The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1897-06-27

nedQed sort OF man Wnen ne was broke
and up against it with his grub stake and
pick, but when he got hold of his wads
of money he was just natural born wild
Indian. He blew in from $1,000 to $1,000
a day on this Spokane trip, just as he
had done before with the money he got
for his other strikes. 1 could generally
figure to day when he would get back in
the hills. 1t depended on the amount
he carried away with him. The basis of
calculation used was that 1t took an av-
erage of $500 a day for him to buy rum
and trimmings for the town of Spokane.
About three weeks after Larkins had
gone away on. this sixth excursion, l
started out in a wagon one morning for
some holes In the ground my boys were
digging in the hills 1 hadn't Travelled
more than five miles on the rough, boul-
der-strewn road before saw
little ahead the figure of
man In a red flannel shirt
with a -four sack of grub flung at the end
of the pick he shouldered trudging on at
a good clip. / saw it was Larkins as I
drew close behind him with my wagon.
He didn't turn in his tracks, and I could
hear him alternately muttering and whist
ling to himself. felt sorry for the blam-
ed old idiot and pulled up.
Want a ride, Larkins?" 1 inquired of
him.
Ride said he. breaking off his whist
ling and recognizing me with nod
Much Obliged, but not by a damned sight
do / want a ride. Finished my ridin'
down Spokane way. Now, damme I'm 60
in to walk He took up his trudge again.
'Hoof 1t, We bloomin' galoot he mutter-
ed TO himself GO on and wear your dad
hinged feet off a-hoofin' it. Amt We had
your fun, blast we, and amt your head
bigger'n a dogs yet? What more do you
want, and what kick have you got "a
comm? G'wan, now. and hump it up
lively, and he started whistlng Rory
OMore' with all the cheerfulness of life.
couldn't induce him to get into the wag-
on, although he was bound for the same
place 1 was. He wouldn't even take a
drink, badly as he needed one He was
used to taking his medicine like this, and
hated wilmer. He struck 1t again sew
en- months later, got another pot of mon
ey, and did the thing all over again. Then
his sister, level-headed Irish woman,
turned up, and to give Conner a change
of scene she started him off for the gold
country down near the Mojave desert. He
was one of the first to light upon pay ore
there, and his sister saw that he kent his
money. When he died in Nampa few
months ago he left her several hundred
thousand dollars"
There's heap of difference" said a
California winemaker in the party, be
tween these dust-blowers you hear so
much about when they are In the middle
little about after they've finished the sec
ond and final stage of the skyrocket trip.
AS general rule the spendthrift who
mas made his own money and scattered II
never degenerates into a whimpering re-
pentant prodigal after his little fling is
over and he awakens some fine morning
to find himself broke and up against it.
No matter how many different kinds of
fool he may have made of himself, he
never emits a bleat when ii is all over.
On the other hand many of the chaps who
unanimously blow in great sums of
money that they never turned a hand
over to earn, but simply inherited. dis
play the yellow that's in them when they
reach the end of the coil, and make all
hands that know them weary with their
contriteness. The man who has the nerve
and the force to accumulate his own pile
never becomes a r1oaner after he has
spent II and discovers himself to be pos
sessed of only the d1ds on his back
The only man ever met who inherited
his money, spent it like water, and was
game after he went broke was one wen
call Carl Brill, a young fellow we'll re-
membered by many Californians who were
young painfully young, with him back in
the sixties. He was young chap of the
incorrigible scapegrace sort. He belonged
to a Philadelphia family and was partly
educated at oxford and partly at Heidel-
berg-I say partly, for the boy was fired
from both Institutions for deviltry of an
unmalicious, though exasperating, char
acter. HIS father was a rich man, but
he cut his scapegrace son off without a
dollar when he died. Young Brill struck
California the year after the war, and
| when he turned up al one Of my grape
ranches in Sonoma county the manager
gave him job as timekeeper. He was
a bright chap, fine looking and accom-
plished, and II an aunt of his hadn't died
In Philadelphia about six months after he
went to work in this vineyard of mine he
would have been better off This aunt left
the boy 81. 100000 in government bonds. His
sisters got all of the old lady's real estate
and personal property, so that young Brill
didn't even have to go east TO get his in
| heritance. A lawyer came out to the coast
| by way of Panama, and the first thing the
| timekeeper on my ranch knew anything
about his luck this lawyer man plunked
into his hands a certificate of deposit OF
an even two millions in the bonds of the
| most solvent country on the map. l hap
| pened to be at the ranch at the time, and
l felt rather sorry for the boy, for
knew he'd go right to the devil at a lope
| When he had finished his first talk with
the lawyer he walked over TO my office
and said:
| Cap, this Is a pretty good job I've got
here among your vines; l don't want to
give it up, but this money they've left
me has made me bit too hettv to work
for the present. and wish you'd give me
a vacation for a year or so, with the I'M
derstanding that can have the job back
| when / need It.
"Of course assented to his proposition
l didn't make any attempt 20 talk to the
| lad regarding prudence and carefulness
and all that sort of thing. for l was only
| about fifteen years older than he was, had
had a pretty fair fling myself when 1 was
his age, and knew perfectly well that an
independent young fellow with money is
going to let out what Is in him anyhow
talk or no talk.
well, the way this Brill boy went on
| after he left the ranch was a caution.
knew that he was due to do some sprint
| ing when he got hold OF that money, but
he beat all OF my calculations. First he
went to a San Francisco trainer of pugi-
lists and took a three months course OF
sprouts to get himself back 20 the hardy
| physical shape he was In at college Al
| tho end of the three months, trim, hard,
and ht as fiddle, he dawned upon San
| Francisco, which at that time was filed
with bright, companionable, and frankly
! disreputable men and women. most OF
them from the east coast. These certainly