No money; an Odd fellows' story

Front matter

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Chapter I

A February thaw was upon the City, and the coal smoke, beaten down by the moist foggy atmosphere, made all out doors seem freshly painted — daubed with a coating of the nasty black. Tall smoke stacks sent down instead of up, their contents of filthy smoke. A mist hung upon the river, and the shrill screaming of harbor tugs indicated their fear of encountering their kind as they fretted and plowed the waters. Darkness comes early on such an evening, especially in a city with such a mantle of sable hanging over it. The street lamps glowed feebly upon the scene, yet without their sickly ray Egyptian darkness would hare reigned supreme.

It was an unpleasant evening for males to be abroad, even when amply protected by sound shoe leather and rubber overs ; but still more unpleasant for a delicate female with no over-shoes at all. Gliding along Second Street, near Main, and rapidly moving east, might have been seen the figure of a female rather thinly and poorly clad- Yet even her coarse clothing could not hide a certain grace of manner as she lightly pursued her way. She looked neither to the right or left , but held her way with a determination that left no doubt in the mind of the beholder that she was homeward bound. At the crossing of Broadway and Second, she passed two policemen who leaned languidly one on either side of a lamp post. One of the guardians of the night eyed her suspiciously. The other scarcely seemed aware of her existence. One of these policemen (he whose curiosity had been aroused) was a Wrge broad-shouldered man, with a small grey eye and grizzly beard j he might have been mistaken for a brigadier General of the regular army. Gruff in manner, quick to think, and quick to act, and brave as a lion. Patrolman Jeff Wilson was esteemed one of the best roundsmen in the city. Yet like many policemen called to keep order in a great city, and seeing night after night the wickedness aad depravity of fallen mankind, he had come to look upon almost all with with suspicion.

^‘You never know who to trust till you try ‘em,” he used to say to his mate, as some new depredation was committed on their beat by a person holding a hitherto supposed good character.

The partner of the first named policeman was known as George Somers. He was a young man of not more than twenty-three years, and had been on the force since his majority. He had a large clear eye that looked you frankly in the face. His countenance was handsome and manly; a fair type of a true American face. His figure was strong and well built, such indeed as would have attracted the attention of curious observers of male beauty ; in height, he was five feet eleven; with broad, expansive chest, and a strong arm whose great power was never called into play except in self-defense, when opposed by some refractory rough whose misdoings had brought him under the ban of the law. In manners, George Somers was gentle, almost effeminate ; at least so he would have appeared to the casual observer ; but those who knew him better were aware that beneath his urbane exterior was a firmness that almost amounted to stubborness. His mate often accused him of being womanhearted — but of cowardice, never. He would have faced a revolver in the hands of a desperado, if in the discharge of his duty } but if his conscience told him he was doing a wrong, he would have been an arrant coward. The Chief knew his force — he knew his men — and in selecting officers for one of the hardest wards in the city, he had fallen upon the two we have named. He doubtless saw in Somers the restraining power that would stay the hasty hand of Jeff Wilson. Many a poor refractory wretch’s head was saved from the mace of Wilson by the interposition of Somers.

George Somers was the only child of a widowed mother. His father, who was a machinist, had died when George was a lad of fifteen. The boy was then learning his trade with his father.

A sad bereavement to the mother and son was the death of Mr Somers. He was an affectionate father, a kind, loving husband. By dint of rigid economy, he had succeeded in buying a home, and laying up a few hundred dollars in bank. This sum, with the earnings of the boy, enabled his family to live in comparative comfort. George almost idolized his mother, and she in turn, as most mothers are apt to do, looked upon her offspring as a paragon of human perfection. At eighteen, George laid aside his trade and went to school for three years ; indeed he had a great thirst for knowledge. Books were the green field s in which he loved to roam. His intellect required fuel, and he found it in books. His mother’s keen perception noted this favorable disposition. She allowed him to follow his own inclinations. She even sat at work hour after hour longing to converse with George and yet hesitating to disturb him. Coming back suddenly from the realms of dreamland he would often throw down the book and apologize for having forgotten her so long Theirs was a happy home.

