 CHAPTER XII. There was a moment's silence while the two captains eyed one another, broken by the attorney who said, Whether this story is true or false, it certainly has no bearing on the validity of the policy. If this happened, it was after the policy attached, and before the wreck of the titan. But, dear concealment, dear concealment, shout it, Mr. Meyer, excitedly. Has no bearing either. If he concealed anything, it was done after the wreck, and after your liability was confirmed. It was not even baritry. You must pay this insurance. I will not pay it. I will not. I will fight you in their courts. Mr. Meyer stamped up and down on the floor in his excitement, then stopped with a triumphant smile and shook his finger into the face of the attorney, and even if there's concealment will not vitiate their policy, their fact that he had a drunken man on lookout when their titan struck your iceberg will be enough. Go ahead and sue. I will not pay. He was part owner. You have no witnesses to that admission, said the attorney. Mr. Meyer looked around the group, and the smile left his face. Captain Bryce was mistaken, said Mr. Austin. This man was drunk at New York, like others of the crew, but he was sober and competent when on lookout. I discussed theories of navigation with him during his trick on the bridge that night, and he spoke intelligently. But you yourself said not ten minutes ago that this man was in a state of delirium tremens up to their collision, said Mr. Meyer. What I said and what I will admit under oath are two different things, said the officer desperately. I may have said anything under the excitement of the moment when we were accused of such an infamous crime. I say now that John Rowland, whatever may have been his condition on the preceding night, was a sober and competent lookout at the time of the wreck of the titan. Thank you, said Rowland, dryly to the first officer. Then, looking into the appealing face of Mr. Meyer, he said, I do not think it will be necessary to brand me before the world as an inebriate in order to punish the company and these men. Barotry, as I understand it, is the unlawful act of a captain or crew at sea, causing damage or loss, and it only applies when the parties are purely employees. Did I understand rightly that Captain Bryce was part owner of the titan? Yes, said Mr. Meyer, he owns stock, and we insure against Barotry, but this man as part owner could not fall back on it, and an unlawful act, went on Rowland, perpetuated by a captain who is part owner, which might cause shipwreck, and, during the penetration of which shipwreck really occurs, will be sufficient to void the policy. Certainly, said Mr. Meyer eagerly, you were drunk under lookout, you were raving drunk, as he said himself. You will swear to this, will you not, my friend? It is bad faith with their underwriters. It annulls their insurance. You admit this, Mr. Thompson, do you not? That is law, said the attorney, coldly, was Mr. Austin a part owner, also asked Rowland, ignoring Mr. Meyer's view of the case. Unshare, is it not? Mr. Austin asked Mr. Meyer while he rubbed his hands and smiled. Mr. Austin made no sign of denial, and Rowland continued. Then, poor, drugging a sailor into a stupor, and having him on lookout, out of his turn while in that condition, and at the moment when the titan struck the iceberg, Captain Bryce and Mr. Austin have, as part owners, committed an act which nullifies the insurance on that ship. You infernal lying scoundrel roared, Captain Bryce. He strode toward Rowland with threatening face. Halfway he was stopped by the impact of a huge brown fist which sent him reeling and staggering across the room towards Mr. Selfridge and the child, over whom he floundered to the floor a disheveled heap, while the big Captain Barry examined teeth marks on his knuckles and everyone else sprang to their feet. I told you to look out, said Captain Barry, treat my friend respectfully. He glared steadily at the first officer, as though inviting him to duplicate the offense, but that gentleman backed away from him and assisted the dazed Captain Bryce to a chair where he felt of his loosened teeth, spat blood upon Mr. Meyer's floor and gradually weakened to a realization of the fact that he had been knocked down, and by an American. Little Myra, unhurt but badly frightened, began to cry and call for Rowland in her own way, to the wonder and somewhat to the scandal of the gentle old man who was endeavoring to soothe her. Dammy! she cried as she struggled to go to him. I want Dammy! Dammy! Dammy! Oh! what a pad-little girl, said the Jocular Mr. Myra, looking down on her. Where did she learn such language? It is my nickname, said Rowland, smiling in spite of himself. She has coined the word, he explained to the agitated Mr. Selfridge, who had not yet comprehended what had happened, and I have not yet been able to persuade her to drop it, and I could not be harsh with her. Let me take her, sir. He seated himself with the child, who nestled up to him contentedly, and soon was tranquil. Now, my friend, said Mr. Myra, you must tell us about this drugging. Then, while Captain Bryce, under the memory of the blow he had received, nursed himself into an insane fury, and Mr. Austin, with his hand resting lightly on the captain's shoulder ready to restrain him, listened to the story, and the