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JOHN PARMELEE'S 
 
 CURSE 
 
 BY 
 
 JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " BEATRIX RANDOLPH,' " DUST," " FOR- 
 TUNE'S FOOL," "GARTH," '• SEBASTIAN 
 STROME," ETC., ETC. 
 
 > ) ) > J 
 
 CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited, 
 739 & 741 Broadway, New York. 
 
Copyright, 
 
 1886, 
 
 By O. M. DUNHAM. 
 
 c c c c 
 c c c c. 
 
 ■c, c c c-- ^ ' " 
 
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 C C c I c C I 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHAT had become of John Parmelee? 
 The table had been set for supper half 
 an hour ago, and the supper itself was keeping 
 warm in the kitchen ; but John had not returned. 
 All men are not punctual ; but those who are 
 punctual are under special obligations to main- 
 tain their reputation ; and John, whatever his 
 other faults, had the reputation of being as 
 punctual as a pendulum. 
 
 He was now about forty-five years of age. 
 Man and boy, he had spent his life in the little 
 town of Tisdale. He was the son of a poor 
 clergyman, and had attended the local school 
 until he was fourteen. His father had cher- 
 ished the ambition of sending him to college, 
 but the good man died, and John was left 
 mainly to his own resources. 
 
 m27()63 
 
10 JOim PARMELEE'S CVRSE. 
 
 He was a clever and pleasant boy, somewhat 
 inclined to fun and frolic, but honest and truth- 
 ful, and possessed of a good knowledge of 
 accounts, and aptitude for business. A friend 
 of his father, a director of the Tisdale Bank, 
 gave him a position as office boy in that time- 
 honored institution. This was the beginning 
 of John's career. 
 
 From office boy he was promoted to be 
 junior clerk. There were five clerkships, and, 
 one after another, John filled them all. Some- 
 times the promotion, sometimes the dismissal, 
 sometimes the death of the several incumbents 
 opened the way to the younger man's succes- 
 sion ; but he always deserved what he got, and 
 nobody grudged it to him. And when, at last, 
 after fifteen years' service, he rose to the import- 
 ant position of cashier of the bank, every 
 body felt it to be the proper reward of his faith- 
 ful and honorable apprenticeship. 
 
 He was not only a trustworthy servant of the 
 bank, but he was a great social favorite as well. 
 John Parmelee had a fine musical talent, a gift 
 of mimicry, and a sense of humor. His voice 
 was a rich baritone, his face was 'winning and 
 
JOHN PA RMELEE 'S CURSE. 1 1 
 
 handsome, his bearing manly and unpretend- 
 ing. As soon as you met him you began to 
 like him, and on a better acquaintance he 
 inspired affection. He was born to be popular, 
 and yet he was a model of business regularity 
 and method. 
 
 No wonder, then, that Tisdale thought highly 
 of him. He was the soul and inspiration of 
 the picnics, of the sociables, of the glee clubs, 
 and of the amateur theatricals. He could 
 imitate the leading political orators and lec- 
 turers of the day in a manner so truthful and 
 yet so comic as to convulse his hearers with 
 laughter. If he ascended the desk at a charity 
 fair auction, the goods sold by his humorous 
 and persuasive tongue brought their full value. 
 Wherever he went mirth and good humor went 
 with him ; only at his desk in the bank was he 
 grave and reticent. Social natures like his are 
 apt to be weak on the side of moral principle, 
 but Parmelee, though not a professed teeto- 
 taler, was scarce ever known to drink a glass of 
 wine, and he smoked not more than a couple 
 of pipes of tobacco a day. As for the darker 
 vices, he had no trace of them. 
 
1 2 JOHN PA R ME LEE ' S CURSE. 
 
 There seemed to be only one thing necessary 
 to complete John Parmelee's prosperity, and 
 that was a lovely and loving wife. 
 
 For a long time, however, John himself 
 betrayed no symptoms of feeling this deficiency. 
 He was agreeable to all women, old or young ; 
 but to no one woman in particular. He seemed 
 to prefer the companionship of children to that 
 of older people, and certainly all children loved 
 him. Impatient critics began to remark that 
 Parmelee liked every body so well, that he 
 would never care very much for any body. 
 
 But (as is usually the case with impatient 
 critics) they were mistaken. John was to meet 
 his fate like other men, and in due time the 
 meeting took place. It was three years before 
 John's appointment as cashier of the Tisdale 
 Bank ; he was then twenty-seven. 
 
 The affair occurred in this way: Old Judge 
 Blackmer, a former resident of Tisdale, returned 
 thither from the Pacific Coast, where he had 
 gone years before for the benefit of his wife's 
 health. Mrs. Blackmer was dead, and the judge, 
 with his two children, came to spend his declin- 
 ing years in the town which gave him birth, 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 13 
 
 The children were a girl and a boy. The 
 latter, Harold by name, was a dark com- 
 plexioned, handsome, talented young fellow 
 some twenty-one years of age, but he had not 
 been long in Tisdale before he became known 
 as a pretty hard character. He had all the 
 vices that John Parmelee lacked, except that 
 he, too, seldom drank. On the other hand, he 
 rivaled John to some extent in his social 
 attractiveness. He dazzled and entertained 
 the men and fascinated the women. They had 
 heard that he was naughty, and they were cer- 
 tain that he was nice. He was a dashing rider, 
 a brilliant talker, and had any amount of cool 
 confidence and daring. Altogether, he was a 
 very common American type, the sort of man 
 out of which our gamblers and adventurers are 
 evolved. 
 
 The daughter, Sallie, resembled her brother 
 in beauty only. In nature she was tender, 
 sensitive and affectionate, with a certain refined 
 and innocent sensuousness which made her 
 shrink from all pain, mental or physical, and 
 luxuriate in the aesthetic side of life. She was 
 younger than Harold by two years ; she adored 
 
14 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 him as the noblest of men, and believed all the 
 lies he told her. 
 
 The judge was disposed to be a little exclu- 
 sive, and it was some months before Sallie and 
 John Parmelee met. With John it was love at 
 first sight, and any body might have noticed it. 
 Upon Sallie the effect was less clearly legible. 
 Such things sink too deeply into a woman to 
 be easily discerned outside. 
 
 However, they met again and again. John's 
 infatuation was a by-word in the town ; and, as 
 for Sallie, it was remarked that, if she did not 
 love him, at any rate she showed no signs of 
 loving any one else better. 
 
 Meanwhile, the attitude of Harold Blackmer 
 was observed with some interest. Would he 
 oppose the match, or would he favor it? His 
 influence with his sister was so great that it was 
 thought he would be able to decide the matter 
 as he wished. The old judge was not taken 
 into consideration at all. Although an 
 eminently respectable personage, he had nearly 
 reached the limit of threescore and ten, and his 
 attention was supposed to be chiefly occupied by 
 his projected History of the American Bench. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 15 
 
 Harold, at first, showed a disposition to 
 sneer at John Parmelee. He called him a 
 mountebank and a usurer, and cast reflections 
 upon his birth and education. But after a 
 while, and without appareut cause, he changed 
 his tone. He praised John as a man of genius 
 and a true American, and declared that the girl 
 would be lucky who should call him husband. 
 
 Such being the case, no one was surprised 
 when the engagement of Sallie Blackmer to 
 John Parmelee was announced. No one, that 
 is, except the old judge, who forthwith made it 
 known that the marriage between John and 
 Sallie should not take place until the former 
 should have achieved a position befitting an 
 alliance so much beyond his station. 
 
 John accepted the situation with his wonted 
 good humor and enterprise. He worked hard, 
 and in two years from the date of the engage- 
 ment he was appointed cashier of the bank. 
 The judge then gave a reluctant consent to the 
 nuptials ; but a week afterward he died, with 
 his great history still in its early chapters, and 
 with scarce any available funds in his bank 
 account. He had been living on his capital. 
 
l6 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 When the house and furniture had been sold, 
 and the debts paid, there remained fifteen thou- 
 sand dollars, of which Harold got ten and 
 Sallie five. Sallie and John were married, and 
 Harold took up his quarters in a couple of 
 rooms in Parmelee's house. 
 
 This house was a part of the bank building, 
 and communicated with the bank office by means 
 of an iron door, of which the cashier kept the 
 key. Such an arrangement is not uncommon 
 in small towns ; and of course implied that the 
 bank had unlimited confidence in its cashier. 
 
 For a time all went well. Then there began 
 to be rumors of dissensions between the 
 brothers in law. Nothing official could be 
 learned on the subject ; but there can be no 
 harm in stating, here, that Harold fell into the 
 habit of frequently borrowing sums of money 
 from John, and not repaying them ; that John 
 finally protested ; that Sallie thought her hus- 
 band was too harsh ; and that repeated family 
 jars were the result. 
 
 They culminated at last in Harold's leaving 
 Parmelee's house and betaking himself (as was 
 supposed) to New York, He left a rather maU 
 
JOHX PARMELEE ' S CURSE. 1 7 
 
 odorous reputation behind him, though many- 
 persons still declared him to be a fine fellow. 
 Others affirmed that he was even guilty of dis- 
 honesty, and would surely end badly. 
 
 At all events, it was from this point that John 
 Parmelee's misfortunes began. A few weeks 
 after Harold's departure, Mrs. Parmelee was 
 taken ill, and a daughter was born prematurely. 
 The child lived, but the mother's health was 
 seriously impaired. She did not leave her bed 
 for several months ; the child, too, was ailing. 
 When the mother got about again, she suffered 
 so much nervous pain that her physicians pre- 
 scribed small doses of morphia. The pain was 
 gradually relieved ; and John, always hopeful, 
 began to think that his trials were near their 
 end. 
 
 Herein he was egregiously mistaken. Worse 
 — much worse than he had ever dreamed of — 
 was in store for him. 
 
II. 
 
 THE tragic passage of John Parmelee's life 
 did not come immediately, however. 
 They were preceded by a period of compara- 
 tive peace and happiness. Human existence is 
 full of these contrasts, which seem almost 
 deh'berately artistic in their merciless light and 
 shade. 
 
 Mrs. Parmelee gave little tea parties once a 
 week, which were attended by the best people 
 in town. John's dramatic capabilities were 
 brought into play ; his wife played and sang an 
 accompaniment to his songs: the evening gen- 
 erally ended with a little dance, and everybody 
 went away delighted. The young couple were 
 in great social demand, and could have gone 
 out every night in the week if they had wished 
 to. They were the cause of unwonted gayety 
 in Tisdale. 
 
 But, though they enjoyed all this, they 
 enjoyed each other's society best of all. They 
 
were never so well contented as when they 
 were alone together in their little sitting room, 
 talking over their affairs, and their plans and 
 hope's for the future. 
 
 John — so his wife declared — would one day- 
 become president of the bank, and immensely 
 wealthy. Sallie herself would be a great lady, 
 the patroness of innumerable benevolent institu- 
 tions. Their daughters should all be fair and 
 good; their sons brave and brilliant. The little 
 daughter who had already come to them — 
 Sophie was her name — was even now as good 
 as so small a baby could be expected to be ; but 
 she was only the beginning. 
 
 *We shall never have a daughter so sweet as 
 you, though, love !" John would say to his wife ; 
 and, "we may have noble boys, but never one 
 to equal my darling husband !" Sallie would 
 reply. The world seemed kind and generous 
 to them, because they saw it through each 
 other's eyes. 
 
 During the following spring, Sallie's health 
 again failed ; she was not ill in bed, but her 
 nerves were out of order, she suffered neuralgic 
 pains, and the evening entertainments had to 
 
20 JOHN- PARMELEES CURSE, 
 
 be given up. John wanted to consult a physi- 
 cian, but his wife refused ; she was sure she 
 would be well again when the summer set in. 
 
 Meantime, she resumed her doses of morphia, 
 which she had discontinued during the winter. 
 Their immediate effect was always to banish 
 pain and induce quiet sleep. The matter 
 seemed so simple that Sallie, who knew nothing 
 of the evil latent in the drug, resorted to it 
 more and more often until she became uneasy 
 if a day passed without its use. 
 
 As for her husband, he had never been ill in 
 his life, and his knowledge of medicine was 
 very limited. But love sharpened his percep- 
 tions ; he saw that his wife's moods were more 
 unequal than they used to be ; that she was 
 unnaturally depressed at certain times, and as 
 unnaturally stimulated at others ; at last he put 
 two and two together, and urged her to give up 
 the use of her favorite nostrum. 
 
 She was impressed by his remonstrances, and 
 promised compliance. For a while she kept 
 her word. But it was no such easy matter 
 as she had fancied. The longing was ever 
 present and ever increasing. Sallie had always 
 
jOHY PARMELEE'S CURSE. 21 
 
 been indulged by her father, and had never 
 before been subjected to the discipline of suffer- 
 ing. At length she was unable to hold out 
 longer against temptation ; but she shrank from 
 openly opposing her husband, and therefore 
 resumed her habit secretly. 
 
 From the moment this concealment began, 
 the issue was only a question of time. The 
 more she yielded, the greater became her crav- 
 ing ; by and by she substituted pure opium for 
 morphia, and her nervous system and bodily 
 functions became totally deranged. 
 
 John Parmelee could not but notice the 
 change in his wife's aspect and condition. He 
 doubted, feared and watched, and was at last 
 confronted with the revelation that his beauti- 
 ful and beloved Sallie was a confirmed opium 
 eater. 
 
 Under the stimulus of his passionate grief 
 and entreaties she once more strove to reclaim 
 herself. But her strength, both of body and 
 mind, was by this time seriously impaired ; and 
 the effort failed. 
 
 Few things are more difficult to shake off 
 than an established tyranny of this kind. 
 
S 2 JOHN PARMELEE * S CURSE, 
 
 Sallie's relapse reduced her to a more hopeless 
 state than ever ; for her degradation preyed 
 upon her mind, and the anguish thus created 
 could be assuaged only by further indulgences. 
 The bloom of her youthful beauty faded and 
 disappeared ; her native grace and charm were 
 dimmed ; she became moody in temper and 
 careless in dress. She would sit, for hours at a 
 time, at the window, gazing out into the street, 
 saying nothing and apparently seeing nothing. 
 
 At other times, she would clasp her baby to 
 her bosom and break forth into tremulous 
 moans and sobs. Often she would stand mut- 
 tering to herself and drawing her fingers con- 
 stantly through her long, dark hair. 
 
 John watched her and prayed for her, with 
 agony in his heart, and the hours which he was 
 obliged to spend at his desk in the bank were 
 continually haunted by the dread of some 
 calamity. 
 
 The calamity came at last. 
 
 One morning, in the early dawn, John awoke 
 suddenly from a deep sleep. He perceived at 
 once that his wife was not by his side. For a 
 few moments he lay listening intently for the 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 23 
 
 sound of her footsteps in the outer-room, but 
 all was silent. 
 
 He got up, benumbed with fear, and his eye 
 fell upon a fold of white paper, fastened to the 
 pin-cushion on the dressing table. He unfolded 
 it, and, carrying it to the window, read the few 
 heart-breaking words of farewell which Sallic 
 had left behind her. 
 
 ** My darling husband," she wrote, '' you will 
 be happier, in the end, that I am gone. I am 
 not fit to be your wife or Sophie's mother. I 
 am not myself ; I am not the girl you married ; 
 an evil spirit has power over me. You pity me 
 now ; soon you would despise me, and at last 
 you would hate me. It is better to go before 
 that comes. Do not think that I shall be very 
 miserable. My mind is too dull for that, and 
 my heart is too lifeless ; and then, when I take 
 my opium, all good and evil become like a 
 dream. I carry with me what money I need 
 and the jewels my mother left me. Love my 
 baby for me and let her think thaj I am dead. 
 And so I shall be, my darling husband, before 
 we m.eet again. Your Sallie." 
 
 John Parmelee dressed himself in silence, 
 
24 JOn.V PARAf ELBE'S CURSE. 
 
 called the nurse and bade her look after the 
 baby, Sophie ; packed his valise, and then went 
 to the house of the bank president. That dig- 
 nitary happened to be an early riser, and came 
 down in his dressing gown. John set his teeth 
 and told him the facts, and asked for a month's 
 leave of absence. 
 
 It was the first vacation he had ever asked 
 for, and could not be refused, though the presi- 
 dent remarked that John would do better to 
 put the matter into the hands of detectives. 
 ''There can be no detective so keen as a man 
 who loves his wife," replied Paimelee; and 
 possibly he was right. He set out immediately 
 and nothing more was heard of him until the 
 month had expired. 
 
 On that day he reappeared, as he had gone, 
 alone ; but he was no longer the same John 
 Parmelee as formerly. The sunshine and frolic 
 were gone out of him. He had found no trace 
 of his wife; she had vanished as utterly as the 
 flame of an extinguished lamp. In the search 
 for her he had finally used every m.eans availa- 
 ble, and had expended the savings of his life- 
 time ; but all was in vain. So the bank cashier 
 
/(9/AV PARMELEES CURSE. 25 
 
 had returned to his duties and to his little 
 daughter. 
 
 It was the general belief that Sallie Parme- 
 lee was dead. But her husband would never 
 consent to accept this view. He always in- 
 sisted that she still lived ; and that at the last 
 — at the long last — she would come back to him. 
 And he entertained a curious suspicion (of 
 which, however, he spoke but seldom) that she 
 was being kept out of sight by some enemy of 
 his, and that this accounted for the failure to 
 discover her. 
 
 But who was an enemy of John Parmelee ? 
 There was only one person who could possibly 
 answer that description ; and that was his 
 brother-in-law, Harold Blackmer. John men- 
 tioned no names, however ; and before many 
 months the entire m.atter ceased to occupy the 
 Tisdale mind, and was seldom alluded to by 
 any one. 
 
 Parmelee's wedded life had lasted barely five 
 years, and he had not yet reached the prime of 
 manhood ; yet, in less than a year thereafter, 
 he was already looking and speaking like an 
 elderly man. He had the sympathy and respect 
 
26 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 of the community, and he had the companion- 
 ship of his little Sophie ; but his loving heart 
 was always wandering through the world in 
 quest of his lost wife. He did not become hard 
 or bitter; bitterness can have no part in such a 
 nature as his ; but his once buoyant spirit was 
 broken, and his smile suggested tears rather 
 than mirth. 
 
 He kept to his duties at the bank with 
 a mechanical regularity and faithfulness that 
 were almost painful ; but he probably found 
 some relief in this application, and once, 
 when the directors offered him a holiday and 
 to pay his expenses on a trip abroad, he 
 thanked them, but shook his head. 
 
 *' I couldn't get on without my work," he 
 said ; *' and besides — who knows ? — while I was 
 away, my Sallie might come back ! " 
 
 He was sadly changed, indeed ; but he had 
 not reached the darkest points of his fortunes, 
 even yet. 
 
III. 
 
 THE baby, Sophie Parmelee, grew up to be 
 an old-fashioned little girl, with dark, 
 wavy hair and black solemn eyes. She did 
 what she could, as the years went by, with her 
 small hands and immense love, to supply the 
 place of both wife and daughter to her father. 
 
 He was fond of her, and always gentle and 
 kind toward her ; but he did not notice her 
 much, or seem to realize that she was be- 
 ginning to have thoughts and sentiments of 
 her own. She was not a quick child, and he 
 thought her rather stupid. She went to school 
 and studied her lessons conscientiously ; but 
 her teachers gave no flattering report of her 
 intellectual progress. As to the development 
 of her heart and affections, the teachers neither 
 knew nor said any thing. 
 
 Nevertheless, after making all allowances, 
 there was a feeling among John's friends that 
 there was something foreign to his nature in 
 
28 JOHN PARMELEE' S CURSE. 
 
 his indifference toward Sophie. He had always 
 been fond of children ; but for this child of his 
 own flesh and blood, he evinced little more 
 than a kindly toleration. Could there be any 
 unknown cause at the bottom of this behavior ? 
 
 His ambition was gone ; he never looked or 
 hoped beyond the day's work ; his vigorous 
 health declined ; and all this might be ascribed 
 to the effects of his loss ; but, in addition, some 
 insidious physical disease seemed to be at 
 work upon his constitution. What was it? 
 
 When questioned upon the subject, he 
 always declared that nothing was the matter 
 with him. 
 
 " I'm getting older, of course," he would say, 
 with a sad laugh ; '' the youngest of us is doing 
 that ; but I never was sounder in my life ! " 
 And with that he would escape as speedily as 
 possible from his friendly inquisitors. 
 
 His friends were right, however. Something 
 was wrong with John Parmelee ; and it was 
 something which the acutest of them did not 
 suspect. 
 
 His face grew pale and haggard ; his eyes 
 were restless and bright ; he would start and 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 29 
 
 tremble nervously for slight cause ; and occa- 
 sionally he would be caught thinking aloud — a 
 trick heretofore unknown in him. 
 
 But he uttered no complaint, and made no 
 confidence ; he guarded his secret, whatever it 
 was, as cunningly and anxiously as if it were 
 the bloodstain of a murder. He believed that 
 no one guessed it. But there was one who had 
 known it almost from the beginning ; and that 
 one was the person whom he would have sus- 
 pected last of all ; the one who was nearest to 
 him and who loved him best, — his Tittle 
 daughter Sophie. 
 
 Each day he stolidly performed his allotted 
 work. But each night, in the solitude of his 
 room, when Sophie had gone to her room, and 
 was (as he fancied) asleep, he would lock the 
 doors and draw the curtains, and hasten, with 
 trembling hands, to revel in his one fatal indul- 
 gence, as a miser revels in his gold. 
 
 Alas ! for John Parmelee. 
 
 The constant grief and dark monotony of his 
 life had broken down, at last, the barriers of 
 his will and self-respect. From the anguish of 
 mournful thoughts and sad surmises, he had 
 
30 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 sought refuge in the false repose of artificial 
 dreams and visions. 
 
 Perhaps it was some perverted instinct of 
 loyalty to his lost wife that had prompted him 
 to call down upon his own head the calamity 
 that had ruined her ; and, since he could not 
 trace her actual footsteps, to follow in the 
 broad trail of her degradation. 
 
 Be that as it may, the truth must be told — 
 that John Parmelee had himself fallen under 
 the deadening dominion of the opium habit. 
 It was the one selfish and cowardly act of a 
 man otherwise good and pure. 
 
 It may be said, in his defense, that he had 
 persuaded himself it would not prevent — possi- 
 bly he may have fancied that it would facili- 
 tate — the discharge of his duties to his employ- 
 ers; and that his concealment of the practice 
 was as much due to his regard for Sophie as to 
 his own sense of shame. He did not wish her 
 to be overshadowed by the disgrace of his 
 self-indulgence; and he did not realize that he 
 was, meanwhile, shutting her out from that en- 
 joyment of his love and confidence which was 
 all she cared for. 
 
JOHN PARMELEKS CURSE. 31 
 
 But it was in keeping with the child's shy- 
 ness and reticence not to allude to the knowl- 
 edge which she possessed, since he did not 
 allude to it. She respected his desire for se- 
 crecy without understanding it. Doubtless she 
 did not comprehend the moral bearings of the 
 case, and believed that whatever the father 
 whom she loved did must be right. But she 
 saw clearly enough that the habit rendered his 
 behavior at times strange and uncertain ; that 
 it robbed his character of its depth and trans- 
 parency ; and that in various indescribable 
 ways it made him childlike and helpless, and 
 unfit to take care of himself. 
 
 Therefore, effectively yet unobtrusively, she 
 lavished upon him the most watchful and ten- 
 der care. Often, without his suspecting it, 
 she aided him to conceal his vice from others, 
 and even upon occasion affected to be blind 
 herself to what she saw too well. So far from 
 resenting his lack of confidence in her, she led 
 him to think that she was unconscious of it. 
 
 On the evening on which this story opens, 
 Sophie, as has been intimated, prepared the 
 supper, and sat down in her chair by the fire to 
 
32 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 await her father's arrival. It was his custom, 
 after his duties at the bank were over, to attend 
 to whatever business he might have in the town, 
 and then go to the post-office ; after which he 
 always came home, arriving at exactly six 
 o'clock. But on this occasion he was already 
 half an hour late, and Sophie began to be 
 anxious. 
 
 A moment later, however, she saw his figure 
 pass the window, and heard his step upon the 
 threshold. As he entered the room she rose 
 from her chair and looked earnestly at him. 
 She perceived at once that he was pre-occupied 
 and agitated. 
 
 He did not notice her, or seem to see her. 
 He took off his hat and overcoat, and threw 
 them on the sofa ; then dropped into a chair, 
 pulled an open letter from his pocket and began 
 to study it with a troubled countenance, ever 
 and anon passing his fingers nervously over his 
 mouth and chin. 
 
 Sophie had opened the kitchen door, and was 
 bringing out the supper and putting it on the 
 table. Meanwhile her father's self commun- 
 ings formed themselves into audible words. 
 
JOIiy PARMRLEF/S CURSE. I'l^ 
 
 " That handwriting ! " he muttered, staring 
 at the letter ; '' it's disguised, of course ; but it 
 may be hers — it must be ! She doesn't want 
 me to know she's alive. Ah, Sallie, Sallie ! as 
 if I shouldn't have felt it, if you were dead ! 
 
 '' ' They will attempt it to-night,' she writes. 
 Who? Harold, of course. Don't I know what 
 he wanted to do whe« he was living here? 
 But how should she . . . ? She must be with 
 him ! She has discovered his schemes, and 
 writes to warn me. Heaven bless her ! She 
 thinks of me — she loves me still ! She has not 
 forgotten me ! 
 
 " But to be with him — to be in his power, per- 
 haps ! What a fate ! I must save her ! " 
 
 He half rose from his chair, then sank back 
 in it again. 
 
 " But the bank! " he said. "Ay, the bank ! 
 I must save that first ! " 
 
 ** Papa," said Sophie, quietly, from the table, 
 " supper is ready." 
 
 He looked up with a start. ** Supper? Why, 
 so it is ! Sophie, dear, I didn't see you. Come 
 and give papa a kiss." She came to him, 
 and as he embraced her she threw her arms 
 
34 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 round his neck and whispered in his ear; 
 " Papa, darling papa, I love you ! " 
 
 A smile shone in his face, but passed away 
 after a moment; he seated himself at the table 
 and began to eat with the same pre-occupied air 
 as before. 
 
 Presently he stopped, and began thinking 
 aloud again. ♦ 
 
 *' It won't do to tell the directors ! If they 
 caught him they would get hold of Sallie, too; 
 and my innocent darling would be dragged into 
 a police court ! No — no ! I must manage this 
 affair alone. Let me think ! Why not lie in 
 wait for him, and when he comes — well, if it 
 comes to a fight, I'm a better man than he is, 
 still! Then tell him I'll spare him, if he'll 
 show me where Sallie is ! He'll do it — of course 
 he will ! any thing to escape ! Ay, but he may 
 bring others with him, and they may be armed. 
 Let me think !" 
 
 He sank into a brown study once more. 
 
 " Papa," said Sophie, '* may I sit up in this 
 room and read to-night ? I'm not sleepy." 
 
 ''Sit up and read!" he exclaimed, rousing 
 himself and staring at her. " What an idea ! 
 
JOHI^ PARMELEE'S CUkSE. 35 
 
 You get too little sleep as it is. No, no! You 
 must go to bed right after supper, dear ; to- 
 night especially." 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 •' I have it ! " he said, suddenly leaning back 
 in his chair. '' I have it ! Of course ! Why 
 didn't I think of it before. The money will be 
 secure ; and, once I'm sure of that, let me alone 
 to deal with a dozen Harolds! " 
 
 He got up from the table, took a large key 
 from his pocket, and went to the iron door 
 already mentioned, which gave access through 
 the partition to the bank office, where the safe 
 was kept. He opened this door and passed 
 through it into the bank. 
 
 What he was about to do was doubtless not 
 the wisest or the best thing to be done. But 
 one of the most unfailing effects of opium is to 
 unsettle the judgment and to warp the moral 
 sense. 
 
IV. 
 
 AFTER the lapse of ten minutes John Par- 
 melee returned through the doorway, 
 locking the iron door behind him. He carried 
 under his arm a brown paper parcel, about 
 a foot in length, and eight inches in width 
 and thickness. 
 
 Putting back the dishes from one side of the 
 supper table he placed the bundle upon it, and 
 resumed his chair. But his pre-occupied man- 
 ner had now left him. 
 
 " Sophie," he said, " lock the front and kitchen 
 doors, pull down all the window shades, and, if 
 any one should knock, give no answer. Papa 
 must not be disturbed." 
 
 Sophie did as she was bid. When the last 
 shade had been drawn, her father untied the 
 bundle. There was disclosed a quantity of 
 papers, finely engraved with letters and figures 
 in black, green and gold ; and several packages 
 of bank notes of hicrh denominations. All 
 
JOB?^ PARMELEES CURSE. 37 
 
 these he examined carefully, one by one, refer- 
 ring every moment to a written list on the 
 table beside him. This examination lasted 
 a considerable time, and seemed to be satis- 
 factory. 
 
 He then remade the parcel, tying it up care- 
 fully. 
 
 Sophie, meanwhile, had cleared the table, 
 and had then established herself in her low 
 chair by the fireside, with a book in her lap. 
 
 Parmelee remained for a while in meditation, 
 with his eyes fixed upon the bundle. At length 
 he drew a long breath, sat erect, and spoke to 
 his daughter: 
 
 *' Come here, darling," he said ; ''papa wants 
 to talk to you." 
 
 She came at once, and stood beside him. He 
 put his arm round her, seated her on his knee, 
 and kissed her cheeks. 
 
 " Sophie," he began, '' I'm going to let you 
 into a secret. It's important that some one 
 besides myself should know it ; and I can con- 
 fide in no better person than my little girl. 
 You may not be very clever; but I know you 
 are faithful and brave, and that papa can trust 
 
3^ JOHN PARMELEE'S CVRSE. 
 
 you. But you must not let any body know, 
 unless I give you leave. Do you promise? " 
 
 Sophie lifted her great black eyes to his for 
 a moment, while her cheeks flushed. 
 
 " Yes," said she. 
 
 " That's right ! " he returned. " Now listen. 
 The package you see there contains a great 
 deal of money in notes and bonds and securi- 
 ties — more than fifty-seven thousand dollars' 
 worth." 
 
 " Is it our money? " the child inquired. 
 
 *' No, it is not. It is twice as much as papa 
 has earned in all his lifetime. It belongs to the 
 bank's depositors ; and the bank will hold me 
 responsible if any thing should happen to it. 
 Do you understand ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said again. 
 
 •* Now, Sophie," he went on. " Papa has 
 received a letter this evening, without any 
 name signed to it, but which I believe was writ- 
 ten by a person whom I love very much. The 
 letter says that some wicked people are going 
 to try to get this money out of the safe in the 
 bank to-night, and carry it away; and tells me 
 to be on my guard." 
 
JOII^' PAl^MELEE'S CUkSE. 39 
 
 '* Do you mean robbers, papa ? ' demanded 
 the child, in a low tone. 
 
 " Yes, robbers ! Well, ordinarily I should 
 report the matter to the directors, and they, if 
 they saw fit, would put policemen on guard, to 
 catch the robbers if they came. But, in this 
 case, I have reason to think that to do so would 
 get an innocent person — the person who wrote 
 the letter — into trouble. So I am going to try 
 to manage it myself, without telling the direc- 
 tors at all." 
 
 Sophie looked up and nodded her head, with 
 a look of solemn intelligence on her little face. 
 
 " I have taken the money out of the safe, 
 as you see," he resumed, ''so that, even if the 
 robbers open the safe in spite of me, they 
 will find nothing ; and I am going to hide it 
 away in a secret place which no one will know 
 of but you and I." 
 
 " Will the robbers kill you, papa ? " asked the 
 child, with a little tremor in her voice. 
 
 " I guess not ! " he replied, with a laugh. 
 " They will probably be so much frightened, 
 when they see me, that they will be only too 
 glad to be allowed to get away. Still, some- 
 
4^ JO//.V PAkMniEE'B CUkSE, 
 
 thing might happen ; and in case it should — if 
 I were to he prevented in any way from telling 
 the directors myself where the money is hid- 
 den, then my little Sophie's part in the affair 
 will come in. You must take the president, or 
 Mr. Tyrrel, to the secret place, and tell them 
 what I have told you. Do you think you could 
 manage that for me ? " 
 
 " I'm sure you mean that they will kill you ! " 
 said the child falteringly. 
 
 " Pooh ! what an idea ! No, no ; but if I shall 
 be called away for any reason, I shall depend 
 upon you to guard that package — never to let 
 it go out of your reach — till I come back, or 
 till the directors ask you for it. That would be 
 helping papa very much. Will you try, my 
 darling ? " 
 
 " I would rather die than not help you," said 
 Sophie, and a tear ran down her cheek and 
 dropped on her hand. 
 
 ** You are a good little girl," said her father, 
 smiling at her, and stroking her thick dark 
 hair. 
 
 Sophie rested her head on his shoulder. She 
 had never felt so unhappy and so happy, both 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CUJiSE. 4I 
 
 at once. Her father had seldom spoken to her 
 so intelligibly and so tenderly as now ; he 
 seemed more like himself than he had done for 
 a long time. But the thought of his danger 
 filled her throat with tears till it ached, and 
 made her heart swell. 
 
 "And now you shall see the hiding place!" 
 said he, getting up and taking the bundle. 
 
 He went to a spot on the left of the fire- 
 place and near the door of his bed-chamber. 
 Here he knelt down, unhooked a corner of the 
 carpet from its fastening, and turned it back. 
 