At twenty-one George determined to seek some occupation — some means to earn a livelihood. A chance occurred in this wise. On his twenty-first birthday it happened he attended the polls of of the ward, for the purpose of casting his first vote for city officers. The situation was so new to him that he stood for some time watching the stream of men pushing their way up to the judge’s stand. While he was thus engaged, an elderly, well-dressed man approached and bidding him good morning asked ;

“Have you voted yet, my young friend George acknowlcagod that he had not. “I am one of the candidates for Mayor, and should feel obliged if you would favor me with your vote. ”

George thought a moment and, then replied “ that he had no preference, that being his maiden vote, and knowing neither of the candidates, and upon refiection, he would' cast his suffrage as he desired*** “May I ask your name ? ’’

“Certainly ; it is George Somers* **

“A son of Henry Somers ? ’*

“Yes, Sir. ”

“Indeed I I knew your father well. ** The elderly man made a memorandum. George crossed the street — fell into line with the able-bodied American citizens, and reached out his ticket as hesitatingly as a bashful girl gives her hand to her over.

The election was over, and the victorious party cried themselves hoarse ; and the small politicians went back into their hotels, not to come out again until the heat of another campaign’ should thaw them into activity. George forgot all about the election until one day, in looking over the police appointments, he was almost thunderstruck to find his own name among the successful ones. His first impression was that there was some mistake, and was intended for some one else, but the same evening a note was received from the Chief of police, officially notifying him of his appointment and requiring him to appear on the following day and be sworn in. ^ George scarcely knew whether to accept or decline. Finally like thousands of Americans who never expect to make any profession a life work, bitt only follow the bent of fortune until something better turns up, he accepted. And this is how he became a policeman. He had been two years in .this employment, and the chief regarded him as one of the very best men on the force*

AN ODD FELLOWS' STORY.

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Bat let us turn back to the two men as they stand at the corner of Broadway and Second Streets.

“Who was that hussy that just went by, gliding like a feather,” asked Wilson, after the figure of the female had disappeared in the darkness.

“She is not a hussy by any means, Jeff; in fact, she’s as nice and decent a girl as lives in this ward. She is poor, it is true, and ihit is probably why she is out so late at night. Working people are ofteu compelled to be abroad while the rich arc sitting around their fires.”

“1 supp 'se she is another one of your pets,” growled Wilson.

“No, she is no pet of mine ; but I sympathize with the bird lot ; she and her raotner are compelled to suffer. I knew her father when [ was serving my appren ticeship in the shops where he worked. I 'saw him after he was killed — mangled by being caught in the gearing. Knowing them to be honest, honorable and in every way v.'orthy, why should I not sympathize with them?”

Wilson inserted the index finger of his right hand under his chapeau with the evident intention of scraping up an answer.

“Preaching, preaching! Now I don't believe there is half as much morality in this world as some folks do. People are wonderfully given to stealing ; and as for lying, Pve known church folks that would Ke like a rail-road poster and then go to church and look as sanctimonious as owls.”

“Still, Wilson, we ought not to condemn all because some do wrong. You know we have bad men on our force — men who disgrace it, they would disgrace a chain gang — but would you not hotly resent the charge that all were villains ?”

Wilson saw himself being gradually wound up like a rope over a reel ; but like a great many people when they find they are being oored in an argument, he dodged and changed the conversation. He secretly admired George Somers, and would have waded through fire and flood, to have saved him from harm, but then he was a constitutional growler. He growled because the Mayor did not make him a captain or lieutenant instead of a patrolman ; he growled if his wages was not paid to a miuRte; he growled at the weather — it was too hot or too cold, too dry or too wet. He growled at persons present and persons absent; ranch more emphatically at the latter than the former. Somers didn’t much mind him, as he was rather genileraanly in his growling with him.

“You have not told me the name of these poor folks,’’ said Wilson a^ter a pa ise.

“Gibbons is the name they are known by.”

“Gibbons ; well it seems to me I knew the man once. Was he a rather tall man. with light and large eyes ? ”

“Yes, that is ray recollection of him.”

“Did he walk a little lame ? "

“Yes.”

“Then I knew the man, though I was not acquainted with him. I always took ikp the idea that he was a little stuck up for a man that nad no money.”

“There yon are mistaken, Mr. Wilson. Gibbons was not proud beyond that which every honest man ought to be to entitle him to self-respect. He was not much of a talker. A machinist has no time to talk when at work, in fact, the noise of flying wheels makes it almost impossible to do so in the shops. Perhaps this may have accounted in a measure for his quietness. But for all that, he was a man of sterling qualities — a splendid mechanic, and always spoke kindly to us apprentices.”

“I don’t say he was stuck up” returned Wilson doggedly, fearing doubtless that he was being gradually drawn into another argument where he would in all probability get worsted, “but it always looked that way. As long as he minded his own business, I minded mine; so we had little — in fact nothing — to do with each other. ”

“I am glad you don’t entertain any bad feelings toward Mr. Gibbons, for if ever there lived an honest, upright man, he was one. But for the unfortunate accident by which he lost his life, he would have been foreman for the Company to day.

