. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS
 
 UNCLE CHARLIE'S 
 5TORY BOOK. 
 
 FUN, FACT, AND FANC7. 
 
 (Fiftieth Birthday Souvenir.) 
 
 LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 B7 
 
 Charles Noel Douglas. 
 
 Brooklyn, N. 7. : 
 
 Charles Noel Douglas, 
 
 1299 Park Place. 
 
 PRICE, FIFTY CENTS, POSTPAID.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF HELEN BLACKFORD .... 5 
 
 How UNCLE CHARLIE BECAME A HERO OF THE SPANISH 
 
 WAR 21 
 
 THE STORY OF A ROSE 43 
 
 THE GHOSTS OF THE MISSISSIPPI ..... 49 
 
 WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN 59 
 
 LILY, OR HELP WANTED! , 75 
 
 'A TERRIFYING EXPERIENCE in 
 
 How MARIA MET UNCLE CHARLIE . . . .116 
 
 How BILLY THE GOAT MET UNCLE CHARLIE . . 125 
 
 THE GLORIOUS FOURTH AND How WE GOT IT . . 134 
 
 "STRANDED" . , . * . . . . 145 
 
 Copyright, ipi3, by Eleanor I. Rutherford.
 
 UNCLE CHARLIE'S STORYBOOK 
 
 TO OLD FRIENDS AND NEW ONES 
 
 Seven years have passed since Uncle Charlie's Poems was 
 launched on the literary sea. Three years later Uncle Char- 
 lie's Song Book ventured forth to court public favor. Both 
 books have gone into thousands of homes, and over two hun- 
 dred enthusiastic newspaper notices and thousands of still 
 more enthusiastic letters eloquently bear witness to the pleas- 
 ure and satisfaction of those who possess these volumes of 
 mirth and melody. 
 
 The matter of arranging for a suitable souvenir to mark 
 the occasion of the writer's fiftieth birthday has resulted in 
 the publication of this little volume, into which have been 
 collected some stories that in fugitive form have already ap- 
 peared in various publications, and to these have been added, 
 for the benefit of those thousands of dear, good friends who 
 have honored the writer by taking an interest in his work, a 
 few other stories of a more personal nature. 
 
 Uncle Charlie's Songs and Poems have won themselves an 
 enviable place in public favor. They have made, and are 
 still making good. The writer, however, owing to physical 
 conditions which make sustained effort necessary in story 
 writing too great a tax on his waning strength, claims little 
 for the sheaf of stories presented herewith, except that he 
 believes they will help to pass a few spare moments accepta- 
 bly. If Uncle Charlie's Story Book accomplishes this much, 
 and if it should even in the smallest way aid in forging new 
 links in the chain of affection and regard which for so many 
 years has bound him to a host of friends, he will be more 
 than repaid, more than happy. 
 
 To those who have secured this book chiefly because it 
 commemorates a momentous occasion in the author's life, he 
 extends his gratitude and appreciation. It is a constant sor- 
 row and regret to him that he cannot meet face to face all 
 
 2129027
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story "Book 
 
 those loyal and devoted friends who have done so much, by 
 wafting their waves of love and sympathy to his bedside, to 
 make the thorny path of his journeyings less hard to travel, 
 and his daily burdens more easy to bear. To old and new 
 friends from the. depths of a grateful heart he sends one and 
 all his love and greetings. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Full particulars of the author's wonderfully successful 
 works, Uncle Charlie's Poems and Song Book, will be found 
 at the end of this volume.
 
 THE ROMANCE OF HELEN BLACKFORD; OR, 
 TWICE A BRIDE, ONCE A WIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "You must marry Will Hastings, Helen, or see your father 
 go to prison !" These startling words fell on the ear of a 
 fair, slender girl, who, with a far-away look in her lovely 
 blue eyes, was gazing out onto the placid blue waters of Lake 
 Erie. 
 
 "Father," replied the young girl reproachfully, "you do not 
 know what you ask. I have always been an obedient child. 
 I have always done your bidding cheerfully and executed your 
 every wish, but what you now ask of me is utterly impossi- 
 ble !" 
 
 "Utterly impossible ! Is there any hardship in marrying 
 a nice young fellow with plenty of money?" snapped the old 
 man testily. 
 
 "Yes, father, a great deal of hardship, when you do not 
 love the man." 
 
 "Ah ! that's it," quickly retorted the old man, almost an- 
 grily ; "love ! that's the thing that's worrying you, as if love 
 ever made anyone happy, or ever fed a woman, or kept a 
 roof over a man's head. Love ! love's all rubbish and non- 
 sense ; it's a word that has no meaning in these prosaic days." 
 
 "Didn't you love my mother, father ?" 
 
 "Well, maybe I did, but I was young and foolish then, and 
 didn't know any better ; I've become sensible since, and I tell 
 you love is all rubbish ; it's only money that makes married 
 life happy, and Will has plenty of money, and he'll let you 
 | spend all you've a mind to." 
 
 "I've no great desire to spend Will Hastings' money, fa- 
 ther, and I would rather die than marry a man I did not 
 love." 
 
 "You refuse then?" 
 
 "Absolutely!"
 
 "6 Uncle Charlie's Story Boo% 
 
 The last word fell on the old man with crushing force. 
 He had been in the habit of commanding all his life, and 
 Helen had always cheerfully obeyed, for obedience came 
 naturally to her; not from any lack of spirit, but from an 
 innate sense of filial duty, and a gentleness and sweetness of 
 disposition which made it easy for her to do the will of her 
 parent, where others would have argued and rebelled. Then, 
 too, Helen never forgot the promise she had given her 
 mother when that gentle soul lay on her death bed. 
 
 "Humor your father, dear, and do his will, even as I have 
 done; it will come hard at times, but it is the easier and 
 better way. You will have to take my place, Helen, and he 
 will need you so much when I am gone ; be patient with him, 
 dear, for my sake." 
 
 Helen dropped a kiss on the white brow of the mother she 
 loved, and whispered, "Mother, I promise!" That promise 
 was sacred, and keep it she would, no matter what the cost. 
 
 None too bright had been the life of this fair young girl, 
 who now, in the twentieth summer of her existence, was a 
 type of beautiful womanhood rarely seen. Gentleness and 
 intense womanliness were the keynotes of Helen's character ; 
 and one at once felt, when in her presence, that here at least 
 was woman as God intended woman to be. The responsi- 
 bilities of Helen's life had given her a seriousness and depth 
 of character far beyond her years. Her mother had been 
 exceedingly delicate, with the result that many of the house- 
 hold duties and cares had fallen on Helen's shoulders, and 
 hours which in an ordinary girl's life would have been de- 
 voted to pleasure and enjoyment were to her hours of con- 
 finement and toil. 
 
 In spite of the hardships of her life, Helen's education had 
 not been neglected, and, intellectually, she was far superior 
 to the average girl of her age and social position. Her fa- 
 ther, Captain Blackford, had been well known on the lakes, 
 commanding a passenger boat, once the pride of the inland 
 seas; but, unfortunately for him, a collision occurred in 
 which he was found to be at fault, with the result that his 
 certificate was forfeited and his calling gone. 
 
 Dark days of adversity settled on the Blackford home, un- 
 til Captain Hastings died, and left the management of his 
 estate, which was quite a large one, in the care of his life- 
 time friend, Helen's father. Captain Hastings had but one 
 son, and, as he was not yet of age, it was only natural his
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 old friend should have been appointed his guardian, and it 
 was this guardianship which proved Robert Blackford's un- 
 doing. 
 
 As many another has done, Robert Blackford speculated 
 with the trust funds in his possession, and lost half the 
 money left in his charge. The day for the accounting was 
 near at hand, and the old man knew of but one card he could 
 play in a desperate hand, and that was to marry his charge, 
 "Wild Will Hastings," as he was called, to his daughter, 
 Helen. 
 
 Will had long been an ardent admirer of Helen's, but 
 already the lad for he was little more had begun to show 
 signs of a dissolute nature, and his wild escapades were the 
 talk of the little lake town in which they lived. Had the 
 youth possessed strength of character and been free from 
 evil habits, he might have found favor in Helen's eyes, for 
 Nature had not been unkind to him. But once he had come 
 to take Helen for a sleigh ride, when his eyes were flashing 
 with an unnatural light and his speech was thick and un- 
 certain. Helen immediately detected the evil power that 
 possessed him, and turned from him with horror and loath- 
 ing. From that moment he was as one dead to her, tho' he 
 came the next day and pleaded for forgiveness. 
 
 Two weeks later Will again called to see Helen, and this 
 time, flushed with the evil spirit of drink, he attempted to 
 kiss her, and received a stinging box on the ears for his vul- 
 gar audacity, and was promptly shown the door, with the 
 request that he never enter it again. 
 
 Intoxicated as Will was, the chastisement he had received 
 cut him deeply, and awoke all the evil in his shiftless nature. 
 
 "I'll make her pay for that. She don't know that I can put 
 her father in the 'pen,' but I can, and I will, by God, I will 
 if she don't come to time." Thus muttered the reckless 
 youth, as he staggered off to see Helen's father at the little 
 office of the Hastings' estate. 
 
 The result of this interview was that Helen's father con- 
 signed her to the care of his dissolute ward for life, and 
 consigned her with as little mental perturbation as though she) 
 had been a piece of land or a city lot. i, 
 
 "Hadn't you better speak to her about it ?" said young Has- 
 tings, who did not altogether share the old man's sanguine 
 views upon Helen's tractability. 
 
 "Ask Helen ! what's she got to do about it ?" said the old
 
 8 'Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 man. The ridiculousness of her having any ideas, or being 
 permitted to have any ideas, upon the subject seemed to him 
 the height of absurdity, and he dismissed the thought from 
 his mind with a toss of his head, as being a matter utterly 
 without the pale of discussion. 
 
 "She might object !" repeated Will, lighting another ciga- 
 rette, a form of dissipation which had become chronic with 
 him. 
 
 "Object!" snapped the old man. "Object! I don't allow 
 no one to object in my house. I've only one daughter, but it 
 would be all the same if I had a million. It ain't that I love 
 to boss, for there ain't no credit in bossing a woman, but I 
 mean to have my way in my own house, or I'll know the 
 reason why ! I'll see you marry Helen, Will, within a month 
 of your coming of age !" 
 
 "Well, Cap," said Will, "if you keep your word, there'll be 
 no trouble about that missing fifty thousand ; and if you don't, 
 I won't guarantee what won't happen, for though I'm no 
 lover of money except for the fun I can get out of it, still 
 I'm not going to sit down and let a man do me out of fifty 
 thousand dollars without putting him right where he be- 
 longsbehind the bars." 
 
 "Ydu'd send me to prison ?" nervously queried the old man. 
 
 "It's that or Helen!" said Will, looking the Captain 
 squarely in the eye. 
 
 "I'll see you get Helen !" was the old man's reply, his voice 
 betraying, possibly for the first time in his life, nervousness 
 and fear. He had thought this weak boy could be twisted 
 around his fingers, but the youth's sudden show of deter- 
 mination and nerve had taken him off his guard, and his 
 usual coolness deserted him. 
 
 Here the two had parted. The youth to adjourn to the 
 nearest saloon, the old man to go to his home and break 
 to his daughter the news that she was to be sacrificed to 
 save him from a prison cell. 
 
 We have seen how Helen had received her father's in- 
 tentions of bartering her happiness for his freedom from 
 punishment she absolutely declined to be sacrificed. The 
 old man stormed, threatened and raved, but the tractable, 
 obedient girl was now a very Gibraltar in her determination 
 not to wed Will Hastings. 
 
 Her resolution at last had its effect on the old man. His 
 hectoring, domineering manner gradually vanished, and in-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 9 
 
 stead he became a pleading suppliant. He could neither sleep 
 nor eat. The bronzed, rugged face became pale and wan, 
 and Helen's heart, always a heart full of tenderness and pity, 
 was deeply touched. Helen could not bear to see anyone 
 suffer. Suffering in those she loved rankled in her soul 
 like an iron brand; and she loved this old father of hers, 
 unlovable though he was, with all her heart. Then, too, she 
 remembered the promise she had given her mother, and so 
 when the old man, his eyes filled with tears, begged her on 
 his bended knees to save him from death in a prison cell, 
 it was only natural that, constituted as she was, with a heart 
 of melting pity, she should promise to save him from the 
 consequences of his wrong-doing. When the old man got up 
 from a posture he had never before assumed either to God 
 or man that of a suppliant for mercy she smoothed his 
 grizzled locks, and her tears fell upon his care-lined fore- 
 head. 
 
 Within half an hour, all Port Raymond knew that Helen 
 Blackford, old Captain Blackford's pretty daughter, was to 
 marry young Will Hastings, now the richest man (for he 
 had come of age) in the township. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 It was the close of a warm, perfect June day. The sun 
 was tinting the blue waters of Lake Erie with a broad band 
 of shimmering gold, and Nature looked her best. 
 
 There was an unwonted stir in the Blackford residence, 
 for this was to be Helen's wedding day. The ceremony was 
 to be performed in the parlor of the Blackford home at eight 
 p. m. and it was now within an hour of that time. 
 
 Helen was simply but beautifully dressed; her fair young 
 face looking almost angelic under her bridal veil. Her 
 cheeks were flushed with excitement, but not the excitement 
 that usually flushes the cheeks of a bride. 
 
 Two months had passed since Helen had given her promise 
 to become the wife of Will Hastings. In giving her promise, 
 she had insisted on one condition, and that was, there was 
 to be no courtship, and that she was to see her future hus- 
 band in the presence of her father. To this Will Hastings 
 agreed simply because he had no choice in the matter. 
 "Never mind, I'll have her all to myself soon, and then
 
 lo Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 she'll make no conditions !" was his ominous remark, when 
 told by her father of the stipulation she had made. 
 
 Helen had thus been relieved of the unwelcome presence 
 of her affianced but oh, what a heavy load hung o'er her 
 fair young head, and pressed down upon her pure, white 
 soul. What she would do she did not know, but still she 
 did not despair. She poured out her soul to that God above 
 who had never deserted her, and to whom she ever turned, 
 in her hour of need. Helen did not pray in vain. One day! 
 an old school chum of hers called; a bright resourceful girl, 
 with any number of admirers. No sooner had Helen con- 
 fided to her her troubles than Alice Wentworth, her friend, 
 jumped from her chair and in a burst of girlish enthusiasm 
 took Helen to her heart. "Don't worry, dear, I've a plan, 
 and Jack Foster my beau and I will see you through !" 
 
 Then followed an animated conversation, conducted in an 
 undertone, though not a soul was within a hundred yards 
 of the house. 
 
 When Alice Wentworth left the Blackford residence that 
 night, Helen's face was wreathed in smiles and an awful 
 load had been lifted from her heart and mind. 
 
 It was time for Helen to descend to the parlor, but still 
 she lingered. As she gazed into the mirror, not one thought 
 did she give to her appearance, for her mind was busier with 
 matters of weightier import. This bridal dress, if Alice 
 failed her, might yet be her shroud. The thought was an 
 awful one, and her heart sank within her. Suddenly a note 
 was placed in her hands; hurriedly she read it and her face 
 brightened; then with a sigh of relief she walked down to 
 the parlor. 
 
 The house was a big, old-fashioned building, and the par- 
 lor was a large, commodious room. All of Port Raymond's 
 best people had come to see pretty Helen Blackford wed 
 Will Hastings. Everyone knew there was something queer 
 about this wedding, but no one knew what. Will and Helen 
 were never seen in each other's society, but gossip could say 
 little on that point, as Will was often at the Blackford home, 
 though no one knew under what conditions he was received 
 there. 
 
 Will Hastings had given Captain Blackford a hundred- 
 dollar bill to spend on floral decorations, and the amount of 
 champagne that bibulous youth sent for the wedding feast 
 would have floated a good-sized ship.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book Tl 
 
 "Cap," said Will with a husky voice, while raising a glass 
 of Pommery to his lips the day before the wedding, "Cap, 
 old boy, we're going to do this wedding business up in good 
 shape" (here he lurched forward and emptied half the con- 
 tents of his glass over the Captain's immaculately white 
 vest). "Cap, ol' chap" (slapping the old man on the back and 
 emptying the balance of his glass over his shoes), "Cap, old 
 pard, a feller don't get married every day of his life, except- 
 ing he's a Mormon or a Turk, so, Cap, I'm going to get mar- 
 ried good ; I'm going to get married for all there is in it. 
 (Hi, waiter, 'nother bottle!) I'm (hie!) in this marriage 
 business to stay. My marriage certif-tif-tificate ain't got no 
 divorce coupon attached. This is a through, straight ticket 
 (well, here's how!) and there's no round trip business in 
 mine. My marriage certif-tif-tificate is the straight goods, 
 Cap, and I'm going to put a lead pipe cinch and a ton of Yale 
 locks and a burglar-proof safe combination on it, so no 
 damn judge or jury can open it up or bust it apart. That's 
 me, Cap. And another thing, Cap, I want you, and I want 
 all your friends, and all my friends, and all the whole gosh- 
 darned world to know that this ain't no Prohibition wedding. 
 If Carrie Nation's spook butts into this deal, it'll get a 
 straight ticket for a hospital. Water-wagon cranks, and tem- 
 perance freaks can steer clear of me when I'm in the mar- 
 riage business. I'm going to get married on the champagne 
 and whisky route, with corks popping all along the line. I'd 
 rather go to a wedding in a hearse than on a water wagon. 
 Every man, woman and child who comes to my wedding 
 must take their medicine straight or get out. I've given or- 
 ders to turn the water supply off from the whole town. I've 
 got the hydrants locked, and anyone who wants to boil a 
 shirt or take a drink in this burg to-morrow will do it in 
 champagne, or I'll know the reason why." 
 
 Having delivered himself of this eloquent temperance lec- 
 ture, Will proceeded to open another bottle, which was 
 equally distributed between his throat, clothes and shoes; the 
 same liquid division occurring in the Captain's case. 
 
 Will, thanks to the efforts of his friends, arrived at the 
 Blackford residence sober. A large crowd had gathered out- 
 side the house, and cheered him as he entered. In the young 
 man's hand was a leather case, which the facetious members 
 of the crowd wagered to contain liquid refreshment. In this 
 surmise they were wrong, for the bag contained quantities
 
 12 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 of small silver coins, "chicken feed" was the name Master 
 William applied to them; and it was not long before the 
 bearer of the suit case appeared on the veranda of the house, 
 bag in hand, and commenced throwing handfuls of these 
 small coins in the direction of the crowd. This sport af- 
 forded him such intense enjoyment that he utterly forgot, 
 for the time, the important matters which needed his atten- 
 tion inside. Finally the coin supply was exhausted, and the 
 vinous son of Bacchus sent into the house for six cases of 
 champagne, it being his intention to hurl the silver-topped 
 bottles over the heads of the crowd, even as he had done in 
 the case of the coin. In this intention he was happily frus- 
 trated, and the rustle of the bride's silken gown in the par- 
 lor caused him to devote all his attention to his future wife, 
 for whom he really cared, as far as an inebriate can care for 
 anything apart from the deadly liquor which claims all his 
 love and saps his life and kills him in return. 
 
 Bride and groom now stood before the minister. What a 
 contrast between the pure, sweet girl, and this rum-saturated 
 degenerate. She will reform him, people whispered; but the 
 man who will not reform before marriage will never do it 
 after, when the object of his love is tied to him irrevocably. 
 
 Soon the solemn words were said, which made Helen the 
 wife of William Francis Hastings. The Reverend Doctor 
 Bradley performed the ceremony, and it was no sooner over 
 than Will put a hundred-dollar bill in his hand and said: 
 "Thanks, Doc; you've fixed us up in good shape we're 
 fixed to stay fixed. I'm ready to pay a good price, as I only 
 want it done once. I'm not going to keep on getting married 
 every time the moon changes, otherwise I'd want you to let 
 me in on the ground floor at reduced rates. Now, boys," 
 said Will, with a wave of his hand, "let's open up and cele- 
 brate I want you all to toast the bride." 
 
 Helen had turned pale. 
 
 "Pardon me, Mr. Hastings," she said, "but our train for 
 Niagara Falls leaves in an hour, so excuse me, pray, as I 
 must retire to put on my traveling dress !" 
 
 "All right, my dear; trot on! But here, say, give us a 
 kiss before you go," said the eager and impudent groom, his 
 eyes greedily drinking in the beauty and charm of his lovely 
 bride ; now his, all his, his to do as he pleased with forever. 
 
 "Wait until I return ; I object to kissing in public." With 
 that she greeted a few friends and retired to her room.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 13 
 
 Champagne corks began to pop, and soon the fun waxed 
 fast and furious. Will drank freely, and in the excitement 
 forgot the train which was to carry his bride and himself 
 to Niagara, where the first part of the honeymoon was to be 
 spent. 
 
 Captain Blackford murmured to himself: "Thank God, 
 she's married ! I've filled my part of the contract, and no 
 one can harm me now !" 
 
 It wanted but ten minutes to train time. The coach was 
 at the door. Word was passed in to hurry up. Will put on 
 his light covert coat, and shook hands all round, and called 
 at the foot of the stairs, "Come on, Helen, or we'll lose the 
 train !" No reply came to his call. Twice, thrice it was re- 
 peated, with no results. There was no time to stand on cere- 
 mony, so Will dashed upstairs to Helen's room, the door of 
 which was partly open. He knocked, the door yielded, and 
 lo! the room was empty. Into the dainty room of his fair 
 bride he strode, his eyes flashing with anger and terror. On 
 his drink-dulled mind flashed the truth, and he shook as one 
 overcome with a dreadful fear. Captain Blackford was by 
 his side. On Helen's bureau lay a note, unsealed. Will tore 
 it apart with feverish haste and read: "Mr. Hastings: I 
 promised my father and you that I would marry you. I have 
 kept my promise. No power on earth can make me live with 
 you as your wife. I have gone where, you will never know. 
 Please do not follow me ; it is useless. Helen Blackford." 
 
 Will Hastings dropped in a chair, white as a sheet, the let- 
 ter clenched in his hand. He was hit, hit hard. Suddenly he 
 jumped to his feet and ran downstairs. 
 
 "She's gone, boys, gone," he said, with a despairing cry, 
 "but I'll find her, I'll find her, by God, if I have to go to the 
 end of the world to do it." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 9 It was night ! night in the ward of a great New York hos- 
 pital. Noiselessly from bed to bed flitted the dainty figure 
 of a uniformed nurse, giving medicines to and taking tem- 
 peratures of critical cases. The silence is broken only by 
 the moans and anguished cries of those in intense pain. In 
 this ward are gathered the sick of all nationalities, each bear- 
 ing his cross of pain and sorrow the best he can. In this
 
 'i 4 'Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 bed is an Italian, in the next a Chinaman, yonder is a negro, 
 next to him a Swede. All the earth has contributed its bur- 
 den of human sorrow to this hall of suffering. 
 
 Thirty beds are in this ward, and all but one are filled. 
 The orderly has just wheeled a sheeted form to the mortuary, 
 or dead house, and the young nurse is alone. The ward is al- 
 most in darkness, one light turned low being the only il- 
 lumination. The nurse carries a candle, the light from which 
 shines in as fair a face as God ever gave to mortal body. 
 
 One pauses to think, and to think in amazement, of this 
 fair young girl, here alone at midnight in this gruesome 
 chamber of suffering and death. Who would voluntarily de- 
 sert home home with its ties and affections, its comfort, 
 cheer, pleasure and happiness to come to such a place as 
 this? this the stalking place and abode of the terror of ter- 
 rors Death ! 
 
 The nurse's round is completed, and the graceful figure 
 glides noiselessly to a table at the end of the ward, where the 
 records are kept. As she seats herself, and commences to 
 write, a tall, athletic figure enters the ward. It is Doctor 
 Ralph Gordon, the young house physician, now in the last 
 week of his hospital work, and soon to go forth into the 
 world to practice for himself. 
 
 Ralph Gordon's whole soul was wrapped up in his pro- 
 fession, though no one would have thought that handsome, 
 striking face masked the personality of a student and thinker, 
 so frankly boyish was it in its youthful outlines and expres- 
 sion. 
 
 Ralph Gordon was a Harvard graduate, a man who loved 
 the healing art for its own sake, and not for the money it 
 might bring him, for he was wealthy. 
 
 Every nurse in the hospital and there were over a hun- 
 dred of them adored Ralph Gordon; but Ralph, though not 
 impervious to the charms of the other sex, knew that love 
 and medicine could not be successfully practiced together, 
 and he had steeled his heart to the charms of the noble 
 women who carried out his orders. 
 
 "I will go through my hospital work heart whole, if I pos- 
 sibly can !" Ralph had told his mother ; but in this determina- 
 tion he had not counted upon that Fate which in the person 
 of Cupid laughs at our resolutions and impales us helpless 
 mortals upon his quivering shafts. 
 
 Ralph Gordon had the strength of Hercules, and the will
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 of Napoleon, until he gazed into the eyes of Helen Black- 
 ford, the young nurse whose work of mercy we have just 
 witnessed. 
 
 "It is useless to fight Fate," he said, with a sigh, after 
 Helen's melting eyes had looked into his. "I must win that 
 girl or be miserable for life !" 
 
 The discipline of a hospital is as severe as that of a man- 
 of-war. The rules are strict and rigidly enforced. The lynx- 
 eyed superintendent watches the nurses as a cat watches a 
 mouse; she has been through the mill and knows all the 
 ropes. For a nurse to be caught in a flirtation, or conversing 
 on other than routine matters, with a doctor, means in the 
 first case suspension, in the second dismissal. 
 
 Helen had not one thought of love in her heart until she 
 met Ralph Gordon. "I want to do all the good I can in the 
 world, and I can accomplish most by remaining single !" 
 Thus she would soliloquize and resolve to herself, but a 
 woman is made to love and be loved, and one glance from 
 Ralph Gordon's eyes and her resolutions vanished as mist 
 before the morning sun. 
 
 Helen was not susceptible, her nature was essentially seri- 
 ous, but there is no withstanding Fate when Fate knocks; 
 and, when Dr. Gordon had once looked into her eyes, her 
 whole body seemed to dance in the joy of a new-found happi- 
 ness. His visits were to her a source of infinite happiness, 
 and surely no more ideally matched couple have sprung from 
 the canvas of a painter, or the fancy of a poet, than this 
 handsome son of Apollo, and fair daughter of Venus. What 
 a contrast were they, in the pride of youth, strength and 
 beauty, to the poor, hollow-cheeked, gaunt-eyed sufferers 
 who lay about them on their narrow cots of misery. 
 
 Not for an instant did Helen betray the great passion that 
 Iwas in her heart, and though, as she went her rounds with 
 the doctor, she could feel his eyes reading her very soul, she 
 seldom looked up, modestly keeping her matchless orbs upon 
 the charts which she held in her hand. At times it was 
 necessary to look the physician squarely in the face, and the 
 intense tenderness she saw there made her drop her lovely 
 eyes, while the blushes mantled to her fair cheeks, as the 
 rosy tints of dawn kiss the vaults of the morning skies. 
 
 Once, through overwork, she had been confined to her 
 room with nervous exhaustion. On the second day Dr. 
 Gordon had been called to prescribe for her. With what
 
 1 6 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 alacrity he went may be well imagined, for Helen's absence 
 from duty had almost distracted him. Helen was in her 
 room lying on a lounge in a dainty kimono, strands of her 
 lovely hair falling loosely o'er her shoulders. The lynx- 
 eyed superintendent had accompanied him, but she had no 
 sooner entered the room than urgent business called her 
 (much to her regret) elsewhere. 
 
 "Miss Blackford, I'm awfully grieved to see you are sick !" 
 said Ralph, drawing a chair to her side, and taking her fair 
 white hand in his, preparatory to noting the action of her 
 pulse. 
 
 "I hope to be back at my duties, doctor, soon," replied 
 Helen, meeting his gaze with a look of tenderness it was 
 impossible to conceal. "I am desperately lonely up here." 
 
 "And I, Miss Blackford, am eating out my heart in loneli- 
 ness down there. Since you have been sick I go about my 
 duties with a heavy heart; I've lost all interest in my work, 
 and if you don't come back at once I shall murder my pa- 
 tients instead of curing them, for I simply don't know what 
 I'm prescribing." 
 
 "Doctor, don't jest, please !" said Helen, blushing. 
 
 "I'm not jesting, Miss Blackford. I am intensely serious." 
 
 "Then you really miss me !" said Helen, unable to conceal 
 her happiness. 
 
 "Miss you," said Ralph, bending o'er her. "I miss you as 
 the flowers miss the sun, and, as the roses wither and die 
 without golden rays of the luminary they love, so, too, will 
 1 fade from the world and perish in despair unless you come 
 back to gladden my anguished heart with the rapture of your 
 presence." 
 
 "Doctor Gordon," said Helen, "you were meant for a poet 
 or a novelist, I fear you mistake eloquence for sincerity !" 
 
 "Miss Blackford, sincerity is the keynote of my character. 
 I never took the slightest interest in one of your sex until I 
 met you, and now I find I find I cannot live out of your sight. 
 The sunshine that gives me life and courage is the light that 
 illumines your eyes. My profession once was my love, my 
 idol; now it is nothing. Since you came into my life all is 
 changed. You have taken my heart from me; the strong 
 man is now but a weakling, a suppliant at your feet, craving 
 your mercy. Miss Blackford, Helen! I love you! Be my 
 [wife !" 
 
 Ralph's ardor and the joy of his pleading had lifted Helen
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 17 
 
 into another world; but the awful memories of that night in 
 Port Raymond came back with crushing force. Oh that she 
 could have wiped that dreadful moment from out the records 
 of her life, with what raptures of bliss she would have drawn 
 that handsome face, now almost touching hers, down, down, 
 where her lips could have answered him with a touch more 
 eloquent than words. 
 
 With strength of steel she put this glimpse of heavenly 
 happiness from her. 
 
 "Doctor Gordon, I appreciate beyond words the honor you 
 do me in giving me your love, and I, I will not deny the gift 
 
 has filled me with intense happiness, but I " Here she 
 
 hesitated. 
 
 "You do love me?" almost gasped the eager lover. 
 
 "Yes; with all my soul!" 
 
 "Darling !" was Ralph's immediate response. 
 
 "Darling !" and he folded the yielding form of the lovely 
 maid to his heart and rained kisses passionately on her fair 
 lips. 
 
 "Darling!" murmured Ralph, "your love is all I crave. 
 Will you be my wife?" 
 
 "Doctor Gordon, Ralph ! love you I ever shall, but you 
 must forget me, for I I cannot be your wife !" and Helen, 
 the tears filling her eyes, held him at arm's length. 
 
 "Some one has a prior claim?" queried Ralph fearfully, 
 his heart sinking with despair. 
 
 "Ask no questions, I beg," said Helen, "for I cannot an- 
 swer. This much I will say : I am not free to marry. When 
 I am I will tell you with all the speed of which love is ca- 
 pable. No lips but yours have ever touched mine; no lips 
 but yours ever shall." 
 
 "Thank God for that !" breathed Ralph Gordon fervently, 
 as his lips once more pressed those of the woman he loved. 
 
 A noise in the hall necessitated the doctor's immediate 
 withdrawal, and he returned to his duties buoyed up with 
 the raptures of delight and bliss on the one hand and racked 
 with the tortures of despair on the other. Helen's emotions 
 can be better imagined than described. She stood on the 
 threshold of Paradise and dared not enter.
 
 1 8 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 A week had elapsed since the events described in the last 
 chapter, when, as we narrated, Dr. Gordon had entered 
 Helen's ward, ostensibly to see a patient, but in reality to say 
 "Good night" to her who was the darling of his dreams. 
 
 Ralph was in evening dress, and had been to the opera for 
 a little relaxation from his onerous and exhausting duties. 
 In his coat was a small boutonniere of violets. These, after 
 a cautious survey of the ward, he placed on the table in 
 front of Helen. She looked up at him with a smile that 
 meant worlds of happiness to him, and placed the flowers, 
 after touching them with her lips, in the bosom of her dress. 
 She had scarcely done so when the ambulance bell clanged 
 insistently, and Dr. Gordon hurried away, soon to return with 
 the ambulance driver and orderly, who were carrying an 
 unconscious man on a stretcher. Rapidly the orderly dis- 
 robed the sick man, and disappeared. The doctor and Helen 
 now approached his bed. 
 
 "This is a very bad case, alcoholic pneumonia; staggered 
 into a snow drift when intoxicated and found unconscious 
 by the police, so the ambulance surgeon reports. Why, what 
 is the matter, Miss Blackford; are you ill? Helen, darling, 
 what is it?" 
 
 Helen had turned deathly pale, and had sunk on her knees 
 by the sick man's bedside. Suddenly, with a mighty effort, 
 she recovered herself. "It is nothing," she said, "just a tem- 
 porary weakness." 
 
 "You'd better go and get some sleep, dear," said Ralph 
 tenderly, "and I'll have another nurse take your place." 
 
 "No ! don't trouble, please. I am all right now," replied 
 Helen bravely. "I'm a little tired, that's all." 
 
 "I'm going to try and pull this case through," said Dr. 
 Gordon. "Both lungs are badly affected, and this man won't 
 respond to stimulants, as his heart has been already whipped 
 t~> the limit by alcohol. This is my last pneumonia case, 
 Miss Blackford. Let's try and pull the poor wretch through. 
 Maybe a wife is breaking her heart for him somewhere." 
 
 Helen could bear it no longer, and went to her desk; the 
 doctor left his orders for his new patient, wished Helen good 
 night, and retired. 
 
 The orderly bathed and put clean clothes on the sick man,
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 19 
 
 and then Helen went to carry out the doctor's orders. Brave 
 girl though she was, she trembled at the task before her, 
 but it must be done. At any moment this man's eyes might 
 open, and what then? 
 
 At first she decided she would leave a letter for Ralph, ex- 
 plaining all, and vanish; but, alas, she had no funds, for the 
 meager salary of a nurse during training is but five dollars 
 per month. 
 
 "We must pull this case through !" he had said; but, ah, he 
 did not know that for this man to live meant the death of his 
 and her happiness. 
 
 The patient breathed heavily. Once he opened his eyes 
 wild, staring eyes but they were eyes that saw not, and, as 
 the weird, wild orbs closed, he muttered, "I'll find her if I 
 have to go to hell to do it !" 
 
 At four a. m. the patient's breathing became more labored, 
 his temperature went above the danger point, and the 
 ominous rattle of death was heard in his throat. It was 
 Helen's duty to call the house doctor, and she promptly did 
 so. 
 
 On either side of the sick man's bed stood doctor and 
 nurse. She brought him the hypodermic syringe, and strych- 
 nia and whisky were subcutaneously injected, but with no re- 
 sult. Oxygen was next administered, and the life-giving air 
 was drawn into the patient's body, but in vain. 
 
 Slowly the seconds ticked on. Helen was pale as death, 
 and Ralph begged her to retire. "My duty is here," she 
 said ; "I must stay !" 
 
 Ralph thought her behavior strange, but he loved her too 
 much to order her away, as it was in his power to do. He 
 could not do other than humor her whims. Twice he crossed 
 to her side of the bed to do. ostensibly, something for his 
 patient's relief, but in reality to press her fair hand lovingly 
 in his as he passed. That Hand was cold and unresponsive, 
 and his heart was sore and hrs mind worried. There was a 
 mystery hanging over this beautiful girl he loved so tenderly, 
 but what it was he could not fathom, and he was too much 
 of a gentleman to try and tear away the veil which hid her 
 soul's secret from him. 
 
 Glancing up from his patient, he saw her eyes were closed 
 and her lips moving inaudibly. 
 
 She was praying for the soul of the poor wretch who was 
 now hovering on the brink of eternity. This beautiful act
 
 2O Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 of Christian devotion touched him deeply, and a reverential 
 feeling for this fair girl, so like an angel in her beauty and 
 purity, mingled with his heart's fervent love for her. 
 
 Five a. m. The breathing is inaudible; there is a momen 
 of absolute silence, and then the jaw drops the patient ha. 
 paid the debt of Nature and solved the great and awful se- 
 cret that we must all some day solve, in God's appointed time. 
 
 "He is dead !" said the doctor solemnly. 
 
 "And I am free !" ejaculated Helen, with a sigh that came 
 from the depths of her very soul, the tears streaming from 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Free! I do not understand you, dear!" said Ralph anx- 
 iously. 
 
 "Ralph, dear, I have no longer a secret; this man was my 
 husband !" 
 
 ****** 
 
 A year has passed since the death of Will Hastings in St. 
 Bartholomew's hospital, New York. The winter has again 
 rolled around, and before an open fire, which sends its cheer- 
 ful rays over a richly furnished room, are seated a handsome 
 man and a lovely woman. They are lovers, it is evident, for 
 her arms are about his neck, her head upon his shoulder. On 
 her left hand is a wedding ring, which she fondles lovingly. 
 
