A special meeting of the city council. , called to consider the condition of the p(*ople in the ruined district, took ac tion to provide temporary quarters for the homeless. Meanwhile public indig nation cooled almost as fast as the ruins in Bowen street, when it was ru mored that several prominent men and women had subscribed several thou sand dollars to the survivors and that as one result of the lire a set of model tenement buildings would be built in the burned district. John Gordon, read ing all this in moments when he rested from the great strain that continued for many days, could not repress a strong feeling (that nothing but Chris tian grace kept from being bitter ha tred of class) that the real cause of all the horror had not been touched by all the editors and all the public ex citement. The landlords were not ar rested for anarchy in breaking ordi nances which if obeyed would have made {he massacre of children impossi ble. The professional politicians and spoilsmen continued to hold their places and plan for future plunder of the people. Tommy Randall, boss of Ward 18, was winning golden opinions from the sufferers by his lavish distri bution of food and clothing and shel ter. The disaster was a godsend to Tommy. How should the poor, igno rant, stolid people of Bowen street know that the bread and coffee and beer and clothing and coffins that Tom my Randall distributed wdth such cheerfulness and good will were bought with money which men like Mr. Marsh and Mr. Rufus Gordon had paid as part price tor being let alone in their business methods? How should the people know that Tommy Randall “touched” the pocket of every saloon keeper and every keep er of a disreputable house and every prominent criminal in Waterside dis trict to get the sinews of political war? And what difference if he did, as Miss Andrews had so often told them? Wherever the money came from, it bought the things the people needed, and Tommy was the best friend they had. Flowers at christenings, turkeys during the holidays, jobs on the street force, a stand-in with the city hall- why, even Miss Andrews and Hope House had no such gifts for the people. To be sure Hope House was a good thing, and Miss Andrews was all right, but Tommy Randall was the people’s friend, and “we’ll never go back on Tommy” was the settled con viction of every man in the ward who owed his Job to Tommy. Surely, 0 boss of Ward 18, you understand your business as well as if you were an an gel of light. “Hats off to the ward boss,” says the devil, as his best agents in corrupting the modern city tile by in the great human review of the Ameri can city. The republic may have a president, but the municipality sup ports a king. When Gordon went up to see Barton at the end of the most harrowing day be had ever known, be found his friend aving with fever. He did not know Gordon. The nurse was in charge with Williams, and all Gordon could do was to drop a tear on Barton’s face as he kissed the burning forehead and exact a solemn promise from Williams to send for him at once whenever the end was near. Then back again to three days’ experiences that aged him, but brought out all his reserve force- and he had a vast quantity of it. Two events in those three days stand out sharp and distinct in the life of John Gordon. The first event was his deepening ac quaintance with Grace Andrews. Working together side by side during those three days, they rapidly grew to respect and have confidence in each other. Grace Andrews amazed Gordon by her courage, her infinite patience, her profound pity for suffering, her en durance under circumstances so terri ble that more than one of the men resi dents in the house fainted away at the sight of some of the bodies taken from the ruins. In several instances Gordon felt confident that Miss Andrews loved the dying back into life. She moved among them like an angel of God. At the most painful examinations, at the most critical operations, she was pres ent, a benediction and a peace. More than once during those days Gordon found himself thinking of Grace An drews in a way he had nev'er yet thought. He had never given her cred it for a sweet hearted tenderness, fas cinating in its disclosure of an abso lutely pure and gentle nature, feeling for all the woes of life. He had al ways admired her steadiness of pur pose, her unterrified patience, her deep seriousness of motive. But he had nev er before witnessed her womanly senti ment. brought into prominence by this sudden stroke of suffering. It all add ed to the definition he was making of her. It all enriched his faith in her purpose and her sacrifices. In all this there was not a hint of anything senti mental on his own part. The awful ness of all those surroundings during that memorable week would have made any such thought impossible even if lie had been other than he was. the farthest possible removed from sus ceptibility. The one impression that he received from a nearer view of her character was a conviction that she was a woman who had rare capability for loving and being loved, and he even went so far in his thinking as a result of this impression that he tried to imagine the character of the man who might possibly win such a great and affectionate nature. The other event was an unexpected interview with Luella Marsh. The Rev. Paid Falmouth had come down to see Gordon and offer help of