xt7kh12v4k5t https://nyx.uky.edu/dips/xt7kh12v4k5t/data/mets.xml Rice, Alice Caldwell Hegan, 1870-1942. 1905  books b92-254-31805103 English Century Co., : New York : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Sandy  / Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice. text Sandy  / Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice. 1905 2002 true xt7kh12v4k5t section xt7kh12v4k5t 

'- Lookim, up. he saw a slender little girl in a long tall coat
               and a white tain-o'.slianter '




        AUTHOR OF



Copyright, 1904, 1905, by

  Published April, 1905



         TO MY AUNT



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   II ON SHIPBOARD . . . . .

. ... 19
. ... 35
. ... 41
. ... 51
    .. .66
. ... 79
.... 101
. ... 106
. ... 118
. ... 131
. ... 140
... . 154
. ... 160
.  ... 176
. ... 192
. ... 208


. .232
. .253
. .268
. .286
. .301

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"Looking up, he saw a slender little girl in a long tan
   coat and a white tam-o'-shanter"  .   Frontispiecc

"lie sent up yell after yell of victory for the land of
   his adoption"                                    15

" He smiled away his debt of gratitude "              7,

" Then he forgot all abouit the steps and counting time" 17 3

" Burning deeds of prowess rioted in his brain "  . 195

"Sandy saw her waver ".       .                    241

"' It 's been love, Sandy, .  ever since the first "I . 297

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              CHAPTER I
              THE STOWAWAY

       N English mist was rolling
              lazily inland from the sea.
              It half enveloped the two
              great ocean liners that lay
              tugging at their moorings in
the bay, and settled over the wharf with a
grim determination to check, as far as pos-
sible, the traffic of the morning.
  But the activity of the wharf, while im-
peded, was in no wise stopped. The bustle,
rattle, and shouting were, in fact, aug-
mented by the temporary interference.
Everybody seemed in a hurry, and every-
body seemed out of temper, save a boy who
lay at full length on the quay and earnestly


studied a weather-vane that was lazily try-
ing to make up its mind which way to point.
  He was ragged and brawny and pictur-
esque. His hands, bronzed by the tan of
sixteen summers, were clasped under his
head, and his legs were crossed, one sole-
less shoe on high vaunting its nakedness
in the face of an indifferent world. A
sailor's blouse, two sizes too large, was held
together at the neck by a bit of red cam-
bric, and his trousers were anchored to their
mooring by a heavy piece of yellow twine.
The indolence of his position, however, was
not indicative of the state of his mind; for
under his weather-beaten old cap, perched
sidewise on a tousled head, was a commo-
tion of dreams and schemes, ambitions and
plans, whose activities would have put to
shame the busiest wharf in the world.
  "It 's your show, Sandy Kilday!" he
said, half aloud, with a bit of a brogue that
flavored his speech as the salt flavors the
sea air. "You don't want to be a bloomin'
old weather-vane, a-changin' your mind


The Stowaway

every time the wind blows. Is it go, or
stay  '
  The answer, instead of coming, got side-
tracked by the train of thought that de-
scended upon him when he was actually face
to face with his decision. All sorts of mem-
ories came rushing pell-mell through his
brain. The cold and hungry ones were the
nost insistent, but he brushed them aside.
  The one he clung to longest was the ear-
liest and most shadowy of the lot. It was
of a little white house on an Irish heath,
and inside was the biggest fireplace in the
world, where crimson flames went roaring
up the big, dark chimney, and where witches
and fairies held high carnival. There was
a big chair on each side the hearth, and
between them a tiny red rocker with flowers
painted on the arms of it. That was the
clearest of all. There were persons in the
large chairs, one a silent Scotchman who,
instinct told him, must have been his father,
and the other-oh, tricky memory that fal-
tered when he wanted it to be so clear!-
   1                r,


