The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-12-25
Old Money Grubber's Story.
Written for THE CALL by G. M. RYAN.

Just imagine a corner of Montgomery
and California streets when a winter
Northwestern sweeps around it-when men
grab spasmodicaily at their hats and
women make frantic efforts to hold their
garniture in place.
| 1t was Saturday evening, just before
| Christmas. People were in a hurry to get
home, and good-naturedly jostled each
other on the platforms of the crowded
streetcars, and hung on to the straps as if it
was fun.
"Whew," growled Old Money -Grubber
| (who of course had another name, not to
be told here), grabbing one side of his
''stovepipe" until it acquired a rakish
angle over his left eye.
"Cold enough, by iingo," replied young
Harry Burriil (who isn't Burrill, either,
| but young real-estate man whom many
OF you know. as he stopped a moment to
talk with Old Money-Grubber ana pick
some dust out of his eyes.
| Around the Safe Deposit Bank is any
| thing but pleasant "port in a storm" on
| such day, and just at that moment what
| seemed to be small bundle of rags and
| newspapers fluttered toward our acquaint-
| ances, out of which came a piping voice,
and the words, Bulletin, Evening Post,
| Report etc., were family distinguish
able.
| The older man looked down at the
shivering mite for a moment and then
| turned away in seeming anger, muttering
| something about COMPOUNDED girls"
| Young Burrill looked down and into a
| pair of blue appealing eyes, and straight.
way dived down into his pocket and put a
coin in the small. dirty palm, although
| his pockets bulged out with all the even
| ing papers.
| The old man seemed little ashamed.
He looked down the steps OF the Safe De-
post and finally said. "Let us walk bit. +"
He turned into "a cigar-store, bought a
| box of the very cigars he detested and for
| got to offer one to his com panion.
| Now Old Money Grubber had the reputa-
| ton of being a woman-hate and Burrill
knew about as much of it as Dame Rumor
generally vouchsafes in such cases. He
| had never been married, and some people
attributed it to his miserly propensities,
but few knew the truth.
! Henry Burrill was rather an old
fashioned young man, who at first sight
might be set down by the unthinking as a
| dude, or one of the "gildeG youth" of San
| Francisco (which gliding or veneering
| covers. alas, so often, much-to put it
mildly-toial depravity), but he was moth
! ing of the sort, only a kindly fellow who
! had a well-developed heart where other
people keep kind of gizzard, if might
say so.
After leaving the old man he pondered
for while on his way to the - club,
| and came to the conclusion that the old
man was unusually put out by something,
and connected it in a vague sort of way
! with t e little newspaper-girl. He thought,
| too, in kindly way of the little waif
whose eyes reminded him of pansies, and,
! in a brain teeming with business, club
matters, ETC., was registered little MEM
orandum to the effect that he would buy
| more papers from that same little vendor.
| A week passed by and he religiously
! bought his papers, as he was wont, from
| the neat little woman who sits at the COR
| ner of Montgomery and Post streets, and
then went in quest of his smaller paper
| merchant, who by this time had ventured
| to greet him with a smile of recognition, to
which he cheerfully responded, marching
off with heap OF superfuous papers.
| Coming toward the corner of California
and Montgomery streets one evening he
was astonished to see Old Moneygrubber in
/ close confab with the little paper-seller,
and as he did so he thought some things,
and, yes, actually blushed for his old
friend Clancy San Francisco youngster of
| 26 blushing y, but he did, for l saw him,
and joined him the next moment as he
| turned up California street in an apparent
| hurry, and / wormed some of the things
| that he thought out Of him; but will let
| III. B. tell the rest of this story himself, as
he knows more about it than do.
"The next time 1 met the old man"
| said Burrill, che seemed to be more cheer
| full, and knew there was something pleas
| ant in the wind. was still more sur
| prised when he asked me to accompany
| him to his rooms on Golden Gate avenue
| that night, and l complied, feeling that
| the old man was in an unusually commu-
NEGATIVE frame of mind.
He lived as most old bachelors do only
! that his rooms were rather cherries, being
totally devoid of anything in the shape of
ornament or the smallest trace of a
WHICH thAiiS hClPlu6
| the conviction that the old man was in
deed woman-hater to radical degree.
"From a cupboard he produced a de-
canter of rare old wine-I smack my lips
when l think of 1.-THE vintage of which
he jealousy kept a secret, and box of the
most fragrant cigars ever smoked. Look
! ing over his shoulder could see that one
shelf was we'll filled with the same, and
the lower part was stocked with goodly
array of fredericksburg jugs.
~ am not much of drinker, but as
sure you I went home that night in a
happy sort of lethargy and awoke next
morning feeling about ten years younger,
and found that my hat fitted me none the
worse.
"But am going ahead Of my story. We
sat and slipped and smoked a long time,
and then. under the influence of one or
both, the old man gave voice. as it were,
to sort of reverie, as if he had forgotten
| my presence.
"'Thirty years ago. he sighed. Il drifted
ont here with the rest-the human fiotsam
and jetsam that floated toward this "land
of PROMISE" where many good man
| al