 A part of two adjoining planks of the floor 
 was thus revealed. A section, fifteen inches in 
 length, had been sawed through at each end. 
 Parmelee pried it up with the blade of his pen- 
 knife, and lifted it off like the lid of a box. 
 
 Beneath was a box-like cavity, empty, save 
 for a little dust. 
 
 "It was in this hiding-place that your mamma 
 and I used to keep our money and valuables — 
 when we had any ! ' said he ; and then he gave 
 a sigh. 
 
 He dropped the parcel into the cavity, which 
 contained it, with some room to spare. After 
 
42 JOHN- PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 replacing the section of plank and the carpet, 
 he rose to his feet slowly, and went and stood 
 with his back to the fire, and his head bent 
 downward. 
 
 He had never told Sophie any thing about 
 her mother; and the child's remembrance of 
 her was very vague. She did not know whether 
 she were dead or alive, or, if alive, what had 
 been the cause of her going away. She had 
 never ventured to ask for information on these 
 points, because she supposed that her father 
 would have told her, if he had wished her to 
 know. 
 
 But this evening he had addressed her in a 
 manner so different from his usual one that she 
 felt emboldened to ask him the questions that 
 had waited so long. She had reseated herself 
 in her little chair, and her eyes were fixed upon 
 the fire. 
 
 "Is mamma in heaven?" she inquired at 
 length. 
 
 John Parmelee started. 
 
 ** In heaven? No ! " he said; and, after a 
 pause, he added, " But if there is a hell upon 
 this earth, she must have been there ! " 
 
JOHN PARMELEKS CURSE. 43 
 
 " Is there a hell upon this earth, papa?" 
 
 Parmelee had always been a religious man, 
 and not disposed to speculate upon the dealings 
 of Providence with human beings. But the 
 merciless sword of fate had smitten deeply into 
 his soul, and he had known what desolation and 
 misery meant. 
 
 " Yes, Sophie, there is a hell upon this earth," 
 he replied; "and no other hell can be more 
 cruel and hopeless ! For it is a hell only for the 
 innocent, and not for the guilty." 
 
 "How did mamma get into it?" the child 
 asked. 
 
 " Your mamma was a lovely and beloved 
 woman," he answered, speaking slowly at first, 
 but gathering emphasis and energy as he went 
 on. " God made her beautiful, and gave her a 
 sweet and gentle nature. She harmed no one; 
 and one might have thought that her Creator 
 would have protected her from harm and deg- 
 radation. But He permitted a curse to fasten 
 itself upon her which ruined her in body and 
 mind ! She was without sin, yet a punishment 
 fit for the chief of sinners fell upon her ! It was 
 a devil, coming to her in the likeness of an 
 
44 JOHN FARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 angel with healing on its wings! It seemed to 
 bless her with a soothing sleep while it was cor- 
 rupting her with a lingering poison ! And I 
 was forced to stand by and see her slowly with- 
 ered and destroyed, without power to prevent 
 or soften a single pang ! Among men, even the 
 sternest justice has mercy enough to kill ; but 
 God, the all merciful, drove out this innocent 
 woman into the world, alone, to meet the scorn 
 and insults of the basest of His creatures. But 
 oh, Sallie, my own darling wife; I love you, and 
 I'll follow you ! I couldn't save you from the 
 curse, but I can share it ! My sweetheart ! my 
 poor girl ! Whatever depth of shame and misery 
 you may reach, you will find me there, to love 
 and reverence you ! " 
 
V. 
 
 SOPHIE stood gazing at her father with pale 
 cheeks and distended eyes. 
 
 His outburst had become almost savage in 
 its intensity, and it was evident that he had 
 soon become oblivious of the presence of his 
 little daughter. He paced up and down the 
 room, throwing up his arms and sobbing, at 
 last, in the extremity of his desolation. 
 
 She had never heard him speak such words 
 
 before. Nor must it be supposed that they 
 
 indicated the normal color of his thoughts. 
 
 But this was the subject upon which he had 
 
 brooded longest and felt most poignantly ; 
 and the excitement and suspense of hearing (as 
 
 he fancied) from his wife, added to the nervous 
 
 derangement consequent upon his indulgence, 
 
 had hurried him into unwonted expressions of 
 
 rebellion and blasphemy. 
 
 Finally, in his forgings about the room, he 
 
 came directly toward Sophie ; and as she 
 
46 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 moved to get out of his way, he perceived her, 
 and stopped short, pressing his hands against 
 his temples. 
 
 Gradually the wild expression in his eyes died 
 away; he stretched forth his hand and touched 
 her, as if to assure himself that she was flesh 
 and blood, and not a vision of his brain ; and 
 then he spoke in a husky but gentle tone : 
 
 *' Why do you look so scared, dear? Don't 
 mind what papa says or does. I sometimes 
 forget — I think I am somewhere else. There, 
 there ; I'm all right again now. But it's late ; 
 time for you to be in your room and asleep. 
 Good-night, little girl!" 
 
 *' Oh, papa, let me stay with you ! let me 
 have the curse, too ! " cried the child, with pas- 
 sionate earnestness, throwing her little arms 
 around him. *' If you leave me, I am all alone ; 
 there is nobody else to care for me ! " 
 
 ^' Leave you, darling? Leave my little 
 daughter? " he said, bending over and pressing 
 her to him. '' No, no, no ! we shall always be 
 together, Sophie — you and I ! And what do 
 you know of curses ? You shall never know, 
 please God ! You shall be my little guardian 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 47 
 
 angel, and then the curse will be afraid to come, 
 even to me ! Will you save me, Sophie ? And 
 mamma, too?" 
 
 Sophie could not answer in words ; she clung 
 to him and sobbed. 
 
 "Listen then, dear," he said, after a moment, 
 kneeling on one knee, so as to bring his face 
 on a level with hers ; " it shall be so ; you shall 
 save papa ; and afterward we will save mamma 
 together. Papa will be a better man for your 
 sake, and I will begin — " he hesitated — ** I will 
 begin to-morrow." 
 
 "You don't need to be better! You are 
 good already ! " sobbed Sophie, indignantly. 
 
 " I will begin to-morrow ! " he repeated. 
 And now go to bed, darling. I have something 
 to do, and I must be alone." 
 
 He followed her, with a smile, to the door of 
 her chamber, and closed it after her. 
 
 When he turned round, the expression of his 
 face had changed. He now wore an eager, 
 secret, and hungry look. 
 
 The hour at which he usually took his opium 
 had been long passed, and a fierce craving was 
 upon hirq. The promise of aniendment whicl] 
 
4^ JOHN PA R MELEE ' S C URSE. 
 
 he had made to Sophie, though it may have 
 been ambiguous to her comprehension, had a 
 definite meaning to John Parmelee ; it was a 
 promise, that, after to-night, he would break off 
 the habit. 
 
 But to-night was still before him, and partly 
 because it was to be the last, and partly in 
 order to fortify himself for the adventure which 
 awaited him further on, he made up his mind 
 to allow himself an extra large dose. 
 
 Muttering in an undertone, he walked with a 
 hurried step to a cupboard, unlocked it with a 
 key that he carried about him, and took down 
 from the top shelf a small metal box. 
 
 He then seated himself at the table and 
 opened the box with tremulous fingers. It con- 
 tained some lumps of a peculiar reddish brown 
 substance, from which emanated a singular 
 odor. 
 
 While he was preparing a portion of this 
 substance for consumption, John Parmelee 
 manifested such symptoms of ravenous impa- 
 tience as might be shown by a starving man in 
 the presence of savory food. When all was 
 ready he thrust the portion into his mouth, and, 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 49 
 
 hastening to the sofa, sank down upon it with 
 a long sigh of gratified appetite. 
 
 The opium eater's hour of bhss was come, — 
 the hour which prevails in the balance against 
 the disgrace and misery of a lifetime. 
 
 But the double dose which he had taken was 
 destined to have another effect than he had an- 
 ticipated. 
 
 The influence of the drug varies, within 
 certain limits, according to the temperament 
 and general condition of the consumer. But 
 there is always the possibility that, at some 
 moment, under special circumstances, the brain 
 may receive a shock which will occasion tem- 
 porary or permanent derangement, as the case 
 may be. 
 
 Some persons never undergo this experience ; 
 Parmalee had hitherto escaped it, but now his 
 time had come. 
 
 At first, a look of mere repose and content- 
 ment settled upon his features ; his arms rested 
 easily by his sides ; his attitude was relaxed 
 and indolent. So he lay, without movement 
 and with half closed eyes, for an hour or more. 
 
 Then by degrees his breathing became un- 
 
5° JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 even and audible ; his lips worked ; various ex- 
 pressions, frowns and half smiles, flitted across 
 his face. He began to utter incoherent words 
 in a muffled voice. At length these words 
 joined themselves together in consecutive sen- 
 tences. 
 
 '* She will come back!" he said. "I'll say: 
 * Come, Sallie, it has all been an evil dream ;^ 
 but it's over now ! ' She will come ; we are - 
 young yet ; we shall be happy — happier than 
 ever. And we'll never touch opium again — 
 never! I promised it for Sophie's sake. We 
 three will live together for years and years — 
 happy, blessed years! And Sallie and I will sing 
 our songs again. How sweet her voice was, and 
 how sweetly it mingled with mine! I must be- 
 gin practicing again ; it will never do for Sallie 
 to catch me out of tune ! " 
 
 He began to hum a little song, beginning, — 
 
 I loved my love last year ; 
 
 We met in the midst of June, — 
 
 But before he had finished the first stanza his 
 voice suddenly died away, and the next mo- 
 ment he started to his feet. 
 
 He stood motionless and as rigid as iron. 
 
JOHN PAkMELEE'S CURSE. 5l 
 
 His eyes were fixed staringly upon a point in 
 the room between the two windows. 
 
 There was no one there, but he saw some 
 one; and the expression of his face showed a 
 strange mingling of emotions, in which amaze- 
 ment and joy predominated. After a minute 
 he advanced a step, holding out his arms, then 
 paused and gazed intently. 
 
 " Sallie ! " he whispered. " Sallie — is that 
 you .'' 
 
 No answer came back from the emptiness of 
 the room. He changed his position a little, as 
 if following the movement of some object 
 toward the left. 
 
 "Why don't you speak to me?" he said. 
 ** Why don't you come to me ? What makes 
 you look so strange ? You haven't forgotten 
 me, love — your Jack — your own husband ? 
 Sallie .... Ah ! where is she ? — not gone ? — 
 not—" 
 
 He uttered a cry of alarm, and wheeled 
 about. But, immediately, he seemed to regain 
 his composure, though he breathed heavily. 
 
 "There you are again! and smiling, too! 
 She was only playing a trick on me — some of 
 
52 JOHM PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 your fun, wasn't it, Sallie ? But — you've beeil 
 away so long! and I — I've missed you so! 
 Such a weary time I've spent, love ! You must 
 comfort me a little first ; then play as many 
 jokes as you like ! " 
 
 He was moving slowly across the room, 
 seemingly following the apparition, which 
 retreated before him. Ever and anon he 
 stretched forth his hand, as if to grasp it ; but 
 it eluded him. Now it appeared to be entering 
 the bed-chamber, then to slip by him, and pass 
 in front of the fireplace ; next, it was at Sophie's 
 door; again, it had turned and flitted back to 
 the place where he first saw it. At times, he 
 would lose track of it altogether; but, before 
 the cry of dismay could pass his lips, the phan- 
 tom would reappear, and the strange pursuit 
 begin again. 
 
 It was pathetic, the hysteric earnestness with 
 which he kept up the chase ; because, to any 
 other senses than John Parmelee's, the room 
 was vacant of any presence save his own. 
 Every faculty of his mind and body was strained 
 upon a specter of his own disordered brain ; 
 but, in the ghastly world of opium, illusions 
 
JOH^ PAkMEL^E 'S CUkSE. 1% 
 
 have more than the force of substantial 
 things. 
 
 But all at once a ne\\^ change took place. 
 The delirious man was now facing the street 
 door, to the threshold of which the phantom 
 had retreated. His voice rose almost to a 
 scream. 
 
 *' You're not going, Sallie ? not going to leave 
 me again? — before speaking a word, or so much 
 as letting me touch your hand ! You can't 
 mean it in earnest ! I'll die if you desert me 
 — I've been near enough death as it is ! My 
 God ! She's waving me farewell — and going . . . 
 I'll not bear it ! Where you go, I'll follow, 
 lead me where you will ! " 
 
 He caught up his hat from the sofa, on which 
 he had flung it when entering, and rushed to 
 the door, just as the apparition seemed to pass 
 out of it. 
 
 The door was locked on the inside. Without 
 stopping to marvel at this, he unlocked it in 
 desperate haste, and was off at full speed down 
 the silent road. 
 
 The phantom fled before him ; but, save for 
 that, he was alone. 
 
VI. 
 
 SOPHIE, all this while, had not been asleep, 
 nor even abed. 
 
 She had at first wept silently; and then, 
 when no more tears would come, she had sat 
 huddled up on the bed, with her little fingers 
 clasped round her knees, like an East Indian 
 mummy, and thought about her father and her 
 mother, and about all the mystery and sadness 
 that had already entered into her brief life. 
 
 The words her father had repeated, "I will 
 begin to-morrow," kept occurring to her 
 memory ; she had not known exactly what he 
 meant by them ; but she hoped that he would 
 begin to be happier. Had she understood him 
 to mean that he would give up opium, she 
 might — young as she was — have been a little 
 skeptical. 
 
 Presently, her reveries were interrupted by 
 the sound of her father's voice, murmuring to 
 himself. There was nothing unusual in this; 
 
JOHN- PARMELEE'S CURSE. 55 
 
 she had heard the same thing ahnost every 
 night for years; and on several occasions, when 
 he had become more bewildered than usual, she 
 had led him to his room and stayed with him 
 until he fell asleep ; a fact of which, however, 
 he had retained no recollection the next 
 morning. 
 
 The present attack sounded to Sophie as if it 
 was going to be exceptionally severe. Her 
 father's voice rose to such a pitch of agitation 
 that she became uneasy, and began to debate 
 with herself whether or not she should go out 
 and try to quiet him. She had decided that 
 she would do so, and had already got off the 
 bed for that purpose, when, quite abruptly, the 
 sound ceased altogether, and a dead stillness 
 followed. 
 
 *' He must be better ; he will go to sleep 
 now," thought Sophie. 
 
 But the stillness had come so suddenly, and 
 was so absolute, that she still felt anxiety. The 
 paroxysms had generally subsided gradually ; 
 and her father would often pace the floor for a 
 long time before going to bed. But to-night 
 all demonstrations had ceased abruptly as the 
 
5^ JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 flow of water when the tap is turned off. What 
 could be the reason of it ? 
 
 Sophie waited a quarter of an hour before 
 making up her mind to look into the outer 
 room and see what was the matter. If her 
 father were awake and well, she knew he would 
 be displeased to find that she had disobeyed his 
 order to go to bed. But at length her anxiety 
 got the better of her ; she opened the door 
 softly, put forth her little head of dark shaggy 
 hair, and looked about. 
 
 Her father was certainly not in the sitting- 
 room. 
 
 " I suppose he has gone into his own room," 
 was her first thought. 
 
 She slipped out to investigate. The door of 
 her father's chamber was ajar ; but, when she 
 peeped in, the bed was empty. He was not 
 there. 
 
 The child's heart began to beat painfully, and 
 she stood intertwining her fingers nervously. 
 
 Then it occurred to her that he might have 
 returned to the bank by way of the iron door. 
 She went to the door, and tried it. It was 
 locked, and the key was in the lock. 
 
JOHN- PAR MELEE ' S CURSE. 5 7 
 
 What could have become of him? 
 
 She returned to the sitting-room, and then 
 she noticed, for the first time, that her father's 
 hat was no longer on the sofa, where she had 
 last seen it. 
 
 At the same moment, the thought of the rob- 
 bers flashed into her mind. What if they had 
 come in, and carried him away ! 
 
 She ran to the street door, which she remem- 
 bered having locked in obedience to her father's 
 request. It was unlocked ; but it must have 
 been unlocked from the inside, for there was 
 the key. Evidently, therefore, if he had gone 
 out it was of his own will. 
 
 The little girl felt like bursting into tears 
 again. But she controlled this impulse, sum- 
 moned all her strength and resolution, and 
 forced herself to think. 
 
 Two things were plain : That her father 
 was gone ; and that he had departed in the 
 midst of one of his worst paroxysms. There- 
 fore, it was probable that he had not known 
 what he was about, and, that being the case, 
 a calamity might happen to him at any 
 moment. 
 
5^ JOHN PARMELEE'S CVRSE. 
 
 *' I must go after him and bring him back ! " 
 Sophie said aloud. 
 
 It was a hopeless scheme ; for a crazy man was 
 just as likely to go in one direction as another, 
 and he already had half an hour's start. But 
 Sophie, with the mystic confidence of child- 
 hood, had no doubt that she would be led 
 directly in his footsteps, .or that, when over- 
 taken, he would return with her. 
 
 There was no time to be lost, at all events. 
 
 In five minutes she had put on her pelisse 
 and hat, put in her pocket a few dollars from 
 the money drawer (in case she should have to 
 travel by train), and had her hand on the latch 
 of the street door. But there she stopped, 
 appalled ! 
 
 There was something that she had forgotten. 
 She turned slowly back, and re-entered the sit- 
 ting-room. The glow of action and resolve 
 faded out of her cheeks and eyes. Her heart 
 felt ready to break. 
 
 For there was all that immense sum of 
 money which her father had entrusted to her 
 charge. She had promised him that, in the 
 event of his absence, she would take care of it, 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 59 
 
 and not let it go out of her reach. He was 
 gone, and her promise bound her to remain. 
 
 The choice offered to her was one which 
 every man and woman has to answer for them- 
 selves once in their lives. Should she yield to 
 the impulse of love and anxiety for her father, 
 or should she stand loyal to the trust confided 
 in her? Honor or love — which should rule? 
 
 She did not debate the question long. She 
 was not skilled in sophistry. She threw her- 
 self down on the floor, over the place where the 
 money was hidden, and lay there on her face. 
 
 It was a cruel situation for a child to be in. 
 On the one hand she knew that her father, the 
 only being she loved in the world, was help- 
 less and probably in danger ; and she knew, on 
 the other hand, that the bankrrobbers might 
 appear at any moment ; and Sophie was no 
 more fond of robbers than are other young 
 people of her age. But she had made up her 
 mind not to abandon the money that belonged 
 to others, and for which her father would be 
 held responsible by the directors. 
 
 So there she lay on the floor, feeling as if 
 she should die. 
 
6o JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 But at length, after a lapse of time that 
 probably seemed to her longer than it really 
 was, a new idea entered her mind — an idea 
 that caused her to spring up from the floor 
 with a cry of joy. 
 
 The idea was to this effect : Why should 
 she not go after her father, taking the money 
 along with her? 
 
 She could easily carry it in the big black 
 satchel ; there would be no difficulty about 
 that, and the plan was feasible on other grounds. 
 For, if she remained where she was, and the 
 robbers came, they would first attack the safe ; 
 but then, finding no money there, they would 
 in all probability enter the house, and perhaps 
 discover the money in its hiding-place ; and she 
 would not be able to prevent their taking it. 
 
 But if, on the other hand, she were to go 
 away with the packet in her satchel, though 
 the house were filled with robbers, they could 
 get nothing ; and meanwhile she would find 
 her father and bring him back. 
 
 This was the way Sophie argued ; and for a 
 child who was considered stupid, the argument 
 was by no means an unintelligent one. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 6 1 
 
 She was not long in putting her scheme into 
 execution. 
 
 She got out the big black satchel from its 
 place in the closet. She placed it on the floor 
 beside the hiding place ; then uncovered the 
 latter and extracted the parcel of notes and 
 securities. It went into the satchel easily and 
 left some room on top. 
 
 This place she filled up with her little night 
 dress, and her comb and brush. Altogether, it 
 made a heavy load for her small hands to carry. 
 But Sophie felt energy enough in her to carry 
 a mountain, had that been necessary. 
 
 All was now ready. She took a last look 
 round the room ; then put out the lamp, and 
 sallied forth, locking the street door behind 
 her, and hanging the key on its nail beneath 
 the window sill. No one was stirring in the 
 street ; the inhabitants of Tisdale were accus- 
 tomed to go to bed early. 
 
 Sophie, after a short deliberation, turned her 
 face toward New York ; and, in another 
 moment, she had disappeared in the darkness. 
 
VII. 
 
 HAROLD BLACKMER was one of those 
 men not uncommon in this country, who 
 steps at once from childhood into manhood ; he 
 omitted the season of youth altogether. This 
 
 might be regarded as a gain in time ; but in 
 other respects it was a loss, though Blackmer 
 
 himself doubtless did not view it in that light. 
 He thought that to live one must be a man 
 of the world ; that sentiment and illusion were 
 a waste of tissue and opportunity. 
 
 This conception on his part was due to the 
 fact that he was naturally of an extremely sen- 
 sitive disposition. His acute and impression- 
 able intellect was quick to investigate and com- 
 prehend other people's opinion of him ; and 
 his vanity or love of approbation led him to 
 adopt such a line of speech and conduct as 
 should be most likely to free him from the 
 charges of ignorance and absurdity. He could 
 not bear to be laughed at, even good-naturedly ; 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. ^Z 
 
 and as he perceived that inexperience in the 
 ways of the world generally caused amusement 
 in those who were better informed, he made 
 it a point, first, to learn and practice the ways 
 of the world as promptly as possible ; and, 
 secondly, to disguise whatever inexperience 
 he might be conscious of. 
 
 A child naturally believes in the good-will 
 and honesty of those with whom he is brought 
 in contact. Harold, at the outset, was occa- 
 sionally deceived like other children ; but, un- 
 like them, he rapidly divested himself of his 
 instinctive belief in human nature, and trained 
 himself to believe in nothing at all. This early 
 skepticism had the effect upon his associates 
 which he desired. He was called a ''wide- 
 awake boy," which gratified him ; and he was 
 accepted as a companion by persons much 
 older than himself. His close observation and 
 retentive memory enabled him to catch the 
 tone of their thought and conversation, and to 
 reproduce it successfully. He was resolute 
 not to be shocked or abashed by whatever 
 word or act of his friends, but on the contrary, 
 to exhibit a cynicism and moral indifference of 
 
64 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 an even more unhesitating kind than theirs. As 
 his cleverness was above the average, and he 
 had wit and tact, he found little difficulty in 
 establishing the reputation he coveted. 
 
 At the same time, the instincts of his birth 
 and breeding prevented him from lapsing into 
 mere vulgar degradation. His manner was 
 always polite and easy ; his speech accurate 
 and polished, and his physical habits nice. He 
 kept himself immaculately clean, dressed ele- 
 gantly, seldom swore, and never drank. He 
 had good health and a handsome face and 
 figure, and he took pains to preserve them in 
 unimpaired condition. In every outward mani- 
 festation he was a gentleman. Women liked 
 him, and were fond of receiving his attentions; 
 his name for being somewhat reckless and un- 
 scrupulous did him no harm with them. His 
 father, who had himself seen more of '' life " 
 than he would have cared to have known in 
 his mature age, admired the young man and 
 encouraged him. His sister worshiped him 
 with all a sister's reverential ardor. It is not 
 surprising that he came to feel that nothing 
 was too good for him. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 65 
 
 Such a feeling in such a character, requires 
 money to make it secure. The judge lived 
 like a wealthy man, but did not have much 
 money to spare. Harold, therefore, was soon 
 put to his trumps to maintain his elegant ap- 
 pearance. Accordingly, he early cultivated a 
 natural gift he had for living at other people's 
 expense, while giving them the impression that 
 he was conferring a favor upon them. He 
 was a familiar and favorite guest at the dinner- 
 tables of all the available rich men in the 
 neighborhood ; he drove in their carriages and 
 made use of their luxuries. He was the friend 
 and ally of all who could be of use to him ; all 
 others he shunned and snubbed. He was 
 shrewd enough to perceive that borrowing 
 money was a clumsy and uncertain way of 
 solving his main difficulty, and he practiced 
 it but sparingly. On the other hand, he studied 
 the art of betting with energy and with good 
 results ; and he developed something like a 
 genius for cards and billiards. He had three 
 tailors in his employ, and his dealings with 
 them illustrated his business ability. He would 
 order two or three suits of clothes at a time 
 
66 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 from each of them ; would sell all but two, at 
 seventy or eighty per cent discount, to a sec- 
 ond-hand dealer ; and, when the bills were 
 sent in, he would apply the second-hand deal- 
 er's money to payments on account. If the 
 tailors pressed for more, he would lull them to 
 security by ordering more clothes, which he 
 would subject to the same ingenious process. 
 By such devices, year after year, he contrived 
 to keep ahead of disaster ; and no one sus- 
 pected how close to the wind he was some- 
 times obliged to sail. 
 
 When Parmelee became engaged to Sallie, 
 Harold, as has been said, at first put himself 
 in opposition to the match. Parmelee did not 
 belong to his set ; he had no aspirations after 
 a fast and dashing life. But after a time, Har- 
 old began to regard the matter from another 
 point of view. Though Parmelee was not rich 
 or aristocratic, he might one day attain at 
 least the former virtue ; for he was diligent, 
 intelligent, and trusted by his employers ; and 
 best of all, he was employed in the bank. He 
 was cashier already ; there was no telling but 
 what he might become director or president ; he 
 
Jo HPT parmeLee's curse. 67 
 
 had the brains and the experience. To be the 
 friend, still more the brother-in-law of such a 
 man could do no harm ; it might result in 
 great benefit. 
 
 Accordingly, Harold changed his attitude 
 completely, and became John's champion and 
 cordial friend. He studied his character, and 
 made note of its weak points. His habit of 
 skepticism may have blinded him to some of 
 its strong points ; but no one can be omniscient. 
 At all events, John was good-natured and 
 trustful, and was especially inclined in Harold's 
 favor, because of the latter's advocacy of his 
 matrimonial hopes. Nor could he but be in- 
 fluenced by Sallie's enthusiasm for her brother, 
 which she omitted no opportunity to express. 
 Harold became a frequent caller at John's 
 house, and the medium of communication be- 
 tween him and Sallie, when the judge devel- 
 oped his opposition to their union. A friend 
 who brings a lover a letter from his mistress, 
 seems to deserve the utmost confidence and 
 gratitude of both parties. Harold professed 
 to be acting quite disinterestedly ; but he was 
 only biding his time. He had already begun 
 
68 JOHN- PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 to revolve a scheme, which, though it was not 
 carried into execution until many years after- 
 ward, was always in his thoughts as a possible 
 solution of all his pecuniary ambition. 
 
 This plan was nothing less than to rob the 
 Tisdale Bank ; availing himself for that pur- 
 pose of his influence over Sallie, and of the 
 knowledge which he expected to acquire 
 through her and possibly through John, of the 
 inner workings and arrangements of that in- 
 stitution. The bank ordinarily kept a large 
 balance on hand ; and occasionally the sum 
 accumulated so rapidly as to reach the neigh- 
 borhood of half a million of dollars. The safe in 
 which the funds were kept, although a massive 
 and formidable-looking affair, was constructed 
 upon principles already out of date, and the lock 
 could be picked by a cracksman of average 
 skill. No attempt to try its strength had ever 
 been made in the memory of the oldest inhab- 
 itant of Tisdale, and probably no one of its 
 guardians or directors was so deficient in faith 
 in his fellow-men as to anticipate any such 
 outrage. The enterprise, therefore, was in 
 all respects as free from technical difificultiesas 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 69 
 
 could be expected. Nevertheless, it was not 
 carried out as Harold designed. 
 
 In the first place, he had never hitherto 
 actually broken the law, though there was 
 nothing in the way of moral scruple to hinder 
 his doing so. But his associations had been 
 chiefly with gentlemen, and he feared to com- 
 promise himself by allying himself with the 
 criminal classes. This apprehension involved 
 his carrying out his scheme without assistance; 
 and that was not easy. It was simple enough 
 in imagination and theory; but when it came 
 to putting the theory into practice, Harold 
 lacked the confidence which comes only with 
 training and custom. After his father's death 
 and his sister's marriage, he was able to increase 
 his intimacy with Parmelee ; but he did not 
 gain that free access to the safe, or that com- 
 prehensive knowledge of the inside workings 
 of the bank on which he had calculated. It 
 was not that John entertained any suspicions; 
 but, whether by accident or by the instinct of 
 a man in his responsible position, he always 
 maintained reserve on the one point as to 
 which Harold desired enlightenment. Nor 
 
7^ JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 was Sallie able to afford him much help. She 
 was loquacious on all matters within her 
 knowledge ; but the affairs of the bank were 
 not within her knowledge, nor v/ere they of 
 interest to her. Harold, of course, could not 
 ask her to make investigations for him ; it would 
 have thrown suspicion on him after the robbery, 
 and it was part of his scheme that the crime 
 should appear to have been committed by or- 
 dinary burglars. Moreover, the ten thousand 
 dollars of Harold's portion kept him in funds 
 for the time being, and caused him to procras- 
 tinate. Aftersvard, when he had speculated 
 with the money, and lost it, he made the mis- 
 take of borrowing sums from Parmelee, who 
 accomodated him willingly so far as his means 
 admitted, and indeed somewhat further ; but 
 who expected that the loans would be returned 
 in due time. When Harold failed to pay up, 
 the situation became somewhat strained ; and 
 the end of it was, as we have seen, that he 
 ceased to be a member of Parmelee's house- 
 hold. Thus his plans fell through for the 
 time, though he did not relinquish them. He 
 went to New York, where, in the pursuit of 
 
JOH.^ PARMELEE'S CURSE. Jt 
 
 fortune, he made the acquaintance of a class of 
 persons very different from those he had 
 known in Tisdale, and much better suited in 
 principles, if not in social position, to the kind 
 of man that Harold Blackmer was. 
 
 It will not be necessary to follow the whole 
 course of his adventures during the ensuing 
 ten or twelve years. At first, he took a high 
 place among the crooked fraternity, and there 
 was something dashing and commanding in his 
 operations. His brain was clear and his nerves 
 sound, and he succeeded for a long while in 
 keeping beyond the reach of the laws. Some- 
 times he sought his ends through the machina- 
 tions of politics; sometimes he entered into 
 commercial or financial transactions ; some- 
 times he appeared as the managing agent of 
 speculative schemes which promised the largest 
 returns for the smallest outlay. His manners 
 were plausible, conciliating and attractive ; he 
 had the faculty of inspiring confidence and 
 arguing people out of their better judgment. 
 He visited every principal city in the Union, 
 and spent a couple of years in Europe. Occa- 
 sionally he came into possession of large sums 
 
12 JOHN pAkMELEE'S CVRSE. 
 
 of money, which, with such abiHty as his, 
 might have become the nucleus of a colossal for- 
 tune. But, like all his kind, he had upon him 
 the curse of restlessness and insubordination ; 
 riches honestly come by were riches without 
 enjoyment. To put money out at legal inter- 
 est was intolerable ; he must be wealthy by 
 dint of audacious strokes of cunning and 
 unscrupulousness ; every thing he got must 
 be regarded as income, never as capital. The 
 money which he obtained must not be the 
 return for any thing contributed by him to 
 the wealth of the world ; it must be made at 
 the expense of other men. 
 
 Luck attended him so long, that at last he 
 came to count upon it as a permanent element 
 in his career ; and then luck began to play fast 
 and loose with him. A brilliant success would 
 be followed by a mortifying or disastrous fail- 
 ure. At length he became entangled in a bogus 
 money transaction, and was arrested. After a 
 trial which was prolonged over some months, 
 he escaped conviction on a technicality ; but 
 his portrait was in the rogues' gallery, and he 
 was thenceforward a recognized member of the 
 
JOH\^ PAkMELEE'S CURSE. 73 
 
 criminal classes. He became more circumspect, 
 but also more degraded and malignant. He 
 associated with thieves and scoundrels of all 
 descriptions ; and though, owing to his supe- 
 rior intelligence and education, he played a 
 leading part among them ; he was none the 
 less on their level in all but executive matters. 
 Frequently he was hard put to it to keep up a 
 respectable outward appearance ; and more 
 than once he had been obliged to pawn his 
 clothes to get something to eat. 
 
 It was at about this period that, while pass- 
 ing one evening through an obscure street in 
 one of the lower districts of the city, his atten- 
 tion was attracted by the sound of a woman's 
 voice singing. Something in the quality of the 
 voice caused him to approach the singer, who 
 was a female past middle age apparently, and 
 poorly clad. There was something familiar in 
 her tones, and even in the words of the song 
 she sang. She was surrounded by a little 
 crowd of loiterers, and listening heads pro- 
 truded here and there from the windows. 
 When her song was ended, the woman held out 
 a little basket which she carried for contribu- 
 
74 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 tions. Two or three of her audience put cop- 
 pers into it ; and Harold, who had been stand- 
 ing behind her, stepped round her to get a 
 view of her face ; and recognized his sister, 
 Sallie Parmelee. 
 
VIII. 
 
 THIS unexpected encounter startled and im- 
 pressed even his callous and corrupted 
 heart. He took her to a neighboring eating- 
 house, and questioned her. Reluctantly, and 
 with many quite unnecessary stipulations that he 
 would reveal nothing to her husband, she told 
 him her story. It was dismal and pathetic 
 enough. For many months after her departure 
 from Tisdale, she had lived in a large tenement 
 house in the thickly populated and shabby dis- 
 trict south of East Fourteenth street. Seldom 
 moving out of her room, except after dark, she 
 entirely evaded all the efforts made to discover 
 her ; though once she had seen her husband turn 
 the corner of a street, where the light of a gas- 
 lamp showed his features, and then pass close 
 by her, as she shrank back in the shadow of a 
 doorway. She had felt a passionate impulse to 
 cry out to him ; but she had restrained it, partly 
 
76 JOHN FARM ELBE'S CURSE. 
 
 from fear and partly from shame, and he had 
 passed on, and out of her sight forever. 
 