was the maddest, merriest little mother that
ever came back to haunt a lad. By holding
tight to the memory he could see that her
eyes were blue like his own, but her hair was
black. He could hear the ring of her laugh
as she told him Irish stories, and the soft
drone of her voice as she sang him old Irish
songs. It was she who told him about the
fairies and witches that lived up behind
the peat-flames. He remembered holding
her hand and putting his cheek against it
when the goblins came too near. Then the
picture would go out, like a picture in a
magic-lantern show, and sometimes Sandy
could make it come back, and sometimes he
could not.
  After that came a succession of memories,
but none of them held the silent father and
the merry mother and the little white house
on the heath. They were of new faces and
new places, of temporary homes with rela-
tives in Ireland and Scotland, of various
schools and unceasing work. Then came
the day, two years ago, when, goaded by

The Stowaway

some injustice, real or imagined, he had
run away to England and struck out alone
and empty-handed to care for himself. It
had been a rough experience, and there were
(lays that he was glad to forget; but through
it all the taste of freedom had been sweet in
his mouth.
  For three weeks he had been hanging
about the docks, picking up jobs here and
there, accommodating any one who wanted
to be accommodated, making many friends
and little money. He had had no thought
of embarking until the big English liner
Great Britain arrived in port after break-
ing all records on her homeward passage.
She was to start on her second trip to-day,
and an hour later her rival, the steamship
America, was to take her departure. The
relative merits of the two vessels had been
the talk of the wharf for days.
  Sandy had made it a rule in life to be on
hand when anything was happening. He
had viewed cricket-matches from tree-tops,
had answered the call of fire at midnight,


and tramped ten miles to see the finish of
a great regatta. But something was about
to take place which seemed entirely beyond
his attainment. Two hours passed before
he solved the problem.
  "Takin' the rest-cure, kid" asked a
passing sailor as he shied a stick at Sandy's
  Sandy stretched himself and smiled up at
the sailor. It was a smile that waited for
an answer and usually got it-a smile so
brimming over with good-fellowship and
confidence that it made a lover of a friend
and a friend of an enemy.
  "It 's a trip that I 'm thinkin' of takin','
he cried blithely as he jumped to his feet.
"Here 's the shillin' I owe you, partner,
and may the best luck ye 've had be the
worst luck that 's comin'."
  He tossed a coin to the sailor, and thrust-
ing his hands in his pockets, executed a
brief but brilliant pas seul, and then went
whistling away down the wharf. He swung
along right cheerily, his rags fluttering, his

The Stowaway

chin in the air, for the wind had settled in
one direction, and the weather-vane and
Sandy had both made up their minds.
  The sailor looked after him fondly.
"He 's a bloomin' good little chap," he said
to a man near by. "Carries a civil tongue
in his head for everybody."
  The man grunted. " He 's too off and
on, " he said.  "He '11 never come to
naught. "
  Two days later, the America, cutting her
way across the Atlantic, carried one more
passenger than she registered. In the big
life-boat swung above the hurricane-deck
lay Sandy Kilday, snugly concealed by
the heavy canvas covering.
  He had managed to come aboard under
cover of the friendly fog, and had boldly
appropriated a life-boat and was doing
light housekeeping. The apartment, to be
sure, was rather small and dark, for the
only light came through a tiny aperture
where the canvas was tucked back. At this
end Sandy attended to his domestic duties.


Here were stored the fresh water and hard-
tack which the law requires every life-boat
to carry in case of an emergency. Added
to these was Sandy's private larder, con-
sisting of several loaves of bread, a bag of
apples, and some canned meat. The other
end of the boat was utilized as a bedroom,
a couple of life-preservers serving as the
bed, and his own bundle of personal belong-
ings doing duty as a pillow.
  There were some drawbacks, naturally,
especially to an energetic, restless young-
ster who had never been in one place so
long before in his life. It was exceedingly
inconvenient to have to lie down or crawl;
but Sandy had been used to inconveniences
all his life, and this was simply a difference
in kind, not in degree. Besides, he could
steal out at night and, by being very care-
ful and still, manage to avoid the night
   The first night out a man and a girl had
come up from the cabin deck and sat di-
rectly under his hiding-place. At first he