attorney drew up a chair and took notes of the story, and Mr. Selfridge drew his chair close to Myra and paid no attention to the story at all. Rowland recited the events prior to and succeeding the shipwreck. Beginning with the finding of the whiskey in his pocket, he told of his being called to the starboard bridge lookout in place of the rightful incumbent of the sudden and strange interest Mr. Austin displayed as to his knowledge of navigation, of the pain in his stomach, the frightful shapes he had seen on the deck beneath and the sensations of his dream, leaving out only the part which bore on the woman he loved, he told of the sleepwalking child which awakened him, of the crash of ice, an instant wreck, and the fixed condition of his eyes, which prevented their focusing only at a certain distance, finishing his story to explain his empty sleeve with a graphic account of the fight with the bear. And I have studied it all out, he said in conclusion. I was drugged. I believe with hashish, which makes a man see strange things, and brought up on the bridge of lookout where I could be watched and my ravings listened to and recorded for the sole purpose of discrediting my threatened testimony in regard to the collision of the night before. But I was only half drugged, as I spilled part of my tea at supper. In that tea I am positive was the hashish. You know all about it, don't you, snarled Captain Bryce from his chair. It was not hashish, it was an infusion of Indian hemp. You don't know, Mr. Austin's hand closed over his mouth, and he subsided. Self-convicted, said Roland with a quiet laugh. Hashish is made from Indian hemp. You hear this gentleman, exclaimed Mr. Meyer, springing to his feet and facing everybody in turn. He pounced on Captain Barry. You hear this confession, Captain? You hear him say Indian hemp? I have a witness now, Mr. Thompson. Go right on with your suit. You hear him, Captain Barry? You are disinterested. You are a witness. You hear? Yes, I heard it, the murdering scoundrel, said the Captain. Mr. Meyer danced up and down in his joy, while the attorney, pocketing his notes, remarked to the discomfited Captain Bryce, You are the poorest fool I know, and left the office. Then Mr. Meyer calmed himself, and facing the two steamship officers, said slowly and impressively, while he poked his forefinger almost into their faces. Then is a fine country, my friends, a fine country to lead behind sometimes. There is Canada, and there are United States, and Australia, and South Africa, all fine countries too, fine countries to go to with new names. My friends, you will be bulletined and listed at Lloyd's in less than a half an hour, and you will never again sail under their English flag as officers. And my friends, let me say that in half an hour after you are bulletine, all Scotland yard will be looking for you, but my door is not locked. Silently they arose, pale, shame-faced, and crushed, and went out the door through the outer office, and into the street. CHAPTER XIII of FUTILITY for the Wreck of the Titan This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. FUTILITY or the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson CHAPTER XIII Mr. Salfridge had begun to take an interest in the proceedings. As the two men passed out, he arose and asked, Have you reached the settlement, Mr. Meyer? Will the insurance be paid? No, roared the underwriter in the ear of the puzzled old gentleman, while he slapped him vigorously on the back. It will not be paid. You or I must have been ruined, Mr. Salfridge, and it has settled on you. I do not pay their titan's insurance, nor will their other insurers. On their contrary, as their collision clause in their policy is void with the rest, your company must reimburse me for their insurance, which I must pay to their royal age-owners. That is, unless our good friend here, Mr. Roland, who was on their lookout at their time, will swear that her lights were out. Not at all, said Roland. Her lights were burning. Look to the old gentleman, he exclaimed. Look out for him. Catch him. Mr. Salfridge was stumbling toward a chair. He grasped it, loosened his hold, and before anyone could reach him fell to the floor, where he lay with ash and lips and rolling eyes, gasping compulsively. Heart failure, said Roland as he knelt by his side, send for a doctor. Send for a doctor, repeated Mr. Meyer through the door to his clerks, and send for a carriage quick. I don't want him to die in their office. Captain Barry lifted the helpless figure to a couch, and they watched, while the convulsions grew easier, the breath shorter, and the lips from ash and gray to blue. Before a doctor or carriage had come, he had passed away. Suddenly motion of some kind, said the doctor when he did arrive. Violent emotion, too. Hear bad news? Bad and good, answered the underwriter. Good in learning that this dear little girl was his granddaughter. Bad in learning that he was a ruined man. He was their heaviest stockholder in their titan. The hundred thousand pounds he owned of their stock, all of which this poor, dear little child will not yet. Mr. Meyer looked sourful as he patted Myra on the head. Captain Barry beckoned to Roland, whose slightly flushed was standing by the still figure on the couch, and watching the face of Mr. Meyer, on which annoyance, jubilation, and simulated shock