 "Ralph, dear," says Helen, for it is she, "it is one year ago 
 to-night that we stood by that hospital bed; do you remem- 
 ber, dear?" 
 
 "Do I remember," answered Ralph tenderly, "do I remem- 
 ber? Yes, sweetheart, for I can never forget that Death 
 gave you to me, and by God's help nothing but Death shall 
 ever part us!"
 
 HOW UNCLE CHARLIE BECAME A HERO OF 
 SPANISH WAR 
 
 Bang! Bang!! Bang!!! Biff! Bing!! Bang!! Banzai! 
 Hoch ! ! Huroo ! ! ! Weird noises of exploding guns, cannon 
 crackers and revolver shots, a roar of cheers from ten thou- 
 sand patriotic throats. What did it all mean ? It meant just 
 this: 
 
 Uncle Sam's wounded and typhoid-stricken boys in blue 
 had been brought to New York from Montauk Point, Long 
 Island, where they had been dumped by transports returning 
 from Cuba, more dead than alive, and were being distributed 
 among the various hospitals of the city, after engaging in the 
 most wickedly mismanaged campaign ever conducted by a 
 bunch of greedy, grafting politicians and their trust masters, 
 who with their embalmed beef and other devilish concoctions 
 had done what Spanish bullets never could have done re- 
 duced the fever-stricken American army to nothing but a 
 bedraggled band of helpless invalids, dying like flies in their 
 own camps as well as on the battle line. We knew the sol- 
 diers were coming, and great was the excitement among the 
 nurses, doctors and patients generally. The ward in which 
 I had spent more than a year was prepared for the sick war- 
 riors, nearly all the civilian patients being crowded into other 
 wards, I being luckily allowed to remain in my usual quar- 
 ters. My bed was up in the corner of Ward 9, which ad- 
 joined Ward 10. All traffic had to pass through the various 
 wards, as there were no side passages or halls. Ward 10 
 had been prepared for the most critical cases, and when the 
 poor fellows had been carried in on stretchers, and made 
 as comfortable as possible in the various beds assigned them, 
 1 was in the midst of a regular army of military invalids. 
 Nearly all were in the acute stages of a horrible disease, the 
 spread of which could have been prevented by the most 
 primitive rules of sanitation, and, oh, the anguish and suffer- 
 ing those pitiful faces disclosed as they were carried past my 
 cot. 
 
 M.
 
 22 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 Though fortunate to have been allowed to remain in my 
 corner, it was a ghastly corner at times. The medical staff 
 wanted to keep up the spirits of their sick charges and to 
 keep the mortuary record as low as possible, and so, when 
 one of their sick heroes was at the point of death, they car- 
 ried him, mattress and all, into Ward 9, and deposited him 
 close to my bed. This wasn't very pleasant at the best, but 
 burning candles and muttered prayers added an extra wrench 
 to a heart rent with its own suffering and the anguish and; 
 misery of others. 
 
 By this time, however, I had learned to shut out the un- 1 
 pleasant and gruesome as far as I possibly could, but it was 
 a dreadful struggle to do it at times. 
 
 I soon made friends with the poor fellow in the next bed to 
 me, whose wan, pinched face, burned by the tropic sun, was 
 a pathetic and grim reminder of the horrors of war and dis- 
 ease, and it was not long before we were great chums. I 
 wrote letters for him to his mother, sisters and sweetheart, 
 all of which he was unable to do. The letters f gratitude 
 I received from his relatives were heart-touching. The poor 
 chap was only a trifle over twenty-two, and from him and 
 other soldiers, regulars and volunteers, who had gained suffi- 
 cient strength to pay short visits to the bedsides of less 
 fortunate comrades, I gathered so much information, and be- 
 came so saturated with campaign talk that I gradually began 
 to believe I actually had taken part in the storming of San 
 Juan Hill, just as King George IV believed he took part in 
 the battle of Waterloo, so much did he hear about it. Among 
 the regulars I discovered men who had been stationed at 
 Western posts that I had visited, and who were delighted to 
 find some one who could talk about the various places in 
 which they had spent a part of their military service. Every 
 soldier had a number of mauser bullets, picked up in Cuba 
 bullets used by the Spaniards, who had the finest rifle in 
 the world at that time. Of these bullets I accumulated quite 
 a quantity, and, as everyone in New York was trying to get 
 one, I thought I might be able to pass those I had on to in- 
 terested friends. 
 
 On the Sunday following the admission of the sick soldiers 
 to the hospital, the wards containing the military invalids 
 were thrown open to the public, who were crazy to view and 
 converse with the war heroes at short range. It was a fool- 
 ish step to allow hundreds of people to invade the quarters of
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 23 
 
 t 
 
 the sick, as the soldiers preferred to be left alone, for though 
 some very refined people visited the wards, and dropped flow- 
 ers at various bedsides, the majority who came were youth- 
 ful hoodlums of the most aggressive type. 
 
 We had discussed the visitor question long ere the time of 
 their arrival, and as I was quite a favorite with the soldiers, 
 having spent much time among them in garrison towns here 
 .and abroad, we decided to give the hoodlum element a frigid 
 reception if they got to be too great a nuisance. 
 
 It was about three p. m. when the doors were thrown open 
 to the public. At the head of each bed, close to the recep- 
 tar'e which holds a card on which are recorded the name, age 
 and date of admittance, nature of disease, etc., of each pa- 
 tient, was a little American flag, and the orderly who placed 
 these flags in position was determined that I should have one, 
 too, and be a hero for one day at least. The orderly allowed 
 my flag to droop so that it hid the telltale card which would 
 have revealed the deception, for I did not want any tough 
 gentlemen or inquisitive ladies to note the fact that I had en- 
 tered the hospital before the Spanish war had even begun. 
 There is usually a funny side to everything, no matter how 
 serious, especially to one who loves a joke. Only those who 
 have a keen sense of humor ever really live, or know how to 
 enjoy, appreciate and get all there is out of life. I am grate- 
 ful to heaven that I did not live in the days of the Pilgrims 
 and Puritans, dull-witted, solemn old glooms, who would 
 hang a cat on Monday for killing a rat on Sunday. A sense 
 of humor would have been the salvation of those long-faced 
 folk. What a blessing a little ragtime or a blood-curdling 
 two-step would have been on those cold New England nights, 
 when the shadows crept over the floor and youthful spirits 
 were bottled up tight, and put under lock and key as things 
 of the devil. This is certainly anything but a joyous world 
 to-day, but we at least know how to laugh and dare to laugh ; 
 and laughter is the finest tonic and the best medicine in the 
 world. Anyway, I'd made up my mind to revel in a little 
 of the world's best and cheapest cure for aches and ills on ' 
 this particular day. 
 
 Carefully I primed myself for the wild-eyed hordes which 
 I knew by the roar and racket were about to burst upon us. 
 Without a ^moment's hesitation, in they rushed exactly on 
 the stroke of "three." Soon there was a crowd around every 
 bed, while another mob was pushing its way to wards be-
 
 24 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 yond, hoping to find greater horrors there, but discovering 
 there were no human heads being severed from bodies, or 
 arms and legs amputated publicly, the eager, expectant, pop- 
 eyed, ill-mannered crowd surged back again to view the spots 
 that had been ignored in the first wild rush. About sixty per 
 cent, of the visitors were boys from ten to eighteen and girls 
 from nine to fifteen. A bunch of these young savages leaned 
 on the foot of my bed, pushing it back against the wall. That 
 was more than I could stand, and, as the orderly happened 
 . to be near my bed, I called to him, and he quickly hustled 
 ' three of the worst hoodlums to the elevator, where they were 
 personally conducted to the street. By the time he returned 
 a slightly saner and quieter group surrounded me. 
 
 "Was youse at San Juan Hill?" said one, a typical New 
 York tough. 
 
 "Why, of course," said I. "I was at the top first, but I 
 didn't want to rob Roosevelt of his glory, and so I let the 
 papers say he got there ahead of me." 
 
 "Did you get shot many times?" This from a young lady 
 of the hired-girl type, who had edged her way into the crowd 
 and was gazing with intense sympathy at me, but disap- 
 pointed like the rest because there were no operations in 
 progress and no blood coursing freely in all directions. 
 
 "Why, I was so shot full of mauser bullets," said I, "that 
 everybody thought I was a cartridge factory. The captain 
 of the ship that brought me up from Cuba told the doctor I 
 was so full of lead, if he didn't cut more bullets out of me 
 and throw them overboard, I was so heavy I'd sink the ship. 
 Why, there is a lead-pencil factory that has offered me a 
 thousand dollars for the lead in me now. That's so, Captain 
 Griscom, isn't it?" said I to my poor friend, Private James 
 Griscom, who was lying in the next bed to me, and who was 
 so convulsed with laughter at the way I was joshing the 
 crowd that he thought it best to hide his head under the white 
 coverlet. The people around us watched with intense interest 
 his body quiver, shake, contract and expand as one convul- 
 sion of laughter succeeded another. They thought he was 
 in the middle of a fit until he quieted down from exhaustion, 
 and then they asked if he was dead. After a while, Jim, 
 who was nearly suffocated by this time, put his head above 
 the bedclothes, and said with mock dignity : 
 
 "That's right, General Shatter." The mention of Shafter's 
 name excited the liveliest interest.
 
 Uncle 'Charlie's' Story Book 
 
 One individual suggested that Shafter was a blond, while 
 I was a brunette; then, too, Shafter was fat, while I was 
 thin. 
 
 "Of course I was a fat blond before I went to the tropics, 
 but the tropics turn some people black in twenty-four hours, 
 and make them thin in a week." The crowd around my bed 
 was getting larger and more inquisitive than ever, some ask- 
 ing fairly sensible questions, though in the main my inquisi- 
 tors showed astonishing ignorance of everything pertaining 
 to war or physiology. Some fairly respectable people now 
 joined the throng. They elbowed the boys aside and spoke 
 to me with sympathy and kindness. I had been careful that 
 people of this kind did not hear the Shafter and mauser 
 story. When they had departed another bunch of excited 
 sight-seers of the "dese, dems and dose" type asked if they 
 could see the bullets and have explained to them where they 
 had struck. This request I was delighted to accede to. 
 
 "This bullet," said I, holding up a long, slim, steel- jacketed 
 mauser, "struck me in the pyloric region of the stomach, and, 
 perforating the pancreas, cut a hole in the medulla oblongata, 
 fracturing the femur of the right leg, struck a tree, splitting 
 it in halves, and killing ten Spaniards who were standing be- 
 hind it. I value this bullet above all others, and five thou- 
 sand dollars wouldn't buy it. This bullet," holding up an- 
 other mauser projectile, "has also a wonderful history; it 
 struck me in the liver, ascended my right nostril, being great- 
 ly thinned out by the heat, and went through Colonel Roose- 
 velt's hat on the rebound. You see, the Colonel and I have 
 been very close together during this campaign. Why, if I'd 
 have contracted typhoid fever, he'd have gone and got it, 
 too, he was so fond of me he wouldn't let me out of his sight. 
 This bullet hit me just as I was falling over a tree stump, 
 and for a month I had to sleep standing up, because it was 
 too painful to sit down; I have two more bullets hid in my 
 moustache and goatee, but I won't be able to show them to 
 you until I get a clean shave." 
 
 I had my audience almost breathless, and Private Griscom, 
 of the i6th U. S. Infantry, in the next bed, signaled to 
 Frank, the orderly, who handed me a slip of paper, on which 
 was written : "Jim says would you mind cutting it out for 
 a while, as he is nearly dead from laughing." Just as I had 
 finished reading the note and Frank was driving the crowd 
 away, telling them General Shafter (myself) was too in-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 disposed to see any more visitors, I saw a stylish, beautiful 
 girl walking slowly down the center of the ward. She had 
 noticed the huge crowd around my bed and had seen Frank 
 drive them away, and was suddenly interested. 
 
 I could not take my eyes from that exquisite face ; she was 
 stunningly gowned, her attire, though simple, being in per- 
 fect taste. She was a decided blond of medium height and 
 beautifully rounded figure. Her hair more nearly approached 
 that so-called golden type which song writers bestow so 
 bountifully upon their heroines that it is a matter for won- 
 derment the supply has not long ere this been exhausted. 
 Her eyes were blue with a suspicion of the violet peeping 
 from them. 
 
 I am describing, remember, not a woman of fancy from 
 the realms of fiction, but a real flesh-and-blood American girl, 
 the daughter of a wealthy but democratic family of progres- 
 sive ideas. My heart began to jump as this vision of loveli- 
 ness appeared, throbbing as it would have done if an angel 
 had been approaching me. My visitor (for she was making 
 her way toward my bed) looked into my eyes with a world 
 of sympathy, and then her beautiful face broke into an en- 
 gaging smile, a smile of encouragement and hope. 
 
 I tried when I saw her eyes wandering in my direction to 
 tear down the flag which was so bravely decorating the top 
 of my bed, for my mind was swept with a sudden dreadful 
 thought. You see, I did not mind posing as a hero of the 
 Spanish War and keeping up the deception with an amazing 
 amount of fabrication, an unique distortion of the truth 
 which did no one any harm (weird stories and gory inci- 
 dents which my aggressive audience would have conjured up 
 in their own minds, had I declined to enter the realms of 
 martial heroes for my amusement and their instruction), 
 but I would rather have perished from the earth than to 
 have been guilty of any misrepresentation in the presence of 
 this adorably gentle and beautiful creature. 
 
 I was prepared for the worst; I was going to tell her that 
 I had no right to the flag that waved proudly above my head ; 
 you see, I felt confident, if she thought I was a soldier, she 
 doubtless would place laurels upon my brow and exalt me 
 to the highest seat in the warrior's Valhalla. But if I were 
 not a soldier, a hero of the Spanish War, I felt equally con- 
 fident (and the thought nearly crushed me, crushed me be- 
 cause I had not had a visitor or heard a voice of sympathy
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 27 
 
 for weeks) that when she knew that I was but an ordinary 
 human who had fallen in the commonplace battle of life, 
 and was now at the mercy of that cruel fate which seems to 
 delight in torturing the hapless and helpless, she would pass 
 me by with disdain. 
 
 All these thoughts rushed through my mind like a mill 
 race during the few seconds that elapsed from the time I first 
 saw her until her beautiful lips parted, and her voice, tremu- 
 lous with emotion, pity and sympathy, said soothingly: "I 
 hope you are not suffering much to-day." 
 
 "Thanks," I replied ; "in spite of the horde of visitors that 
 have crowded about our beds, I am feeling better and more 
 cheerful than I have in a long time. Won't you please sit 
 down and stay a moment?" I pleaded. "You will make me 
 so happy if you will." 
 
 "Thanks," she said with a smile; "I should be delighted to 
 chat with any of you brave fellows." 
 
 Her remark made me feel exceedingly guilty, and, though 
 I thought my ability to blush was long a thing of the past, a 
 ruddy hue suffused my cheeks just as the Sister Superior 
 of the hospital, who was making a tour of the institution 
 with some very prominent people, entered the ward. The 
 sister, a person of great refinement and charming manners, 
 and always exceedingly courteous to me, stopped with her 
 guests at the foot of my bed, and, as was customary with her, 
 inquired with her usual affability how I felt, and then added: 
 
 "I am afraid you have some fever to-day." 
 
 "I don't feel feverish, sister," I replied; "really I do not." 
 
 "Probably the rush of visitors we have had has excited you 
 too much, but don't worry, those flushed cheeks are very be- 
 coming," and with a smile she passed on. I was so over- 
 come with the compliment, coming from such an unusual 
 source, that my cheeks got more radiant than ever. My 
 beautiful visitor, however, was quite concerned about the 
 feverish symptoms. 
 
 "I hope your temperature is not due to a wound you re- 
 ceived in Cuba or Porto Rico," she exclaimed anxiously. 
 
 "I am afraid you are putting me in the hero class," I re- 
 plied deprecatingly, "and I assure you I do not belong there." 
 
 "You brave fellows are far too modest." 
 
 "Yes, miss," chirped my poor Michigan chum, who had 
 been watching the scene, "Captain Douglas is far too modest 
 for his own good, and he's so chock full of mauser bullets
 
 28 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 that, when he turns in bed, he makes a noise like a can full 
 of marbles being rolled up hill. Why he was the bravest 
 man we had down in Cuba; Roosevelt got the credit, but 
 there's the man that did the righting." 
 
 I was too horrified at this sally of Jim's to laugh, though 
 it nearly killed me to hold in; my fair visitor was a trifle 
 embarrassed, as she evidently thought the subject too serious 
 for jest. 
 
 "James Griscom," I said with a smile, "has suffered so 
 much, his mind wanders at times. He insists on taking me 
 into action with him and making me the hero of sanguinary 
 encounters, in which he was the hero, but in which I took 
 no part." 
 
 "Well, at least you might be polite enough to tell the 
 young lady about the bullets that made you look like a 
 cartridge factory, General Shafter that was, Major Douglas 
 that is," persisted the incorrigible Jim, "and especially the 
 one you told the crowd about this noon, that went twice 
 through your heart, knocked a mule's tail, went slap through 
 a tree, and killed two hundred Spaniards who were hiding 
 behind it." 
 
 My beautiful visitor saw my cheeks blazing like red fire on 
 the Fourth of July, and was horrified at Griscom for saying 
 things which seemed to embarrass me so much. I assured 
 her that Griscom was a confirmed joker, and begged her not 
 to take him seriously, as romancing was his only amusement. 
 
 "Of course, miss, I've been jollyin' him," said Jim, in an 
 explanatory tone, "because he sometimes jollies me, and we 
 try to keep each other's courage up by having a little fun 
 when we see the opportunity, and, believe me, we don't have 
 it often." 
 
 "Yes, Jim," said I, "but it's awfully hard at times to jest 
 with an aching heart and a pain-racked body." 
 
 "Well, I don't have to grieve," smiled Jim, "because the 
 doctor says I'm going to get well in a week or so, and I'll 
 soon be able to get around and go home to the folks, while 
 friend Douglas there, I hear he has no chance at all, and he'll 
 never walk in his life. That's so, ain't it, old pard?" 
 
 The tears were in the eyes of my beautiful visitor; she 
 dropped her card on my bed, asked me if she might call the 
 following day and bring some flowers, as to-day she had 
 given away all she possessed. She also asked if she might 
 call at least one visiting day a week until I recovered. I
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 29 
 
 nodded a grateful assent; there was something in my throat 
 that made speech just then impossible. She bade us both 
 good-by, and, as the tears were again welling up in her beau- 
 tiful eyes, withdrew, just as the doctor was approaching, 
 for the Sister Superior had sent him to me, as my face de- 
 noted a temperature of at least 102. 
 
 I saw "Doc" look enviously after the departing angel, who 
 had flown into my drab world of sorrow and care. Just as 
 she reached the door of the ward she turned and waved her 
 hand to me in a farewell salute, which I immediately re- 
 turned. The doctor was now at my side watching the scene, 
 his fingers upon my pulse. 
 
 "Say, Doug," said the doctor, "I don't wonder your pulse 
 is on a rampage and that you have a temperature. If I had 
 anything as classy as that paying me visits, I'd have a tem- 
 perature that would burn a hole in a brass brick. I don't 
 know whether to give you phenacetin, bromide or an ice 
 bath, but remember the next time she calls, I want an intro- 
 duction." 
 
 "Cut out the dope, Doc," said I; "all I want is to be left 
 alone to dream." 
 
 "All right, old scout; I'm wise; you'll get a bromide high 
 ball. I guess that will hold you for a while," and Doc dis- 
 appeared, leaving me to my thoughts, sweetly sad and sadly 
 sweet. 
 
 There were no knock-out drops, sedatives or hypnotics 
 that could have made me sleep for more than a few moments 
 during that wakeful and memorable night. In my posses- 
 sion was a dainty card, which I handled carefully and rev- 
 erently, revealing the identity of my entrancing visitor, Miss 
 May Edgerton, the Algonquin, New York, a huge apartment 
 house which towers above its neighboring dwellings, looking 
 down from its fifteenth story on the most aristocratic section 
 of Riverside Drive. I felt that Miss Edgerton must have 
 had more than ordinary advantages, for, if she had belonged 
 to the suddenly rich, she would have taken no interest in 
 anyone but herself, and had no aim in life except to display 
 her clothes, and be the center of a money-burning crowd of 
 empty-headed, pleasure-loving idiots. I knew instinctively 
 that this fair bud of womanhood was not of ordinary clay, 
 but was a girl of high ideals and serious purpose, and that 
 she did not want to spend a moment of her valuable time 
 burning incense at the alfv of fashion and social frivolity
 
 30 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 generally. Though her dress showed perfect taste, she was 
 gowned rather to avoid attention than to attract it. But no 
 matter how simple and unpretentious her garb may have 
 been, in the radiance of her spiritual beauty and the grace 
 and distinction of her manner, one would have forgotten 
 whether she was gowned in gorgeous silk or humble ging- 
 ham. And so I mused and meditated. Mine had been a 
 weird, botched life. Fate had been kind to me in many ways, 
 and yet the apples of gold that gleamed inspiringly and 
 plentifully on the tree of my existence, ever as I drew near 
 to pluck them, had turned to dead sea fruit in my hands. 
 Would it be so again ? Time alone would tell. 
 
 Ill luck dogs the footsteps of some people untiringly, but 
 it did not follow me relentlessly. There was no avenging 
 Nemesis forever camping on my trail. When things became 
 almost unbearable, and the shadows closed in, turning even 
 the noon-day sun to Cimmerian darkness, a kindly Provi- 
 dence always sent a faint ray of golden hope through the 
 seemingly impenetrable pall of gloom and despair that hov- 
 ered about me, and bade me take heart again. 
 
 In chronic sickness one is soon forgotten. Even in one's 
 own home friends and relatives gradually get into the habit 
 of passing one's door on tiptoe, and alas ! too often members 
 of one's family become peeved and irritable, because sick- 
 ness lingers and health refuses to be coaxed. In a hospital, 
 however, it is best to cut thoughts of friends and relatives 
 out of one's mind. Better the hearty "Hope you feel better 
 to-day" from a black son of Ham, who has been carved in 
 a crap game, than an apologetic letter from a one-time friend, 
 who, realizing that loans cannot be negotiated with the pen- 
 niless and helpless, as they once were in those olden days, 
 when money was plentiful, manufactures a trivial excuse for 
 leaving you on the shelf of forgotten things, caring nought, 
 now that the last dollar has been extracted from a once oblig- 
 ing purse, whether you sink or swim, live or die. 
 
 And thus I ruminated, oblivious of all about me. For sev- 
 eral hours the gruesome sound of the death rattle had been 
 falling on my ears unheeded, and when at last an ominous 
 silence proclaimed the departure of a human soul to a 
 higher existence, and the sheeted remains were wheeled by 
 my bed, I scarce noted their passing. At other times the 
 pitiful clay that was once a man, with all the brightness of 
 life dancing ecstatically before his eyes, as wood nymphs
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 31 
 
 dance in the green glades and mystic glens, deep in the heart 
 of the forest, would have called forth my profoundest sym- 
 pathy, the history of his life, which now had drawn to ? close, 
 I would have constructed from childhood up, just as a child 
 builds with bricks of wood, and then have destroyed it, in 
 order to create an imaginary life of an entirely different sort. 
 To-night, however, I was indifferent to all about me. I want- 
 ed to be alone with my thoughts, and my thoughts soared, 
 even to the gates of heaven. I was weaving a dream of gold, 
 though I knew the warp and woof of that gilded fabric, glori- 
 ous in design, beautiful in texture, would in all probability 
 some day crumble to dust and leave me heavier of heart than 
 ever and with a train of memories that would wound and 
 rend my soul and whip the weakened body with a lash of 
 scorpions. I was, however, willing to pay the price for the 
 intoxication and bliss of those midnight thoughts, which car- 
 ried me afar from a white cot of pain to a world where all 
 was love, bliss and beauty, the land of eternal youth and sun- 
 shine, a mystic realm 'tween earth and heaven and better 
 than either. 
 
 The laggard hours of night crawled by as though Father 
 Time was too exhausted from his eternal journeyings to go 
 another step. The day was breaking, and for the first time 
 in years of misery and wretchedness I greeted the indications 
 of its approach with the same delight and enthusiasm as does 
 proud chanticleer when he salutes the rosy dawn and hails 
 the coming of Aurora's golden chariot, mounting high into 
 the eastern sky, with clamorous rejoicing. 
 
 At last all was activity and bustle. Another day had 
 dawned, a day of hope for some, of despair for others. 
 Hitherto all days and all nights had looked alike to me, but 
 not so now. Some one had come into my life, some one had 
 taken an interest in one the world had forgotten, and my 
 'heart throbbed with the joy of a new-found happiness. On a 
 foundation as filmy and unsubstantial as the web of a spider, 
 whose tenuous strands would scarce support the weight of a 
 peregrinating butterfly, I built a castle, majestic and grand, 
 stupendous in size and glorious in conception, its gilded tur- 
 rets probing the blue vaults of heaven, putting to blush the 
 fiery chariot of the sun, which sought the protection of a con- 
 venient cloud, as though desirous of retiring from a competi- 
 tion that was entirely hopeless. 
 
 Oh, what a castle ! The towering walls, the casement at
 
 32 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 which she, the adorable, would at night appear to listen to 
 my fervent serenading, her shimmering tresses falling in 
 tangled loveliness over rounded shoulders, glistening in the 
 raoonlight, and causing the envious moon to disregard its 
 cosmic course and stray earthward to gaze at this new and,, 
 brilliant luminary that had dared to challenge its title of 
 Queen of the Night. Thus did I dream, and oh, how precious 
 and divine a gift is that which blots out the cares of the day 
 with all its attendant miseries, lets loose the cruel chains of 
 pain that bind the tortured body to the rack of suffering and 
 bids the wearied spirit sail afar in its dream ship to those 
 golden realms of fancy, where the ills of the flesh intrude not, 
 where the worries of the day are forgotten and old loves and 
 new loves come to greet and lead one through fields elysian, 
 where the springtime of youth blots out the furrows from the 
 brow of care and the flowers blossom under one's feet and 
 eyes look into eyes which speak again and longing lips are 
 ravished with a thousand kisses. And then the dream ship 
 crumbles and sinks to earth, the grim doors of the dungeon 
 of pain swing open to receive you while a thousand demons 
 scoff and mock as the portals of hope close on you, per- 
 chance, forever. 
 
 My reveries, inexpressibly delightful and entrancing, were 
 rudely shaken by the arrival of the breakfast tray. The or- 
 derly noted my pallor (for I had not slept at all during the 
 night), and told me he thought that mauser bullets as a 
 steady diet did not agree with me. I did not respond to his 
 pleasantries, my thoughts were too far away. I was, how- 
 ever, worried to think my face showed the effects of a sleep- 
 less night. 
 
 The feverish tints of the day before had vanished from my 
 pallid cheeks. Breakfast and prayers were over and the 
 ward put in order for the day. Poor Jim in the next bed 
 wasn't feeling so well, and was in no mood to receive visitors 
 or talk; he was busy with his own thoughts and his own trou- 
 bles. He had a sweetheart in a little village back in the 
 northern woods of Michigan, and, as she wrote to him every 
 day, she monopolized most of his thoughts and attention. 
 The letters he received from Alice (his betrothed) were kept 
 under his pillow, and whenever he was well enough he would 
 draw one from its hiding-place and read and re-read it. Poor 
 fellow, he never gazed upon Alice or his family again. At 
 his urgent request, and the pleadings of his family, when it
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 33 
 
 was found that he could not recover, he was sent home, but 
 died ere he gazed upon his loved ones. I gathered up the 
 trifles he had left behind, and sent them with a letter of con- 
 dolence to his relatives, who were terribly grief-stricken at 
 their loss, as, too, was I. 
 
 It was now nearly eleven o'clock, and, to my intense de- 
 light, I saw Miss Edgerton enter the ward; she nodded to the 
 sister in charge, handed her some eggs and flowers for gen- 
 eral distribution, and a few seconds later the fair vision of 
 ' yesterday and the fairer vision of to-day was at my bedside. 
 
 She greeted me warmly, and inquired if I had rested well. 
 I told her I had slept only fairly well. I did not, however, 
 dare tell her why. 
 
 "Only fairly," she exclaimed in a voice full of compassion; 
 "I'm so sorry," and instantly a look of intense sympathy ap- 
 peared in her beautiful eyes. "Was the excitement of yester- 
 day too much for you?" she inquired still in a voice that was 
 balm to the troubles of my soul. 
 
 "Oh, no !" I exclaimed reassuringly; "one quickly gets used 
 to anything that occurs in a place of this kind. Gruesome 
 and unpleasant things I ignore, shut them out entirely and 
 try and direct my thoughts in more cheerful channels. If 
 I were not able to do that I think I would go insane at 
 times." 
 
 "You brave fellows are so heroic," she said, with a thrill 
 of admiration in her voice; "the public does not appreciate 
 all you have done and are willing to do for your country, 
 and you are all so modest about it." 
 
 Ere the music of her beautifully modulated voice had 
 ceased to ravish the ears, Griscom opened his eyes, utterly 
 ignoring the warning I had flashed to him, and, after greet- 
 ing Miss Edgerton with a hearty "Good morning, miss," in a 
 low but tantalizing tone of voice, said: 
 
 "Douglas was the only real hero in the war; if they hadn't 
 shipped him home from Cuba, he'd have killed every Span- 
 iard on the island," and here Jim smiled faintly, closed his 
 eyes, and began dreaming once more of home and Alice. 
 
 "Poor Jim," I whispered, "he's not so well to-day, and that 
 accounts for him telling such gory stories about me. It's 
 my belief that the hot tropic sun has affected him slightly, 
 and his condition worries me greatly at times. The mind, 
 too, of the poor fellow in the bed opposite is entirely shat- 
 tered."
 
 34 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 Again that tender look of compassion came into the eyes 
 of this ministering angel, who was counting the costs of war, 
 her hatred of the thing itself and its terrible consequences. 
 
 Here she placed in my hands a box of beautiful flowers, 
 and, as I lifted the lid and gazed upon roses almost as fair as 
 their donor, I was the happiest fellow in the world. I tried 
 to thank her, but in a deliciously imperious way she silenced 
 me. 
 
 "With your permission," I said gratefully, "I will share 
 your lovely gift with poor Griscom when he awakes, al- 
 though he doesn't deserve them for telling such atrocious 
 fairy stories about me." 
 
 "I'm going to take Mr. Griscom's word in preference to 
 yours, if you'll permit me," she remarked in her usual frank 
 and charming way, that made my words of protest die upon 
 my lips, "for, as your comrade says, you are far too modest 
 to do yourself justice, and also, I think, for your own good." 
 
 My cheeks were aflame once again ; I was going to be made 
 a hero in spite of myself. Of course I could tell the truth 
 and make a clean breast of it all, but the trouble was she 
 wouldn't believe me if I did, thanks to Griscom's romancing. 
 It was an embarrassing position, and every moment I seemed 
 to be getting deeper into the mire. I was playing the part of 
 an impostor, and where I was going to come out, without in- 
 curring her contempt, I could not see. I did not know where 
 it was going to end, and did not dare to think. So, to lead 
 her thoughts into other channels, I called the nurse, who 
 placed the flowers in water, and stood them on a little table by 
 my bedside. I kept Miss Edgerton, as far as I possibly 
 could, from Cuba and Porto Rico, the cold chills creeping up 
 and down my spine every time she led me back to those 
 tropic isles. I could feel she wanted to ask me some per- 
 sonal questions, but prudence dictated that I should keep 
 silence about myself for a while at least. And so we dis- 
 cussed books, plays, music and various branches of art, au- 
 thors, composers; compared notes on people, travel and nu- 
 merous things of interest. She was a capital conversation- 
 alist, and talked delightfully on every subject. I was over- 
 joyed to find that, while at Vassar, she had become deeply 
 interested in sociology. The study of social problems pro- 
 foundly interested her. 
 
 She was progressive in all her ideas, and her presence in 
 this hospital was a part of the work she was doing, in her
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 35 
 
 unobtrusive way, to spread a little sunshine where there was 
 most need of it. She was athletic and enjoyed sport, and 
 reveled in a dance, a good play or an opera, but social func- 
 tions bored her, and she sought only the society of those 
 whose ideals, point of view and ideas generally ran in simi- 
 lar channels to her own. She saw there was serious work to 
 do in this world, and she meant to bravely do her part of it, 
 for humanity with its troubles, cares and sorrows had taken, 
 a deep hold on her sympathetic heart. She hated war, but 
 wished to study the horrors of it, so that she might have a 
 greater incentive to work for peace. She was one of that 
 mighty band of noble women who to-day are fighting the 
 bondage of sex, striving by their self-sacrificing efforts in 
 this direction to place the whole of the race upon a higher 
 plane. As she had expressed her hatred of war, I thought 
 this would be an excellent opportunity to ask her if she would 
 not accept my collection of mauser bullets and throw them 
 away, as the things were hateful to me. 
 
 "But surely," she protested, "you would like to keep some, 
 for you doubtless have friends and relatives who would like 
 to have them for a souvenir." 
 
 "My relatives are far away, and I do not expect to have 
 any visitors," I replied regretfully, "no matter how long I 
 remain here." 
 
 "Have you no friends or relatives near?" she inquired 
 sympathetically. "It must be hard to be far from one's 
 own." 
 
 "Yes, it is hard, Miss Edgerton," I replied, "but in sickness 
 and misfortune one is soon forgotten. I know only too well 
 that life holds little in the future for me that will be worth 
 while. I am doomed to chronic invalidism, and soon I shall 
 be herded with other unfortunates in some secluded spot, and 
 in an environment miserable and depressing I shall, devoid of 
 hope, end my cheerless days alone and forgotten. If I were a 
 real hero, as is this poor fellow who is struggling for health 
 beside me, if I had performed some of the brave acts many 
 of these poor soldiers have done, who are now awaiting the-' 
 knife of the surgeon, I might perhaps " 
 
 "Stop, I beg you," implored my fair visitor; "it rends' 
 my heart that hideous war should have cut you down in the 
 very prime of your manhood. I shall take a keen pleasure in 
 having these implements of destruction placed where they 
 can no longer remind you and the world in general that
 
 36 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 hateful war is ever ready to slay the bravest fellows the na- 
 tion produces." 
 
 "I heartily indorse every word you say," I replied, with in- 
 tense feeling; "how many dreams, how many hopes, how 
 many homes and lives it has shattered and destroyed." 
 
 At this moment I noticed the orderly wheeling a sheeted 
 figure through the ward; the incident had not escaped her. 
 
 "What is it ?" she said in a voice that vibrated with terror. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," I replied reassuringly, "but do look out of 
 the window, please, until I tell you that everything's all 
 right." 
 
 The white figure was soon wheeled past and the door 
 closed behind it. She had sensed what it was, and, as she 
 placed her right hand upon my coverlet, I pressed mine 
 gently upon it. There was silence for a few seconds, and 
 then, in a cheery tone of voice, I said: 
 
 "Everything is all right now; we are used to such things; 
 just one more soldier who has fought his last battle. His 
 sufferings are over, while ours must still be borne. The 
 hardest thing we have to bear and fight is the terrible loneli- 
 ness. If I only had some one who would drop in and see me 
 for just a few moments, two or three times a year, at Easter 
 or Christmas, life would be more endurable. But friends 
 move away, other interests claim their attention, and I have 
 found alas ! that one does not dare to make friends, espe- 
 cially those who remind one of the brighter, happier days, 
 when the joy of living and the joy of loving made earth a 
 paradise. Sickness may cripple the body, but it only in- 
 tensifies the longing and yearning of the heart for all those 
 tender, beautiful and glorious things that fate has denied 
 to those who are permanent members of the brotherhood of 
 suffering. Forgive me," I implored, as she turned her head 
 and gazed out of the window, raising the dainty handker- 
 chief that rested in her lap to her eyes, whose liquid depths 
 of sympathy no mortal could plumb; "forgive me; it was 
 wrong of me to harrow up your feelings thus." Suddenly 
 she turned and looked squarely into my eyes, her face full 
 of animation as though some bright and happy thought had 
 forever banished the dark clouds of gloom and despair into 
 which my pessimism and hopelessness had plunged her. 
 
 "Pray banish all those dark, despairing thoughts," she ex- 
 claimed. "You are going to get well; I know it; I feel it; 
 you must get well; get well for my sake, and as soon as
 
 'Uncle Charlie's Story Book '37 
 
 you're strong enough mother and I will come around with 
 our car and take you for a ride, and as many more rides 
 after that as you wish to have. Now, isn't that a glorious 
 prospect ?" 
 
 "Glorious," said I, almost overcome by the blissful picture 
 she had painted. "It overwhelms me ; the very thought of it 
 is a glimpse into paradise." And then I dropped, dropped 
 down to the cold, cold earth again, and my dream was o'er. 
 The dreams of what might be, compared to the things that 
 were, the things that had to be and could not be altered. 
 
