title: Owls of the Always Open. A novel.
text: V v \ ' ; y-V 4 ' a ^ ■'?.?'* <o v 'V % ^5!T‘ * ^ ^ o .A . 1 1 * . o v c 0 " * •. U o jfr <T %. . <- ° .A \X 4^ o V \0 ^ 7 * * ❖ * / y > ,«v <•„ ■> v , t jsPM ^ <* ^ «, *■ **o« r-^n». • # lA X » «/* <^A * > C • • *fK. a - ^ t c c/ * 4 ^ ^ ° o v jf)\r * * A° ^ ^-tvT % A <\ '*•>* r 0 0 " e ♦ ^O A^ « *■ ' * * A c\ <0 * * • • * v A • mivA t 'V o \ \ 2 O O • A «* ^ v. < ,A ^ - 'V ' * • O \ V - t ' * ^ <£ k <\ o a * + * \N * &(4[//?> ~jr ° ^ • Fwyy « * $ X 0 *7*, * * 4 O o * * „ . « * ,0 ; <7^ ''«- 4.^ o * 2 * ' . •_ < 5 ^ ° * O < V < 7 , *»|1 <5> - a * o ■••°' Sf, * 0 \*i;rk> > A .>•»- ^ ■?► .4*6*^'. .-fc .Va^^.V •?>, o ^1* A .* A % « A v ^< ,» V ' • • ’ \ A> 9 L I Q S* * : *o v*. >>° • * r\ .0 <j> » » , o aO »' * • % *> <• ■-#> ^ •*> \ '%>_ ,$ ' i /* '-p S * V '7* *9‘ ,*’•% ^ ^ v - * ^ V V ^ <V *■ >*<a 4v * rlw «# //i ” v. <* : W .•»«! " c 1 ^ ^v. ' * 47 vJ ^>. .* rV V %, ’ y * o j^> t -. '’o v* ; ° «5 c !<. • K *. ^ ° * 0 ° ^ °<p * " 1 * ’ £° * O H 0 ■ *.° y * s$y <?, ,, A ^v^.*_ a*^ <•. . <- * *7 A v vp. ,V O W L S OF The Always Open GY 1TOYEL. Jk ■% V' mpr B Y B. IT. C HIT r E N D E N. M Man errs so long as he doth strive! * * * * Him we can save from error's maze Who takes the pains to strive always. GOETHE. PUBLISHED BYTHE AUTHOR. Brook lye. . 1883. MnxE'i OF MAR 28 1883 ' -WASHlN®\ (’. 0. Whitney’s , steam Print. .CA* Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, By R. H. Chittenden, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D! C. PROLOGUE. One afternoon in May, twenty-five years ago, my friend Burton Heyward, a Yale medical student, now one of the most successful physicians in Brooklyn, en- tered the Law library, without knocking, and found me engaged in a desperate struggle with Chitty. “Come, Phil., let us throw physic and law to the dogs, and read a chapter in Nature’s book of Revelations. There is not a cloud to be seen, and the view from East Rock will be magnificent.” “Agreed,” I replied, grasping Heyward’s extended hand, “on one condition.” “Name it.” “You shall not again ask me to hold the candle while you dissect your abominable subject. Last night I dreamt that the poor negro came to life under your scalpel, and wished to retain me to prosecute you for a post mortem assault.” “Agreed, provided you will answer me this: Why is it that one most desires to do what he cannot well do ?” “Please illustrate your proposition,” said I, as we descended from the old Law Building and took our way to the Rock. 4 PROLOGUE. ‘•Well,* 1 continued Heyward, “I am passionately fond of poetry and cannot write a line." “It is your natural impulse toward symmetrical de- velopment,” I remarked sententiously. “Now you must illustrate, Phil.” said Heyward. “Well Burt, imagine a young man who has inherited a perfect organization, with one exception. He cannot make music. He has it in his soul, hut he cannot ex- press it. He exaggerates the value of the art and re- gards the musician with envy and admiration. He re- solves to acquire it. He neglects the study of medicine for which he is well adapted, and expends his time and labor in becoming a poor fiddler. He is deficient in time and tune, but he cannot resist the natural impulse to supply the want.” “That is to say,” interrupted Heyward, “The greater the resistance the heavier the pressure. Therefore i shall not be surprised when you desert your jealous mistress Law, to court the muses. 1 hope we shall not be rivals !” Meanwhile we had crossed the bridge, and entered the pine wood which skirts the base of the mountain. Emerging from the wood we observed a singular per- son cross our path and disappear in a thicket. He wore a blye blouse, trousers half hidden within high top boots, and a slouch hat with a broad brim. He bore a weapon in his right hand, and seemed to be in pursuit of some object which had escaped our attention. Our curiosity was aroused. We quickened our pace and soon again saw the stranger crawling on all fours to- ward a wild blackberry bush in bloom. Having ap- proached within a few feet of the bush, the stranger PROLOGUE. D aimed at what appeared to be a large butterfly, then suddenly arose, darted forward and covered it with his hat. Having examined his prize with evident satisfac- tion, he imprisoned it in a tin case which he drew from his blouse pocket. Producing a vial he loaded his wea- pon with a colorless liquid, raised his eyes, and for the first time saw that he was observed. “Good afternoon, sir,” said Heyward, *‘we have been so rude as to watch your movements. We wish to learn what you have caught, and how you shot it with a pistol that makes no report. Is it an air gun ?” The hunter bowed respectfully, scrutinized us for a moment, and replied: “I will show you, gentlemen. I have here a fine specimen to add to my collection of lepidoptera. By means of this syringe I adminis- tered to him a dose of chloroform. He is therefore un- conscious of his misfortune and not a feather is in- jured.” “You are a naturalist, I suppose,” I enquired. “lam a taxidermist, sir; what are you?” replied the butterfly hunter. “I am nothing but a lawyer in embryo.” Thereupon I introduced to him my friend. “Well, gentlemen, years ago I was a student of med- icine, but having a stronger love for birds, bugs, and beetles than drugs, I became a bird stuffer ! Come and see me when you visit Brooklyn. Richard Owler, at your service. Good day.” So saying our new acquaintance departed and was soon lost to view. “There goes a man worth knowing,” exclaimed Hey- ward. PROLOGUE. 