Idaho semi-weekly world. [volume] (Idaho City, Idaho Territory) 1875-1908, 1893-01-03
A PLANT FROM PICARDY


and almost made fellow cry out. a. II Il
were In pain like.
Three Of us, just common newspaper r.
p0rters, were scurrying through Mai
street. half running, to get to warn
place. We had been at work up town. try
Ing to find certain facts about a man wh,
bad been mysteriously murdered in III
Tenderloin precinct-Jo Johnny Spellmap. tn
jockey.
Well, the City Hall park was bleal
enough. The wind shrieked across IL. An,
the hall, with its old white marble stems
stood over yonder, pallid, CHASTITY Not ,
human being in sight. Nobody would sta,
out of doors such a night
The lights in the tall buildings In Parl
row and In the low entrance to Hitchcock
ever blessed old cellar coffee house wer.
happy, CHEEKY beacons.
It was late, well on toward midnight
That made us harry all the more.
Even Uncle Sans tagged out old horse.
and wagons which forever wait in the Mai
street alley behind that grim stone coping
where big bags OF mail matter for all part,
81 the world are bundled in and out. had
disappeared out OF the cold. There was M
sound OF the mail clerks voice calling of
| the bags.
we reached the middle of the Mail stree,
biock. We were on the north side of the
strtef ran in the rear of the procession
| Gut Of the shadows of the park came n
man In voice which upon that night
wind was the most piteous sound ever
heard he cried. stretching out one hand in
q surpliant way:
| "Parlcz Francois, monsieurs"
II was 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 God
yes. l had learned some French in boy.
hood, then had bought drinks for Paris
boulevard'er, and fulfilled the dubious lin.
guis'ic requirements of New Jersey col
lege had deep seated love for the
French people and deal of fondness for
the French tongue.
There in that wretched night. when
heard that question, saw the honest peas
ants-simple, sturdy folk-toiling afield in
Tar 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 sou of that
France, a stranger in great, selfish CITY;
in great, strange and selfish land, upon q
night when no mortal ought to have
shown his nose out of doors
He was just askiug-I learned it in his
first lonely question-just asking for some
one to give him helping hand-a syllable
of direction.
The two other reporters went pelting
along. | 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 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 fakes flying all about us.
He had come that day on the Bretagne
The passage had been very stormy. A fell
low passenger, Picard, who smelled ter
ribly of garlic, had taken all his money.
His chest, containing his worldly posses
sions, 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 habitually
we'll to do. had sixty-five cents. gave
it all to him. | told him about the rich
possibilities of beef and beans. Then di-
rected him to ten cent lodging house
Then, pennless, | hurried on after my
companions. expected to walk all the
way to Twenty-first 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 l overlook them
that it was a relief to find an honest beg
gar One of them, who knows McGlory
and Fat Flynn and o. B.. and has been
among the oyster pirates of Maryland and
the Shanghaiers of Greenwich street and
Yucatan, curled his smooth, churchly
looking lips and shifted at my story that
had gone broke" on beggar.
Spring came. The trees in City Hall
park were budding Tramps had come to
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, wend-
ing toward Park place station. The odor
of ink and the clang of the presses were
behind us. But soft breeze played about
the corners and stirred the dust in the
street.
A man came out of the shadows of the
park.
He stood looking at the bright lights
from the postoffice, where tie great bun
dies Of letters and papers were being lum-
bered into waiting vehicles. In voice
which, upon the night wind, w,ls the most
utterly piteous sound l ever heard, he
cried, stretching out one hand in a suppl
ant way:
"Pariez vous Francois, monsieur"
1t was a strange, courteous question to
break In on the vernal quiet of spring
night. turned, then stopped.
The man who knew McGlory laughed
bitterly, twice, "Ha Hal''
| said my Godl yes.n | had learned
some French in hoyhood. Then l had
bought drinks for Paris boulevardier,
and had-well, never mind about that. 1t
is too much like the story of George ZiA-
zendorf.
But there in that quiet night, when all
the air was soft with calm, hearing that
question saw the honest peasants-sim-
pie, sturdy folk-toiling atield In far
Provence. saw the Breton fisher, sing
ing as he patched his nets on the shore OF
the dear old sea. saw gay Paris and the
sweet valley of the Loire. 1t was strange
how the memories crowded on my mind.
looked ut the wanderer-a man of 40,
maybe. Old to begin life anew. He was
above medium height, n little stopped in
the shoulders. He carried small parcel
under his arm. 1t was IA woful story
he told. with the spring moonlight all