 "Miss Edgerton," said I, bracing myself for the effort, "I 
 have been guilty of a gross deception. You remember, I 
 told you I was no hero, and I certainly am not. I never was 
 in the United States army. This is the second hospital I 
 have been in, and I have been an invalid for two long years, 
 and in all that time I have never left my bed. The orderly, 
 you see, thought it would be great fun to put a flag at the 
 head of my bed and let me participate in the honors that 
 the public is lavishing on the poor fellows who have survived 
 at least so far the government's wicked mismanagement of 
 this typhoid campaign. Mauser bullets have been given me 
 by a number of soldiers, for I have been in every section of 
 the country and have won their hearts, by talking to them of 
 their homes. The poor fellow in the next bed insisted that 
 I should come into 'the game,' as he called it, and, when he 
 told you that preposterous nonsense about my martial deeds 
 in Cuba, I begged him not to mention such things, not in 
 your presence at least; but he is an incorrigible joker, and 
 thought probably that you would never come again. But, 
 after all, I feel that you will forgive me, for, when I saw 
 you enter the ward, I longed with a longing no words can ex- 
 press to have the privilege of chatting with you for a mo- 
 ment or two. I was afraid though my fear was a poor 
 compliment to your intelligence and goodness of heart to 
 mention that I had no right to receive sympathy from you 
 to which I was not entitled. But you will never know how a 
 man of my temperament feels, a man who longs for the so- 
 ciety of his fellow beings when he sees the beds of other pa- 
 tients surrounded on visiting days by a host of friends, sweet- 
 hearts, mothers and wives, all lavishing their love and sym- 
 pathy on their dear ones, and not a soul to say a word to him 
 or give him a nod of recognition. I have watched yonder 
 entrance to this ward for weeks and even months at a time,
 
 38 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 watched it as a perishing sailor watches for a friendly sail, 
 but the familiar faces I longed to see appeared not, and then, 
 as the bell rang for the visitors to depart, my heart sank 
 within me. The friendly sail, you see, had not brightened the 
 horizon. Nothing but grim waters loom around the raft of 
 the castaway, waiting to engulf him, moaning, ever moaning 
 the requiem that is to mark his passing. From long habit 
 one cannot help watching that door, for it is through that 
 door that must come any light that is to brighten one's life. 1 
 It was that door I was watching, from force of habit, when; 
 you appeared. Fancy a Christmas that marks not the com- 
 ing of a friend, a day like so many hundreds of other days, 
 but so much keener the sense of loneliness on that occasion, 
 when all humanity is kin, and you, alone and deserted, watch 
 and wait, wait and watch, until your eyelids close, too tired 
 to keep longer vigil, and your heart sickens from the very 
 weariness of the thing. A veteran in the brotherhood of 
 suffering soon learns to dispense with sympathy, and he de- 
 spises pity, but you cannot conceive the agony of a heart that 
 hungers for friendship, interest, cheer and companionship, 
 and hungers in vain. To live without the handclasp of a 
 friend is not even existence; it is death in life. Time, whose 
 rhythmic beat counts off the hours of sickness and suffering, 
 is the acid test of friendship. Once friends surrounded my 
 bed and banked my room with flowers, but the world soon 
 gets weary of those who, falling by the wayside, are unable 
 to keep step with the happy, joyous, rapidly moving army of 
 the healthy and strong, which, passing quickly onward, 
 leaves those who dropped from its ranks helpless and hope- 
 less far in the rear. Here am I marooned on a tiny, barren 
 island of suffering in a vast, seething sea of preoccupied and 
 indifferent humans, where neither the green leaves of sym- 
 pathy nor the flowers of affection ever bloom, and where 
 only the briars and thorns of sorrow and regret grow about 
 one, ready to rend and tear, and memory is one's only 
 friend." 
 
 Miss Edgerton was visibly affected by my lengthy mono- 
 logue, and once or twice she was on the point of interrupting 
 me, for I had already gauged the nobility of her nature and 
 felt confident she was ready, as indeed she was, not only to 
 pardon my deception, but to assure me of her eternal friend- 
 ship. 
 
 "I have nothing to forgive," she said, with a smile of en-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 39 
 
 couragement ; "I am only too delighted to think that you were 
 able to concoct a scheme that would give you some amuse- 
 ment. If you think I have been victimized, I am a very 
 happy victim, and, so far from eliminating you from my role 
 of heroes, I can see with a woman's intuition you have en- 
 dured and suffered far more than those who have been sus- 
 tained by the excitement of the battlefield and the praise and 
 adulation of those who love a soldier in the frenzy of war and 
 despise and shun him in the time of peace. You have borne 
 your Gethsemane alone. You have spoken of friends who 
 forget, but, like myself, you have not entirely lost faith in 
 humanity. I have made up my mind to devote my life to set- 
 tlement work, and I want you to help me, for, though others 
 like myself may theorize, it is only such men as you who 
 know the things of which we can merely guess. The shadow 
 of the cross of suffering may fall across our pathway, but 
 we have never endured the pangs of those who from day to 
 day, year to year, are stretched and tortured upon it. So 
 let us be comrades and work together." 
 
 "God bless you," I cried, overcome by the joy of it all; "I 
 shall be ever so delighted to do so." 
 
 At this moment I noticed her eyes, which had been look- 
 ing squarely into mine, were suddenly fixed upon the head 
 of my bed, and the flag which had been there fluttered down 
 and rested upon my shoulder, revealing the telltale card, 
 worn with age, which told my name and the history of my 
 case. Miss Edgerton's eyes in an instant read the name, 
 and her face flushed with a look of pleasure and delight. 
 
 "Why," she exclaimed, "I have a dear little song of yours 
 at home, and the funniest little poem imaginable, that I 
 clipped from the New York Herald. I pasted it in my scrap- 
 book only the other day, and whoever would have thought 
 that I was going so soon to meet the author of those side- 
 splitting verses and meet him in such gloomy and distressing 
 surroundings. Now I call that real luck. Oh ! if you only 
 had a phone by your bedside, I would let you hear me sing 
 your song." 
 
 "Miss Edgerton," I said, my face ablaze with excitement 
 and happiness, "in the language of the classics, I am just 
 tickled to death that you knew of me at least before we met, 
 for is there anything in the world that draws one closer, or 
 forms a finer basis for friendship, than the love of art and
 
 40 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 song, especially when we trace one of its tiny and unimpor- 
 tant rivulets to its source." 
 
 "Have you always been writing for a living?" she asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 "No," said I, "I am sorry I have not. I was on the stage 
 for quite a while, then in a scientific branch of the govern- 
 ment service, but I would weary you if I told you all, and 
 there is nothing worth the telling, anyway. But, though I 
 am walled up in this gloomy old prison, I am ever dreaming 
 dreams that are to me, at least, glorious. I have to earn my 
 living, and I have found to my joy that I can earn it with my 
 pen. But it's been a dreadful struggle at times. I am de- 
 termined to win out all the same, and, if I can only keep my 
 head one inch above the dark waters which are threatening 
 at all times to engulf me, I will win out. Hitherto I have 
 had no incentive but the necessity of writing for bread and 
 butter. Necessity is a lash that urges and stings, not a 
 blessed light shining in the darkness of the long, lone night, 
 inspiring one with hope and leading one onward and upward 
 to meet the dawning of a brighter day. Necessity has 
 whipped me until I am sore of body and sick of heart, but 
 if I can only write something more that you will think 
 worthy of a place in your scrapbook, and you will be gracious 
 enough to now and then drop me a word of cheer and en- 
 couragement, I know I can begin life all over again. You 
 won't mind being my light, my kindly light, and leading me 
 on just a little, will you ?" I pleaded. 
 
 "If you think there is anything luminous about my humble 
 self, I give it with all my heart," and she held out both her 
 hands with the enthusiasm of a child, and I imprisoned and 
 held them in both of mine. There was a moment of silence, 
 a moment worth all I had endured, or could endure for aeons 
 of time. 
 
 "Now, we are going to work together," she said, all ani 
 mation, "and, if you don't do something great, I shall feel 
 that it is my fault and not yours." 
 
 "A few moments ago I did not believe there was even the 
 germ of mediocrity in me, Miss Edgerton," I answered, "but 
 now we have formed this delightful partnership, you to fur- 
 nish the inspiration, and each to help in the work of the 
 other, I feel as though I could make all humanity sit up and 
 take notice. I aspire to do more than write verse and songs. 
 While you are doing ynyr settlement work in the slums, I
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 41 
 
 want to be driving a nail in the coffin of the horrid thing that 
 makes slums possible." 
 
 "That's glorious," she cried, "glorious," as she prepared to 
 go. "Now, how often may I come to see you; I'd like to 
 come every day, though I. know you'd get tired of me." 
 
 I tried to reply, but there was a lump in my throat that 
 made speech impossible ; I was overcome with emotion, and 
 was conscious of the fact that there was something obscur- 
 ing my vision. The coming into my drab-gray montonous 
 life of this beautiful girl seemed entirely too good to be true. 
 It was so unlike everything else that had happened in the 
 last two years disappointment, humiliation and sorrow the 
 loss of all that makes life worth while, that I could hardly 
 believe I was not the sport of some evil power that was al- 
 lowing me to glimpse heaven, only to dash me hellward later. 
 
 "Oh, won't you tell me, dear friend," I said, gazing stead- 
 ily into her beautiful face ; "is this not a dream, like so many 
 other dreams I've had, that come only to mock me and make 
 my cross still harder to bear? Is it true, and not some cruel 
 joke ?" She knew what was passing in my mind. 
 
 "This is no dream," she answered, "and, if I can be as 
 much in your life as you will be in mine, I shall indeed be a 
 happy girl. And here I give you a token that shall ever re- 
 mind us that this is a compact of eternal friendship that no one 
 shall ever break. We have consecrated ourselves to a noble 
 work, a cause divine that God will bless," and her voice 
 quivered with emotion as she tore the little flag in two 
 pieces, pinned half of it to her breast, and gave me the other 
 half. As she placed it in my hand I raised it to my lips. 
 
 "I shall always love and worship that flag," I said, "for, 
 had it not been for that emblem of vanishing liberty, a lib- 
 erty that, with heaven's help, we will work to restore, a 
 memento of a compact sacred and precious, I should never 
 have known you." 
 
 "And I," said my fair comrade laughingly, standing o'er 
 me like a miniature goddess of liberty, radiant and beautiful, 
 "if it had not been for this flag, I should never have known 
 the hero of the Spanish War." 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 Fifteen years have passed since that eventful day, when 
 May Edgertcn, now Mrs. Sydney Graham, and I made our
 
 42 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 memorable compact. May still holds her half of the flag, 
 and I hold mine and ever shall. Through the darkest years 
 of my life she was indeed an angel of mercy. 
 
 When the clouds gathered around me, May smiled, and 
 they vanished. Whenever a song of mine was sung in a 
 theater, it was she who went to hear it, and came back with 
 glistening eyes to tell me the result. We studied human af- 
 fairs and social conditions from every angle, and planned to 
 lift the cross from those least able to bear it. Our ideas and 
 ideals were identical. The walls of her room were covered 
 with the pictures I drew for her, and we were ever com- 
 rades the best chums in the world, and still are. Her home 
 now claims her attention, and I am no longer, as I was in 
 those grim days, the football of fate, with none but she to 
 soothe and cheer, to encourage and inspire. As my work 
 grew and prospered, I made less demands on her time, and 
 her visits now are purely social ones. Her husband is the 
 finest fellow in the world; he had to be, or I would not have 
 approved of him or recommended him, and he knows to-day, 
 if I had only recovered from my invalidism, he never would 
 have had a ghost of a chance of winning May from The 
 Hero of the Spanish War.
 
 It was a lovely day in June when I first began to bloom in 
 all my perfection and loveliness in a grand old garden in 
 England. Several roses were growing on the same tree as 
 I, but I am fain to believe I must have been more beautiful 
 than they, for one day a youth and maiden approached 
 and plucked me. His face was glowing with excitement, 
 while hers seemed cold and passive, and scarcely a feature 
 relaxed as he said "Here, dearest, take this glorious rose 
 and wear it as a token of my undying love and devotion ; the 
 queen of flowers for the queen of women," and with these 
 words he placed me in her corsage, and pressed me to his 
 lips as he did so. 
 
 I, of course, began at once to take an intense interest in 
 my new surroundings my position giving me an opportunity 
 to see and hear all that transpired. 
 
 "Maude, dearest, are you sure you love me ; oh, tell me you 
 really and truly do; once again tell me, sweetheart," he im- 
 plored, as he caught her in his arms and nearly crushed me 
 with the vehemence of his embrace. 
 
 She replied "yes" to his passionate entreaty, but from her 
 cold, unresponsive manner I hardly thought she meant it. In 
 a little while he took his leave, and my mistress and I were 
 alone. 
 
 "Poor Jack poor boy," she said, as his manly form faded 
 in the distance, "and you, little rosy, are to be the pledge of 
 /our mutual love what a sentimental boy he is. I haven't the 
 courage to tell him my heart is already another's, and now I 
 fear a harmless flirtation will end in a tragedy and I shall 
 have to break his heart before I can get rid of him. Heigh- 
 ho, what a world this is, the people we don't love love us, 
 and those we do love, as a rule, love somebody else." 
 
 "Ah! here comes Captain D'Arcy," she said, moving 
 swiftly down the garden path toward a tall, handsome, mili- 
 tary-looking man who was approaching us. In another sec- 
 ond she was in his arms. 
 
 43
 
 44 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 "Who gave you that lovely rose, Maude ?" said the Captain 
 languidly. 
 
 "Oh, that silly boy, Jack Lansdale, I promised to keep it 
 forever as a token of my undying love for him," and she 
 laughed merrily. 
 
 "And of course you are going to do it?" queried the Cap- 
 tain. 
 
 "Certainly I am, watch me," and without further ado she 
 drew me forth from her bosom, pressed me to her lips and 
 transferred me to the Captain's coat. 
 
 "There, Roy, dear, my undying love for Jack is now a 
 token of my undying love for you. Oh, Roy, swear you 
 will never be as heartless as I, and oh, keep this precious 
 little flower for my sake," she pleaded; "keep it, ah, keep it, 
 won't you?" 
 
 "Keep it," replied the Captain; "of course I will, sweet- 
 heart. I will treasure it as long as life lasts, and herewith I 
 seal the compact with a kiss." 
 
 Ah me, but one short half hour of my life and I had 
 changed hands three times. 
 
 Soon the Captain took his leave, and, passing into the 
 street, hailed a hansom cab. 
 
 "Thirty-three Belgrave Square, quick," he said to the 
 driver. 
 
 "All right, sir," answered the man, touching his cap ; "the 
 'oss is a good un, an' we'll be there in a few minutes." 
 
 Now it was the turn of the Captain and I to be alone; he 
 lit a cigarette and began thinking aloud. 
 
 "What a silly little silly Maudie is, sentimental little stu- 
 pid, still she has heaps of money, and money I must have, 
 and her whims must be humored. Now, if Madge had only 
 given me that rose the darling, I would have carried it on 
 my heart forever; but she's married, and her husband 
 watches her like a hawk hang him" and the Captain ac- 
 centuated his remark by snatching at one of my petals and 
 crushing it with his heel. 
 
 Soon with a rattle and a bang we drew up at a grand man- 
 sion. " 'Ere you are, sir," said the driver. 
 
 The door of the great mansion opened, and soon the Cap- 
 tain was bending over a beautiful woman. 
 
 "Where did you get the rose?" she asked, after their first 
 rapt embrace was over.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 45 
 
 "I stopped at the florist's and bought it especially for you," 
 he replied. 
 
 "Are you sure, Roy, Maude Fairfax did not give it to 
 you?" she queried a tone of jealousy in her voice. 
 
 "Maude oh, no," he replied, though only half an hour be- 
 fore she had been in his arms. "Madge, as you know, I 
 have but one woman in my heart and mind, and that, dearest, 
 is you." 
 
 It was growing late, and Madge was dressed for dinner. I 
 had never seen anyone so beautiful as she, and when the 
 Captain took me from his coat and placed me in her corsage 
 I fairly thrilled with joy. 
 
 "Darling," he murmured passionately, "swear you will 
 never part with this little flower; keep it and treasure it for 
 my sake, as a token of the love I bear you, and if I never 
 return from the campaign in India, where my regiment is 
 soon going, let its dead leaves remind you of one who loved 
 you with all his heart and soul." 
 
 "Roy dearest I swear it," she replied, and was about to 
 return his kiss when we were all startled by the appearance 
 of a third person the white bosom on which I reclined 
 heaved violently; the Captain's face turned deathly pale. 
 
 "So, Captain D'Arcy," said the stranger, who had ap- 
 peared so suddenly, "I now know what I have long sus- 
 pected; you, my comrade in arms, the man I have befriended, 
 have robbed me of the only thing on earth that was precious 
 to me the love of my wife. 
 
 "I have a mind to kill you both, and I fully intended to do 
 so, and have come armed for that purpose ; but I would not 
 stain my hands with the blood of such a cur as you. 
 You have murdered my happiness, and I shall now consider 
 it a favor if you will finish your devilish work and take 
 this revolver and put a bullet through the heart you've al- 
 ready broken." 
 
 There was a terrible silence for a few seconds, and then 
 the fair bosom on which I lay grew deathly cold, and my 
 fair wearer, with a cry of anguish, sank in a swoon on the 
 floor. 
 
 "Go," said the husband to the Captain, "and may the 
 memory of the lives you have blasted haunt you to your dy- 
 ing day." 
 
 How my heart bled for that poor, wretched man as he
 
 46 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 stood gazing as one in a dream at the prostrate form of his 
 wife on whose bosom I reclined. 
 
 "Poor, weak fool," he said, "oh, why did you let that 
 wretch come between us?" and he sank in a chair and hid 
 his head in his hands, while his whole frame shook with emo- 
 tion. 
 
 Suddenly he arose and came swiftly to her, and plucked 
 me from her bosom his face quivering with passion "The 
 rose that devil gave her the token of his love curse him ! 
 curse him ! ! curse him ! !" he shouted, as with all his might 
 he dashed me through the open window to the sidewalk be- 
 low. 
 
 I had lain there but a few moments, utterly dumfounded by 
 my experience of a few short hours of life in high society 
 when a foot gave me a vicious kick into the gutter it was 
 the Captain who had just passed from the house who had 
 kicked me I recognized him and he evidently recognized 
 me. "Damn the rose," he said, as he strode past and could 
 I have polluted myself sufficiently to have used foul lan- 
 guage I think I would have returned the Captain's oaths with 
 interest and damned him, too, for the wretch he was. But 
 before I had time for further reflections I was seized by a 
 poor, ragged little urchin of about twelve years of age. As 
 he picked me up he gave a cry of joy and delight. 
 
 "I told mother I'd get a rose for Billie even if I had to 
 steal one," the thin lips rattled on "and oh, ain't this a 
 beauty, some 'toff' (swell) or other has chucked it away. 
 Poor little Billie, you shall have yer rose, after all" and, 
 clasping me tightly in his thin, dirty little hands, he ran as 
 fast as his bare feet and ragged limbs would carry him, 
 through narrow streets and winding alleys till we entered a 
 low ceilinged, pitifully poor and bare room on the second 
 floor of a tenement. In the corner of the room, on an apol- 
 ogy for a bed, lay the dead body of a child by the side of the 
 bed sat a worn and tired pale-faced little woman, evidently 
 the mother, keeping her vigil by the bed of death. 
 
 "Mother, I've got it," said the urchin, holding me up for 
 his mother to see her eyes were red with weeping, but a 
 smile broke through the tears as she looked at me. 
 
 This was my first appearance in the lower strata of society, 
 and I felt if God had created the roses for anything it was 
 not to adorn and be the toy of the pampered darlings of the 
 smart set, but to brighten the lives of the poor, the sick and
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 47 
 
 the lowly, and ah, I tried to look my loveliest as the little 
 urchin pressed me to the cold, pale brow of his dead brother, 
 and then reverently upon the still breast of the poor child. 
 
 "Billie," he said, "I wish you could see this, Billie it's a 
 rose and it's all yours, Billie. Oh, mother, do you think 
 Billie knows I got it for him ?" 
 
 "Yes, Jimmie, dear," replied the little mother, "the angel? 
 are kind and good, and they will tell him all about it." 
 
 "Why did Billie die, mother?" 
 
 "God wanted him, dear, I suppose." 
 
 "Well, so did we, and God didn't want him half as much 
 as we did, and I think it's mighty hard He couldn't let him 
 stay. 
 
 "Where will they bury him, mother?" 
 
 "In a pauper's grave, Jim, and they'll soon be here to fetch 
 him" and the words were scarcely out of her mouth ere the 
 Parish undertakers entered the room, carrying a long, plain 
 box. 
 
 One, a particularly coarse and callous brute, approached 
 the bedside, and, calling to his mate, said : 
 
 "Say, Bob, blowed if this don't beat all, flowers on a bloom- 
 ing pauper," and with that he swung his hand viciously and 
 knocked me from the dead boy's breast to the floor. 
 
 Little Jim in the twinkling of an eye picked me up with 
 his left hand, and with his right he snatched a long, keen 
 knife lying on the table. 
 
 His face was livid with rage, the insult to his beloved 
 dead had filled the lad with the strength of a demon, and the 
 weakling of a moment before, inflated with a sense of cruel 
 wrong, seemed to rise from the ground and tower like a 
 giant. 
 
 He replaced me on his brother's breast, and with a voice 
 quivering with passion said, "Touch that rose again and I'll 
 kill you." 
 
 "Well, look at the little spitfire," said the brute "if that 
 don't beat all," but he evidently thought it best not to dis- 
 turb me again. 
 
 They lifted the little frail body into its resting place, and 
 Jimmie and his mother took one last long look at us 
 
 "Good-by, Billie," said Jimmie, as he kissed the cold, 
 white forehead again and again. "Good-by, Billie, good-by; 
 you're better off mother says so and mother knows. No 
 more kicks and cuffs, no more policemen and coppers a-mov-
 
 48 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 ing yer on, no more crossin's to sweep, no more weepin', 
 rainy skies an' muddy streets, an' hunger and misery. All 
 sunshine, all happiness where you are going, and God'll be 
 good to yer, Billie ; He always is, Billie ; mother says so, and 
 mother knows, and we're both coming soon, Billie; we won't 
 be long ; good-by, good-by." 
 
 And with Billie's salt tears dropping on my petals, the lid 
 of the rude pine box closed over us, and I took my farewell 
 of the world, and will now take my farewell of you. 
 
 And such is the story of the rose, and may we not feel 
 assured that, when the angels meet little Billie at the gates of 
 Paradise, Billie will still be pressing to his bosom the beauti- 
 ful rose which Jimmie placed there as a token of that love 
 which is indeed undying and lasts on beyond the grave for- 
 ever and ever?
 
 THE GHOSTS OF THE MISSISSIPPI 
 
 (The story narrated by the pilot is one of actual facts, the 
 author having merely tried to record the various incidents 
 as they fell from the lips of one who participated in one of 
 the many grim tragedies enacted on the turbid bosom of the 
 great Father of Waters.) 
 
 It was in the fall of the year 1888 that I was a passenger 
 on board the Mississippi steamer, Annie P. Silver, which in 
 those days plied between St. Louis and New Orleans. 
 
 I was a member of a traveling theatrical company, and this 
 was my first tour of the West, and my first trip on the 
 mighty Mississippi. 
 
 We had played in Cairo, Illinois, closing there on the Sat- 
 urday night, and now were on our way to open in Memphis, 
 Tennessee, for a week's engagement on the following Mon- 
 day evening. 
 
 Those who have done little traveling, and especially those 
 who live far from and have never seen any of our big water- 
 ways, can form but a very inadequate idea of this stupendous 
 stream, nor can they realize the strange effect it has on those 
 who view it for the first time. 
 
 I had scarcely recovered from the first impressions of won- 
 derment and awe before I found myself standing on the 
 lower deck of the huge phantom-like steamer, surrounded 
 by perspiring negroes who were crooning snatches of song, 
 quaint melodies peculiar to their race, as they busily stowed 
 away countless bales of cotton consigned to New Orleans 
 and the markets of the old world. 
 
 We had a two days' journey in front of us, the first half of 
 which I improved by making friends with the chief officers 
 of the boat. This soon was followed by an invitation to the 
 pilot house, a favor rarely granted to passengers, the law bar- 
 ring any but officials from entering this secluded eyrie from 
 which the movements of the boat are directed. 
 
 The majority of people have a fairly accurate idea of the 
 construction of the Mississippi River steamers of a quarter of 
 
 49
 
 50 Uncle Charlie's Story "Book 
 
 a century ago, for the present-day vessels differ but little 
 from those of a past generation. It will, however, help the 
 reader to better understand the events I am about to narrate, 
 to briefly explain the construction of these peculiarly Amer- 
 ican craft. 
 
 The ordinary steamers which ply upon the breast of the 
 tortuous Mississippi have three decks boiler, cabin and hur- 
 ricane. On the hurricane, or topmost deck, are two cabins or 
 deck houses, built one above the other. The bottom cabin is 
 called the Texas, and here the officers of the boat have their 
 quarters. On the roof of this structure, about one-fourth its 
 size and nearest to the prow of the boat, is the pilot house, 
 which is reached by two flights of steps. From this struc- 
 ture, perched away on top of the vessel, the pilot can com- 
 mand an excellent view of the river, and here, wheel in hand, 
 he directs the course of his boat, through treacherous shoal 
 and past huge threatening snags, trunks of submerged trees, 
 embedded far in the mud, below the water's surface, and 
 capable of piercing the hull of a river steamer with as much 
 ease as one would pass a pencil through a sheet of tissue 
 paper. 
 
 It was late in the evening of the second day before I 
 availed myself of the pilot's kind invitation to visit his lone- 
 some nest, but at last I lit a cigar and sought him out. 
 
 There was very little light, except such as was afforded 
 by the few stars which revealed themselves at intervals be- 
 tween the somber clouds, plentifully banked across the vast 
 arch of the heavens, and from whose sable bosoms flashes of 
 lightning occasionally darted. It was an impressive sight, the 
 broad, majestic stream, resembling more an arm of the ocean 
 than a river, with its huge bluffs towering on either side, 
 mantled o'er with seemingly impenetrable forests of cotton- 
 wood, whose inky blackness stood out in strong relief against 
 the pall-like canopy of clouds, the massed density of which 
 added to the all-pervading gloom. 
 
 The ghostly Captain Vanderdecken, whose phantom ship, 
 "The Flying Dutchman," is forever doomed to battle with the 
 tempestuous waves, in its vain attempts to round the Cape 
 of Good Hope the towering promontory which stands sen- 
 tinel at the southernmost end of the African continent 
 could not have desired the command of a more spectral craft 
 than the one on whose upper deck I stood, and which, white 
 as a bfftlal veil and seemingly as intangible and translucent,
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 51 
 
 was silhouetted against the pitchlike walls of bluff and forest 
 which bulked large on either side like Stygian battlements 
 guarding the entrance to some grim and forbidding world, 
 past the confines of which we crept noiselessly as we dropped 
 down the mysterious waterway, placidly rolling, ever rolling 
 to its bourne in the distant deeps, there to blend with the 
 murmuring tides of the ever-restless ocean. 
 
 The pilot welcomed me cordially, apologized for the ab- 
 sence of any artificial light which would interfere with his 
 steering, and pointed me to a seat. 
 
 The pilot was a fine-looking man, just entering the six- 
 ties. Forty-five years of his active life had been spent in 
 the valley of the Mississippi, beyond which region he had 
 never wandered, and outside of which he had practically no 
 interest. The Mississippi was his home, and he loved the 
 mighty stream as a mother loves her first born. It may 
 seem incredible, but there was not a snag or a shoal in the 
 bed of that seemingly endless stream that the pilot did not 
 know, and this in spite of the fact that he navigated some 
 two thousand miles of river. 
 
 "Pilot," said I, at last breaking the silence, "you must 
 have seen some pretty exciting times in your forty-five years 
 of voyaging up and down here." 
 
 "Yes," said the pilot, quietly puffing at his pipe, "I guess 
 I have. What I ain't seen on the Mississipp don't amount 
 to much and ain't worth talking about. I know this old 
 river from A to Z, like a kid knows its alphabet, and I guess 
 there ain't a tree or a bluff from St. Louis to New Orleans 
 that don't know me, and I guess, if they could talk, they'd 
 be saying to themselves: 'Here comes old Jim Lynch in that 
 old white tub of his, one eye on snags, t'other on shoals/ 
 Some day they'll miss me, I guess; but they won't miss me 
 half as much as I'll miss them. Why, stranger, every mile 
 of this old river has its recollections of some event; every 
 bluff, bend and shoal brings back memories of the past of a 
 race, explosion or wreck and if I was at all inclined to be 
 superstitious, and believe in spooks and 'hants,' as the col- 
 ored folks say, I could indulge my fancy here pretty freely, 
 you can bet. Why, right here at this very Island Number 
 Ten that we're passing now the Stonewall Jackson blew up 
 during the war, and over seven hundred men cashed in their 
 checks in a hurry and took a swift passage for kingdom come. 
 They do say ghosts about here are as thick as boobs around
 
 52 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 a ballot box, but I don't trouble much about outside spooks 
 when we've got a real genuine one of our own right here on 
 this boat." 
 
 "A ghost on the boat," I exclaimed, surprised and not a 
 little startled. "Why, it was just now you said you didn't 
 believe in the fantastic fraternity of spectral spooks." 
 
 "Well, neither do I, in a general way," replied the pilot in 
 a tone half-explanatory, half-apologetic ; "and maybe it's only 
 the memory of a certain terrible night and the effect it has 
 had on my mind that makes me believe in it now. But I tell 
 you right here and I ain't a man that's in the habit of going 
 on record about a thing until I've studied it with my own 
 eyes and know it to be true if the ghost of Daniel Blake 
 don't haunt this boat, my name ain't Jim Lynch and this ain't 
 the Mississippi And here the pilot, his watchful eyes peer- 
 ing into the gloom of the night, tugged sharply at his huge 
 wheel and sent the spokes flying from under his feet in a 
 determined manner that seemed to add an emphasis to his 
 words, and an additional importance to his statement con- 
 cerning the ghost theory, which apparently completely ob- 
 sessed him. 
 
 Just then a flash of lightning shot across the heavens, re- 
 vealing by its dazzling light a weird, uncanny look which 
 had stolen into the pilot's strangely agitated face. That look 
 left no doubt in my mind that the pilot was in dead earnest. 
 
 "I ain't the only one that has seen it," he resumed, turning 
 his head for the fraction of a second and casting a wary 
 glance over his shoulder in the direction of the hurricane 
 deck, an action which I at once involuntarily repeated. 
 "Why, three of our black cooks have quit on account of this 
 boat being haunted, and even the skipper before Captain 
 Ketner gave up his command on the same account." I found 
 on inquiry this was perfectly correct, as is every other in- 
 cident connected with this narrative. 
 
 "Well, Pilot," said I, assuming as cheerful a tone as pos- 
 sible under the circumstances, a cheerfulness, I am bound 
 to admit, I did not exactly feel, "would you mind telling me 
 how it is that Daniel Blake sees fit to honor this vessel with 
 his ghostly presence in preference to that of other steamers." 
 
 "Well, my friend," said the pilot, clearing his throat, much 
 as a sailor clears his ship for action, "it's a long story and 
 a painful one, and I'd rather forget it than talk about it, but 
 I can't banish the blamed thing from my thoughts, and never
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 53 
 
 shall be able to while I'm on this boat and in these waters; 
 but, as I have aroused your curiosity, it's only common 
 politeness that I should satisfy it." 
 
 "That is fair reasoning," said I, "and, believe me, you 
 have an attentive audience." 
 
 "It was in the fall of 1882," began the pilot, shooting a 
 furtive glance in my direction as often as his onerous duties 
 would permit, "that we were on a voyage from St. Louis to 
 New Orleans. We had touched at Cairo, taking on pas- 
 sengers and freight, and were heading down the stream for 
 Memphis, 230 miles distant. It was a beautiful moonlight 
 night, and Captain Silver, our skipper, and Daniel Blake, 
 the purser, had come up to have a smoke and a chat before 
 turning in, it wanting little less than an hour to midnight. 
 
 "We had not been chatting long before the boy who looks 
 after our quarters, the Texas tender, as we call him, told 
 Daniel Blake that he was wanted down on the boiler deck. 
 Dan at once got up and hoofed it down below. 
 
 "When he hit the lower deck, which is only occupied by 
 those who are unable to buy a passage entitling them to 
 sleeping quarters, and thus have to make shift the best they 
 can, snoozing on a cotton bale or a box of hardware, he 
 found the party who had sent for him was a man by the 
 name of Jack Longley. Jack was a wild sort of character. 
 No one ever saw him work. Still, he always had a com- 
 fortable sized wad, though where Jack dug up the dough 
 he used to tote around nobody knew, and I guess it wouldn't 
 have paid anybody to have started investigating, as Jack had 
 the reputation of being one of the slickest gamblers that 
 ever stacked a deck of cards or drew an extra ace from a 
 convenient sleeve; and, if any galoot didn't like Jack's way 
 of handling the cards, he used to invite him to look into 
 the muzzle of as handsome a six shooter as you ever clapped 
 your headlights on. 
 
 "Something, however, was wrong with Jack Longley this 
 time, for he was not the man that herded with niggers, nor 
 was he ever satisfied to make a bed of a hardware box or 
 a pillow of a keg of nails, as he was doing at the time Dan 
 Blake hove in sight. It was evident Jack Longley had been 
 up against the game and for once in his life had come off 
 second best, for he was sick as a dog and was shaking so 
 with chills and fever that even the smokestack seemed to 
 rattle.
 
 54 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 "The purser sized Jack up and said : 'Hello, pard. What's 
 the matter ?' 
 
 " 'Sicker'n the devil,' jerked back Longley, and Dan didn't 
 need to call in no doctor to prove that Longley wasn't try- 
 ing to put any bluff over on him. 'Been on a week's drunk, 
 am dead broke and nigh crazy with malaria, and I guess I 
 ain't far from having a touch of the D. T.'s. Say, Dan, give 
 us a berth and a drink, and I'll make it right with you 
 later on.' 
 
 "Dan, who was a good-hearted soul, at once got busy, so 
 it seems, and helped the sick man, who was almost too weak 
 to stand, to stateroom 27, just aft the gangway, near the 
 deck staircase, gave him a good stiff drink of whiskey, and 
 left him all snug for the night. 
 
 "When Dan got through playing nurse he returned to his 
 old seat on the right-hand corner of the bench, where you 
 are sitting now, just by the door. 
 
 "As we sat there, all comfortable like, smoking and never 
 dreaming of trouble, little did we think that hell itself was 
 soon going to burst like a dozen fierce cyclones rampaging 
 along on a wild mission of death. Well, a feller never knows 
 just what kind of a layout he is going to stack up against in 
 this old world. Whiskey and cigars one minute and bullets 
 and a pine box the next. That's life, which is only a sort 
 of hold-off name for death, anyhow. Sailing downstream 
 with thirty feet of good black water under your keel, and 
 'fore you can shift your plug from one cheek to the other it's 
 snag and sand bar, a twelve-foot hole punched in the bottom 
 of the boat, and six feet of water in the hold. Fate certainly 
 does play the game mighty queer, and you never know what 
 kind of a deal you are going to get until you've got the 
 cards in your hand. 
 
 "Well, no sooner had Dan Blake's fever-stricken friend 
 been left to himself than he went clean off his base. Got 
 seeing pink-tailed monkeys and all them kind of things from 
 green rats to blue snakes. Say, he got as crazy as a bull 
 that's run his nose into a red flannel factory. The sick man, 
 too weak to stand, with his teeth rattling like dice in a box, 
 in the twinkling of an eye developed into a maniac with the 
 strength of a dozen demons. 
 
 "Jack Longley was a man of medium height, middle age, 
 thickly set, and, judging by the scars which decorated his 
 face, I should guess he hadn't gone around the world without
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 55 
 
 finding plenty of folks to argue with. It appeared to me 
 he'd had a disagreement some time of his life with a razor 
 factory, and the way his face was laid out, like lots on a 
 townsite or squares on a checker board, I reckon the razor 
 factory had the best of the argument. 
 
 "Longley, with hardly a rag on his back, now a raving 
 madman, had got out of his berth and dug a six shooter 
 from a satchel he carried, and then cautiously opened the 
 door of his stateroom without any of the crew seeing him, 
 and crept unnoticed up the narrow gangway on the hurri- 
 cane deck. 
 
 "The Texas tender was coming out of the officers' quar- 
 ters, and was but a few feet from the door when the half- 
 nude figure of Jack Longley came to an anchor right in 
 front of him. No sooner did the madman see the boy than 
 he let go with his gun and sent a bullet right at him. Mighty 
 fortunate for that boy that the chill must have swept over 
 the fever-stricken frame of the fiend behind that gun, or he 
 would have been booked for kingdom come. That was a 
 mighty scared boy, I reckon," said the pilot, "and he did not 
 need any urging to dash for his life into the texas. The 
 fright had shriveled him up so that he didn't have much 
 trouble in finding a place to hide. 
 