“Where does his family live?”

NO M‘JNEY:

“Up in Annear’s block. Its a poor old rickety tumble down house, not fit for a cow-stable. There are several other famlies living there, and they say old An near comes for his rent as regular as a quack doctor for his hard-earned fee or — ”

^‘A policeman for his shiners, chuckled Wilson.

“ If he doesn’t get his money he casts them overboard, though it seems to me they would be about as well protected out of doors as in such an old rookery as that. Why, Wilson, a man ought to be prosecuted for eollecting rent for such a place.”

“It’s all right. If people go and^burrow in such a den, they must expect to pay.”

“Of course. But landlords might be a little considerate, and by the expenditure of a few hundred dollars, tenants might be made comfortable. Then it wouldn’t look like taking something for nothing. ’

There is no telling how long this co^versatiou might have lasted, but for a yell down toward Front street. Both men picked up their ears. Again the cry of “police,” “police” was heard.

“Trouble at the Ragged Edge Saloon,” said Wilson. “Let us hurry down there; ’’ and both men ran down to the Saloon above named.

CHAPTER n.

The female whom we noticed passing along Second Street, hastened on until she came in front of a shabby, two-story frame tenement house. At the side of the house an old gate stood, half ajar. The upper hinge was broken, and the gate unable to keep its equilibrium, leaned outward. The female turned in at the gate, and passed through a paved court, where two garbage barrels s tood beside each other like twin brothers, and emitted perfumes that would have been a mortal ofience to delicate olfactories. Passing around to the rear of the house the female sprang up an old stairway whose only bond of union with the house consisted of two wooden bars somehow set in the walls. The stairs creaked and trembled, even under the fairy-like feet that sprung up its iU wooden

steps.

Entering a room near the top of the stair-case, she threw aside her slight wrappings, and Stella Gibbons stood in her mother’s presence. A coal-oil lamp upon the mantle shed a bright though not a brilliant lisfht over the room. Stella, as she stood there, looked almost a queen,— with a face far too lovely for her station in life in a city, eyes that were large and mild, and a form that was incomparable.

Many a maiden in the higher walks of life would have given thousanus to have exchanged beauty with this humble girU

As she spoke, her voice was low and soft, and thrilled the hearer as the tones of a harp. When she threw aside her hood her hair became unfastened, and fell down her back in blond ringlets, reaching to her waist. Quickly catching up and replacing the refractory tresses, she asked her mother if Willie had retired.

“Yes, dear, he complained of being wearj so I told him he had better retire.”

Stella went to the bed where the Ittla sleeper lay, and, looking at him a moment, stooped down and kissed him. The only e^ feet ot this expression of sisterly affection on the young sleeper, was to cause him to make a wry face and turn upon his side. Stella smiled, and turned to her mother.

“I think kisses must be sour to sleepeis from the manner in which Willie makes faces.”

“Come, child, and eat your supper, for I know you must be weary after so long a walk, and the streets are in wretched condition. I will draw the table near the stova. Remove your shoes, and dry your feet.”

“Oh, dear mother, my feet are perfectly dry, thanks to my new shoes. ”

“I am glad you like your shoes, for I feared you would find them too heavy,** and Mrs. Gibbons stole a glance at her daughter.

“They are a little clumsy, but then they are so warm and dry. I would rather wear heavy shoes and be laughed at, than wear thin ones and pay the doctor.”

ODD PBLLOWfir STORY,

‘‘Who has been laughing at you, daugter, for consulting your own comforts ?”

Stella was silent, but her cheeks crimsoned just a little.

Mrs. Gibbons saw her daughter’s confusion, and said no more, although her mother’s heart yearned to know and to sympathize with Stella. “She is begining to feel the kneen edge of the world’s biting sarcasm,” thought Mrs. Gibbons. “A few fears ago and all Eighth Street might have laughed at her and she would not have 2 ured ; but now she had grown to early womanhood, and she blushes if all do not praise. Poor as we are, we are not alone in these unpleasant sensations of wounded ranity. The rich feel them greater because dieir perch is higher and their fall must be greater. The good Lord didn’t give us all feelings and understandings alike. He iidn’t make our minds any more alike than >ur countenances or our bodies. Some are juick, hot blooded people ; others cold, jelfish and calculating. People who can aide their real feelings, get along best in ,he world. Stella is too transparent — a ihild conld read her feelings in her face. 5he has never received the gloss of polished ioeiety that almost stops the pulsation of .he heart at the word of command, and brces a calm exterior, while a raging fire .8 within. This may not be acting nature, )ut it is often policy. The person who assume complaisance on all occasions s an actor of no mean merit.”