The Stowaway

was too much afraid of discovery to listen
to what they were saying, but later his in-
terest outweighed his fear. For they were
evidently lovers, and Sandy was at that in-
flammable age when to hear mention of love
is dangerous and to see a manifestation of it
absolute contagion. When the great ques-
tion came, his heart waited for the answer.
Perhaps it was the added weight of his un-
spoken influence that turned the scale. She
said yes. During the silence that followed,
Sandy, unable to restrain his joy, threw his
arms about a life-preserver and embraced
it fervently.
  When they were gone he crawled out to
stretch his weary body. On the deck he
found a book which they had left; it was a
green book, and on the cover was a golden
castle on a golden hill. All the rest of his
life he loved a green book best, for it was
through this one that he found his way back
again to that enchanted land that lay behind
the peat-flames in the shadowy memory.
Early in the morning he read it, with his


head on the box of hardtack and his feet
on the water-can. Twice he reluctantly tore
himself from its pages and put it back
where he had found it. No one came to
claim it, and it lay there, with the golden
castle shining in the sun. Sandy decided
to take one more peep.
  It was all about gallant knights and noble
lords, of damsels passing fair, of tourneys
and feasts and battles fierce and long. Story
after story he devoured, until he came to
the best one of all. It told of a beautiful
damsel with a mantle richly furred, who was
girt with a cumbrous sword which did her
great sorrow; for she might not be delivered
of it save by a knight who was of passing
good name both of his lands and deeds.
And after that all the great knights had
striven in vain to draw the sword from its
sheath, a poor knight, poorly arrayed, felt
in his heart that he might essay it, but was
abashed. At last, however, when the dam-
sel was departing, he plucked up courage
to ask if he might try; and when she hesi-

The Stowcaway

tated he said: " Fair damsel, worthiness
and good deeds are not only in arrayment,
but manhood and worship are hid within
man's person." Then the poor knight took
the sword by the girdle and sheath and drew
it out easily.
  And it was not until then that Sandy knew
that he had had no dinner, and that the sun
had climbed over to the other side of the
steamer, and that a continual cheering was
coming up from the deck below. Cautiously
he pulled back the canvas flap and emerged
like the head of a turtle from his shell. The
bright sunshine dazzled him for a moment,
then he saw a sight that sent the dreams fly-
ing. There, just ahead, was the Great
Britain under full way, valiantly striving
to hold her record against the oncoming
  Sandy sat up and breathlessly watched
the champion of the sea, her smoke-stacks
black against the wide stretch of shining
waters. The Union Jack was flying in in-
solent security from her flagstaff. There


were many figures on deck, and her music
was growing louder every minute. Inch
by inch the America gained upon her, until
they were bow and bow. The crowd below
grew wilder, cheers went up from both
steamers, the decks were white with the
flutter of handkerchiefs.
  Suddenly the band below struck up "The
Star-Spangled Banner." Sandy gave one
triumphant glance at the Stars and Stripes
floating overhead, and in that moment be-
came naturalized. He leaped to his feet
in the boat, and tearing the blouse from
his back, waved the tattered banner in the
face of the vanquished Great Britain, as he
sent up yell after yell of victory for the land
of his adoption.
  Then he was seized by the ankle and
jerked roughly down upon the deck. Over
him stood the deck steward.
  "You 're a rum egg for that old boat to
hatch out, " he said. "I guess the cap 'n
will be wantin' to see you."
  Sandy, thus peremptorily summoned