 "The crazy man didn't bother to follow the boy, but came 
 creeping and a-creeping right along, squirming like some 
 snake in the tall grass, straight for the pilot house. 
 
 "There we were, happy and comfortable, a-chatting and 
 smoking, and with no more idea than an unhatched chicken 
 that we were standing on the rim of a volcano that was just 
 about to open its jaws and spout death in all directions. You 
 see, we didn't hear the pistol shot, for the wind blew it away 
 from us; that and the vibration of the engines, and the fact 
 that shots are too frequent hereabouts to cause much notice, 
 deprived us of a warning that might have saved more lives 
 than one. 
 
 "Silence, for some reason, had settled on us all, and each 
 of us was busy with his thoughts. It was the calm before 
 the storm, the lull before the battle, but the storm has to 
 break some time, and, without a moment's warning, the door 
 of the pilot house flew open and there in the moonlight stood 
 what once was, though it didn't seem like it then, a human 
 form, topped by the most hideous and terrifying face a 
 human ever looked on. Not a stitch of clothing covered
 
 '56 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 that quivering form, for the maniac had thrown off every 
 rag that he owned. I can see him now, see him standing 
 right in that doorway, see the great, black, protruding, 
 bolting eyes, eyes that were flashing fire, a fire not of this 
 world; great green balls of fire that blazed from their 
 sunken sockets like a flame you'd see under a witch's caul- 
 dron. His nostrils were bunched out at the end as if they 
 would crack and blow up, and his teeth were clenched as if 
 'they had grown together ; but, tight as they were, they didn't 
 drown the hoarse rattle which vibrated in his throat and 
 mingled with the unearthly snorting noise, like a panting 
 bull, which seemed to be trumpeted through his nose, while 
 his long, coarse hair, electrified by some terrible and mys- 
 terious force, almost stuck straight up from his head and 
 crowned as horrible a picture as human eye ever looked on. 
 
 "Our gaze was riveted on this terrible vision but for a mo- 
 ment, the flashing eyes seemed to have hypnotized us, for 
 not one of us moved or spoke or seemed able to break loose 
 from the spell which the sudden and unexpected appearance 
 of the maniac had cast upon us. 
 
 "Before we could make a move the maniac had pushed the 
 barrel of his deadly gun against the back of the purser's 
 head, and Daniel Blake, without a moan, crashed lifeless on 
 the wheelhouse floor. 
 
 "Before I could recover my senses or move a muscle, the 
 gun flashed right in my face, and I felt the bullet ripping its 
 way along the top of my head. The explosion and the shock 
 stunned me, and down I went, all of a heap, but providen- 
 tially, in falling, I grasped at the bell ropes hanging around 
 me, ropes which communicated with the engine room, and as 
 I sank senseless the bells all jangled together. I heard the 
 racket but for a fraction of a second, but thank God I heard 
 them jangle, and that was the sweetest music that ever 
 struck a human ear in this old world, just believe me. 
 
 "Captain Ketner, a huge man more than six feet tall and of 
 herculean strength, was, now that Blake was dead and I 
 unconscious, left alone to deal with this murderous visitor, 
 and he knew he was in for a struggle in which more than 
 his own life was involved. Instantly he jumped, throwing 
 the entire weight of his bulky form on the maniac, grasping 
 Longley's gun, as he threw his entire weight upon him. 
 Bang! went that cursed gun again, blowing away three 
 fingers of the captain's right hand.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 57 
 
 "Almost disabled, alone in the night with a monster pos- 
 sessed of superhuman strength, and the life blood rapidly 
 pouring from his shattered hand, Captain Ketner was having 
 his troubles troubles, thank God ! that men don't meet with 
 every day and silent and courageous man that he was, it 
 ain't no wonder he cried aloud in the agony of the moment: 
 'My hand's gone ! Great God, for pity's sake help a feller 
 out !' 
 
 "Stunned as I was, those words, which seemed miles away, 
 faintly reached my ears and recalled me to life. By one 
 mighty effort I pulled myself together, stumbled to my feet, 
 seized an iron bar that was conveniently near, and smashed 
 it twice with such strength as I had on the madman's head. 
 Then I, too, grappled with him, and we all fell together, 
 struggling and rolling all over the still warm corpse of poor 
 Blake, smothering ourselves in his blood, which dyed the 
 floor. 
 
 "The Captain did what he could, but with one hand use- 
 less and both of us wounded, we were no match for this 
 writhing fiend, who had the strength of a dozen men. 
 
 "Thank God, help was at hand. Tom Green, the engineer, 
 alarmed at the strange jangling of so many bells, knew at 
 once something was wrong; and, stopping his engines, placed 
 his ear to the speaking tube just as the Captain uttered his 
 agonizing appeal to heaven for help. In a few seconds Tom 
 was with us and in the thick of the deadly struggle; but 
 even with his help and the help of others who had now 
 come to our assistance we could not wrest that gun from 
 the maniac's grasp. We threw him in the corner under the 
 wheel, one spoke of which he grasped with a viselike grip. 
 Thank God, help had arrived, for the Captain and I were 
 getting faint from loss of blood, which in the struggle had 
 smothered us until we resembled butchers who had tripped 
 and stumbled on the floor of a reeking slaughterhouse. 
 Still the madman fought like a regiment of fiends, and we 
 had to break every bone in his hand with the iron bar which 
 had already been vainly hammered on his skull before we 
 could get that gun from his grasp. 
 
 "With superhuman strength, screaming like a wildcat and 
 snorting like a maddened bull, he still held on to the wheel, 
 and again we hammered his other hand to pulp before he 
 would let go his hold. With one mighty effort he tried to 
 rise, but the last bullet left in the pistol that had done such
 
 58 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 a sight of mischief crashed into his seething brain, doing its 
 merciful work, and Daniel Blake was avenged. 
 
 ******* 
 
 "I was sick a long time, and Captain Ketner came near 
 losing his hand from blood poisoning and nearly dying into 
 the bargain. We both got around after a long siege, but 
 neither of us has been or ever will be, I guess, quite the 
 same as we were before the doings of that awful night." 
 
 "Well, Pilot," said I, "that's a terrible story, and I almost 
 forgot to breathe when you were telling it, and I don't won- 
 der, after such a night, and right in the identical spot where 
 the tragedy took place, that your mind conjures up the past 
 until the chief actors of the tragedy seem to actually appear 
 before you." 
 
 "My young friend," said the pilot, with impressive earnest- 
 ness, as I arose to go to my stateroom, "whether you believe 
 in ghosts or whether you don't, I want to tell you this much 
 right now and here, if the ghost of Daniel Blake don't haunt 
 this boat, may my hopes of a hereafter be eternally damned."
 
 WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN, OR HOW THE TABLES 
 WERE TURNED 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Gerald Gray was tired of the stage, and, having a chance 
 to settle down in a city within a reasonable distance of New 
 York, he was nothing loath to accept the opportunity. 
 
 Gerald was young, handsome, and in every way a good 
 fellow. 
 
 He was not brilliant, neither was he particularly dull; but 
 any lack of brilliancy was amply atoned for by his good na- 
 ture, which was perennial. 
 
 He was popular with the men and adored by the women, 
 and the actor's art, of which he had been no mean exponent, 
 gave him an added interest in the eyes of the fair sex of the 
 bustling city of Clairsburg. 
 
 No social function was complete without his presence and 
 no entertainment a success unless his name figured on the 
 program. 
 
 It was Gerald's intention to marry for money love and 
 money, if possible, but certainly the latter was to have prece- 
 dence over any claims of the former, no matter how urgent. 
 
 Gerald was not mercenary, but money was necessary to 
 his happiness. 
 
 He had the most strenuous objections to work, even that 
 connected with the artistic and exciting duties of the stage 
 he had found tedious and a bore, and to be confronted with 
 the obligatory performance of tasks unrelieved by a scin- 
 tilla of artistic leavening would have been to him odious 
 and unbearable. Fortunately he had found a position that 
 entailed little effort, and left him a comfortable balance of 
 time and money to devote to whatever pleased his more 
 than ordinarily luxurious fancy. 
 
 Gerald had not long to wait. In Maud Merton he found 
 an ideal combination of beauty and wealth, and he wooed 
 and won her, 
 
 59-
 
 60 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 Maud was the only daughter of a wealthy iron manufac- 
 turer, and had inherited from her mother in her own right 
 the comfortable sum of $250,000. 
 
 Gerald calculated that Maud's inheritance, added to what 
 her father would settle on her, would enable them to worry 
 along comfortably without feeling any very severe twinges 
 of poverty. True, it would not permit of yachts or race 
 horses, but, as he was not enamored of either sport, the 
 deprivation of these luxuries would not be in any sense a 
 calamity. 
 
 Maud Merton had had suitors galore, and she would have 
 had as many had not her beauty been backed in perspective 
 by her fortune. Though but a girl in years, the responsi- 
 bility of her position in her father's house in which she 
 took her mother's place with rare tact and charm lent a 
 womanly seriousness to her nature and actions quite un- 
 usual in one so young; a quality which inspired respect as 
 well as admiration. 
 
 Her features were perfect, her hair a glorious golden 
 brown, and her eyes of a lovely blue-gray contemplated one 
 with an expression of wistful, frank sincerity. Goodness and 
 purity were stamped in her face. Max Nordau would have 
 found no trace of degeneracy, natural or inherited, in her 
 composition. 
 
 If it is the misfortune of some people to be born naturally 
 bad, it was her fortune to be born entirely lovable and good. 
 
 Sincerity and trust were the keynotes of her character, 
 and innocence and sweetness as inherent in her as the per- 
 fume to the violet. Evil and baseness passed her by, for 
 they struck no reechoing chords in her nature. There was 
 nothing prudish about her, however, and she keenly enjoyed 
 every species of gayety that was wholesome, drawing the 
 line irrevocably at the ultra smart or questionable. 
 
 When the girls of her set swept down upon her for tea 
 and small talk, the risque stories and cigarettes that "went" 
 in many drawing-rooms were never tolerated. It was even 
 whispered that one girl, the most dashing in Clairsburg, and 
 now a widow more dashing than ever, aad been peremptorily 
 requested to vacate the Merton residence because she had, 
 under the influence of several cups of strong tea, broken 
 a globe of the chandelier, six inches above her head, with 
 her shapely foot. 
 
 The envy and admiration of the other girls was bound-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 6t 
 
 less, but the triumph of the exuberant damsel was short 
 lived, for Maud promptly showed Miss Minnie Dare to the 
 door, an act which insured her Miss Dare's hostility for 
 life and the unbounded admiration of every matron in the 
 city. 
 
 Miss Minnie's feelings were considerably mollified, how- 
 ever, for this spicy incident caused every eligible man in 
 Clairsburg at once to propose to her. She had been sought 
 after before, but this spice of scandal had given her an 
 added piquancy and attraction, and there was at once a 
 lively competition to secure a life-long mortgage on the 
 lovely girl. 
 
 Minnie was finally carried off by a local "blood," who 
 most considerately left her a widow six months after he 
 had preempted her terpsichorean performances for his own 
 special and private delectation. 
 
 Maud Merton loved Gerald Gray, and he, in turn, loved 
 her a great deal more than he ever imagined he was capable 
 of doing. But Gerald's heart was expansive, and, though 
 he gave all the real affection he was capable of to Maud, 
 still he was not indifferent to the eyes that were cast on 
 him from other directions, and that eyes were cast on him 
 even his innocent fiancee could not help but notice. 
 
 Probably no eyes looked at him with quite the same 
 amount of interest and admiration as did those of the dash- 
 ing and widowed Minnie, who in her heart was still nourish- 
 ing her grudge against Maud, though her widowhood and 
 afflictions ( ?) had in a measure bridged the gulf and made 
 them to all intents and purposes friends once more. 
 
 Minnie had vainly longed for some way in which she 
 could have her revenge upon Maud, but the opportunity had 
 never presented itself, but now in Gerald she thought she 
 saw the chance for which she had long waited. 
 
 To capture Gerald, with whom she was already wildly 
 enraptured, would indeed be a revenge complete, satisfactory 
 and altogether glorious and delightful. True, she had not 
 the money, and neither had she the perfect beauty of her 
 rival, but she was the mistress of a thousand fascinating 
 wiles of which the innocent girl knew nothing, and men in 
 her hands were the veriest toys, to be manipulated by her 
 deft, dainty fingers at will. 
 
 If Maud was the lily, she was the full-blown rose, and 
 only the connoisseur would have preferred the matchless per-
 
 62 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 faction of the former to the intoxicating loveliness of the 
 latter. 
 
 Her form would have made a sculptor discard his tools in 
 despair. It was voluptuous to a degree, and she knew how 
 to display it to the greatest advantage. Her figure had been 
 described by an admirer "as the envy and despair of every 
 other woman." Her dark brown hair had a delightful wave 
 in its ample tresses, her soft cheeks were rosy with nature's 
 own coloring, and in her large dark eyes a golden sunbeam 
 seemed ever to live, while the pretty pout to her full red lip<| 
 seemed to challenge kisses. 
 
 She was the very antithesis to Maud, each a type of beauty, 
 and an ideal of loveliness peculiar to that particular type. 
 
 Minnie was ever laughing and full of mischief. Widow- 
 hood to her had been but a transient period of grief ( ?) 
 which was entirely overshadowed by the knowledge that her 
 mourning attire suited her stunningly, while the additional 
 freedom her new position gave her was to her keenly de- 
 lightful. 
 
 Altogether she could be labeled as distinctly dangerous, 
 as bewitching and fascinating a mortal as ever dazzled hu- 
 man eye, and it speaks volumes for the beauty of Maud 
 Merton that she was able to hold her lover under the fierce 
 assaults that were made upon him by the wiles of the irre- 
 sistible young widow. 
 
 Whatever Gerald may have felt disposed to do, one thing 
 he knew thoroughly well, and that was that Maud Merton 
 was not to be trifled with, and that the first sign of incon- 
 stancy and duplicity on his part would inevitably lead to his 
 dismissal, and though he might have contemplated her loss 
 with equanimity (which, to do him justice, he could not) he 
 certainly did not intend to lose the quarter of a million of 
 cold cash which loomed enchantingly behind the spirituelle 
 beauty of the fair Maud. 
 
 There were times when he found his courtship a little 
 tedious and Maud's kisses a little too chaste and prim. 
 
 Her response to his love making did not lack warmth, but 
 her nature was not of the volcanic order, and seemed cold 
 to Gerald, already satiated with the attentions and pettings 
 of the fair sex. 
 
 Maud did not hesitate to express her dislike for the odor 
 of cigar smoke and cocktails, still all her prudery was infi- 
 nitely preferable to the affections of the ungrammatical sou-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 63 
 
 brettes whom he had hitherto fallen back upon for sympathy 
 and consolation. 
 
 In fact, it was the immense contrast Maud Merton afforded 
 to the associates of his former years and career that had 
 been her greatest attraction in his eyes, had awakened all 
 that was best in his nature, and made him. a better man than 
 he ever imagined he was capable of being. 
 
 Try as Minnie would, she could not induce Gerald to 
 accept her invitations to call. Consequently their meetings 
 were only on social occasions, when nothing but the most' 
 matter-of-fact and desultory conversation was possible. The 
 fair widow, however, was not discouraged. She knew that 
 all she needed to bring her plans to a triumphant and suc- 
 cessful climax was the proper opportunity, and, if the proper 
 opportunity did not present itself ready made, she intended 
 to make it. At last a brilliant idea struck her. Maud Mer- 
 ton was deeply interested in the local hospital, which was 
 badly in need of funds. She would give an entertainment 
 and raise money for it. 
 
 She was easily the best amateur actress in the city, and 
 she would select some piece in which she and Gerald would 
 have some strong and stirring love scenes. She felt sure 
 the rehearsals would give her the requisite time and oppor- 
 tunity to fascinate Gerald, and, if not to effect his conquest 
 and alienation from his betrothed, at least she would make 
 his allegiance to her tremble in the balance and her rival 
 exceedingly uncomfortable. 
 
 Maud intuitively saw the motive that prompted this char- 
 ity performance, but she could not object to Gerald taking 
 part in it without appearing small and churlish. 
 
 The rehearsals began, and as they progressed Maud learned 
 many little things that did not add to her happiness or 
 strengthen her confidence in her lover. She did not attend 
 'the rehearsals, neither did she confront her lover with the 
 rumors that reached her. 
 
 Personally she found no change in him, though she felt 
 these rehearsals monopolized more of his time than she 
 found agreeable to sacrifice. She did not question her lover 
 or give the slightest evidence of jealousy, for to question 
 him would be tantamount to giving him his conge, and, now 
 that the first signs of the green-eyed monster seared her 
 heart, she found all her resolutions totter. She was but a 
 poor, weak woman after all, and could no more give up
 
 64 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 Gerald than her life. She saw the weak spots in his char- 
 acter, but she was now not only willing to be merciful in 
 judging him, but to alter her demeanor toward him, so that 
 the widow's society should not gain any charm by contrast. 
 
 So Maud Merton, seeing her rival's plan of attack, con- 
 ceived a counter stroke. It was woman's wit against 
 woman's wit, and she did not fear the result. As she con- 
 templated her plan she smiled confidently. She would fight 
 Minnie Dare with her own weapons, and best her at her 
 i own game. 
 
 ******* 
 
 It was two weeks from the night of the performance 
 when Maud Merton left for New York on urgent affairs of 
 her own, and in twenty-four hours she returned, smiling and 
 happy. 
 
 The next day a very distinguished, clean-shaven, gentle- 
 manly man of about thirty appeared in Clairsburg. He was 
 evidently an actor, but the actor's hallmark had not stamped 
 him with any of the objectionable features frequently no- 
 ticeable in the poorer members of his profession. With him 
 came his wife, a pretty and refined-looking young lady, con- 
 siderably his junior. 
 
 The local papers next day announced that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Alexander, of New York, would open a studio in the Phoenix 
 Block on Greene Avenue, and give lessons in elocution, the 
 art of acting, stage deportment, fencing, dancing, etc., and 
 had also most kindly consented to play a scene from "As 
 You Like It" at the forthcoming entertainment for the bene- 
 fit of the local hospital, Mr. Alexander appearing as Orlando 
 and Mrs. Alexander in her famous portrayal of Rosalind. 
 
 The advent of the Alexanders in Clairsburg caused quite 
 a little flutter, and when the sale of seats commenced but a* 
 few hours sufficed in which to dispose of them, in fact the, 
 house was soon entirely sold out. 
 
 In the days previous to the performance Maud Merton 
 was as blithe and merry as a bird. This change was not 
 lost on Gerald, and he was as much mystified as he was 
 pleased. 
 
 One evening, when he called at the Merton mansion, he 
 noticed a suspiciously strong smell of cigarette smoke and 
 wondered exceedingly. 
 
 He had found the society of the widow thoroughly con-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 65 
 
 genial and enjoyable. He would not acknowledge that she 
 was as charming as Maud, but the charms she possessed 
 were more dangerous to a man of his character and temper- 
 ament than the more chaste and ideal personality of his 
 fiancee. Unconsciously he found himself looking forward to 
 these rehearsals with a great deal of interest as each suc- 
 ceeding night passed. In fact, the daily meeting with Maud 
 was getting to be a matter of quite subsidiary interest. 
 
 In the piece they were to play was one ardent love scene 
 in which considerable embracing was necessary. The latter 
 function had been religiously rehearsed. 
 
 The kissing had been omitted, for Gerald knew that the 
 kissing of Minnie Dare other than at the performance it- 
 self, and then only in the most perfunctory manner, would 
 be at once the means of bringing matters to a climax, and 
 then a long farewell to all his prospects of getting that 
 quarter of a million. Still, it had taken considerable heroism 
 on his part to resist those lovely lips which were proffered 
 to him nightly, and to feel the palpitating, voluptuous form 
 of the superb creature lingering in his embrace. Her lan- 
 guishing eyes looking unutterable things into his were 
 enough to tempt a St. Anthony, and Gerald was well, not 
 exactly saintly. 
 
 Madame Minnie, with all a woman's perspicacity, knew the 
 sort of contest that was raging in Gerald's inner self, and 
 she felt she knew how much longer it would take before he 
 capitulated. 
 
 Personally she was prepared to go any length, depth or 
 extreme to obtain her object. 
 
 What she had commenced in a spirit of revenge was now 
 necessary of accomplishment from entirely different motives, 
 and was linked with the preservation of her own happiness, 
 for she loved this man with all the intensity of her pas- 
 sionate nature. 
 
 So far she had accomplished nothing definite, but she had 
 paved the way for a more direct assault, and she had no 
 misgivings about the outcome. 
 
 At last the night of the performance arrived and, as Ger- 
 ald had much to do and much to manage, Maud had excused 
 him from escorting her to the pretty little theatre, the pride 
 of Clairsburg. 
 
 She had engaged a box, and would reserve a seat for him,
 
 66 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 going herself with some girl friends, an arrangement which 
 suited Gerald most admirably. 
 
 During the day Gerald had received a dainty little missive 
 from Madame Minnie which ran as follows: 
 
 "Dear Mr. Gray: Could you be at the theatre at 6:30, or 
 say soon after six o'clock this evening? I want you, if you 
 don't mind, to be so good as to instruct me in the mysteries 
 of make-up, an art which I know you understand. I feel I 
 shall need considerable making-up to effect a presentable 
 appearance, and perhaps you would not mind touching up 
 my face for me. I appointed an early hour, as I know there 
 will be much confusion later, and I am anxious to avoid 
 anything that will increase the nervousness I already feel. 
 I am so anxious for the success of our scenes that perhaps 
 we may find time to run through them also if you are not 
 too busy. 
 
 "Very sincerely yours, 
 
 "MINNIE CUNARDE." 
 
 Gerald, of course, replied that he would be delighted to 
 meet his artistic copartner at the time agreed, though even 
 his moral obtuseness did not blind him to the fact that he 
 was running considerable risk in so doing. Still, the re- 
 quest was a perfectly rational and reasonable one, innocent 
 enough in itself and one he could hardly refuse. 
 
 He knew that he was scarcely loyal to his fiancee, but 
 there she was innocent and unsuspecting, he thought, and 
 would never know. What did it matter? 
 
 Gerald could not say "no" to a woman, and he was already 
 infatuated with this one. 
 
 He dined early and at six o'clock was putting the finishing 
 touches on his make-up in his dressing room at the theater 
 and waiting the fair Minnie's arrival with an amount of 
 pleasurable excitement that he did not try to suppress. 
 
 At 6:15 there was a rustling of silk in the hallway which 
 made the lethargic organ Gerald called his heart accelerate 
 its movements most perceptibly. 
 
 There was a knock at his door, a cheery "Come in," and 
 the charming widow appeared on the threshold.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 67 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 "Goon evening, Mr. Gray. How lovely of you to come so 
 early. Now I want you to make up this face of mine 'a la 
 professional.' I know if you don't I shall look a perfect 
 fright, while you look simply grand," a remark which Gerald 
 had heard from many a dainty matinee girl in days gone by, 
 but which now came from Minnie's lips with all the refresh- 
 ing air of absolute novelty. * 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Cunarde," said Gerald, "my face needs all 
 my art to make it presentable, but it is profanation to soil 
 those superb cheeks and lashes of yours with nasty pigments. 
 You insist well, I will do as you say, and make you up 
 like a real live actress." 
 
 "Oh, that is what I want," replied Minnie, brimming over 
 with satisfaction, "but had I not better remove some of my 
 wraps ?" 
 
 "Yes, it is quite a ticklish job, and you want to dispense 
 with as much of your attire as possible, and put something 
 around your shoulders, as the rouge and powder soil every- 
 thing. Don't be long; we shall not have much time to our- 
 selves." 
 
 Minnie needed no further instructions, and in a few min- 
 utes reappeared at Gerald's door. 
 
 She had discarded her waist, replacing it by a little silken 
 shawl, which was thrown loosely on her shoulders. 
 
 Gerald seated her before a large mirror, on either side of 
 which a gas jet flared brightly, and, drawing up a chair be- 
 side her, he rolled up his sleeves. 
 
 She put her face forward, puckering her lips into a little 
 rosebud, and as she closed her eyes the shawl fell from her 
 shoulders. 
 
 While he gently smoothed her fair face with cold cream 
 his hands lingered caressingly on her throat, and his eyes 
 drank in the beauties of her exquisite neck and shoulders. 
 
 As for Minnie, she was in a transport of bliss. She knew 
 she was desperately in love with this man who was engaged 
 and shortly to be married to another, and the double delight 
 of mingled passion and revenge nearly suffocated her. 
 
 After to-night their meetings must end, unless 
 
 Although there would be no more excuse for rehearsals, 
 she did not intend that they should end. The delightful little
 
 68 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 tete-a-tetes, the embraces, had become almost necessary for 
 her existence, and should not be, if she could help it, mock- 
 ing memories, while another reveled in the pleasures and 
 delights she felt must belong to her. 
 
 She knew there was only one way to win Gerald from the 
 girl he loved the arts of the siren, the display of physical 
 beauty, the appeal to his senses. She was willing to do any- 
 thing in the world now to hold him and to bring about a 
 rupture of his engagement with Maud Merton. 
 
 But some one else had reasoned just as Minnie was doing 
 now, and the cards she was playing were to be followed and 
 covered by stronger cards of a similar suit and perhaps 
 trumped. 
 
 Gerald, manlike, was viewing the matter in a different 
 light. 
 
 Personally he felt quite capable of loving both the fair 
 and chaste Miss Merton and also the voluptuous and beau- 
 tiful Mrs. Cunarde. 
 
 A blonde, you know, has charms that are lacking in a 
 brunette, and vice versa, and it seemed hard to have to dis- 
 pense with one or the other when one loved them both. 
 Really, the ways of life were quite inscrutable to Gerald, so 
 all he could do was to drift with the tide, he thought, and 
 look out for rocks. 
 
 "Now, the next thing, Mrs. Cunarde, is " 
 
 "Don't call me Mrs. Cunarde. Call me Zoe, my name in 
 the play, and I'll call you Jack." 
 
 The making-up was progressing slowly. 
 
 "Will that do, Jack ?" The drooping lids were half raised. 
 
 "Yes, Zoe. Please call me Jack. And now Jack is going 
 to powder your face and neck, and, as a great deal depends 
 on the powder being distributed properly, Zoe must lean 
 her head on Jack's shoulder." 
 
 She willingly obeyed his suggestion. His arm encircled 
 her neck and his left hand lay caressingly on her shoulder 
 as he deftly distributed the powder with the other hand. 
 
 "How would you like me for your maid, Zoe?" said Ger- 
 ald, as with a delicate hare's foot he applied the rouge to 
 cheeks whose beauteous coloring the powder had obscured. 
 
 "You would make a delightful maid, Jack, but I fear you 
 would be a long time with my toilet," and her eyes looked 
 straight into his. 
 
 "Wouldn't you want me to take lots of time, Zoe ?"
 
 ''Uncle Charlie's Story Book 69 
 
 "Yes, an eternity, and after that another eternity, but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "How about Miss Merton? Could she dispense with you 
 for so long a time ?" 
 
 She watched closely the effect her rival's name would 
 have on the face now looking unutterable things into hers. 
 
 "Oh, never mind Maud now," Gerald said petulantly, 
 throwing down the hare's foot and encircling her waist with 
 the disengaged arm, while his eyes drank in the charms 
 which he knew were his for the asking. 
 
 Minnie, intoxicated with the joy of the moment, gave a 
 sigh of complete happiness. 
 
 Gerald drew her rapturously toward him, and whispering 
 passionately "Darling!" kissed her again and again on the 
 lips. 
 
 There was a decided contrast in that kiss, which set his 
 very soul aflame, to the chaste kisses of Miss Merton, and 
 the contrast was not lost on Gerald. 
 
 "Jack, dear," said Minnie, as she caressed his short, crisp 
 curly hair, "when the performance is over to-night will you 
 take Miss Merton home then will you come to me? We 
 shall be entirely alone and " 
 
 "And what?" reechoed Gerald, with a laugh. 
 
 "Oh, we'll have a cozy supper together, darling," said 
 Minnie, "and " 
 
 A noise in the hallway made them start guiltily, and the 
 making-up was assiduously resumed till nothing more could 
 be done. Then the scenes were rehearsed with an ardor 
 that thrilled them beyond words, and as the face was rouged 
 for the performance, and could no longer be touched, he 
 kissed her white neck and arms till the clock warned them 
 they must part, and with the words "To-night, darling!" on 
 her lips, which he at once repeated, she stepped into the 
 hallway. 
 
 As they stood at the door and the word "darling" fell 
 from his lips, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander and another lady, 
 closely veiled, whom they did not recognize, passed by them 
 to their rooms. Had Gerald known that the veiled and 
 cloaked figure was none other than his betrothed he would 
 not probably have whistled as joyously as he did. 
 
 The performance was now at its height. Mrs. Cunarde 
 and Gerald had been very successful, and Gerald had led 
 the blushing and happy Minnie before the curtain, while the
 
 70 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 elite of Clairsburg hailed them with applause and showered 
 them with flowers. As they passed to their rooms they 
 found time for a hasty kiss behind the scenes. 
 
 Gerald was not entirely happy. He was sufficiently infatu- 
 ated with Minnie to almost risk a rupture with his fiancee, 
 still, if he could conduct an affair with one and retain the 
 love of the other he meant to do it. A contemptible hero, 
 perhaps but then, heroes are impossible folk at the best of 
 times, and, well what would the majority of men have done 
 in his position? 
 
 Gerald was puzzled about Maud. Her friends were in her 
 box, but her seat was vacant, and no message came from her. 
 Something was in the air, he felt, but what? A feeling of 
 apprehension and uncertainty took possession of him and 
 made him exceedingly uncomfortable. 
 
 He was already in evening dress, so hastily removing the 
 make-up from his face, in a few minutes after the fall of 
 the curtain he was occupying the seat Maud had reserved 
 for him in her box. Mrs. Cunarde, in an opposite box, was 
 receiving the congratulations of her friends, with her eyes 
 fixed on Gerald and wondering also at the absence of Maud 
 Merton. 
 
 The entr'acte music ceased and the house was silent, as the 
 treat of the evening was about to come the newcomers, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Alexander in a scene from "As You Like It." 
 
 A few dreamy bars of music and the curtain rolled up to 
 disclose the Forest of Arden. 
 
 The "set" was a beautiful one and quite new to Clairsburg. 
 
 Mr. Alexander as Orlando was carving the name of his 
 beloved Rosalind on the forest tree. 
 
 A splendid figure he made, so much so that Mr. Gerald 
 Gray was quite forgotten, and he noticed with a jealous 
 feeling that even Minnie Cunarde's eyes, which had scarcely 
 been diverted from his direction for two consecutive seconds, 
 were now thoroughly absorbed in watching the graceful 
 figure and listening to the superb elocution of the Orlando 
 of Mr. Alexander. Then came the signal for Rosalind's ap- 
 pearance, and all Clairsburg was anxious to see the actress 
 .dio had come to live among them. 
 
 They had not long to wait. There was a ripple of laugh- 
 ter, a rustling of dry leaves as dainty feet brushed them 
 aside, and Rosalind in all her beauty stood revealed. 
 
 For a moment there was dead silence. Who was this
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 71 
 
 beautiful creature this Rosalind? It was not Mrs. Alex- 
 ander, but Maud Merton ! Any doubt on that point was 
 set aside when she began to repeat the lines of Shakespeare 
 so beautifully and with such charm and naivete that the 
 whole audience was spellbound. But there were other charms 
 besides the acting, and Clairsburg was mute with astonish- 
 ment at seeing the modest, retiring and ultra correct Miss 
 Merton in the full tights of the professional Rosalind cos- 
 tume. Even the conventional high boots were discarded, and 
 certainly more beautiful limbs never graced the classic cos- 
 tume. She wore her own abundant hair and only sufficient 
 coloring to counteract the glare of the footlights. Her natty 
 little cap sat jauntily on her dainty little head. Her white 
 ballet shirt, with its deep collar, was wide open, showing 
 the exquisite curve of her fair white neck. The little doublet 
 and jerkin fitted snugly to her figure. Surely a daintier and 
 prettier Rosalind never stepped on a stage. 
 
 Her movements were the perfection of grace, and so well 
 chosen that criticism was disarmed. Vivacious, but at the 
 same time perfectly modest, she charmed the audience, and 
 even the most proper old maid was forced to applaud. 
 
 The delightful scene was soon over, and the curtain was 
 raised again and again. Even then Clairsburg was not satis- 
 fied until Orlando had led his lovely Rosalind before the 
 curtain. 
 
 In crossing the stage Maud passed within a few feet of 
 Gerald, who was so dumfounded that he had lost the power 
 of speech and action. His condition of collapse had not been 
 lost on Minnie Cunarde, who was herself experiencing that 
 mental agitation which has been aptly called "a state of 
 mind." 
 
 While Gerald was mentally groping for light and trying to 
 evolve a course of action a note was placed in his hands. 
 
 He recognized Maud's writing and excitedly tore it open. 
 It ran briefly: 
 
 "Dear Gerald : Don't forget to wait for me. 
 
 "MAUD." 
 
 He had expected it to say: "Please do not trouble your- 
 self to wait for me," and his guilty mind realized that such 
 ought to have been its contents, and the fact that it was 
 otherwise filled him with intense relief. The events of the 
 evening had all been so swift and momentous that Gerald's
 
 72 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 brain not a very brilliant one at reasoning was fairly 
 staggered. Had he been aware that Maud's performance had 
 all been undertaken for his benefit and to confound her rival, 
 he would doubtless have felt very much easier and happier 
 in his mind, but it did not appear to him in that light. 
 
 To do him justice, he had not sufficient egotism or conceit 
 to imagine that the quiet Maud Merton would make such a 
 personal exposure of her beauty as to publicly exhibit her- 
 self in tights for the sole purpose of competing for his love 
 with similar weapons to those used by her more daring and 
 unscrupulous rival. 
 
 Minnie Cunarde, with a woman's perception, more worldly 
 wise and experienced, realized it all at once and felt, with a 
 wretched sinking of the heart, that she had been beaten at 
 her own game. 
 
 Still, she felt that Gerald would keep his appointment, and 
 if he did well, she would see. 
 
 "Hello; Gerald ! Are you tired of waiting? Give me your 
 arm." 
 
 It was Maud who spoke, her face flushed with excitement 
 and happiness. 
 
 "No, dearest, I'm not tired. I'm only oh, well lost for 
 words," replied Gerald, visibly embarrassed. 
 
 "Did you really think my Rosalind a fair performance?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Yes, ideal and bewitching. But, Maud, I never had the 
 least idea you could act. You have always seemed rather 
 averse to the stage," said Gerald, still groping in the dark, 
 and hardly knowing what to say or how to say it. 
 
 "Well, I am averse to most stage performances, but this 
 was a charitable performance in more ways than one, and 
 I will always sacrifice myself in the cause of charity. And 
 then, Mr. Alexander is such a splendid actor, and it was 
 such a treat to rehearse the love scenes with him. He 
 makes love so divinely, really, I never experienced anything 
 like it before. His kisses are divine, intoxicating, glorious. 
 Your efforts in that direction have been quite dull and com- 
 monplace compared to Mr. Alexander's," she added, her eyes 
 sparkling mischievously in the moonlight. 
 
 "Why didn't you invite me to your rehearsals, Maud 
 dear?" 
 
 "For the same reason you did not invite me to yours with 
 the widow."
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 73 
 
 Gerald was not feeling very comfortable. All his life his 
 conquest of the fair sex had been easy and complete, never 
 before had he felt the least pang of jealousy. 
 
 He was now interviewing the green-eyed monster for the 
 first time, and he found the interview extremely painful. 
 
 A little jealousy is an excellent corrective for an over- 
 confident lover. 
 
 When they had reached the elegant and luxurious home 
 over which Maud presided, and he had helped her to remove 
 her wraps, she excused herself for a few minutes, while 
 Gerald paced up and down, trying to do what he admitted 
 was the least of his accomplishments thinking. 
 
 In a little while Maud returned attired in a little Japanese 
 kimono of black and gold, and in which she looked so lovely 
 Gerald was fairly entranced. He rushed to embrace her, 
 but she waved him away. 
 
 She threw herself on a lounge, and before he had gath- 
 ered his startled senses she drew out a dainty silver case 
 and, taking a cigarette, struck a match on the heel of her 
 tiny slipper and puffed away with the nonchalance of an 
 old smoker. 
 
 "So you liked my Rosalind, and how did I look from the 
 front? Did I wear those ah (puff) tights properly, and 
 did they look properly filled, as it were (puff) ?" pursing 
 up her lips as she blew tiny rings of fragrant Egyptian to- 
 bacco smoke ceilingward. 
 