6 “Wliy so, 1 ’ I asked. “He is wise enough to follow his bent,’ was the an- swer. “Why should a man spend his life in learning what he cannot do. 11 “But such are the men whom the world will not per- mit to live/' said I. Having climbed to the summit of the Rock we con- templated long and silently the wonderful scene. Finally Heyward broke the silence : “Phil., in childhood we were playmates, together we are students. Let us both make the city of churches our home, and fight the battle of life side by side. 11 “So be it, old fellow, 11 and we clasped hands. Ten years had passed away ere I again saw Professor Owler. On an excursion to Lloyd’s Neck, having shot a large grey owl, and wishing to place it on my library case to impress clients with due respect for my professional wisdom, I was reminded of the taxidermist. Calling at his house I was met at the door by a colored man. “Walk in, Boss. De Professor is up. Come down, Professor. Here is an owl, and de counsellor. ” The taxidermist descended from an upper room and greeted me politely. He did not recognize me. Ten years had left few traces on his face, but many ou mine. His head was bald and he wore a long grey beard. I exhibited the owl. “A fine specimen, 11 said he, his eyes glistening with delight behind his spectacles. “What! hit in the eye with a rifle ball ! You are a good shot. Perhaps you bought him? Well, he shall be immortalized. 1 have just re- ceived some splendid eyes that will look as wise as those PROLOGUE. 7 they will replace. I beg pardon. Charles, place a chair for the gentleman. What name, sir ?” “We have met before, Professor.” The Professor laid the bird carefully on a table, re- moved and wiped his glasses, adjusted them and de- liberately surveyed me for at least a minute, while Charles stuffed a handkerchief into his capacious mouth to suppress a laugh. •‘No sir,” said the Professor, at last. “I believe you are mistaken.” ‘*Do you not remember chloroforming a specimen at New Haven ten years ago,” I inquired. “Yes, yes ! No. 2345. Bless my soul! How you are changed !” I gave him my card. “Attorney and Counsellor at Law, full fledged. I am delighted to see you again. Your old med-i-cal friend is my phy-si-cian.” Here the old man’s breath failed. His face flushed and I started to his support. He waved me away and finally, with a pause between each syllable; ejaculated, "'Don't be alarmed. I am having a hard tussle with my hereditary foe.” “With whom?” 1 asked. “Asth — ma, but I shall get the best of it at last, if it kills me !” The old mail drew from a box a pastile, placed one end in a tin holder, lighted the other end, and supported by Charles, inhaled the pungent fumes. Being soon relieved he resumed : •’Now, Mr. May, I am ready for business. One week from to-day your owl will be ready to make his debut , as the artists say. You may place him on your desk and PROLOGUE. cross-examine him as much as you please, you will never look him out of countenance. 11 On my way to my room I speculated concerning the Professor. Manifestly he was a man of culture and genuine refinement. The acquaintance thus renewed was continued for several years. His house was a small cottage, having two rooms on the ground floor and one above. In the lower rooms he worked, cooked, ate and slept, in the upper room was his collection of specimens, books and papers. His collection of butterflies filled a dozen cases. Each specimen was skillfully mounted and labeled. He never alluded to his personal history. For aught I ever knew he had no kin. His sole assistant was Charles Brown, formerly a slave. Charles once informed me that the Professor had been an officer of the famous Brooklyn Thirteenth Regiment. The Professor's sole correspondents were naturalists engaged in his favorite pursuit, from whom he had received books and pam- phlets in several languages. He repeatedly declined invitations to dine with me, and if perchance we met on the street he simply nod- ded his recognition and passed on. Finally in 1876 I lost sight of him. A friend of mine had sent me from Santa Barbara, a specimen of Lawrence's goldfinch, which had been somewhat injured in trans- portation. Therefore I again sought the home of the taxidermist. He was gone. The cottage was occupied by strangers, who informed me that the old bird stuffer, (as they called him), had become too poor to pay his rent and had gone into the woods. I sought