 The rent of the room which she had occu- 
 pied was very small;, her food cost her but a 
 trifle ; her chief expense was for opium. So 
 long as the money she had brought with her 
 held out, therefore, her life went on quite un- 
 eventfully ; one day was the repetition of 
 another, and all were tinged alike with the 
 vague imagery of her opium dreams. When 
 her money w'as exhausted, she sold her jewels, 
 one after the other, dimly hoping that death 
 might relieve her before this source of supplies 
 also ran out. Death, as usual, was not so ac- 
 commodating; and Sallie lacked either the 
 resolution or the impiety to summon death on 
 her own responsibility. But opium she must 
 have ; and to obtain that, money was necessary. 
 How should she get it ? There are ways in which 
 a handsome woman may get money in a great 
 city ; and Sallie was handsome still. But some- 
 thing kept her from this irrevocable plunge ; 
 either temperament or conscience, or the very 
 listlessness of her half bewildered state. Finally 
 it occurred to her that she might practice as ^ 
 
JOHN PARMELEE ' S C URSE. 7 ^ 
 
 means of livelihood the accomplishment which, 
 in happier days, had ministered to the pleasure 
 of her friend. ; and she began to sing in the 
 streets. Her voice had suffered by the life she 
 had been leading, and the long lack of custom 
 had impaired her facility ; but much of the 
 charm still remained, and the experiment suc- 
 ceeded beyond her hopes. Music never seems 
 to fail of its effect over all classes of people. 
 A certain famous prima donna was at that time 
 receiving a thousand dollars a night for a few 
 songs; and Sallie's receipts, on the first day of 
 her new trade, amounted to a little less than a 
 thousandth part as much. But it was sufficient 
 for her necessities, and she asked no more. 
 
 Moreover, her inoffensive and gentle nature 
 raised her up friends even among the dregs of 
 the people, and stimulated whatever kindly 
 instincts were left in them. She found shelter 
 with the homeless, food with the hungry, and 
 honesty with the dishonest. She harmed no 
 one, and no one but herself harmed her. But 
 she was without hope or aim in life, without 
 fixed habitation, severed from all ties of blood ; 
 and gradually and inevitably she lapsed into 
 
78 JOHN PARMELEES CURSE. 
 
 more and more squalid conditions, until, on the 
 day that her brother met her, she needed but 
 little to fall altogether out of human sight and 
 knowledge. It was only the craving for 
 opium that stimulated her to keep up the 
 struggle for life. 
 
 Harold was himself on the losing side of the 
 market ; but, with his instinctive desire to pro- 
 duce a dashing impression, he acted the man 
 of means to his despairing sister, and treated 
 her and himself to a better supper than he 
 would have afforded himself alone. He had 
 an obscure retreat in a shady part of the 
 city, and, after some hesitation, he took her 
 there, and made her as comfortable as circum- 
 stances would admit. For acting thus, he 
 credited himself with admirable generosity; 
 but the truth was that he had conceived a plan 
 whereby Sallie might help him to a comfort- 
 able fortune. He did not at once declare it to 
 her; but it promised well, and he had little 
 doubt of its successful realization. Mean- 
 while, it was indispensable that Sallie should 
 be brought to regard him with the utmost 
 affection and gratitude. 
 
JOHN PARMELEKS CURSE. 79 
 
 The pkn was the old one of robbing the 
 Tisdale Bank. Harold was now more than 
 ripe for the exploit ; and the sight of his 
 sister had instantly recalled it to his mind. 
 He persuaded himself that the conditions 
 were especially favorable, and that Sallie 
 would easily be prevailed upon to help him 
 in a way which he had designed, and which 
 did credit to his ingenuity, if not to any other 
 of his virtues. Sallie, according to his arrange- 
 ments, was to return to Tisdale, and to present 
 herself to her husband in the guise of a 
 returned prodigal. John would receive her 
 with open arms and reinstate her with love 
 and rejoicing in her long lost home. She was 
 to do every thing to secure his confidence, and 
 to persuade him that the future was safe. All 
 this while, however, she was to improve every 
 opportunity of giving information about the 
 routine of affairs at the bank ; when large 
 deposits were likely to be on hand, and how 
 and at what moment the safe might most 
 expediently be attacked. When all was ready, 
 she was to act as confederate, furnishing the 
 keys of the doors, and, if possible, of the safe 
 
8o JOH.Y PARMFJ.FE'S CURSE. 
 
 itself, and taking \vliate\'cr means n.ight be 
 effective to keep Parmelce out of the way, or 
 at least to disable him from interfering with 
 the operations. When the booty was safely 
 bagged, Sallie should be allowed to accompany 
 her brother in his flight to another land, where 
 they would live together in luxury on the 
 fruits of their achievement. 
 
 Nothing was wanting to the execution of 
 this design except Sallie's consent to play her 
 part in it ; and Harold spared no pains to win 
 her to his views. He began by assuring her 
 that she was the only human being for whom 
 he still entertained affection, and that there 
 was nothing he w^ould not do to promote her 
 happiness and welfare. He then w^ent on to 
 put an unfavorable construction upon her hus- 
 band's conduct, who, he asserted, had in the 
 first place married her chiefly with the expecta- 
 tion of receiving a large dowry, and who had 
 subsequently treated her with unpardonable 
 lack of feeling and consideration. He was the 
 secret cause — so Harold averred — of her tak- 
 ing to opium ; and he had then harrassed and 
 persecuted her intg leaving him, It was 
 
JOHN PA R MELEE ' S CURSE. 8 1 
 
 doubtful, in Harold's opinion, whether Par- 
 melee had made any effort whatever to recover 
 her ; at all events he had done no more than 
 was necessary to conciliate public opinion. 
 Having thus suggested to her weighty reasons 
 why she should be ready to requite her hus- 
 band for his injustice and inhumanity, Harold 
 proceeded cautiously and insinuatingly to 
 reveal the means of retaliation which he 
 had provided. So far, Sallie had made little 
 or no resistance to his suggestions; and he 
 brought his argument to a close with every 
 assurance that he had not counted without his 
 host. Nevertheless, he was mistaken. 
 
 For some time Sallie was probably unable to 
 grasp the full significance of what he said ; for 
 her mind acted feebly and vaguely, and Harold 
 expressed himself in terms the euphemy of 
 which was at first more apparent than their 
 meaning. When at length the truth dawned 
 upon her, she gave him a strange look, but 
 said nothing. He construed her silence as an 
 indication that she wanted to think the matter 
 over before committing herself, and cheerfully 
 acquiesced in her supposed desire, 
 
82 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 Accordingly, he put on his hat and went out 
 to attend to his affairs, having previously men- 
 tioned the hour at which she might expect his 
 return. It was a long while since he had been 
 in so happy and hopeful a frame of mind ; and 
 he went so far as to map out an itinerary for 
 himself during the next few years, and to 
 specify the details of the campaign which he 
 now proposed to undertake against the world, 
 armed with the spoils of the Tisdale Bank 
 depositors. The afternoon passed quickly and 
 pleasantl}% and at the appointed hour he 
 returned with a light step to his lodging. He 
 opened the door of the room in which he had 
 left his sister, and which, in his overweening 
 security, he had omitted to fasten ; and he 
 found it empty ! 
 
 Harold had been guilty of more than one 
 miscalculation in the course of his career, but 
 never, perhaps, of one which occasioned him 
 so much surprise and annoyance. It was not 
 only a bitter disappointment — it was a serious 
 peril as well. He had revealed the whole 
 extent of his plan to his sister ; and what was 
 to prevent her from going straight to her hus- 
 
JOHN- PARMELEE '5 CURSE. 83 
 
 band or to the police, and lodging the informa- 
 tion? Since she was not with him, he argued, 
 she must be against him ; possibly she might 
 have been acting the detective with him all 
 along. These reflections made him so anxious 
 that he finally decided to change his abode until 
 it became evident what Sallie was going to do. 
 *' And this," he said to himself, " is my reward 
 for doing a generous action ! " He determined 
 never again to make such a fool of himself. 
 
 Sallie, meanwhile, harbored no such far- 
 reaching designs as her brother imagined. The 
 assurance of his depravity, coming from his 
 own lips, had overwhelmed her with grief and 
 horror ; it made her realize more vividly than 
 any thing had yet done, the depth to which 
 she must have fallen. He would not have 
 ventured to make such a proposal to her, unless 
 he had thought her utterly lost to virtue and 
 honor. She had not been able to make any 
 reply to him ; she had neither the nerve nor 
 the will to denounce him ; she could only think 
 of the time when they were children together 
 in their nursery, and wonder whether this were 
 really the same world that had seemed so 
 
S4 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 happy and innocent then. But less than ever 
 could she contemplate the idea of returning to 
 Tisdale and resuming her married life. It 
 seemed to her that the mere fact of having been 
 made the confidant of such a suggestion as 
 Harold's had increased and confirmed her 
 degradation. Her only impulse, therefore, was 
 to get out of the way, and hide herself in deeper 
 recesses of oblivion than ever. 
 
 For those who have neither committed 
 crimes nor got money, concealment in a large 
 city is not a dif^cult matter. Harold did not 
 venture to look for her, and no one else was 
 concerned to do so. If she had walked into 
 the river, no one would have missed her. More 
 than a year passed away. Harold had got over 
 his scare, and had come to the conclusion that 
 Sallie must simply have wandered off in a state 
 of temporary insanity. He blamed himself for 
 not having considered her irresponsible con- 
 dition, and esteemed himself fortunate in that 
 he had not succeeded in getting her to return 
 to Tisdale. An opium-eater is not a person to 
 whom can be safely entrusted the management 
 of so important a conspiracy. 
 
JOHN- PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 85 
 
 One day, while passing through a shim in 
 the lower part of the city, he met his sister 
 emerging from an opium-joint, in a condition 
 of partial aberration. She seemed dimly to 
 recognize him, but to retain no memory of what 
 had happened at their last interview. He 
 walked along beside her, and found that she 
 occupied a room in a house contiguous to that 
 in which he himself lodged. He happened to 
 be in funds at the moment, and gave her a dol- 
 lar toward meeting her expenses. It was just 
 as well, he told himself, to keep on the right 
 side of Sallie ; she might be able to do him no 
 good, but she would be the less likely to do him 
 any harm. From time to time, after this, he 
 visited her, and kept a general watch over her 
 movements. In a certain w'ay he was afraid of 
 her ; there was something in the dreamy stare 
 of her large dark eyes that he could never 
 frankly meet. There was also a superstitious 
 element in his feeling for her ; he had a notion 
 that if she were ever to oppose him in any of 
 his undertakings, he would be certain to fail, 
 and to fail disastrously. Therefore, he always 
 turned his best side toward her, and endeav- 
 
^6 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE, 
 
 ored to make her associate the idea of him 
 only with what was agreeable. Sallie, for her 
 part, accepted his ministrations, such as they 
 were, in a passive, undemonstrative way, like a 
 person in a fit of pre-occupation. She never 
 spoke about herself or about him, or ventured 
 remarks of any kind ; and often she omitted to 
 answer the questions he addressed to her. But 
 at all events she did not betray any hostility 
 toward him ; and with this negative attitude he 
 was fain to be content. It certainly did not 
 occur to him that this lost and bewildered 
 sister of his could be watching him, as he was 
 watching her, though from very different 
 motives. 
 
 Toward the end of the summer of the year 
 we are concerned with, business had been bad 
 with Harold, and it became necessary to do 
 something vigorous. After going over the 
 ground of all his good, bad and indifferent 
 schemes, nothing seemed to afford a better 
 chance of practical returns than the old plot 
 against the Tisdale Bank. It might not be the 
 time when the largest balance would be on 
 hand ; but on the other hand the precautions 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 87 
 
 against attack would probably be correspond- 
 ingly lax. The undertaking would be further 
 facilitated by the fact that Harold would be 
 assisted by two experienced craftsmen, with 
 whom he had for some time past been in part- 
 nership. He held several deliberations with 
 these gentlemen at his room in the southwest 
 quarter of the city, at which the details of the 
 affair were carefully gone into, and each man's 
 share of the booty determined. Finally, on the 
 evening of the day with which our story 
 opens, the three men boarded their train, and 
 started for the scene of their proposed exploit. 
 
IX. 
 
 THE house and the bank now stood empty 
 and unguarded. The night was very dark ; 
 the sky was covered with clouds. A few dim 
 street lamps, flickering here and there in the 
 distance, served only to make the broad inter- 
 vening spaces of shadow seem more black. 
 
 No one was abroad ; except, perhaps, the 
 new deputy constable, Mr. Richards, who was 
 sauntering slowly down some far-off street, 
 wondering whether any thing would ever hap- 
 pen in Tisdale to give him an adventure and a 
 paragraph in the Tisdale Gazette. Richards 
 was an ambitious young fellow, but zeal seemed 
 thrown away in so peaceful a town as this. 
 
 Such a thing as a malefactor of any descrip- 
 tion had not been seen in Tisdale for a year ; 
 even a drunken man was a rarity. As for a 
 burglary, Richards remembered to have heard 
 a tradition of some such thing when he was a 
 boy, but he was far from indulging a hope for 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 89 
 
 any personal experience of the kind. Locks 
 and bolts were of no use in Tisdale, unless, per- 
 haps, for the bank. But even there they were 
 only a matter of form. 
 
 " Why, jest look at it ! " said Richards to 
 himself, switching the autumnal leaves away 
 from the path with his cane, and shifting his 
 lantern further up his left arm, "jest look at 
 the way the directors leaves things ! What's to 
 prevent Mr. Parmelee, if he had a mind, going 
 off with every blessed cent in the bank, any 
 night of his life ? Why, he keeps house in the 
 safe, one might say, with the key in his pocket ! 
 It ain't that John Parmelee ever would think 
 of sech a thing; there airi't a better nor a 
 squarer feller in Tisdale ; though he has been a 
 bit queer the last year or two ; no, it ain't that ; 
 it's the principle of the thing ! A man's only 
 a man, when all's said ; and he hadn't ought to 
 be tempted, even if he can resist it ! " 
 
 These reflections, perhaps owing to the well- 
 known influence of the mind over the body, 
 had the effect of half consciously leading Mr. 
 Richards in the direction of the bank with 
 which his thoughts were occupied. His foot- 
 
90 JOHN- PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 steps echoed along the empty streets, and he 
 felt as much alone in the world as if the judg- 
 ment day had been yesterday. 
 
 At this very time, however, three persons of 
 the kind whose scarcity the deputy constable, 
 as an ambitious officer, deplored, were proceed- 
 ing, from another direction, toward the same 
 goal as himself. They had alighted from the 
 New York train, at a station four miles above 
 Tisdale, and were walking, in single file, along 
 the country road leading back to that town. 
 
 They walked at a fair pace, but noiselessly, 
 and seldom interchanging a word. The second 
 man in the line maintained a distance of about 
 four yards between himself and the leader, and 
 was as much in advance of him who brought 
 up the rear. 
 
 The leader was tall and well made, and was 
 much better dressed than either of his two com- 
 panions. He wore a silk hat on his head, and 
 carried a light silver-headed cane, which he 
 twirled between his fingers as he stepped along. 
 His gait and bearing showed good breeding; 
 and you would have taken him, had you met 
 him, for a gentleman of leisure, strolling out 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 91 
 
 for a breath of cool air, in order to sleep the 
 better. 
 
 The second man was of a different build and 
 aspect. He was very broad in the shoulders, 
 with thick, bandy legs ; and he swung himself 
 from side to side as he walked. His big head, 
 with its bushy hair, was protected by a cloth 
 cap, pulled down over his eyes. His arms were 
 of unusual length, and in his right hand he car- 
 ried a sort of portmanteau, which, from the way 
 it "chinked" when it struck against his leg, 
 must have contained some metallic objects. 
 
 The last man was smaller than either of the 
 others, and of a meager and flimsy frame. He 
 had the air of a broken-down barber who had 
 been on a long spree. He slouched along like 
 a dog with its tail between its legs, frequently 
 glancing behind him ; and he carried a dark 
 lantern, with its slide closed. 
 
 By and by the little party entered the pre- 
 cincts of the town, and drew near the bank. 
 This stood at the corner of two streets, with a 
 broad vacant space on one side of it. A board 
 fence bounded this space on the street by which 
 they were journeying ; and at the hither ex- 
 
9 2 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 tremity of the fence was a large elm tree, the 
 spreading branches of which still retained many 
 of their golden and brown leaves. Beneath 
 this tree the three came to a halt. 
 
 *' Give me the lantern, Dick," said the tall 
 man to the broken-down barber. ''Your beat 
 is between this tree and the bank. If you 
 smell any danger, whistle once, and then over 
 the fence, and meet us at the back." 
 
 '' How long will you be?" Dick inquired. 
 
 " Half an hour at the outside. The safe's 
 twenty years old if it's a day, and I know how 
 to work the lock. Mike, " he added, to the 
 broad-shouldered man, " do you follow me with 
 the tools. I shall enter by the kitchen window. 
 All ready?" 
 
 '' Phwat about the chap in" charge?" asked 
 Mike, in a strong brogue. '' Will I wring the 
 dirty spalpeen's neck?" 
 
 '' Not unless he kicks too much. But that'll 
 be all right. He'll be abed and snoring, and 
 will only need a handkerchief down his throat, 
 and his hands tied. As for the kid, she's noth- 
 ing I We're in for big money, boys I Come 
 on!" 
 
JOHN P'ARMELEE'S CURSE. 93 
 
 " I ain't easy in my mind yet," said Dick, in 
 a querulous tone. *' That there crazy Sal looked 
 too blamed knowin' to suit me. Say, what if 
 she'd tumbled to the game, and split on the 
 whole gang of us?" 
 
 " It isn't the crazy ones that make the trouble ; 
 it's the fools, like you ! " replied the tall man 
 sharply. ''There'd be no harm in Sal, — not if 
 she'd been sitting by when we planned the job. 
 Those opium fiends never know any thing any- 
 way, and what they do know they forget the 
 next minute. Besides, Sal knows me, and she 
 wouldn't split on any thing I had a hand in. So 
 keep your eye open and hold your tongue. 
 Come on, Mike ! " 
 
 The two men got over the board fence, and 
 were immediately lost to sight. 
 
 Dick, left to himself, slouched slowly and 
 cautiously down the road toward the bank, 
 pausing at every few steps to look and listen. 
 He had the keen senses of an animal, and a 
 singularly acute intelligence of the instinctive 
 sort ; but in other respects he was considerably 
 below the animal level. He acted as a sort of 
 antennae for his bolder and stronger associates, 
 
94 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 and possessed an almost preternatural scent for 
 approaching danger. 
 
 It took him four or five minutes to traverse 
 the hundred yards between the elm and the 
 corner on which the bank stood. Having 
 reached this he glanced circumspectly round it, 
 and down the adjoining street. 
 
 Nothing was in sight in that direction. 
 
 He waited three minutes there, then drew 
 back, and began to retrace his steps toward the 
 elm tree. 
 
 Destiny will sometimes defeat the ablest 
 human precautions. If Dick had remained at 
 the corner only ten seconds longer he would 
 have seen the gleam of Mr. Richard's lantern 
 approaching from the other end of the block. 
 As it was, he saw nothing, and therefore gave 
 no alarm ; and the inevitable consequences 
 followed. 
 
 He had nearly reached the elm, on his return 
 trip, when the deep stillness of the night was 
 broken by a crash of glass and a sharp explosion. 
 Following these came the harsh whirr of a 
 policeman's rattle. 
 
 Dick vaulted over the fence and ran down 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 95 
 
 the other side of the vacant space. In a 
 moment the thud of hurrying footsteps was 
 heard approaching through the darkness, and 
 Mike and the tall man came plunging forward, 
 and had almost stumbled over Dick before they 
 saw him. 
 
 *' Did you collar the cash ? " was his question. 
 
 " No, hang 'em ! There was something 
 wrong," replied the tall man, breathing heavily. 
 He held a revolver in his hand, from which he 
 now ejected an empty cartridge and replaced it 
 with a new one. 
 
 "Something wrong, eh?" snarled Dick. 
 " Well, what was I tellin' yer ? I never had no 
 confidence in this job ! What was it? " 
 
 " The cashier and his kid were both gone," 
 continued the other ; '' that looked a little fishy 
 to begin with. However, we got through into 
 the safe all right ; but, by the holy poker! it 
 was as empty as your skull. Then Mike, here, 
 must of course drop the jimmy on the floor ; 
 and the next thing, up went the window ; and, 
 sure enough, if there wasn't a cop, with his 
 shooting iron pointed I I got the drop on him, 
 though ; and I guess I winged him ! But the 
 
96 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 town will be up in another minute, boys, and 
 we must hook it ! Each man take his own 
 road, and meet at the second station below, on 
 the east line. There's a train down at three 
 o'clock. So ! off we go ! " 
 
 And this was the end of the famous Tisdale 
 bank robbery ! 
 
X. 
 
 MEANWHILE, in response to the unpre- 
 cedented sounds of Mr. Richard's rattle, 
 the neighboring population of Tisdale began to 
 grunt, yawn, and rub its eyes, and to wonder 
 what had broken loose in their peaceful midst. 
 Several bedroom windows in the vicinity were 
 thrown open ; and the occupants of one or two 
 of these, which commanded a view of the bank, 
 saw a lantern waved vigorously, and heard a 
 voice vociferating : 
 
 ''Thieves! Robbery! Murder! Help!" 
 At first the listeners surmised that a villan- 
 ous practical joke was perpetrating ; but, as the 
 shouts continued, some fancied that they recog- 
 nized the accents of Mr. Richards, and were 
 relu'ctantly forced to the conclusion that some- 
 thing was really the matter. Hereupon the 
 boldest among them slipped on their boots, 
 trowsers and overcoats, armed themselves with 
 such weapons as were at hand, and issued forth 
 to do battle with the unknown enemy. 
 
98 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 In the course of ten minutes a small group 
 of these amateur defenders of the peace, their 
 numbers slowly augmenting by the arrival of 
 later stragglers, had gathered round the deputy 
 constable, and were eagerly listening to a tale 
 of horror from his lips. Mr. Richards sat upon 
 a wheelbarrow, with his coat off and the left 
 sleeve of his shirt turned up. He had been 
 wounded in the upper part of the arm, and 
 while the wound was being dressed he told 
 his story proudly, yet m.odestly, as a hero 
 should. 
 
 At his suggestion, moreover, a squad of war- 
 riors were detailed to pursue the robbers, and 
 drag them back in chains. But, inasmuch as 
 the night was dark, the direction in which the 
 robbers had departed unknown, and the energy 
 and persistence of the pursuers somewhat defi- 
 cient, no practical results followed from this 
 move. 
 
 Better success attended the deputation which 
 went to inform the directors of the catastrophe. 
 Three of these four dignitaries were at home — 
 the president, the venerable Amos Pierson ; 
 Mr. Fred Tyrrel, a much younger man, but 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 99 
 
 reputed to be the wealthiest person in Tisdale-, 
 and Dr. Coffin, an eminently respectable indi- 
 vidual, but somewhat wanting in originality 
 and vigor of mind. These gentlemen made 
 their appearance in the course of half an hour; 
 and, having surveyed the scene of the outrage, 
 they withdrew with Richards into the seclusion 
 of the bank parlor to compare notes and decide 
 upon their line of action. The rest of the 
 assembled citizens, finding themselves left out 
 in the cold, returned to their several homes, 
 and presumably enlightened their wives as to 
 the history of the night. 
 
 ''Take a seat, Richards," said Mr. Pierson. 
 " Now, will you oblige us by giving an exact 
 account of what happened, as you saw it, from 
 beginning to end ? " 
 
 '* Well, sir," began Richards, with his mental 
 eye fixed upon the column headed *' The Great 
 Bank Robbery," in the forthcoming issue of 
 the Tisdale Gazette, " it was this way : I'd been 
 havin' the bank in my mind, and how nothin' 
 out of the way had ever happened to it, and 
 thinks I, I'll pass by it and take a look. So 
 along I come, just as usual, not expectin' noth- 
 
100 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 in', you may be sure. It's all right, says I to 
 myself, of course it is ! 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, I came along, and I see 
 a wheelbarrow standin' underneath the second 
 window there, that looks into the parlor. It 
 was Pat Donan's wheelbarrow, I guess ; he was 
 doin' a job round here yesterday. However, 
 thinks I, I'll just step up on it and take a squint 
 inside. It's a cur'ous thing, gentlemen, the way 
 small accidents sometimes leads the way to 
 important consequences, as I might say." 
 
 '* Keep to the point, Richards," said Mr. 
 Pierson, impassively. 
 
 " I'm at it right now, sir," the deputy con- 
 stable replied. " I got on top of the wheelbar- 
 row, as I was sayin', and jest as I done so — 
 bringing my head up to about half the height 
 of the lower sash — I hears somethin' fall, and 
 sees the ilash of a lantern. I didn't wait for 
 no more ; I smashes the window, turns the 
 bolt and throws up the sash. At the same 
 time I grabs for my revolver, and throws the 
 light of my lantern into the room. I hadn't 
 more than done so, gentlemen, when I hears a 
 big noise, and feels a bullet here in my arm. 
 
J > , ' ' ' ' 
 
 JOHN PA SM^LEE ' S CURSE, I o I 
 
 I drops back'ard off tlie wKeelbarrow ; but up 
 again the next minute, and springs my rattle." 
 
 " That includes all your personal share in the 
 matter?" inquired Mr. Pierson. 
 
 " Well, sir, I done my best," returned 
 Richards, a little crestfallen ; " but bein* 
 wounded, you see, and every thin* goin* so 
 quick like — " 
 
 " How many persons did you see at the 
 safe ? " asked Fred Tyrrel. He was sitting on 
 the table, with one foot touching the floor ; 
 and held in his hand a small metal box, which 
 he had picked up in John Parmelee's sitting- 
 room, and which none of the others had 
 noticed. 
 
 *' I should say there was four or five, sir ; but 
 I don't know as I could swear to more nor four, 
 or may be three." 
 
 " Could you recognize the faces of any of 
 them ? " 
 
 "Well, no; not quite that, sir. It was too 
 dark to see any thin' more than the figgers," 
 said Richards, cautiously. 
 
 ** Did the figures remind you of any one you 
 had ever seen before ? " 
 
t02 JOHN PARMELEE'S CUP SE, 
 
 " Well, sir, one on 'em was a good height — 
 'twas him as fired at me. T'other wasn't so 
 tall. No, I can't say as I have seen 'em before 
 — not to swear to." 
 
 ** I presume," interposed Mr, Pierson, 
 addressing Tyrrel, " that the object of these 
 interrogatories is to obtain confirmation of the 
 impression (which, I fear, none of us can avoid 
 sharing) that this crime was perpetrated by a 
 man who has for many years enjoyed our 
 unlimited confidence?" 
 
 " I expect to confirm my conviction that 
 John Parmelee had nothing to do with robbing 
 this safe," returned Tyrrel, composedly. 
 
 " Eh ? You surprise me ! " the president 
 exclaimed. " Have we not all of us seen that 
 Parmelee is missing ? that his bed has not been 
 slept in? and that his daughter is also gone? 
 Considering the juncture at which he has dis- 
 appeared, could you ask for stronger presump- 
 tive evidence that he is the guilty party? " 
 
 ** To be sure ; what could be more presump- 
 tive? " added Dr. Coffin. 
 
 " Parmelee's absence just now is unfortunate 
 — I don't deny that," replied Tyrrel; "and I 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 103 
 
 don't pretend to know the cause of it. But I 
 see no reason to believe that it has any thing 
 to do with this robbery. He has been in this 
 bank thirty years, and not a word was ever said 
 against his honesty. I suspect," he added, 
 tapping the metal box in his hand, *' that we 
 shall find another explanation of his disap- 
 pearance." 
 
 " Possibly ; I should not wonder," assented 
 Dr. Coffin. 
 
 ** I should rejoice to believe him innocent," 
 said Mr. Pierson ; " but, so far, the case looks 
 badly. The coincidence you suggest is rather 
 a violent one. He had free access to the safe ; 
 he may have had debts, embarrassments, for 
 all we know ; and — " 
 
 ** Richards, how long have you known Mr 
 Parmelee?" Tyrrel interrupted. 
 
 ''Well, ever since I was a boy, sir." 
 
 " Had he, to your knowledge, any bad 
 habits ? " 
 
 " Not to my knowledge, sir — no. Didn't 
 drink ; didn't play no cards nor billiards ; didn't 
 frequent no loose company. No, sir, John was 
 a good, steady man, so far as I ever see ; though 
 
104 JOHN PARMELEE '5 CURSE. 
 
 I will say he has been gettin' a bit queer lately. 
 A little off in the head, maybe." 
 
 " Exactly ! " said Tyrrel, putting the box in 
 his pocket. " Now, how was the safe opened ? " 
 
 " Skeleton key, sir," answered Richards, 
 producing it from his pocket. " There was a 
 kit of tools, too, but they wasn't needed. 'Twas 
 an old-style lock and easy to pick." 
 
 *' You see how it is, gentlemen," said Tyrrel, 
 turning to the others. "The cashier of this 
 bank didn't need a skeleton key to open the 
 safe; he didn't need from two to four confede- 
 rates ; and there is nothing to show that he even 
 needed money. Then there's his unblemished 
 character for thirty years. His absence is the 
 only thing against him, and that may have been 
 caused by the very men who planned and car- 
 ried out this robbery. They would be forced 
 to dispose of him somehow, in any case." 
 
 *' I trust you may be right," said Mr. Pierson, 
 shaking his head, " but we can not overlook the 
 fact that the skeleton key and the confederates 
 may have been merely blinds, to throw us off 
 the scent. I consider it our duty, as at present 
 advised, to obtain a warrant for his arrest, and 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 105 
 
 to advertise a reward, also. We owe something 
 to our depositors." 
 
 *' Quite so ! " murmured Dr. Coffin. 
 
 " Yes — fifty-seven thousand and odd dollars ! " 
 added Tyrrel, with a shrug of his shoulders. 
 " Well, if you two say so, do as you please ! 
 By the way, Coffin, what do you say ? " 
 
 " Hum ! Well, I hardly — it is difficult to know 
 what to determine," answered the doctor. 
 
 " Those are the orders, then, Richards," said 
 Mr. Pierson, buttoning up his overcoat and put- 
 ting on his hat. *' A warrant for the arrest of 
 John Parmelee and $1,000 reward." 
 
 "I'll attend to it, sir," said Richards, pen- 
 sively. 
 
 "And so will I attend to it !" said Fred 
 Tyrrel to himself, as he lit a cigar and walked 
 homeward. " I'll follow up my own clew ; 
 and we'll see which comes out ahead — those 
 dunderheads or I ! " 
 
XI. 
 
 THE Tisdale bank robbery took place on a 
 Wednesday night in October. At noon 
 on Thursday a reporter of one of the New York 
 papers aHghted at the station, and proceeded to 
 interview everybody. At four o'clock he took 
 the down train back, passing on his way the 
 reporters of the other papers, who had got the 
 scent an hour or two later, and on Friday morn- 
 ing the journal with which he was connected 
 published an unique account of the affair, and 
 he deposited an ample check to the credit of 
 his bank account. 
 
 The narrative was picturesque and dramatic, 
 and was illustrated by a sketch of the bank 
 building, and a ground plan, showing the com- 
 munication between the cashier's sitting-room 
 and the bank parlor. There was also a por- 
 trait cf Mr. Richards, with his left arm in a 
 sling ; and another portrait of John Parmelee, 
 the reputed robber. This, however, having 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 107 
 
 been composed from a verbal description, given 
 by a person not trained to observe accurately, 
 would scarcely of itself have sufficed to insure 
 Mr. Parmelee's recognition. 
 
 The cashier's biography was presented in 
 detail; it was told how his maltreatment of his 
 wife had finally led to her disappearance and 
 supposed suicide. Mention was likewise made 
 of their little daughter, Sophie, and it was told 
 how her morals had deteriorated under her 
 father's evil influence, until she had assisted 
 him in his crime, and accompanied him in his 
 flight with the booty. 
 
 As an appendix to all this the history of the 
 bank was rehearsed, from the earliest times 
 down to the present day ; its prosperity and 
 respectability were celebrated, and the names 
 of its various presidents and directors were 
 enumerated. Finally it was intimated that the 
 police were already on the trail of the criminal, 
 and a copy of the reward of $1,000 for the 
 apprehension of John Parmelee wound up the 
 whole, which occupied three and a half columns 
 on the first page. 
 
 An extra size edition was printed to rneet the 
 
io8 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 demand, and the newsdealers and boys did a 
 great business. During the whole of that day 
 the robbery was one of the chief topics of con- 
 versation. In the evening there was a report 
 that Parmelee had escaped to Canada. 
 
 It was a time of political excitement in New 
 York. There were four candidates for the pres- 
 idency in the field ; and each of the several 
 parties and organizations were holding meet- 
 ings, capturing voters, and striving in all ways, 
 fair or foul, to convince the public that the integ- 
 rity of the republic depended upon the election 
 of this or that individual. 
 
 Placards of meetings, and lists of appointees 
 for municipal ofiBces, w^ere posted throughout 
 the city. Impassioned orators addressed boist- 
 erous audiences ; beer saloons and rum shops 
 were crowded with drinkers and talkers, brought 
 thither in cabs chartered by the political man- 
 agers, and treated free. 
 
