St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1895-08-26


gathering crowd, Willie inquired laz-
lily, "Shay, gemmens who's a fren'
nowadays? What is he? Tell me
THAT, gemmen, what-wha- wha and,
had he been left alone the, betrayed
one would have relapsed into a sooth-
ing dream of Damon and his Pythias.
LIFE ON THE RIALTO. *.
Life on the Rialto. Haven't got
any in st. Paul, you say? Well, just
come along with me for trip and
you will think differently. We start in
with the place where Duke McGinnis
holds sway in the top story of his
palatial establishment. There you
viii see the clans of Footner and Nc
Ginnis doing their. utmost to keep the
ball rolling in the city. The Rialto
is not very straight run. We make
turn to the left and soon find our
selves among variegated lot of in
dividuals who are all bent in one
direction, though not always of the
same frame of mind. These are the
festive boys who beguile the pleasure
seeker in travel to part with his cash
for piece of colored pasteboard vary
ing in length from one inch to one yard.
To hear them tell it every one repre-
sents the only road in the country and
all others are mere make believers.
Well they are a merry crowd as
whole, and wesare all incluined to be
full of the spirit which moves the
manly sports. Some shoot some fish
and some-tell awful tales about what
they didn't do.
Then we proceed and find ourselves
hof Ex-bi nirc a
great hosiery of the city. There is S.
V. Harris, whose fame has lately
budded forth in many a glowing news
paper article. He's not proud, but
that picture in the papers had an al
most deadly effect and the drummer
boys have no end of fun with Count
Harris.
When the shades of night have fallen
over the Rialto you'll see Black Tom
come along with his queer apparatus,
consisting of wooden wash boiler
painted in the colors of the rainbow,
surmounted with a canopy and a huge
flag. He is out for business and
While at times the boys have their
fun with Tom he succeeds in securing
quite trade for his chicken sand
witches, prepared in exposition style
Here clatters hurrying patrol wagon,
taking home some belated and besotted
individual, who has drank too much
river water to remember where he
lives. Then comes a cabby who is TAX
ing home a&lot of the gilded youth
who are better situated financially but
who hardly know more than the prev
ious individual as to there where
abouts.
On the whole you can see all phases
of life on st. Paul's Rialto.
THE DEAD BRAKEMAN.
Oh, how 1 shivered and shrunk and
tried to hide myself from the cold.
l was dressed warmly, yet the in
tense cold found its way to the marrow.
l hurried on up Fourth to the G. o b e.
l had a medley of drinks and drivels,
and froth and fume, and downfalls
and pitfalls, and unique characters,
and downtrodden humanity in my note
book, comprising the day-to-day po-
lice run. 1t was last December a
year, near the joyous Christmas time
AS L entered the building I felt a sense
of relief in the warm air, and as the
elevators rose l wrought out the var
led stories of crime and want and
misery. L had scarcely reached my
table when the city editor said,
''Snarls, there's been an accident in
the Northern yards. You'll have to do
it. Others are loaded. Let what you
have go later, and rush it, 1 put on
my great coat and unwillingly hur-
ried out. The snow beneath my feet
sQuealSed its keenneess and little steel
N hIy N Too Oe-+
pierced my face. 1t was bitterly, aw-
fully cold. AS 1 neared the yard
heard the crush and grind of the patrol
wagon, and heard the modulated
voices of the men on the wagon.
1 hurried forward. Jump on" said
a friend among them. 1 did so, and
saw upon the stretcher in the dim
mixed gas and moonlight young man
dead.
Fell from a freight car, struck on
his head" laconically said one of the
men. I'VE are taking him home. A
friend of his knows where he lives, -
nodding to another man in the cor
ner, who was a switchman. l spoke to
him, and with a softened, constrained
voice he said: It's too bad Bill
was a good fellow. It'll go tough
with his young wife. There's a lit
tie baby, too. Don't spose he had
much but them, but they We're enough
| while he lived. I'd all most as leave
take Bills place as to tell her, and
| yet we must just carry him in that
way" as if he hated to realize that
| his brakeman friend was dead. We
| drove on until Joe, that was the
| switchman, said: "Slow up, there's
| the place. Come with me, won't you?'
[ hesitated. Better go with him.
| Snarls, it'll help" l hated to go, but
l did. Joe raped on the door, and
by and by a frienghtened feminine
voice said. who's there?" Its I,
Joe, Bills friend, you know me- said
Joe, reassuringly. Dress yourself,
| Bill has been-hurt. Don't wake the
baby In but a few moments she
admitted US, and the boys carried in
| Bill, her husband, dead. Well, [ have
| turned many an assignment trick,
some pretty sad ones, too, but never
in my life was I as much moved as
[ was there. The stalwart policemen
! let tears course down their rugged
| faces and melt the snow upon their
| boards. There was no woman there to
speak a word of consolation. Only
rough men, but they felt, if they
could not say. The little woman knelt
beside Bill, and held him close and
| clingingly, as if she would win him
back to life. Softly she stroked the
hair from hts brow and kissed the
pale cold lips. The baby slept on
| Joe woke some of the neighbors, and
soon motherly old soul came in and
| knelt beside the sorrow-stricken little
woman She did not talk, just put
her arm around her comfortingly. I
| looked around at the humble furnish
ing of the humble home, and thought
of the cold, cruel world for Bills wife
! and the baby. Then 1 went to the
Office and wrote it up.
Just the other day I was on the
desk for the city editor. A timid little
woman came in, leading a lively young
fodder. 1t was Bills wife. I knew
her. She did not know me. and I was
glad she did not. She was selling
|