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The Stoleaway

from the height of patriotic frenzy, col-
lapsed in terror. Had the deck steward
not been familiar with stowaways, he doubt-
less would have been moved by the flood of
eloquent persuasion which Sandy brought
to bear.
  As it was, he led him ruthlessly down the
narrow steps, past the long line of curious
passengers, then down again to the steerage
deck, where he deposited him on a coil of
rope and bade him stay there until he was
sent for.
  Here Sandy sat for the remainder of the
afternoon, stared at from above and below,
an object of lively curiosity. He bit his
nails until the blood came, and struggled
manfully to keep back the tears. He was
cold, hungry, and disgraced, and his mind
was full of sinister thoughts. Inch by inch
he moved closer to the railing.
  Suddenly something fell at his feet. It
was an orange. Looking up, he saw a slen-
der little girl in a long tan coat and a white
tam-o '-shanter leaning over the railing. He



only knew that her eyes were brown and
that she was sorry for him, but it changed
his world. He pulled off his cap, and sent
her such an ardent smile of gratitude that
she melted from the railing like a snowflake
under the kiss of the sun.
  Sandy ate the orange and took courage.
Life had acquired a new interest.




              ON SHIPBOARD

              HE days that followed were
              not rose-strewn.  Disgrace
              sat heavily upon the delin-
            I quent, and he did penance by
              foregoing the joys of society.
Menial labor and the knowledge that he
would not be allowed to land, but would be
sent back by the first steamer, were made all
the more unbearable by his first experience
with illness. He had accepted his fate and
prepared to die when the ship's surgeon
found him.
  The ship's surgeon was cruel enough to
laugh, but he persuaded Sandy to come back
to life. He was a small, white, round little
man; and when he came rolling down the
deck in his white linen suit, his face beam-



ing from its white f rame of close-cropped
hair and beard, he was not unlike one of his
own round white little pills, except that their
sweetness stopped on the outside and his
went clear through.
  He discovered Sandy lying on his face
in the passageway, his right hand still duti-
fully wielding the scrub-brush, but his spirit
broken and his courage low.
  "Hello!" he exclaimed briskly; "what 's
your name' "
  " Sandy Kilday."
  "Scotch, eh  "
  "Me name is. The rest of me 's Irish,"
groaned Sandy.
  "Well, Sandy, my boy, that 's no way to
scrub. Come out and get some air, and then
go back and do it right."
  He guided Sandy's dying footsteps to the
deck and propped him against the railing.
That was when he laughed.
  "Not much of a sailor, ehh " he quizzed.
"You '11 be all right soon; we have been
getting the tail-end of a big nor'wester."

On Shipboard

  "A happy storm it must have been, sir,
to wag its tail so gay," said Sandy, trying
to smile.
  The doctor clapped him on the back.
"You 're better. 'Want something to eat "
  Sandy declined with violence. He ex-
plained his feelings with all the authority
of a first experience, adding in conclu-
sion: "It was Jonah I used to be after
feelin' sorry for; it ain 't now. It 's the
whale. "
  The doctor prevailed upon him to drink
some hot tea and eat a sandwich. It was
a heroic effort, but Sandy would have done
even more to prolong the friendly conver-
  " How many more days have we got,
Sir  I"
  "Five; but there 's the return trip for
you. "
  Sandy 's face flushed. " If they send me
home, I '11 be comin' back!" he cried, cling-
ing to the railing as the ship lurched for-
ward. "I 'm goin' to be an American. I



am goin '-" Further declarations as to
his future policy were cut short.
  From that time on the doctor took an
interest in him. He even took up a collec-
tion of clothes for him among the officers.
His professional services were no longer
necessary, for Sandy enjoyed a speedy re-
covery from his maritime troubles.
  "You are luckier than the rest," he said,
one day, stopping on his rounds. "I never
had so many steerage patients before."
  The work was so heavy, in fact, that he
obtained permission to get a boy to assist
him. The happy duty devolved upon Sandy,
who promptly embraced not only the oppor-
tunity, but the doctor and the profession as
well. He entered into his new work with
such energy and enthusiasm that by the end
of the week he knew every man below the
cabin deck. So expeditious did he become
that he found many idle moments in which
to cultivate acquaintances.
  His chosen companion at these times was
a boy in the steerage, selected not for con-

