The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1891-02-03
A PLANT FROM PICARDY


ing TO find certain facts about man who
had been mysteriously murdered in the
Tenderloin precinct-J ohnny Spellman, the
jockey
Well, the City Hall park was bleak
enough. The wind shrieked across it, and
the hall, with its old white marble steps,
stood over yonder, pallid, CHASTITY. Not a
human being IN sight Nobody would stay
out of doors such night.
The lights in the tall buildings in Park
row and in the low entrance to Hitchcock's s
ever blessed old cellar coffee house were
happy, CHEEKY beacons.
1t was late, well on toward midnight.
That made us hurry all the more
Even Uncle Sans tagged out old horses
and wagons which forever wait in the Mail
street alley behind that grim stone coping,
where big bags of mail matter for all parts
of the world are bundled in and out, had
disappeared out of the cold. There was no
sound of the mail clerks voice calling off
the bags
We reached the middle of the Mail street
block. We were on the north side of the
street. ran in the rear of the procession.
Out of the shadows of the park came a
man In voice which upon that night
wind was the most piteous sound ever
heard he cried, stretching out one hand in
suppliant way:
"ParleZ Francais, monsieur
1t was a strange, courteous question to
come wailing amid the bowling of a storm.
| turned and then stopped. Then in hon
est amazement and pity said, my Godl
yes" | had learned some French in boy
hood, then had bought drinks for Paris
boulevardier, and fulfilled the dubious lin
guistic requirements of a New Jersey col
lege. ! had deep seated love for the
French people and a deal of fondness for
the French tongue.
There in that wretched night, when l
heard that question, saw the honest peas
ants-simple, sturdy folk-Uoiling atield in
far Provence. | saw the Breton fisher,
singing as he patched his nets on the shore
of the dear old sea. saw gay Paris and
the sweet valley of the Loire. And here,
alone, clad thinly, was son of that
France, a stranger in a great, selfish city;
in great, strange and selfish land upon
night when no mortal ought to have
shown his nose out of doors.
He was Just asking-I learned it in his
first lonely question-just asking for some
one to give him helping hand-a syllable
OF direction
Tne two other reporters went pelting
aIong looked at the wanderer A man
of forty, maybe, Old, to begin life anew.
He was above medium height, little
stopped in the shoulders, on account of the
cold perhaps. He was overcoatlesS, bare
handed and carried a small parcel under
his arm. Over his head was drawn tight a
knit cap, such as football players wear.
1t was woful story he told me, stand
ing there in the open on that awful night
with the sparse flakes dying all about us.
He had come that day on the Bretagne.
The passage had been very stormy. A fell
low passenger, a Picard, who smelled ter
ribly of garlic, had taken all his money.
His chest, containing his worldly posses
slons, he had left at Castle Garden-that
was before the barge Office days. His wife
and two children-oh such pretty chill
dren-were at home in Picardy He was
hungry and thirsty. No one but an hon
est man begging in the streets of New
York would admit that he was thirsty.
Common reporters are not nabitually
well to do. had sixty-five cents. l gave
1t all to him. | told him about the rich
possibilities OF beef and beans. Then l di-
rected him to ten cent lodging house.
Then. penniless, hurried on after my
companions | expected to walk all the
way to Twenty-frst street But then /
had rowed in the Fights in the fall and
weighed 1872, and was equal to it.
God bless you" in French sounds well
upon fierce night wind.
told the fellows when | overlook them
that it was a relief TO find an honest beg
e -
and Fat Flynn and o. B., and has been
among the oyster pirates of Maryland and
the ShaDghaiers of Greenwich street and
Yucatan, curled his smooth, churchly
cooking lips and shifted at my story that
had gone broke on a beggar
Spring came. The trees in City Hall
park were budding. Tramps had come 10
sit under the electric lights in the circle
and listen TO the night noises.
Work was done. Evening was just
changing into late night. The same three
of Us sauntered across Mail street, weud-
ing toward PARK place station. The Odor
of ink and the clang of the presses were
behind US But a soft breeze played about
the corners and stirred the dust in the
street
y man came out of the shadows Of the
park
He stood looking at the bright lights
from the pOstoffice, where the great bun
dies of letters and papers were being lum-
bered into waiting vehicles. In a voice
which, upon the night wind, was the most
utterly piteous sound | ever heard, he
crled, stretching out one hand in a suppl
ant way
"Parlez vous Francois, monsieur"
Il was a strange, courteous question To
break in on the vernal quiet Of spring
night turned, then stopped.
The man who knew NcGlofy laughed
bitterly, twice, "Hal Har'
/ said My God yes" ! had learned
some French in boyhood. Then had
bought drinks for a Paris boulevardier,
and hsd-vell never mind about that Il
Is tot much ike the story OF George ZiR-
zendorf
But there in that quiet night, when All
the air was soft with calm, hearing THAI
question ! saw the honest peasants-sim-
PIE, sturdy folk-toilng adeld in far
Provence. saw the Breton fisher, sing
Ing ~ be patched his nets on the shore Of
The dear old sea l saw gay Paris and the
sweet valley Of the Loire. Il wss strange
now the memories crowded on my mind.
looked at the wan6erer-a man Of a.
maybe. Old 70 begin life anew. BE was
above medium height, a little stopped En
toe shoulders. he carried a small parcel
under his arm Il was q woiul sfory