could be seen in turn. Wait, he said, as he turned to watch the doctor leave the room. Is this so, Mr. Meyer, he added to the underwriter, that Mr. Selfridge owned titan stock, and would have been ruined had he lived by the loss of the insurance money? Yes, he would have been a poor man. He had invested his last barthing one hundred thousand pounds, and if he had left any more it would be assessed to make good his share of what their company must pay for their royal age, which I also insured. Was there a collision clause in the titan's policy? Meyer was, and you took the risk, knowing that she was to run the northern lane at full speed through fog and snow? I did, so did others. Then Mr. Meyer, it remains for me to tell you that the insurance on the titan will be paid, as well as any liabilities included and specified by the collision clause in the policy. In short, I, the one man who can prevent it, refuse to testify. But, Mr. Meyer grasped the back of a chair and, leaning over it, stared at Roland. You will not testify, but you mean. What I said, and I do not feel called upon to give you my reasons, Mr. Meyer. My good friend, said the underwriter, advancing with outstretched hands to Roland, who backed away, and, taking Meyer by the hand, moved toward the door. Mr. Meyer sprang ahead, locked it, and removed the key, and faced them, oh, my good God! He shouted, relapsing in his excitement into the more pronounced dialect of his race. But I do to you, eh? Why you go back on me, eh? Have I not paid your doctor's bill? Have I not bade for their carriage? Have I not creed you like one gentleman? Have I not, eh? I sit down in my office and call you, Mr. Roland. Have I not been fun, gentlemen? Open that door, said Roland quietly. Yes, open it, repeated Captain Barry, his puzzled face clearing at the prospect of action on his part. Open it, or I'll kick it down. But you, my friend, heard the recognition of their captain, of their drugging. One good witness will do, two is better, but you will swear, my friend, you will not ruin me. I stand by Roland, said the Captain grimly. I don't remember what was said anyhow, got a blamed bad memory. Yet away from that door grievous lamentation, weeping and wailings, and the most genuine gnashing of teeth, interspersed with the feebler cries of the frightened Myra and punctuated by terse commands in regard to the door, filled that private office to the wonder of the clerks without, and ended at last with the crashing of the door from its hinges. Captain Barry, Roland and Myra, followed by a parting, heart-borne malediction from the agitated underwriter, left the office and reached the street. The carriage that had brought them was still waiting. "'Settle inside,' called the captain to the driver. We'll take another, Roland. Around the first corner they found a cab, which they entered, Captain Barry giving the driver the direction. Bark peerless, East India docked. "'I think I understand the game, Roland,' he said as they started. "'You don't want to break this child.' That's it,' answered Roland weakly as he leaned back on the cushion, faint from the excitement of the last few moments. And as for the right or wrong of the position I am in, why, we must go farther back for then the question of lookouts. The cause of the wreck was full speed in a fog. All hands on lookout could not have seen that bird. The underwriters knew the speed and took the risk, left them pay. "'Right, and I'm with you on it, but you must get out of the country. I don't know the law on the matter, but they may compel you to testify. You can't ship for the mast again. That's settled. But you can have a birthmate with me as long as I sail a ship. If you'll take it, and you're to make my cabin, you're home as long as you like. Remember that.' "'Still, I know you want to get across with the kid, and if you stay around until I sail, it may be months before you get to New York, with the chance of losing her by getting a foul of English law. But just leave it to me. There are powerful interests at stake in regard to this matter.' What Captain Barry had in mind, Roland was too weak to inquire. When their arrival at the barc, he was assisted by his friend to a couch in the cabin, where he spent the rest of the day unable to leave it. Meanwhile Captain Barry had gone ashore again. Returning toward evening, he said to the man on the couch, "'I've got your pay, Roland,' and signed a receipt for it to that attorney. He paid it out of his own pocket. You could have worked that company for fifty thousand or more, but I knew you wouldn't touch the money, and so only struck him for your wages. You're entitled to a month's pay. Here it is, American money, about seventeen.' He gave Roland a roll of bills. "'Now here's something else, Roland,' he continued, producing an envelope. "'In consideration of the fact that you lost all your clothes and later your arm through the carelessness of the company's officers, Mr. Thompson offers you this.' Roland opened the envelope. In it were two first-class cabin tickets from Liverpool to New York, flushing hotly, he said bitterly. "'It seems that I'm not to escape it, after all.' "'Take them, old man. Take them. In fact, I took them for you, and you and the kid are booked. And I made Thompson agree to settle your doctor's bills and expenses with that sheenie. Tis and bribery. I