 "You looked divine, darling. Beautiful I knew you were, 
 but, really, such a revelation of beauty I never suspected," 
 said Gerald, half in a dream. 
 
 "Oh, there are so many things you dear, stupid, innocent 
 men never suspect, so your confession has not the charm of 
 novelty," and one little bare foot slipped from the lounge 
 and swung to and fro coquettishly. 
 
 "You don't even suspect, dense creature, that I am thirsty, 
 but I am ! Go to the sideboard ; you will find some cham- 
 pagne. I find it quite indispensable now I've begun to act, 
 and I feel awfully grateful to darling Cecil I mean Mr. 
 Alexander for introducing me to the divine beverage." This 
 Maud said with a serious face, though hardly able to re- 
 strain her laughter. 
 
 Gerald could not reply. His tongue had quite forgotten 
 how to act.
 
 74 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 He sheepishly obeyed, and brought her a glass, which she 
 sipped as he stood by her side. 
 
 "Help yourself, Gerald, if you are sure it won't go to your 
 head," she said imperiously, and without the ghost of a 
 smile, emptying her own glass into a near-by jardiniere. 
 
 He returned to the sideboard and filled his glass. 
 
 As he put it to his lips she stopped him laughingly. 
 
 "Well, I think you are awfully rude to drink without 
 toasting me, and to leave me with an empty glass is simply 
 unpardonable." 
 
 Gerald filled her glass with fear and trembling. What 
 could she mean she who had never touched wine in her 
 life? 
 
 They toasted each other and touched glasses. Gerald 
 drained his, and Maud, after taking a sip, put hers aside. 
 
 "Now, Master Gerald, I think I will let you kiss me. 
 Come and kneel down by my side, and remember I want a 
 real kiss, nothing cold and sisterly, but something like Mr. 
 Alexander gave me. 
 
 Gerald threw himself on his knees by her side and, putting 
 his arm under her head, drew her toward him, and their lips 
 met in a kiss that promised never to end. 
 
 Gerald was delirious with delight; he realized what he 
 had nearly lost by his own folly. The pure gold he had been 
 willing to throw away for the dross. For dross indeed were 
 all women compared with the peerless creature in his arms. 
 
 Maud also was perfectly happy. She had been forced to 
 play the hateful part she had to preserve her own happi- 
 ness and to save a man who, though unworthy of her, was 
 the only man in the world she loved. 
 
 The long embrace was broken by a tiny thud on the carpet. 
 The little slipper had fallen from her foot to the floor. 
 
 "Gerald, dear, put my slipper on again," she said, pushing 
 out her little dainty foot. 
 
 Gerald, on his knees before her, took the little foot in his 
 hand and kissed it rapturously. 
 
 A woman's stratagem had won. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Mrs. Cunarde, by the latest account, was still waiting for 
 Gerald Gray to keep his appointment, and by still later ac- 
 count she is likely to wait a very long time certainly until 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Gray (nee Maud Merton) return from 
 a year's honeymoon abroad.
 
 LILY, OR HELP WANTED! 
 
 I SHALL remember Lily if I live to be a million years old, 
 for nothing could ever efface the recollections that cling and 
 cluster tenderly about that name, symbolic of purity, neat- 
 ness, cleanliness, chastity and all the known virtues. 
 
 I do not know who was responsible for naming her Lily, 
 but I do know that whoever was guilty of this unseemly act 
 has a great deal to answer for, for there was nothing, posi- 
 tively nothing suggestive of flowers about this particular 
 Lily, and least of all a flower of such exquisite grace, beauty 
 and purity as the one whose name she bore. 
 
 There is nothing very romantic about the way I plucked 
 this particular Lily from the industrial garden of wage- 
 seeking humanity. I needed help and drafted an advertise- 
 ment that read somewhat as follows : 
 
 "Wanted A refined, ladylike girl, not over twenty-eight 
 years of age, to do light housework and plain cooking in 
 small apartment. Only two adults in family. No laundry; 
 daily liberty. Treated as one of the family. Apply, stating 
 salary required." 
 
 Before inserting the above "ad" in one of the big dailies 
 I had called up an employment agency, and the woman who 
 owned the place assured me that she had the very girl I 
 wanted. Was she ladylike and refined ? Oh, positively ! 
 i Came from a very old New York family, old Manhattan 
 Dutch stock that had come down in the world. Mrs. Bel- 
 mont and Mrs. Astor had nothing on Lily in the way of 
 refinement. Could she cook ? Cook ! Oh, say, that was the 
 one thing in which she excelled. The chefs at the Plaza, 
 Martin's, St. Regis, Shanley's, Rector's, etc., all ten-thousand- 
 dollar-a-year experts, came to her to get pointers for special 
 dishes with which to tickle the jaded palates of their over- 
 fed and satiated guests. Was she honest? Honest! If she 
 found a dollar bill floating around ownerless, on the side- 
 
 75
 
 76 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 walks of the city, she would spend weeks tramping from the 
 Battery to Yonkers, in a determined effort to find the owner. 
 
 Evidently Lily was a paragon of all the virtues and just 
 what I wanted. However, I determined to see first what} 
 my "ad" brought forth before engaging her. 
 
 The advertisement produced a deluge of letters. There 
 were scores of them. About one-third of them showed illit- 
 eracy. I made every allowance for foreigners ignorant of 
 our language and for those who had but little opportunity of 
 acquiring an education, but still the illiteracy was too much 
 in evidence, considering the money spent on our public 
 school system. I noticed one marked and striking peculiar- 
 ity the more illiterate, or the more useless and incompetent 
 the writer, the higher the wages demanded. Bluff as a sub- 
 stitute for efficiency never gets by, and never will. 
 
 Another third of the letters came from people of refine- 
 ment, breeding and education. All were written on expen- 
 sive stationery, heraldic embellishments cropping up fre- 
 quently. Nearly all were from people who had seen better 
 days, and who did not care to enter an office, as they would be 
 thrown into too close contact with men lacking the refine- 
 ment and culture to which they had been accustomed. Then, 
 too, very terrible things appear in the newspapers as to the 
 risk young girls run who apply in person for positions in 
 office buildings and lofts, where perhaps only one man is in 
 charge, and he snaps the key of the door behind the girl 
 applicant who seeks work. 
 
 Some of these letters were quite brief, some quite volu- 
 minous, but no matter whether short or long, the writers in 
 nine cases out of ten would not, though specially requested, 
 supply any information that would give one an idea of their 
 capabilities; and the cooking question was entirely shelved, 
 as was also the matter of wages. The very things one 
 wanted to know were nearly always passed by without no- 
 tice. Very unbusinesslike, and vividly explaining why so 
 many who seek positions never receive answers from those 
 to whom they apply for work. 
 
 When the salary was mentioned at all it was preposter- 
 ously high, ranging from $25.00 up to $60.00 a month. There 
 were several who wrote in a patronizing and sometimes al- 
 most imperious tone. These letters came from cultured 
 women who had held positions as companions, secretaries, 
 governesses and housekeepers in the families of the suddenly
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 77 
 
 rich. Here is a letter written by one of these ladies and 
 typical of the rest : 
 
 "Dear Madam: With reference to your 'ad' which ap- 
 peared in paper, I beg to state that I have been em- 
 ployed by a number of the wealthiest and most prominent 
 families in the United States. (Here followed a list of all 
 the ancient and 'recently arrived' gold bugs of the U. S.) I 
 shall be glad to superintend the servants and order material 
 for the children's dresses. Salary, $100.00 a month. 
 "Respectfully yours, 
 
 "MAY PRESTON MARTINE." 
 
 I had to decline the service of this and other aristocratic 
 employees of the favored rich, for good and sufficient rea- 
 sons, some of which will be apparent to the reader. First 
 and most important, I have no children needing attention, 
 and certainly none that require an expert to select the ma- 
 terial for their clothing; and I never would employ a woman 
 of American birth who would refer to domestic help as 
 servants, having extensive knowledge of how that word is 
 arrogantly and reproachfully applied to the humble "maid 
 of all work," the "slavey" of Europe. No, we had no "ser- 
 vants" to superintend, no children that needed experts to 
 select their clothing, and, above all, not being in the billion- 
 aire class, we had positively no idea of paying anyone a 
 hundred dollars a month for services which, though pos- 
 sibly invaluable to the rich, would be valueless to us. 
 
 Some of the letters (and I quote from all exactly as they 
 were written) were even more preposterous than this. From 
 these letters I gathered that the millionaire class of the 
 United States is guilty of keeping from useful labor thou- 
 sands of people who would be far better employed in doing 
 something of value to society. 
 
 I selected a number of the letters that impressed me most 
 favorably and made arrangements with the writers to call. 
 I especially impressed on all of these if they were over 
 thirty years of age the journey would be fruitless. My rea- 
 sons for wanting youth can be easily explained. A young 
 girl is usually anxious to learn and will take advice and in- 
 struction gracefully and gratefully, and endeavor to fit into 
 the scheme of things. So many young girls who come 
 straight from the country get discouraged with the treat-
 
 78 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 ment they receive as houseworkers, store clerks, factory 
 help, etc., and gradually drift to perdition. Housework 
 means imprisonment, store and factory work starvation; for 
 not only are wages low, but girls who average eight months 
 of work a year, in the majority of industries, are lucky. 
 Then, too, we always make it a point to teach anyone who 
 has ambition typewriting and stenography, and so fit them 
 for the business world. One can also approach youth if one 
 wants any little pressing matters executed quickly and at a 
 late hour; such as the mailing of an urgent letter, a hurried 
 trip to the drug store, the endurance of the slight incon- 
 veniences which often attend the preparation of meals for 
 unexpected friends. Youth, as a rule, shoulders these little 
 extra duties without a thought or a murmur, while a person 
 of middle age on such occasions often becomes dignified, 
 looks peeved and sulks. 
 
 My search for an assistant for Maria has at times de- 
 veloped many things that were humorous and some that 
 were quite otherwise. The very first person to put in an 
 appearance at the street door, whenever I have asked appli- 
 cants to apply in person, has invariably been a colored lady, 
 who has induced a friend of some education to write a 
 letter for her and by this means has secured a doorstep 
 interview. When the colored lady presents herself she opens 
 the conversation thus: "I see you advertised for a lady to 
 be a daughter of the family, and I cert'nly would like to be 
 a daughter of the family." Of course it is necessary to tell 
 her you would be highly honored to have her for a life- 
 long relative, but unfortunately you have so many relations 
 you've already had to drown three. You also mention that 
 the position is filled. 
 
 The dusky lady informs you that she has come all the 
 way from Yonkers (Yonkers in this case being situated 
 somewhere on the west side of 34th Street, New York) and 
 the carfare will be ninety cents. This amount you cheer- 
 fully give up, so you may keep your family strictly Caucasian. 
 I have not the least objection to a colored lady wanting 
 to be a member of my or any other family, as it shows a 
 worthy ambition on her part to want to get out of the ordi- 
 nary rut of kitchen and attic, but I do object when the 
 colored lady, who lives only ten minutes' walk from my 
 home, says she has come all the way from Chicago, and 
 wants to charge me $25.00 carfare. I think a colored lady
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 79 
 
 who wants to be a member of the family ought to be a little 
 more considerate than that. And if she insists on coming 
 all the way from Chicago she might at least walk, swim or 
 fly half the way, so as to make the carfare less costly. 
 
 The next lady who appeared on the scene, and who had 
 informed me over the phone . she was just entering the 
 thirties, was not a minute less than sixty-five years of age. 
 She had money and did not need to work, and from the tone 
 of my advertisement she said she felt that very little work 
 was needed, and she thought she might as well come along 
 and take my money instead of spending her own. 
 
 Living on the second floor of a two-family house, it was 
 necessary for the motherly old soul to negotiate a pair of 
 stairs. She was immensely stout or fleshy I would prefer 
 to have said fat, but as to be "decent" you have to say limb 
 and think leg, so, to keep from giving offense, you have to 
 say stout and think fat. 
 
 She did not give Maria a chance to announce her arrival, 
 and so I did not know she had made her appearance, and 
 could not imagine what Maria was bringing or getting up- 
 stairs. I thought for a moment by the extraordinary noise 
 that she was trying to carry a folding bed on her back, but, 
 not having ordered any furniture, I had to think again. 
 The dear old soul, who, like a heavy freight train, was 
 gradually approaching my eyrie, suffered quite a deal from 
 shortness of breath, and more than a suspicion of asthma. 
 The noise as she tugged determinedly at the balustrade, while 
 Maria boosted behind or hauled in front, sounded like a 
 leaky forty-ton boiler getting ready to burst. Maria had 
 assured our wheezy caller that she was wasting her energy 
 and strength, and also wasting my time, as she felt confi- 
 dent she would be unable to fill the position. Maria's re- 
 marks were treated with scorn and the bulky lady continued 
 to plunge onward and upward. As the hallway was too 
 narrow to steer her into the back parlor, our fleshy appli- 
 cant turned sideways, and after some exertion, which neces- 
 sitated additional struggles for breath with wheezing to 
 match, crashed through the door like an avalanche and 
 flopped on the dge of the biggest chair in the room. I in- 
 sisted that she take a heart stimulant, as we were not anxious 
 to have a visit from the coroner, so what with smelling salts 
 and spartein tablets, the panting personage, after a ten-
 
 8o Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 minute rest, was able to talk, and when she once commenced 
 to talk there was simply no stopping her. 
 
 "I wanted a young girl," said I, when she was getting her 
 second wind; "one not over thirty years of age." 
 
 "Young, indeed !" snapped the old lady. "Do you mean 
 to insinuate that I am not young? I wish you to under- 
 stand I have only just passed my thirty-first birthday." 
 
 "For the second or third time?" I queried. Fortunately 
 she did not scent the sarcasm that was attached to my 
 question. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I've only just passed my thirty-first birthday, 
 though I admit I do look a bit older, as I've had considerable 
 trouble since my husband died twenty years ago. Poor dear, 
 he was eating beefsteak and a big piece got lodged at the 
 back of his Adam's apple and well, he choked, and that's 
 all there is to it." 
 
 Here the poor old soul began to cry, and Maria walked 
 over and patted her shoulder consolingly. 
 
 "You should forget these unpleasant things," said I, "and 
 considering the fact that you were married when you were 
 a little over ten years of age, you can't remember much 
 about it, anyway." 
 
 "Who said I was married when I was ten years of age ?" 
 broke in the corpulent old lady, demolishing both Maria and 
 myself with a look that was most terrifying. 
 
 "Well," I exclaimed in as conciliatory a tone as possible, 
 "just now you said you were thirty-one, and your husband 
 has been dead twenty years, so of course that would make 
 you but ten years of age when you married. Possibly you've 
 mixed your dates." 
 
 Just then fortunately the bell rang, and I begged the 
 elderly party to excuse me. But a terrible thought flashed 
 across my mind. Suppose the new applicant, now at the 
 street door, should be as fleshy as the one departing, and the 
 ascending and descending ladies both met and tried to pass 
 each other on those apologies for stairs. Great heavens ! 
 What would happen? But I might have spared myself the 
 thought. My visitor was not ready to go. 
 
 "Well, I like you both, anyhow," she exclaimed patron- 
 izingly, "and I'll come to-morrow if it's all the same to you. 
 I don't cook or sweep or do any housework, but I see that 
 this gentleman is an invalid, and I'm a great hand at taking
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 81 
 
 care of invalids. I helped to care of an uncle of mine 
 for over thirty-five years." 
 
 "So you began to take care of him before you were born, 
 did you?" I remarked in as quiet and reassuring a manner 
 as possible, bracing myself for the next explosion. 
 
 "No, I didn't, I began to take care of him when I was 
 twenty-five years old," grunted the aggressive and ponderous 
 person, who was feeling anything but comfortable. 
 
 "Well, twenty-five and thirty-one," said I, "made fifty-six 
 when I went to school." 
 
 The old lady heard the bell ringing furiously, and mutter- 
 ing that she wasn't in the habit of being insulted, with 
 Maria's assistance reached the door. The dreaded collision 
 on the stairs did not materialize, as Maria got the corpu- 
 lent creature down the steps to the street after much exer- 
 tion. Greatly to our relief, the mountainous feminine, a 
 very fury in skirts, had departed and we dared to breathe 
 again. 
 
 I interviewed several ladies on that and the following 
 day, but not one admitted she knew anything about cooking, 
 or cared to do any. They could all at a pinch do a little 
 family sewing. The wage demanded by these human dere- 
 licts was from twenty-five to thirty-five dollars a month. 
 This was more than they had paid for help when they had 
 homes of their own, and the poor wretches who had to 
 work for them had to be expert cooks, laundresses, chamber 
 maids, nurses, if called upon, maids, hairdressers and heaven 
 knows what. 
 
 We were looking for help, but were meeting with only the 
 impossible and helpless, the flotsam and jetsam of the social 
 sea. Artificial and hopeless indeed must society be when 
 misfortune leaves its frivolous members mere drones in the 
 human hive, incapable of doing a single thing to earn an 
 honest penny. 
 
 There was just one more experience worth recounting. A 
 very dignified, tall and stately young lady, within the age 
 limit, walked, or rather glided in, on the morning after our 
 encounter with the fat person, escorted by her brother, a 
 youth scarcely of age, with a pair of eagle eyes that flashed 
 like searchlights in all directions. I'd had some conversa- 
 tion over the phone with the young lady, and I already knew 
 that, owing to a family bereavement, her home was about 
 to be broken up. Her father, who had recently passed on,
 
 '82 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 had been an Episcopal minister. From her manner, how- 
 ever, I judged that he could have been nothing less than an 
 archbishop, or even a pope if the Episcopal church ever 
 indulges in such ecclesiastical luxuries. The young lady had 
 a decided cast in one eye, her manner was painfully frigid, 
 though her face warmed into a semi-sickly smile as she 
 greeted me. Apparently her connection with the church 
 and its lowly head had not predisposed her to any deep 
 sympathy or great interest in the sick and unfortunate. 
 Like so many people who are, or think they are, socially 
 exalted, she had a habit of elevating her nose and closing 
 her eyes during the process for quite lengthy periods, as 
 though trying to shut out the mediocrity of her environ- 
 ment. Then again she would gaze downward along the 
 length of her elevated nasal organ, much as a marksman 
 gazes along the barrel of a gun, as though she was regard- 
 ing from the lofty crest of some social mountain the un- 
 washed nonentities of the earth toiling far below. I was 
 proud to feel that I was among the nonentities, safe upon a 
 plebeian terra firma, instead of being perched on an elevated 
 patrician throne where the odors of the red shirted prole- 
 tariat, perspiring at their prosaic tasks of sewer digging, 
 could not penetrate. 
 
 Over the phone my visitor had informed me that she 
 knew everything about housekeeping, both from the practical 
 and theoretic point of view. I was glad she had mentioned 
 this, for it did seem comforting to have something in com- 
 mon with such an awe-inspiring personage. "Is it possible," 
 said I to myself, "that this ultra dignified person with the 
 glacial atmosphere ever toyed with such mundane articles 
 as a saucepan or a dish towel?" Such a thing seemed ab- 
 surd. One might just as well imagine a Vanderbilt driving 
 a truck, or an Astor emptying a garbage can. 
 
 While I was cogitating and ruminating likewise specu- 
 lating on what accomplishments the lady might have that 
 would be useful to us, I noticed that the brother, who had 
 been sitting back in a morris chair, had produced a note 
 book, and, pencil in hand, was devoting half his time to 
 taking down our conversation in shorthand, and the other 
 half in mentally measuring the size of the apartment, and 
 especially the mantel and ornamental fireplace. The latter 
 seemed to have a strange and weird fascination for him. 
 Twice he changed his seat, and, going toward it, rested his
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 83 
 
 right arm upon the shelf, and then, with a side glance at his 
 sister and a queer, suspicious look in his eyes, tapped on the 
 tile and woodwork with his pencil, ignoring for the moment 
 the desultory conversation I was trying to keep up with the 
 iceberg lady. The young man, I noted, was far from at 
 ease, and his sister also. I chatted away blithely, mention- 
 ing the names of several bishops of the church to which 
 they belonged, but nothing I could do to create an atmos- 
 phere of cheerfulness and disperse the clouds of gloom that 
 seemed to have settled on this strange and uncanny couple 
 had any effect. The presence of Maria, who exudes cheer- 
 fulness, sunshine and confidence, alas ! seemed to have no 
 effect in reassuring my strange and apparently suspicious 
 visitors. I was nonplussed for the moment, and then it sud- 
 denly flashed across my mind that the terrible Wolter case, 
 in which a degenerate youth had murdered a young girl 
 stenographer and had tried to burn her body in an open 
 fireplace of his room, hiding the remains in a lower portion 
 of the chimney, might account for the youth's peculiar ac- 
 tions. 
 
 This crime, the crime of a fiend, had sent a thrill of hor- 
 ror through the entire country. Most girls out of employ- 
 ment at this time took escorts with them when they went to 
 apply for a position, and then were ill at ease, and those who 
 had no escorts preferred to remain in their rooms and face 
 starvation rather than to seek work. If this fear and dread 
 had only haunted the mind of the old lady, how much suffer- 
 ing might have been saved. However, she probably knew 
 that no chimney could possibly accommodate her. 
 
 Now that I knew what was agitating the minds of my 
 visitors, I chuckled inwardly. That the most confirmed 
 neurasthenic could have felt any fear or trepidation in my 
 sunny, cheery room, inhabited by one helpless man and 
 watched over by the gentlest, kindest and most harmless 
 creature that ever drew the breath of life, seemed preposter- 
 ous. Then, too, in the tens of thousands of two-family 
 houses in the whole of New York, there isn't a single open 
 fireplace that connects with a chimney, the only real chimney 
 being in the kitchen. In fact, in all this type of residences 
 fireplaces and connecting chimneys have been abolished. I, 
 however, had a mantel and fireplace erected, a purely orna- 
 mental affair, plastered tightly against the wall, with no 
 outlet in any direction, just something to remind one of
 
 ] Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 those beloved family hearths on which the yule log burned 
 of yore, the family altar, around which for countless ages 
 the young and old gathered to talk in whispers, as the 
 wintry blast moaned in the giant chimney, and watched 
 the dying embers as the night grew old cast spectral shad- 
 ows o'er the time-worn floor. If anyone had tried to have 
 hidden the big toe of a mosquito behind my chimney, they 
 would have found at least half of it resting on the middle 
 of the dining-room table of the family next door, for in 
 the modern two-family house it is impossible to hide even 
 a blush, unless you descend to the cellar and bury yourself 
 in the coals. 
 
 "You have a chimney, I see," said the young man, darting 
 a glance at me which nearly transfixed me to the wall. 
 
 "Yes," I replied cheerfully; "quite capacious, too; nice 
 and deep, a fine place to hide one's family skeletons." 
 
 At this sally of mine the aristocratic lady nearly fell out of 
 her chair, while her brother sank on the arm of his, as if 
 his knee joints had snapped. 
 
 "Would you or your sister like a glass of water or some 
 restoratives?" said I, holding out my smelling salts. "You 
 don't seem very well, would you like me to phone for a 
 doctor ?" 
 
 "Oh, thank you; there is nothing the matter," said the 
 patrician miss, recovering her speech with an effort. 
 
 "I am glad of that, as my chimney seems to be of intense 
 interest to your brother," I replied; "if he would like to make 
 a personal inspection of it, I should feel quite flattered, as 
 it's an idea of my own, specially designed for decorative and 
 other purposes." 
 
 This time I thought both brother and sister would have 
 disappeared through the floor, but I recalled them to earth 
 by saying somewhat sharply: "You came here, madam, in 
 answer to my advertisement. My time is somewhat limited, 
 and, if you will kindly tell me exactly what your capabilities 
 are in the housekeeping line, I shall feel exceedingly 
 obliged." 
 
 My lady visitor was at last talking business. If my refer- 
 ences were quite satisfactory, she would consider the matter, 
 and in a few days would let me know whether she would 
 or not accept the position. (The few days of course would 
 give her an opportunity to send the police, an architect, a 
 builder, and a couple of stone masons to examine my mantel
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 85 
 
 and the chimney that didn't exist.) Did she cook? Yes, 
 she always superintended the preparation of father's soup. 
 But, as her skill in this direction was no longer needed by 
 father, she was willing to superintend the preparation of soup 
 for others, at a figure which she was not prepared to mention 
 just at present, but which she would consider and apprise me 
 of later, when she had traced my genealogical tree back to 
 Adam and Eve, and made me sign a contract to live in a 
 tent, where by no possibility could a fireplace obtrude itself 
 on the serenity of her thoughts. 
 
 Here the frigid brother demanded references and more 
 references. I produced numbers of newspapers, the greatest 
 publications of the United States, which have published illus- 
 trated accounts of my life and work. These were brushed 
 aside. Would I give the name of my doctor? "Which," 
 said I, "you see, I have six or eight." 
 
 The thing had become too much of a joke, I was getting 
 tired, bored, annoyed, and determined to get rid of my in- 
 quisitors without delay. They looked at each other, shaking 
 their heads suspiciously. 
 
 "I have my regular physician, my irregular physician, my 
 day and night surgeon (and here I looked pointedly at the 
 mantelpiece) and three expert alienists, specialists in mental 
 diseases, and these my nurse phones for when I have a bad 
 spell coming on and am becoming temporarily violent and 
 insane." Here I waved my hands in the air and rolled my 
 eyes wildly. "I feel I'm going to have a fit right now. Nurse, 
 phone Dr. Rollings, and bring the strait jacket." It was 
 unnecessary to say another word. The notebook snapped ; the 
 frigid fraternity (the feminine half of which was gazing in 
 a dozen directions at once) disappeared through the door 
 like a shot from a gun, happily never to return. 
 
 This last experience forced me to a decision at once. I was 
 tired of impossible people, genteel incompetents, pedigreed 
 posturers, and all that unhappily large class of women who 
 have seen better days and have used those days in social 
 frivolities, learning nothing, viewing life from entirely false 
 angles, having no God but pleasure, no appreciation of the 
 value of time or money, no understanding of duty, regarding 
 toil and honest effort with contempt, and utterly unable when 
 cast by the waves of adversity on the bleak shores of penury 
 to even boil water on a red-hot stove. Sad it is to contem- 
 plate this genteel human driftwood, swept by misfortune
 
 86 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 from its gilded anchorage in the pathways of pleasure into 
 the surging sea of human endeavor, where men and women 
 must battle for existence, the strong and efficient surviving, 
 
 , the weak and inefficient sinking never to rise again. 
 
 f I could waste no more time. I would phone for Lily; in 
 fact, it was my duty to phone for Lily. She was a profes- 
 sional houseworker, a girl probably who had had few oppor- 
 tunities in life, and it was our duty to help her, because she 
 would appreciate help and profit by it. The many others 
 we had interviewed had had opportunities and cast them 
 aside. It was Thursday. I phoned to the agency, and was 
 informed that Lily would make her appearance in the after- 
 noon, when we could arrange matters with her, and she 
 would be ready to come to work on the following Monday. 
 Lily in due time appeared. There were two Lilys, I discov- 
 ered, the disengaged and the engaged Lily. The disengaged 
 Lily was a girl of the "Yes, ma'am," "No, ma'am" kind, quiet, 
 nay, even subdued, and one might say almost cowed. She 
 spoke in a minor key that suggested considerable experience 
 with the somber and drab side of life, all of which had 
 calmed her spirit and tempered the exuberance of youth with 
 the premature melancholy of maturer years. The employ- 
 ment agency had grossly overrated Lily's charms and abili- 
 ties. They had described her as being ladylike, refined and 
 neat, qualities she never possessed and would scorn to pos- 
 sess. She was typical of New York, an East Sider and of the 
 roughest and toughest type. She might have had a figure 
 if anything under heaven could have kept her in shape. She, 
 however, seemed to have been born on the bias, and, no 
 matter from what angle you viewed her, she seemed to 
 sag badly as though dissolution, not alone of clothes, but 
 of flesh, was not only imminent but inevitable. Lily was not 
 
 tat all bad-looking, rather good-looking in fact, and she was, 
 
 /above all, the personification of good nature. Her mouth 
 was not only large, but extensive ; fortunately her teeth were 
 superb, or would be as soon as a tooth brush could remove 
 from them the accumulated debris of twenty years. She was 
 above medium height, but what her real height was she didn't 
 know, and it was impossible to tell, as, instead of walking 
 on the soles of her shoes, she usually preferred to propel 
 herself along on the sides of them. This was from choice, 
 and not from necessity. Lily's father was dead. "I'se two 
 brothers," she said, "but they ain't no good, and Gustave and
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 87 
 
 me has to lick 'em every once in a while to make 'em be- 
 have." 
 
 "Who's Gustave?" I inquired, with considerable interest. 
 
 "Gus is me beau," explained Lily, with quiet unconcern. 
 "Me and him is engaged. He's in the navy, and he's away 
 up. He's a Swede. Theyse good people, and Gus, he saves 
 his money and don't drink, only when we have a little dance 
 or a racket, and then he don't drink nothin' to hoit him, 
 only soft stuff. S'pose youse ain't got no objection to Gus 
 callin' to take me out nights." 
 
 "Only too delighted, Lily," I replied; "when your work 
 is done you've as much right to go out as anyone, and there 
 is no necessity for keeping you in the house. My religion is 
 to treat everyone as I'd have them treat me." 
 
 "Yes, that's the religion pastor teaches us at our church." 
 
 "Glad to know you go to church, Lily," said I approvingly, 
 as she tried to push her somewhat bedraggled skirts in the 
 direction of shoes that she apparently realized as much as I 
 did would look all the better for being hidden, "and you 
 think you would like to come and join the family?" 
 
 "I certainly would, if there ain't no laundry, and no kids 
 to throw things at youse, and no late blow-outs with six or 
 eight courses, for I ain't no French chief, but I can put up 
 a fair meal if folkses give me the right class of stuff and 
 don't hurry me too much when I'se fixin' it for the table. 
 The trouble is what suits some don't suit t'others. Theyse 
 all got different tastes, and theyse some as can't be pleased, 
 no matter what youse cooks for 'em. Only trouble with me, 
 I'se too good-hearted; I always gives 'em too much for their 
 money." 
 
 "Well, Lily, you be here Monday morning promptly at 
 half-past eight," said I encouragingly, "and this lady will 
 show you where all the articles of your profession are to be 
 found, and, as we don't have laundry in the house, you will 
 be able to go out whenever your services are not needed, 
 and that will probably be every afternoon and evening, and 
 your wages will be twenty dollars a month." 
 
 "That will suit me," said Lily; "I always likes to go some- 
 where where I'se treated as one of the fam'ly, and I ain't 
 one of them as is common and ain't got no idees 'bout nothin'. 
 Mother says I won't never be nobody, but I'se goin' to show 
 her. You just wait and see." And here Lily smiled her 
 yard-wide smile and shook hands with us both. In her grace-
 
 88 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 i 
 
 ful retreat to the door we were horrified to find a startling 
 hiatus in her apparel. Her shirtwaist, only the top and bot- 
 tom buttons of which were fastened, was industriously en- 
 deavoring to climb up her back, and it had succeeded in 
 getting almost a third of the way up to her neck. Her skirt, 
 which for some reason had apparently become discouraged, 
 was working its way downward in a manner truly alarming. 
 It was, fortunately for Lily, rather a dull and cloudy day, 
 and her appearance, though it had not suggested Fifth Ave- 
 nue, had not been utterly discouraging. The shirtwaist was 
 at least clean, and a careful mother had apparently seen to 
 the polishing of Lily's hands and face, so no fault could be 
 found with them. On the front view Lily just managed to 
 get by, but, oh, that rear view! I nearly collapsed. Maria 
 escorted the new addition to our family to the door, where a 
 whispered conversation took place, with the result that, for 
 this time at least, Lily was able to emerge on the street with- 
 out causing a riot. 
 
 Lily had departed; Maria looked at me, and I looked at 
 Maria. Not a word escaped our lips. For the moment we 
 were entirely too full for utterance. Maria broke the si- 
 lence by exclaiming : "Well, and what do you think you are 
 going to do with her?" 
 
 I wanted to say, take her to the North Pole and lose her, 
 but Maria was sufficiently discouraged without my adding 
 to the general gloom. 
 
 "She's a rough diamond," said I, "and maybe with polish- 
 ing, instruction, advice and guidance we can make her really 
 efficient, and possibly some day fairly presentable." We both 
 realized the magnitude of the task, but felt that the cause 
 was worthy of the effort, and, rough diamond though Lily 
 was, she was preferable to the parasitical ex-plutocrats we 
 had interviewed hitherto. 
 
 Monday morning arrived. Breathlessly we waited the 
 comuig of Lily. She did not appear at the appointed time, 
 and even at eleven o'clock there was not a sign of the dia- 
 mond we had determined to polish. I was worried and called 
 up the agency and addressed the proprietress thus : 
 
 "That cultured duchess of yours," said I, "the lady of bril- 
 liant attainments that you recommended to us, and for which 
 service you have already received your fee of two dollars, 
 has failed to put in an appearance. If she isn't here within 
 half an hour, you will kindly send me another culinary artist
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 89 
 
 and dust demolisher, or return the money paid by me, but 
 don't make her quite as refined and ladylike as this speci- 
 men. We want a girl for work, not a duchess for court 
 functions and pink teas." 
 
 "Lily will surely be there," came back the answer; "Lily 
 never disappoints. A messenger will be sent to her home 
 immediately to see what has detained her." 
 
 The hour of noon struck, still no Lily. Maria from the 
 window was watching eagerly for her appearance. At last 
 the clock struck the half hour, and she quite excitedly ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Here she is at last." And there she was sure enough, 
 staggering along with a suitcase and two very unmanage- 
 able bundles done up in brown paper. Suddenly she stopped. 
 Had she forgotten the number of the house, or come to a 
 quick decision to return home? Both of our conjectures 
 were incorrect. Lily's right hand was raised high in the air, 
 soon her left one followed. She had espied Maria at the 
 window, and being unable to restrain her emotion was wav- 
 ing a friendly recognition and greeting from the sidewalk, 
 some fifty yards away. This demonstration of appreciation 
 and good feeling having worn itself to a finish, Lily picked 
 up her baggage and siege train, and, with a smile that caused 
 even her ears to vibrate violently, her cheeks to pucker, her 
 eyes to almost disappear, she bore down upon our residence, 
 and soon in all her radiant glory was standing before us. 
 
 She dropped her baggage on the floor, scattered her bun- 
 dles on the table, and then subsided in a big leather fireside 
 chair; stretched out her capacious feet, which seemed to 
 have grown at least six inches since we had gazed upon them 
 last, drew forth a harpoon that held a dilapidated hat to a 
 still more dilapidated head of uncombed hair, jabbed the 
 harpoon through the crown of her chapeau, in which was 
 stuck a feather which looked as if it had been rescued from 
 a rag bag, and dropped it on the floor by her side. Lily 
 was comfortable at last, and with a smile that put all previ- 
 ous smiles to the blush said: 
 
 "Guess youse thought I'se wasn't comin', didn't youse? 
 Well, take a tip from Lily ; never go early to a job, or theyse 
 thinks youse wants to woik. I was in two minds whether 
 to come or not. Oh, gee, but I'se been sick. I went to a 
 racket with Gus Saturday night, and I swallowed a whole lot 
 of junk, soft-shell crabs and ice cream, and, say, if I ain't
 
 90 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 been sick, my name ain't Lily Jurgensen. The doctor said I 
 had potmaine poisonin', but I didn't eat no pots, but I was 
 poisoned some, and that's no lie. Felt as if I had a merry- 
 go-round loose inside me. Thought I'd have to come home 
 in a amberlance. Somethin' always happens when I go to 
 a racket. Say, I feel as empty as a barrel without no slats. 
 Don't youse people want youse eats. I'se gettin' hungry, 
 feel like I could eat a boiled dog. I'se all over me potmaine 
 poison now. Don't youse think we'd better eat?" and here 
 Lily snapped her teeth and gazed at us both as though un- . 
 decided as to which would make the best meal. 
 
 "Now, Lily," said I, in a tone which I occasionally use, 
 a loud, deep-chested theatrical tone of stern authority and 
 command peculiar to the drill sergeant or a stage tragedian, 
 "before you talk dinner there is one thing I wish you to do." 
 (Lily had jumped from her chair and was standing erect as 
 a soldier on parade.) "Nature has provided you with some 
 excellent teeth." 
 
 "Yes," broke in Lily, "me brother says I'se got a mouthful 
 of good china, and I can bite more meat off a ham bone in 
 a minute than a prize dog could in a year." 
 
 "Well, while you're in this house, you keep that face china 
 clean. You wash your teeth night and morning, under- 
 stand?" Here I pointed my forefinger straight at her to em- 
 phasize my command. Lily begged me not to do it again, as 
 it might go off. "I'm in dead earnest," I cried. 
 
 "But I ain't got no tooth brush nor no stuff to clean 'em 
 with," was her whimpering reply. 
 