 Processions with banners and music paraded 
 the streets and obstructed trafific ; the city 
 seemed to contain double its usual population ; 
 the rough element was holding carnival every- 
 where, and noise and disorder prevailed. 
 
JOHN PA R MELEE ' S CURSE. 1 09 
 
 In seasons such as these, all manner of odd 
 and uncouth characters, who in quieter times 
 keep out of sight, emerge from their slums and 
 hiding-places, and stalk about like uneasy and 
 ominous specters, in broad daylight. 
 
 The popular mind, in its excitement and pre- 
 occupation, either does not heed them at all, 
 or accepts them as a sort of symbolic incarna- 
 tion of the omnipresent moral upheaval and 
 unrest, and thus accords them, for the time 
 being, exceptional freedom and immunity. 
 When the atmosphere is serene again, they 
 vanish into their lairs, like obscene reptiles and 
 beasts of prey at the approach of dawn. 
 
 Such being the case, it is not to be wondered 
 at that the eccentric tramp who appeared in the 
 upper part of Manhattan Island, on the after- 
 noon of Friday, should have attracted compar- 
 atively little attention. He was only one of 
 hundreds more or less outwardly like him. 
 
 Nevertheless, to those interested in the va- 
 garies and whimsicalities of human nature, he 
 might have afforded a curious subject of study. 
 
 Under more favorable circumstances, he 
 would have looked a personable man enough ; 
 
no JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 he was of fair height, and well-featured, and his 
 blue eyes were set beneath dark and defined 
 brows. He was a little beyond middle age, 
 though fatigue and hardship made him look 
 not less than fifty. His attire was respectable, 
 but appeared to have suffered temporary deface- 
 ment, as if he had been up all night, amid 
 untoward surroundings. 
 
 A careless observer might have thought him 
 slightly intoxicated ; but this was not the case. 
 His extreme pallor, and his sunken cheeks, 
 indicated rather that he was weak from lack 
 of nourishment ; and though he wavered occa- 
 sionally in his walk, the cause was exhaustion, 
 not inebriety. 
 
 It was evident, however, that his brain was 
 not in a normal condition. His eyes were 
 bright and restless ; a strange variety of ex- 
 pressions flitted continually across his face ; and 
 though, at times, he seemed to be looking at 
 something with rapt attention, it was noticeable 
 that his regards were never fixed upon any 
 object visible to other eyes. 
 
 Occasionally, he would pass his hand trem- 
 blingly over his eyes and mouth, and glance 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. I II 
 
 quickly to the right and left. Again, he would 
 draw himself up with a nervous shiver, smile, 
 nod his head, and make gestures with his arms ; 
 his lips moving rapidly the while, as if in active 
 though noiseless conversation. Yet he appeared 
 wholly unconscious of the curious stares of 
 passers-by. 
 
 Once, near the upper part of Central Park, 
 at a place where a house was building, he seated 
 himself on a barrel head, and, passing his 
 fingers over the top of a low wall in front of 
 him as if it were the keyboard of a piano, he 
 began to sing, in a quavering voice, a senti- 
 mental love song : 
 
 I loved my love last year ; 
 We met, in the month of June ; 
 "When I kissed her on the mouth 
 Love's surprise was in her eyes. 
 When we kissed, as earth in drouth 
 Kisses the kissing rain, 
 Love's music was in tune : 
 Now — we shall not kiss again, 
 
 A crowd of workmen and loafers collected 
 around him, applauding and laughing. But all 
 at once he stopped, arose, gazed vacantly about, 
 and resumed his way. 
 
1 1 2 JOHN PARMELEE ' S CURSE. 
 
 In this fashion the unknown tramp gradually 
 made his way down Fifth avenue. It was sun- 
 set when he passed the town boundary of Cen- 
 tral Park. The voices of the newsboys were 
 heard, crying an ''extra!" — " Escape of John 
 Parmelee, the bank robber, to Canada !" The 
 tramp paid no attention to the announcement, 
 even when one of the boys offered him a paper. 
 And yet he ought to have been interested, for 
 he was no other than John Parmelee himself. 
 
 Leaving Tisdale near midnight on Wednes- 
 day, he had traveled on foot all the distance 
 to New York — more than fifty miles — and dur- 
 ing that long journey he had scarcely slept, 
 and had eaten only the apples that he picked 
 up by the wayside. 
 
 Opium eaters often exhibit singular powers 
 of endurance, in the way of abstinence from 
 food and continuous exertion ; the effect of 
 the drug upon the brain, w^hether stimulating 
 or sedative, seeming partially to counteract 
 fatigue and exhaustion. But Parmelee had, by 
 this time, nearly come to the end of his arti- 
 ficial support. The double dose he had taken 
 on Wednesday, while making him delirious, had 
 
JOHN PARMELEE' S CURSE. 1 13 
 
 probably carried him further than he would 
 otherwise have gone ; but he had missed his 
 usual supply on Thursday, and was already 
 suffering acute nervous anguish for the want of 
 it. The delusions which haunted him, more- 
 over, would soon clear away, and when he awoke 
 from his insanity to find himself, he knew not 
 how, in a strange place, he would be in danger 
 of total collapse. The phantom of his wife, 
 which had led him so far, would abandon him 
 in the midst of strangeness and hostility. 
 
 Meanwhile he strayed onward between the 
 rows of stately houses, noticing them as little 
 as he did the people on the sidewalks. Im- 
 mersed in the unsubstantial world of his be- 
 wildered dreams and fantasies, the solid stone 
 and mortar and flesh and blood of the city were 
 as little real to him as the shadow of a cloud 
 upon a meadow. 
 
 As he' proceeded southward the avenue be- 
 came more and more thronged with people, 
 come out to see or to participate in the politi- 
 cal demonstrations. They delayed his course, 
 but never altered its direction. With a kind 
 of involuntary persistence he edged through 
 
1 1 4 JOHN PARMELEE ' S CURSE, 
 
 and round the groups, always with that odd, 
 blank glance sent forward across the spaces in 
 front of him. 
 
 A little above Madison Square a dense crowd 
 blocked the street in front of one of the politi- 
 cal club-houses. Here the turmoil and excite- 
 ment were more condensed and positive, and, 
 for the first time, the wanderer seemed to feel 
 something of the contagion. 
 
 But, if so, it must have been the vague mag- 
 netism emanating from any large concourse of 
 human beings, animated by a common emotion 
 or purpose, rather than any comprehension on 
 his part of the objects in view^, or sympathy 
 with them. 
 
 Nevertheless, his bearing changed, as if a 
 stimulus were communicated to his nerves. The 
 idea (whatever it was) that dominated his brain 
 flickered up for awhile into new energy. 
 
 Arrived at the junction of Fifth Avenue and 
 Broadway, he took the latter route, and pres- 
 ently reached Union Square. 
 
 Evening had now set in, and that posthumous 
 life (so to speak) of a great city, which begins 
 after dark, was bestirring itself. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, I15 
 
 Many people were on their way to theaters 
 
 and concerts ; others were going out to dinner ; 
 
 thieves and footpads were already prowling 
 
 about, seeking their prey; the newsboys were 
 
 crying the latest results of the elections, and 
 some, more enterprising than the rest, were 
 
 driving small carts, from which they distributed 
 
 their wares. 
 
 But the great majority of the citizens were 
 abroad to see and hear what was going on in 
 the streets and squares; to breathe that excit- 
 ing atmosphere, electric with coming events, of 
 which one always feels the influence at times 
 like these. 
 
 The great open space of Union Square was 
 ablaze with electric lamps, glaring down with a 
 harsh white luster upon the dark shifting masses 
 below, and casting hard black shadows upon 
 the pavement. On the southern side a broad 
 platform had been erected and draped with 
 flags ; and upon it were collected a group of 
 well-dressed men, with shining hats and black 
 coats, one or another of whom, from time to 
 time, would step forward and address the vast 
 audience in a speech. 
 
1 1 6 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 Nothing of these harangues was audible 
 beyond a short distance ; but the cheering 
 and enthusiasm of those in the immediate 
 vicinity of the speakers was communicated to 
 those further off, so that a continuous, irregular 
 tumult of shouts and cries was always rolling 
 to and fro over the expanse. The intention 
 was accepted for the word, and he was always 
 the most eloquent man who gesticulated most 
 and seemed most thoroughly carried away by 
 his own unheard appeals. 
 
 Ever and anon a rocket or a Roman candle 
 would mount whizzing aloft into the empty 
 vault of darkness overhead. There it would 
 pause a moment, then, exploding with a crisp 
 detonation, spread forth a shower of rainbow 
 colored lights. 
 
 The next instant, the bright fires would be 
 absorbed into the darkness ; the whole display 
 thus furnishing an ironical symbol of the prob- 
 able careers of those eminent personages whose 
 names were just then most frequent in men's 
 mouths. 
 
 In the intervals of the speeches, also, 
 bands of music would thump and crash out 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 1 1 7 
 
 patriotic airs, — a method of firing the popu- 
 lar heart more direct and intelligible, per- 
 haps, than were the efforts of most of the 
 orators. 
 
 John Parmelee had now attained to a stage 
 of his delirium, immediately preceding the 
 inevitable final collapse, where he vibrated like 
 a harp-string to every one of these impulses, 
 without comprehending either their origin or 
 their object. He felt a confused desire to 
 throw himself into the current of events, but 
 knew not how to do so. 
 
 With the cunning characteristic of the slaves 
 of this form of intemperance, he had for years 
 managed to conceal from his friends and em- 
 ployers the truth as to his condition. But the 
 long strain, latterly so violently augmented, 
 had brought on a crisis, and he was ready upon 
 provocation to break out into any wild, gro- 
 tesque or extravagant action. 
 
 It so happened that the provocation was 
 now to be applied. 
 
 There were in the crowd numerous small 
 knots or cliques of men engaged in animated 
 political discussions, and many of the disput- 
 
1 1 8 JOHM PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 ants were stimulated by the liquor they had 
 
 drunk, at one or another candidate's expense, 
 to unusual loudness and recklessness. They 
 were ripe for any frolic or license that chance 
 might suggest to their overheated brains. 
 
 John Parmelee got entangled in a group of 
 these amateur debaters, and was addressed by 
 one of them, who demanded his opinion of the 
 question at issue. 
 
 Parmelee had, of course, no conception what 
 the question at issue was ; but his mind was 
 full of chaotic fragments of famous speeches, 
 by all the historic orators, from Demosthenes 
 down to Webster, which he had been accus- 
 tomed, in by-gone days, to deliver for the en- 
 tertainment of Tisdale sociables. Passages 
 from these he now poured forth ; and the fire 
 and earnestness with which he expressed him- 
 self, so wrought upon his auditors that they 
 failed to perceive the incoherency and inapt- 
 itude of what he said. 
 
 His personal appearance, moreover, though 
 disheveled and distraught, had a singularity 
 and impressiveness suggestive of a personage 
 of consequence. It was not the first instance, 
 
JOHN PARMELEE ' S CURSE. 1 1 9 
 
 perhaps, of a madman having been mistaken 
 for a genius and a leader. 
 
 One of his hearers, who was more drunk, and 
 therefore, more influential than the rest, pro- 
 posed that he should be conducted to the plat- 
 form and allowed to develop his views there. 
 The suggestion was instantly seized upon by 
 the rest, and no time was lost in putting it 
 in execution. ^ 
 
 A commotion followed, with outcries, cheers 
 and laughter ; there was a confused strug- 
 gling together of arms and bodies. Those in 
 the vicinity, supposing that a fight was going 
 on, pressed toward the spot from all sides, 
 and the helmets of two or three policemen 
 
 were seen converging upon the scene of con- 
 flict. 
 
 Immediately, however, there was a new and 
 sustained pressure in the direction of the plat- 
 form ; and borne aloft on the shoulders of 
 four or five stalwart fellows, was seen the 
 figure of a pallid, excited man, with dark, dis- 
 ordered hair, and glittering blue eyes. 
 
 None knew who he was ; but every one 
 jumped to the conclusion that he must be some 
 
120 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 eminent politician — perhaps even a presidential 
 candidate — with an important message to 
 communicate. The personages already on the 
 platform took it for granted that this irruption 
 among them was in some way authorized, and 
 they greeted him with respect. Meanwhile, 
 the great crowd roared a welcome, and ten 
 thousand voices demanded a speech. 
 
 Parmelee stood before them and gazed 
 out upon them, supporting himself with his 
 hands upon the railing. He did not realize 
 the meaning of his position ; but he felt the 
 great wave of emotion surging in upon him 
 from that vast assemblage, and his wandering 
 brain caught hold of as wild a notion as ever 
 visited the speculations of insanity. He figured 
 to himself that all these hosts of eager auditors 
 were gathered together out of interest in his 
 private concerns ; and that they awaited in 
 breathless suspense the recital of his misfor- 
 tunes and his hopes. He resolved, therefore, 
 to take them into his confidence ; and it was 
 from this absurd and pathetic point of view 
 that he proceeded to address them. 
 
 *' Fellow-citizens," he began, in a voice which. 
 
JOHN PARMELEK S CURSE, 1 2 1 
 
 though strained and broken, still retained some- 
 thing of its old resonance and melody. *' I 
 have suffered — we all have suffered — and, for 
 many years, the night has seemed to hold no 
 promise of a dawn. But I see better days 
 ahead — happier days ! The worst is over ; the 
 curse is passing away! " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by a burst of ap- 
 plause from the multitude, who understood in 
 this exordium a figurative reference to the 
 prolonged domination of a certain political 
 party, and the probability of its being now 
 about to give way to a new administration. 
 The orator stretched out his hand, and silence 
 came again. 
 
 ''They told me she was dead," he went on, 
 "and that I should see her no more. But I 
 never doubted that she lives still, and that I 
 should find her. I have followed her day and 
 night ; I know what she has suffered, for I 
 have had the same suffering. But she is 
 near — I know it ,• and I shall meet her 
 soon I '' 
 
 "What is he giving us?" demanded one of 
 the dignitaries on the platform of another. 
 
1 2 2 JOHN PARMELEE ' S CURSE. 
 
 '*It strikes me there's more sentiment than 
 
 politics in this speech. Wlio is he, anyway?" 
 *' I give it up!" the other repHed. *'Ask 
 me an easier one." 
 
 '' What a day of joy that will be ! " cried 
 the speaker, throwing out his arms. ** We 
 shall all three be together; there will be no 
 more parting, no more breaking hearts ; no 
 more mystery and misery ! We shall be hap- 
 pier even than in our first days, for we shall 
 have known what misfortune means; and the 
 song that she and I used to sing together — 
 there will be a new music in it ! " And he 
 began to sing : — 
 
 She was warmer than the sunlight! 
 She was sweeter than the blossom 
 Of the rose that lives in June ! , 
 
 " I am thine and thou art mine " 
 Was our murmur in the twilight! 
 She was lovelier than — 
 
 The crowd, up to this point, had kept 
 silent ; those at a distance in order to catch 
 what was said, and those near by from doubt 
 what was meant. But the love ditty broke the 
 spell. There was an uproar such as had not 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 1 23 
 
 been heard that evening. Half in resentment, 
 half in derision, the shouting masses swayed to 
 and fro, and, in another moment, might have 
 stormed the platform and brought disaster to 
 all upon it. 
 
 But the dignitaries recognized their peril, and 
 lost no time in indicating their innocence by 
 ridding themselves of the offender. 
 
 A couple of them seized him by the arms 
 and dragged him to the head of the flight of 
 steps descending from it. Here a brief strug- 
 gle took place, ending in the unknown senti- 
 mentalist being thrust over the edge of the 
 scaffolding and falling on the heads and shoul- 
 ders of the dense mass below. 
 
 His fall was somewhat broken thereby ; and 
 the catastrophe was hailed with yells of laugh- 
 ter. Meanwhile, poor John Parmelee, bruised 
 and half stunned, was rapidly hustled to the 
 outskirts of the crowd, and there left to take 
 care of himself. 
 
XIII. 
 
 WHEN Black Hal and his friends met, after 
 their tramp across country, on the early- 
 morning train to New York, they were none of 
 them in a particularly good humor. They 
 were tired, hungry, and sleepy ; and they had 
 nothing but their labor for their pains. More- 
 over, they had met with a number of petty 
 misfortunes, more irritating, if anything, than 
 the great ones. Dick, in getting over a wire- 
 barbed fence in the dark, had torn his tight 
 pantaloons from the waist-band to the knee — a 
 most unsightly gash, which there were neither 
 pins nor needle and thread at hand to heal. 
 Mike had strayed into a swamp, which had not 
 let go of him until after drawing one of his 
 boots off his leg ; after which he had trod with 
 his unprotected foot on a fragment of a soda- 
 water bottle, and cut himself to the bone. 
 Harold, for his part, had got on without a mis- 
 hap until the very moment when he was mount- 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE, 1 25 
 
 ing the steps of the railway car. In the act of 
 springing upward he had snapped his silver-^ 
 headed cane in two, and the jolt this had given 
 him had caused his silk hat to fall off. So all 
 three were the worse for wear, when they met 
 together in the smoking-car. 
 
 In order to avoid suspicion, they at first 
 behaved as if they were strangers to one 
 another ; but finally Dick produced a pack of 
 cards, and requested the others to join him in 
 a game of cut-throat euchre. This harmless 
 subterfuge served to give them an opportunity 
 of relieving their minds. 
 
 " This is a sweet boon, this is ! " said Dick, 
 bitterly. '* I might have afforded to lose the 
 pants, if I'd had any thin' to stick in the 
 pockets. The first cop wot sees me on the 
 streets will run me in for indecent exposure ! I 
 never did go in for these out o' town jobs, any- 
 how ! " 
 
 " We've all of us put one foot in it," remarked 
 Harold, with a shrug of his shoulders; "espec- 
 ially Mike here," he added, with an ironical 
 smile at the taciturn Irishman. 
 
 " Faith, if iver oi come across the white-liv- 
 
126 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 ered villain as was beforehand wid* us at the 
 safe, oi'll dhrink his dhirty blood ! " growled 
 the latter between his teeth. 
 
 " I only wish I were certain who he is," said 
 Harold. "You might keep his blood, if I could 
 get my hands on his boodle ! I don't see my 
 way clear through this confounded business yet." 
 
 *' Who he is be blowed ! " retorted Dick. 
 "Where he is is wot I'm after! " 
 
 " 'Tis the chap what kept the bank — you 
 knows him better than we does ! " Mike said 
 to Harold in a surly tone, as he stuffed some 
 tobacco into his short black pipe, and lighted it. 
 
 *' It certainly looked like it," Harold replied ; 
 " but though there's no love lost between my 
 brother-in-law and me, I must say I have never 
 given him credit for so neat a stroke of busi- 
 ness as this. He's been in that bank all his 
 life-time ; and if he was ever going to go 
 through it, why should he have hit upon the 
 very same evening that we had laid our pipe 
 for? Such coincidences don't often happen." 
 
 *' Had the safe been cracked before you got 
 to it?" Dick inquired, shuffling the cards. 
 
 " If it had, it was done with a key, and no 
 
JOHN PA R MELEE ' S CURSE, 1 2 7 
 
 force used ; the bolt was shut and the lock was 
 sound ; but the safe was empty all the same, and 
 my brother-in-law was not at home, asl told you." 
 
 " Some blamed fool has been an' squealed on 
 us — that's what it is! " Dick affirmed, scowling. 
 
 " That's all nonsense ! Who was there to 
 squeal? The thing has never been spoken of 
 except when we three were together, and you 
 know as well as I do that nobody could have 
 overheard us." 
 
 "Then why wasn't the stuff there? I ask yer 
 that," returned Dick, angrily. 
 
 " I know no more than you do about that. 
 But suppose, if you like, that my brother-in-law 
 did find out in some way that we were coming, 
 why should that put him up to doing the trick 
 before us ? Why shouldn't he have given the 
 tip to the bank directors, and bagged the whole 
 gang of us? He must have known that if he 
 collared the cash and cleared out, suspicion 
 would fall on him, and they would be after him 
 hot-foot. But if they nabbed us he would get 
 all the credit, and probably a snug bonus by 
 way of testimonial into the bargain. No, I 
 don't see it in that way." 
 
128 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 <' We've been beat anyhow — I see that plain 
 enough ! " muttered Dick. "■ Mebbe they just 
 took the money out thcirselves so as to fool 
 us," he presently added. 
 
 Harold shook his head. ''If they knew 
 enough to fool us, they'd have known enough 
 to capture us, too," said he. " We're off the 
 track, I tell you. It's a puzzle whichever way 
 you look at it. All we know for certain is that 
 the safe was empty. The cashier may have 
 done it, though I don't think so. The officers 
 of the bank may have done it in the ordinary 
 way of business, though I never heard of such 
 a thing before. Or some third party may have 
 done it without either the bank or we knowing 
 any thing about it ; but that's the least likely 
 of all ; and besides, how happened it that John 
 and his daughter were not at home ? Well, 
 perhaps we'll find out more when the thing 
 gets into the papers. Meanwhile, I'm going to 
 stretch out and take a bit of a nap." 
 
 So saying, the captain of the burglars turned 
 over a seat, and established himself in a diagonal 
 attitude, with his head in one corner and his 
 feet in the corner opposite. Dick and Mike, 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 129 
 
 after grumbling together for a while, followed 
 
 his example. The train sped along through 
 
 the night, and toward morning it deposited 
 
 them in New York about four hours later than 
 the time at which Sophie had arrived on her 
 
 lonely quest for her father. 
 
 This was Thursday, and the reporter's account 
 of last night's proceedirgs had not yet got into 
 his paper. Harold got into a cab and was 
 driven to a hat store, where he replaced his lost 
 head-gear ; the two other men proceeded down 
 town on a Third Avenue horse-car. Harold, 
 with the solicitude for his physical condition 
 which was characteristic of him, took a bath, 
 and then rolled himself up on the sofa in his 
 room and went to sleep. It was late in the 
 afternoon when he awoke, feeling refreshed and 
 with a good appetite. He had about twenty 
 dollars in his pocket. He went to a good 
 restaurant and ordered the best dinner on the 
 menu, with a pint of light claret to wash it 
 down. After sitting a while, and glancing 
 over the evening paper, he left the restau- 
 rant and strolled out on Broadway to take the 
 evening air, and to think over his present situa- 
 
ISO JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 tion in a deliberate and unimpassioned man- 
 ner. 
 
 He was about thirty-five years old, and in 
 the prime of his mental and bodily powers. 
 He had had a wide experience of men and 
 affairs, and, with industry and persistence, he 
 might succeed in any avenue of employment. 
 Many men had started with much less efficient 
 capacity than his, and had risen to honor and 
 power. It was only a matter of a few years. 
 Why should he not try it? 
 
 On the other hand, should he continue his 
 present mode of life, he was certain sooner or 
 later to end in disgrace and ruin. In quiet 
 moments he admitted this: society always pre- 
 vails against its enemies in the long run. He 
 would be caught, tried, convicted, and that 
 would be the end. What, then, was the use of 
 mortgaging all the future part of his life for the 
 sake of the few intervening years — or it might 
 
 be months — of perilous and problematical 
 enjoyment? Moreover, at the best, the enjoy- 
 ment was only momentary, while the peril was 
 constant. And then, how sordid the con- 
 ditions were ! Were Dick and Mike the sort 
 
JOHN P ARM E LEE ' S CURSE. 1 3 1 
 
 of companions that a man of education and 
 ancestry like himself should be compelled to 
 fraternize with ? In half a dozen years at 
 furthest, if he directed his course aright, he 
 might be associating with the best people and 
 the most enlightened minds in America. Why 
 not take that course now? 
 
 " It is all very easy to talk," said Harold to 
 himself at this point, "' and the logic is all 
 correct enough. But when it comes to trying 
 it on practically it's different. Suppose I agree 
 to throw over all this crooked business, how 
 am I to begin on the new tack ? I have fifteen 
 dollars in my pocket at this moment. If I set 
 to work, and had ordinary luck, I might find 
 employment, say, in a month. Well, and what 
 would I be living on in the meanwhile ? And 
 then, suppose I shouldn't find it in two months 
 or in six ! But if the Tisdale Bank had been all 
 right, I should have made may be a hundred 
 thousand dollars in ten minutes : and to-morrow 
 I may get on to something quite as good. 
 
 He had by this time arrived at the junction 
 of Broadway and Fifth Avenue ; and as he 
 paused on the corner, awaiting a chance to 
 
132 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 cross between the procession of carriages, he 
 felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and looking 
 round, saw a man whom he had known some 
 years before, but whom he had latterly lost 
 sight of. He was a person of good connections 
 and prospects, and his name was Sherman. 
 
 " Halloo, old fellow," Sherman said, " I knew 
 it was you by the way you walked ! How are 
 you? Where are you stopping? How does 
 the world use you ? I've been down in Mexico 
 for the last three years — only got back a month 
 ago. What are you doing nowadays? " 
 
 "Oh, nothing particular," replied Harold, 
 nonchalantly: I was just wondering what I 
 should do." 
 
 *' The same old sixpence as ever, I see ! " 
 rejoined Sherman, with a laugh. " You never 
 were much of a glutton for work. But I always 
 said, and I believe it still, that if you were once 
 to take hold in earnest, there's nobody could 
 get ahead of you ! You've got brains, and 
 you're a manager. I wish I had you with me 
 down in Mexico. There's millions down there 
 for the right sort of men. I'm off again next 
 week. It's hard work, but it's worth it ! I 
 
JOHN PA R MELEE ' S CURSE, i ^^^^ 
 
 suppose you've got money enough — you always 
 look as if you had : but if you want to lay up 
 a big fortune in a few years chip in with me, 
 and I'll show you how to do it! Look here, 
 have you any engagement this evening ? Then 
 come up to my room and smoke a cigar, and 
 we'll have a talk about it." 
 
 Harold followed his friend to his apartment 
 in one of the neighboring hotels. There were 
 a couple of rooms, sumptuously furnished, and 
 full of objects that showed the habit of luxur- 
 ious comfort. He sat down in one of the com- 
 fortable arm-chairs, and accepted a cigar from 
 the box which Sherman tendered to him. The 
 cigar was of the best brand. On a small table 
 were cut-glass decanters and glasses. In the 
 window was a secretary, with a green-baize 
 writing desk, and a score of pigeon-holes ; it was 
 littered with papers and writing materials, and 
 Harold especially noted a thick check-book, 
 about one third used. There were also a little 
 sheaf of bank notes, and heaped up on them a 
 handful of gold eagles and double-eagles. An 
 open piano stood in one corner. On the center- 
 table was a large map of Mexico, partly un- 
 
134 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 folded. Photographs of Mexican buildings and 
 scenery were disposed here and there. Books, 
 mostly, it seemed, of a statistical nature, were 
 piled up on the floor beside the secretary. The 
 door into the bed-room stood open, and through 
 it were visible a silk-lined velvet smoking-jacket 
 thrown over a chair, a pair of morocco slippers 
 with peaked turn-up toes, and a dressing table 
 with a plate-glass mirror and brushes with backs 
 of carved ivory. Over all was an atmosphere 
 of good breeding, prosperity and business 
 energy. 
 
 **You see," said Sherman, throwing himself 
 down in a chair and rubbing one hand through 
 his short brown beard, while he smiled pleasant- 
 ly, " I'm all upside down here ; but I'm always 
 that way, and the only redeeming feature is, 
 that I know my way through my own disorder. 
 But my affairs are getting too many for me and 
 I need somebody to take hold and help. An 
 ordinary secretary won't do ; I want one of 
 character and judgment, with capacities as good 
 or better than my own ; a fellow that I can 
 associate with confidentially — a friend. I have 
 been wishing for the last three or four days that 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 13^ 
 
 I could find such a fellow ; and upon my word, 
 Blackmer, I feel inclined to look upon you as a 
 sort of Providential answer to my prayer. You 
 know me ; you know the sort of man I used to 
 be. I used to knock about with the boys, and 
 drive a fast horse, and dine at Delmonico's, 
 and go to Niblo's and the Casino, and all that 
 sort of thing. I thought as long as I had 
 money enough, I didn't want any thing else. 
 But one day I struck a streak of bad 
 luck, and the first thing I knew, I was left 
 with hardly five thousand dollars to my name. 
 That was three and a half years ago. I had a 
 week or so of the worst kind of blues. My 
 first idea was to borrow money of somebody — 
 nobody knew then how hard I was hit — and 
 try to pull up again by betting and speculating 
 and that sort of thing. There were plenty of 
 fellows would have lent me any am.ount. But 
 then I thought that would be rather a shabby 
 game to play, and I finally gave it up. Then I 
 had a scheme to buy government land out West 
 and start a farm and grow up with the country. 
 But I didn't know the first thing about farming, 
 and I would never be a good hand at sitting 
 
i3^ JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 down quietly and waiting for the seasons to 
 come and behave themselves ; I want to be on 
 the go all the time. However, I might have 
 come to that in time, if I had'nt fallen in with 
 a man who began to talk Mexico to me, the 
 same way I'm talking it to you now. He 
 showed me what there was to be done there, 
 and asked me if I had the grit to go in. He 
 said, now was the time, because, in a dozen 
 years from now, when the right man got 
 hold of the government down there, there 
 would be a rush for the place, and there 
 wouldn't be enough to go round. Well, I didn't 
 take much to the idea ; it seemed an outlandish 
 country to bury one's self in ; and I didn't 
 know much more about mining and engineer- 
 ing than I did about farming. Still, I was cer- 
 tain of novelty and occupation, and it could 
 do no harm to try it ; and to make along story 
 short, I made up my mind to go in. And by 
 George, it was the luckiest decision, from every 
 point of view, that ever I made in my life! " 
 
 "You found it paid, did you ?" said Harold, 
 who had been listening with attention. 
 
 "It paid, pecuniarily and otherwise. As 
 
JOHN' PARMELEE 'S CURSE. i37 
 
 for the money, you have no idea — few people 
 have — of the wealth that is to be got out of that 
 country. You can pick up an ample income 
 on the surface of the ground ; but if you bring 
 science and machinery to bear, you can do any 
 thing! But that isn't all ; it's a most delight- 
 ful place to be in. It's as new as our prairies, 
 and yet as old as Europe or India. You feel 
 like a Columbus, and like Macaulay's New 
 Zealander, at the same time. And it keeps a 
 man alive ; he lives all through his brain and 
 his body. You remember what a pale, languid, 
 flabby-muscled creature I was four years ago. 
 Look at me now! I've got the complexion of 
 a sailor and the brawn of an athlete, and I'm in 
 the best of spirits and condition from one year's 
 end to another. I wouldn't have missed the 
 experience for all I'm worth twice over ! " 
 
 ** How long do you intend to keep it up — 
 this Mexican business?" Harold inquired. 
 
 *' That's a point I wanted to speak to you 
 about. I've laid the foundations, and set everv 
 thing a-going; all that has to be done now, is 
 to keep it up. But in order to do that properly, 
 it is necessary that I should begin to spend 
 
13^ JOHN PARMELEE '5- CURSE. 
 
 most of my time here — at this end of the line — 
 while some one on whom I can depend attends 
 to things down there. So my proposition 
 (assuming that you think you would care to 
 enter into the matter at all) is this: I will take 
 you with me to Mexico next week, and we'll 
 spend six months together, and I'll teach you 
 whatever there is to be taught — no fear but 
 you'll learn it fast enough — faster than I did. 
 Then I'll leave you there, to carry on our opera- 
 tions, while I come back to New York. In three 
 years from now, you and I will have the inside 
 track of every thing there is going in the way of 
 commerce between this country and Mexico ; 
 and if you should desire to settle down there, 
 I dare say you might succeed Porfirio Diaz one 
 of these days, as President of the Republic. 
 
XIV. 
 
 HAROLD maintained a composed demeanor 
 all this while, but, in truth, he was not a 
 little moved by this unexpected adventure. It 
 fell out so opportunely with his immediate want, 
 as to seem something more than a coincidence. 
 It was evident that Sherman had heard noth- 
 ing of the darker passages of his career ; he 
 supposed him to be merely an idle man about 
 town, with no object in life, but with abilities 
 to fit him for an active and eminent existence. 
 And the course he proposed could not have 
 been better suited to the requirements of a 
 man in Harold's position. For, were he to at- 
 tempt to begin a new life in New York, he 
 would be hampered and crippled by the pres- 
 ence of many members of the criminal classes, 
 who knew his history ; not to mention the po- 
 lice, who had his photograph and biography in 
 their books. He would have to live down his 
 past, before he could enter upon his future ; 
 
140 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 and that would be a matter of years, and per- 
 haps might fail altogether. But this plan at 
 once freed him from the shadows of what had 
 gone before, and admitted him at a single step 
 to the sunshine and liberty of a better life. 
 The prospects of success were as brilliant and 
 almost as prompt as the best he could hope for 
 in his present course ; and there was none of 
 the attendant drawback of danger, disgrace 
 and punishment. It seemed to Harold that if 
 he had been asked to choose the destiny that 
 would, on the whole, be most agreeable to his 
 talents and aspirations, he would have selected 
 precisely that which was now being offered to 
 him. 
 