various kinds to Miss Andrews from his church young people’s society. As he was getting ready to leave he said to Gor don: “It seems to me now is the time for Miss Andrews and you to bring pressure to bear on Mr. Marsh. While the horror is still keen and public sentiment is favorable you ought to persuade him to do something. lie will probably rebuild. Do you know?” “I don’t know anything about it. Why has he not been down here?” “Gordon”—Falmouth spoke with quiet earnestness—“do you know Mr. Marsh intimately? I understand your relation to the family. I believe I know his characteristics belter than you do. At least I know’ this—he is morbidly sensi tive in the matter of viewing human suffering. Do you suppose”— Gordon's face darkened. Was it pos sible that any man would run away from duty like this? All his respect for Marsh and his feeling for him as the father of Luella were at once swept away by the thought of the man’s con temptible cowardice. A tremendous tide of indignation took possession of him as he recalled Marsh’s pitiable action at the time he visited the tenement. Would he deliberately shirk his respon sibility in the matter of the fire and the opportunity now offered him to re build? “I’ll go and see him if you say so,” Falmouth volunteered as he went a way. “I wish you w’ould,” Gordon replied. And he added in a tone that spoke of a personal passion that was nearer anger than any feeling he ever experienced: “If he doesn’t come dowm here before night, l mean to go and see him myself. I want to know' from his own lips the cause of his absence.” The day went by. and Mr. Marsh did not appear. That evening Gordon told Miss Andrews his intention. She made no comment of any kind. Gordon wait ed a moment and then asked a ques tion: “How far is Mr. Marsh responsible for all this suffering, for these deaths?” “God will judge him, not I,” she an swered, her blue eyes filled with a light ’ that more than once during the week Gordon had noticed as peculiar to her. “I want to say the right thing to him. But I am afraid I shall lose my judg ment in the matter,” he said as he hes- itated. Miss Andrews did not offer any suggestion, and Gordon at once went out and took the first car that made connections with uptown lines. It was not until he stood on the fa miliar steps that he realized in some degree what he was about to do. The chance of meeting Luella was so small that he had not given it any thought. He had not seen her since his inter view with her, and while he was heart hungry for the kind of love that was being denied him, the experiences through which be had been since go ing to Hope House, the appalling char acter of the disaster for which Luella’s rather was at least in large part re sponsible, for the time being obscured his personal affairs. It can truly be said that as he gave his name to the servant and asked to see Mr. Marsh he was nerving himself for the inter- view. with Luella in second place at least. i He went into the hall reception room and had only just sat down when Lu ella entered. He rose and faced her and saw at once that some mistake had been made by the servant. Luella was deeply agitated. She was hardly able to say: "I was told a visitor wished to see me”— "I called to see Mr. Marsh,” said Gordon quietly, but his pulses were beating high. For a moment they stood looking at each other and each noted something even under the stress of the situation. John saw that the proud attitude was marked by a sadness that had left its mark on a beautiful face so clearly that he said to himself, “She loves me still!” Luella noted in her former lover an added dignity and nobility and said to herself, “He is a man; not a store model like Penrose!” And there were two hearts beating high in the short silence. “Father is not at home. He is out of the city,” she managed to say, but her lips trembled in spite of all her efforts. Gordon took a step toward the hall. “May I ask when he went away?” “I believe he left three days ago.” “The morning after the tire around Hope House?” “Yes.” There was another silence. Gordon’s mind went into a tumult. “May I ask when he expects to re turn?” “I think tomorrow or the next day.” She was recovering her equanimity, hut she resented his questions. “Will you kindly ask him to come down to Hope House and see me on a matter of business when he returns?” "Will you state the business?” She pat the question as coldly as lie had put ids. "Certainly.” Passion had the reins now and was lashing him hard. “I’lease tell your father I want to ask him how far he considers himself responsible for the murder of over sixty children and the maiming of a score more on ac count of the illegal tenement he con structed on Bowen street.” It was the severest thing he had ever said to Luella, but his excuse was found in the agony that tilled Hope House at that minute. “Murder, did you say?” Luella’s eyes blazed. She stepped toward John Gor don and confronted him defiantly. "Do you realize what you are saying?” "Do I? Oh, Luella, if you had seen what 1 have seen during the last three days"— Gordon broke down so sudden ly that Luella was overwhelmingly em barrassed. it was no secret with her heart that the man had her love; at least she was wretched without him, even if she was not yet willing to live with him where he chose to live. To see him sitting there now, with his face covered, smote