 "Go to the druggist," I said at once, "Mr. B , at the 
 
 corner of the first block to your left on G Avenue, and 
 
 tell him to give you a good tooth brush and powder, and 
 charge it to me, and get back as quickly as possible and clean 
 your teeth." 
 
 Lily disappeared in a flash, leaving her personal posses- 
 sions, hat included, where she had dropped them when first 
 entering the room. I scarcely dared look Maria in the face. 
 Fortunately there was a cold joint in the house, and all Lily 
 had to do in the way of preparing a dinner (for we found it 
 most convenient to dine in the middle of the day) was to 
 warm some soup, boil a few potatoes and fix a salad. Dessert 
 was provided for. Fortunate indeed it was that Lily was 
 called upon no further than this to give evidence of her 
 culinary skill in the first meal. She quickly returned, rushed
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 91 
 
 to the bathroom, and with some slight instruction from 
 Maria, who feared Lily might brush her shoes instead of her 
 teeth, polished her molars to dazzling whiteness. The trans- 
 formation delighted her, and she rushed into my room, stum- 
 bling over her suit case and nearly falling headlong in her 
 hurry to demonstrate the success of her experiment. The 
 dental operation improved her appearance immensely, for, 
 now Lily had entered upon her duties and become one of 
 the family, it was evident that her smile was perennial, the 
 smile that would not come off, and that kept her teeth con- 
 stantly exposed. 
 
 Maria's confidence in Lily's ability to even boil a potato 
 was not overgreat. She showed her the mechanism of the 
 gas stove, and it is well that she did, for Lily informed Maria 
 confidentially that she and one of them things (the gas stove) 
 had recently had some kind of a disagreement, and stove 
 and Lily had had a race through the window with a portion 
 of the kitchen in hot pursuit, and had landed in fortunately 
 nothing more dangerous than a flower bed in a back garden. 
 "I don't know which of us got there foist, me or the stove," 
 said Lily, "but it was some race, believe me. See that scar 
 under me ear? That's where the gas stove scraped its foot 
 against me neck. I was green about them things in them 
 days, but they can't fool me now. Gas stoves has to behave 
 when I'se around." 
 
 "You will have to be awfully careful," said Maria, "with 
 an invalid in the house. His life is in your hands." 
 
 "Oh ! I noised me father; he was a invalid three months, 
 and I never blowed him through no winders. Say, if I'd 
 been in bed as long as that man in the front room, I'd go 
 buy a gas stove and sit on it till it blowed up. I'se got to 
 have a racket every few days, or I'd blow up. They ain't no 
 bed that can hold me, not even a foldin' bed with the doors 
 locked." 
 
 After this copious flow of verbal comment, Lily conde- 
 scended to peel one potato, without saying one word, while 
 Maria deftly prepared the rest of the "fixings" and set the 
 table for the midday meal. While Maria was attending to 
 the table, Lily was soliloquizing the entire time. She always 
 seemed to have an invisible audience, to which she mono- 
 logued all day and snored at all night. Just before Lily ap- 
 peared with the potatoes, which with considerable coaching 
 and some help from Maria she had succeeded in cooking, I
 
 92 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 caught Maria's eye as she busied herself about the table, 
 and that look boded no good to me, for I knew what it meant. 
 Lily was a hopeless case, and Maria wanted then and there, 
 not to politely conduct her to the door, but to throw her head 
 foremost out of the window; that, I believe, being a per- 
 fectly proper way of disposing of exasperatingly incompe- 
 tent people. Maria, as was customary, brought me my din- 
 ner tray. This service rendered, she took her place at the 
 dinner table, with Lily at her side. 
 
 "Gee, but I'se hungry !" exclaimed Lily, almost too weak 
 for speech, as Maria loaded her plate until it could hold no 
 more. "I had one hole that wanted fillin' when I came an 
 hour ago; now I guess I'se got a dozen. Say, I'se goin' to 
 eat youse out of house and home. Well, I'se glad I'se one of 
 the fam'ly, anyhow. I'se tired of eatin' in kitchens; don't get 
 no chance to eat, anyway. When the cockroaches ain't fight- 
 in' to see whether they has the grub, or youse, the misses is 
 a-ringin' and a-ringin' the bell, and yellin': Lily, youse for- 
 gotten that, or Lily, youse forgotten this, and Lily, youse for- 
 got the other thing; Lily, they ain't no bread; Lily, they ain't 
 no water; Lily, they ain't no butter, no salt, no meat, no 
 nothin'. It's a wonder they don't say, Lily, they ain't no table.' 
 I ain't got no head like no preacher man; if I had, I wouldn't 
 be in nobody's kitchen at twenty dollars a month, and up 
 at five o'clock in the mornin' doin' a long day's woik, just 
 when theys toinin' over to get theyse beauty sleep and dream- 
 in' 'bout automobile rides, forty-dollar hats and gold-handled 
 powder puffs," and here Lily, who had been vigorously 
 pushing assorted edibles into various sections of her mouth, 
 spearing the individual potatoes with her fork from the vege- 
 table dish, and respearing the numerous fragments, which 
 broke en route and scattered in all directions over the table- 
 cloth, suddenly dropped her knife and fork on her plate, 
 banged her elbows on the table, dropped her head in her 
 hands and wept hysterically. 
 
 "I'se too good to people I is; I treats folks right I does. 
 (Sob, sob.) Wherever I goes they composes on me. They 
 tells me theys only got one kid, and, 'fore I'se been there half 
 a day, theys sixteen of 'em toins up. (Sniff, sniff.) Ain't 
 that composin' on a poor goil? Ingage you for a private 
 fam'ly, then find youse hit a boardin' house, a restaurant or 
 a orphants' home; meals all day, meals all night, and it's, 
 iLily, will youse mind the baby, and, Lily, will youse see John-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 93!" 
 
 nie don't fall out of the window, and see George don't get 
 his papa's razor and cut his head off, and, Lily, will youse 
 button me up the back, and, Lily, at four o'clock will you see 
 baby gets his bottle, and, Lily, would youse mind darnin' 
 them half dozen pair of sox, and I'll be so much obliged, 
 Lily; I'll let youse have a half day off next Fourth of July, 
 and youse can go home Christmas for half an hour after you 
 get the dinner things washed and that's ten o'clock at night, 
 and it's, Lily, will you see Irene takes her cod liver oil at 
 four o'clock, as the doctor says it must be took regular, and, 
 Lily, will you take Mary's shoes around to the Eyetalian's 
 to be half-soled and heeled, and lock all the children in the 
 cellar while youse is gone, so they can't fall out of the win- 
 ders, and if they fire coal at you I'll tell Mr. Jones when he 
 comes home and he'll give them a whippin', and, oh, yes, 
 don't forget to iron that waist of mine, as I want to wear 
 it to Mrs. Brown's deception to-morrow. Now, ain't that 
 composin' on a poor goil ? And when I does my best in less 
 than three days they says, Lily, you pack youse trunk and 
 beat it ! I ain't got no million hands so I can be holdin' 
 Johnnie from fallin' out the winder on the top floor and 
 Willie from puttin' the cat in the furnace in the cellar, and 
 dopin' out cod liver oil in the dinin' room, and ironin' a waist 
 in the kitchen, and tellin' the landlord at the front door for 
 the twentieth time that the misses will take the rent around 
 in a week's time, and doin' it all at once. People ain't got no 
 reasonableness, they ain't reasonablefied." Lily stopped, ex- 
 hausted by her lengthy monologue, and, spearing her eighth 
 potato and drying her eyes with the back of her disengaged 
 hand, remarked with a sigh of relief: "I'se glad I'se struck 
 a cinch this time ; no kids, no laundry, no wife to kick 'cause 
 I'se better lookin' than she is, and no husband to wink and 
 try to floit with me, no bein' stuck in the kitchen, but a 
 regular daughter of the fam'ly. I'll pinch myself I guess 
 and see if I ain't a-dreamin'." 
 
 Lily was so full of potatoes and emotion that it was not 
 until she had made seven distinct attempts to pinch herself 
 that she found a suitable place ; having by this method discov- 
 ered that she was alive and not dreaming, she threw her- 
 self back in her chair, clasped her hands at the back of her 
 head, pushed out her feet with a sigh of satisfaction, and 
 waited for Maria to bring her her dessert. This devoured, 
 Lily with a sigh of relief picked up her plate and strode ma-
 
 "94 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 jestically to the kitchen, leaving Maria to remove the re- 
 mainder of the dishes. 
 
 The day following the reception of Lily into the bosom of 
 our family, Maria, after superintending the preparation of 
 breakfast, attended to her duties, and having impressed on 
 Lily the enormous responsibility that rested on her shoulders, 
 and also having been assured by Lily that she knew better 
 than anyone in the United States how to make a lamb stew, 
 departed to do the daily marketing and to take a constitu-J 
 tional in the park, and get an airing before dinner time. I had' 
 not been alone a few minutes ere Lily appeared. Maria had 
 manicured her hair for her in the early morning hours, pre- 
 sented her with a clean apron, and given her some ideas 
 about keeping an orderly coiffure. Lily was now, with the 
 exception of her shoes, almost presentable. Breakfast had 
 gone along fairly well, except that Lily at the conclusion had 
 jumped up to fry a third egg, as two did not appease her ap- 
 petite, and in bringing it into the room had paused to address 
 a remark to me, and, forgetting the egg had allowed it to 
 slide to the floor. I did not mind the loss of the egg but I 
 did mind the condition of the rug. Lily assured us, how- 
 ever, that she had gained half her muscle in scouring stains 
 from rugs and carpets, and, from lack of ability to hold any- 
 thing in her hands for more than three seconds, we did not 
 deem it necessary to question her veracity on this point. 
 
 Lily now came in and swept the rug, or, rather, violently 
 pushed the carpet sweeper against the legs of every article of 
 furniture that came within her range, my bed nearly turning 
 a somersault in the operation. A teakwood taboret, which 
 was supporting a palm incased in a jardiniere, capsized, but 
 fortunately jardiniere and palm fell onto the seat of a chair. 
 The leg of a table received such a violent blow that the tele- 
 phone which stood upon it leaped in the air and found a 
 resting place on my bed, falling into my arms. The receiver 
 of course dropped off, and "Central" began screaming imme- 
 diately: "Number, please." "Don't worry, Central," said I 
 soothingly ; "it's only a cyclone that has struck the house." 
 
 Lily's exhibition of sudden and terrific energy had stag- 
 gered me and also staggered the furniture. "Woman," I 
 shouted, "if you turn loose like that again, I'll phone for the 
 police." 
 
 "What's the matter? Don't youse want the room swept?" 
 cried Lily, astonished at my interruption.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 95 
 
 "Why did you turn loose in that fashion?" I inquired an- 
 grily. 
 
 "Well, youse see," she rejoined, by way of explanation, "I 
 hates sweepin'. If I does it slow, I goes to sleep over it, and 
 if it don't get done quick it don't get done at all, see? I was 
 always a foist-class cook, but I never did win no medals at 
 sweepin'. When I gets a sweeper in me hand I jest feels the 
 fightin' blood stirrin' in me, and I wants to bang it down 
 on the head of the guy what invented dust." 
 
 "Now, Lily Jurgensen, remember this," said I, summoning 
 all the dignity and severity that I could command; "this is a 
 family of civilized people, and not Indians. If you have any 
 brains in that head of yours, I wish you to exercise them 
 and make the best use of them. If you were just a plain idiot, 
 I'd summon an ambulance, and see that you were removed to 
 the place where idiots belong. Now, just attend to your 
 work, and do it to the best of your ability, or your reign as a 
 member of this family will come to an immediate conclu- 
 sion." 
 
 Lily was more than staggered, more than awed; she was 
 stunned. Under her breath she murmured meekly, "Yes, 
 sir," completed her cleaning, viciously slapping with her dus- 
 ter the heavier pieces, knocking down one picture only, and 
 then faded from the room. 
 
 I resumed my work and dismissed Lily from my thoughts. 
 
 An extraordinary delicious and savory odor now began 
 floating in from the kitchen, permeating the whole apart- 
 ment. It was Lily preparing a lamb stew. But no lamb 
 stew ever emitted an odor of that kind. We had ordered no 
 roast, but the odor suggested one. Knowing a little of Lily's 
 peculiarities, I thought best to call her, and was assured that 
 everything was all right except that, instead of making the 
 stew Irish fashion, she was making it Norwegian style, 
 that being infinitely the better way, according to Lily. 
 
 "Now, don't youse worry about that stoo," said she re- 
 assuringly; "I'se made hundreds of 'em, and theys the best 
 stoos that ever got past your teeth." 
 
 I was not in a mood, and neither was I in a position to 
 contradict a cook, who, if appetizing odors have anything to 
 do with it. had every chef in the country lashed to the mast. 
 A few minutes later Maria made her appearance, and, walk- 
 ing to my bedside, said in a whisper: "Whatever is she 
 cooking ?"
 
 96 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 "You'd better go and investigate," said I. "I'm positive 
 there's trouble behind that smell." 
 
 However, she didn't have the opportunity to do any prob- 
 ing, for in pranced Lily. In her right hand she held a plat- 
 ter, and on the platter was what ? From the grin of intense 
 delight that was glued to her face it was evident that, what- 
 ever it was, it was the greatest thing that ever sat on a 
 platter since platters came into vogue. 
 
 "There it is," she said ecstatically, bubbling over with the 
 joy of her achievement; "there's Irish stoo, Norwegian 
 style." 
 
 "Stew !" I screamed. "That's a potato cake or a fishcake," 
 and by the way that is exactly what it looked like, and 
 scarcely a trifle larger. Maria and I both decided that, if 
 it tasted as good as it smelled, it was something that Lucullus 
 would come from his grave to investigate. 
 
 "How many of them did you make ?" I inquired. "We'll 
 need at least six of these apiece for a meal, and where is 
 the gravy, also the meat and the vegetables?" 
 
 "All the gravy, meat and vegetables is in that cake, and 
 theys one cake, and that's all they is," and, having un- 
 bosomed herself, Lily stood gazing at us defiantly. 
 
 "What !" I shrieked, "a pound and a half of meat and a 
 carload of vegetables that we gave you to make a stew 
 with all burned up and condensed into that miserable gob of 
 pulverized hash? You've destroyed a whole meal sufficient 
 for four people at one fell swoop. The bones of course are 
 in it, too. Well, this is the magic disappearance trick of all 
 the ages. I've heard of compressed air and compressed 
 bricks, but I never saw a bucketful of stew compressed into 
 a potato cake the size of a collar button. If that's Irish stew, 
 Norwegian style, appetites in Norway must be satisfied by 
 smells instead of food. Lily, you created that edible freak; 
 you are its parents, its mother and father; it is your prop- 
 erty, yours to have and to hold forever and ever. Take it 
 to your breast and be gone. Stews Norwegian style at that 
 rate I would calculate to cost about ten dollars a bite. As 
 a booster of the high cost of living, and various other ac- 
 complishments, Lily, you are the medal taker." 
 
 During this conversation chops were phoned for and 
 cooked by Maria. Lily in the meanwhile, deeply hurt by our 
 lack of appreciation, returned to the kitchen, dropping her 
 Irish-Norwegian "stoo" twice en route, and did not favor us
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 97 
 
 ^ ^^ ^~~ ~ ~ ^ 
 
 (fortunately) with her company at dinner that day at least. 
 During our repast we heard the latest addition of our fam- 
 ily murmuring o'er and o'er again : "The more youse does 
 for people the more youse is composed on." 
 
 After the dishes were washed, I called Lily, and asked her 
 when Gustave was coming up to call on her. 
 
 "To-night," she said delightedly, grinning from ear to ear, 
 and then suddenly sobering up, as if some death's head had 
 appeared at her mental feast, added, "but I ain't got no 
 shoes. The pair I had on was me best, and one of them is 
 busted. The other pair'll hold together, but they makes me 
 feet look biggern' a house, and, if Gustave ever seen 'em, 
 that would be me finish. As soon as I'se been a daughter of 
 the family long enough to draw some money on account, me 
 for a white skirt and a sailor blouse, white canvas shoes, a 
 sailor hat with the name of Gus' ship on it, a pair of white 
 gloves and a twenty-nine-cent pair of real silk stockings 
 to top off the rig. I can get it all with six bones." 
 
 I gave her eight dollars, for she was deplorably short of 
 clothing, not having even a presentable house dress, and the 
 heavy, stuffy clothes she wore made her bulky figure in the 
 raging heat of summer a seething mass of sweltering per- 
 spiration. "Now, look here, Lily," said I, quite seriously, 
 "the money I have given you you haven't earned, and proba- 
 bly never will earn. Use that money well, or I'll have all the 
 police in the city after you." 
 
 She was too excited to say thanks, but she looked it 
 more eloquently than words could express, and, leaping in 
 the air for joy, yelled: "Gee, I'm in luck; me dreams has 
 come true; God bless everybody, Lily most of all," and dis- 
 appeared in the direction of her room. 
 
 By five o'clock Lily had returned from her shopping ex- 
 cursion, looking another creature. She was quite attractive, 
 and, best of all, neat and clean. She had gone to her home, 
 and garbed herself in her new war paint, and descended on 
 iis like an Alpine avalanche. But there was, alas ! a rift in 
 the lute. She had purchased shoes from one to two sizes 
 too small, and at short intervals during the evening she 
 would hang to a table or chair, lift one foot painfully and 
 ejaculate, "Ouch! Darn them shoes; but I'se goin' to wear 
 'em if they kills me," and resume her painful duties. 
 
 Later Gustave called, and a finer young fellow, physically, 
 mentally and morally, one would scarcely have found any-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 where. Gustave had only been in this country a few years, 
 but he spoke English perfectly, with scarcely a suspicion of 
 an accent, and showed breeding and refinement. How he 
 could have become interested in Lily we could never fathom, 
 but he was devoted to her, that was evident. Well, love 
 fortunately has eye trouble, and well, there is no account- 
 ing for tastes. Gustave thanked us for taking an interest in 
 his fiancee, while she wrestled with her shoes, which were 
 rapidly becoming a torture, meanwhile using language that 
 would have positively shocked her pastor, to whom she con- 
 stantly referred. A few minutes later they wished us good 
 night, and departed for one of the beaches. As Lily left the 
 room we noticed that she had a package of considerable 
 size, of the brown-paper variety, under her arm. 
 
 "I wonder what she has in that bundle," said Maria curi- 
 ously; "it looks to me like a pair of shoes." 
 
 "Nonsense," said I, "just as if a woman who had one pair 
 of shoes on her feet would carry another pair under her 
 arm." Maria said nothing, content to wait for further de- 
 velopments. 
 
 The following morning at breakfast the mystery of the 
 parcel was divulged. Lily, it seems, had suffered such ex- 
 cruciating torture with her new shoes that she decided to 
 take the old ones with her, the pair in which even her ca- 
 pacious feet could move with comfort. Appearance meant 
 everything to Lily when on the street with Gustave, but a 
 number seven foot encased in a five and a half shoe is the 
 limit of endurance, a form of torture that even Lily could 
 endure only for short periods. So down she sat on a con- 
 venient doorstep, when the pain got too acute, and off went 
 the canvas oxfords, white and dainty, and on went the roomy 
 footgear, the size of which made Gustave's feet almost pale 
 into insignificance. Thus it was she had managed to get 
 through the evening. 
 
 Lily's elbows, as usual, on this particular morning were 
 glued to the breakfast table, that being the position they in- 
 variably occupied during meals. They simply would slide 
 back on the table, no matter how often we admonished her 
 to keep them off. She was exceedingly fond of sugar, and 
 her tea or coffee cup, after the fluid had disappeared, was 
 always a third full of solids. Resting her arms on the table, 
 as usual, she would grasp her cup in her left hand, and, 
 taking her spoon in the right, dig viciously into the cup,
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 99 
 
 scooping up the sediment and drawing the sugar-laden spoon 
 down the whole length of her tongue, which protruded to 
 the fullest possible extent, so that the saccharine matter 
 could not possibly escape its destination. Then, she would 
 pour a little milk into her cup, stir violently, tilt her chair 
 backward as far as she could without losing her balance, so 
 as to get the very last drop it contained. These were her 
 usual antics at every meal, for Lily's table manners were, to 
 say the least, unique and picturesque, if not elegant. I was 
 reading my newspaper oblivious of Lily and all her works, 
 when there was a yell and a crash that blood-curdling 
 racket that always accompanies the smashing of glass. She 
 had done her balancing stunt once too often for our mutual 
 good, and had landed in the glass china closet immediately 
 in her rear, and no bull in a china shop ever did a neater 
 job. Fortunately (as Lily viewed it) she had given herself 
 two nasty cuts, and our wrath was turned to sympathy for 
 a while at least. She bled profusely for a few moments, but 
 said she didn't mind losing a little red paint once in a while, 
 and she'd "woik" for a month free of charge to make up for 
 the damage that no toil such as she rendered could have 
 paid for in a hundred years. Shortly after she was laugh- 
 ing as though the destruction of expensive china closets and 
 their contents was a thing of daily occurrence with her. 
 
 Lily had for a long time been nursing her wrath against 
 the delivery boys of our Italian grocer and Dutch butcher. 
 Their articles of trade were brought on wagons, taken into 
 the cellar, and hoisted up to us on the dumbwaiter. Thanks 
 to Lily's stupidity, she was constantly appropriating the pro- 
 visions purchased by our neighbors in the apartment beneath, 
 and forcing ours upon them. If we ordered chicken and 
 our neighbors pork chops, it was ten to one Lily would see 
 that we got the chops, while some one else got the chicken, 
 as she could cook the former, but had no idea in the world 
 what to do with a plucked chicken except to bury it. As a 
 result of her free and easy way of distributing other people's 
 property, constant friction arose between the boys and her- 
 self. She "sassed" the lads, and they replied as mildly and 
 diplomatically as possible, but not mildly enough to suit 
 Lily, who, though a cooing dove to those she felt were her 
 equals, was a terror to those she deemed her inferiors. On 
 this particular day the trouble came to a head, and Lily 
 dashed downstairs into the cellar, armed with a carpet
 
 ioo Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 sweeper. When Italy and Germany saw Lily advancing 
 upon them like a mad bull, with a hot stove lid tied to its 
 tail, they ran for their lives, but not before they each had 
 received a whack from the carpet sweeper that temporarily 
 at least put them out of business. The Dutch boy had no rel- 
 atives to champion his cause ; the Italian youth, however, had 
 a father with beetling eyebrows, a stiletto and a tremendous 
 black mustache. Lily had informed us that, if the Italian 
 parent arrived on the scene, there would be another Black 
 Hand funeral worth going miles to see, or her name wasn't 
 '*Lily. In the evening our fears were realized; the doorbell 
 rang violently. Lily had visions of stilettos, and was not 
 quite decided whether to crawl under her bed or settle the 
 dispute with the dago (as she contemptuously called him) on 
 the sidewalk. As we did not care to have a battle, from 
 which neither combatant would have emerged alive, we 
 peremptorily ordered Lily to the roof. All this time the bell 
 was buzzing continuously, and Maria with considerable trepi- 
 dation descended to face the irate Italian : 
 
 "I want seea da boss," hissed the infuriated compatriot of 
 Marconi. 
 
 "Come right up," said Maria soothingly, conducting the 
 enraged parent into my presence. After begging him to be 
 seated, I explained to him that Lily was no longer with us, 
 and that I was as anxious to see her assassinated as he was, 
 and would consider it an honor if he would permit me to as- 
 sist him in doing the job. This seemed to pacify him, 
 though he asked for her address. After handing him a few 
 cigars, which chased the clouds of wrath from his face, and 
 made him a smiling human, I gave him a card, on which I 
 wrote: Miss Martha Washington, 32463 Skate St., Chi- 
 cago, 111., and I remarked: 
 
 "She bada girl, no gooda; I fire her; she goa home." 
 
 Our Italian friend pocketed the card, lit one of the cigars 
 with a match which I proffered him, and which he acknowl- 
 edged graciously, and departed for the stairway, muttering 
 under his breath: 
 . "She killa my son, I killa her." 
 
 Until Lily's departure we found it convenient to change 
 two of our tradesmen at least, and Lily during the rest of her 
 reign of disorder kept a wary eye for dark men with black 
 mustaches. 
 
 The following day was Sunday. Lily, with her new re-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 101 
 
 galia of white and an extra pair of shoes tucked under her 
 arm, visited Gustave's battleship, anchored in the lower 
 bay. On Monday we learned that, after leaving the battle- 
 ship, she had gone to her church, and got converted for the 
 second time, her first conversion, so she declared, resembling 
 vaccination, inasmuch as it didn't take. Lily was deter- 
 mined to be an angel, it seems, if there were any angel's 
 wings lying around loose, as flying, she said, would save shoe 
 leather and rest her feet. During the evening service at 
 church she had removed her shoes, and was halfway out of 
 the edifice before she discovered her loss. After recovering 
 and adjusting her footgear, she tucked the relief pair under 
 her arm, hobbled out into the night, and trudged painfully 
 toward home, thoroughly set in her determination to lead a 
 new life. Unfortunately, however, a drunken man lurched 
 against her and pushed her from the sidewalk, her right big 
 toe receiving a painful injury as it came in violent contact 
 with an aggressive cobblestone. Pastor, conversion and the 
 higher life were forgotten, as Lily emptied the vials of her 
 wrath upon the reeling inebriate. At this moment, it ap- 
 pears, she met a girl friend, who induced her to take a car 
 ride to one of the beaches close to a military reservation. 
 Arriving at the beach, Lily's friend met her soldier sweet- 
 heart, and he obligingly provided Lily with a comrade for a 
 dancing partner. All would have been joyous had not Lily 
 been forced to retire to a convenient nook at intervals to rest 
 her feet and change her shoes. All of a sudden she discov- 
 ered that the clock had just struck three, and the horror of 
 the thing smote her conscience with an impact that was 
 terrific. In the distance, o'er the moonlit waters, she could 
 see Gustave's battleship, where her future husband lay, bliss- 
 fully dreaming of his affianced, and then the thoughts of a. 
 home where she was an honored and distinguished member I 
 of the family, and from which she was many miles distant, 
 seared her brain like a hot iron. Then, too, had she not 
 been "conwerted," as she styled it only a few hours before? 
 Lily, who was mad as a hornet, knew who was the cause of 
 her downfall, and, grabbing her girl friend and temptress by 
 the throat, gave her a reproving slap, which put that lady to 
 sleep under a neighboring table, then freed herself from her 
 worldly companions, dashed to the spot where her shoes were 
 hidden, and had just replaced one white shoe with one black, 
 when her erstwhile chum, now her battered and infuriated
 
 IO2 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 enemy, shrieking wildly, bore down on her with the force of 
 a hurricane. The proprietor of the hall and a motley crowd 
 of human night owls brought up the rear. Lily with aston- 
 ishing agility jumped through the open window, a drop of 
 some four feet, and, outdistancing her pursuers, was soon 
 lost in a strip of woods adjoining the reservation, and 
 quickly made her way to the nearest car line for home, mut- 
 tering to herself all the entire journey. 
 
 "Three o'clock in the mornin', and me a member of the 
 farn'ly and only jest conwerted." Of course Lily had lost 
 her key, and it was necessary for her to ring the bell and 
 arouse Maria. She stumbled up the stairs as the clock struck 
 five, her unmatched footgear making travel difficult, and her 
 overburdened mind resulting in speech that was voluble but 
 incoherent. Not until nine a. m. was it possible to eject 
 Lily from dreamland, and then only from a feeling of hun- 
 ger, and not from any sense of duty, did she consent to leave 
 her bed, on which she had thrown herself, without remov- 
 ing her clothes, and with a thud which shook the entire 
 house. 
 
 Lily's reign of terror was rapidly drawing to a close. Our 
 nerves were being worn to a frazzle, and happily the end 
 was in sight. A letter had dropped to the floor by my bed- 
 side, a side that was not very accessible. In sweeping she 
 had noticed it, and, not being able to reach it with her 
 sweeper, drooped on her hands and knees, and, grunting and 
 wheezing like a tubercular steer, crawled under the bed. 
 Finding her position an uncomfortable one, and that she was 
 unable to move unless the bed moved with her, and failing 
 also to dislodge her shirtwaist which had caught in the 
 springs, instead of calling for Maria's help, she humped her 
 back like a camel, and tried to stand upright, pushing springs 
 and mattress, on which I was lying, from their moorings, 
 high in the air, nearly causing me to stand on my head and 
 almost breaking my neck in the process. My shouts brought 
 Maria to the rescue; I was made comfortable, and Lily was 
 released. 
 
 "Well, I gave you a nice ride, didn't I ?" chirped the irre- 
 sponsible barbarian; "a good shake-up is what you wants; 
 another one of them and youse would be a Marathon run- 
 ner." 
 
 "Woman," said I, with all the force and vehemence at my 
 command, "you leave this house to-morrow. Phone at once
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book '103 
 
 to the agency and let that cheerful prevaricator who recom- 
 mended you as a refined, ladylike, capable girl, find you an- 
 other victim to practice on. Your reign of terror here has 
 ended; I would rather have a mad hippopotamus in the 
 house, or the whole Bronx Zoo, than a quarter of your car- 
 cass. You're impossible; I've been risking my life ever since 
 you've been here, endeavoring to make a rational human be- 
 ing out of you, but you're a hopeless case. I give it up. You 
 go, and go quick. Fade, hike, be on your way." 
 
 Lily looked at me dazed. Her face, almost as white as her 
 teeth, screwed up into a knot as she flopped into a chair, and 
 in a frenzy of mingled grief and rage slid face downward on 
 the floor, which she hammered alternately with fists and feet, 
 in impotent rage and mortification, as we often see a spoiled 
 child do when its favorite toy is taken from it. 
 
 "I never gets a easy job," she moaned; "I never strikes a 
 cinch ; I never goes up against a soft thing, but in a day or 
 two they hands me me ticket, and tells me to beat it. Me 
 brothers and me mother says, 'Lily, youse couldn't hold a job 
 if youse was nailed to it,' and this time I was a-goin' to fool 
 'em; I was goin' to be a typewritest and a stenography, and 
 instead I'se got it in the neck once more. No gentleman 
 would ever fire a lady who hadn't got no shoes to go home 
 in." 
 
 "Don't you worry, young lady," said I, "about the shoes; 
 you'll go home if you have to go in a strait jacket, a patrol 
 wagon, or walk home on your head. Out you go, remember, 
 to-morrow by noon sharp. To me you are as one who has 
 never lived; I've buried you in the graveyard of forgotten 
 things. Get up off that floor, and be busy with that phone, 
 and tell that double-dyed villain who recommended you to 
 us to get you another job. Instead of sending us a human 
 being, she sent us an elephant in skirts; all you lack is a 
 trunk to be one." 
 
 "Well," said Lily, recovering her sense of humor, "I'se 
 got suit cases instead; like to see me hang one on me nose? 
 Wish I was a elephant, then I wouldn't have to buy no 
 shoes." 
 
 She rang up the agency, and was told to come down imme- 
 diately. A lady wanted a waitress for a hospital. "Ah, I 
 know," said I; "that's just the kind of a job you'll fill to a 
 T. You've got to serve meals to the people in the morgue, 
 and those are about the only people you are fit to wait on.
 
 IO4 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 Poor souls who want nothing more on this earth. That job 
 was made for you, built for you. Try for it, Lily, do; they 
 may make you a daughter of the family." 
 
 Unmindful of the lady who was waiting for her, she hob- 
 bled off and borrowed Maria's shoe blacking, and, while 
 Maria did the housework, Lily, in the most artistic man- 
 ner, transformed her white shoe into a black one. This was 
 her solution of a serious problem; the only drawback was, 
 however, that one shoe was a low-cut oxford, and the other 
 a high-buttoned affair, and even Lily's artistic accomplish- 
 ments could not transform a low-cut shoe into a high one 
 or vice versa. At this moment the phone rang; the agency 
 lady wanted to know if Lily had started. 
 
 "Started," said I ; "you, who know Lily, ask a question like 
 that! Started? Great heavens, all she's started to do is to 
 manicure her shoes. She's painting the white one black, and 
 it's taken her an hour to get the bottle out of the cork." 
 
 "Can I speak to her?" inquired the woman humbly. Lily 
 was already at the phone to answer for herself, and thus it 
 was she answered: 
 
 "Say, Mrs. Johnson, what's eatin' that old hen? What's 
 her hurry? Don't she know that, if she wants to see me, 
 she's got to wait till I'm good and ready to see her? Stand 
 her up till 'bout four this afternoon. If I hurry I can make 
 it by then," and, with a look of supreme disgust on her face, 
 Lily limped off to put a few more artistic touches to her 
 shoe, ejaculating en route: "Aw, these women make me 
 sick." " 
 
 At three p. m. Lily borrowed a quarter for carfare, and 
 trudged painfully in the direction of the car line, returning 
 at nine that night. She had borrowed money to secure a new 
 pair of shoes, this time only half a size too small for her, 
 and she had got the best position she had ever had and was 
 to be at "woik" at eight-thirty the following morning. 
 
 "Youse don't think I'll get there," said she, "but this is 
 where I'se goin' to fool youse, 'cause I ain't goin' to bed at 
 all, I'se goin' to sit up or maybe I'll lie down with half me 
 clothes on and half off. But when the clock hits thirty min- 
 utes past eight, Lily'll be on the job. You see I'se to wait 
 
 on the doctors' and noises' (nurses') table at the 
 
 Hospital, and if I ain't there, they don't eat, see ?" 
 
 Here Lily raided the icebox for a late supper, stuck her 
 elbows in a sheet of "catch-em-alive" fly paper, which, with its
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 105 
 
 burden of dead flies and nasty stickiness, clung tenaciously to 
 her only presentable waist with all the clinginess and death- 
 like grip of a poor relation. After her exit it was arranged 
 without her knowledge, that we would wake her up at five 
 o'clock, putting the clocks on two hours, as otherwise it would 
 be useless attempting to get her to work on time, though the 
 hospital was only a thirty minute ride from our door. 
 
 When Maria entered Lily's room in the morning, she found 
 her stretched on the bed, so fast in the arms of Morpheus 
 that only a derrick or a stick of dynamite could have sepa- 
 rated her from the sleepy god. She had removed nothing but 
 her shoes, and the hairpins from her hair. The fly paper 
 which now also adhered to her back had succeeded in gather- 
 ing in a considerable quantity of her stray locks. In vain 
 Maria tried to awaken her. 
 
 "You have to be at your position in an hour," she said, 
 pulling the slumbering beauty into a sitting position. 
 
 "Get off that bed, and be out of this house within an hour, 
 or I'll phone for the police," I shouted. 
 
 All Lily heard was police, and as she dropped back on the 
 pillow as Maria in despair let go of her bulky form, she mur- 
 mured with disdain, as she closed her eyes : "Police / eat s 
 'em .'" 
 
 We made another attempt at seven to wake her, but she 
 had apparently lost all interest in her new position. What was 
 worrying her was the fact that she was tied up to a fly paper 
 that refused to let go of her hair, until Maria sheared her 
 loose with her scissors. Her only waist was in a hopeless 
 state, and it simply had to be washed before she could pre- 
 sent herself for employment even at a livery stable. Lily 
 wanted breakfast first, however, but Maria was obdurate, so 
 Lily calmly started to wash a waist. Later she got herself 
 something to eat and began to wash all the soiled clothes she 
 possessed. Maria had a number of duties to attend to, which 
 took her from the house for two hours. After she had dis- 
 appeared there was an ominous silence. I called to Lily time 
 and again, but got no response. Had she jumped from the 
 window? No. Lily was not much of a jumper. After an 
 hour or more the bell rang repeatedly. No one answered, 
 and as is the custom in such cases the bell of the flat below 
 was rung, our neighbor's attention attracted and the door 
 opened.
 
 io6 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 "It's a friend, Mr. , wants to see you," shouted our 
 
 neighbor from the hall. 
 
 "Many thanks," I replied, "ask him to come up." Up he 
 came, to my relief, and after a brief explanation I asked 
 him to go into the kitchen and investigate the cause of the 
 ominous silence which prevailed in that region. 
 
 "Fast asleep," was the report. Fast asleep ! and it was now 
 noon! 
 
 "Please go and wake her up, George," I said to my friend ; 
 "give her a good shaking; she needs it." 
 
 Lily got her shaking, finally awoke, and suddenly realizing 
 there was a strange man in front of her, let out a scream 
 that was heard all over the block : 
 
 "Boiglers ! Perlice ! ! Whose youse, and what's youse 
 doin' in this flat ?" 
 
 Here Lily grabbed a kitchen knife. 
 
 "Beat it, or I'll jab youse," she yelled, and my friend, who 
 was no hero, retired hastily with Lily at his heels. 
 
 "Quit, you chump," I shouted, as the two ran into the room. 
 "That is a friend of mine; you've been asleep for two hours, 
 and I had to call this man from police headquarters to come 
 and wake you." It wasn't necessary to hew strictly to the 
 line of truth when explaining to Lily, she was too dense to 
 understand it or anything else. 
 
