Western liberal. (Lordsburg, N.M.) 1887-1919, 1893-09-29
THE HEIRESS.

AAANAI WAAlHUA I'M ANA = mn M AHNE LAHANu
between my eyes and the columns Of fig
ures 10 the dusty ledgers-a young face
with clear, bright %eyes-and / fall into a
day dream and forget that I I'm old and
poor and commonplace.
She is the only child Of Jere Hartman,
the millionaire mill owner, and as gentle
and good as she is beautiful.
l have watched her grow into woman
hood. / have watched her character
deepening and widening and developing
toward the ideal Of my dreams.
And all these years / have been learn
ing to love her.
Surely love Is not wholly wasted,
though it is hopeless. / am a better man
that l have loved Nellie Hartman.
No. / build no air castles.
lam 40 and she 18.
lam only her fathers ~boolkeeper, and
she is the heiress of millions.
There was a time when little Nellie
Hartman rode on my shoulder, hunted
my pockets for goodies and escaped her
nurses charge several times a day to
toddle down TO the mill in search of cher
Jack Spencer" Later she brought her
school tasks, the incorrigible Latin verbs
and the unconquerable examplesin frac-
tions, to the same old friend, who was
never too busy to be bothered by little
Nellie Hartman.
She is as unaffected and cordial in her
f%riendliness as ever, and sometimes when
she lays her hand on my arm and looks
up into my face and asks why 1 come so
seldom to the hall, and have l grown
tired Of old friends, Of her-then l find
it hard to answer lightly, to smile calm
ly, and l go away with a heartache.
The girl does not lack for friends.
Grim, stern old Jere Harman's little
bright faced child, motherless since her
h~abyhood, long ago found q tender spot
in the hearts of the village folk. In the
cottages her face is as welcome as sun
shine. The children hang on her gown,
the women sing her praises, and the
toughest millhand has always a civil
word for her and a lift Of the cap as she
passes.
She has her young friends, too, among
the country gentlefolk. Young barry
Desmond is often at the hall. II is ru-
mored that he is the fortunate sutton Of
Jere Harman's heiress. He is a fresh
faced, good hearted lad. Love is for
youth, and they are young together.
Gray haired Jack Spencer, what have
you to do with cloves young dreamT'
= = y
The strikel
The mill is shut down, and the strikers
gather in knots along the village street
and discuss the situation. The cut rates
have caused the trouble. Jere Harman
IS a hard man and a hard master. He
holds tho fate Of these people In his
hands. A few cents less to them, o few
dollars more to him. This seemed to him
to settle the question. The times were
dull-he would reduce wages. The Har-
man mill operatives went out in a body.
The first day Of the strike Big John,
the weaver who headed the strikers,
came to Jere Hartman with a delegation
to arbitrate the matter.
To them Hartman said; 'Return to
work at my terms OF stay out and starve.
Monday 1 hire new hands If you are not
back in your places. AS long as l own
this mill l shall be master here"
This was his final answer, and no words
Of mine, no warnings Of the murmurs
and threats that grow and deepen among
the men, will shake his will.
There is talk Of firing the mill among
the mad Drained ones, and Big John
shakes his head.
THAT were chopping the nose off TO
spite the face, men. If the mill were
burned, how would that help us to work
and wagesS Nay. It must be other
means"
'Aye, we must live, but II we do not
get our rights by fair means we will
have them by foul" cried another.
They mean mischief. have warned
Jere Hartman, but he viii not heed.
The strike is over.
The night is ended, and l sit alone in
the Office in the gray dawn, sick and
dizzy with the horrors Of the nights ex-
perience. / shut my eyes, and the pic
ture stands out before me-the dark
night, the hall with its lights glowing
out through the windows, the gay party
of young people in the drawing room,
the CLEAN Of torches outside, the mob Of
desperate men, the angry, upturned
faces. There was a tramp Of feet, hoarse
shouts, and q stone crashed through a
window and shattered the chandelier.
The music stopped with a discordant
crash. There was instant confusion, and
above II all there were the hoarse cries
of Jere Hartman.
Isprang through the piazza window
and faced the men. They knew me well,
and Big John shouted:
"We've naught against you, John
Spencer. We mean no harm TO any, but
the master must hear us. Bring out the
masteri"
Come like honest men in daylight
and talk it over calmly" I urged; mot
at night like a mob Of rufians with
stones for arguments"
Jere Hartman had come out to them.
They greeted him with an angry shout.
"We are to be put of no longer. Il
It our rights by fair means or by foul,
Jere HarInanF'
sYour rights"- began Jero Hartman
ia his harsh, stern voice. / saw that
Nellie Hartman had slipped out to her