Thus did Mrs. Gibbons’s thoughts flow as her daughter sat quietly eating her supjer. We can not, like Charles Read, have .he tables of our character surroui^ded by iveried servants, ready to supply them with .he practical sense that plans a meal and hen cooks and serves it, but we shall let a portion of them be their own groomsmen iod ladies’ maids, until they can rise a ligher level by their own exertions. We kre not here to plan for our characters, but merely to chap erone our kind readers among them. We shall remain faithful as a guide and chronicler of passing events, hoping the reader will trust himself implic- ,ity and hopefully to our care.

While Stella Gibbons is quietly eating thefrugal allowance before her, let us look around the room. The house was evidently built before the town had put on a metropolitan, air sand ere people had learned to economize space. The room is a large one, and the ceiling low. There is no. carpet on the floor, but its damp appearance and cleanliness bore evidence of recent scrubbing. A window on one side stood opposite a door on the other. — There had once been a fireplace, but it had been walled over. A cooking-stove stood a few feet from where the fireplace had once yawned — the pipe entered a circular flue opening in the wall above. The walls were papered, but time and coal smoke had played sad havoc with the fantastic figure. Two beds occupied different corners of the room, while an old forsioned bureau stood between. In a corner near the stove a tin fronted safe played the part of pantry to this humble family. The end of an old trunk peered from beneath one of the beds, as if playing hide and seek. A half dozen Windsor chairs, ft table, and a few other articles of common utility, completed the contents in chatties of this humble abode. In addition to this room, Mrs. Gibbons had the use of a small closet, in which were hung a few articles of wearing apparel and was the abiding place of another trunk.

Mrs. Gibbons and her daughter earned a living by making dresses for a number of ladies on Ninth street. She was skilful with the needle and gave them better fits than they could get elsewhere — a sure sign of patronage. These ladies formed a set — that is, they attended the same church — attended the same balls, and in fact were supposed to be company for each other, but for nobody else. Their exclusiveness was carried to the point of wringing from Mrs. Gibbons the promise that she would make ne dresses, garments or other wearing apperal for any outsiders. They paid well enough, but occasionally a dress was refused and the poor woman had to sacrifice it. She knew that this compact would last no longer than the appearance of a successful rival. She studied hard to keep

10 NO MONET abreast of fluttering, fluctuating fashion. Now it was this new, fangled fusion, now that, was rolled in on the whirligig of time. Mrs. Gibbons’s shrewdnesss caused her to form an alliance with a New York mantaumaker who forwarded her the patterns of all new styles as soon as they came from Paris. Thus she kept ahead, knowing full well that fashion, like civilization, travels westward. Her customers were not unfrequently astonished when they broached the subject of a new style to find her thoroughly Dosted.

They felt flattered, and this was the secret of her success . Her dainty high-bred customers would never have design to seek her miserable quarters — not they. When a new dr^ ss was to be made they dispatched a servant, and Mrs. Gibbons went post-haste to the gieat hoese, where she took the measnre, secured the goods in the rough, bore them away and brought them back a thing fit for the winding sheet of an angel.

What an humble origin some things have I We pass the jeweler’s window, and are dazzled at the display of articles of silver and gold. Go down in the cellar and see the smoke-begrimed, and dirtyfisted artisan who fusions them. Look at the snowney paper^before you, and think that it may have been niade from the castoff linen of a beggar wreaking with disease. It is the skilful hand that does it all — time and labor, brain and muscle,^ that works this wonderful transformation.

Stella had just been on an errand to one of the great houses up-town to bear to its fair owner a new dress.

Mrs. Gibbons forebore questioning her daughter ere she had finished her supper, knowing full well that if any exiraordinary thing had occuaed Stella would have told her at once. — The girl washed the dishes, put them away in the safe, and then placed the lamp on the table ready for work.

“You have not told me how Miss Lucy Moorhead liked her new dress,’’ said Mrs. Gibbons, turning to Stella w?th an inquisitive glance.

“Oh I mother you know Miss Lucy is not hard to please like those Englishet and Pattons. If there ever was an angel I think Miss Lucy is. one. — She is not sarcastic and does not provoke me like the Jones girls. Sometimes I just feel as if I would like to throw my arms around her sweet face as Ido brother Willie’s.’’

“And get yourself ordered away, probably, for such a presumption.”