 "The scheme certainly doesn't look bad, as 
 you state it," he remarked coolly. "Of course, 
 however, something would depend, so far as 
 I'm concerned, on the kind of arrangements 
 you would want to make from the financial 
 point of view. I'm not a millionaire, exactly, 
 and I couldn'd affort to risk the little I 
 have " 
 
 " Oh, I don't want you to bother yourself 
 ^bout that — of course not ! " Sherman inter- 
 
JOHN PARMELEE ' S CURSE, 1 4 1 
 
 rupted. "■ If you were a stranger, I might ask 
 for a guarantee of some kind, just as a matter 
 of form ; but as it is, the favor would be quite as 
 much on your side as on mine, and I should re- 
 quire nothing but your consent to co-operate 
 with me. If you want to put any capital into 
 the business, you are at liberty to do so, and 
 you will receive whatever profits may accrue 
 from it. But my idea was, to pay you a salary, 
 — say, to begin with, a couple of hundred dol- 
 lars a week, — and then, later on, when you got 
 the hang of the work, and saw how the land 
 lay, you could come in for a share of the whole 
 thing. So, if you didn't like it after all, you 
 could step out, and be just where you were 
 when you started. Well, how does it strike 
 you.'' 
 
 *' Well, it seems to me I should like it. I 
 think it will just about suit me," replied Har- 
 old, as if weighing his words. '' I'm fond of a 
 city life, of course, — the comforts and all that ; 
 it's what I'm most used to. But I've been out 
 West, and knocked around a little here and 
 there, and I know enough about that sort of 
 thing to believe that I wouldn't die of a broken 
 
142 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 heart even in Mexico. Seriously, I'm not half 
 sorry of an opportunity to strike out in a new 
 line, and find out whether I've got any thing in 
 me, — next week, did you say?" 
 
 "Yes; Monday or Tuesday. Though, if 
 that's too short notice for you, I might — " 
 
 ** No ; oh, no ; this is Thursday ; I guess I 
 can cut myself loose from New York in three 
 days, if I can do it at all. Yes, and the sooner 
 the better. Monday be it ! " 
 
 *'Good! it's a go!" exclaimed Sherman, 
 throwing away the stump of his cigar, and ris- 
 ing with animation. " Stay and dine with me 
 this evening, and we'll go over the ground 
 thoroughly together, so that you may get a 
 clear idea of what is to be done. To-morrow 
 you can begin your preparations." 
 
 They talked until midnight ; and when Har- 
 old got up to leave, the prospects of a new life 
 seemed clear and certain. At parting, Sher- 
 man asked him what would be his address in 
 the mean while ? 
 
 ** Let me see ! " replied Harold, somewhat 
 disconcerted, — for he was by no means anxious 
 to have his friend discover any thing about his 
 
JOHN P ARM E LEE ' S CURSE. 1 43 
 
 present whereabouts. ^' I am just moving out 
 of my old quarters," he went on, '' and I was 
 thinking of visiting a friend out of town. I 
 shan't have any fixed address. But I shall drop 
 in to the hotel here to-morrow, and if you are 
 not in, you might leave a line for me with the 
 clerk ; at any rate, you know, I shall be on hand 
 on Monday. So — d bientot ! " 
 
 ''Good by, my dear fellow," said Sherman, 
 grasping his hand heartily ; and they separated. 
 
 On his way homeward, Harold could not 
 help a grin of amusement at the thought of 
 how his friend's manner toward him would 
 have changed, had he known more of his true 
 character ; and this led him to the reflection 
 that, after all, the favor was done not to him- 
 self, but to a Harold who existed only in Sher- 
 man's imagination. It follows, that the real 
 Harold had no reason to feel gratitude for it. 
 " I shall owe him nothing," he told himself; 
 "he is just like the rest of the world, — a snob 
 and a time-server. He thinks he will gain 
 something by getting me to join him, and so 
 he does it. If he thought I needed help, he 
 would see rne damned before he'd give it. I'rn 
 
144 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 not bound to feel under any obligations to him ; 
 there are none. If he were to learn, at any 
 moment, what my past life has really been, he 
 would send me packing the next day. Well, 
 then, if I ever find myself in a position to 
 benefit myself at his expense, I shall have a 
 perfect right to do it. So long as his interests 
 and mine are identical, well and good ; but if 
 ever they clash, he must go to the wall. No use 
 having any sentiment about this thing. We're 
 each looking out for ourselves, and the best 
 man wins ! " 
 
 Having thus eased his mind of the momen- 
 tary apprehension, that it was conceivable that 
 any one could do a kindness to another from 
 a merely disinterested and generous motive. ^ 
 Harold felt more cheerful than ever, and went 
 to bed and to sleep with a light heart. He was 
 still asleep when a peculiar knock on the door 
 aroused him ; it apprised him that one of his 
 confederates awaited admission. 
 
 '* I shall have to play these fellows," he mut- 
 tered to himself, as he arose and prepared to 
 admit the visitor. ** If once they should catch 
 an inkling of my compact with Mr, Frank 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. I45 
 
 Sherman, good-by to Mexico and its mines and 
 millions for good and all ! " 
 
 He opened the door, though not yet loosen- 
 ing the chain which fastened it. But when he 
 saw Dick standing without, he slipped the bolt, 
 and suffered him to enter. 
 
 " What brings you abroad so early ? " he de- 
 manded, in no very genial manner. 
 
 Dick had put on another pair of trowsers, 
 which, if not of the latest fashion, at any rate 
 answered the purpose of covering his lean and 
 misshapen shanks. For the rest, he was as 
 shabby and ill-favored as usual ; and Harold, as 
 he glanced at him, mentally contrasted his 
 aspect, and all the depraved and underground 
 mode of life which he symbolized, with the 
 elegance and prosperity that characterized 
 Sherman ; and he thanked fortune that he was 
 about to cut loose from the former and hence- 
 forth enjoy the latter. 
 
 But Dick's wizened visage wore an eager and 
 excited expression, and it was evident that 
 his presence was not accidental nor aimless. 
 He had some communication of importance to 
 rnake. After Harold had closed the door and 
 
146 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 replaced the chain, Dick pulled a morning 
 newspaper out of his pocket, and handed it to 
 his host in silence, but with a nod of the head 
 that meant a great deal. 
 
 " Well, what's this for ? " Harold inquired, 
 unfolding the paper and glancing over it care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " It's on the first page," replied Dick, in a 
 voice husky with emotion ; ** first page, right 
 hand column ! " 
 
 Harold turned to the place indicated. 
 " Halloo ! " murmured he, as his eye caught the 
 heading of the article. " Sure enough ! " He 
 sat down on the edge of the sofa-bedstead, and 
 began to read intently. Dick stood watching 
 him, his hand wandering nervously over his 
 mouth and chin. Three minutes passed, and 
 then Harold threw the paper aside, and looked 
 straight before him, his eyebrows drawn 
 together in thought. He seemed to have for- 
 gotten Dick. Indeed, his mind was taking a 
 very wide and rapid voyage. 
 
 "Say, are you goin' to sleep agin?" Dick 
 exclaimed, at length, with some impatience. 
 
 Harold glanced up at him, and drew a long 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. i47 
 
 breath. " Not till I've got to the bottom of 
 this thing," he replied, after a pause. *' If 
 John Parmelee has committed that burglary, 
 and has a head on his shoulders, and the money 
 in his pocket, it's ten to one he isn't far from 
 where we're sitting at this moment. That's a 
 little more than human nature can stand. If 
 John hadn't put on such virtuous airs all his 
 life, and pretended that butter wouldn't melt 
 in his mouth, I might have been willing to own 
 up that he'd beaten me, and to let him have 
 the benefit of it. But as it is, I'm blessed if I 
 don't get after him, and make him shell out ! 
 He took an unfair advantage of us, and that's 
 why he got ahead. We must get even with 
 him, and not lose any time about it either ! " 
 
 " Well, now you're talkin'," said Dick, with 
 a mollified air. '* Them's my sentiments, to a 
 dot ! But how we're to get our claws on him 
 is what I want to know. It ain't so easy." 
 
 "Where's Mike?" asked Harold, abruptly, 
 after another pause. 
 
 '* He ain't showed up this mornin' " was the 
 reply. " He was boozin' last night, when I 
 left him." 
 
I48 JOHN- PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 "All right; let him alone, then," said 
 Harold. " If he doesn't catch on to the new 
 deal, I don't know as we're obliged to put him 
 up to it. That other affair is past and done 
 with, and this is on another tack altogether. 
 It will be just as easy to divide the boodle into 
 two parts as into three ; and it will be so much 
 the more for those that divide it. Isn't that 
 so r 
 
 ** That won't prevent Mike from cuttin* up 
 rough when he finds it out," replied Dick, 
 dubiously. 
 
 " He needn't find it out ; and if he does — 
 why, it can't be helped, that's all." Harold's 
 motive in thus excluding Mike from participa- 
 tion in the expected windfall was two-fold : 
 Not only would his share be larger, but there 
 would be one person the less possessing the 
 knowledge that he had taken the proceeds of 
 the burglary. It was desirable, in any case, to 
 confine such knowledge to as few people as 
 possible ; but especially so in this instance, 
 when he contemplated beginning a new life 
 with Sherman. 
 
 It will be perceived that Harold had 
 
JOHN PARMALEE'S curse. i49 
 
 no intention of foregoing the latter pro- 
 ject. He calculated that he would prob- 
 ably be able to get hold of John Parmelee 
 before Monday morning ; and that the sum of 
 money which he would extract from him, 
 whether larger or smaller, would be so much 
 to the good — an agreeable nest-egg for future 
 occasions. As to the moral aspect of such a 
 transaction, he did not trouble himself; for 
 although he had come to the conclusion that, 
 with Sherman's assistance, honesty would be 
 the best policy, he still considered himself free 
 to take occasional excursions in the opposite 
 direction, when the omens were propitious. 
 
 With respect to Mike, he was a difficult per- 
 son to manage, and though useful in an emer- 
 gency where personal strength and courage were 
 necessary, he was rather an incumbrance in 
 enterprises which depended for success on brains 
 and ingenuity. As he could neither read nor 
 write, it was quite possible that he would 
 remain ignorant of the story of John Parme- 
 lee's exploit until Harold was on his way to 
 Mexico ; and to what might happen after that, 
 Harold was, of course, indifferent. 
 
150 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE:. 
 
 He and Dick now took a hasty breakfast 
 together, and arranged their plan of operations. 
 If Parmelee were (as they inferred) an old 
 hand at the business, he would probably have 
 recourse to certain places well known to the 
 thieving fraternity of New York, to dispose 
 of such part of his plunder as was not already 
 in the form of cash. Upon such places, there- 
 fore, they determined to keep a watch ; and 
 meanwhile Harold, to whom alone Parmelee 
 was known by sight, would be on the lookout 
 for a chance meeting in the streets. Upon 
 this basis of procedure they set forth. 
 
 But although they pursued their game all 
 day long, they did not succeed in so much as 
 getting upon the scent of it. None of the 
 " fences " had seen any signs of the person they 
 wanted, and none of the customary resorts of 
 social vermin contained him. Harold began 
 to fear that either he had transacted his affairs 
 the previous day, before the fact of the rob- 
 bery was published ; or else that he had 
 betaken himself elsewhere than to New York. 
 The apprehension was strengthened by the 
 rumor in the evening papers that Parmelee had 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 1 5 1 
 
 escaped to Canada. The day seemed destined 
 to turn out an unlucky one ; and to add to his 
 annoyance, Harold had been unable to find 
 time to call at the hotel to see Sherman, or to 
 get any message that might have been left for 
 him. 
 
 Toward evening, in company with Dick, he 
 found himself in Union Square, where, as we 
 have seen, the great political meeting was 
 being held. He was just considering how he 
 might best get rid of Dick, when they were 
 encountered by Mike, whom they had hitherto 
 successfully avoided. He accosted them, and 
 while they were talking together, their atten- 
 tion was attracted by a turmoil in the throng at 
 a little distance from them, and which seemed 
 to surge in the direction of the platform. 
 
XV. 
 
 IT so happened that among the many thou- 
 sands that witnessed John Parmelee's ejec- 
 tion from the platform, there were two who knew 
 and recognized him. One of them was a tall, 
 handsome, fashionably dressed fellow, with a 
 silk hat on his head and a silver-headed cane in 
 his hand. Two other men were near him — a 
 broad shouldered, band}^ legged ruffian, with a 
 cloth cap pulled over his eyes, and a flimsy, 
 shabby scamp, with meager jaws and a wide, 
 hungry mouth. 
 
 When John was first uplifted into his short- 
 lived distinction, these three companions were 
 pushing their way about in the throng, with no 
 particular object in view. But the moment 
 the tall man caught sight of the face of the 
 orator, he started and touched one of his fol- 
 lowers on the arm. 
 
 ** Look there ! " he exclaimed. '' D — n me, if 
 there isn't our man now! " 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. i53 
 
 "What's that?" returned Dick, peering 
 about. 
 
 " My precious brother-in-law, I tell you ! 
 There, on the platform ! What the devil can 
 be the meaning of it? He must be drunk or 
 crazy, one of the two ! " 
 
 "Been spreeing it with the Tisdale boodle, I 
 expect," Dick remarked. 
 
 " But the fellow's mad, to show up that way, 
 when the cops are after him ! " 
 
 " Phwat be yez jawin' about?" demanded 
 Mike, who was a man of few words. 
 
 " That comes of not subscribing to the news- 
 papers !" the other replied. " Do you see that 
 chap up there ? Well, he's the man who 
 cleaned out the Tisdale safe ahead of us, and 
 got off with the plunder. They're hunting for 
 him everywhere, from Montreal to Florida ; and 
 here he's spouting politics in Union Square ! 
 Hanged if I see his game ! " 
 
 "There's a thousand dollars for the one as 
 spots him !" said Dick, licking his chaps. 
 
 " Bad 'cess to him ! let's grab him 'an run him 
 in ! " proposed Mike,making a step forward. • 
 
 " Hold on, you d d fool I " exclaimed the 
 
IS4 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 tall man, catching him by the arm. ''Don't 
 you see we can do fifty times better than that? 
 He must have the boodle with him, or know 
 where it is ; and if we can get hold of him and 
 fetch him up to the crib, its hard lines if we 
 don't squeeze the whole thing out of him. — 
 Hullo ! They're firing him off the platform, 
 now! He's drunk, for dead sure! — 'Honest 
 John ' they called him ! I always knew he was a 
 screw and believed he was a scamp, and now I 
 know that, too ! Come on, lads! Here's a new 
 deal, after all, and we hold trumps ! " 
 
 While Harold Blackmer and his pals were 
 carrying out their scheme, the other person 
 who knew John Parmelee was trying to get to 
 him, from very different motives. 
 
 She was a little, sallow-cheeked girl, about 
 fourteen years of age, plainly but decently 
 dressed, and carrying a black satchel in her 
 hand. 
 
 Sophie, after leaving home in search of her 
 father, had walked down to the station, which 
 she reached just as a train came in. She got 
 into it without buying a ticket or asking where 
 it would take her. When the conductor came 
 
^' JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, l55 
 
 along, however, and asked whether she were 
 bound to New York she said yes, and paid her 
 fare thither, and in the course of a couple of 
 hours she was set down in the Grand Central 
 depot. 
 
 She had never been in New York before and 
 had no idea what to do. But the porter who 
 helped her out of the car happened to be a 
 married man, and to have lately lost a little 
 daughter about Sophie's age ; so he took her 
 home with him to spend the night, satchel and 
 all, little suspecting what a fortune was thus in- 
 troduced beneath his roof. 
 
 Sophie slept soundly till ten o'clock the next 
 morning; when she awoke, the porter's wife 
 gave her a breakfast ; but, when the child offered 
 twenty-five cents to pay for her entertainment, 
 the woman kissed her with tears on her cheeks, 
 gave the money back to her, and told her she 
 might live there always if she would. Sophie 
 thanked her heartily, and promised if she did 
 not find her papa that day, to come back again 
 in the evening. 
 
 " Sure, then, honey, ye'd as well lave yerbag 
 here the while," said the woman, as Sophie 
 
1 5 6 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 grasped it and prepared to depart, " 'tis too 
 heavy for the Hkes o' you to be carryin' ! " 
 
 "" I should like to, but I musn't," Sophie re- 
 plied. " I promised my papa I would not." 
 
 '' God send ye good luck, then, darlint !" said 
 the woman ; and Sophie marched off. 
 
 All that day she walked about New York 
 looking for her papa, and never parting from 
 the heavy satchel, which contained money 
 enough to support her in the lap of luxury for 
 a dozen years. But it was a burden to her in a 
 more literal sense than a large fortune is com- 
 monly supposed to burden its possessor. It 
 was a heavy-hearted business, making her way 
 through the clattering, roaring streets, crowded 
 with faces that were unknown to her, amid 
 which she sought in vain for the one that was 
 dearer to her than all the world. 
 
 Sometimes a brawny policeman would ask 
 her whether she had lost her way. Sometimes 
 a lady in a crape veil would look compassion- 
 ately at her. Sometimes an idle boy would 
 screech suddenly in her ear to startle her. But, 
 for the most part, she was unnoticed. Mean- 
 while, the money in her pocket was reduced to 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, l57 
 
 less than two dollars; and unless her search 
 were successful on the morrow she bade fair to 
 to be left penniless with her fifty-seven thou- 
 sand dollars in bank-notes and securities. 
 
 Many a time her heart sank and her lips 
 quivered with loneliness and grief. After all, 
 it was but one chance in a thousand that the 
 father she sought was within a hundred miles 
 of her. It was a mere chance — or an instinct 
 at most — that had led her to New York. But 
 she was not old enough to realize the odds 
 against her ; and she was young enough to be- 
 lieve that God would guide her, if He thought 
 best. 
 
 That night she spent at the house of her 
 friend, the porter's wife; and the next morning 
 she set forth again. The day was a repetition 
 of the former one. Toward evening she found 
 herself, almost tired out, in the lower part of 
 Broadway. But as she approached Union 
 Square her flagging spirits revived ; she had a 
 feeling that her wanderings were near their 
 end. 
 
 The current of the crowd was setting north- 
 ward, and she went with it willingly, sure that 
 
158 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 she was being led aright. She arrived in the 
 square a moment after her father had made his 
 appearance on the platform, and stood, con- 
 spicuous to all eyes, in the glare of the electric 
 lamps. 
 
 This strange spectacle did not surprise her ; 
 it seemed to be what she had been expecting. 
 In the shout of the multitude she heard the 
 mighty echo of the joy that filled her own 
 heart, and her own little voice mingled in the 
 stentorian acclaim : " Papa, papa, I am here ; 
 let me come to you ! " 
 
 She tried to force her way toward him, but 
 she might as well have striven to pass through 
 a rock. The crowd poured around her and 
 over her, and hurried her now this way, now 
 that; she was jostled breathless, helpless ; she 
 would have fallen had there been room to fall ; 
 and to have been cast beneath those trampling, 
 heedless feet would have been instant death. 
 
 But through it all she did not cease to call 
 for*' Papa, papa!" nor did her small fingers 
 relinquish their hold upon the satchel which 
 contained the trust confided in her. 
 
 All at once she saw emerging from the 
 
JOHN PARMELEE ' S CURSE. 1 5 9 
 
 throng three men supporting a fourth, and 
 dragging him along with him. It was her 
 father ; but how Hfeless and ghastly he looked ! 
 She summoned all her strength, and called to 
 him once more. She fancied he heard her ; 
 for an instant his face was turned toward her. 
 
 The next instant he was swept out of her 
 sight, and a chance blow on her head from 
 some rude elbow dizzied her brain. Darkness 
 filled her eyes ; she felt herself falling. 
 
 As she dropped to the pavement, a police- 
 man, who happened to be in the right place at 
 the right time, saw her and caught her up in 
 his arms. She appeared to be stunned, but 
 not seriously hurt. What was to be done with 
 her? 
 
 His eye happened to light upon a small cart, 
 driven by a small boy, which was just then 
 standing by the curb. It was one of those 
 newsboy's carts, already alluded to, chartered 
 for the purpose of selling the extra editions ; 
 and its owner, having sold out his consignment, 
 had paused on his way home to enjoy the 
 spectacle of free institutions in active opera^ 
 tion. 
 
l6o JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 *' Hi ! sonny," said the policeman, laying the 
 still insensible form of the little girl down in 
 the bottom of the cart, '' take her to the sta- 
 tion round the corner and give her in charge to 
 the boss. He'll tip you a quarter, may be. Off 
 you go ! Hold up ! Here's a bag belongs to 
 her I guess." And he tossed in, as a careless 
 after-thought, the fifty-seven thousand dollars. 
 
 The newsboy contemplated his involuntary 
 passenger, as she lay there, and took a fancy to 
 her. He slipped the satchel beneath her head, 
 to serve as a pillow ; whipped up his horse, and 
 drove away. 
 
 But instead of taking her to the station- 
 house, he kept along down Broadway as far 
 as Canal street, and then turned off to the 
 right. 
 
XVI. 
 
 WHEN Sophie came fully to herself again, 
 she was vaguely surprised to find her- 
 self gazing at the dirty and dilapidated ceiling 
 of a low room, imperfectly illuminated by the 
 flickering light of an ill-smelling little lamp. 
 
 She raised herself on her elbow and looked 
 about. 
 
 There was nothing in the room that could 
 properly be called furniture. She was lying in 
 one corner, upon a mattress improvised out of 
 pieces of sail cloth laid upon straw. Upon a 
 similar heap of bedding, in another corner, was 
 stretched the shabbily attired figure of an 
 elderly woman, whose face was partly con- 
 cealed beneath the folds of a ragged shawl, 
 and whose eyes were closed. 
 
 A couple of boards laid across two soap 
 boxes served for a table, and a coil of rope 
 beside it may have answered the purpose of a 
 chair. The walls were destitute of paper, and 
 
162 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 the discolored plaster had fallen off in several 
 places, showing the laths underneath. Alto- 
 gether, Sophie had never before seen so un- 
 lovely an apartment as this. 
 
 While she was wondering where she was, and 
 how she came there, the door opened and a 
 boy about twelve years old entered. 
 
 He was barefooted, and his clothing was ele- 
 mentary and ragged. His red hair thrust 
 
 itself through the hole in the crown of his 
 cap, but his dirty, freckled face w^as good- 
 humored and clever, and when he met Sophie's 
 eyes his mouth widened in a broad smile. He 
 carried in his hand a bundle of something, done 
 up in a bit of newspaper. 
 
 ''Hello! how was yer?" he said, in a tone 
 husky with the calling of many newspapers, 
 but cheerful and kindly. *' I know'd as yer was 
 more scar't nor hurt— and more hungry nor 
 scar't, mebbe ! Dat's all right ! Here — catch 
 on to a bite of dis, and you'll be chipperer nor 
 a sparrer ! " 
 
 So saying, he squatted down cross-legged 
 beside her, and unfolded the contents of the 
 bundle. There was a Frankfort sausage, a 
 
JOHN PA R MELEE ' S CVRSE, 1 63 
 
 dozen sea biscuits, and a piece of cheese. He 
 also produced a couple of apples from his 
 trowsers pockets, with the remark, '' Them's 
 dessert." 
 
 He then took the board-and-soap-box table 
 to pieces, and reconstructed it in a position 
 accessible to both Sophie and himself. Upon 
 this he spread the feast, with the newspaper 
 for a table-cloth. A battered tin can half full 
 of water represented the beverages. 
 
 *' Dere we is! " he exclaimed ; '* fine ez Del- 
 monico ! Jump in an' gorge yourself, little 
 gal ! Ef yer sees what yer don't want, ax for 
 it!" 
 
 *' Do you live here ?" Sophie inquired. 
 
 "You bet I does," answered the boy, with a 
 nod of satisfaction. " Ain't this room a daisy !" 
 There ain't many of der boys has got der match 
 of it, and don't yer forgit it ! I'se had hard 
 times myself but I makes money now, I does." 
 
 ** How do you make money?" asked the little 
 girl, who began to feel a liking for her host. 
 
 " Sellin' papers, ter be sure. I shined boots 
 oncet, but dat ain't nothin' to papers. Yer 
 buys 'em so much off, an' yer sells at reg'lar 
 
164 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 prices, same as der chaps on Wall street, an 
 yer pockets der odds. Say, I earnt mos' two 
 dollars ter day, an' I got fifteen dollars in der 
 bank." 
 
 *'What is your name?" was Sophie's next 
 question. 
 
 *' I'se called Bob," he replied, *' an' a good 
 'nough name, too! What's yours .^" 
 
 " Sophie. Do you know where my papa is ? " 
 
 ''Got a pa, have yer? No, I don't know 
 nothin' 'bout him. What is he ?" 
 
 " He's the cashier of the bank. He went 
 away night before last, and I came after him. 
 I saw him yesterday on the platform in the big 
 square. And then three men had hold of him 
 and I fell down." 
 
 '' Dat feller?" exclaimed Bob staring, with 
 his mouth full of cheese and sausage. " Sort 
 er pale an' wildlookin'? Why, I seed him! 
 Dem fellers as had holt on him was Black Hal 
 an' his gang. Datyourpa? Well, a nice lot 
 he goes with, for a cash'er! What's he call 
 hisself, anyhow?" 
 
 " His name is John Parmelee," said Sophie, in 
 a tone meant to rebuke her companion's levity. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 1 65 
 
 Either the tone or something else certainly 
 did produce an effect upon Bob. The careless 
 good humor of his countenance suddenly gave 
 place to an extreme solemnity. He contem- 
 plated the little girl with startled curiosity. 
 
 " John Parmelee !" he repeated at length. 
 ** Cash'er of der bank ! Say, little girl, was dat 
 der bank up at Tisdale ?" 
 
 Sophie intimated that it was. 
 
 " Say ! " exclaimed Bob, emitting a long 
 breath, " Well, dat's a good un ! Why, he's der 
 feller what's been in all der papers ! I selled 
 more'n fifty papers off er him ! An' they said 
 he was 'scaped to Canady." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," said Sophie, 
 quite mystified. 
 
 '' Why, John Parmelee's der feller what steal- 
 ed der money out er der safe at Tisdale !" cried 
 Bob, with an explosion of emphasis. 
 
 *' It is false ! my papa never stole any thing !" 
 returned Sophie, with vehement indignation. 
 
 " Oh, come off ! " said Bob, incredulously? 
 " It's all in der papers, I tells yer ! Stealed 
 more'n fifty-seven t'ousand dollars ! It was last 
 Wednesday night as der job was done ; ain't I 
 
1 66 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 been a-hoUerin' it all day? An' deys offered a 
 t'ousand dollars reward for der chaps as runs 
 him in ! " 
 
 "I don't care what they say!" exclaimed 
 Sophie. " I know he didn't steal it, for I was 
 there when he went away ; and he left all the 
 money behind him. He put it in a secret place 
 under the floor ©f the sitting room, because 
 some one had written him in a letter that rob- 
 bers were coming to rob the bank ; and he 
 thought it would be better there than in the safe. 
 And then he went away, and I came after him 
 to bring him back." 
 
 Bob listened to all this with close atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "What did he go away fur?" he asked at 
 length. 
 
 " I think he didn't know what he was doing," 
 said Sophie, with some feeling of mortification. 
 
 '* Oh, ah !— tight ? " said Bob, with a nod of 
 intelligence. 
 
 '' It is something he eats," Sophie explained. 
 " He is that way every evening ; but that eve- 
 ning he was more so than usual." 
 
 ** Hello ! Why, he's one o' them ere opium 
 
JOHN- PARMELEE'S CURSE. 167 
 
 fiends! " exclaimed Bob, vivaciously. ''Oh, I 
 know all about dem ! I goes down ter der jint 
 myself, oncet in a while ; an* I've tried hittin' 
 der pipe, too ; but it just made me chuck up 
 victuals, an' I stopped it. But I knows 'em. 
 Do you see dat old gal lyin' there?" he con- 
 tinued, pointing to the sleeping woman in the 
 corner. " She's one on 'em. Crazy Sal, we 
 calls her. But say, where's all dat money, 
 now t 
 
 " I have it with me," Sophie replied ; " Fve 
 got in my — oh ! " she broke off, with an accent 
 of consternation, " what has become of my 
 black satchel ?" 
 
 " Yer bag, do yer mean ? Dat's right ! I 
 fetched it along, an' dere it is, under the mat- 
 tress. But, Great Scissors ! " he suddenly ex- 
 claimed, sitting erect, as if something had stung 
 him, while his red hair seemed to stand up 
 all over his head, " do yer mean for ter say as 
 how all dat fifty-seven t'ousand dollars is in 
 that bag o' yourn ? " 
 
 " You musn't tell any body ! " said Sophie, 
 with a startled look. 
 
 " Oh, doncher worry! I ain't no squealer I 
 
1 6 8 JOHN FARM ELBE 'S CVRSE. 
 
 But say, what 'yer goln' to do with it ? Gi' 
 me a hundred, will yer? Oh, my! couldn't 
 we have a gay time ! We'd buy a kerridge an' 
 drive roun' the park ! an' go to the theayter 
 in der private box ! an' take our drinks over 
 der Hoffman House bar I Let's have a squint 
 at it ! " 
 
 "You musn't !" said Sophie, with decision. 
 " You don't understand. The money isn't 
 mine at all ; it belongs to the people who put it 
 in the bank. I'm going to give it to my papa 
 to give back to them. If I touched a bit of 
 it I should be a thief ! " 
 
 *' By golly, ain't you jest honest ! " sighed 
 Bob, gazing at her with a mixture of curiosity 
 and admiration. '' But dat's a stavin' big pile," 
 he continued, pensively. '' Ef we was to 
 take out on'y jest \ hundred dollars, nobody'd 
 never mind ! An' I'd do all der treatin' ! " 
 
 Sophie shook her head. " We should be 
 robbers ; and robbers can never be happy ! " 
 
 " Dey can't, can't dey ! " returned Bob, briskly 
 " I ain't so sure ! Dere's Black Hal an' his 
 gang; dey's all gay 'nough, for what I see ! 
 An' I'll tell you what," he added, dropping his 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 169 
 
 voice to a tone of mystery, and bending over 
 toward her ; *' here's a queer go — I didn't think 
 to speak on it afore ! Black Hal's dere feller 
 what laid der pipes to crack der Tisdale Bank. 
 An' Crazy Sal, dere, an' me, we heared 'em 
 talkin' of it ; an' she said as how she was goin' 
 ter write to der bank fellers, to warn 'em. So 
 dat must be der letter yer pa got, — do yer 
 catch on? " 
 
 '' How did you hear what Black Hal was 
 saying about the bank?" Sophie inquired. 
 '* And what made that person who is asleep 
 there care whether he robbed the bank or not ? " 
 
 " Well, it's a big secret 'bout Black Hal," 
 Bob replied, with a chuckle ; "■ but seein' it's you, 
 I guess I'll tell yer. Yer see, dis 'ere house we 
 lives in is right up alongside of another house ; 
 dere ain't but der thickness of a wall betwixt 
 'em, but to get into der other house, yer has 
 to go inter another door, way roun' der corner. 
 Well, Black Hal, he don't know dat ; but yer 
 bets yer life I knows it ! and what's more, his 
 room's right alongside of ourn, and I've got a 
 hole t'rough the wall ! So, if I wants ter hear 
 'em talk any time, what I does, I pulls out der 
 
170 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 plug and puts my ear to der hole, an' dere 
 I be!" 
 
 Suiting the deed to the word Bob arose, 
 went to the wall opposite the door and removed 
 a section of the plaster about a foot in diameter, 
 disclosing the bricks beneath. One of these 
 bricks he pulled out, and thereby revealed a 
 crevice, three inches high and half an inch in 
 its greatest width, which penetrated through 
 into the adjoining room. 
 
 •' But I should think they would see that 
 from the other side," Sophie remarked. 
 
 '* Dat's all right?" said Bob, replacing the 
 brick. " I'se been aroun' ter look. T'other 
 house don't go so far out as ourn, and der hole 
 comes right in der corner of der room. I can 
 hear all dey says, an' see some too, when dey's 
 got der lamp lit. An' dat's where dey go ter 
 talk deir biggest secrets; dey don't suspect 
 nothin' ! " and Bob winked archly. 
 
 "And that was how you heard about the 
 robbery? " said Sophie. 
 
 "In course it was ! An' I telled Sal. An' 
 when she beared 'bout Tisdale, she sorter 
 pricked up her ears, Sal did, an' let on as she'd 
 
JOHN FARM E LEE ' S CURSE. 1 7 1 
 
 write an' stop it. Oh, Sal's a cur'ous critter, 
 an* don't yerforgit it ! Guess she must 'a been 
 a lady oncet. She says as how Black Hal's 
 her brother. He comes in here times, when 
 he's flush, an' gives her a quarter for opium. 
 But she ain't like him ; she's a good sort, Sal 
 is, if she is crazy ! I has her to live with me ; 
 an' I don't charge her nothin' for board, 
 neither ! " 
 
 " Does she stay here all the time?" inquired 
 Sophie. 
 
 " No ; she sorter loafs 'bout der streets, an* 
 sings songs ; an' fellers tips her pennies ; she 
 can sing a daisy song, Sal can, when she gits 
 warmed up to it ! Den she goes down to der 
 j'int an' hits der pipe, or chews, like yer pa. 
 She's sleepin' solid, now ; but times, when she's 
 awake, she'll talk right along, an' don't care if 
 yer listens to her or not." 
 
 " What does she talk about ? " asked 
 Sophie, glancing at the unconscious woman 
 with interest, 
 
 " Oh, 'bout her husban', an' a little gal she 
 had, an' the fun dey useter have together; but 
 I guess dey's dead now ; for dey's none of 'era 
 
172 JOHN PARMELEES CURSE. 
 
 ever comes here. An' Sal, she'll be dead, too, 
 'fore long, ef she don't let up on herself. 
 Guess it '11 sorter break me up, when Sal pegs 
 out ; I ain't got no pertickler use for her ; but 
 I ain't ever had no ma nor pa, and I kinder 
 like to have old Sal aroun'. Have yer had all 
 yer wants to eat ? " 
 
 *' Yes, thank you," said Sophie. ** I'm very 
 sorry for the poor lady, and I think it's very 
 good of you to be kind to her." 
 