for him in vain, and finally placed his name in the list of erratic persons whom I have known during PJROLOGUE. my professional life, and who have crossed its path never again to return. One Saturday night I reached my room exhausted by the labor of the week, hut thankful for the coming, day of rest. A telegram was placed in my hands from the New Haven Chief of Police, requesting my presence. Ten o’clock found me in the Elm City. “ J ust in time, Mr. May. He is trying to hold out un- til you come,” was the Chiefs greeting as I alighted from the train. “Who is it?” I enquired. “I do not know. He is an old man, and very ill. Perhaps I have done wrong in' sending for you. He was brought in last night, found on the Green in an unconscious condition. He is unable to speak, but wrote your address and earnestly requested your pres- ence.” Calling a cab we were speedily driven to the police station. The Chief led the way to an upper room, devoted to transient lodgers. On a cot, near the window, lay an old man, pale, emaciated and evidently about to die. “Do you know him, sir,” asked the Chief. I gazed at the wrinkled face long and earnestly. The bald head and long unkempt beard were familiar. “I believe I have seen him,” I an s veered. The surgeon in attendance administered a stimulant and the patient opening his eyes gazed at me with a look of recognition. “Mr. May has come. Do you know him?” inquired the surgeon. 10 PROLOGUE. A smile of recognition stole over the old man's face. With the last effort he slowly raised his right arm and pointed toward a table whereon lay a roll of manu- script. I approached the table and read: '‘The Owls of The Always Open; By R. Owler , taxidermist'' “My God, is it you, Professor?" I exclaimed, grasping the dying man’s hand. He could not reply, but with a smile of satisfaction departed. “Too late ! He is gone P said the Chief. Said the surgeon to me, “He died of starvation P All the way home rang in my ears, these lines of Goethe : Wie schwer bind nieht die Mittel /ai erwerben, Dprcli die man zu den Quellen steigt! Und eh’ man nur den haiben Weg erreicht, Muss wolil ein armer Teufel sterben. How hard to win the means whereby Man upward climbs to whence the fountains flow! And ere he only can the half way go. Well !— a poor devil he must die! THE OWLS OF THE ALWAYS OPEN. BY B. OWLER , TAXIDERMIST. I. If any other shall read this memoir, he will find therein little concerning the nocturnal bird of wisdom ; but some reflections upon certain varieties of the strix hutnana whose habits I have observed during my resi- dence in this city of churches and divorces. Plato, the Greek, defined man to be a featherless biped. Being an American and therefore familiar with modern researches in ornithology, 1 pronounce man to be an owl. The doctor says a live fool is worth more than a dead phil- osopher, intending to suggest that none but an astrono- mer, or a policeman, should make night observations, and that so long as I live I may reform my ways, for like most of his brethren, he rejects the dogma of a posthumous purgatory. The varieties of the human owl to be found in Brooklyn, are numerous and distinguish- ed by peculiar characteristics. Some are birds of wisdom, others of folly; some are working, others preying birds; some are gregarious, others solitary ; some are hungry, and almost all thirsty; some seek profit, most pleasure; some are homeless, others abandon their homes and seek the haunts of vice, and now and then one prefers the place of prayer. The city hall clock strikes three ! The wagon of the farmer rolls over the fraudulent wooden pavement to the ferry. The corner grocer's follows ! 12 THE OWLS OF The milkman begins his route. The doctor's buggy bears him rapidly on his mission of mercy. Four o’clock ! A ragpicker with bag and hook pauses to ex- amine the contents of the barrel opposite ! The news- man with a bundle of morning papers hurries to his stand. The dawn breaks and the stars pale. The gambler closes his game. The magdalen hurries home; the lamp lighter begins his round; and Abel, night clerk of The Always Open, turns off the gas. “(rood morning, Abel, and a good day’s rest.’' II. It is my misfortune to be an asthmatic. Therefore I am compelled to pursue my favorite science in the city where there are few hills to climb, and where I can sketch the birds without taking their lives. The doc- tor says that it is not a misfortune to suffer from asth- ma; that my best memoirs have been written under its abnormal stimulus; that I have utilized much time lost by less fortunate sleepers; that I have excellent oppor- tunities for the exercise of the virtue of patience, and that many a great man, like William of Orange, was an asthmatic. But, nevertheless, I still insist that a man may wheeze and not be great, and that capital punish- ment by strangulation ought not to last one’s life time, * — a remark I once made in the doctor’s hearing, who responded that the best medical authorities