“I know my place, mother. I know, too, there is a wide gulf separating us from those for whom we labor. I shall be discreet, never fear for that. But mother, are these rich people any better then we are — that is, any of them but Miss Lucy ? “Why do you except Miss Lucy ? ’’ “Because I know she is better than I can ever hope to be and Siella l..»oked her mother earnestly in the face as if trying to read her thoughts, but there was no flush, no confracting of the muscles, no tell tale in the eyes — nothing that would indicate what was passing within that brain.

“No, not better than we, in the sense that applies to all mankind ; not physically better; perhaps not morally better; but wealth has given them advantages for cultivating their intellects, it has given them time to devote to the higher accomplishments of social life — in a word, money gains them only in the estimation of those who look no father for real merit.”

Stella sighed as if a load had been removed from her heart.

“Than they are really no better than we.’* “Certainly not.”

“How do people get rich ? **

“ What a question! But it is naturaL People get rich by making money and saving it — that is, spending less than they make. Some people make their money by their own exertions ; others are born rich. Many of the wealthy young people of to-day, if they could see their grandfathers and grandmothers of sixty years ago, would see them tending a little shop somewhere, dealing out figs and cakes and cigars, stinting themselves that they might make each dollar beget another ; and thus they toiled and saved until they had amassed

AN ODD FELLOWS* STORY.

a fortune} and just when they should have begun to enjoy it, they died and left it to a thankless posterity/

Thankless posterity usually manages to make it fly,” cried Stella, laughing.

‘‘Yes, yes, my child; one generation saves money and the next one spends it.”

“ I think I should preler to be the lucky one, charged with spending the money.’’

“ Perhaps it is better as it is — the rich are i.ot all happy. Envy and hate hides behind stone and brick as well as wooden walls, and pain follows man whithersoever he sets his foot.”

“ I know that must be true, for Miss Lucy said she had such a headache yesterday all day, and she was at a party the night before.”

” Yes, these parties are good headache generators. But what package is that you have?”

“ Oh, I forgot; it is a book Miss Lucy loaned me. She said it was very amusing.”

“ Then, as we haven’t much to do, you may read while I work — not too loud, as we should disturb Willie.”

Thus admonished Stella undid the wrappings of the book, admired the gilt binding, and began to read in a low but distinct tone. The title of the book was, “ Freaks on the Fells, or Three Months Rustication, by R. M. Ballentyne.” The book amused both, while it imparted some knowledge of the sports in the Highlands of Scotland. The tone of the book did much to impress upon Stella ' the truth of what her mother had just said, that Joy and happiness do not always find an abiding place under the roof of the wealthy.

Thus did the hours pass on until a bell in a neighboring steeple slowly and solemnly tolled the hour of ten o’clock. Another further off took up the refrain and carried it on^-and so it went from tower to tower, until the slowest, laziest clock in town had got in its “ ten strike.”

“ Stella closed the book, and mother and daughter were about to retire, when there came a great noise from the back yard as if some one was falling down the rear stairfWay, followed by piercing screams from a female voice. Both the women held their breaths, the younger turning pale and trembling violently. Then there came the clatter of swiftly running feet, as people passing on the street entered the court and hurried around the house to learn the cause.

Chapter III

After a few moments spent, half hesitating what course to pursue, Mrs. Gibbons ventured forth to the top of the stairway to ascertain, if possible, the cause of such an unusual noise.

Around the foot of the stair was gathered a motley group of citizens, male and female. The crowd seemed to be attracted to some one who lay upon the ground. Presently the throng drew back a little, and two men bore an apparently lifeless form up the stairway. The rabble would doubtless have followed, had they not been kept back by the police. As the little procession passed through the hall Mrs. Gibbons saw that it was a poor wretch by the name of Whalen, who had fallen down in a drunken fit, and was to all appearances, in a dying condition.

The ward physician had been sent for, and having arrived, was giving such directions as he deemed most likely to bring Whalen to consciousness. Following close behind, and with the true devotion of woman to fallen man, was Mrs. Whalen, giving vent to her sorrows in the loudest lamentations.

Mrs. Gibbons followed, hoping to be of some service in consoling her neighbor in the hour of sorrow. Alas I what poor comforters are we all in the presence of the grim monster Death when he seizes a human victim I

Whalen had led a long .e of debauchery. Often and often had he come home in the mood to mistreat her who was at this moment the sincerestof mourners over his sad fate. With all the ill usage she had received, and with all the scars that, during a long series of years, a brute had inflicted upon her, she would at that moment have laid down her own life that his.

KO MONEY;

tl

worthless as it was, might be spared. Such is the love of woman.