 "Sure youse ain't robbed and youse throat ain't cut?" 
 
 "No," I replied. "But yours will be, if you're not out of 
 this house in half an hour. This gentleman is a detective, 
 and he's here to throw you out if I say the word." 
 
 "Defectives," sneered Lily contemptuously, retreating to 
 her lair. "I eats 'em." 
 
 My friend, after a few moments' chat, departed, Lily call- 
 ing derisively after him: "Huh, there goes the defective." 
 Here I called her, and she slouched in and sat on the edge of 
 a chair, fanning herself with a half dried shirtwaist, utterly 
 unconcerned. 
 
 "Lily," I said, "I am going to phone to that hospital, and 
 ask my friend the head surgeon, Dr. George Brisbane, to send 
 the bug ambulance for you. It's the doctor's table you have 
 to wait on, but it's not a table where people eat ; it's the oper- 
 ating table where they cut people up, and once you get in 
 there I've only got to call up the chief surgeon, who has a 
 knife three feet long, and he'll make seventeen kinds of a 
 ham sandwich of you. It isn't the morgue, mind, that you've
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 107 
 
 got to wait on, but you have to wait on a doctor's table where 
 they carve people, and, if there aren't enough people to prac- 
 tice on, they cut up the help, and you'll be sliced like a deli- 
 catessen ham. I wouldn't be in your shoes for a million 
 dollars." 
 
 Lily had never looked at the matter from this point of 
 view. She could see how the doctor's table might be other 
 than a table where meals were served, and that they might 
 need her to carry away dismembered bodies, for Lily was 
 densely ignorant and believed that surgeons had the right to 
 cut sick people all to pieces if they so desired. Surgery had 
 no limitations, as far as Lily's knowledge of the subject was 
 concerned. She now watched me reach for the phone, think- 
 ing I would not dare to use it. I, however, called up a friend 
 of mine, who is always prepared to help out with a joke, and, 
 happily, a physician. 
 
 "Doctor," I said, "there is a woman here who should have 
 been at your hospital at half past eight this morning, and 
 here it is nearly noon, and I can't get rid of her; if she isn't 
 at your hospital at one o'clock, will you send your big ambu- 
 lance and a strait jacket? She's been engaged by the super- 
 intendent to wait on the operating table. If you'll give her 
 all that's coming to her when you get hold of her, I'll be ex- 
 ceedingly obliged. One moment, Doc; I'll ask Lily to speak 
 to you." 
 
 It was not necessary; she had flown. In twenty minutes 
 she had ironed two waists, and thrown the rest of her pos- 
 sessions into a suit case. Never was such activity seen in 
 this world. Maria entered just as she was making her final 
 preparations to get out, and quickly got her a light lunch, for 
 Lily was determined not to leave the house before she had 
 ., had one more meal. Luncheon over, Lily suddenly began to 
 rry, reproaching herself for having caused us so much trou- 
 ble, and begging to be allowed to catch all the flies her 
 carelessness had let into the house. And would we promise 
 to tell Gustave she'd left because she wanted more money, so 
 that she could put something in the bank toward housekeep- 
 ing? We were willing to promise anything to get rid of 
 her. 
 
 "Maria," said I, "if you would be kind enough to help 
 Lily to the door with her suit cases, I should feel exceed- 
 ingly obliged." Lily came over to me, put out her hand, and
 
 io8 Uncle Charlie's Story ~Book 
 
 said: "I would kiss youse good-by, but I knows youse don't 
 like joims (germs)." 
 
 "Lots of luck, Lily," I replied; "here's a quarter for your 
 carfare and a soda, and every good thing in this world I hope^ 
 will come your way." 
 
 She was overcome with emotion, and commenced to boo, 
 then to weep, and then to howl until Maria took her by the 
 arm, and, comforting her, led her from the room, but not 
 beforj Lily had deposited her suit cases on the floor by the 
 door r.nd thrown me a number of kisses in the most approved 
 fashion, which I acknowledged in kind. 
 
 "I hopes the next time I see youse, youse'll be playin' 
 football," was her parting remark. And so Lily departed, big 
 tears screaming down her capacious cheeks, and a regular 
 freshet dropping on the floor as she kissed Maria good-by. 
 Maria watched her as she disappeared up the street, every 
 ten yards or so depositing her baggage on the sidewalk to 
 throw kisses in the direction of the window at which Maria 
 was waving her hand. She repeated this operation at least 
 half a dozen times before she finally faded from view. 
 
 "Poor unfortunate," said sympathetic Maria. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," I added; "poor unfortunate. Lily is the 
 result of heredity and environment. Nature gave her a good 
 heart, but forgot to supply her with a ballast wheel and a 
 thinking apparatus. No more agency help for me." 
 
 "Well," said Maria, "we have tried every known way to 
 secure the kind of help adapted to our needs, with no suc- 
 cess. What are you going to do now?" 
 
 "The Lord only knows," said I, "and he won't tell. Any- 
 way, let us be thankful we got rid of Lily, and I'll see our 
 next advertisement doesn't bring a horde of incompetents." 
 
 Just as we finished thanking a kindly Providence for de- 
 livering us of that untamed creature, Lily, the street door 
 bell rang violently. As Maria rushed hastily to the door, I 
 felt in my bones something was going to happen and 
 something did, and that shortly. Lily had returned.' and 
 pushing Maria aside ran up the stairs, and to our astonish- 
 ment, dashed up to my bedside leaving a half unpacked suit 
 case on the doorstep. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, what brought you back?" I cried. 
 
 "I'se come back, 'cause it was me dooty to come back. I'se 
 goin' where I won't be no daughter of the family, and I'se 
 brought youses tooth brush and powder back, cause if I
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 109 
 
 ain't goin' to be no daughter of the family, I won't need 'em 
 no more, and I didn't want to take nothin' away what you 
 gave me unless I could make good use of it," and Lily shook 
 my hand again violently, and backed out of the room, wav- 
 ing an adieu with one hand and throwing kisses with the 
 other. I shouted as she went, "If you've got anything else 
 that you think belongs to us, throw it away, but don't take 
 the trouble to return it, and mind the automobiles, they're 
 very dangerous." 
 
 "Automobiles," howled Lily derisively, "/ eats 'em" With 
 this defiant challenge, she disappeared once more, throw- 
 ing kisses at the window with as much enthusiasm as ever, 
 Maria meanwhile waving her hand encouragingly, until Lily 
 had faded from her vision forever. 
 
 Lily's tooth cleaning apparatus was deposited in the 
 garbage can, and we both sighed a sigh of regret, that our 
 efforts to keep Lily's dental china clean and shiny until the 
 end of her days, and to make her an intellectual and useful 
 member of our small but select family had been dashed to 
 earth owing to the fact that the girl we had experimented 
 on had never had a chance thanks to heredity and environ- 
 ment to make good, and then when the opportunity came to 
 her she had not the ability to grasp it. 
 
 * . * * * * * * 
 
 Two years had passed away since fate robbed us of that 
 delicate household flower, Lily. We often wondered what 
 had become of her, wondered whether she was married, or 
 was still waging warfare on peaceful homes. One eventful 
 day a postal card arrived, which happily set forever at rest 
 our doubts and worries regarding her. After considerable 
 trouble, first holding the card upside down, then downside up ; 
 eying it from a hundred different angles ; deciphering this let- 
 ter, and failing to decipher that; using magnifying glasses, 
 telescopes, microscopes, standing on our heads, and calling in 
 high priced experts on mangled, strangled, new and old 
 fangled chirography, Egyptian, Syrian, Babylonian, etc.; 
 they finally decided that a mosquito or a fly had crawled into 
 an ink bottle with suicidal intent and had emerged and 
 sought a convenient postal card, on which to end its earthly 
 woes: and that the hieroglyphics on the card were simply 
 the marks made by its inky legs, as it writhed in the agoniz- 
 ing throes of its death struggles. Another expert in deciph- 
 ering incinerated Chaldean manuscripts, emphatically testi-
 
 'no Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 fied that it wasn't writing at all, the marks having been 
 caused by the card having violently collided with a wet shoe 
 brush. We showed the experts to the door, and Maria and 
 I, who knew Lily as no expert ever could, finally made out 
 the message that Lily had affixed to the card either with pen 
 or shoe brush, and thus it ran; 
 
 "Dere fokses hows youse fillin i hop youse fill fine ise mar- 
 ried 2 gus an hav a babee 6 munta old ise fillin fine love an kisis 
 2 youse all. Lily." i 
 
 The slums, the herding places of the poor, the gold mines 
 of the stony-hearted, society must destroy or be destroyed by. 
 They are responsible for the dirt, crime, disease and igno- 
 rance which slay their thousands and make inefficient their 
 tens of thousands. Spawned by greed, sired by gold lust, they 
 are the cancerous growths of our modern civilization. Woe 
 unto those who are responsible for them, and woe unto 
 those who can destroy them and will not; these God will 
 hold to an accounting for the grim harvest of broken hearts 
 and ruined lives which these deadly plague spots are ever 
 bringing to fruition. 
 
 For what slum ever produced a lily, what alley a rose ?
 
 One who is unable to move without assistance in the course 
 of many years of invalidism is bound to meet with blood- 
 curdling experiences, and I have had more than my share of 
 them, although I've had more care probably than ordinarily 
 falls to the lot of the helpless. 
 
 As long as a man has his legs and the ability to move 
 quickly, he feels fairly secure, no matter where he may be, 
 for he knows, no matter what happens, he has an excellent 
 chance for his life. Not so the invalid. The thought of 
 uanger, especially from fire, ever haunts him, and, unless 
 some one is within calling distance, he never feels quite se- 
 cure. Only a few times in my invalid life have I consented 
 to be left alone for any considerable length of time. 
 
 Little emergencies, however, arise in the procession of 
 years that call nurse, attendant or friend from one's side for 
 just a few minutes, and, if anything terrible is going to hap- 
 pen, fate usually decides that it is to happen when one is 
 alone, with no one to aid or protect. 
 
 When some one is near and help close at hand, as a rule 
 nothing happens, but, directly one is alone, there seems to be a 
 convention of all the hoodoos, Jonahs, jinxs and other hide- 
 ous denizens of the unseen world of horrors, who quickly get 
 their diabolical heads together and decide upon some fiendish 
 scheme to bring one to the gates of death, or even to push 
 one through its gloomy portals. 
 
 When I first became an invalid, I had no thought of 
 danger. I did not realize that I had lost my ability to pro- 
 tect myself when menaced by fire by being able to move 
 swiftly to a place of safety. It is generally some terrifying 
 experience that makes one lose one's nerve, and forever after 
 fills one with anxiety and worry, if left alone for any length of 
 time. It is the scared as well as the burnt child who dreads 
 the fire. So many distressing things can happen in a few 
 minutes, and, should the experience cover but a few seconds 
 
 in
 
 112 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 of actual time, it always seems an age, a century, ere with a 
 sigh of relief you realize all danger is past. 
 
 Most people have a horror of fire, but no one has the 
 slightest conception of how a whiff of smoke, blown sud- 
 denly through a room where a helpless human lies alone 
 especially in the still hours of night can fill that anchored 
 body with a feeling of anguish and dread. 
 
 Fire, more than any other agency of death, has a terror 
 for the helpless. The tornado may give one a chance, the 
 burglar may have pity, but a wisp of flame in one's room with 
 no one to check its onrush, and a horrible death must quickly 
 result. 
 
 When the incident I am about to relate happened, I had 
 already had two experiences with fire that utterly prostrated 
 me for weeks and left an impression on my mind that will 
 never be effaced. To come unscathed from such experiences 
 does not erase from the memory the terror of the event. 
 
 But to my story. I was alone one winter morning in the 
 second story of an apartment house. My attendant had gone 
 to the cellar to help a lady living above us, find some articles 
 in her bin, which happened to be next to ours. He was 
 boiling something on the gas stove in the kitchen, and I had 
 also two gas jets burning in my room, which adjoined the 
 kitchen, as the morning was exceptionally cold and the radi- 
 ator was dispensing very little heat. The door of my room, 
 which opened directly onto the private hall of our floor, and 
 also the kitchen door, were wide open. 
 
 I had my attendant promise faithfully that he would re- 
 turn within ten minutes, and nothing, no matter how impor- 
 tant he might deem it, was to keep him away one second 
 longer than the time agreed upon. The lady with him also 
 promised that they would not be gone more than ten min- 
 utes. 
 
 "Don't worry," said she; "we'll both be back in a moment 
 or two." I was not the least bit perturbed, for my attend- 
 ant was faithful and thoughtful, only having one bad habit, 
 which on this occasion nearly brought my earthly career to 
 a sudden finish. When he got into conversation with anyone, 
 he was liable to think that hours were minutes and minutes 
 were seconds. It was this failing that on this occasion almost 
 brought about a tragedy. 
 
 As the door of the flat closed upon them, I resumed my 
 work, and, without any thought of danger, concentrated
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 113 
 
 my mind on some lyrics I was writing. I heard the bubbling 
 of water that was merrily boiling something for our midday 
 meal. I toiled away, taking no notice of the flying minutes, 
 my mind too busily engaged with my work to think of or 
 heed any signs of danger. Suddenly an ominous silence, a 
 silence of the grave, fell upon the room. I noticed it in- 
 stantly, but for a moment could not tell what had caused it. 
 The clock had not stopped ticking, the distant murmur of 
 traffic had not ceased; what was the trouble? 
 
 Before I could find the explanation an ominous odor 
 struck my nostrils, and in an instant beads of perspiration, 
 cold and clammy, stood out on my forehead. It was gas, gas 
 more deadly than dynamite. In a moment I sensed it all. 
 The water had boiled over and extinguished the flame of the 
 gas stove, but, oh ! horror/ it had not extinguished or stopped 
 the deadly fumes that were rapidly filling the room. 
 
 Now I grasped it all, the whole dreadful thing, looming up 
 hideously and mockingly. A grinning spectral figure, with 
 clawlike, fleshless, bony hands, seemed to be standing beside 
 me, the hideous face with its socketless eyes enjoying my 
 agony of mind, reveling with delight at the horror of my 
 predicament and glorying in the approaching tragedy, the 
 consummation of which it evidently awaited with delight. 
 
 Everything was still, everything as quiet as a deserted 
 graveyard. I looked at the clock twenty-five minutes had 
 elapsed since my attendant and neighbor had left me. Oh ! 
 why hadn't they kept their promise ? Ah ! of course they did 
 not know, they did not realize any danger could come. My 
 little attendant was indulging his one failing. He had lost all 
 conception of time. Now that he was in conversation with 
 another, I was forgotten. He deemed it rude to excuse him- 
 self and go, and could not break away, but she, that thought- 
 less woman, why did not she remember? She knew that 
 something was boiling on the stove. I had told them of the 
 danger of this and warned them to return quickly. Did she 
 not realize that the water might boil over, put out the flame, 
 and that the deadly gas would enter my room from the 
 kitchen, was entering it now, faster and faster every moment, 
 and in a few seconds more the lighted jets above my bed 
 which were burning with grim steadiness would ignite the 
 deadly vapor, and a terrific explosion would ensue, which 
 would blow out the side of a five-story apartment, and snuff 
 out my life, as well as the lives of scores of others?
 
 ii4 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 I did not know in what form death would come, whether 
 by suffocation, explosion, fire, or a combination of all three. 
 I was hoping that the gas would first make me unconscious, 
 then I would know nothing of what happened after. I was 
 beginning to feel a horrible sensation creeping o'er me. The 
 odor of gas was overpowering. I seized a towel and a bottle 
 of smelling salts, which were luckily near, and putting the 
 smelling salts to my nose with one hand, and tying the towel 
 over my face from the eyes down, I tried to sustain my [ 
 heart and keep from becoming unconscious. I felt confident 
 if I could only hold out a few minutes more, help would 
 come. Just then some one walked past the hall door and 
 proceeded leisurely upstairs, humming a song. I shouted 
 with a voice of despair, but they were far off now, and heard 
 not. I heard some one move overhead, and shouted again, 
 but no response. Another person who had passed the door 
 of my flat, some thirty feet away, had heard my voice, but not 
 realizing my danger, or understanding the cause of the noise, 
 had passed on. I threw three books at the windows in an en- 
 deavor to smash them and draw attention and admit air, but 
 the draperies hung straight down, protecting the glass, and 
 the books fell impotently to the floor. 
 
 Suddenly a thought flashed across my mind. Oh ! why had 
 I not thought of it before? There was a lady in the next 
 apartment whose husband was a florist and went to work 
 early. After preparing his breakfast in the early morning 
 hours, it was her habit to lie down for an hour or so. The 
 lounge on which she slept was only separated from the head 
 of my bed by a thin brick wall. If I could awaken her 
 within a few seconds, a very few seconds, she could save my 
 life; if not all was over for me. I grasped a heavy pair 
 of shears, and hammered them against the wall, shouting her 
 name as loud as I could with my ebbing strength. I must 
 have hammered for nearly half a minute and shouted for half 
 that time, but no response. I had only strength to shout 
 once more, and I put all the force in my weak body into that 
 shout. There was a moment of silence, and then, thank 
 God, a drowsy voice, oh so faint, muttered: "What is it?" 
 
 "Come !" I shouted. "For God's sake, come quickly; come 
 by the fire escape !" My neighbor, though half asleep, at 
 once knew that something was wrong. Once before she had 
 come to my rescue, and, though the fire-escape route needed 
 courage to negotiate, she did not hesitate for a moment. She
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 115 
 
 cast off the drowsiness of sleep, jumped out on the fire es- 
 cape and leaped to my window. But what if the window was 
 locked? It would take several seconds to break the glass and 
 release the catch. Before the thought had flashed across my 
 mind, her shadow fell across the white spread that covered 
 my bed. No words can describe what I felt as I saw my res- 
 cuer grasp the window sash. Heaven be thanked, it was not 
 locked ! In a second she was in the room. 
 
 "Turn out the gas," I said faintly, for I was almost uncon- 
 scious. It was not necessary to have spoken, as the odor of 
 gas almost caused her to collapse. She held to the bottom of 
 my bed with her left hand, and with her right shut off the 
 taps and the jets were extinguished. There could be no ex- 
 plosion now blessed relief ! 
 
 "Open other window, and shut off gas stove !" I gasped. 
 
 She was in the kitchen in another instant, and I heard the 
 gas cocks click as she turned off the murderous vapor. Thank 
 God, all danger was over. I fell back on the pillow, utterly 
 exhausted, unable to speak. 
 
 Just then I heard a sound of laughter, and my attendant 
 unlocked the hall door of the apartment. The odor of gas 
 was for the moment more than he could stand. He quickly 
 threw up all the windows in the apartment, and, oh ! how 
 delicious, how soothing, how exhilarating and revivifying 
 was that breath of fresh air, the life-giving elixir, as it filled 
 my lungs and scattered the deadly gas and its sickening odor. 
 My attendant recognized the lady who was in my room, and 
 it was not necessary to tell him what had happened. One 
 glance at the kitchen and he understood. 
 
 My rescuer sat down by my bedside, while my attendant 
 gave me a heart stimulant, and went in the hall to phone for 
 the doctor, for at that time the phone, which would have 
 averted all the trouble, was not at my side. 
 
 "That was the narrowest squeak you ever had, old boy, of 
 ever will have," said my physician when he arrived. "After 
 this experience never allow yourself to be left alone." 
 
 That incident I have never forgotten. Often at night in 
 dreams I live it o'er again, and wake with a start to find the 
 perspiration rolling from my face, and my lips muttering: 
 "Oh, God, will they never come !"
 
 HOW MARIA MET UNCLE CHARLIE 
 BY MARIA 
 
 It was in the fall of 1902 that the spirit of wanderlust, 
 which has a habit like the will o' the wisp of dancing in front 
 of adventurous humans and beckoning them with its flicker- 
 ing and uncertain light to seek new scenes and experiences, 
 induced me to leave the Canadian city in which I had been 
 studying and board a train bound for that seething mael- 
 strom of humanity and melting pot of the races New York. 
 
 I had no family ties to augment the wrench of parting from 
 the old and tried, or add another thrill of half fearful, half 
 delightful and wholly curious anticipations of what fate 
 might have in store for me in the mighty metropolis to which 
 I was going. I, however, did have some very dear friends, 
 and, when all the good-bys were said and the train rolled out 
 of the depot, I felt just about as lonesome as it's possible 
 for anyone to feel, and for a moment wished that wander- 
 lust spirit had not waved his lantern so compellingly or 
 beckoned so alluringly to me to follow him. 
 
 I'm not going to tell you how young I was when I started 
 on this adventure, because if I did some mathematical expert 
 might try to figure out how old I am now, and as I've reached 
 that stage on life's journey where I don't run around telling 
 everyone my age, I don't feel like giving you that oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 When, after an all-night journey, the train rolled into the 
 Grand Central Depot, and I emerged on the street, after 
 dodging several importunate boys, all determined to carry 
 my suit case, and running the gantlet of a string of wait- 
 
 U6
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 117 
 
 ing cabs, the owners of which expressed an intense desire to 
 convey me to any part of the city I might designate, a re- 
 quest I had to refuse on account of the slim condition of my 
 pocketbook, and also because I had heard of the exorbitant 
 charges of New York cabmen, I looked around bewildered, 
 amid the hurry and bustle of pedestrians, the clang of cars, 
 the rumble of passing vehicles, the shouting of newsboys 
 and fruit venders, and the thousand and one noisy activities 
 that make up the sum total of life in a big city. 
 
 I had an introduction from a friend of mine to the Y. W. 
 C. A. of Brooklyn. That was my objective point, but the 
 query was how to get there. I had received countless direc- 
 tions from the above-mentioned friend, but somehow I could 
 not remember a single one, and, though I'd had them all 
 carefully written out, I could not find the paper on which 
 they were recorded. I espied a friendly looking representa- 
 tive of the majesty of the law, and, remembering the old 
 adage, "Tell your troubles to a policeman," I went up and 
 unburdened my woes to him. He not only gave me explicit 
 directions, but put me on a car that would take me to Brook- 
 lyn Bridge, then told me what car to take from that point in 
 order to reach my destination. 
 
 On reaching Brooklyn Bridge I was just in time to see 
 an interesting and, to a newcomer, a somewhat bewildering 
 sight, namely, the influx of Brooklyn's toiling hordes to their 
 daily tasks in New York City, and when you take into con- 
 sideration the fact that over 300,000 souls, who live in Brook- 
 lyn and work in New York, pass to and fro over that bridge 
 daily, morning and evening, you will get a faint conception 
 of the immense amount of human traffic that converges at 
 one end of that structure, is swiftly conveyed over the flash- 
 ing steel rails, suspended by man's genius far above the tur- 
 bid waters of the East River, and vomited out at the other. 
 
 I stood watching this busy scene for some time in fasci- 
 nated wonder, as car after car came clanging in, unloading 
 
 v
 
 1 1 8 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 its human freight, and immediately starting on its return 
 journey; then, seeing the car I had been directed to take 
 come sweeping into line, I boarded it, and about twenty min- 
 utes later was interviewing the superintendent of the Y. W. 
 C. A. and negotiating for a room. My references proving 
 satisfactory, I was graciously given permission to occupy a 
 room in that sacred but somewhat expensive establishment, 
 for the sum of one dollar per day. What welcome would 
 have been accorded me had my references proved unsatis- 
 factory, or if I had not come armed with these certificates 
 of respectability, I leave to the imagination of the reader. 
 
 After washing the cinders from my eyes, and removing the 
 dust of travel from my clothing, I again sought the superin- 
 tendent to inquire if she had any positions listed as the Y. W. 
 C. A. runs an employment agency. I was informed they 
 had only one in my line of work, a sanitarium, where they 
 required a nurse for night duty, and, on receiving a card of 
 introduction and full directions as to how to reach the place, 
 I started out in search of my first job in New York, stop- 
 ping at a restaurant en route to get some breakfast. 
 
 I duly reached my destination, a red frame building, stand- 
 ing in its own grounds. It had at one time been the residence 
 of a millionaire, and still retained traces of its former 
 grandeur. It seemed to stand aloof and regard with disdain 
 the modern apartment and two-family houses by which it was 
 .surrounded, much as an ancient dowager would regard the 
 /oung, self-assured members of the nouveau riche, who had 
 forced their way into her exclusive social circle. 
 
 On inquiring for the superintendent, I was informed she 
 was out, but would be in shortly, and was invited to take a 
 seat in the reception room. The interior of the house bore 
 out and emphasized the impression I had received from the 
 exterior, the impression of a grandeur that had existed, but 
 was now rapidly vanishing, the whole building being engaged 
 with its back to the wall, and with daily lessening vigor, in
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 119 
 
 a mortal combat with Father Time and his handmaid, Decay. 
 
 The superintendent arrived shortly, and, after a brief in- 
 terview, I was engaged to come and begin my duties the fol- 
 lowing evening. Promptly to the minute I appeared, and 
 after supper (previous to which I had been introduced to the 
 nurses who were on day duty) the head nurse escorted me 
 through the wards, introducing me to the various patients 
 and giving me instructions as to what they would require 
 during the night. 
 
 I now found the sanitarium was in the habit of accommo- 
 dating incurable cases only, and that not a patient there ever 
 expected to be well again, or had any hope of leaving the 
 place, until the angel of death should call them hence, or 
 their friends, upon whose bounty they largely depended, 
 should grow tired of paying their board, in which case they 
 would exchange their quarters in the sanitarium for a shelter 
 in the poorhouse. 
 
 On the first floor were the reception room, the doctor's 
 office, the dining room, etc. The second floor was devoted to 
 women patients, and the superintendent's room. On the top 
 floor, under the roof, were the men, and the nurses' and 
 servants' quarters; and with each succeeding flight of stairs 
 the one-time grandeur of the place was less in evidence and 
 the decay more apparent. 
 
 After being introduced to the women, we ascended another 
 flight of stairs and entered the men's ward. This was a long, 
 narrow room, containing twelve beds, only four of which 
 were occupied. The walls had at one time been decorated, 
 but now whole portions of paper had peeled off, showing the 
 plaster underneath, and in some places the plaster also had 
 come away, exposing the laths. The gentleman who built the 
 house had either been unable to design a furnace big enough 
 to heat the top floor, or did not think it needed heating ; any- 
 way, a small gas stove in the middle of the room (the 
 anaemic flame of which only seemed to give a keener edge to
 
 I2O Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 the cold) was the only means provided for warming it. The 
 windows looked as though they had not been cleaned for half 
 a century, except when a friendly shower of rain had tried 
 to wash some of the accumulated particles of dirt away, and 
 had only been partially successful, forming little runlets and 
 streaks where the drops had rolled down the pane. Alto- 
 gether it had a dreary and desolate appearance, and I could 
 not repress a shiver as I looked around me. 
 
 Of the four men who occupied the room, one was in- 
 sane and had a propensity for waking up in the middle of the 
 night, shouting : "Police! Fire! Murder !" refusing to stop 
 until a sedative put him out of business again for a while, 
 and, needless to say, disturbing the rest of the unfortunate 
 occupants of the room, and sometimes of the whole house as 
 well. 
 
 The second man was blind, and as long as he had plenty 
 to eat did not concern himself much with anything, the qual- 
 ity of the food not bothering him in the least as long as the 
 quantity was in evidence. The third man was a little hunch- 
 back, who had lived in institutions all his life, and knew 
 nothing of the outside world. The fourth occupant of the 
 room, as you probably already have guessed, was Uncle 
 Charlie, and it was in that room where he had spent years of 
 misery, and amid these wretched surroundings that Maria 
 first met him. 
 
 He was young, still in his thirties, but the years of physi- 
 cal suffering and of struggling with financial worries had left 
 their mark on him. He was thin to gauntness, nothing but a 
 living skeleton, and it seemed impossible that one so ema- 
 ciated could live and work. 
 
 It was a remarkable face that I gazed upon, banked by its 
 background of pillows. It was the face of a thinker, and of 
 one who has suffered, and who through suffering has been 
 granted a keener insight into things than falls to the lot of 
 ordinary mortals. It was a face a sculptor would have
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 121 
 
 gloried in had he wanted a model from which to chisel in 
 marble a head of Shakespeare, or an artist, had he wanted to 
 portray on canvas an ideal conception of the "Man of Sor- 
 rows." 
 
 What impressed me most was a massive forehead and a 
 pair of wonderful dark-brown eyes; eyes that looked as if 
 they had plumbed all the depths of sorrow the world con- 
 tains, but in spite of that seemed yet to nurse an unconquer- 
 able hope. I found out afterward when I knew him better 
 that these same eyes could glint with humor and sparkle with 
 laughter, and I also found that, in spite of his helpless body 
 and miserable surroundings, he had a better grasp of the 
 great questions of the day, a clearer vision regarding their 
 solution, and a greater knowledge of the progress of world 
 events and their relation to each other, than most of those 
 men whose business it is to make a study of national affairs. 
 Perhaps his isolated position stranded high and dry in his 
 desolate attic, far away from the busy marts of men, gave 
 him more perspective, and enabled him to view more under- 
 standingly the various political, social, commercial and eco- 
 nomic problems in the solution of which the nations of the 
 world are engaged, much as an onlooker at a game can dis- 
 cern more clearly what is taking place, and what is going to 
 be the outcome of the contest, than those who are partici- 
 pating in it. 
 
 At the time I met him he was just beginning to make 
 headway in his long, uphill struggle to woo fickle fortune by 
 his pen. Success had been flirting with him around the cor- 
 ner, but she had not yet come out into the open, and led him 
 into those brighter paths, where financial worries were not 
 ever near to scourge and harass. 
 
 As I became better acquainted with him, I was astounded 
 and amazed by the indomitable energy, dogged perseverance, 
 cheerful optimism and surprising versatility of the man. He 
 simply was unconquerable. When disappointments fell thick
 
 122 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 and fast around him, he never stopped to complain or repine, 
 he simply went on working. When some poem, play or lyric 
 he had written was accepted, he never let up his work to re- 
 joice, he just kept on turning out more and more "stuff." 
 At the first streak of light you found him with pen and paper 
 scribbling away, and until the gas was turned out at night he 
 was busy. When success smiled on him he did not stop his 
 efforts; when failures came, he met them with more effort. 
 To quote from Rudyard Kipling, he had learned 
 
 To meet both triumph and disaster, 
 
 And treat those two impostors just the same. 
 
 And his panacea for both was work, ever more work. His 
 brain seemed an inexhaustible well; the more he drew from 
 it, the more seemed to flow into it. 
 
 It was also during this period that he received his first 
 check from Comfort for a poem he had sent them, a check 
 which marked the beginning of his long connection with that 
 magazine, a connection which was to considerably widen the 
 field of his work and the scope of his influence. 
 
 Through all his uphill struggle with sickness, adversity and 
 wretched surroundings, he never lost his fund of cheerfulness, 
 nor his firm faith in God and the future of humanity and 
 its ultimate destiny when it shall have learned to be less 
 grasping, less selfish, less ready to exploit the many so that 
 the few may live in luxury; in other words, each to do unto 
 
 j the other as he would wish to be done by. 
 
 * He fought the fate that had crippled his body and flung 
 him a shattered wreck on humanity's scrap heap with a cour- 
 age that has seldom been equaled and never surpassed. He 
 fought her incessantly, inch by inch, and finally he won out. 
 Success took him by the hand and led him into pleasanter 
 surroundings, and to where the bread and butter problem 
 was no longer such a pressing one. 
 When about a year after I first knew him, and some time
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 123 
 
 before I went to a new position, he was able to move to a 
 home of his own, and say good-by to institutions, we all re- 
 joiced and joined in wishing him God-speed, and, when some 
 two and a half years later he needed a nurse and secretary, 
 I accepted the position, and here I have been since. Here 
 Uncle Charlie keeps working whenever his health permits, 
 just as busily as in his sanitarium days. It has been my 
 privilege to help him in that work, though my help has 
 merely consisted of looking after his bodily needs, and 
 transcribing his monthly messages on the typewriter as the 
 words fall from his lips. 
 
 Thanks to his ability to impress his personality on the mil- 
 lions to whom his writings have given a vision and a hope, 
 the dark clouds of financial worry, which overhung the early 
 years of his invalidism, have been lifted, and he is now able 
 to give his whole attention to the work dearest to his heart, 
 namely, the educating of the millions who wait eagerly 
 for his monthly messages to a knowledge of that better 
 era that is dawning for humanity, when the brotherhood 
 of man will no longer be an empty phrase, but a living 
 reality. Over the snow-capped mountain peaks of time his 
 clear eyes have seen that dawn approaching, and with tongue 
 and pen he is laboring titanically to induce humanity to rub 
 the sleep of centuries from its eyes and arise and glimpse it. 
 
 He is no longer the emaciated skeleton of the days when I 
 first met him, but, though his body is now well nourished, his 
 sufferings are more acute, and there is scarcely a day or an 
 hour in which he is free from pain, but his spirit remains 
 undaunted, and his hope for and love of humanity is just as 
 strong as ever, and when his summons shall come, as come it 
 must to us all, it will find him still in harness. When he is 
 called hence to hear the "Well done" of the Master, and his 
 winning personality is only a memory, and the material part 
 of him, free from pain and suffering, rests safe in the arms
 
 124 
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 of Mother Earth, the only epitaph that will fitly describe his 
 character, and the guerdon of praise he would value most, 
 should his untrammeled spirit perchance hover near, ere 
 seeking that brighter sphere, would be: "Here lies a man 
 who loved his fellow men."
 
 HOW BILLY THE GOAT MET UNCLE CHARLIE 
 BY THE GOAT 
 
 Billy the Goat has long been a by-word with the readers of 
 that popular household monthly, Comfort, and I've a sneak- 
 ing suspicion that, when you have referred to me in your let- 
 ters to Uncle Charlie, it has been with the idea that you 
 were talking of a four-legged, bewhiskered, hairy animal of 
 marvelous butting propensities and a burning desire to devour 
 your pet epistles. Wrong, comrades, wrong ! Though the 
 name, tin cans and degraded appetite suggest as much, let 
 me assure you I do not aspire to whiskers, except in the op- 
 posite sex, and that my diet consists more of chocolate sodas 
 than a daily feast of your valued letters, and the only like- 
 ness I may have to the proverbial goat is my fondness for 
 butting in. However, though, I have denied my resemblance 
 to the animal, nevertheless I am Billy the Goat, and ready 
 to fight like a goat, or any other creature as peevish, if any- 
 one questions my right to the title which has brought me 
 such nation-wide fame. 
 
 But here I disclose a secret. I have not always been Billy 
 the Goat, sad but true. A few years ago I was just a plain, 
 everyday, ordinary sort of girl, of which class there are 
 thousands; a pug-nosed, fuzzy-haired, hero-worshiping, ad- 
 venture-loving young woman, intensely satisfied with myself 
 and the world in general. I washed the dishes for my 
 mother, and played tennis on sunny afternoons, while of 
 course my evenings were devoted to the usual pastime of my 
 sort adding to my list of conquests. 
 
 However, under a frivolous exterior, hidden away 'neath 
 
 125
 
 '126 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 layers of perfume, ruffles, dance programs and powder puffs, 
 I had a great ambition that knocked on my silly pate with 
 untiring persistence in the daytime and haunted my dreams at 
 night. I wanted to be an actress, a great actress. I longed to 
 outshine Julia Marlowe and show Bernhardt how to play 
 Camille. I felt that God had given me a great talent the 
 ability to act. And now, what girl in the whole great uni- 
 verse, if she's a real wide-awake girl, has not been so pos- 
 sessed at some time of her career? This is merely an inci- 
 dent, my ambition to delve into realms theatrical, an ambi- 
 tion that played its part in my life, without the usual ending 
 of headaches and heartaches, trials and disillusionments. 
 My ambition was merely labeled wrong. I mistook a burn- 
 ing desire for growth, mental growth, and the longing to see 
 life at its saddest and merriest, mistook it for something it 
 was not. I incorrectly diagnosed my disease as "stage fever," 
 when an older and wiser head would have said, as did Uncle 
 Charlie, "What she wants is life, and light." My soul was 
 indeed hungry for knowledge ; I wanted to probe beneath the 
 surface of life. The people in the streets, poor, rich, sick and 
 hungry how did they live, what did they live for, and what 
 became of them when their usefulness was o'er? I wanted 
 to try and understand the whys and wherefores of things 
 and look deep into the troubled heart of the world. 
 
 But, as I say, my ambition served its purpose, and then 
 flew away, or, rather, assumed its right guise, and finally 
 brought me to Uncle Charlie, and that, my dears, is saying 
 a heap. 
 
 I began worshiping at the shrine of Uncle Charlie very 
 early in my "teens." I was enthralled with the idea of a man 
 bedridden and helpless, sick and suffering, and with ap- 
 parently nothing (from youth's point of view) to live for, 
 having the will power and ability to scatter sunshine and fun 
 throughout the land, and to radiate cheerfulness and dis- 
 pense knowledge from a bed of pain. I first "met him" in
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 127 
 
 the pages of a magazine devoted to the funny side of life, 
 and I still hold sacred that publication that made us ac- 
 quainted. Well, after great consideration and midnight pon- 
 derings, with all the faith and assurance of youth, I sud- 
 denly resolved in my inmost mind that here was the one 
 person in all the world who could help me realize my heart's 
 secret ambition. 
 