agree that THE ALWAYS OPEN. 13 tlie end of life and asthma are cotemporaneous events. In fact I have been told that life insurance companies are fond of genuine asthmatic owls. If ever I have money and become incapable of investing it, I shall perhaps employ some respectable retired capitalist, and pay him a good salary to distribute it among agents, lawyers, receivers and lobbyists. Sleep after midnight being impossible, except under the influence of an anesthetic or opiate, I regularly arise, take my stout stick for a weapon, and walk to The Always Open, calling at Myers 1 by the way for a cup of coffee. Coffee, by the way, is a specific for my ailment, though not effective in severe spasms. Temporary re- lief is obtained not from the commissioners of Charity, but by purchasing a box of Astlimacea and inhaling its fume. One morning in the smallest hour, I summoned the doctor. He came promptly, and found me much depressed in spirit, wheezing like a locomotive and nearly speechless. As well as possible I requested him to shoot me ! "Shoot you I 11 he exclaimed. “Til shoot you in the arm with a hyperderm ic injection of morphine. Now Professor, cheer up ! I never heard of a dead asthmatic who had not outlived ail his cotemporaries ! You will live to write a dozen monograms on the potato bug f 1 -But how — can — a— man— out — live — his — co— tem- po — ra — ries ?” I gasped. "By not being hypercritical, and doing as I prescribe. Send for this bromide, bathe your feet in warm water, let that poison alone / 1 said the doctor, pointing to a vial of chloroform, “and remember that whatever is. is right 14 THE OWLS OF “My friend,” I whispered indignantly, the sweat streaming down my face, “you are a good phy-si-cian,' here I lost my breath for a minute, while the doctor anxiously watched me, “but in phi — phi — ” “Never mind what I am — don’t try to tell me,” he interrupted. “In phi-los-o-phy, you’re — you’re — ” “For Heaven’s sake, Professor, let it out if you must !” shouted the doctor, for once losing his professional equa- nimity. “An ass !” I whispered, and sank back in my chair exhausted. III. The Always Open is the northern limit of my noe- tural walk, and one of my most fruitful fields of obser- vation, for at certain hours it is the resort of various kinds of human owls. It is located on the corner form- ed by the intersection of Franklin and Jefferson streets, and were its roof parallel with the floor, it would be, if solid, the frustrum of a wedge. You will observe that 1 drop into mathematical figures as readily as Wegg into poetry, and for the reason that when I am wearied with birds, butterflies, and beetles, I turn to the noblest of' all sciences for recreation. Moreover I am digressive. When I begin to labor I never know what I shall bring forth, “perhaps a sang, perhaps a sermon,” or possibly a THE AL WA YS OPEN. 15 treatise on puns. This reminds me that last Tuesday morning at two o'clock I met Counselor Lloyd near the city hall. Describing a peculiar curve, he finally em- braced the lamp post in front of the court house and ap- peared to me to be ill. Now why was he like me? The answer is obvious, that is to say, because he described a cycloid ! One day, Peter Cricket arid I, passing The Always Open, met an organ grinder, who, having stepped upon an orange peal fell, with his organ, into a hole which had been dug by the Elevated Railway Company. Where- upon the doctor, perceiving that the horrible machine was broken, quietly remarked that if perchance a pale- ontologist should pass that way he would discover or- ganic remains! I quietly suggested that as the whole is equal to all its parts, all the parts of the organ were not only equal to the whole, but equally in it ! Peter thereupon began to denounce punsters for heartless verbicides, and declared that in case I should perpetrate another he would report me to Richard Grant White, to which I replied as follows: “My dear Peter, I shall pun with impun-ity. You must not impugn my motives. No Indian pundit from his vedas, or Roman general from a victory in a Punic war, derived more satisfaction than I from my harmless puns.” Peter for a long time after this conversation would cross the street to avoid me. But let us return to The Always Open, which is lo- cated on the ground floor of a three story building, that is surmounted by a large mortar, holding a correspond- ingly large pestle, which calls to mind the ludicrous. THE OWLS OF v 16 trio sung by the three doctors in the charming opera of Crispino e la Comare. Under the mortar, is the sign Drugs, in letters two feet long. Whether sponges, ci- gars, brushes, mirrors, canes, umbrellas, and soda water are, strictly speaking, drugs, I never enquired, but upon applying to General O'Toole, the Chief Detec- tive of the Anti-Gin-Mill Association, he informed me that spiritus vin gal; sp. juniperi ; sp. frimienti ; aqua fontana , and carbonic acid gas are not drugs anywhere except in a drug store ! The principal entrance of The Always Open is the apex of a triangle, or more accurately the rhomboid formed by the base of the building, and commands a view of the city hall, the new composite municipal edifice, and the sober, intelligent and industrious gentle- men who assemble in front of the court house to de- vise plans to promote the public welfare. I have ascer- tained that after long and profound deliberation they have discovered a panacea, pro bono publico . which may be formulated: "Give me a bone and the city shall be saved !’ A bone signifies a sinecure clerkship in the wafer board for a modest politician, a nomination for the assembly, or congress, for a more ambitious patriot, or a large fee for a conscientious lawyer, either to de- fend public plunderers, or not to prosecute them. To do, or not to do, that is the question. In either case the taxpayers, not tlie plunderers, are checked. One midnight last year I saw the crescent moon, in conjunction with Venus, crowning the statue of Justice which stands on the hall tower patiently holding her ^caies. By day as well as night I have watched those scales. They never move. This peculiarity is the more THE A L WA YS OPEN. 17 remarkable for the reason that the judges who preside over the wretched suitors below, have long been distin- guished for their sobriety, learning, and impartiality. Moreover, beneath also sit the aldermanic councilors who, by their disinterested and decorous appropriations, have rendered their office a prize of civic virtue, always awarded to the wisest and best citizen in his ward. These grave and reverend sages, some of whom have expended thousands of dollars for the privilege of serv- ing their fellow citizens, have been known to suffer im- prisonment. by the order of a court, not fully impressed with the paramount necessity of donating the streets of Brooklyn to the enterprising Simon Smiley, and his public spirited associates of the Lightning Transit Rail- way Company. My negro boy Charles has come at last: As usual he entered without knocking, and has heard me read aloud what 1 have written. •'Pray enable me to find De Wit in dere, Boss,” says he. "You will find him a little removed from a perpendic- ular raised from the floor of the hall to the feet of the judicial female who holds the scales!” I replied. "A roe shad. Boss ?” “Charles, black my boots, and never make puns. It is the lowest form of De Wit, 7 said I. “Read some more, Boss.” continued Charles kneeling before me. “De style and de discontent of de matter rouses my ebony easier ? “Your what?” I enquired. "That’s what Brudder Samson calls it!” “You mean Ebenezer, perhaps.” •‘Yes, dats it, Boss. But do you know why de wit of your sermon minds me of Brudder Samson ?” 18 THE OWLS OF “No, what of him, Charles?” I asked. “De more he was not wanted by de Bethel ration—” “You mean corporation, Charles.” “De core-for-ration, right Boss, de more de sisters stuck to him. Minds me of Posel Paul and sister Phebe. Which side is de corn? Gosh 1 never will have a sis- ter till I gine de church. Hand me de udder foot.” Charles grasped my left foot and squeezed it fearfully and burst into loud laughter. “What do you mean, Charles?” “Why, haven’t you heard of the colored Bethel law suit? You see Boss, Parson Samson is a' wonderful preacher. Gosh, how he can stir up de sinners. Last time I heard him his text was: Evil ram-fi-cations, rip up good manners. Oh, how he did lay it down. Dere 1 guess dat’l do, Boss. You can see your face in em. Dis was de way of it. De parson had rented de Bethel and took de paper to himself. Well de sisters dey wanted to get up a fair to pay de rent, and de deacons and de core-for-ration was agin it powerful strong. And so de fight began — and de sisters all stood by de parson— and de bredren all stood gel us togedder I spose, and told him. to get out — and de parson he sed he wouldn’t get out. And he got me to make up abed for him in de Bethel; I’m a great friend to him and his missus — and dere he staid all de time, night and day, and de sisters brought him his meals — all warm and nice. And sometimes Missus Samson invited me to eat wid em — and den de core-for-ration hired a big lawyer who gave de parson a bad conjunction — ” “Injunction, Charles.” “Right, Boss, and de parson want he mad. He said he would bold the fort agin de core-for-ration, de flesh and THE AL WA YE OPEN. 19 *le debbil, dat lie would win wid de sword of de Lord and Gid — Gid — ” “Gideon, Charles.” “Right Boss, dat was de name of de swordsman — and he did hold de fort till de colored suit was won — and den want de bredren gelus! Oh, my ! And toward de last de parson got gelus too!” “What, did Parson Samsom become jealous — of whom — not you, Charles,” I gasped. “Professor, if ’tis all de same to you I’ll tell you later. Now you have got de asthma agin’ laughin.’ “Well, Charles, I— don’t— feel — like — laugh — ing. I feel blue this morning !” “ Parbleu /” exclaims the doctor who has come in also without knocking. “So you are wheezing again ? Why don’t you mount yourself and label the specimen: “The skin of Richard Owler, which, unlike Oriental bottles, has held less water than — ” ‘•Than — what,” I gasped, and vainly attempted to rise. But the doctor continued remorslessly— “Wine! and underneath the label will be read: Now cured at last old Owler sings, That taxidermist clever ; lie boards at Satan’s sulphur springs To wheeze no more forever ! Be easy. Cheer up Professor! The millennium is not far away when the scales of justice shall no longer be re- quired. You are a warm admirer of Dr. Yates of Shady Place church. Who can tell just how many of the great pyramidal years must elapse before the lion and the lamb shall lie down together?” THE OWLS OF 30 - 1 — ] 10 pe —I — shall — live — -to— visit- — the — mena- gerie !” "Now that will do for the present! The sun will isoon rise and you will breathe more freely.*’ So saying the doctor departed. IV. That sign, "Always Open,*' was a most happy thought. I bow to the unknown author. He is a poet as well as a pharmaceutist. Think of it: an apothecary shop as eternal as the earth ball we tread! generations come and go; you and I shall close our eyes in death, but the glowing orbs of this sleepless thing of night are always open. Still the thought is oppressive. Could a cyclone demolish, or fire destroy it without loss to its owner: could there be even an hour’s interval in the succession^ of clerks in charge, it were perhaps a relief! As it is. I am fascinated by those brilliant eyes which watch the city hall clock from sun to sun. I approach and enter. The clock strikes four. Abel Alnight has just relieved the day clerks and is wide awake for business. There are few situations re- quiring a rarer combination of qualities than that of night clerk in charge of a metropolitan drug store. I so designate The Always Open, for Brooklyn is but a suburb of New York, now connected to the parent city by the wonderful bridge. He must possess not only the THE ALWAYS OPEN. 21 usual special knowledge of pharmacy, but prudence, pa- tience and forbearance. All these has Abel, and what is more valuable to others if not to himself, a sympathetic heart, which hardly permits him to say No to the nu- merous night applicants for aid. Moreover lie is a shrewd observer, and is rarely mistaken in his estimate of character. As I entered he was engaged in relieving' the wants of two thirsty customers. “Give me some plain soda,” ordered the larger and elder man. “Give me also plain soda with my usual tonic/' said the other, who, raising a long horn, thrust its smaller end between the loosened marble squares of The Always Open floor. Taking his glass he placed it in the hollow of the horn, and addressed his fellow customer. “Mis— ter —Smile and — lie! Behold that cornu-co- pi-a !” Here the speaker bent forward to take the glass, lost his equilibrium and narrowly escaped a fall. “Presented — to-night — by the Owl Club to your hum- ble servant as a re-ward of mer-it/’ “Let me warn you/’ replied the larger and older man. “not to drink that stimulant. Don’t you think this man has had enough, Mr. Alnight?” “I don’t express my opinion, Mr. Smiley. Ask him yourself. Allow me to introduce to your favorable no- tice Mr. Peter Cricket, otherwise on Sunday morning known as the Horn Spoon,’’ replied the night clerk. “Horn Spoon, the Honorable Simon Smiley.” The latter started back in disgust, while Peter, seeing the movement, exclaimed : THE OWLS OF 2'2 “Mr. Smile-and-lie ! Right you are! Allow me to in-fcro- duce you to my pa-tri-ar-chial friend, Professor Owler! What will you take? 1 ’ Mr. Smiley moved toward the door. “Don’t go! It is not vet the witching hour: O o When shall we tliree meet again ? In thunder, lightning or in rain ? Shakspeare. For Simon Smiley takes itpiain, So I from smiling should refrain, And never give the deacon pain ! Pea-tear. We've many hours before the day, For all we drink this lad will pay. Crick-et. O, Simon, don't leave me, To take mine alone, O, Smiley, don’t grieve me, For I’m all thy own. By the great Horn Spoon, You shall drink now soon. SpirUum frumenti, JBonum Sapienti.” As Peter concluded, Mr. Smiley thought he heard a dog growl behind him and sprang forward. Peter caught Simon Smiley by the latter’s coat collar, lost his footing and dragged the honorable gentleman to the floor. At this juncture a person appeared on the thresh- old who deserves a particular description. He was of medium height. His face was oval. Between his thick red lips a double row of white teeth were visible. He wore an ulster and felt hat, which concealed a low fore- head. His hair was black, and his eyes small and ferret like. The new comer advanced and offered to assist Mr. Smiley to rise. "Never mind, General ; pull off this vagabond,” said Smiley. THE ALWAYS OPEN. 23 Peter caught the word, recognized the new comer, and recovered himself. ‘‘That’s what I call free hand drawing! Never mind