On Shipboard

geniality, but for his unlimited knowledge
of all things terrestrial, from the easiest
way of making a fortune to the best way of
spending it. He was a short, heavy-set fel-
low of some eighteen years. His hair grew
straight up from an overhanging forehead,
under which two small eyes seemed always
to be furtively watching each other over the
bridge of his flat snub nose. His lips met
with difficulty across large, irregular teeth.
Such was Ricks Wilson, the most unpre-
possessing soul on board the good ship
A merica.
  "You see, it 's this way," explained
Ricks as the boys sat behind the smoke-
stack and Sandy became initiated into the
mysteries of a wonderful game called
' craps. ' I I did n't have no more 'n
you 've got. I lived down South, clean off
the track of ever'thing. I puts my foot in
my hand and went out and seen the world.
I tramps up to New York, works my way
over to England, tramps and peddles, and
gits enough dough to pay my way back.





Say, it 's bum slow over there. Why, they
ain't even on to street-cars in London! I
makes more in a week at home than I do
in a month in England. Say, where you
goin' at when we land'
  Sandy shook his head ruefully. "I got to
go back," he said.
  Ricks glanced around cautiously, then
moved closer.
  " You ain't that big a sucker, are you
Any feller that could n't hop the twig offen
this old boat ain't much, that 's all I got to
  "6Oh, it 's not the gettin' away," said
Sandy, more certain than ever, now that he
was sure of an ally.
  "Homesick" asked Ricks, with a sneer.
  Sandy gave a short laugh.   "Home
AWhy, I ain't got any home. I 've just lived
around since I was a young one. It 's a
chanee to get on that I 'm after."
  " Well, what in thunder is takin' you
  "I don't know, " said Sandy, " 'cep'n' it

On Shipboard

alin't in me to give 'em the slip now I know
'em. Then there 's the doctor-"
"That old feather-bed 0 Lord! He 's
so good he gives me a pain. Goes round
with his mouth hiked up in a smile, and I
bet he 's as mean as the-"
  Before Ricks could finish he found him-
self inextricably tangled in Sandy's arms
and legs, while that irate youth sat upon
him and pommeled him soundly.
  "So it 's the good doctor ye 'd be after
blasphemin' and abusin' and makin' game
of ! By the powers, ye '11 take it back!
Speak one time more, and I '11 make you
swaller the lyin' words, if I have to break
every bone in your skin!"
  There was an ugly look in Ricks's face as
he threw the smaller boy off, but further
trouble was prevented by the appearance of
the second mate.
  Sandy hurried away to his duties, but not
without an anxious glance at the upper deck.
He had never lost an opportunity, since that
first day, of looking up; but this was the



first time that he was glad she was not there.
Only once had he caught sight of a white
tam and a tan coat, and that was when they
were being conducted hastily below by a
sympathetic stewardess.
  But Sandy needed no further food for
his dreams than he already had. On sunny
afternoons, when he had the time, he would
seek a secluded corner of the deck, and
stretching himself on the boards with the
green book in his hand, would float in a sea
of sentiment. The fact that he had decided
to study medicine and become a ship's sur-
geon in no wise interfered with his fixed
purpose of riding forth into the world on
a cream-white charger in search of a dam-
sel in distress.
  So thrilled did he become with the vision
that he fell to making rhymes, and was sur-
prised to find that the same pair of eyes
always rhymed with skies-and they were
  Sometimes, at night, a group would
gather on the steerage deck and sing. A

On Shipboard

black-haired Italian, with shirt open at the
throat, would strike a pose and fling out a
wild serenade; or a fat, placid German
would remove his pipe long enough to troll
forth a mighty drinking-song. Whenever
the air was a familiar one, the entire circle
joined in the chorus. At such times Sandy
was always on hand, singing with the loud-
est and telling his story with the best.
  "Make de jolly little Irish one to sing by
hisself!" called a woman one night from
the edge of the crowd. The invitation was
taken up and repeated on every side.
Sandy, laughing and protesting, was pushed
to the front. Being thus suddenly forced
into prominence, he suffered an acute at-
tack of stage fright.
  "Chirp up there now and give us a tune!"
cried some one behind him.
  "Can't ye remember none " asked an-
  "Sure," said Sandy, laughing sheep-
ishly; "but they all come wrong end first."
  Some one had thrust an old guitar in his