 *',Yer' gettin' sleepy, ain't yer? " Bob inquired 
 briskly. 
 
 ** I, believe I am," she admitted. ''But if I 
 go to sleep, I shall dream of my papa, and that 
 he is with me ; and then, when I wake up, it 
 won't be true. I wish I knew where he was ! " 
 
 *' Jest you go to sleep," said Bob, " an' I'll 
 find out 'bout yer pa termorrer. Ef Black 
 Hal's got him, I knows where ter look ; so 
 doncher worry ! " 
 
 " Black Hal won't come here and find my 
 satchel, will he ? " demanded Sophie, her dark 
 eyes opening widely in sudden anxiety. 
 
 " Not if I knows it, he won't ! " returned 
 Bob, with manly confidence. " I'se pertectin' 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 1 7 3 
 
 yer. I is ; an' Black Hal nor nobody else don't 
 git ahead on me ! I'll fix yer bag all right ; 
 talk about yer secret hidin' places ! dere's more 
 on 'em in dis room dan holes in a sieve ! Jest 
 you curl up an' take a snooze, little gal, an* 
 dream of yer pa all yer wants to ! " 
 
 Sophie lay down accordingly; and, thor- 
 oughly tired out with fatigue of mind and body, 
 almost immediately fell into a sound sleep. 
 
 Bob sat for awhile, feeling of his bare toes 
 in an abstracted manner and occasionally 
 scratching his head. At length he roused him- 
 self from his reverie, looked closely at the sleep- 
 ing girl, and then, inserting his hand beneath 
 the mattress, drew forth the black satchel. 
 
 He opened it and saw the nightgown and 
 comb and brush. The latter he knew the use 
 of theoretically, but the nightgown was an enig- 
 ma to him. He took them out and laid them 
 on one side, and then extracted the brown pa- 
 per parcel. 
 
 It was carefully tied up, but was not sealed. 
 On it was written, in a clear, clerkly hand, the 
 pregnant words: "Fifty-seven thousand, one 
 hundred and forty-nine dollars and fifty cents." 
 
174 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 Bob studied every stroke of this writing with 
 deep scrutiny. Not that he found any diffi- 
 culty in reading it ; he comprehended its im- 
 port perfectly well. He lifted the parcel, and 
 "hefted" it in his hand. He squeezed it be- 
 tween his fingers, and noted its compactness. 
 He got to his feet and walked around the room, 
 with it under his arm. 
 
 As he approached the door on his second 
 round, he laid his hand on the handle and 
 opened it. He glanced over his shoulder as he 
 did so ; but neither of the sleepers had stirred. 
 He stepped across the threshold, and closed 
 the door behind him, — still, however, keep- 
 ing his fingers on the latch. After a mo- 
 ment, he opened the door and came back. 
 Nothing in the room had changed. 
 
 "■ It 'ud be as easy as fallin' off a log!" he 
 said, half aloud. 
 
 The brown paper parcel seemed alive. He 
 could almost fancy it was drawing him toward 
 the door again. He returned to the mattress, 
 and squatted down beside it, with the parcel 
 on his knees. The writing was uppermiost. It 
 read like an . invitation — an imperative surn- 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 1 75 
 
 mons! He turned the parcel over; but he 
 could see the writing plainer than ever, in his 
 mind. 
 
 Bob knew nothing of heaven and hell, except 
 in the way of emphatic statement. He had 
 never formed the conception of an immortal 
 soul, liable to everlasting happiness or misery. 
 So far as his observation went, the only draw- 
 back to evil doing was the risk of being found 
 out. He had not seldom yielded to such 
 temptations as came in his way, and no par- 
 ticular harm had resulted from it. 
 
 On the other hand he knew a good deal 
 about the value of money. It could give him 
 every thing he wanted, and relieve him from 
 every thing that was irksome. It meant power 
 and pleasure unlimited ; and here it was abso- 
 lutely in his grasp. " Fifty-seven thousand, 
 one hundred and forty-nine dollars and fifty 
 cents!" 
 
 All this was clear enough. There was only 
 one thing that Bob could not understand ; and 
 that was, that In spite of all the above practical 
 considerations, there was in him something 
 that blindly and perversely opposed itself to 
 
1 7 6 JOHN FARM ELBE S CURSE. 
 
 them, and made him feel that he should never 
 be quite comfortable if he accepted the com- 
 fort which the contents of that bundle could 
 give him. 
 
 *' Oh, what darned foolishness ! " said Bob, 
 frowning, and tucking the bundle under his 
 arm. " I'll do it, anyway !" 
 
 His eyes fell upon Sophie; he bent over, and 
 gazed into her face. The child stirred in her 
 sleep ; she turned partly over, smiled, and mur- 
 mured, " Papa, dearest papa ! " 
 
 Bob laid down the bundle. A hot flush came 
 into his face, and his breast heaved. A new 
 current of thoughts flooded his mind, and made 
 his eyes smart. At the same time his heart 
 felt lighter than a moment before. He jumped 
 to his feet, caught up the bundle, and disposed 
 it in a place where it would be out of the way, 
 and safe. 
 
 'Tse pertectin' her, I is!" he said to him- 
 self, as he made his preparations for repose. **I 
 ain't a-goin' back on her, — not me ! " This was 
 his interpretation of the experience, and perhaps 
 it was as good as another. 
 
 But Bob was not destined to sleep yet. He 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 177 
 
 had scarcely lain down when he sat up again, 
 listening intently. An ear less acute than his 
 might not have noticed any thing ; but an 
 instant's attention informed Bob that some- 
 body had entered the adjoining room of the 
 other house. Ordinarily he might have paid 
 no further heed to the matter; but to-night 
 there was a special motive for investigating it. 
 
 He had put out the lamp on lying down, 
 and the room was dark. He arose noiselessly, 
 and stole on tiptoe to the aperture in the wall. 
 Cautiously he removed the loose brick, and 
 applied first his ear and then his eye to the 
 hole. 
 
 There were four men in the room, all of 
 whom Bob recognized. Harold Blackmer, 
 alias Black Hal, was one ; then there were Dick 
 and Mike, his business partners ; and the 
 fourth man was John Parmelee, gagged, and 
 bearing evidence of rough usage. 
 
XVII. 
 
 PARMELEE was evidently worn out. As 
 he stood in the center of the room his 
 legs shook from exhaustion and his head 
 drooped forward on his breast. The fatigue 
 of his long tramp and want of sleep and food 
 were enough to account for his condition, but 
 his worst suffering probably came from his 
 enforced abstinence from opium. The promise 
 he had made to Sophie on Wednesday night 
 had been kept ever since involuntarily. 
 
 His delirium had passed away; but this 
 fact, perhaps, rather added to the misery of 
 his plight than diminished it. 
 
 The room in which he found himself was 
 comfortably furnished ; it was used by Black- 
 mer and his gang as a specially secure and in- 
 accessible retreat. Here they were in the 
 habit of coming to discuss their plans or to 
 transact any business requiring exceptional 
 privacy. There was a thick carpet on the 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 179 
 
 floor to deaden sound, and the walls were 
 hung with dark paper. There were half 
 a dozen stout and comfortable chairs 
 and a broad bottomed sofa that could 
 be used as a bed. A four-legged table 
 and a stove which could be adapted to cook- 
 ing purposes completed the furniture. There 
 was a cupboard in the corner containing dishes 
 and glasses and some bottles of wine and 
 spirits. The window of the room was pro- 
 tected by a heavy dark curtain, and the door 
 could be barricaded by a couple of iron bars, 
 fitting into sockets. Altogether, it was a 
 much snugger and more presentable apart- 
 ment than the one on which Bob so prided 
 himself. 
 
 Blackmer led Parmelee to a chair, into which 
 the latter immediately sank down. The gag 
 was then removed from his mouth, and a glass 
 of brandy and water was set before him, which 
 he drained eagerly. Meanwhile, Dick and 
 Mike were unpacking and setting on the table 
 the contents of a basket. There were a couple 
 of roast chickens, some fried oysters, and other 
 suitable viands. 
 
iSo JOHl^ PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 " Now, John, my dear fellow," said Blackmer, 
 in a friendly tone, '* if you have any appetite — 
 and you look as if you had — fall to and enjoy 
 yourself. Don't be bashful ; we'll send in our 
 bill afterward ! " 
 
 A starving man does not stand upon niceties 
 of ceremony. John Parmelee ate what was 
 before him, while the other three also seated 
 themselves at the table, and swallowed what- 
 ever solid or liquid nourishment was to their 
 several tastes. After all had finished, Black- 
 mer took up the word again. 
 
 *' Well, brother-in-law," he said, lighting a 
 cigar, and throwing one leg carelessly over the 
 other, " I'm glad of the opportunity of a chat 
 with you, after all these years. And let me 
 apologize for the unceremonious manner in 
 which you were brought here. There was no 
 time for explanations, at the moment ; and 
 your usually acute intellect seemed to be, tem- 
 porarily, a little obscured. But we are all right 
 now ; and should there be any further trouble, 
 you will be to blame for it, not we." 
 
 "What do you want of me? Why did you 
 bring me here?" asked Parmelee. 
 
JOHN PAR MELEE ' S CURSE. 1 8 1 
 
 "Well, hang me if he ain't a cool hand ! " 
 muttered Dick, picking his teeth pensively. 
 
 ** It was an alternative between bringing you 
 here, and allowing the detectives to provide you 
 with quarters in the Tombs," Blackmer replied. 
 " This retreat, if not luxurious, is at least as 
 comfortable as a stone cell and bread and water ; 
 and it has this advantage — that you can, on 
 certain conditions, escape from it ; whereas the 
 Tombs — well — you can judge for yourself ! " 
 
 *' I don't know what you mean," said Par- 
 melee. 
 
 " Don't yez be givin* us none uv yer danged 
 imperance ! " growled Mike, threateningly. 
 
 ''Will you stow that?" said Blackmer to 
 him, in a sharp tone. "■ Who's bossing this 
 thing, you or I ? There's no need to hurry Mr. 
 Parmelee ; he'll come round as soon as he has 
 taken in the situation. " Possibly," he added, 
 turning to Parmelee, " you have not had leis- 
 ure to glance at the morning paper?" 
 
 He drew one from his pocket, and handed it 
 to his brother-in-law, who ran his eyes over the 
 double-headed and illustrated columns, with an 
 air of bewilderment. Then he looked up and 
 
tS2 JOHN FARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 met the gaze of the three men fixed upon 
 him. 
 
 '* I know nothing about this," he said. *' This 
 paper is dated Friday. I thought to-day was 
 Thursday. They are wrong ; I have stolen no 
 money. The last I remember, I was in my 
 house in Tisdale, waiting for — " He stopped 
 short. 
 
 "You're as good as a play, you are!" re- 
 marked Dick, sarcastically. " Go on, young 
 man ! " 
 
 " That is all I have to say," replied Parmelee. 
 
 " Of course we believe every thing you say," 
 Blackmer observed, with elaborate courtesy. 
 •* But we want to know one thing more ; what 
 have you done with the money." 
 
 " I have none of it. I presume the directors 
 have it." 
 
 *' Ah, indeed! In that case, it is odd they 
 should be offering a thousand dollars for the 
 capture of the man Avho stole it — whose name, 
 by a strange coincidence, happens to be the 
 same as your own ! Come, come, my dear 
 John! You are wasting your talents as an 
 actor to no purpose. To encourage you, I'll 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 1 83 
 
 set you an example of frankness. Last Wed- 
 nesday evening, I and my two friends here 
 took a trip out to Tisdale to relieve you of the 
 charge of that money. When we got there, 
 like old Mother Hubbard, the safe was bare and 
 the cashier was gone. Now, it is certain we 
 haven't got the money; the directors behave as 
 if they hadn't got it ; so that the painful con- 
 viction is forced upon us that — in short — that 
 my respected brother-in-law is, after all, human 
 like the rest of us ! Honestly, now, don't you 
 think so yourself ? " 
 
 While Blackmer had been speaking, in his 
 suave, unrelenting tones, Parmelee had been 
 mechanically staring at the newspaper in front 
 of him ; and all at once his eye caught a para- 
 graph about Sophie. He had hitherto sup- 
 posed that the child had remained at home, and 
 must, sooner or later, have informed the direc- 
 tors as to the whereabouts of the money. But 
 here she also was reported to be missing ! 
 What could have become of her ? 
 
 Again he raised his eyes, and confronted the 
 faces before him. A terrible fear made his 
 heart sick. 
 
1 84 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 " What have you done with my little daugh- 
 ter? Sophie — where is she?" he cried out. 
 
 The men glanced at one another, and laughed. 
 
 ''What have you done with her, I say? " he 
 shouted, jumping to his feet in a frenzy. ** By 
 Heaven ! if you have harmed a hair of her head, 
 I'll—" 
 
 A blow from IMike's herculean fist, delivered 
 straight between the eyes, knocked John Par- 
 melee senseless to the floor. Wlien he came 
 to himself he was seated in the chair, and bound 
 to it hand and foot. Blackmer stood in front 
 of him, with the gag between his fingers. 
 
 '' Listen to me, John," he said. ''We will 
 have no more of this foolery. If you don't 
 put up, we'll shut you up — for good and all ! 
 We are willing to go shares with you in the 
 money ; we will take the fifty thousand and you 
 can keep the balance. If you don't consent to 
 that, and tell us where to find the stuff — by 
 God ! you shall never leave this room alive ! I 
 mean what I say ! Now, what is your answer?" 
 
 There was a silence. The sweat broke out 
 on the prisoner's pallid forehead. He knew 
 the threat was no idle one ; there could be no 
 
JOHN PARMELEE ' S C URSE. 1 85 
 
 hope of succor in a place like this. He knew, 
 moreover, or he fancied he did, that, since 
 Sophie was not at home, the money must still 
 be lying in the hole under the sitting-room 
 floor. If he told them this they would set him 
 free sooner or later, and they would restore to 
 him his little daughter, who otherwise might be 
 the victim of such a fate as he shuddered to 
 think of, for that they had captured Sophie he 
 no longer doubted. She must have been there 
 when they came, and they had carried her off 
 as a hostage. 
 
 The alternative, therefore, as it presented 
 itself to his mind, was this : If he kept silence, 
 death to himself, and death, or worse, to 
 Sophie; if bespoke, freedom to both of them, 
 and probably the means of escape from the 
 country. It was a heart-breaking temptation. 
 
 But John Parmelee, though weak in some 
 ways, was strong in others. 
 
 " I can tell you nothing I" he said, in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 Blackmer had a shrewd, if superficial know- 
 ledge of human nature. It was impossible for 
 him to believe that Parmelee had not got the 
 
l86 JOHN FARM ELBE'S CURSE. 
 
 money ; or, consequently, that he would not 
 prefer giving it up, to death. Moreover, he 
 wanted the money, and was strongly averse, on 
 politic grounds, to murder. He had not com- 
 prehended the part that Sophie played in the 
 matter, but, had he done so, it would only have 
 strengthened his conviction of final success. 
 
 ** You are a tough customer, John," he said 
 quietly ; '' but you are reckoning on finding a 
 soft place in us, and you are badly mistaken. I 
 will give you one more chance. We have some 
 business round the corner, and shall be gone 
 half an hour. Think it over in the mean while ; 
 and have your mind made up by the time we 
 come back. If you are willing to do what we 
 wish then, well and good. If not, you will never 
 see the light of day again, and no one will ever 
 know what you died of. That's my last word to 
 you ! 
 
 With this he replaced the gag in Parmelee's 
 mouth, and the three went out together, lock- 
 ing the door behind them, and leaving their 
 prisoner to his reflections. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 BEFORE Sophie was fully awake the next 
 morning, there was mingled with her dreams 
 a song, which she had often heard her father 
 sing. But this time it seemed to be sung in a 
 woman's voice, worn but sweet, and with a 
 quality in it so pathetic that, when the little 
 girl awoke at last, there were tears on her 
 cheeks. 
 
 She raised herself on her mattress, and, turn- 
 ing round, saw the elderly woman of the night 
 before, standing in front of the window and 
 looking out, with her long gray hair hanging 
 down her back. She was singing the last verse 
 of the song, which ran thus : — 
 
 ' ' Now, our kisses all are over. 
 But the dreams of past embraces 
 Haunt my sleep in nights of June, 
 Till, awaking, dreams forsaking, 
 I, that was last year her lover, 
 Question, ' Was it curse or boon? " 
 Nay — for love is not time's toy ; 
 WTio but once hath seen his face, is 
 Heir of an eternal joy ! " 
 
1 88 JOHN P ARM E LEE ' S CURSE. 
 
 The woman now moved from the window, 
 and showed a face which was pale and wasted, 
 but in which were still visible the traces of re- 
 markable beauty. She had large, dark, heavy- 
 lidded eyes, with long, sweeping brows ; a 
 straight, delicate nose, and a mouth profoundly 
 sad. But she had an uncared-for, disheveled 
 look ; her attire was poor and dingy; and she 
 met the child's inquiring scrutiny with a dreamy, 
 uncertain glance, which, however, gradually 
 formed itself into an expression of gentle 
 friendliness. 
 
 '' Good-morning," said Sophie ; and then, as 
 the woman did not immediately reply, she 
 asked : " Do you know where Bob is ? " 
 
 *' Bob is selling papers, my dear," replied 
 the woman, in a soft, slow voice. " He goes 
 out much earlier than this. Bob is a good boy." 
 
 '' He hasn't any mother, has he ! " Sophie 
 inquired. 
 
 The woman had begun to comb out her long 
 gray hair. She paused at the question, and 
 flung her hair back from her face. 
 
 " Bob is as good as a son tome," she replied, 
 at length. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 189 
 
 "You have no son of your own?" 
 
 " No ; but I had a daughter once." 
 
 '' Is she dead ? " 
 
 It was some time before the woman answered. 
 At last she said, *' No ; she is not dead. It 
 is I who am dead. I died years ago ! " 
 
 The startling assertion was made so quietly 
 that Sophie was not startled. She would prob- 
 ably have been afraid of a ghost if she had 
 seen one ; but this woman did not fulfill her 
 idea of a ghost. She recollected that Bob had 
 called her Crazy Sal, and said she ate opium ; 
 and she concluded that this was merely such 
 an instance of aberration as she had often 
 noticed in her father. 
 
 " My papa has gone away, and I am looking 
 for him," she said. '* He went away in the 
 night, when he did not know what he was 
 doing. Did your little girl lose you in the 
 same way I lost him ? " 
 
 Crazy Sal, who had listened intently to the 
 tones of the child's voice, gazing at her earn- 
 estly the while, now asked : '' Are you like 
 your father ? " 
 
 ** My papa is a tall man, and I am a little 
 
190 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 girl," Sophie answered. '' We are not a bit 
 alike." 
 
 The woman continued to scrutinize her 
 searchingly for a few moments ; then her eyes 
 gradually resumed their wonted dreamy ex- 
 pression, and she shook her head. 
 
 '' It's only a fancy, like the rest," she mut- 
 tered to herself, combing her hair. '' It isn't 
 real. It won't come true. They have forgot- 
 ten me. If I went back they wouldn't want 
 me. Christ raised the dead ; but He never 
 raised the dead who died as I have done." 
 
 Meanwhile, Sophie got up, and, with the 
 neatness and love of order that were character- 
 istic of her, began to pick the bits of straw 
 from her dress and to put the bed in as pre- 
 sentable a condition as the circumstances 
 admitted. The remains of last night's supper 
 were still on the table, and these Sophie re-ar- 
 ranged and christened breakfast. She had by 
 this time acquired a good appetite, and she 
 cheerfully invited Crazy Sal to sit down and 
 partake with her. 
 
 Sal, however, had not known what it was to 
 be wholesomely hungry for a good many years ; 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 19I 
 
 she contented herself with a piece of biscuit 
 and a few mouthfuls of water. But, as soon 
 she turned away from the table, Sophie 
 noticed her slip something between her lips, 
 which the child shrewdly suspected to be 
 opium. 
 
 Be that as it might, the woman's spirits soon 
 showed some improvement ; the lines of her 
 face softened, and her manner became less in- 
 coherent and restless. She stood in the win- 
 dow with her hands hanging folded before her, 
 humming to herself, and watching the sun- 
 shine creep down the brick wall on the other 
 side of the narrow court-yard. When it reached 
 a certain point it would be ten o'clock, at 
 which hour it was Sal's custom to go forth. 
 
 ** I will help you find your papa, dear," she 
 said to Sophie. " I will sing in the squares 
 and at the corners of the streets, and you shall 
 stand beside me ; and perhaps, among the 
 crowd that stops to listen, you will see your 
 papa." 
 
 Sophie was about to explain that Bob had 
 already promised to bring her news of her 
 father, and that it would therefore be best to 
 
1 9 2 JOHN PA RMELEE ' S CURSE. 
 
 await them where she was, when the thought 
 of the black satchel entered her mind, and, 
 along with it, an appalling misgiving. She had 
 seen it placed under her mattress the night 
 before; but she remembered that, when mak- 
 ing over the bed this morning, she had not 
 come across it. She ran to the mattress and 
 turned it back. Yes, the black satchel was 
 gone ! 
 
 The room was so bare and empty of furni- 
 ture that to search it seemed to require hardly 
 more than a glance. The satchel was nowhere 
 visible. Sophie stood in dismay. Almost as 
 much as its loss did she lament the shadow 
 thereby cast on the reputation of her friend 
 Bob. She had believed in his honesty as she 
 believed in her own. Even now, she would 
 rather credit a miracle than his unfaithfulness. 
 
 ** Have you seen it?" she exclaimed, ad- 
 dressing Sal impetuously. '' It was here last 
 night when I went to sleep ! My black 
 
 satchel ! — oh ! if it is lost ! " 
 
 Sal replied with a look of placid and gentle 
 
 interrogation. Evidently she did not know 
 
 what Sophie was talking about. 
 
JOHN PA KM ELBE ' S CURSE. 1 93 
 
 "Did you see Bob go out?" the latter con- 
 tinued, with passionate urgency. '' He wouldn't 
 do any thing wrong, would he ? Where is he ? 
 Oh, I must see him ! I must ask him ! Where 
 can I find him? " she continued, squeezing one 
 of her little hands with the other, while her 
 voice broke. *' I must find my satchel! My 
 papa would not be glad to see me if I had lost 
 what he told me to take care of ! " 
 
 " Is your father unkind to you ? " the woman 
 asked, in a compassionate tone. "" If he were 
 like what my husband was, he would not be 
 unkind. Somehow, dear, you make me think 
 of him. Our little baby might have grown to 
 be a child like you." 
 
 "He is the kindest and best papa that ever 
 lived ! " cried Sophie, breaking into sobs. 
 "I'm afraid something terrible has happened 
 to him ! And I have no one but him ! Mamma 
 has never come back since Iwas five years old ! " 
 
 Crazy Sal, with an impulse of tenderness 
 whose force she herself could not understand, 
 drew the child to her and embraced her, and 
 her gray hair fell forward, and mingled with 
 Sophie's wavy mane of black. 
 
1 94 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 ** Let me be a mother to you, for a little 
 while," she said. '' We have each lost what 
 was dearest to us. I shall never find mine 
 again ; but come with me ; for you are a little 
 girl, and God will give your dearest back to you 
 again." 
 
 So the mother and daughter — mother and 
 daughter indeed, little as they suspected it — 
 went out together to find what had been pro- 
 vided for them. 
 
XIX. 
 
 IT will be remembered that Mr. Fred Tyrrel, 
 on the night of the discovery of the Tis- 
 dale Bank robbery, had disagreed with the con- 
 clusions of the other directors, and had formed 
 a theory of his own as to the probable truth of 
 the matter. Though he had not hit upon the 
 actual truth, he had at all events discredited 
 Parmelee's guilt. 
 
 He was still quite a young man, not more 
 than thirty years of age. His family was of 
 old New England stock, having emigrated from 
 England during the first half of the seventeenth 
 century. His grandfather had been an East 
 India merchant and ship owner, and had 
 amassed a large fortune in trade. His father 
 was a man of statesmanlike instincts, and early 
 took an interest in the affairs of government ; 
 after having been elected twice or thrice to the 
 legislature he had finally been made governor 
 of his state. Fred had received, at school and 
 
196 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 at college, the best education that America 
 affords her sons, and after graduating he em- 
 barked for the Old World and spent two or 
 three years in travel. He had introductions to 
 the best people in London, Paris, Berlin, and 
 Petersburg, and he took advantage of the facili- 
 ties thus afforded him to become familiar with 
 the forms and workings of the governments of 
 the various countries. On his return home he 
 had applied his knowledge to the examination 
 of the political, economic and social problems 
 of his own native land, and had embodied some 
 of his conclusions in articles in some of the 
 leading reviews and magazines, thereby acquir- 
 ing considerable reputation as an intelligent 
 and dispassionate reasoner and critic. 
 
 At this period, he contemplated an imme- 
 diate entrance into public life. But a personal 
 experience of the character and methods of 
 some of the political leaders and their hangers- 
 on, had the effect of so disenchanting his ambi- 
 tion as to make him relinquish, for the present, 
 an idea of putting'his theories into execution ; 
 and when the position of director of the local 
 bank was proffered him, he accepted it, partly 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 197 
 
 from a desire to identify himself with the inter- 
 ests of the town in which he lived, and partly 
 in order to gain a practical working knowledge 
 of the inner routine and management of such 
 institutions. This connection had led to his 
 forming the acquaintance of John Parmelee, 
 the cashier. 
 
 At the time of the latter's marriage, Tyrrel 
 was a boy at school, and he was in college when 
 the calamity occurred which culminated in the 
 disappearance of Mrs. Parmelee. He had, 
 however, seen her and had been impressed by 
 her remarkable beauty, and when he returned 
 from his travels, he formed a strong and sym- 
 pathetic friendship with the husband, and con- 
 ceived a particular affection for little Sophie. 
 The reserve and oddity of the child, which re- 
 pelled or perplexed others, was for him a charm 
 and a recommendation; he fancied he could 
 discover in her nature the germs of a lovely and 
 rich womanhood. Sophie, for her part, loved 
 and trusted him from the first ; he was, in her 
 imagination, an incarnation of all that was 
 strong, wise, and kindly. 
 
 During the past two years or more, Tyrrel 
 
198 JOHN PAKMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 had been a frequent visitor at Parmelee's house. 
 Without making his generosity so obtrusive as 
 to risk wounding the cashier's pride, he had 
 nevertheless contrived to assist and encourage 
 him in many ways. But sympathy has keen 
 eyes, and Tyrrel had latterly begun to enter- 
 tain something more than a suspicion that his 
 unfortunate friend was walking in the same path 
 that his wife had traveled before him. A feel- 
 ing of delicacy prevented him from attempting 
 to. solve the doubt by direct interrogation, or 
 even from making a secret investigation into a 
 matter which Parmelee wished to conceal ; but 
 the situation caused him anxiety — more on the 
 cashier's account than on that of the bank — 
 and he often took counsel with himself as to 
 what was best to be done. Parmelee, like all 
 opium-eaters, however tractable and reasonable 
 on other subjects, would probably fail to re- 
 spond satisfactorily to any remonstrances, how- 
 ever kindly or firmly delivered ; so he finally 
 contented himself with resolving to step in, 
 whenever the crisis should arrive and protect 
 his friend from the worst results of his vice. 
 His solicitude for Sophie was perhaps more ten- 
 
JOHX PARMELEE'S CURSE, 199 
 
 der than for her father. Sophie, at all events, 
 should never, if he could prevent it, suffer from 
 the consequences of the unhappy weakness of 
 her parents. 
 
 On the night of the cashier's mysterious dis- 
 appearance, Tyrrel, while looking about the 
 room, had found on the sofa the small metal 
 box in which the unfortunate man kept his sup- 
 ply of opium. Parmelee had always taken 
 especial pains to keep this box where no one 
 could find it ; but the excess of his delirium 
 had prevented him, on this last occasion, from 
 concealing it in its usual place. Its discovery 
 had convinced Tyrrel of the correctness of his 
 surmises. On the part of an opium-eater, any 
 insane extravagance or escapade is possible ; 
 and it was easy to conceive that John might 
 have wandered away in an unconscious or irre- 
 sponsible state of mind. It was not so clear, 
 however, why Sophie had accompanied him ; 
 still less could Tyrrel understand how the safe 
 could have been attacked on that particular 
 night of all others. It was not to be supposed 
 that the thieves, whoever they were, could have 
 been able to foretell the exact moment when the 
 
200 JOHN PA R ME LEE * S CURSE. 
 
 cashier's mind would give way, and leave him 
 impotent to protect his trust ; and, on the 
 other hand, the idea of any collusion between 
 him and them was inadmissible. It was possi- 
 ble perhaps, that John might have been kid- 
 napped, as a means of covering the burglar's 
 traces ; but that Sophie also should have been 
 spirited away, without leaving any traces, was 
 scarcely credible. 
 
 Turn the matter which way he would, it re- 
 mained more or less a puzzle to Tyrrel. But, 
 whatever the solution might prove to be, he 
 stood firm in his conviction that it would estab- 
 lish Parmelee's innocence of all criminal action 
 or intent. 
 
 His aim therefore, was, first to trace him and 
 vindicate him from the charge, and secondly — 
 either through his means, or independently — 
 to bring home the crime to the really guilty 
 parties. And herein he had the other direct- 
 ors at a disadvantage. For while they would 
 naturally proceed on the supposition that Par- 
 melee, as a criminal, would either seek to put 
 himself beyond the jurisdiction of the United 
 States, or, if still in this country, would be 
 
JOHN PA R MELEE 'S CURSE. 2 o 1 
 
 found in the meeting-places of other malefac- 
 tors, Tyrrel, in accordance with his theory of the 
 man's delirium, wasted no time in such wild- 
 goose chases, but prosecuted his search in 
 places otherwise the most improbable. 
 
 He en^afjed the services of several detectives, 
 and, after explaining to them his views of the 
 matter, dispatched them in various directions. 
 The adjacent country, within a radius of fifty 
 miles, was carefully gone over ; and particular 
 inquiries were made for a little girl with black 
 hair and eyes ; for Tyrrel had reflected that she 
 was more likely than her father to attract the 
 notice of uninterested people. 
 
 The whole of Thursday was consumed in this 
 way, but without any satisfactory result. No 
 one had seen such a child as w^as described. 
 On the other hand, several more had been 
 noticed, who answered more or less closely to 
 the description of John Parmelee ; but when 
 those clews were followed up, none of them 
 proved to be correct. Tyrrel's first effort had 
 been a failure. 
 
 Hitherto, he had not believed that Parmelee 
 would be likely to go to New York ; he would 
 
202 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 rather wander vaguely about, and probably not 
 get far away from his starting point. It now 
 became necessary, however, to continue the 
 search in the city. One of the detectives took 
 the midnight train down on Thursday, and, in 
 the course of a chance conversation with the 
 conductor, elicited the fact that a dark-haired 
 and dark-eyed girl, apparently about fourteen 
 years of age, and carrying in her hand a large 
 black satchel, had traveled to New York, alone, 
 on the same train the night before. The con- 
 ductor added that she seemed to be in an anx- 
 ious frame of mind, and that she had not pro- 
 vided herself with a ticket. 
 
 The detective wired back this news to 
 Tyrrel, from the next station ; but Tyrrel did 
 not receive it until the next (Friday) morning, 
 at breakfast. It surprised, perplexed, and did 
 not altogether please him. To tell the truth, 
 it tended to place Parmelee in a somewhat 
 unfavorable light. It now looked as if he must 
 have directed Sophie's flight, and either have 
 been with her on the train, though perhaps in 
 another car, or else have arranged to meet her 
 in New York at some designated rendezvous. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 203 
 
 The black satchel was another source of disquiet- 
 itude to Tyrrel. What could it have contained? 
 
 He took the next train to New York, feeling 
 seriously worried. At the Grand Central 
 depot he was met by his detective, who had in 
 the meanwhile obtained further news. He had 
 traced Sophie to her lodging at the house of 
 the friendly railway porter ; he had conversed 
 with the latter's wife, and had gathered from 
 her that the child seemed to be in search of her 
 father. Less than an hour before the detec- 
 tive's arrival, Sophie had left her entertainer 
 for the second time, satchel and all, and from 
 this point all trace of her had been lost. 
 
 The inference from this news seemed to be 
 that Parmelee had not been privy to his daugh- 
 ter's journey, and Tyrrel's misgivings were in so 
 far relieved ; for, even had the cashier been 
 wicked enough to steal from the bank, he 
 would not have deliberately abandoned Sophie 
 in New York. According to present appear- 
 ances, the indications again pointed to the 
 theorj^of Parmelee's insanity as the correct one. 
 
 The remaining difficulties were, however, as 
 far as ever from being overcome. To begin 
 
204 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 with, although Sophie was unquestionably in 
 New York, it by no means seemed to follow 
 that her father was there. The child might, or 
 she might not, have had reason to believe that 
 he had gone thither; and it was evident, at any 
 rate, that she did not know his address. The 
 task of finding a person in a great city like New 
 York is enough to try the abilities even of a 
 trained investigator ; but for a little girl like 
 Sophie, who had never before been outside of 
 her native village, the odds against success were 
 incalculable. And, meanwhile, she was in con- 
 stant danger. 
 
