Omaha daily bee., 1910-02-20

Something of this I voiced to the grim
old millionaire who was responsible for at
least part of it. He was propped up in
bed in his East end home, listening to the
market reports read by O nurse, and he
smiled a little at my enthusiasm.
Il can't see much beauty in it myself"
he said. "But it's our badge of prosperity.
The full dinner pail here means a nose
that looks like a flue. Pittsburg without
smoke wouldn't be Pittsburg, any more
than Now York prohibition would be New
York. Sit down for a few minutes, Mr..
Blakeley. Now, Miss Gardner, Westing-
house Electric"
The nurse resumed her reading in a
monotonous voice. She read literally and
without understanding. using initials and
authorizations as they came. But the
shrewd old man followed her easily. Once.
however, he stopped her.
"D-o is ditto" he said gently, no do"
AS the nurse droned along, l found my
self looking CAUTIOUSLY at a photograph in
a silver frame on the bedside table. 1t
was a picture of a girl In white, with her
hands clasped loosely before her. Against
the dark background her figure stood out
slim and young. Perhaps 1t was the
rather grim environment. possibly it was
my mood, but although as a general thing
photographs Of young girls made no appeal
to me, this one did. l found my eyes
straying back to It. BY a little finesse I
even made out the anne written across
the corner, Alison"
Mr.. Gilmore lay back among his pillows
and listened to the nurses listless voice
But he was watching me from under ha
heavy eyebrows, for when the reading was
over, and we were alone. he indicated the
picture with a gesture.
II keep 1t there to remind myself that l
am an old man" he said. That Is my
granddaughter, Alison West"
1 expressed the customary polite surprise,
at which, finding me responsive, he told
me his age with a chuckle Of pride. Mors
surprise, this time genuine. From that wa
went to, what he ate for breakfast and did
not eat for luncheon, and then to his re-
serve power, which at 65 becomes a matter
for thought. And so, in a wide circle, back
to where we started, the picture.
Father was q rascal" John Gilmore
said, picking up the frame. The happiest
day Of my life was when knew he was
safely dead In bed and not hanged. IL
the child had looked like him, I-well, she
doesn't. She's a Gilmore, every inch. Sup
posed to look like me"
VERY noticeably," / agreed soberly.
/ had produced the notes by that time.
and replacing the picture Mr., Gilmore gath
cred his spsctacles from beside 1t. lie
went over the four notes methodically, er-
aiming each carefully and putting it down
before he picked up the next. Then he
leaned back and took off his glasses.
They're not so bad" he said thought
fully. Not 80 bad. But / mover saw them
before. That's my unofficial signature. I
am inclined to think"-he was speaking
partly to himself-"to think that he has
got hold Of a letter Of mine, probably to
Alison. Bronson was a friend OF her
rapscallion Of a father"
/ took MI. Gilmorc's deposition and put
II into my travelling bag with the forged
notes. When l saw them again, almost
uIee weeks later, they were unrecogniz-
able, a mass Of charred paper on a copper
ash tray. In The interval other and bigger
things had happened: the Bronson forgery
case had shrunk beside the greater and
more imminent mystery OF the man in
lower ten. And Alison West had come into
Che story and into my life.
Go Be ContnuedJ