hands, and he stood nervously picking at
the strings. He might have been standing
there still had not the moon come to his res-
cue. It climbed slowly out of the sea and
sent a shimmer of silver and gold over the
water, across the deck, and into his eyes.
He forgot himself and the crowd. The
stream of mystical romance that flows
through the veins of every true Irishman
was never lacking in Sandy. His heart re-
sponded to the beautiful as surely as the
echo answers the call.
  He seized the guitar, and picking out the
notes with clumsy, faltering fingers, sang:
  "Ah! The moment was sad when my love and
       I parted,
     Savourneen deelish, signan 0!"
  His boyish voice rang out clear and true,
softening on the refrain to an indescribable
tenderness that steeped the old song in the
very essence of mystery and love.
  "As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken-
       hearted !-
     Savourneen deelish, signan 0!"

On Shiipboard

  He could remember his mother singing
him to sleep by it, and the bright red of her
lips as they framed the words:
"Wan was her cheek which hung on my
   Chill was her hand, no marble was colder;
   I felt that again I should never behold her;
     Savourneen (leelish, signan 0! !"

  As the song trembled to a close, a slight
burst of applause came from the cabin deck.
Sandy looked up, frowned, and bit his lip.
He did not know why, but he was sorry he
had sung.
  The next morning the America sailed into
New York harbor, band playing and flags
flying. She was bringing home a record
and a jubilant crew. On the upper decks
passengers were making merry over what
is probably the most joyful parting in the
world. In the steerage all was bustle and
confusion and anticipation of the disemn-
  Eagerly, wistfully watching it all, stood
Sandy, as alert and distressed as a young



hound restrained from the hunt. It is some-
thing to accept punishment gracefully, but
to accept punishment when it can be avoided
is nothing short of heroism. Sandy had to
shut his eyes and grip the railing to keep
from planning an escape. Spread before
him in brave array across the water lay the
promised land-and, like Moses, he was not
to reach it.
  "That 's the greatest city in America,"
said the ship's surgeon as he came up to
where he was standing. "What do you
think of it"
  "I never seen one stand on end afore!"
exclaimed Sandy, amazed.
  " Would you like to go ashore long
enough to look about" asked the doctor,
with a smile running around the fat folds
of his cheeks.
  "And would I" asked Sandy, his eyes
flying open. "It 's me word of honor I 'd
give you that I 'd come back."
  " The word of a stowaway, eh e" asked
the doctor, still smiling.

On Shipboard

  In a moment Sandy's face was crimson.
''WXhatever I be, sir, I ain't a liar!"
  The doctor pursed up his lips in comical
dismay: "Not so hot, my man; not so hot!
So you still want to be a doctor "
  Sandy cooled down sufficiently to say that
it was the one ambition of his life.
  "I know the physician in charge of the
City Hospital here in New York. He 's a
good fellow. He 'd put you through-give
you work and put you in the way of going
to the Medical School. You 'd like that"
  "But," cried Sandy, bewildered but
hopeful, "I have to go back!"
  The doctor shook his head. "No, you
don't. I 've paid your passage."
  Sandy waited a moment until the full im-
port of the words was taken in, then he
grabbed the stout little doctor and almost
lifted him off his feet.
  " Oh! But ain't you a brick!" he cried
fervently, adding earnestly: "It ain't a
present you 're makin' me, though! I '11
pay it back, so help me bob !"