her proud nature so hard that in a moment she would have been kneeling beside him and promising to go with him anywhere, to leave every social pleasure she prized, for the love of his heart. But how should John Gordon know anything of all that? When he looked up he saw her standing very still and very white, staring at him in a ques tioning way. And in an almost matter of fact tone he began to relate the facts about Mr. Marsh's relation to the disaster. He told the facts in quite a dispassionate manner. In reality he was exercising a great repression. And lie noticed as he drew near the end that Luella was listening like one who was being told certain things for the first time. "1 never knew that father owned any property on Bowen street,” she said in a low voice when Gordon stopped. John Gordon rose. His heart was sore over everything connected with Mr. Marsh’s conduct. He had not a single excuse to offer for him. “Do you believe me?” Luella cried with her old spirit flaming up. "I have no reason to disbelieve you. You are not to blame for your father’s guilt.” “It is a great grief to me,” she said simply. “Over sixty children! 1 could not read the details of the—the—disas ter. Father took the paper out of my hands that morning. It made me sick, and—and—you know how sensitive fa ther has always been at the sight of suffering. He could not bear to hear of it or look at it. I am made in the same way. It is all too horrible.” “If it is horrible to look at, what do you think it is to feel it?” John Gordon asked grimly. And as he asked the question Grace Andrews’ face, with its tender, deep blue eyes, flashed up be fore him, and for the first time in his life he compared her with Luella, sim ply in the matter of capability to bear the sins and sorrows of humanity. Luella looked at him gravely and shook her head. And then John Gor don rose. "You are not going?” she said before she realized. And then the color flooded her face, and she stood, proud woman as she was, with bowed head, as con scious as a girl who has made some little social mistake. Again if John Gordon had said, “Lu ella, I w’lll never go from you if you will ask me to remain!” she would have given her whole life into his keeping and followed him to the earth’s end for the love of him. But how was he to know all that? All be saw was a wo man who quickly recovered from a momentary confusion, and he said: “You must excuse me; I came to see your father. lam very anxious to see him and shall be under obligations to you if he can come down to Hope I House as soon as he returns.” He turned and walked out into the hall, where bo turned again toward her and gravely bowed. “Good evening.” he said coldly. He said it coldly because his heart was beating so fiercely that he was afraid to betray his emotions. She did not say a word, only looked at him as he slowly walked to the door. As he opened it she said in a whisper, “John!” He never heard. Is love then both blind and deaf? Yea; it is sometimes, when the lovers are both high spirited, strongly individual and sensitive. And, alas for John Gordon, he neither saw nor heard, and walked out into the night, wretched at heart and cast down in his emotions. When he was gone, Luella laid her head again on her arms, and when Mr. Penrose a little later sent in his card she excused herself from seeing him owing to illness. It was the world old illness, which love creates when it is baffled, buffeted, dis honored or misunderstood. John Gordon had not been back to Hope House ten minutes when Wil liams called him up and said that Bar ton was conscious and had called for bis friend. Gordon at once went out and was soon by Barton’s side. The nurse and doctor and Harris were there and Gordon knew that Bar ton’s hour had come. The first w’ord that Barton spoke was a request that he be permitted to talk to Gordon alone. The others went into the next room, and Gordon kneeled and put his hand on that of his friend. "John.” Barton whispered in his old whimsical manner, “the old cough is like a daily paper, it has the last word. No use to reply or explain. The editor can get back at you in the next num ber. Tin done for,’ as the pancake said when it was turned over.” He stopped and with great effort raised up a little. Gordon supported him. “There, I feel a little easier. I never wanted to die lying down. What 1 wanted to say, John, there are two let ters, love letters, John, from the o!d lady, Effingham, you remember. They are in my desk. Read them wh n 1 am gone. The second one only came this morning. I don’t know what is in it. But you—open—and read it.” Gordon was crying. He could not keep back the tears of affection. His love for Barton was almost like that of the love between man and woman. “Don’t cry, John. What’s the differ ence? There’s one thing—I hope—you and Luella—the cough’s going to get me. Don’t let people look at me. I’m not a handsome man as I used to be. There’s one thing”— The voice sank, and yet even in that last struggle the change from his ap parent flippancy to the profoundest seriousness was like the change from sun to shade. “One tiling, Jojm. Once you said I never loved any I’ve left some books and things to Hop** House. There’s money enough to bury me—directions in desk—don’t have a procession over a mile long.” The voice came back to its seriousness again. “You said I never loved any one—Grace