heal you myself for the runover, but hang it, you'll take nothing from me. You've got to get the young and over. You're the only one to do it. The old gentleman was an American, alone here, hadn't even a lawyer that I could find. The boat sails in the morning, and the night train leaves in two hours. Think of that mother, Roland. Why, man, I travel round the world to stand in your shoes when you hand myra over. I've got a child of my own. The captain's eyes were winking hard and fast, and Roland's was shining.' "'Yes, I'll take the passage,' he said with a smile. I accept the bribe.' "'That's right. You'll be strong and healthy when you land, and when that mother's through thanking you and you have to think of yourself, remember, I want a mate and will be here a month before sailing. Write to me, caravloids, if you want the berth, and I'll send you advanced money to get back with.' "'Thank you, captain,' said Roland as he took the other's hand, and then glanced at his empty sleeve. But my going to sea is ended. Even a mate needs two hands.' "'Well, suit yourself, Roland. I'll take you mate without any hands at all while you have your brains. It's done me good to meet a man like you. And say, oh, man, you won't take it wrong from me, will you? It's none of my business, but you're too all-fired good a man to drink. You haven't had a nip for two months. Are you going to begin?' "'Never again,' said Roland, rising. I have a future now, as well as a past." CHAPTER XIV of FUTILITY or THE REC of THE TITAN This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. FUTILITY or THE REC of THE TITAN BY MORGAN ROBERTSON CHAPTER XIV It was near noon of the next day that Roland seated in his steamer chair with Myra and looking out on a sail-spangled stretch of blue from the saloon deck of a westbound liner, remembered that he had made no provisions to have Mrs. Selfrich notified by cable of the safety of her child. And unless Mr. Meyer or his associates gave the story to the press, it would not be known. "'Well,' he mused, "'joy will not kill, and I shall witness it in its fullness if I take her by surprise. But the chances are that it will get into the papers before I reach her. It is too good for Mr. Meyer to keep.' But the story was not given out immediately. Mr. Meyer called the conference of the underwriters concerned with him in the insurance of the Titan, at which it was decided to remain silent concerning the card they hoped to play, and to spend a little time and money in hunting for other witnesses among the Titan's crew, and in interviewing Captain Barry to the end of improving his memory. A few stormy meetings with this huge obstructionist convinced them of the futility of further effort in his direction, and after finding at the end of the week that every surviving member of the Titan's port watch, as well as a few of the other, had been induced to sign for Cape Voyages or had otherwise disappeared, they decided to give the story told by Roland to the press in the hope that publicity would avail to bring to light corroboratory evidence. This story improved upon in the repeating by Mr. Meyer to reporters, and embellished still further by the reporters as they wrote it up, particularly in the part pertaining to the polar bear, but lasened out in the great dailies of England and the continent and was cabled to New York with the name of the steamer in which John Roland had sailed, for his movements had been traced in the search for evidence. After it arrived, too late for publication, the morning of the day on which, with Myra on his shoulder, he stepped down the gang plank at a North River dock. As a consequence, he was surrounded on the dock by enthusiastic reporters, who spoke of the story and asked for details. He refused to talk, escaped them, and gaining the side streets soon found himself in crowded Broadway, for he entered the office of the steamship company in whose employee he had been wrecked, and secured from the Titan's passenger list the address of Mrs. Selfridge, the only woman saved. Then he took a car up Broadway and alighted abreast of a large department store. We're going to see Mama soon, Myra. He whispered in the pink ear, and you must go dressed up. It doesn't matter about me, but you're a Fifth Avenue baby, a little aristocrat. Those old clothes won't do now. But she had forgotten the word Mama, and was more interested in the exciting noise and life of the street than in the clothing she wore. In the store Roland asked for and was directed to the children's department, where a young woman waited on him. This child has been shipwrecked, he said. I have sixteen dollars and a half to spend on it. Give it a bath, dress its hair, and use up the money on a dress, shoes, and stockings under clothing and a hat. The young woman stooped and kissed the little girl from sheer sympathy, but protested that not much could be done. Do your best, said Roland, it is all I have. I will wait here. An hour later, penniless again, he emerged from the store with Myra, bravely dressed in her new finery, and was stopped at the corner by a policeman who had seen him come out, and who marveled doubtless at such juxtaposition of rags and ribbons. Whose kid ye got? He demanded. I believe it is the daughter of Mrs. Colonel Selfridge, answered Roland haughtily. Too haughtily, by far. Ye believe, ye don't know? Come