The Globe-republican., 1889-12-18

lights to tell lurked along the Battery
ten hours a day, or tore the reeking scalp
from the head of his bosom friend or law
partner on Bowling Green. He was
proud of his great wealth, much of which
he had inherited and much of which he
had made in Wall street; proud of his
record as bus mess man; proud of his
grand Fifth avenue home; proud of every
thing connected with John X. Dollinger.
He was also, as l remarked, cold and
naughty, and during his whole life in
the metropolis he was never known to
stop on Broadway, between Fulton and
Ann streets, and buy pair of suspend
ers of the red-faced man who is in that
business there. Promptly at three
o'clock every afternoon his coachman
might have been seen waiting in front
of his Office in Wall street, with the tops
of his boots turned down and very stiff
spinal column. Exactly at 3:15 o'clock
Mr.. Dollinger appeared and without
shaking hands with the coachman, or
otherwise greeting him, stepped into the
carriage, which the man with the weep
ing willow boots drove rapidly to the
Fifth avenue mansion, with the assist
ance of pair of beautiful chestnut
horses from which the tails had been
carefully removed before starting.
Old Dollinger had wife-Mrs. Dol
linger. She was also cold, proud and
naughty, as became the daughter of a
Kill Won Kull and wife of Dollinger. In
fact there was nothing very affable
about either one of them. A maiden
aunt, poor in both purse and spirit, once
came in from Stitchetyhatchet, n. j.,
and made them a six-weeks' visit in De-
cember and January, and she used to say
when she got home that sometimes after
a meal with the Dollingers, at which
little quietly out of her finger-bowl,
that it was very pleasant and great re-
lief to her to 60 out on the stOop and as
sociate awhile with the cast-iron grit
fins. She said she had never supposed
that griffins could be so sociable and
pleasant. She had always had an idea
from the way a griffin held back its
head and carried one jaw up and wore
its tail at half-mast that it was far from
warm in its affections or cordial in its
manners; but she said that after she had
eaten pie with her knife ten or fifteen
minutes at her neph ew's table it was
surprising how pleasant and sociable
those iron griffins could be.
There was another member of the Dol
Enger family-a daughter-an only
child. She was not as were her parents.
Reared in the frosty, gray atmosphere
of the Dollinger brown-stone front cold
storage warehouse, she was like being
from another world-like the soft cloud
like basque flower among the snows-a
violet amid the April chill. Proud she
was, to be sure, but proud of something
better than wealth; and she was not cold
nor naughty. Her name was Amelia.
Her mother wanted her to write it with
the upper part of an exclamation point
roostinr on the Sc" but she refused.
She said that if she should ever write a
thin red-covered book she would put the
weathercock on the ''e," but that while
she STAYED in her right mind she could
never think of it. She demonstrated
with her mother when she wrote her
name Mrs. Louise Kill Won Kull Dollin-
ger-Dollinger, but it didn't do any good.
Arthur Graves was poor artist He
had a studio in East Fourteenth street,
where he painted large. soulful pictures
and got behind them and breathed low
when the landlord pounded on the door
for the rent. That's about the only good
the pictures ever did him, because he
couldn't sell many and when he did sell
one he usually let the man get away
without paying him. If Arthur Graves
could have paid his debts he would have