Andrew’s—John—you under stand”— The eye spoke the rest. And in the tumultuous grief that flooded John Gordon's soul lie filled in the broken gaps of that sorrowful but fragrant romance. The voice was a w’hisper wdien it spoke again. “No use, don't tell her—only add to her burden— God bless her—best woman in this city -she”- The voice went out altogether, and John Gordon realized that the spirit of that brave heart would soon cease from all the earth’s struggles. He summoned the doctor again and the nurse and Harris came in. There was nothing to do. Gordon held his hand as the night deepened. Near midnight he rallied and whispered to Gordon, with a smile: "I love you, John. Good- by.” At 2 o’clock his spirit quietly went out like a child falling asleep, and Gordon rose and passed into the other room, trying to realize what all this meant, a /ieher man for this experi ence of human friendship, but a poorer man for the loss out of ids earth strug gle of one of the bravest, tenderest. truest souls his manhood would ever know. “Dear David!” he said and let the tears flow’ unrestrained. "Your hope less love story. Hopeless? Did ever man love a woman like Grace Andrews without ennobling himself?” And when • a little later he went in and saw’ the cold, pale face he thought he could see there the triumph of love’s great work 4in the glory which it always leaves with humanity, for as long as the world shall stand and men shall suf fer, so long shall the true love of man for woman redeem the earth from its curse and give to both a place of honor with the divine. This story will be continued in next Friday’s issue of The Ledger. Out thi* out and take it to Cherokee Drug Co., Gaffney; L. D. Allison, Cowpens, and get a free sample of Ghamberlain’s Stomach and Liver Tablets, the best physic. They cleanse and invigorate the stomach, imnrove the appetite and regulate the bowels. Regular size 25c, perb)x. Thousands of farmhouses in Kansas are now supplied with tele phones The farmers order goods in the nearest town and the rural mail carrier delivers them. Danger of Pneumonia. ** * new aclentlflc compound mode from roots, herbs and barks—centaina HieumatUnf^nii n >M ** P ur lfles the blood and removes the causes of taU mfcty t^e not b ffirfte?ie.u"H^“n" RHEmAC IDE with .No- TWO CURES. FnOR*wo», 8. C., Aug. 16, 1902. GentlemenI began to suffer from rheumatism about three years ago, and had It very bad in my limbs. At times I could hardly walk. Was treated by a physician without benefit. More than a year ago, Mr. George Wilson, an engi neer on the Coast Line, living in Flor ence, told me that “ Rhiumaoidb ” cured him. I got a bottle and it bene- fltted me. I took five bottles and am now as well as I ever was In my life. I regard “ Rh hum acid*" as a great medicine. I know of others it has cured. Truly, S. T. BURCH. Darlinotow, 8. C., Aug. l»th, 1902. Gentlemen:—About two years ago I had a very severe attack of inflamma tory rheumatism. 1 suffered great pain and was couiiued to my bed for five Tf^s. during the time I was treated Physicians without permaneut 1 thn^'n B ar ker, a conductor on i the A t , lan tio Coast Line heard of my i Condition and sent me two bottles of Rheumacide.” I began to take it and in a week I got up and walked on crutches. After taking three bottles of the remedy I got entirely well and went back to my business. I personally know of a number of other bad cases that were cured by the use of your medicine, in this town and vicinity. It is ail that you claim for it. Truly, J. L. SISK RON. Sold by Druggists. Will be sent express paid on receipt of $i.oo. Bobbitt Chemical Co., . . Baltimore, Hd., U. 5. A. For sale by the Cherokee Drug Company. THE SOUTHERN RAILWAY The Groat Highway of TRADE and TRAVEL THROUGH THE SOUTHERN STATES. Excellent Service Quick Time Convenient Schedules I Any Trip la a Pleasure Trip lo those who Travel via THE SOUTHERN RAILWAY. The Finest Dining-Car Service in the World. Tor detailed Information aa to TicKets, Rates and Sleeping-Car reser- vations address the nearest Agent of THE SOUTHERN RAILWAY. W. A. TURK, S. H. HARDWICK. W. H. TAYLOE. Pa««eng«r TrafTle Managor. General Passenger Agent. Assistant Gen. Passenger Agent. WASHINGTON. D. C. WASHINGTON. O C. ATLANTA. GA. Dyspeptics are made every day by their own carelessness. ’Cure that case of Constipation and Indigestion before it becomes chronic. Take RAKSta and Tonic PelleU, the only remedy that assists Nature and does not get in her way. Strong purgativts^ripe, and make confirmed invalids. Ramon's act gently and leave the system independent of drugs. Sample and BooKlet Free. <5^. Complete Treatment ^ ^ W as days 35 cts. A cold at this time is liable to cause pneumonia which is so often fatal, and even when the patient has recov ered the lungs are weakened, making them peculiarly susceptible to the development of consumption. Foley’it Honey and Tar will stop the cough, heal and strengthen the lungs and prevent pneumonia. Cherokee Drug Co. Seven months and a half was the time taken In traveling round the world by a picture post-card, which has ju t been delivered to its lender at fieri 1 n. Here is a Bargain. Two excelent corner building lots within five minutes walk of Carpet Mill. These lots will be sold on the Easy Payment Plan of only $3 per month. Here is an opportunity of a lifetime for working people. Apply to 1CI>. II. l>eOiVIVlF\