The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-07-19
ELKINS'S COLD NIGHT.
An Occasion on Which the Statesman from
New Mexico Got Left.

An Occasion on Which the Statesman from
New Mexico Got Left.
New York Times
Civilization has its drawbacks; spring locks
are snare. This is the testimony of Mr..
Stephen b. Elkins, statesman and fnancer 1t
came about in this way: Mr. Elkins came over
to New York one day while star-route briers
were bristling in the path Of his good friend
Dorsey down at Washington. He was bent on
missionary work, and, mindful OF the gospel in
junction not to let one hand know what the
other hand did, he avoided the publicity of hotel
life by dropping into the uptown house of a
faithful friend. He had things all to himself
during the evening, his host having business that
took him away At midnight he was snugly
tucked away in his bed, when ting a-ling went
the front door-bell with a brisk vehemence
Looking down upon the steps from his window,
he deserted small boy in messengers uniform
envelope in hand. a sharp, singing November
breeze was whirling stray flakes Of snow around
outside but Mr.. Elkins didn't hesitate; down
stairs he went in his flowing night robe and
opened the door 1t was, as he expected, tele-
gram for himself A seductive street lamp
faced that house, and, regardless Of his habli-
mentS, the distinguished gentleman then and
there tore off the Western Union envelope and
stepped for the moment an inch or two farther
through the door. Fatal step fatal inch or
two! Swift blew the breeze of sudden, bang
went the door, click went the spring lock within
Then was sadness rampant. Not soul within
to offer rescue; scarce garment at hand to brave
the brisk weather. With trepidation there was
detour toward the houses rear; in the alley up
doomed an inquisitive cur. The door-bell of q
neighbor glistened temptingly; cries from an
upper window call Historically for the polce. 1t
is doleful predicament. The cold pavement is
blistering tender feet. And the cries go on the
dogs howls don't stop, the breezes still go play
and seek through the linen garment, now all
swelled out till the figure on the curb has the
appearance Of dame in full-fedged ancient
hoops. Through the street comes carriage
whirling. From the other way comes a police
man. Carriage and officer arrive at once The
policeman seems pretty sure that he has caught
an escaped lunatic. The shivering gentleman
tries to explain; the policeman won't have ex-
plantations. The station house is his watchword,
and away he starts valiantly with his captive in
the determined fashion becoming an officer
whose midnight nap in the doorway has been
wantonly disturbed. Open goes the carriage
door; out steps the occupant. The man in the
night-shirt uses that street lamp again, looks
into the face OF the new arrival and once more
finds voice. joe! he gasps, Joe, for heaven 8
sake, look here!" Joe looks. ''Steve! Well, I'll
be-" A crisp bill made that polcemans
dreams happy through the remainder of that
night On occasions, when sweet conf
dences bent, Mr. Elkns admits that frosted feet
are a trife irritating sometimes; but, like the
good man that he is, he enjoys joke too we'll TO
cheaper it by overproduction Not a dozen
friends have ever heard till now this story Of
midnight campaigning against breeze and dog,
policeman and agitated neighbors. Mr. Elkns
testimony is very emphatic. Civilization has It's
drawbacks; spring locks are a snare.