 And so one day I, insignificant I, sat down in a most se- 
 cluded corner and wrote to the brave soul who had won my 
 confidence and admiration, wrote solemnly and carefully, 
 with every nerve tingling, and my heart tapping away like 
 forty tack hammers, and when I dropped the letter into a 
 near-by mail box a fervent prayer and a thousand hopes and 
 fears went with it. 
 
 What did I write? A foolish question, but a pardonable 
 one. I wrote what was in my heart; I wrote to Uncle Char- 
 lie what hitherto had been tucked away where no ear could 
 hear nor eye see. Here surely was proof of greatness, when 
 through the pages of a magazine one could make his per- 
 sonality felt so strongly as to call forth a confession from an 
 imaginative girl, though all suffering editors, I have since 
 discovered, are thus afflicted. I've also discovered that the 
 greatest man is not the superior being who sits in a chair of 
 state and receives his humble callers, who come to burn in- 
 cense at the altar of their deity. The really great man is he 
 who recognizes no classes, to whom no worthy one is an in- 
 ferior, and to whom the troubles of the insignificant are of 
 more importance than the "trials" of the rich. So it is not 
 surprising that Uncle Charlie answered the impulsive letter 
 of a stage-struck schoolgirl. His answer, however, was any- 
 thing but encouraging. 
 
 He informed me that but one girl out of a thousand who 
 went into the theatrical world made a success of it. His ad- 
 vice was to remain at home and continue the arduous duties 
 of a daughter of the family. My heart was at zero, and I
 
 128 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 was in despair until I got to the very end of his letter, where 
 in a postscript was a cordial little invitation to visit him. 
 Think of it ! Visit him ! ! Happy ? I was the most boister- 
 ously happy individual who ever drank a chocolate ice-cream 
 soda (for of course I celebrated) and proud? Well, I should 
 say. To receive a letter, and a personal one, from the man 
 who had usurped Dickens in my "Hall of Heroes" was too 
 much for my badly balanced mind, and I didn't talk sense for 
 a week. I scrambled around, ecstatically hugging every mem- 
 ber of the family from my mother down to the family cat, 
 pleading and begging them to let me go, if only for a day, an 
 hour, and talk to him about my stage ambitions, for, need- 
 less to say, Uncle Charlie's advice had only the effect of pour- 
 ing oil on the flames, and I felt sure that, if anyone could as- 
 sist me in becoming a modern Mrs. Siddons, that person was 
 Uncle Charlie. His name by this time had become a revered 
 by-word in our family, and after a short correspondence my 
 visit was finally and formally arranged for. My joy was su- 
 preme. During the mending, fixing, packing period that al- 
 was precedes a journey, I was in the seventh heaven of bliss. 
 My only worry was that the railroad might suddenly disap- 
 pear from the stage of mortal things, or a flood, cyclone or 
 tornado might prevent my going. To worship at the shrine 
 of my greatest hero, to meet him, to hear him speak all this 
 was to be mine. No calamities having occurred during the 
 three hundred years which elapsed while preparations were 
 being made for my journey, the good-bys were finally said, 
 the train came into the station at the psychological moment 
 when the tears were about to come, and therefore saved me 
 the disgrace of a shiny nose and weepy eyes. 
 
 I feel sure that no happier mortal than I ever trod the 
 platform of the Grand Central Station, New York, on the 
 eventful morning of my arrival in the big metropolis. Maria 
 was there to meet me, and the sight of her filled me with 
 joy and relief, for I confess I had harbored a fear that she
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 129 
 
 might be a spinster of the curl paper variety, and instead I 
 found a big sister, a girl like myse'lf, who could laugh quite 
 merrily at a joke and whose trim tailored suit of blue serge 
 showed to advantage the slender, supple lines of her figure, 
 and whose natty blue toque brought out the warm blue of her 
 eyes, which were smiling at me with the greatest friendship 
 and welcome. It is surely a marvel that she ever survived 
 the somewhat lengthy journey to the suburban home of Uncle 
 Charlie, for I kept up a continuous string of questions and 
 comments, and know she must have sighed with relief when 
 the conductor called out the name of our avenue. Then with 
 my journey almost ended, and the longing of weeks about to 
 be realized, I suddenly became serious. It was a quiet, wide- 
 eyed girl that Maria ushered into an exquisite room of 
 medium size, just the sort of room you fit up in your im- 
 agination for your favorite hero, in which all blended and 
 harmonized, soft draperies and exquisite pictures and books, 
 books, books ! It had not the air of a sick room, it had not 
 the odor of an invalid's chamber, but instead it was the study 
 and workroom of a genius, the sanctum of a man of won- 
 ders, who, lying on his bed in a corner of the room, held out 
 a thin, white, welcoming hand to Billy the Goat. 
 
 At last! I was gazing into his face, gazing at the large, 
 grave brown eyes that told of suffering and sorrow, and yet 
 with a sparkle in their depths that promised oceans of fun 
 and the ability to make the most of life as he found it. In 
 less than a moment I was made comfortable and at ease, and 
 was sitting by his bedside, chatting as if I had known him 
 all my life. I was as happy as the proverbial clam at high 
 tide, and, while we exchanged our first greetings, my eyes 
 and ears were working overtime, observing everything in 
 that charming room, from the brass match safe on the table 
 by my side to the piano heaped high with Uncle Charlie's 
 own compositions. 
 
 I think one of the things that impressed me most at first,
 
 130 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 was my host's voice. It was deep, vibrant and musical, a 
 matinee idol voice, the more remarkable because of its com- 
 ing from a man whose bodily strength had almost entirely 
 ebbed. 
 
 After we had become thoroughly acquainted, Maria 
 showed me to the room where I was to deposit my goods and 
 chattels, and, after powdering my nose and smoothing my 
 fuzzy locks, I trotted back to Uncle Charlie's room, pre- 
 pared to pour into his sympathetic ears my heart's story. I 
 need not have prepared myself, however, for, when I was 
 comfortably seated beside him, I suddenly discovered, much 
 to my amazement and the discomfiture of my ego, that, com- 
 pared to Uncle Charlie's life and interests, mine were the 
 most uninteresting and insignificant in the world. It was 
 about this time that I commenced to lose interest in myself 
 and see things going on about me. 
 
 Those first few days were a revelation to me; it was as 
 though some window in my soul had been suddenly opened, 
 and I was gazing on another world full of inspiring things 
 that I never before dreamed existed, or could exist. Coming 
 from a sphere where hats and gowns, cake recipes and popu- 
 lar songs were the chief topics of conversation into an idealis- 
 tic little world, where great questions of the day were com- 
 mon table talk, was startling to say the least. Hitherto my silly 
 noodle had been the catch-all for such remnants as I could 
 gather from a coterie of frivolous pals, a smattering of super- 
 ficial knowledge and a great deal of fun. Woman suffrage I 
 had been told was an unwomanly fad, showing sex deteriora- 
 tion, a thing not fit for a young lady to think of. These were 
 my mother's words, and since I have become capable of dis- 
 tinguishing right from wrong, and dark from light, I see 
 with horror that she of all women needed a vote above every- 
 thing else. Woman Suffrage was one of the first lessons I 
 learned from the book of justice, under Uncle Charlie's tute-
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 131 
 
 lage, and Billy the Goat now yells loudly and lustily, "Votes 
 for women." 
 
 Would that you all could hear the eloquent appeal made by 
 Uncle Charlie for woman's enfranchisement, the most cry- 
 ing need of the day. 
 
 A week at Uncle Charlie's is like reading a book of seven 
 chapters, each chapter disclosing some new and interesting 
 phase. For bright ideas and worth-while thoughts make 
 even prosaic tasks a pleasure. 
 
 With the first dim rays of the early morning sun Uncle 
 Charlie is reading, studying, pasting and clipping, always 
 stocking and restocking the storehouse of his brain with ma- 
 terial on which to talk to his enormous reading family. This 
 acquired knowledge of things modern and questions vital 
 takes time, study, research and infinite patience. 
 
 Brought up in an atmosphere where one's thoughts were 
 all of self, and then suddenly transplanted to a household 
 where others are considered first, and one's favorite pronoun 
 I fades into insignificance, was a refreshing change. Thus 
 it is when Mr. Brown is studying baseball news, and Mrs. 
 Brown is pondering with wrinkled brow and troubled mind 
 upon the advisability of having a slit skirt or a hobble, that 
 Uncle Charlies and his household, with the welfare of all hu- 
 manity at heart, are striving with all the force at their com- 
 mand to find ways and means to better conditions and en- 
 lighten the ignorant and the poor, so they may be ignorant 
 and poor no longer. 
 
 Conversation never lags nor drags. There is a constant ex- 
 change of ideas. That is an education in itself. Uncle Char- 
 lie is and always has been a tease. The saddest story has its 
 funny side, the most serious question its joke. There are 
 long, dark periods when the house is dim and quiet, doctors 
 come and go, spoons clink against the side of glasses, and 
 Maria and myself hover around sober and subdued ; though 
 the doctor may be hopeful, though we are told the danger
 
 132 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 period is past, still we know, as outsiders never could, when 
 the change for the better comes, for it comes in a quivering 
 of pain-shot eyelids, a slight movement of a tortured body, 
 and the voice that even sickness cannot rob of its vibrant 
 quality remarks: "Well, you solemn-eyed, long- faced owls; 
 what are you moaning about? I'm all right now; do, like 
 good girls, go and get some sleep." 
 
 And then Maria and myself hug ourselves estatically and 
 know that for the present at least the grim destroyer has fled 
 from our vicinity, and we are happy once more. 
 
 There were mornings less than three years ago when we 
 were aroused from our slumbers by a rich, vibrant, powerful 
 voice rising and falling on the morning air, in the mazes 
 of glorious song. This was Uncle Charlie's salute to the 
 dawning day, and at night in tones more subdued, but won- 
 derfully solemn and impressive, I would lie and listen to the 
 same voice raised in prayer, pathetically pleading to a higher 
 power for guidance and light. To-day both song and prayer 
 are almost hushed. 
 
 In the olden days one of my favorite stunts was to gather a 
 bunch of girl friends, five or six of them, and bring them in 
 to spend an evening. This was a treat to the girls, and a de- 
 light to Uncle Charlie, who would put his work aside and 
 amuse the whole crowd (squatted around in all positions on 
 chair, floor and sofa, a plate of ice cream in each lap) ador- 
 ing with all the enthusiasm of youth while he entertained us 
 with song and story as only a professional entertainer can. 
 
 A happy and progressive household is that o'er which the 
 "Poet" (as he is better and more affectionately known to his 
 most intimate friends and small family) reigns. Here no 
 one is condemned without a fair trial, and where the happy 
 little god, with his conventional paraphernalia of bows, ar- 
 rows and immodest attire, reigns supreme, and justice is the 
 password. 
 
 Here one has the privilege of meeting people of national
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 133 
 
 fame, actors, authors, artists and ministers, who come to 
 worship at the shrine of him we love. Nothing more beauti- 
 ful and inspiring could be possibly imagined than to see that 
 noble soul, the grand gray poet, Edwin Markham, sitting at 
 Uncle Charlie's bedside, discussing eloquently with him what 
 the former has so beautifully expressed as "the large ques- 
 tions of time and eternity." 
 
 Sick or well, the soul of this man is ever the same, and the 
 grave brown eyes are ever ready to twinkle with laughter, 
 and scarcely a day passes that the little demons of teasedom 
 do not tempt him to bring forth a roar of laughter as a re- 
 sult of a good-natured sally at the expense of Billy the Goat 
 
 REITA ALICE LAMBERT (THE GOAT).
 
 THE GLORIOUS FOURTH, AND HOW WE GOT IT, 
 (Kind Permission of the New York Herald) 
 
 r A 'Dramatic Sketch 
 
 Characters King George, Washington, The American 
 Boy, the Goddess of Liberty. 
 
 (Washington and King George enter arm in arm from 
 center.) 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Most noble liege and mighty king, 
 The colonies to you now cling 
 With fond allegiance, and we pray 
 To live beneath your royal sway. 
 No better monarch, Sire, than you 
 E'er reigned o'er people tried and true. 
 We're ever loyal, I give my word, 
 To you, illustrious George the Third. 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 Thanks, thanks, most noble Washington. 
 I'm glad the people's hearts I've won 
 I'm glad contentment now doth reign 
 From Florida to pine-clad Maine; 
 I'm glad the people are not bent 
 On change and want new government. 
 134
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 135 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 New government, oh, no, great Sire ! 
 
 No government do we require 
 
 But yours, and we allegiance give 
 
 And crave 'neath Britain's flag to live 
 
 In happiness forevermore, 
 
 With you, great King, to lord it o'er 
 
 Old England and New England, too. 
 
 KING GEORGE ( Sadly) 
 
 Thanks, thanks, but, ah, 'twill never do. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 What ails my liege, your cheeks turn pale. 
 Your words in deep emotion fail; 
 Some burden's on your noble heart ! 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 The colonies and I must part ! 
 
 WASHINGTON (deeply agitated) 
 
 Must part! Oh, King, what do you mean? 
 We, who are happy and serene, 
 While we have you, our King, to love 
 And Britain's flag to wave above ; 
 Why must we part? I lose my breath; 
 Great King, you've scared me half to death. 
 Speak ! speak ! my liege, that I may glean 
 Some ray of hope. What do you mean ?
 
 136 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 Ah, Washington, my noble friend, 
 'Tis sad to think my reign must end 
 Upon this continent, but so 
 The fates have willed, and I must gol 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 You break my heart, see how I grieve? 
 What secret have you up your sleeve ? 
 Some awful weight preys on your mind. 
 Explain, oh, Sire ! don't be unkind ! 
 Tell me, great King, what does this mean? 
 We want no other King or queen 
 But you and she, your royal spouse. 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 To swift revolt you must arouse 
 The colonies at once. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 And why 
 
 Must we revolt, who're loyal, and die? 
 Why must grim bloodshed's gory stain 
 Besmirch fair valley, hill and plain? 
 Why must we fight? 
 
 (The American boy rushes on center. He is a typical 
 twentieth-century boy, full of life, dash and vigor.) 
 
 AMERICAN BOY 
 
 I'll tell you why: 
 
 If you don't we'll have no Fourth of July. 
 I am the great American boy, 
 That sprite of palpitating joy;
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Ttook 137 
 
 And I demand mind, no excuse 
 One day a year to turn things loose; 
 One day to let the fireworks off; 
 One day to make the old cat cough, 
 And watch her o'er the fence top sail, 
 With strings of crackers at her tail ; 
 I want a day to shriek and shout 
 And blow myself clean inside out; 
 I want a day to work off steam 
 And hear the American eagle scream; 
 A day to let old Europe know 
 That our band wagon heads the show; 
 A day of grand hilarious mirth, 
 When Uncle Sam owns all the earth; 
 A day when Europe looks amazed 
 And all creation sits back dazed; 
 A day when small boys rule the world 
 And brave Old Glory swings unfurled 
 Defiance breathing to the spheres, 
 And I, bereft of nose and ears, 
 Sing Yankee Doodle, Doodle Doo! 
 Now then, you fellows biff ! set to ! 
 Get up and fight don't waste any time 
 With fire crackers, twelve a dime, 
 And Roman candles, six for ten; 
 I'm out for sport; now fight like men; 
 Go pound each other till you're sore, 
 Or stand disgraced forevermore. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Where are you from, sweet youth so coy? 
 
 AMERICAN BOY 
 
 I am the twentieth-century boy, 
 
 And down the years I've come, post haste, 
 
 To tell you both you'll be disgraced
 
 138 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 Forever in our boyish eyes 
 
 If you don't fight; so, if you're wise, 
 
 Great Washington, King George you'll take 
 
 And mince-meat of that monarch make. 
 
 And if you don't, take this from me: 
 
 There will be no Washington, D. C; 
 
 No statues soaring to your name; 
 
 No songs triumphant to proclaim 
 
 You father of your country grand, 
 
 The idol of your native land; 
 
 No pictures hanging everywhere 
 
 Of you crossing o'er the Delaware, 
 
 Upstanding thus, hand stuck in coat, 
 
 With patriotic boys to gloat 
 
 Upon your grand, heroic manner, 
 
 While small lips hum "Star-spangled Banner!" 
 
 These awful things will happen if 
 
 You don't give old King George a biff. 
 
 I'll have no chance to lose an eye 
 
 And walk around three fingers shy, 
 
 And Chinese Union Firework Packers 
 
 Will strike if they can't sell their crackers. 
 
 Come, boys; come, boys from everywhere. 
 
 (Boys rush on, and encircle the stage.) 
 
 Oh, join me in this fervent prayer 
 To this, our hero Washington, 
 To give us just one day of fun! 
 One day of wild, hilarious mirth, 
 The greatest day for boys on earth. 
 Great Washington, quick, make reply, 
 Do we get our Fourth of July ? 
 
 (Washington, in deep distress, gazes at the floor, sighs 
 deeply, as King George takes his arm.)
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 139 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 You see, my friend, what they require. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Oh, yes, I see it, noble Sire. 
 
 JBut, oh, it grieves my inmost soul 
 
 To think that martial drums must roll, 
 
 And midst the cannon's deadly roars 
 
 You're headlong pitched from off these shores, 
 
 And just because these horrid boys 
 
 .Want some excuse to make a noise. 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 I know, old friend, it does seem tough. 
 
 AMERICAN BOY 
 
 It's time to fight; you've talked enough. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I will not fight. 
 
 AMERICAN BOY 
 
 Then stand disgraced. 
 Your name from school books be erased. 
 New York a Washington Arch won't boast, 
 No Sousa's Band play "Washington Post," 
 And that story of the hatchet, see, 
 Where you cut down the cherry tree, 
 We won't believe you told your pa. 
 We'll swear you told a fib. Ha ! Ha ! 
 
 (Boys all laugh derisively.) 
 
 WASHINGTON (indignantly) 
 You'll tell the world I told a lie?
 
 140 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 AMERICAN BOYS 
 
 Yes ! unless we get the "Fourth" of July. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 I will not be intimidated. 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 Now, boys, you've got him animated; 
 
 Leave him to me, I'll make him fight. 
 
 I've got a scheme, just watch him bite, 
 
 He'll get so mad, he'll fairly choke. 
 
 And then off goes my kingly yoke. 
 
 I'll put a tax on Lipton's tea (All groan) 
 
 All Yankees now my slaves shall be. 
 
 I'll grant you not the least concession, 
 
 But grind you down with fierce oppression. 
 
 Boston shall have no pork and beans, 
 
 No literary oellboys or auto machines. (Groans) 
 
 Tammany Hall shall be demolished, 
 
 Cranberry sauce at once abolished 
 
 And turkey, too, as I'm a sinner, 
 
 Shall never grace Thanksgiving dinner. (Groans) 
 
 Pumpkin pie, and I repeat it, 
 
 No one in America shall eat it. 
 
 Boys shan't whistle, girls shan't hum, 
 
 No baby's allowed to chew its thumb. (Groans) 
 
 And tho' the nation's blood may boil, 
 
 I'll smash the trusts and Standard Oil. 
 
 No American girl shall wed a lord ; 
 
 All tramps must wash and pay their board. 
 
 (Loud cries of "Shame!" from the boys.) 
 
 I'll abolish, though my great throne quakes, 
 Popcorn, candy and buckwheat cakes.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 141 
 
 And, to cap it all, you wretched creatures, 
 I'll abolish Jersey's fierce mos'keeters. 
 
 WASHINGTON (fighting mad) 
 You shan't! 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 I shan't? I say I will! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Then be prepared for Bunker Hill. 
 Pumpkin pie, that you can stop. 
 Pork and beans from menus drop. 
 Buckwheat cakes and biscuits, they 
 Can be abolished right away. 
 Turkeys, cran'bries, you can banish, 
 Thumbs from babies' mouths can vanish, 
 But I'll spoil all your kingly features 
 If you monkey with New Jersey's 'skeeters. 
 Those noble birds of freedom, they, 
 Unchained upon bald heads must play, 
 For, if you stopped their funny capers, 
 There'd be no jokes in Sunday papers. 
 They're our greatest institution, 
 The bulwark of our constitution. 
 To banish beans, great King, 's all right, 
 But touch the 'skeeters and I fight. 
 
 (Boys cheer lustily as Washington takes off his coat for 
 action.) 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 Thank Heaven, I've made him mad at last! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Go, nail "Old Glory" to the mast 
 And know ye all that now I sever 
 Old England from the "new" forever.
 
 142 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 KING GEORGE (in fighting attire) 
 Quit parleying and come to blows. 
 
 (Boys cheer as Washington taps King George on the 
 nose.) 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 There's one jiu jitsu on the nose ! 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 My cause is lost, I'm licked, I'm done ! 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 America's free ; hurrah, I've won ! 
 (Goddess of Liberty, from Liberty Island, enters center) 
 
 GODDESS OF LIBERTY 
 
 Immortal George, forever glorious, 
 I crown you in your hour victorious; 
 'Twas not for liberty you fought, 
 And splendid deeds of valor wrought; 
 But for a nobler purpose you 
 Have fought and bled 
 
 BOYS 
 Hurrah ! Hurroo ! 
 
 GODDESS OF LIBERTY 
 
 You knew that boyhood one day needed 
 j^or joyous mirth ; their cry you heeded ! 
 You've been a boy and took compassion 
 On them and brought the "Fourth" in fashion.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 143) 
 
 KING GEORGE 
 
 In my steamer trunk I'll put my crown, 
 
 And hustle back to London town; 
 
 Farewell to all, so glad you're 'appy, 
 
 I'm going 'ome to be a chappie; 
 
 I'll send a wireless from Southampton, 
 
 'And tell the Times how I've been tramped on. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 (Shakes King George's hand) 
 Ta ! Ta ! George ; so sorry to lose you. 
 
 BOYS 
 We wanted the "Fourth." 
 
 WASHINGTON-KING GEORGE 
 
 We couldn't refuse you. 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 Proclaim this fact from tower and steeple, 
 I only fought to please young people; 
 King George's head, I had to crack it 
 Just so the "kids" could raise a racket; 
 And incidentally, know all creatures, 
 I fought to save the Jersey 'skeeters; 
 So, know ye all, South, East, West, North, 
 Just how you got the glorious "Fourth." 
 You've got these facts all in your noodles. 
 
 ALL 
 
 We have!
 
 144 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 GODDESS OF LIBERTY 
 
 Then let's sing *Yankee Doodle, Doodles." 
 
 (All sing "Yankee Doodle" as Liberty takes Washington's 
 hand. King George, with trunk, exits left. Cheers and cur- 
 tain.),
 
 "STRANDED" 
 'A Dramatic Fragment by Charles Noel 'Douglas 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 JACK WARRINGTON, a stranded opera singer in love with 
 
 Marjorie 
 MARJORIE DALE Ditto. In love with Jack 
 
 This act can be played either in a parlor or out of doors. 
 The costumes suggest themselves. A Mexican "toreador" 
 "rig" for Jack will be found effective. As curtain ascends, 
 Marjorie enters from right side of stage. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Oh, the ups and downs of this show business. Here I've 
 been stranded in this beastly old town for forty-eight hours. 
 It seems like forty-eight weeks. All the money I've got is 
 a quarter, and I'm going to invest that in an interview with 
 Fako, the Mexican Mystic, professor of the occult. They 
 say he is a wonder ; he knows everything that has happened, 
 ever could happen or ever will happen. Though I dread the 
 future, I must draw the curtain aside and gaze into the mys- 
 tic realm of what is to be. I must find out what Jack War- 
 rington is doing or I'll burst. Oh, why did he flirt with that 
 miserable shrimp of a soubrette, Flossie Francis ? I know he 
 didn't care for her. I wish we hadn't quarreled; it has 
 broken my heart, and Jack I loved him so. Professor Fako 
 doesn't seem to be around; I must hunt him up. (Exits R.)
 
 146 Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 ENTER JACK (left) 
 
 Can you beat it? Me, Fako, the Mexican Mystic. 
 Wouldn't that bump you ? Well, when an opera singer gets 
 stranded, it's scheme or starve, and starving never looked 
 good to me. I've been at this "con" game for nearly a week, 
 and am fifty bones ahead on the deal. Another week of 
 good business and I'll have my fare to New York, and then, 
 oh, then perchance I'll be able to find and straighten matters 
 out with Marjorie Dale, the dearest girl that ever lived. Oh, 
 why did Madge ever flirt with that low-browed lobster, Jerry 
 Boyd, the comedian, last season? We quarreled and parted, 
 and I've never known a happy day since. Somebody is com- 
 ing; I'll beat it to my wigwam. (Goes into tent.) 
 
 ENTER MARJORIE 
 
 (Right, with newspaper in hand) 
 
 Now, wouldn't that punctuate you? I just stumbled on the 
 theatrical page of a New York newspaper. It looks mighty 
 good to me three thousand miles away. Hullo ! What's 
 this? (Reads.) ( "It is reported that Jack Warrington, late 
 basso of the Majestic Opera Company, has married a 
 wealthy society woman of Denver, and will quit the stage 
 and make his home in that city. We wish the happy pair 
 all the joy in the world." (Screams.) Oh, Jack! why did 
 you do it? (Sits left on bench and sobs with head in hands.) 
 
 (During this speech, Jack has been a highly interested lis- 
 tener, peering around the side of tent.) 
 
 JACK (aside) 
 
 Great Caesar's ghost, it's Marjorie! Well, isn't this luck? 
 Bless her heart ; I long to put my arms around her. How the 
 deuce did she get here? Stranded like myself, I suppose. 
 Maybe she married that Jerry Boyd and he has given her
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 147 
 
 the throw-down. I'll put on my mystic garb and see what 
 I can learn. (Retires behind tent.) 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Shall I spend this quarter delving into the future or buying 
 rough on rats? Guess I'll peer into the future first. It's al- 
 ways darkest before dawn. Fako may tell me something 
 that will give me the courage to live. I'll try him, anyway. 
 (Goes toward tent, and calls.) Professor Fako! 
 
 JACK 
 
 (Disguised and masked, and has long cloak over left arm, 
 emerges from tent, muttering in deep, solemn tones, as 
 though chanting some mystic rite.) Aye, lady, the High 
 Priest of the Unseen World, and the Mysterious Hence is at 
 your service. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Here is a quarter; will you reveal what the future has in 
 store for me for that sum? 
 
 JACK 
 
 My regular charge, lady, is a dollar. I cannot lift the veil 
 that hides you from the unseen world and give you a very 
 comprehensive view of futurity for only twenty-five cents. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Couldn't you give me twenty-five cents' worth of the un- 
 seen on account? 
 
 JACK 
 Have you no ring that you could pawn, madam ?
 
 148 'Uncle Charlie's Story 'Book 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 I've only one little ring, a little friendship ring given me 
 by the only man I ever loved, and that wouldn't, if it were 
 pawned, fetch me ten cents. 
 
 JACK (aside) 
 
 That's no lie, for I only gave fifty cents for it. (To Mar- 
 jorie.) Lady, I'll give you a hundred dollars for that ring 
 you have on your finger. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 I wouldn't part with it for a million, not for all the world; 
 I'd starve to death first. 
 
 JACK (aside) 
 Bless her heart, she's true blue. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Take my quarter, sir; it's all I have (stretching out her 
 hand). 
 
 JACK 
 (Aside, holding her hand in his) 
 
 That precious little hand. It's heaven to hold it in mine 
 once more. (Takes money.) And that poor little quarter. 
 This is the only quarter I ever got out of her. It's a shame 
 to take the money. (Bites it.) It's the real goods, too. 
 Some day I'll have it set with diamonds and return it to 
 her. (He kisses her hand.) 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 (Drawing hand back quicklyj 
 Sir, how dare you kiss my hand ?
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 149 
 
 JACK 
 
 That makes up for the seventy-five cents you were unable 
 to pay for a full reading of the future. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 I want you to understand, sir, that it costs more than 
 seventy-five cents to kiss me. 
 
 JACK 
 
 Once your kisses were free; there was no charge for 
 them. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 My kisses were free to only one man ; not to you. 
 
 JACK 
 
 Shall I tell you the name of that man ? 
 
 MARJORIE 
 Wonderful man that you are, you cannot 
 
 JACK 
 It was Jerry Boyd. 
 
 MARJORIE (startled) 
 Jerry Boyd do you know him? 
 
 JACK (aside) 
 
 Know him ! That's the guy that caused all the trouble, 
 and parted us. I knocked his block off. (To Marjorie.) 
 Lady, I know everything. I am not a mere palmist or for- 
 tune teller. No secret in heaven or earth is hid from me or 
 the members of my mystic order.
 
 150 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 MARJORIE (aside) 
 
 He certainly is wonderful. (To Jack.) Oh, tell me, sir, 
 for my heart is troubled. I love with all my heart and soul 
 a tall, handsome man. Tell me has he forgotten me ? Has his 
 love grown cold? 
 
 JACK 
 It has not. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Oh, joy! Then why, if he loved me, did he marry an- 
 other? 
 
 JACK (aside) 
 
 This is where I'll jolly her some more. (To Marjorie.) 
 He married because he wanted a meal ticket. He wanted 
 an easy mark to pay his bar bills and a substantial trunk to 
 drop his glad rags in. He saw a good thing and he played 
 it for all it was worth. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 The wretch! The perfidious villain! and he, my idol, 
 would sacrifice love for money. 
 
 JACK 
 
 Alas he did. In the language of the everyday world, 
 Jack was a wise gazook. He seen his duty and he done it. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 Is his wife beautiful? 
 
 JACK (aside) 
 
 She is so beautiful that, if she looks at a street car, the 
 wheels fall off. (To Marjorie.) Beautiful ! Her eyes are
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 151 
 
 like twin violets. She has a face that exceeds in loveliness 
 all that artist or sculptor has e'er in their wildest dream- 
 ings pictured or conceived. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 The cat ! I hate her ! Oh, why was she born so beauti- 
 ful? Why did she put hope and happiness forever beyond 
 my reach? Have they any children yet? 
 
 JACK 
 
 Yes, sixteen. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 (Almost in a state of collapse) 
 Sixteen, already! Impossible! 
 
 JACK 
 
 Madam, question not the Fates ; the voice of Omnipotence 
 speaketh. Some people achieve families; some have families 
 thrust upon them. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 Are they girls or boys ? 
 
 JACK 
 
 !All boys, except fifteen girls. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Tell me, why did Jack, the one man in the world that I 
 loved, go back on me and treat me thus? 
 
 JACK 
 
 Because you flirted with a red-headed, low-browed, freckle- 
 faced, whisky-swilling comedian named Jerry Boyd.
 
 152 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 I did no such thing Jerry Boyd I loathed him. 
 
 JACK 
 You kissed him. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 It is a cruel falsehood. Kiss him ! I would rather kiss a 
 wet dog. It was Jack who caused all the trouble. He flirted 
 with a lop-sided, gum-chewing, knock-kneed, impertinent 
 chorus girl named Flossie Francis. It was that which broke 
 my heart. We quarreled, I got on my dignity, and the season 
 ended without our speaking to each other. He was too proud 
 to beg for forgiveness. I went my way broken-hearted, and 
 he, the wretch, went his way 
 
 JACK 
 
 (With a sigh) 
 Broken-hearted, too. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 Do you mean that? 
 
 JACK 
 ,Yes. I know it as I know all things. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Then why, if he loved me, did he marry a woman who had 
 more children than a Mormon elder? 
 
 JACK 
 
 Just for pike I mean pique. He married that he might 
 try and forget. Forget the great trouble that is gnawing at 
 his heart.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 153 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 And he is now beyond my reach. 
 
 JACK 
 
 Yes, forever; wealth and matrimony have placed a chasm 
 between you that can never be bridged. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Heaven pity me, and I loved him so. Oh, sir, if you have 
 any compassion in your breast, give me that quarter back so 
 I can invest it in rough-on-rats ; I must die; I can't live an- 
 other minute. 
 
 JACK 
 You must live. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 What have I to live for ? 
 
 JACK 
 Live for me. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 Live for you 1 A mystic, a spook, a wizard ! Impossible ! 
 
 JACK 
 
 It is not impossible. There was a time when you loved 
 me, loved me with all your soul. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 Loved you! Who are you? 
 
 JACK 
 
 (Throwing off disguise) 
 Your Jack.
 
 154 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 (With a little scream of delight) 
 
 Jack! Oh, heaven, my Jack! (Throws herself in his 
 arms; they kiss.) 
 
 MARJORIE 
 You wretch, you've been fooling me. 
 
 JACK 
 That's my revenge for you flirting with Jerry Boyd. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 (Playfully boxing his ears.) That's your punishment for 
 flirting with Flossie Francis, marrying a Denver lady and 
 having a family of sixteen. 
 
 JACK 
 (His arms about her) 
 
 That was the one and only time I ever jollied the girl of 
 my heart. But how did you get here? 
 
 MARJORIE 
 That's just what I was going to ask you. 
 
 JACK 
 Stranded here three weeks ago. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Same here for me forty-eight hours ago. Who put that 
 report in the paper about your marriage?
 
 'Uncle Charlie's Story Book 155 
 
 JACK 
 I did, just to have some fun with you. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 You're a horrid boy. Now, Jack, whatever shall we do? 
 
 JACK 
 
 Do that's easy. I've telegraphed east to an agent for 
 vaudeville dates. We won't starve; I'm fifty dollars ahead 
 on this mystic game. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Fifty dollars and twenty-five cents, if I know anything 
 about it. 
 
 JACK 
 
 You shall have that quarter back, set with diamonds, the 
 day we are married. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 (Looking off stage left, face all animation) 
 
 Hullo ! Here comes a telegraph messenger. (Jack mns 
 to wings and returns with telegram.) 
 
 JACK 
 
 (Opens and reads telegram) 
 
 "Open in Chicago, Monday, Olympic Theater; two hun- 
 dred a week." Hurrah ! 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 But what will I do?
 
 156 Uncle Charlie's Story Book 
 
 JACK 
 
 We'll double up in a singing act and invade vaudeville to- 
 gether. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 Bully ! Let's rehearse now. 
 
 JACK 
 
 And remember, nothing on earth shall part us. (They em- 
 brace again.) 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Nothing but death. I'm so happy I must sing. Sing like 
 the birds for the joy of living. (She sings. At end of 
 song.) Now, Jack, dearest, sing for me. 
 
 JACK 
 
 With pleasure. (He sings. After song.) Now, suppose 
 we sing that comic song that we used to warble at home in 
 the days before we went on the stage. Or the rag-time ditty 
 we sang in church while they passed the plate around. 
 
 MARJORIE 
 
 Bully idea. We'll let the audience see that we can be 
 happy, even though stranded. 
 
 DUET MARJORIE AND JACK 
 
 Seems to me I've always loved you, 
 Seems to me I've never known 
 In my life a single moment, 
 When you were not all my own.
 
 Uncle Charlie's Story l Book 157 
 
 Naught on earth our hearts can sever, 
 Naught the joy of loving mar, 
 Twin souls joined in bliss forever, 
 Happy, though we stranded are. 
 
 CURTAIN 
 
 Note : Professionals and amateurs desiring to produce this 
 sketch must first obtain author's permission. All performing 
 rights strictly reserved. 
 
 THE END
 
 UNCLE CHARLIE'S POEMS. 
 
 By CHARLES NOEL DOUGLAS. 
 
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 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
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 APPEALS TO ALL. 
 
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 50 Cents - UNCLE CHARLIE'S POEMS 50 Cents 
 
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 Gharles Noel Douglas, 1299 Park Place, Brooklyn, N.Y.
 
 UNCLE CHARLIE'S SONG BOOK. 
 
 28 GEMS OF MIRTH, MELODY AND SENTIMENT 28 
 
 By CHARLES NOEL DOUGLAS. 
 
 An Entrancing Song Stream that Ripples Divinely 
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 Melodies that Haunt and Words that Thrill, Enter- 
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 Incomparably the Best and Cheapest Song Folio 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 PATRIOTIC. COMIC & NOVELTY SONGS 
 
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 1 Want You So. Love in an Auto Car. 
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 SACRED Cupid's Wireless. 
 
 God's Garden of Sleep. 5? ri 7?f d ? ch es ;, , 
 
 Consider the Lilies. w ? nt You be fly Valentine. 
 
 Hail to the Christ Child. ^^ and the Katydid. 
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 CHARLES NOEL DOUGLAS, 
 1299 Park Place, Brooklyn, N. Y.
 
 ARE YOU IN LOVE? 
 
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 " COflPILED BY, 
 
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 Sent by the compiler on receipt of 50 cents (add 
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 CHARLES NOEL DOUGLAS, 
 1299 Park Place^ Brooklyn, N. Y.
 
 A 000114151 4