  At the pier the crowd of immigrants
pushed and crowded impatiently as they
waited for the cabin passengers to go
ashore. Among them was Sandy, bare-
headed and in motley garb, laughing and
shoving with the best of them, hanging
over the railing, and keeping up a fire of
merriment at the expense of the crowd be-
low. In his hand was a letter of recom-
mendation to the physician in charge at the
City Hospital, and in his inside pocket a
ten-dollar bill was buttoned over a heart
that had not a care in the world. In the
great stream of life Sandy was one of the
bubbles that are apt to come to the top.
  "You better come down to Kentucky with
me," urged Ricks Wilson, resuming an old
argument. "I 'm goin' to peddle my way
back home, then git a payin' job at the race-
  "Was n't I tellin' +e that it was a doctor
I 'm goin' to be" asked Sandy, impa-
tiently. Already Ricks 's friendship was
proving irksome.

On Shipboar-d

  On the gang-plank above him the passen-
gers were leaving the ship. Some delay had
arisen, and for a moment the procession
halted. Suddenly Sandy caught his breath.
There, just above him, stood "the damsel
passing fair." Instead of the tam-o'-shan-
ter she wore a big drooping hat of brown,
which just matched the curls that were
loosely tied at the back of her neck.
  Sandy stood motionless and humbly
adored her. He was a born lover, lavish-
ing his affection, without discrimination or
calculation, upon whatever touched his
heart. It surely was no harm just to stand
aside and look. He liked the way she car-
ried her head; he liked the way her eyes
went up a little at the outer corners, and
the round, soft curve of her chin. She was
gazing steadfastly ahead of her down the
gang-plank, and he ventured a step nearer
and continued his observations. As he did
so, he made a discovery. The soft white of
her cheek was gradually becoming pinker
and pinker; the color which began under



her lace collar stole up and up until it
reached her eves, which still gazed deter-
minedlv before her.
  Sandy admired it as a traveler admires
a sunrise, and with as little idea of having
caused it.
  The line of passengers moved slowly for-
ward, and his heart sank. Suddenly his
eyes fell upon the little hand-bag which she
carried. On one end, in small white letters,
was: "Ruth Nelson, Kentucky, U. S. A."
He watched her until she was lost to view,
then he turned eagerly back into the crowd.
Elbowing his way forward, he seized Ricks
by the arm.
  "Hi, there!" he cried; "I 've changed
me mind. I 'm goin' with you to Ken-
  So this impetuous knight errant enlisted
under the will-o'-the-wisp love, and started
joyously forth upon his quest.





T is an oft-proved adage that
              for ten who can stand adver-
        j    sity there is but one who can
              stand prosperity.  Sandy,
 alas! was no exception to
any rule which went to prove the frailty of
human nature. The sudden acquisition of
ten dollars cast him into a whirlpool of
temptation from which lie made little effort
to escape.
  "I ain't goin' on to-day," announced
Ricks. "I 'm goin' to lay in my goods for
peddlin'. I reckon you kin come along of
  Sandy accepted a long and strong cigar,
tilted his hat, and unconsciously caught
Ricks 's slouching gait as they went down



the street. After all, it was rather pleasant
to associate with sophistication.
  " We '11 git on the outside of a little din-
ner," said Ricks; "and I '11 mosey round
in the stores awhile, then I '11 take you to
a show or two. It 's a mighty good thing
for you that you got me along. "
  Sandy thought so too. He cheerfully
stood treat for the rest of the day, and felt
that it was small return for Ricks's conde-
  "How much you got left" asked Ricks,
that night, as they stopped under a street
light to take stock.
  Sandy held out a couple of dollars and a
fifty-cent piece.
  "Enough to put on the eyes of two and
a half dead men," he said as he curiously
eyed the strange money.
  "One, two,-two and a half," counted
  "Shillings" asked Sandy, amazed.
  Ricks nodded.
  "And have I blowed all that to-day"

The Ciuirse of Wealtk'

  "What of it" asked Ricks. "I seen a
bloke onct what lit his cigar with a bill
like the one you had!"
  "But the doctor said it was two pounds,"
insisted Sandy, incredulously. He did not
realize the expense of a personally con-
(ucted tour of the Bowery.
  "Well, it 's went," said Ricks, resignedly.
"You can't count on settin' up biz with
what 's left."
  Sandy 's brows clouded, and he shi