the dust Mr. Smile-and-lie. How do you do. General O’Toole! How is the spy business?” Smiley and O’Toole at once departed, the former from the Franklin street entrance, the latter between the shining eyes of The Always Open. Peter was sobered, and Alnight apprehensive. “There they go! The president of The Anti-Gin-Mill- Association, and its totally abstinent detective: Oh, ’tis a sin To drink bad gin, So I will stick to whiskey. Too much to-night Has made me tight, For I am full and frisky.” “Pete, don’t make so much noise,” said Abel. “Who is the large gentleman whom you called Smile and Lie,” I enquired. “Did 1? Oh, he ; s afraid of a dog! That was Deacon Smiley. No more ventriloquism Mr. Cricket,” observ- ed Abel. “I am going to Parson Scavenger’s meeting next Friday night and hear him pray for the besotted slaves of rum — including me. — Did any one ever know the deacon to assist one of the slaves to escape ?” A man may smile and smile, And be a villain still. Sficikspeare. A man may pray and prey, And be a deacon still. Pea-tear. “Did O’Toole see me drink, Abel,?” asked Peter. 24 THE OWLS OF At this moment a policeman appeared at the door, and having been provided with soda, remarked to Peter in a low tone: “Horn Spoon, O'Toole is around. You make too much noise. Must take you in if you don’t dry up. Mr. Owler, you seem to know Mr. Cricket, will you at- tend to him ? It is late — I mean early— and the rounds- man will be here in ten minutes / 1 and the speaker glanced at the hall clock. “Certainly / 1 said I, “he is one of my most remarkable specimens. Come Peter, the day will soon dawn, let us be going / 1 “Will you be seen with me? By the great Horn Spoon! Farewell. I’ll see you later, that is earlier. The best of friends must part! Next Sabbath morning, if alive, I shall again behold your countenance, always open, always." “Right side up with care, 1 ' said I, taking Peter’s arm. “Forward march . 11 Peter seized the horn, and with my aid managed to keep the step, and soon we found our- selves opposite Jones’ saloon. Here my attention was arrested by the passage of a cab containing two men whom I recognized by the light of the street lamp as the Reverend Samuel Scavenger and Sergeant John Sharp of the detective force. Hardly had I recovered from my astonishment at the sight, when my attention was diverted from the cab by a shriek. Turning my eyes toward Jones 1 I saw through the half opened door two figures, one a man of thirty, the other a beautiful girl of eighteen. The former’s face was flushed with wine. It was by no means repulsive, although bearing the imprint of uncontrolled passions. THE ALWAYS OPEN. His dark hair was unkempt, his coat torn and his eyes flashed with* anger. “Do cOme. Harry! Don't stay here longer. For God’s sake keep your promise to me,” pleaded the girl, as she caught hold of him. With a sweep of his muscular arm the man cast the girl to the floor, and rushed back to the rear of the saloon. I entered the saloon, followed by my compan- ion, and assisted the girl to rise, who exclaimed: “Oh save him. save him, sir!” “Do you know that man, ’’said I, gazing with astonish- ment into her face. “That is Hawk Johnson! What are you doing with him?” “Oh let me go! They will kill him! Know him. sir? He’s my husband,” shrieked the girl. “By the great Horn Spoon,” said Peter, in a tone of suppressed excitement. At this moment Officer Sea well passed, exclaiming: “The game is up, Johnson!” “No. you don’t take me this time, I’m not the man.” A pistol shot, — Seawell falls,— the door is opened and Johnson like a flash darts out into the street and disap- pears. “My God, he has shot the officer,!” shrieked the girl and swooned in my arms. “By the great Horn Spoon,” said Peter. “Here, care for the girl, Peter: let me see how badly the officer is hurt. Mr. Cricket, are you too drunk to help a poor woman in distress ?” Peter started and exclaimed: “My God, Lora! ’tis she! my poor lost LoraJ” and he clasped her unconscious form in his arms. THE OWLS OF “What do you mean sir, are you crazy?” “Let. us take her to The Always Open. Professor!” Peter, now perfectly sober, raised Lora, and gently bore her away from Jones’, as the police surgeon arrived to care for the wounded officer. I picked up the horn which Peter had dropped and followed him. Abel com- prehended the situation at a glance, in a twinkling provided a chair for Lora and administered a restora- tive. “Do you know her. Professor?” asked Abel. I shook my head. “I have seen her here with Hawk Johnson. He in- troduced her as his wife!” said Abel in a low tone. Lora opened her eyes, gazed long and intently at Pe- ter, ( who stood stupefied ) .and then covering her face with her hand sobbed as if her heart were breaking. “Where did you find her?” inquired Abel, looking at me. "Find her, I exclaimed, "In a saloon with Johnson.” “Who and what is she ?” “Don’t tell him!” shouted Peter and shrieked Lora. "What does all this mean, Mr. Cricket?” I