The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-10-17

and bleeding from the dripping cogs of the divorce mill.
 To the summer of the lowest vice-cen- ter, his honor, the police justice, is the court of last resort. Guilty or guiltless, he goes cut of it stained and tainted, to freedom or the B5idewell; back to his web in the lower vice-center, or up to the criminal court.
 Don Webfoot Petiigiew vas in deep disgrace. The fatuous coils of circum. stance were twining around him. On the morning succeeding the unfortunate theatre party he awoke with head burst ing with pain, the result of too many potent potations ard too fe~ hours sleep His rollioking brother. Juison. passed through his room hurriedly, making bu, one remark:
 "You'n have to put your hat on with a shoe-horn this morning.
 This was, indeed, small consolation to the suffering Don Webfoo. More than that it was uocalled for, unkind, unieel- ing and unbrothe,ly.
 The more Don Wetfoot tried to req son with his fragile, fevered brain, on the melancholy events of the previous even ing, tue greater appeared the impossi- bility oihis remaining lorger beneath the paternal roof. Of all his acquantarces he knew of not one upon whom he could saddle the responsibility of an alleged practical joke-t the kind of cke which he needed in his business of making him. self once more solid with the thoroughly enraged Miss Van Van de Van. He arose and slowly commenced 10 dress. Long and tenderly he hung over the soothing delights of his bath tub, for in that alone he appeared 10 find surcease for his feversh frame and throbbing temples. Three bottles of soda, one oi imported ginger ale and two long draughts of brandy from a dusty, slender necked vessel with foreign label, brought down from the top shelf of his clothes press, were absolutely requisite 10 tone him up sufficiently to allow Of his staring the suggestion c breakfast in the face.
 Railing passing hansom cab he was driven to the Palmer House cafe It was while discussing a menu of one soft i boiled egg, bit of dry toast and a hand 1 ful of shrimps on ice tha, Don Webfoot Pettigrew decided to mys'eriouslY dis appear." His mind was in a morbid condition superinduced by the late un : usual strain upon his mental forces There had been one or two mysterious disappearances in Chicago lately recorded in the newspapers. One of them, in which well.kuown business man had suddenly dropped out of sight and ac. possibility, had resulted in che su C ide oi his crazed wife.
 From the Salmer House Don Webfoot walked to the Union National bank Here he had on deposit S2oo. He drew this cut and then bent his steps south ward on Clark street. Pausns in iron, of one of the numerous pawn shops which line ehat thoroughfare below Van Buren srset, he took mental inventory of tn stock within the salesroom, and displayed in the window. The principal arti cles oi merchandise appeared to be revolvers although there were exhibited few musical instruments, two pair of boxing gloves, an opera-glAIs and some plated silver spoons. But the "handy revolver was displayed in every conceivable pat tern and various calbre. The pearl handled, delicately checked and en- graved weapon, with silver trimmings nestled side by side with the thespl manufactured, rickety-jointed pistol made, like the Yarkee's I, zors, only to sell, and far more dangerous 10 the shooter than to the shootee An assort ment of musty cast-otf clothing was piled on dry-goods box near the door. As 1 Bon Webfoot entered a shor', parro;- nosed man, in grimy shirt covered with large, black polka dots, cane snuff ng forward from tehiRd a tall desk sur. rounded by an iron railing. His black hair hung in moist, sticky rin2lets oyer a low, retrea'ing brow. His fet neck bulged over the tight band of the collar 1 less shirt A long. yellow vest unbut- toned, was weighted down in fror, riih a heavy watch chain. When standing as erect as it was possible for hira, the mans knees ben, cringingly, md h's frowz!ed head projected forward, rest lessly swayipg back and forth like Q turtles. He looked the very Shylock l that he was.
 1 Don Webfoot, advancing to the dusty