 Tyrrel once more called all his detectives 
 together, and set them to work afresh. Of the 
 men employed by the other directors, two were 
 at this time in Montreal, two in Boston, two 
 following supposed clews westward and south- 
 ward ; and one was in New York. Up to Friday 
 evening, however, no member of either party 
 had discovered any thing worth reporting, be- 
 yond what has been above worded. The political 
 turmoil made every thing exceptionally difficult. 
 
 Late on Friday night, Tyrrel himself chanced 
 upon some information that seemed valuable. 
 
XX. 
 
 WHILE lunching at Delmonlco's, near Wall 
 street, he had encountered a friend, who 
 invited him to a late dinner at his house that 
 evening ; remarking that there would be several 
 persons there whom Tyrrel might like to meet. 
 Tyrrel accepted conditionally upon the pres- 
 sure of other affairs ; and in the evening, as 
 there were no fresh developments from his 
 detectives, he left word at his hotel where he 
 might be found and took the Elevated railroad 
 up town. 
 
 On entering the room where his host, with 
 the other guests was awaiting him, Tyrrel saw 
 a face which he thought he recognized ; and 
 this impression was confirmed when the gentle- 
 man to whom the face belonged came forward, 
 and recalled himself to his recollection. '' Don't 
 you remember Frank Sherman?" he said. 
 " You and I were in college together, twelve 
 years ago." 
 
2o6 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 ** Certainly I do ! " returned Tyrrel, shaking 
 hands with him cordially; ** and Avhere have 
 you been since?"- 
 
 At the dinner-table they were assigned places 
 beside each other, and were very well enter- 
 tained in giving each other an account of their 
 experiences since their last meeting, and in 
 recalling the adventures and episodes of their 
 college life. But Sherman, who was full of 
 Mexico, could not help constantly bringing it 
 into his discourse. Finally Tyrrel said with a 
 laugh : ** You must be related by some ancestral 
 connection with the Aztecs or the Monte- 
 zumas." 
 
 " I feel more like a discoverer than a native," 
 Sherman answered, '' and I am hospitably 
 anxious to make all the good fellows partakers 
 of my good fortune. By the way, I succeeded 
 in capturing one only yesterday, and I have 
 mortgaged him soul ,and body to the cause. 
 He is going back with me next Monday. He 
 is the sort of man that is wanted down there, 
 and I expect great things of him." 
 
 *' What sort of a man is he ?" Tyrrel inquired. 
 *' The type of Walker of Nicaragua?" 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 207 
 
 ** Well, Walker, before his first opportunity- 
 came, may not have been so promising a per- 
 sonage as my new recruit. When I was living 
 here a few years ago, I used to see a good deal 
 of him. He was a polished, clever, self-contain- 
 ed fellow, without any apparent purpose or in- 
 terest in life ; one felt he was throwing himself 
 away ; he was doing no good, to himself or any 
 body else ; and might be doing some harm. 
 There are too many such men in New York, 
 with money but with no occupation ; they are 
 out of place, and they know it ; and the more 
 they know it, the further astray they go. But 
 give them a new country to develop, and they 
 would surprise you ! I speak as one having 
 authority, for I used to belong to the gang my- 
 self. Well, I ran across this fellow yesterday, 
 and put the case to him in such a way, that he 
 has agreed to stand by me, and be my right 
 hand man." 
 
 ** Is it any one I know ? " asked Tyrrel. 
 "What is his name? — if the question is dis- 
 creet." 
 
 " By the way, I wouldn't be surprised if you 
 did know him," exclaimed Sherman. " J hav^ 
 
2o8 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 an impression that he used to live up your way 
 at one time. His name is Harold Blackmer." 
 
 "Harold Blackmer!" Tyrrel repeated the 
 name with a sense of disagreeable surprise, some 
 reflection of which found its way into his voice. 
 Sherman noticed it. 
 
 '' You do know him, then ? " he said. " Isn't 
 he a friend of yours? Have you got any thing 
 against him ? Of course, I never took him for 
 a saint ; and saints arn't just what we need in 
 Mexico." 
 
 *' I have had very little personal knowledge 
 of him," Tyrrel replied, rather reluctantly. 
 In fact, he was a good deal perplexed what to 
 say. He had heard enough about Harold to 
 lead him to believe that he was a thoroughly 
 dangerous character; and it occurred to him 
 that he was perhaps bound in conscience to tell 
 Sherman — who was manifestly ignorant on the 
 subject — what he knew. But he hesitated for a 
 paradoxical reason, characteristic of conscien- 
 tious persons. The truth was, he had begun 
 to suspect, upon grounds partly explicit and 
 partly inferential, that Blackmer might be con- 
 cerned more or less directly in theTisdale Bank 
 
JOH.V PARMELEE'S CURSE, 209 
 
 robbery. But, as this suspicion had not yet 
 been verified, he did not feel justified in allud- 
 ing to it ; while at the same time he felt himself 
 to be so much influenced by it in his judgment 
 of Blackmer, as to cause him to fear lest any 
 opinion he might pass upon him would be pre- 
 judicial. Thus he was unwilling to speak; and 
 yet he felt that he would be unfaithful to the 
 cause of honest dealing if he allowed Sherman 
 to be hoodwinked by a rascal. 
 
 " Does his position with you involve any large 
 responsibilities? he inquired. ''Do you allow 
 him the control of any considerable pecuniary 
 interests, for example?" 
 
 " Come ! " said Sherman, good humoredly, 
 " I know you're keeping something back. 
 Never mind; it won't destroy my faith in human 
 nature! What is it?" 
 
 " Well," returned Tyrrel, reddening a little, '' I 
 will say this : If I were you, I would make his 
 acquaintance thoroughly before I trusted him 
 too much. He has not led a very reputable life 
 these last few years. It is quite possible that 
 he intends to turn over a new leaf, and certain- 
 ly I don't want to stand in the way of it. But 
 
2IO JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 experience only can prove how that will be, and 
 of course I shouldn't like to have all the ex- 
 perience on your side, and all the . 
 advantage on his ! " 
 
 Sherman thanked him, and promised to be 
 on his guard ; and then the subject was dropped. 
 
 Meanwhile, the conversation among the 
 guests turned chiefly on the coming election ; 
 various guesses as to the probable issue were 
 made, and one after another gave the grounds 
 for his opinion, or told stories bearing on the 
 campaign. By and by, the great meeting of 
 that evening in Union Square was referred to ; 
 and then Sherman contributed an anecdote of 
 his own : 
 
 " I was at that meeting myself," he said ; "in 
 fact, I came almost directly, from there, here. 
 It was a pretty lively affair, I can tell you ; and 
 one incident particularly so. As I was on the 
 platform, where the thing occurred, I can prob- 
 ably give as accurate an account of it as you 
 will be likely to find in the papers to-morrow 
 morning. A number of gentlemen — distin- 
 guished I presume — had been making speeches, 
 and every thing was going on comfortably, when 
 
JOHN PARMELEE ' S CURSE. 2 1 1 
 
 all at once there was some sort of a row down 
 in the crowd, and a lot of them seemed to be 
 making a rush for the platform. At first I 
 thought we were in for a scrimmage, and was 
 debating which way I should jump; but it 
 turned out that they had got hold of a man, 
 and wanted to put him up among us to deliver 
 a harangue. The first thing we knew, he was 
 among us ; and a queer looking customer he 
 was ! He had no hat, and his garments were 
 as if he had come through a thick set hedge, 
 with a ditch on the other side of it. He had 
 gray hair, and big dark eyes, with a singular 
 stare in them, as if he were looking at a ghost, 
 and saw nothing else. I thought he was prob- 
 ably an anarchist, and had had too much beer; 
 but he was not under the influence of liquor, 
 though he was certainly wrong in the head 
 from some cause ; it may have been opium, or 
 it may have been mere insanity." 
 
 At the mention of opium, Fred Tyrrel pricked 
 up his ears, and seemed to take an extraordi- 
 nary interest in the story. 
 
 ''Well, he started to make his speech," Sher- 
 man went on, ** and a very odd speech it was. 
 
S 1 2 JOHN PA RMELEE ' S CURSE. 
 
 At first, no one could tell what he was driving 
 at ; he talked on in a rambling way, apparently- 
 confining himself to glittering generalities; and 
 the crowd applauded as if he had been Daniel 
 Webster himself. But after a while, it turned 
 out that he was enlarging upon his own domes- 
 tic affairs, which seemed to be in a very badly 
 mixed condition ; and he wound up with an 
 attempt to sing a song, about June and noon, 
 mine and thine, lovers and kisses, until the 
 crowed yelled so loud and assumed such a 
 threatening aspect, that the platform gentle- 
 men took the alarm, and kicked the poor orator 
 down the steps. I was really very sorry for the 
 man, and would have helped him if I could ; 
 but there was nothing to be done ; and before I 
 could offer any remonstrance, he had disap- 
 peared in the crowd." 
 
 " Did you find out what his name was ? " 
 Tyrrel demanded, with restrained eagerness. 
 
 *' Nobody knew it or had ever seen him 
 before," Sherman replied. *' The prevailing 
 idea was that he had escaped from Ward's 
 Island, or that his reason had been dethroned 
 by the excitement of the election." 
 
JOHN PA R ME LEE ' S CURSE. 2 1 3 
 
 But Tyrrel entertained a different opinion. 
 The song which Sherman had mentioned was 
 one which he himself had heard John Parmelee 
 sing ; and the description of the unknown 
 man's appearance and demeanor had tallied 
 closely enough with those of the lost cashier. 
 The longer he reflected upon it the more con- 
 vinced did he become that his surmise w'as 
 correct ; and at length he felt constrained to 
 excuse himself to his host, on the plea of 
 business, and to take his leave. Sherman, in 
 bidding him good-night, promised to let him 
 know if any thing untoward occurred with 
 reference to Harold Blackmer. 
 
 Tyrrel hastened dow^n to his hotel — the Astor 
 House — summoned his detectives, and com- 
 municated to them the clue which he believed 
 himself to have found. They were by this 
 time somewhat w^earied of the undertaking, and 
 did not exhibit any marked enthusiasm at the 
 new turn of affairs. The identification was 
 inconclusive, to say the best of it; it might 
 have been any one of a thousand men as well 
 as John Parmelee. But Tyrrel was sanguine 
 and peremptory, and would listen to no dis- 
 
2l4 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURS&, 
 
 couragement. He was convinced that they 
 were close upon the goal of their endeavors. 
 He dispatched his men accordingl)^ and then 
 retired to his room for some rest, having told 
 the night clerk that any messenger asking for 
 him was to be taken up stairs at once. But the 
 night passed away, and his sleep was not dis- 
 turbed. He arose early on Saturday morning, 
 and rang for his breakfast and a newspaper. 
 He turned to the account of the Union Square 
 meeting, but it contained nothing that would 
 assist him in identifying the unknown intruder 
 as John Parmelee. He ate his breakfast, 
 smoked a cigar, and finally, tired of waiting, 
 put on his hat and went down stairs. It was 
 half-past ten when he emerged upon the side- 
 walk and turned northward for a stroll. 
 
 He had not gone a score of yards when he 
 saw an elderly woman and a little girl, who had 
 been walking in front of him, start to cross 
 Broadway in the direction of the City Hall. 
 Just then an express wagon, driven at head- 
 long speed, bore down upon them. The little 
 girl sprang forward to escape it ; but her com- 
 panion, who held her by the arm, drew back at 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 2 1 5 
 
 the same moment : so there they hung in the 
 direct path of sudden death. 
 
 But Tyrrel had attended the gymnasium 
 when he was at college, and he was still an 
 athletic man, as well as a courageous one. In 
 an instant he had thrown himself before the 
 advancing wagon and caught the horse by the 
 bridle. The impetus of the latter carried Tyrrel 
 off his feet ; but he kept his grasp upon the 
 reins, and avoided the animal's hoofs ; and after 
 being dragged a couple of paces, the vehicle 
 was stopped. It was a close shave, but it was 
 enough. Tyrrel informed the driver of the 
 wagon that he should hear from him later, 
 and then turned to the woman and child, and 
 led them back to the sidewalk in safety. The 
 crowd which had begun to collect, finding that 
 nobody was killed, or even hurt, dispersed 
 about its business. 
 
 It was not until then that Tyrrel looked at 
 the faces of the persons whom he had rescued ; 
 and great was his astonishment to find the 
 black eyes of little Sophie Parmelee gazing 
 solemnly up into his own. He caught her up 
 in his arms and kissed her. Then he scrutinized 
 
2i6 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 the woman — at first with no friendly glance, 
 for he suspected both her character and her 
 intentions. 
 
 But after a moment his expression changed; 
 neither the gray hair, nor the wasted features, 
 nor the shabby dress, nor the years that had 
 elapsed since he saw her last, sufficed to dis- 
 guise from him the truth that this was Sophie's 
 mother. She did not recognize him ; but that, 
 perhaps, would come in time. He spoke to 
 her quietly and respectfully ; and when he 
 invited her to return with him to the hotel she 
 complied without hesitation. 
 
XXI. 
 
 WHEN Blackmer and his companions, late 
 on Friday night, left John Parmelee, 
 bound and gagged to think over the proposi- 
 tion they had made to him regarding the money 
 taken from the safe, and to choose between ac- 
 ceding to that and death — the cashier was per- 
 haps warranted in beUeving that the darkest 
 hour of his Hfe had come. 
 
 He had no exact knowledge where he was. 
 After leaving Union Square, he had been hur- 
 ried into a cab, which had been driven rapidly 
 down Fourteenth street for a couple of blocks, 
 and then turned to the left. He was, at that 
 time, still partially dazed by the effects of his 
 fall from the platform ; and the last traces of 
 the opium influence yet lingered in his brain. 
 
 He could perceive, however, that they were 
 passing through some of the poorest regions of 
 the city, between lower Broadway and the North 
 River. Several turns were made, and at last 
 
2 1 8 JOHN PARMELEE 'S C URSE. 
 
 the cab stopped before a mean-looking house 
 in a dark and narrow street. 
 
 It was such a locality as the police seldom 
 visit ; on the ground, probably, that the dregs 
 of the population must live somewhere, and 
 that they had better be as little disturbed as 
 possible in their chosen haunts. Nothing short 
 of a great fire could cleanse these Augean Sta- 
 bles of New York, and even that would not 
 exterminate crime. 
 
 Parmelee, at all events, entertained no hopes 
 of a rescue ; still less was he able to help him- 
 self. Mike, who had bound him, had been a 
 sailor the better part of his life, and nothing 
 could be more compact and ship-shape than the 
 manner in which he had done the job. 
 
 So far as he himself was concerned, the cash- 
 ier could perhaps have confronted death with 
 reasonable equanimity. Existence, of late, 
 had not been a pleasure to him. His health 
 was undermined, and he was full of anxieties 
 both for the present and the future. To be at 
 once and forever released from it all would not 
 have been unwelcome. 
 
 It was when he thought of his little daughter 
 
JOHN- PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 2 1 9 
 
 that his courage gave way. How could he 
 endure to leave her to the ruin and misery and 
 shame of the world ? She was too young to 
 make any stand for herself ; she was old enough 
 to be ruined. His wife, too, whom he had 
 hoped at last to save — who would save her 
 now? 
 
 There he sat, cramped, stifled and helpless, 
 waiting for the end. Every instant, amidst the 
 ceaseless procession of thoughts, fears and fan- 
 tasies that swept though his tortured brain, he 
 listened with preternatural acuteness for the 
 sound of the returning footsteps of the men in 
 whose hands his fate was placed ; and for the 
 moment when he should be finally brought 
 face to face with the terrible alternative. 
 
 Then, too, he had to endure the agony of 
 that remorse which comes too late, for the 
 degradation of mind and body into which he 
 had allowed himself to sink. It was opium 
 that brought him here ; it was through opium 
 that Sophie was left defenseless among 
 enemies; and it was opium which would, per- 
 haps, in the supreme crisis of temptation, rob 
 him of moral integrity to take the nobler 
 
2 20 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 course and sacrifice what was dear to what was 
 honorable. 
 
 It was an old and well-worn lesson that he 
 was learning, but one which no one, perhaps, 
 has ever learnt vicariously — the beautiful, fatal 
 lesson of human brotherhood, that the effect 
 of no evil, as well as of no good, can be 
 restricted to the good or evil-doer. 
 
 If only this cup might pass from him, he 
 thought, he would thenceforward lead a better 
 and cleaner life. But the curse with which he 
 had dallied so long had fastened its grip upon 
 him, and there was nothing to hope and every 
 thing to fear. 
 
 Hark ! What noise was that ? 
 
 A quiver passed through John Parmelee's 
 body, and he clenched his teeth and his hands. 
 The time was come ! An hour hence — where 
 would he be ? 
 
 The blood, which had rushed to Parmelee's 
 brain at the first shock, receded and settled 
 heavily about his heart. Tlie coolness of despair 
 was taking the place of the fever of suspense. 
 He could not suffer much more, or much longer. 
 Why did they not come ? Hark ! again. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 221 
 
 It was the same noise as before ; but the 
 prisoner now noticed that it did not seem to 
 come from the direction of the staircase, nor 
 was it such a noise as is made by opening doors 
 or ascending footsteps. It was a faint ratthng 
 or dragging sound, and it proceeded from out- 
 side the house, on the side of the window. 
 
 What were they going to do ? Were they 
 preparing some trap for him ? — some species 
 of torture? The noise continued, and some- 
 thing came in contact with the window-pane. 
 It sounded like a rope, dangling and swinging 
 downward from above. Were they going to 
 hang him out of the window, and let it be infer- 
 red that he had committed suicide ? 
 
 Parmelee was secured with his back to the 
 window^ and could not turn his head far enough 
 to see behind him ; moreover, the window was 
 concealed by a heavy curtain. He could only 
 conjecture, therefore, what was going on. It 
 did not occur to him that the sounds might 
 originate from some source other than the 
 Blackmer gang. His anticipations were so 
 strongly warped toward disaster that he could 
 not adjust himself to any other issue. 
 
22 2 JOHN PARMELEES CURSE. 
 
 Something scraped and thumped against the 
 wall outside. There was a scramble upon the 
 window-sill, and, after a moment, a crash of 
 breaking glass. The window-bolt was turned 
 back, and the sash thrown up. Next came the 
 impact of two bare feet on the floor of the room. 
 
 At this point, Parmelee's self-control gave 
 way, and he uttered a scream. The imagina- 
 tion of evil is always more trying than the 
 worst reality. Perhaps, however, it was the 
 dawning of a hope that this mysterious visita- 
 tion boded him good, and not evil, that over- 
 came the man's stoicism. Such a revulsion 
 might have upset a stronger nature than his. 
 
 Meanwhile, the mystery, after the fashion of 
 most mysteries, promptly resolved itself into 
 something extremely concrete and matter-of- 
 fact — a homely little urchin, with red hair and 
 a freckled visage, and scantily attired in very 
 dilapidated clothes. But no cherub from the 
 Seventh Heaven, clad in rainbows and crowned 
 with sunbeams, could have seemed more 
 lovely and welcome to John Parmelee at that 
 juncture. 
 
 " Tell yer what, boss," remarked this visitant, 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 223 
 
 deftly removing the gag from the prisoner's 
 mouth, and cutting the ropes that bound him 
 with a knife which he took from the table, 
 " dat's der toughest job I'se had in a long while ! 
 One time I t'ought I was gone, sure! An' der 
 old rope ain't long 'nough by twenty feet. But 
 if yer hangs down off o' the end and drops, yer 
 won't have fur ter fall ; an' it's better nor 
 nothin', anyhow !" 
 
 Parmelee arose, stiff and aching as to his 
 body, but with a joyful energy and thankful- 
 ness of the heart that went far toward com- 
 pensating for physical weakness. 
 
 His first act was to fling his arms round the 
 boy, and incontinently embrace him. 
 
 *' How did you know I was here?" he de- 
 manded in a trembling voice. 
 
 "Oh, I beared and seed der hull thing 
 t'rough der hole in the wall," the other replied, 
 extricating himself with some embarrassment, 
 " I'se got lots ter tell yer, but dis ain't no time 
 fer jawin'. Dem fellers '11 be back here in half 
 a shake, and den yer wuss off nor ever! Out 
 er der winder, boss ! an' mind not let go der 
 rope till yer comes to der end of it ! " 
 
2 24 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 John was in no mood to procrastinate. He 
 staggered to the window. A rope hung down 
 in front of it. The building was but two 
 stories in height, and the rope was attached to 
 a chimney above. It was the same rope which, 
 in its coiled up state, had served the purpose 
 of a chair in Bob's apartment. 
 
 Parmelee sat on the window sill, with his 
 legs outside, and grasped the rope in both 
 hands. Below was an abyss of darkness ; but 
 Parmelee would have committed himself to it, 
 had it been as deep as the Bottomless Pit itself. 
 Without hesitation, he swung himself off, and 
 descended, hand under hand. 
 
 The rope, however, was too small to be easily 
 grasped ; and Parmelee's muscles were much 
 weakened by recent exhaustion. He found his 
 grip relaxing more and more, and the last few 
 feet of the rope slid through his fingers, scorch- 
 ing them like fire. But at the very end was a 
 knot, to which he clung, suspended, for the 
 space of a breath or two, over nothingness. 
 
 As luck would have it, Bob selected this mo- 
 ment for making his own descent. He braced 
 the rope behind one knee and over the ankle, 
 
JOHN FARM ELBE ' S CURSE. 225 
 
 and came sailing down in true acrobatic style. 
 The result was that he landed with considerable 
 force on Parmelee's shoulders. The rope 
 broke, and they both came to the ground in a 
 heap. 
 
T 
 
 XXII. 
 
 HE drop from the end of the rope to the 
 ground was not more than five feet, how- 
 ever; and when Bob and John Parmelee had 
 disentangled themselves from each other and 
 got on their feet, they found that no bones Vv'ere 
 broken. But Bob was near choking with a large 
 fragment of roast chicken which he had looted 
 from the table and crammed into his mouth as 
 he made his exit. 
 
 When he had reduced this obstruction he 
 picked up the rope and began to coil it round 
 his body. 
 
 " It's a lucky thing she broke, a'ter all," he 
 remarked, philosophically. '' If dem fellers had 
 seed a rope hangin' down, dey might a' guessed 
 I'd hed somethin* ter do with it. Now, dat's 
 all right, an* I got der most part o' my rope, 
 too ! Come along, boss ! we'se as well be get- 
 tin' out er dis 'fore dey turns up." 
 
 Parmelee glanced about him. They were in 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 227 
 
 a narrow court connected with the house. On 
 the other side of it rose the blind wall of the 
 opposite -building. The street on which the 
 house stood was separated from the court 
 by a door, which stood ajar, and had partly 
 fallen from its hinges. Bob, having bestowed 
 his rope safely, led the way toward this 
 door. 
 
 But just as he was about to set foot on the 
 sidewalk outside, he jumped violently back, 
 coming in contact with Parmelee, and almost 
 upsetting him. 
 
 ** What's the matter?" the latter asked. 
 
 The boy turned, and made a vehement ges- 
 ture of silence. They shrank back into the 
 triangular space between the half-open door 
 and the wall. 
 
 Footsteps and voices were approaching up 
 the street. To John Parmelee's ears those 
 voices, though he had never heard tw^o of them 
 until that evening, had a terrible familiarity. 
 Peeping through the aperture made by the 
 loosened hinge of the door, he saw them pass — 
 first Mike, then Dick, and then Blackmer. The 
 latter had a cigar in his mouth, and just as he 
 
2 2 8 JOHN PARMELEE ' S C URSE. 
 
 got opposite the door he stopped and felt in 
 his pocket for a match. 
 
 " Hold up a minute, lads," he said, ^' till I 
 get a light." 
 
 They halted and turned back. There was a 
 slight breeze drawing up the street, and Black- 
 mer, in order to escape it, stepped inside the 
 doorway. He struck his match on the door, 
 within three inches of Parmelee's face on the 
 other side. Through a crack in one of the 
 planks of the door, John saw his face, as the 
 match blazed up. 
 
 *' Will that damned beggar upstairs squeal, 
 d' yer think ? " said Dick's voice. 
 
 '' Make yer moind aisy on that ! " returned 
 ]\Iike ; ''he's not got the pluck of a shrimp! " 
 
 *' Leave me to manage him, lads," said Black- 
 mer, throwing away the match with a laugh. 
 " We'll get the money from him first, and the 
 heart out of his body afterward. I've waited 
 a dozen years to be even with him, and he won't 
 slip through my fingers now!" 
 
 They walked on together, and in a moment 
 turned into the house, one after the other, and 
 were gone. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 229 
 
 Parmelee drew a long breath between his 
 teeth. Bob put his head out of the doorway. 
 The coast was clear. 
 
 *' Now, then, boss ! " he whispered. " Leg it, 
 if yer never did afore ! They'll know yer 
 hooked it in two minutes; an' if we ain't five 
 blocks off by dat time, der game's bust, an' 
 don't yer forgit it ! Streak it, I tells yer ! " 
 
 Parmelee needed no urging. He followed 
 the small, ragged figure as it flew along the 
 street and dodged round the corner, until he 
 felt as if his throat were full of glue, his body 
 stuffed with a feather bolster, and his legs 
 paralyzed. 
 
 Just then Bob stopped. They were at the 
 foot of the steps of the elevated railway in 
 Park Place. Nobody was in sight. The light of 
 dawn was beginning to contend with that of the 
 stars in the East. They sat down on the steps. 
 
 *' Say, you's John Parmelee, ain't yer?" 
 demanded Bob, after a while. 
 
 John was far too busy catching his breath to 
 reply in words. He nodded. 
 
 " In course yer is," said Bob. ** Got a little 
 gal, ain't yer?" 
 
^30 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 John gave a great start, and looked at him. 
 " What — about her ? " he gasped out. 
 
 " Oh, she's all right, she is! " returned Bob, 
 comfortably. "An' she's got all der boodle out 
 er der bank, in a black bag. I seed it myself ! " 
 
 John listened in astonishment. *' Is she — 
 safe ? Where — where — " he panted. ** Show 
 me — let me go to her ! " 
 
 '* Easy, boss ! " said the urchin, as the other 
 attempted to get to his feet. " Jest you keep 
 yer shirt on ! I'se runnin' dis 'ere game, I is ! 
 Ef yer don't do as I tells yer dem fellers '11 git 
 their claws on yer agin, an' den yer gone up ! 
 'Sides, I'se got somethin' pertickler to askyer." 
 
 " To ask me? " 
 
 " In course ! Is dat feller Black Hal — 
 Blackmer's his right name — does he belong ter 
 your folks ? " 
 
 "■ He's my brother-in-law," answered Parmc- 
 lee. 
 
 " Dat means he's your wife's brother, don't 
 it?" 
 
 *'Yes. What of it?" 
 
 " Why, dat beats all ! I knows her, like she 
 was my own ma! Sal's her name, ain't it? 
 
JOHN P ARM E LEE ' S CURSE. 23 1 
 
 Dat's her I Crazy Sal, we calls her. Eats 
 opium, she does, an' hits der pipe. Oh, Ave's 
 prime friends, she an' me, I can tell you ! She 
 sleeps over to my place ; an' she an' your little 
 gal is sleepin' dere now, right as we sits jawin* 
 on dese ere steps ! " 
 
 '' But where is your place ? Where are they ? 
 For heaven's sake, my boy, don't make game of 
 me ! I — I can't bear it ! " faltered John, shak- 
 ing all over with emotion and excitement. 
 *' I've been searching for — my — wife — for ten 
 years." 
 
 ** Well, yer needn't search no more," rejoined 
 Bob, cheerfully. '' Yer'll have her to-night, 
 sure ! But yer can't go arter her now, 'cos 
 she's in my house : an' dat's next door to der 
 place we just come out of! " 
 
 At this news, Parmelee forced himself erect 
 at once. 
 
 " My wife and daughter next door to that 
 thieves' den ?" he exclaimed. '' Show me the 
 way back. My God ! they might be murdered 
 before — " 
 
 " Why, what ails yer, boss ? " cried Bob, re- 
 provingly. " Don't you go to be a darned 
 
^3^ JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 fool ! I ain't a-goln' to show yer der way back, 
 an I bet yer don't find it alone ! An' if yer 
 did, yer'd on'y get 'em inter trouble, an' do no 
 good ! Black Hal an' his gang don' know noth- 
 in' 'bout where they is," — in this, it is to be 
 feared, Bob stretched the truth a little — " an' 
 dere ain't nobody goin' to tell *em. But jist 
 you wait till dey comes out, an' den yer can 
 catch on to 'em." 
 
 ** How do I know where they will go ? What 
 chance is there of my finding them in the midst 
 of a million people ? " 
 
 *'Well, ain't I a-goin' ter tell yer? If yer 
 knows der ropes, all der people in der worl* 
 ain't goin' ter hinder yer. It's dis way : Crazy 
 Sal (dat's yer wife) she alius goes to the same 
 place for der opium stuff, an' she goes along 
 to'ards der evenin'. Terday, in course, she'll 
 take der little gal along with her. Well, yer 
 goes down dere 'bout der same time, an' yer 
 drops right in on 'em, don't yer ? " 
 
 " My wife goes every day to an opium 
 joint ? " said Parmelee, with a groan. 
 
 ** Ter be sure she does ! " returned Bob, in an 
 encouraging tone ; " an' I can take yer right 
 
JOHH FARM ELBE ' S CURSE. 233 
 
 ter the place. But yer'll have ter keep dark 
 till evenin', less yer wants der cops or Black 
 Hal ter git hold on yer. I'll take }'er roun' to 
 a crib I knows on, where yer can lay low; and 
 when my business hours is over, we'll go a'ter 
 Crazy Sal." 
 
 "Curse the infernal stuff!" muttered Par- 
 melee, as he followed Bob across the City Hall 
 Park toward the regions of Chatham street. 
 " I'd give my life to destroy the last atom of it 
 off the face of the earth ! And I'd almost give 
 my life to have an atom of it in my mouth now ! 
 But I'll die before I touch it again ! " was his 
 final resolve, uttered with all due purpose and 
 solemnity. 
 
 On the East River shore there was', at this 
 time, an antique monument of decay and inef- 
 ficiency in the shape of a pier, which had never 
 received the medical aid of the doctors of the 
 dock department. In a cavity underneath this 
 structure John Parmelee spent the day, his 
 loneliness being mitigated by the incursion of 
 an occasion'al wharf rat, and by the presence 
 ' of one or two loafers as dilapidated as him- 
 self. It was not a luxurious retreat ; but 
 
234 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 perhaps it was as good a place as another in 
 which to review a crippled life, and to make 
 \\liolesome and honorable resolves for the 
 future. 
 
w 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 HEN Blackmer and his companions 
 entered their prisoner's room and found 
 it empty, they could scarcely credit the evi- 
 dence of their own senses. 
 
 There was the vacant chair and the rope 
 which had bound him, cut in half a dozen 
 pieces. And there was the open window 
 through which he had escaped. But how had 
 it been managed ? Had he done it himself, or 
 had he received assistance ? 
 
 Blackmer was of the former opinion. But 
 Mike, who had done the binding, and had con- 
 fidence in his workmanship, entertained the 
 the opposite conviction. 
 
 As for Dick, he immediately reverted to his 
 old idea that Crazy Sal had had something to 
 do with it, and that Bob had perhaps acted as 
 her agent. The others laughed at the notion ; 
 but Dick persisted, and would not be satisfied 
 
236 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 with any thing short of a visit to the room in 
 which Bob and Sal lived. 
 
 The party repaired thither accordingly, and 
 softly opened the door. There were Sal and 
 Sophie sound asleep on their respective mat- 
 tresses. But all the visitors mistook Sophie 
 for Bob, and therefore concluded that nothing 
 could be wrong there. Even Dick, if not sat- 
 isfied, was at least silenced. 
 
 They returned to their own room and held a 
 consultation. 
 
 '' I'll tell you what I tJiInk, lads," said Black- 
 mer, at last. *' Somebody has been on our 
 trail — either the cops or somebody else. They 
 recognized Parmelee, and laid to get him away 
 from us and secure the reward. They saw us 
 come out and improved the opportunity — 
 fetched a ladder, broke in the window, and 
 carried him off. By this time he's probably 
 safe in the lock-up ; and we've got left ! " 
 
 " We hadn't never ought ter have let go of 
 him," moaned Dick, gloomily. ''What did we 
 want to go off an' leave him fur? It makes 
 me sick ! I'm goin* out of this business! To 
 have fifty-seven thousand dollars dangled under 
 
JOHN PA RMELEE 'S CURSE. 237 
 
 yer nose and then jerked away agin, is worse 
 nor starvin' to death!" 
 
 '' I'm not going to give it up yet," said 
 Blackmer. " Even if he has been run in, it 
 doesn't follow that he has told where the 
 money is. And there's always the off chance 
 that he got away by himself. Anyhow, it'll 
 be in the papers to-day if he has been captured. 
 Suppose we three ramble about to-day, sepa- 
 rately, and keep a sharp lookout. Meet here 
 again at eight o'clock to-night and report prog- 
 ress. We may collar the stuff after all. Never 
 say die till after the funeral, is my motto!" 
 
 The others had nothing better to suggest, and 
 Blackmer's proposal was agreed to. 
 
 But Blackmer had a scheme of his own, for 
 which the one he had announced was merely a 
 blind. He had never really departed from his 
 first view, that Parmelee had escaped unassisted. 
 He had meditated, likewise, upon the singular 
 condition Parmelee had been in at the time of 
 his capture ; he had noted his appearance and 
 the nervous distraction of his manner; and had 
 finally arrived at the conviction that he, as well 
 as Sallie, was an opium eater. 
 