back into the store, me tourist, and we'll see who ye stole it from. Very well, officer, I can prove possession. They started back the officer with his hand on Roland's collar, and were met at the door by a party of three or four people coming out. One of this party, a young woman in black, uttered a piercing shriek and sprang toward them. Myra, she screamed, give me my baby, give her to me. She snatched the child from Roland's shoulder, hugged it, kissed it, cried and screamed over it. Then oblivious to the crowd that collected it, incontamnately fainted in the arms of an indignant old gentleman. You scoundrel, he exclaimed, as he flourished his cane over Roland's head with his free arm. We've caught you. Officer, take that man to the station house. I will follow and make a charge in the name of my daughter. Then he stalled the kid, did he? asked the policeman. Most certainly answered the old gentleman. As with the assistance of the others, he supported the unconscious young mother to the carriage. They all entered, little Myra screaming for Roland from the arms of a family member of the party and were driven up. Come on with me, uttered the officer, wrapping his prisoner on the head with his club and jerking him off his feet. Then while an approving crowd applauded, the man who had fought and conquered a hungry polar bear was dragged through the streets like a sick animal, like a New York policeman. For such is the stultifying effect of a civilized environment. End of Chapter 14, Recording by Tom Weiss. Chapter 15 of Futility for the Wreck of the Titan. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tom Weiss. Futility for the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson. Chapter 15 In New York City there are homes permeated by a moral atmosphere so pure, so elevated, so sensitive to the vibrations of human woe and misdoing that their occupants are completely removed from all consideration of any but the spiritual welfare of poor humanity. In these homes the news-gathering, sensation-mongering daily paper does not enter. In the same city are dignified magistrates, members of clubs and societies who spend late hours and often fail to arise in the morning in time to read the papers before the opening of court. Also in New York are city editors, billiars of stomach, testy of speech, and inconsiderate of reporters' feelings and professional pride. Such editors, when a reporter has failed through no fault of his own, in successfully interviewing a celebrity will sometimes send him news-gathering in the police courts where printable news is scarce. On the morning following the arrest of John Rowland, three reporters sent by three such editors attended a hall of justice presided over by one of the late-rising magistrates mentioned above. In the ante-room of this court, raggot, disfigured by his clubbing and disheveled by his knight in a cell, stood Rowland with other unfortunates more or less guilty of offense against society. When his name was called, he was hustled through a door along a line of policemen, each of whom added to his own usefulness by giving him a shove, and into the dock where the stern-faced and tired-looking magistrate glared at him. Seated in a corner of the courtroom were the old gentleman of the day before, the young mother with little Myra in her lap, and a number of other ladies, all excited in demeanor, and all but the young mother directing venomous glances at Rowland. Mrs. Selfridge, pale and hollow-eyed, but happy-faced with all, allowed no wondering glance to rest on him. The officer who had arrested Rowland was sworn and testified that he had stopped the prisoner on Broadway while making off with the child, whose rich clothing had attracted his attention. Distainful sniffs were heard in the corner with murder remarks, rich indeed the idea, the flimsiest prince. Mr. Gaunt, the prosecuting witness, was called to testify. This man, Your Honor, he began excitedly, was once a gentleman and a frequent guest at my house. He asked for the hand of my daughter, and as his request was not granted, threatened revenge. Yes, sir, and out on the broad Atlantic, where he had followed my daughter in the guise of a sailor, he attempted to murder that child, my grandchild, but was discovered. Wait! interrupted the magistrate. Confine your testimony to the present defense. Yes, Your Honor. Failing in this, he stole or enticed the little one from its bed, and in less than five minutes this ship was wrecked, and he must have escaped with the child in. Were you a witness of this? I was not there, Your Honor, but we have it on the word of the first officer, a gentleman. Step down, sir, that will do. Officer, was this offense committed in New York? Yes, Your Honor, I caught him myself. Who did he steal the child from? That led him over yonder. Madam, will you take the stamp? With her child in her arms, Mrs. Selbridge was sworn in, and in a low, quavering voice, repeated what her father had said. Being a woman, she was allowed by the woman-wise magistrate to tell her story in her own way. When she spoke of the attempted murder at the Trophale, her manner became excited. Then she told of the captain's promise to put the man in irons on her agreeing to testify against him, of the consequent decrease in her watchfulness and her missing the child just before the shipwreck, of her rescue