The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1901-04-21

kind-hearted and generous. especially to
working people who were in trouble His
black widow was one In full mourn
ing, his mixed widow" was the poor
soul who had only cheap black bonnet
or scanty veil topping her ordinary col
ored clothing to express her widowed
statewide the grasses" were in his
own words: IAN those women who were
not married-but ought to be-"
Whenever he gave diamond or an m
dia shawl to French opera bouffe singer
the world heard of it, and the value grew
and grew daily. and that publicity graft
fed his strange distorted vanity, but the
lines of widows, sometimes with hungry
little f1ocks hanging at their skirts, that
he passed over roads; the discharged men
he 'sneaked" CHS own word) back into
positions again hecanse of their suffering
brood-he kept silent about.
He never got angry at the papers-no
matter what ebsurdity they printed about
him. At the time of the riot some paper
declared he had left his men and had
climbed high board fence. In order 10
escape from danger. In referring to the
article at the theater one evening, he said
i'm reproachful tones: Now, wasn't that
a truly stupid lie?" He rose, and placing
his hands where his waist should have
me! look like Splinter. don't /? If
you just could see me getting into that
unform-no offepse, ladies' | don't mean
no HARMON, Lord who has a small
grammar about them? Well, when I'm
in the clothes, it takes two mems best
efforts-while l hold my breath-to clasp
my belt: and they say | climbed that
high fence! Say, I'd give 5000 down on
the nail. If l had the waist TO do that
act with"
He was not only a natural comedian,
bue he had an instinct for the dramatic
in real lfe-and he was quick to grasp
his opportunity at the burning of Chi
cago; and his relief train must be rushed
through first; he must beg personally,
and then; and then, Oh happy thought!
All the city knew the value he placed upon
the beautiful jet black stallion he rode In
the park. Out then he and his stall mat e
came-spendidlY, fiery. satin-coated aristo-
Gratis! And taking their places before a
great express wagon, went pranclng ana
curvetting their way from door to door
MIR. Fisk stopping wherever a reckoning
hand appeaeed at a window. And bundles
of clothing. boxes of provisions; anything,
everything that people would give he
/ gathered up with wild haste and brief,
warm thanks; and rushed to the express
! Office for proper sorting and packing. Of
course. that personal service was not
really necessary. A modest man would not
| have done it, but he was spectacular,
| His act pleased the people too, and
! really many were moved by 1t to give.
| Those whose fancy was caught by the
| picture of the be-diamonded. Jubilee Jim,
placing himself and his valuable horses
at the service of the terror-stricken,
| homeless Chicagoans.
! Though he was himself the butt OF most
| of his jokes, he often expressed his opin-
! ions in terms as conclusive and quite as
! funny as those of his world famous re-
| ply to the sanctimonious fence commit
| tee, who claiming that the laying of his
railroad had destroyed the greater part
| of the old fence about a. country grave
yard, demanded that he should replace II
| with a new one. Scarcely were the words
| out of their lips, than swift as Hash
came the characteristic answer: What
under heaven do you want a fence round
a graveyard for? The poor chaps that are
in there can't get out, and I'll take my
Bible oath, those that are out, don't want
| to get in. Fence around a graveyard? !
guess mott know dozen better ways
of spending money than that
| l heard much of his generosity on ben
eft nights, but personally / never tested
it, Before my benefit night arrived, Mr.
Edward Stokes had caught Mr.. Fisk or
a walled-in-stair-case, as In a trap, ano
| had shot him down! and, then, In that
time of terror and excitement, Jubilee
Jim proved that whatever else he hat
been called--man of sin, fraud. trickster
| clown-he was. not a coward. With won
| derful self-control he asked as the cloth
ing was being cut from his stricken body
| rs this the end of mean going TO die
| doctor?''
And when the man addressed made an
| vasive and soothing answer, that his
ito los LtdL
| testify continued: II want to know the
TRUTH Then more gently: I'm not
afraid to die, doctor; but l am
afraid OF leaving things, all at skies and
sevens! This is the end of me, isn't 1t?
well, do what you can, and George
send for and for (his lawyers), and
will do what / can. When can Lucy get
| here?"
And so he quickly and calmly made all
possible use of his ebbing strengthen
| the flying moments-disproving at least
one charge, that of cowardice. He was
dying and crowds were awaiting about
the hotel. where he lay: hungry for any
| morsel Of news from the victims bed
| side. That was the situation as l went
| to the theater. / dressed and went
| through one act, then as came upon the
stage in the second act, I faced Mr..
| Fisks private box. l glanced casually
at II, ana SLOppeu BUCK Sllil, Inc NOiuS
| dying on my lips. A SILVER ran over me-
someone had entered the box since the
| first act and had lowered the heavy red
curtains, and drawn them close togeth-
| err.
No one could fail to understand. The
flood of light. the waves of music, reach
ed to the edge Of the box only-within
were silence, darkness! The laughing
owner would enter there-no more, for
ever.
With swelling throat / stood looking up.
Another actor entered. saw the direction
of my eyes, followed it, and next moment
tears were on his cheeks. Then people
in the house, noticing our distress. glanced
in that same direction. and here and there
a man rose and slipped out.
Here and there a handkerchief was
pressed to face, for without word be-
ing spoken, all knew by the blank closed
box, that Mr.. Fisk was dead.
never knew a more trying evening for
actors, for all knew him well-liked INN
and grieved for him. 1 was the only mere
acquaintance, yet was deeply moved and
found II hard to act as usual before that
mute blank box-hard as though the BODY
of its one time owner law within.
So he made his exit; dramatic to the
last. A strange character; shrewd, sharp.
vain, ostentatious, loving his diamonds.
velvet-coats. white gloves at unholy
hours. Monumental silver water pitchers
in his private boxes too foul to drink