238 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 
 
 From this he reasoned that, since all opium 
 eaters are slaves of their habit, Parmelee's first 
 impulse, on finding himself at liberty, would be 
 to seek out an opium joint and compensate him- 
 self for his recent abstinence. New York, at 
 this time, contained only a limited number of 
 these, to which strangers could have access; 
 and they were all situated within a short dis- 
 tance of one another. In one or another of 
 them, therefore, Parmelee might confidently be 
 looked for. 
 
 But Blackmer had an additional motive in 
 wishing to act independently of Mike and Dick ; 
 he wished to leave the coast clear for his 
 departure to IMexico with Sherman. If he 
 delayed to divide the money with his two com- 
 panions, he would probably not be ready to set 
 off on ]\Ionday morning. The time was short 
 enough, even if all went as he hoped. There 
 must be no hindrance to his movements. If he 
 could find Parmelee between now and Sunday 
 night, however, he might transact his little 
 affair with him, and, leaving Dick and Mike in 
 the lurch, escape with the whole booty in his 
 own pocket. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 239 
 
 And what course should he take in case his 
 search were unsuccessful within the required 
 limits of time ? Then he must choose between 
 Sherman's offei', and the chance of finding Par- 
 melee at some later period. Fifty thousand 
 dollars was a large sum to let slip between one's 
 fingers ; but it was an uncertainty, whereas 
 Sherman's two hundred dollars a week was a 
 fixed fact, not to speak of the other advan- 
 tages connected with it. Blackmer hesitated 
 for some time ; but he finally came to the con- 
 clusion that, if he were not successful by the 
 end of the next twenty-four hours, he had bet- 
 ter give up the fifty thousand, and keep his 
 eno-acrement with Sherman. This determina- 
 tion stimulated him to leave nothing untried to 
 achieve success in both directions. He would 
 have liked to call on Sherman, and discuss any 
 final points that might come up with reference 
 to their journey ; but to do this might detain 
 him too long, and every moment was precious. 
 He thought of sending Sherman a note, telling 
 him that he was kept away by a pressure of 
 final arrangements ; but he was reluctant, in 
 the present hazardous state of affairs, to coni- 
 
240 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 mit himself to writing on any subject ; and he 
 persuaded himself that it would not be neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Had he met Sherman at this juncture, it is 
 probable that the latter would have given him 
 a surprise. Sherman had not forgottenTyrrel's 
 warning ; and the more he reflected upon it, 
 the more important did it appear. Tyrrel was 
 not a man prone to make careless statements ; 
 and, on this occasion, he had evidently said as 
 little as he could. If Blackmer had been 
 merely wild and dissipated, it was no great 
 matter; Sherman could plead guilty to as much 
 as that himself. But if he had been actually 
 dishonest, it altered the case completely. It 
 was true, no doubt, as Tyrrel had suggested, 
 that a criminal may reform, and henceforth 
 lead an honest life ; but the interests which 
 Sherman had at stake were too large to run 
 any risks with them ; and the position in which 
 he had designed to place Blackmer would sub- 
 ject him to temptations, which only a man of 
 staunch integrity could resist. 
 
 Revolving these things, he entered the bar- 
 ber's saloon to get his beard trimmed ; and 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 241 
 
 while awaiting his turn, he saw the district 
 attorney come into the room. They had been 
 acquainted before Sherman left New York; 
 and he now accosted him, and they sat down 
 together. It occurred to Sherman that this 
 gentleman might be able to solve his doubts ; 
 and after a little preliminary conversation, he 
 asked him whether he happened to know any 
 thing of a man by the name of Harold Black- 
 mer ? 
 
 " Why, let's see ! " returned the other, press- 
 ing one side of his mustache between his teeth 
 with his fino-er. " Blackmer — Harold Black- 
 mer? Isn't he the man they call Black Hal ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Sherman, with an uneasy 
 sensation. '■'■ He's a dark-complexioned man." 
 
 '' Black hair and eyes," continued the attor- 
 ney ; '' rather tall, good-looking, dresses well ; 
 yes, I guess I know something about him. 
 Has he been trying the confidence game on 
 you r 
 
 " Oh, no ; not exactly," returned Sherman, 
 with a constrained laugh ; " but I thought — " 
 
 " Next ! " called out one of the barbers, as a 
 seat was vacated. 
 
242 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 " I'll tell you what you do," said the attor- 
 ney, as Sherman rose. " After we get through 
 here, you come with me, and I'll show you 
 something that will settle the question at 
 once." 
 
 Accordingly, after the scissors and razor had 
 done their work, Sherman accompanied the 
 ofificer down to Mulberry street, and entered 
 the police headquarters. He was taken into a 
 room where there were a number of folding- 
 frames, each containing about two-score cartes- 
 de-visite. One of these frames was handed to 
 Sherman, and he was requested to see whether 
 he recognized any one of the faces there. 
 
 On the first page, half way down, he found 
 what he wished — and yet did not wish — to see; 
 there were the regular, sharp-cut features, the 
 curly black hair, the self-contained expression ; 
 it was Harold Blackmer beyond a doubt ; and 
 there was not abetter looking rogue in all the 
 rogue's gallery. The detective in charge gave 
 Sherman some account of certain episodes in 
 his friend's career ; and he finally departed, a 
 sadder and a wiser man. *' You are not the 
 first man whom the contents of that collection 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 243 
 
 has disagreeably surprised," remarked the dis- 
 trict attorney, as he bade him farewell ; " but 
 you'll probably find it a cheaper method of 
 getting your eyes open than a personal experi- 
 ence would be. How it may be in Mexico, I 
 don't know ; but if you want to find a business 
 partner in New York, you'd better begin your 
 search here, and work up ! " 
 
 " 1 think I'll do without a partner for the 
 present," replied Sherman gloomily; and he 
 went back to his rooms, and wondered what he 
 should say to Blackmer, in case the latter 
 should make his appearance on Monday morn- 
 ing, with his trunk packed for Mexico. " I'll 
 give him a thousand dollars and call it square ! '* 
 he said to himself. But destiny had ordered 
 the matter otherwise. 
 
 While these schemes were engendering, Fred 
 Tyrrel was meeting with fair encouragement at 
 his end of the line. The forenoon had passed 
 very pleasantly in introducing the mother and 
 daughter to each other, and in getting the for- 
 mer provided with raiment better suiting the 
 station in life to which it was intended she 
 should return. Sallie said little, and perhaps 
 
244 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 did not as yet realize what changes were in store 
 for her ; but she was entirely docile, and tract- 
 able, and remained most of the day at the 
 window of the little priv^ate sitting room which 
 had been assigned to her at the Astor House, 
 whispering softly to herself at times, but other- 
 wise wholly undemonstrative. 
 
 Meanwhile Tyrrel was extracting from Sophie 
 all the information she had to give. Of her 
 father's movements she could, of course, furnish 
 no recent news ; but she described every thing 
 that had occurred on the Wednesday evening, 
 and retailed the conversation between Bob and 
 herself, which fixed upon Blackmer the crime 
 of the burglary, fruitless of result though the 
 crime was. The whole course of events was 
 now tolerably clear; all that remained to be 
 discovered was the whereabouts of Parmelee, of 
 Bob, and of the black satchel containing the 
 money. 
 
 Concerning the latter Tyrrel had no very 
 sanguine anticipations ; he even went so far as 
 to harbor a misgiving (which, however he did 
 not venture to hint to Sophie) that Bob was a 
 stool pigeon in the employ of the Blackmer 
 
JOHN- PA kiMELEE ' S CURSE. 2 45 
 
 gang, and had conveyed the satchel to them as 
 soon as Sophie had fallen asleep. In that case 
 the thieves were probably already beyond pur- 
 suit ; and there was nothing left to be done 
 but to find John Parmelee. 
 
 But his disappearance was the greatest mys- 
 tery of all. If it were true (and there seemed 
 to be no doubt of it) that he was carried off 
 by Blackmer, the latter's only object could have 
 been to force him to deliver up the booty of 
 which he was supposed to be possessed. If, 
 however, this booty had been secured for the 
 thieves by Bob, why was not Parmelee released ? 
 And if released, and in his right senses, why did 
 he not report at once to the police? 
 
 The more Tyrrel reflected upon this matter, 
 the more uneasy did he become. He could not 
 help perceiving that Blackmer would find him- 
 self seriously embarrassed by Parmelee, and 
 that he could not safely allow the latter his 
 liberty until he himself was out of all danger. 
 But Blackmer was a wholly conscienceless and 
 unrelenting scoundrel ; and what was to pre- 
 vent him from finally ridding himself of all 
 anxiety on Parmelee's account, by the simple 
 
246 JOHN FARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 and horrible expedient of putting him out of 
 existence ? 
 
 It might have been of some avail, Tyrrel 
 thought, if he could have gone to the house in 
 which Sophie had passed the night, and given 
 it a thorough ransacking. It was possible that 
 Parmelee might be imprisoned there. But this 
 project was unfortunately frustrated by So- 
 phie's ignorance as to the direction or local- 
 ity in which the house lay. She knew that it 
 was an ugly house, and that the street leading 
 to it was narrow and dirty ; but she had taken 
 no note of the route which she and her mother 
 had followed in coming away from it. Nor 
 was Sallie herself of any more assistance. The 
 truth w^as that '' Crazy Sal " more or less 
 merited her title during a large part of every 
 twenty-four hours ; and this did not happen to 
 be one of her more lucid intervals. She 
 seemed to imagine that she was asleep, and 
 having pleasant dreams ; and, w^hen Tyrrel 
 endeavored to make her talk, she would gently 
 request him not to awaken her ! All he could 
 do, therefore, was to urge his detectives to as 
 much general activity as possible ; and to 
 
JOHN PARMELEE' S CURSE, 247 
 
 smoke an unconscionable quantity of cigars, 
 while awaiting their bulletins. 
 
 About dusk on this day, however, came the 
 end of all his suspense and speculations. 
 There was a knock at the door of his room, and 
 one of the detectives entered. 
 
 ** Well, have you found him?" demanded 
 Tyrrcl. 
 
 '' Well, he's been found," was the reply, 
 *' and he's now at headquarters. And that 
 chap Blackmer, or Black Hal, is there with 
 him ! " 
 
XXIV. 
 
 THERE is a certain obscure passageway 
 leading, through an arched door, out of 
 Canal street. Its uneven pavement is littered 
 with heaps of rubbish, and the swarthy sides 
 of the buildings on either side, rising scarce 
 three feet apart, seem to lean toward each other 
 as they ascend, and make the foul air stagnant. 
 
 About twenty paces down this passage, on 
 the left hand side, there is a low doorway, flush 
 with the wall ; you might easily pass it without 
 noticing it. But if you enter the door you 
 will find yourself in a dark entry just wide 
 enough for a fairly broad shouldered man to 
 walk through. 
 
 At the end of the entry is another door. 
 Passing this, you are in a sort of ante-room, 
 some twelve feet square. Here sits a sullen- 
 faced, powerfully built Mongoh'an. ostensibly 
 engaged in the manufacture of baskets. 
 
 Unless you can satisfy this personage as to 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 249 
 
 the legitimate (or rather illegitimate) object of 
 your coming, you will not be likely to proceed 
 further. Otherwise, after receiving from you 
 a small sum of money, he rises sluggishly, and 
 lays his hand on a certain spot of the appar- 
 ently solid wall. 
 
 A door is concealed here, however, which 
 opens by a sliding panel, and admits you into 
 another room, in which the devotees of the 
 opium habit meet to indulge their vice. 
 
 Down this entry and through these doors 
 came, late on the afternoon of Saturday, a man 
 and a boy. After a brief confabulation with 
 the sentry in the anteroom, they were admitted 
 to the inner apartment. 
 
 It was about double the size of the ante- 
 room. The ceiling was low, and the ventila- 
 tion extremely defective. A series of bunks 
 or berths were ranged round the walls, one 
 above another. A dozen or more of them 
 were occupied by the motionless forms of men 
 and women, all apparently of the poorest class, 
 and all in a more or less stupefied condition. 
 
 The smell of the place was enervating and 
 sickening. The dim light of a single small 
 
250 ■ JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 lamp could hardly do more than define the 
 masses of shadow which encroached on all sides 
 of it. Layers of thin smoke hung and swayed 
 in the still air. There was a hideous tawdry 
 finery in the fittings of the place, which made 
 the squalor more obtrusive. Strips of colored 
 tissue paper, cut in scallops, were pendent from 
 the ceiling; the cushions and mattresses were 
 upholstered in some kind of crimson cloth, now 
 blackened and shiny with dirt. The one small 
 window at the end of the room was fitted with 
 panes of yellow, purple and red glass. The 
 sallow and leering Chinaman who rose from the 
 floor to receive the newcomers was clad in a 
 caftan and trowsers of some material which 
 might have been figured silk in the days of 
 Confucius, but was a tissue of greasy stuff now. 
 
 Yet it was to this place that Parmelee had 
 been conducted by his friend Bob to look for 
 his wife ; it was to this place that she, born and 
 reared a lady, had resorted for years past to 
 obtain the only solace left her to care about. 
 
 " She ain't here yet, boss," said Bob in an 
 undertone, after having made a survey of the 
 inmates : '' but she won't be long a-comin'. 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 25 1 
 
 You'se better He down an' take a pipe. '' I'll 
 keep a lookout in der street, and fetch her 
 along." 
 
 " I'll wait," answered John Parmelee. " Mer- 
 ciful God ! What a trysting spot for my love 
 and me ! " 
 
 Bob left the room and the house hastily; for 
 although not generally squeamish, he drew the 
 line at the stench of an opium den. But as he 
 was passing down the passage opening into 
 Canal street he saw a man turn the corner and 
 advance toward him. 
 
 The man was Blackmer. Bob knew him at 
 a glance ; but a boy is not so easily recogniza- 
 ble as a man, and Bob, by pulling down his 
 cap over his eyes, managed to slip by without 
 being noticed, and the next moment was safe 
 in Canal street. 
 
 But what was to be done ? 
 
 Blackmer must have tracked them to the 
 den, and certainly he would intend Parmelee 
 no good. After an instant's hurried reflection, 
 Bob formed an heroic resolution. He was con- 
 stitutionally and perhaps hereditarily averse to 
 any thing in the shape of a guardian of the 
 
252 JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 
 
 peace ; nevertheless, he made up his mind to 
 apply to the first police officer he could find 
 and give him an alarm of murder. 
 
 But circumstances had already occurred 
 which rendered this act of gallantry superfluous. 
 
 Four big men in dark uniforms came down 
 Canal street, and halted at the entrance of 
 the narrow passageway. Here one remained 
 on guard, with his long locust staff in his hand 
 and an aspect of complacent invincibility. 
 The other three tramped down the passage till 
 they came to the low doorway. Two went in, 
 while the third remained to intercept possible 
 fugitives. 
 
 The former traversed the entry and ascended 
 the stairs as noiselessly as possible. Not so 
 noiselessly, however, but that the sentry in the 
 anteroom heard their tread and knew what it 
 foreboded. In an instant, he slipped an iron 
 bar across the door, and whisked into the inner 
 room to give the alarm. 
 
 But here there was already an uproar. Two 
 men were rolling in a fierce struggle on the 
 floor; and the other inmates, in various 
 stages of excitement and dismay, were sit- 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 253 
 
 ting up in their bunks, or stumbling about 
 the room. 
 
 Outside, the police officers were thundering 
 at the door. In a minute it gave way with 
 a crash and they rushed in. 
 
 Simultaneously with their entrance, the pro- 
 prietors vanished through the colored glass- 
 window, like Harlequin in the pantomime. 
 They escaped ; but all the others, including 
 Harold Blackmer and John Parmelee (the 
 latter of whom had, by good fortune, just 
 succeeded in pinning his antagonist down and 
 getting on top of him) were taken into custody 
 forthwith, and held to answer the charge of 
 having been detected in an opium-joint. 
 
 Thus it happened that the independent enter- 
 prise of the local inspector — who knew nothing 
 of the Tisdale bank robbery and its dramatis 
 personcE, but merely aimed to get credit for 
 general zeal and efficiency — was instrumental 
 in bringing to a crisis a train of events which, 
 but for him, would probably have had a very 
 different ending. 
 
 The prisoners were marched through the 
 streets to the police station, a dismal crew; 
 
254 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 and a crowd of noisy and unsympathetic citizens 
 followed them. Among the crowd was a small, 
 red-headed boy, whom nobody noticed, but who 
 took note of every thing. This boy hung about 
 until the prisoners had been locked up, and he 
 had learned that the examination was fixed 
 for Monday ; and then he quietly disappeared. 
 
 When Fred Tyrrel was informed of the arrest 
 he poured out a glass of champagne for the 
 detective, gave him a cigar, and then the two 
 got into a hansom and drove down to the 
 station house. 
 
 His immediate object was to bail out Par- 
 melee over Sunday. But when the inspector 
 discovered what a prize he had unwittingly got 
 hold of, he politely but firmly declined to 
 relinquish his grasp. 
 
 " I've no doubt of Mr. Parmelee's innocence, 
 since you say so, Mr. Tyrrel," he remarked, 
 ^* but, as a matter of official etiquette and 
 routine, I guess we'd better keep him. He 
 shall have our best accommodations, of course, 
 as a first-class misdemeanant ; and his friends 
 will be allowed to visit him ; but I'm afraid 
 that's as far as I can go for you, to-night." 
 
JOHN PARMELEE 'S CURSE. 255 
 
 Finding himself constrained to accept the 
 situation, Tyrrel next drove round to the 
 various newspaper offices, and succeeded in 
 making arrangements whereby Parmelee's name 
 was kept out of the Sunday issues. Then 
 he repaired to the residence of Ex-Senator 
 Dumling. 
 
 The ex-senator was a lawyer of ability and 
 influence second to none in New York. Tyrrel 
 engaged his services for the defense ; though, 
 in order to secure his consent, he was obliged 
 to request it as a personal favor to himself. 
 *^ It's not altogether in my style, you know, my 
 dear fellow," the great jurist remarked. How- 
 ever, once committed to the case, he entered 
 into it with characteristic energy and thorough- 
 ness ; and before bed-time he had interviewed 
 Sophie and John Parmelee, and had sued out 
 a warrant for the arrest of Blackmer on the 
 charge of burglary. He also paid his respects 
 to Mrs. Parmelee ; but it was thought advisable 
 not to question her in her present condition. 
 
 "What do you think of the outlook?" 
 demanded Tyrrel, as he bade the ex-senator 
 good night. 
 
256 JOHN FARM E LEE ' S CURSE. 
 
 " Don't altogether fancy it, you know," was 
 the reply. '' Evidence good enough as far as 
 it goes ; but it wants clinching." 
 
 '' What would clinch it ? " 
 
 "I fancy that black satchel would be the best 
 thing," replied the lawyer. '' Only find that for 
 me, and I shan't feel scared." 
 
XXV. 
 
 IN spite of the care which had been taken to 
 minimize the publicity of the case, the court- 
 room was full when the Tisdale Bank against 
 John Parmelee and others was called. 
 
 The evidence for the prosecution is already 
 in possession of the reader, and need not be 
 detailed here. Richards, the heroic deputy- 
 constable, repeated his midnight tale of law- 
 lessness and blood ; and it was shown on other 
 testimony that the cashier had free access to 
 the safe at all times ; that he was far from 
 being in affluent circumstances ; that on the 
 night of the robbery, and at or about the hour 
 of its commission, he left his house, and was 
 not again heard of until his arrest in New York, 
 and finally that there were no traces of any 
 other agency than his own in the affair, and 
 that the money had utterly disappeared. To 
 all this Ex-Senator Dumling listened with his 
 nose in the air, and an expression half way 
 
258 JOHN FARM E LEE ' S CURSE, 
 
 between amusement and boredom ; nor did he 
 condescend to cross-examine so much as a 
 single witness. 
 
 " This is circumstantial evidence with a ven- 
 geance! " he remarked, as if to himself, as he 
 rose to his feet for the defense. *' I intend, if 
 it pleases the court, to show first, that John 
 Parmelee was not the man to commit a rob- 
 bery ; second, that he had no need to commit 
 it ; third, that no robbery was committed by 
 any one " (at this statement there was a sensa- 
 tion in the room, and the judge uncrossed his 
 legs and sat up) ; " fourth, that the person who 
 planned the robbery, and who, but for the pre- 
 caution of John Parmelee, would have suc- 
 ceeded in his attempt, is not John Parmelee at 
 all, but a very different individual, with whom 
 I expect, before this case is over, to make the 
 gentlemen on the other side much better 
 acquainted ! " t 
 
 Testimony as to th^ cashier's unimpeached 
 good character for thirty years was then given 
 by Richards, by Tyrrel, and even by the ven- 
 erable Mr. Pierson, the president of the bank. 
 It was also proved that his salary was adequate 
 
JOHN P ARM E LEE ' S CURSE. 259 
 
 to his needs, and that his habits were regular 
 and the reverse of extravagant. This disposed 
 of the first two heads of the ex-senator's pro- 
 gramme. John Parmelee was then called to 
 testify in his own behalf. 
 
 " You will oblige me, Mr. Parmelee, by giv- 
 ing" an account of what occurred on the after- 
 noon and evening of Wednesday last, so far as 
 your memory serves you," said the lawyer, in a 
 tone indicative of kindliness and respect. 
 
 John began and told his story; how he had 
 received a letter (produced) which he believed 
 was written by his wife, warning him of the 
 projected attempt ; how he had decided, for 
 certain reasons, to undertake the protection of 
 the money himself, instead of communicating 
 at once with the police and the directors ; how 
 he had removed it from the safe and concealed 
 it in a certain receptacle under the floor of his 
 sitting-room, known only to himself and his 
 daughter; and how he had enjoined her to 
 assume the charge of it, in case of any accident 
 occurring to him from his expected encounter 
 with the burglars His daughter, he added, had 
 then gone to her room, and he was left alone. 
 
26o JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 ''Well, and what happened then?" inquired 
 Mr. Dumling, encouragingly. 
 
 '* I have been an opium eater for seven 
 years," said John, raising his pale face and con- 
 fronting the assemblage, which stirred and 
 murmured at the confession. " It has been 
 the greatest curse of my life. I hope, with 
 God's help, to conquer it from this time forth. 
 But, on that night, after my little girl had gone 
 to bed, I took a larger quantity than usual. 
 Then, after a while, I thought I saw my wife in 
 the room. We had been separated for ten 
 years. I was full of joy that she had come 
 back. I spoke to her; but she did not answer. 
 I tried to take her into my arms, but she eluded 
 me. She went out of the door, and I followed 
 her. She passed out, and down the street ; I 
 pursued her, but could not overtake her. I for- 
 got every thing but her. I did not notice in 
 what direction I went, but only that she was 
 before me. It was night, and then day again, 
 and then once more night. Gradually she 
 seemed to get further away from me ; at last I 
 saw her only by glimpses. I seemed to be 
 among many people, who got between us and 
 
JOHN PA R MELEE 'S CURSE. 261 
 
 parted us. I spoke to them, and tried to explain 
 what I sought and hoped ; but they cried out 
 at me, and I was thrown down, and fell ! " 
 
 This story was told in a manner and with a 
 voice that held the audience silent ; and when 
 the narrator paused the subdued movement 
 that followed testified to their attention. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney, however, wished 
 to know, with an air of disgust, whether this 
 sort of thing was to be regarded as evidence. 
 " Even assuming it to be all bona fide,'' he 
 added, "we did not come here to listen to a 
 lunatic's account of his own lunacies." 
 
 " The test of your genuine lunatic," retorted 
 the ex-senator suavely, " is his clinging to his 
 delusions in the teeth of exposure. Go on, 
 Mr. Parmelee." 
 
 John then gave the history of his kidnap- 
 ping by the Blackmer gang, and of what 
 occurred in the room where he was confined. 
 This was listened to with earnest interest. 
 Following it came the story of his unexpected 
 rescue by the boy Bob, and his retreat to the 
 shelter of the East River pier. It was all news 
 of the raciest description to Fred Tyrrel, and 
 
262 JOHN FARM ELBE'S CURSE, 
 
 caused him to reconsider his hasty judgment 
 of the red-headed little adventurer. But alas ! 
 What had become of him ? The most search- 
 ing inquiries had failed to reveal his where- 
 abouts. 
 
 '' Really," said the attorney for the prosecu- 
 tion, ironically, as he rose to conduct Parme- 
 lee's cross-examination, '' I feel as if I had 
 been reading a chapter from a sensational 
 novel ! " But his effort to shake the cashier's 
 testimony met with very small success; and, 
 after half an hour of unavailing badgering, he 
 was fain to let him stand down. 
 
 Sophie Parmelee was next summoned to the 
 stand ; and though much of her evidence w^as 
 merely confirmatory of her father's, the sim- 
 plicity and quaint emphasis with which she 
 delivered it made a strong impression. But 
 the important part of her testimony referred 
 to the vicissitudes of the famous black satchel. 
 She traced its history down to the time of her 
 falling asleep on Friday night, and there the 
 chronicle stopped. On Saturday morning 
 the satchel had disappeared. '' But," added 
 Sophie of her own motion, and with an earn- 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 263 
 
 estness which made everyone smile, "You 
 mustn't think that Bob took it ! I like him 
 very much, and I know that he is honest !" 
 
 The other side prudently declined to detain 
 this witness, and Mr. Dumling called for Mrs. 
 Parmelee. Her testimony was wanted as to 
 the writing of the letter of warning to her hus- 
 band, and the cause that led to her doing so. 
 
 Sallic entered on the arm of Fred Tyrrel. 
 It was wonderful what a change had been 
 wrought in her appearance by the alterations 
 in her dress. She wore a blacl: gown, simply 
 made, with white muslin at her throat and 
 black lace on her gray hair. Her face was pale 
 and delicate, and looked neither old nor young, 
 but had a dreamy absence of definite expres- 
 sion. Her dark eyes traversed the great court- 
 room full of people with an abstracted, unsee- 
 ing gaze, and she took her place in the witness 
 box as quietly as if she were in solitude. 
 
 At her entrance, John Parmelee had started 
 up in the dock, trembling uncontrollably; his 
 eyes devoured her, and tears ran down his 
 cheeks. She did not notice him at first ; but 
 when the ex-senator, in his deep voice, said : 
 
264 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 *' Mrs. Parmelee look upon the prisoner at the 
 bar. Do you know him?" Her glance, after 
 straying uncertainly here and there, at length 
 settled upon her husband's face. 
 
 He stretched out his arms to her, and his voice 
 broke in sobs: *' Sallie I Sallie, my darling! I 
 am here! " 
 
 She gazed at him, motionless, for a space of 
 time that seemed to the spectators endless. At 
 last, with a strange, wavering cry, which was 
 long remembered by those who heard it, she 
 tottered down from the stand and went to him. 
 
 No attempt was made to prevent their em- 
 brace ; and, before it was ended she lay un- 
 conscious in her husband's arms. She was car- 
 ried back to the waiting room, and her testi- 
 mony had to be postponed. 
 
 Here ensued a pause, and no one seemed to 
 know exactly what was to be done next. The 
 prosecuting attorney rose and addressed him- 
 self to the judge. 
 
 " The spectacle of human emotion, and of 
 the domestic affections, is always interesting 
 to right-minded people," he observed ; *' but I 
 don't know that they are of much assistance to 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE, 265 
 
 US in determining what has become of the funds 
 of the Tisdale Bank. Does the defense pro- 
 pose to call any other witnesses? There has 
 been a person described as Bob, more than once 
 alluded to in the depositions of former wit- 
 nesses, who would appear to have acted as the 
 dens ex macJiina of the whole business. Would 
 it be indiscreet to ask my learned friend on 
 the other side why he does not summon 
 him? " 
 
 The ex-senator, suppressing a growl of irrita- 
 tion, was about to make the most plausible 
 retort he could think of, when he was interrupt- 
 ed by a commotion at the lower end of the 
 room, from the midst of which proceeded a 
 small but lusty voice, to the following effect: — 
 
 ** Here I is, yer honor! I'se Bob, an' I got 
 der boodle ! Le'me git up der, will yer? Yer 
 can't do nothin' without me, an' don't yer forgit 
 it !" 
 
 This apostrophe, in the words of the news- 
 paper report next day, fairly electrified the 
 audience; and the impression was deepened by 
 the red-headed urchin's deposition, given as it 
 was with a humor that made the hearers laugh, 
 
266 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 and at the same time with a clearness and point 
 highly refreshing to the legal mind. 
 
 His evidence covered all the gaps in the pre- 
 ceding testimony, and confirmed whatever 
 needed confirmation ; and his report of what 
 he heard and saw through the hole in the wall 
 practically settled the question of Parmelee's 
 innocence and Blackmer's guilt. It may be 
 mentioned here that the latter was afterward 
 convicted on the confession of his associates, 
 Dick and Mike, who turned state's evidence in 
 retaliation for Blackmer's having left them in 
 the lurch. 
 
 " An' now," concluded Bob, handing over the 
 black satchel to the officer, " here's yer boodle, 
 an' precious glad I is ter git quit of it ; it's 
 weighed on me heavy, I tells yer?" 
 
 " Where has it been all this time ? " his honor 
 inquired. 
 
 '' Dat's my business, jedge ; I'se got my 
 secrets," Bob replied, with an air of reserve. " I 
 was goin' ter give it ter the little gal in der 
 mornin', but I had ter look a'ter dat pa o' hern, 
 an' I ain't been able ter git aroun' with der 
 blamed old thing till jes' dis minute !" 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 267 
 
 The satchel was opened, and underneath the 
 
 brush and comb and the little nightgown, the 
 
 funds of the Tisdale Bank were found intact, to 
 
 the last cent. This closed the examination, and 
 
 John Parmelee was admitted to bail on his own 
 
 recognizance. ^ 
 
 ****** 
 
 Four years have passed since the above 
 events occurred. 
 
 Sherman left for Mexico on the morning of 
 the day of the proceedings against Parmelee 
 and Blackmer, and therefore without learning 
 of his former friend's fate. He got on very 
 well without him, and, although he no longer 
 has so much of a monopoly of Mexican affairs 
 as formerly, he has no complaint to bring 
 against fortune ; and probably imagines that 
 he will soon retire from business and enjoy his 
 leisure. It is also" rumored that he is betrothed 
 to a charming young senorita of Spanish de- 
 scent, the daughter of a man eminent in the 
 state. But the issues of life are uncertain; 
 and it is quite possible that he may die in har- 
 ness, and a bachelor. 
 
 Should you visit Tisdale now, you would 
 
268 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 find John Parmelee to be really an old man, 
 with white hair and beard, and a stoop in his 
 gait. His face bears traces of deep suffering, 
 physical and mental ; but its expression is 
 nevertheless peaceful, and not unhappy. He 
 has conquered his eyil genius ; and though the 
 struggle was severe, and left scars that time 
 can not obliterate, the victory is final, and has 
 left him a humble and thankful man. 
 
 His wife is not with him ; that is to say, her 
 bodily presence has been withdrawn. Sallie sur- 
 vived her return to the home of her youth 
 scarcely a year. Her mind and body were both 
 too much shattered ever to recover their 
 former health. The drug which had been her 
 ruin could not be wholly relinquished ; but 
 everything was done to minimize its ill effects, 
 and to support and cheer her in her seasons of 
 depression. It . would be difficult to say 
 whether she fully realized her situation ; cer- 
 tainly there were times when every thing seemed 
 a blank to her. But, again, the sound of her 
 husband's voice, or the sight of his face, would 
 cause a tender gleam to come into her eyes ; 
 and Sophie never failed to awaken in her traces 
 
JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 269 
 
 of intelligence and love. The end came by 
 imperceptible gradations; and a death like 
 hers, so softened by affection and care, was 
 hardly like a separation. John Parmelee prob- 
 ably felt that she was more really parted from 
 him, when she was languishing, forlorn and 
 homeless, in the slums of the great city. 
 
 Parmelee is no longer connected with the 
 Tisdale Bank. He retired from his position as 
 cashier on the death of his wife, receiving a 
 handsome testimonial from the president and 
 directors, in recognition of his long and faith- 
 ful service, and in testimony of their regret for 
 the mistaken attitude assumed toward him at 
 the time of the supposed burglary. Parmelee 
 now has a comfortable home at the house of 
 Mr. Fred Tyrrel. It will be remembered that 
 this gentleman always had the intention to pro- 
 vide for the cashier, whenever time or fortune 
 should render him unable to look out for him- 
 self ; but he perhaps did not foresee the man- 
 ner in which this intention would be brought 
 to pass. But the little black-eyed child, who 
 had always been his favorite, and of whom he 
 had always foretold good things, developed in 
 
270 JOHN PARMELEE'S CURSE. 
 
 a manner to more than fulfill his prophecies, 
 The sadness and loneliness of her early life 
 deepened and sweetened a character naturally 
 strong, faithful and magnanimous ; and she 
 grew up slender and stately, with a dark beauty 
 peculiar to herself. A year ago, a love-match 
 of the most unmitigated kind terminated in 
 the marriage of Sophie Parmelee and Fred 
 Tyrrel. So her father's home is hers, and it is 
 a home indeed. 
 
 The Tisdale Bank profits by the services of a 
 certain red-headed office-boy, about sixteen 
 years of age, known to his employers and to his 
 many friends by the name of Bob. He is clever, 
 industrious, and in the highest degree trust- 
 worthy; and those who claim to be good 
 judges of character, and to be able to see 
 further than most people into a millstone, un- 
 dertake to say, that, in due time, Bob will him- 
 self become cashier of the time-honored old in- 
 stitution which John Parmelee served so many 
 years. 
 
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