by the gallant first officer and his assertion that he had seen her child in the arms of this man, the only man on earth who would harm it, of the later news that a boat containing sailors and children had been picked up by a Mediterranean steamer, of the detectives sent over, and the report that a sailor answering this man's description had refused to surrender a child to the council at Gibraltar and had disappeared with it, of her joy at the news that Myra was alive and despair of ever seeing her again until she had met her in this man's arms on Broadway the day before. At this point, outraged maternity overcame her. With cheeks flushed and eyes blazing scorn and anger, she pointed at Roland and all but screamed, and he has mutilated, tortured my baby. There are deep wounds in her little back, and the doctor said only last night that they were made by a sharp instrument, but he must have tried to warp and twist the mind of my child or put her through frightful experiences, for he has taught her to swear horribly. And last night at bedtime, when I told her the story of Elisha and the bears and the children, she burst out into the most uncontrollable screaming and sobbing. Here her testimony ended in a breakdown of hysterics between sobs of which were frequent admonitions to the child not to say that bad word, for Myra had caught sight of Roland and was calling his nickname. What shipwreck was this? Where was it? asked the puzzled magistrate of nobody in particular. The Titan called out half a dozen newspaper men across the room. The Titan repeated to the magistrate. Then this offense was committed on the high seas under the English flag. I cannot imagine why it is brought into this court. Prisoner, have you anything to say? Nothing, Your Honor. The answer came in a kind of dry song. The magistrate scanned the ashen-faced man in rags and said to the clerk of the court, Change this charge to vagrancy, eh? The clerk, instigated by the newspaper men, was at his elbow. He laid a morning paper before him, pointed to certain big letters and retired. Then the business of the court suspended while the court read the news. After a moment or two, the magistrate looked up. Prisoner, he said sharply, take your left sleeve out of your breast. Roland obeyed mechanically, and it dangled at his side. The magistrate noticed and read on. Then he folded the paper and said, You are the man who was rescued from an iceberg. Are you not? The prisoner bowed his head. Discharged, the word came forth in an unjudicial roar. Madam, added the magistrate with a kindling light in his eye, this man has merely saved your child's life. If you will read of his defending it from a polar bear when you go home, I doubt that you will tell it any more bear stories, sharp instrument. Which was equally unjudicial on the part of the court. Mrs. Selfridge, with a mystified and rather aggrieved expression that faced, left the courtroom with her indignant father and friends, while Myra shouted profanely for Roland, who had fallen into the hands of the reporters. They would have entertained him after the manner of the craft, but he would not be entertained. Neither would he talk. He escaped and was swallowed up in the world without. And when the evening papers appeared that day, the events of the trial were all that could be added to the story of the morning. Futility or the Wreck of the Titan by Morgan Robertson Chapter 16 On the morning of the next day a one-armed dock-lounger found an old fish-hook and some pieces of string which he knotted together. Then he dug some bait and caught a fish. Being hungry and without fire, he tried it with a coaster's cook for a meal, and before night caught two more, one of which he tried it the other sold. He slept under the docks, paying no rent, fished, traded, and sold for a month, then paid for a second-hand suit of clothes and the services of a barber. His changed appearance induced a boss stevedor to hire him tallying cargo, which was more lucrative than fishing, and furnished in time a hat, a pair of shoes, and an overcoat. He then rented a room and slept in a bed. Before long he found employment addressing envelopes for a mailing-firm, at which his fine and rapid penmanship secured him steady work, and in a few months he asked his employers to endorse his application for a civil service examination. The favor was granted, the examination easily passed, and he addressed envelopes while he waited. Meanwhile, he bought new and better clothing, and seemed to have no difficulty in impressing those whom he met with the fact that he was a gentleman. Two years from the time of his examination, he was appointed to a lucrative position under the government, and as he seated himself at the desk in his office, could be heard to remark, Now, John Rowland, your future is your own. You have merely suffered in the past from a mistaken estimate of the importance of women and whiskey. But he was wrong. For in six months he received a letter which, in part, read as follows. Do not think me indifferent or ungrateful. I have watched from a distance while you made your wonderful fight for your old standards. You have won, and I am glad, and I congratulate you. But Myra will not let me rest. She asks for you continually and cries at times. I can bear it no longer. Will you not come and see Myra? And the man went to see Myra.