de- manded, Peter did not reply, but bending addressed Lora in a low tone: “Lora, come home!” “Oh. don’t ask me! I cannot! must not!” "You shall ! Come too, Professor,” said Peter, and taking Lora by the arm he almost forced her from The Always Open. We entered a car passing up Franklin street, and rode in silence, while Lora veiled her face and continued to weep. As we crossed Oxford street the beams of the rising sun entered the car, and I sa\Y that Peter’s arm THE AL WA YS OPEN. 27 still supported her. Soon the conductor extinguished the lamps. I was not sorry that there were no other passen- gers. On our way Peter spoke but once: “Two politicians in one night. Simon Smiley and Hawk Johnson. Lora found at last! and his wife! By the great Horn Spoon !” Lora’s distress increased, but she uttered not a word. Twenty minutes later the conductor stopped the car and we alighted opposite Peter’s residence. V. The home of Peter Cricket is an old fashioned Dutch farm house, located on the corner of Spendwell Boulevard and James street. The adjoining lots are nearly overgrown with weeds and shrubs. But here and there are beds of flowers, the special care of Ruth, Peter’s sister. Here Peter was born forty years ago. and here Ruth and he had lived to see the town grow to be a city and gradually extend itself until it had included their once suburban home. Peter, Ruth, two servants, Bridget and Hans, and Bruno, a large Saint Bernard dog, were the occupants of this modest dwelling. The sole drawbacks to their happiness were Peter’s unfortu- nate habit of becoming intoxicated every Saturday night, and an assessment upon the lots and dwelling for the paving of the Boulevard for an amount nearly equivalent to the value of the property. 28 THE OWLS OF u My sister is still asleep, I suppose,” said Peter, glanc- ing at the window of the front chamber. Lora stood facing the East where the sun was about to emerge from behind golden edged clouds. She seemed to me to be wondrously beautiful. I was reminded of Gretchen, neither the queenly Margaret of Kellogg nor Goethe’s unsophisticated heroine of the garden scene, ere she sac- rificed herself for love, but the maiden at the well, sor- rowing and repentant. Her form was of medium height and well developed. Auburn hair fell in ringlets down her neck. Her blue eyes glistened with tears. She was richly and tastefully dressed. Evidently her brutal companion had been liberal. Peter placed his hand upon the garden gate and beckoned us to follow. “Come, Lora." * • At the sound of Peter’s voice she started, turned sud- denly, and in a tone I can never forget, exclaimed : “I cannot go in, Mr. Cricket! How can I see Miss Ruth ? Dear, good Peter, my more than father, 1 beg you to let me go! I am lost! lost! Harry is not my husband! You now know what I am!” Having thus spoken she lied down the boulevard. Peter, taken by surprise, paused for a moment, and then ran in pursuit. Like an affrighted doe the poor girl ran from her best friend and would have escaped but for an accident. Her foot was caught between the frag- ments of a broken paving stone, and she fell heavily. We bore her into the house and laid her on a sofa. Though suffering intense pain she was perfectly conscious. “Stay with her, Professor, wdiile I call Ruth,” said Peter. THE AL IT A VS OPEN. 29 '*Sir. ’ said Lora to me, as soon as Peter had left the room. 44 T am very much obliged to you. Will you grant me one more favor?" “Anything in my power,** I replied. “Please order a carriage and escort me to the city hos- pital. 1 can pay for it." “Miss Lora." said I. “you will doubtless receive the l>est of care here. Mr. ('racket and his sister are your friends.’ ‘ She interrupted me. “Oh. can you not understand that my presence here will greatly embarrass them ? Oh, must 1 repeat it. sir? I am not tit to stay here!" “Miss Lora." said 1 earnestly. “1 do not know your history, except from what 1 have seen and heard this morning, ft is enough for me to know that you suffer and need aid. You must not forget that Jesus of Naz- areth associated with publicans and sinners to save them from their sins." She covered her face with her hands, and I saw the tears fall on her heaving bosom. 1 was surprised at Peters delay and suggested to Lora that I would send at once for a surgeon. “No. no, wait, wait!" said she, in great distress. Peter had knocked at his sister's chamber door and requested her presence in the library. He waited blit a few moments when Ruth appeared. One glance at the face of Peter, who stood leaning on the mantle, assured bis sister that something unusual had occurred: more- over she was surprised to find him sober. “Ruth, Lora is here." said Peter. “Did you say Lora is here? Let me go to her." THE OWLS OF 30 “Wait a moment, Ruth: perhaps you will not wish to meet her.” “Why not, Peter/’ exclaimed Ruth in amazement, and sank in an old. arm chair which stood behind her. Peter hesitated. He would fain hide the truth, but he could not. 