The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1910-07-28

and thankful to have escaped notice
| paid for my breakfast and left. At
the cabstand / chose the least dilapi-
dated hanson | could find, and giving
the driver the address of the Gilmore
residence. in the East end, got in.
/ was Just in time. AS the cab
turned and rolled off, a slim young
man in a straw hat separated himself
from a little group of men and hur'
ried toward US.
Hey! Wait a minute there!" he
called, breaking into a trot.
But the cabby did not hear, or per.
haps did not care to. We logged com.
fortably along, to my relief, leaving
the young man far behind. | avoid
reporters on principle, having learned
long ago that | am an easy mark for
a clever interviewer.
It IA perhaps nine o'clock when i
left the station. Our way was along
the boulevard which Rugged the side
of one of the city's great hills. Far
below, to the left, lay the railroad
tracks and the seventy times seven
looming stacks of the mills. The white
mist of the river, the grays and blacks
of the smoke blended into a half-re.
vealing haze, dotted here and there
with fire. 1t was unlovely, tremen-
dous. Whistler might have painted it
with it's pathos, its majesty, but he
would have missed what made it in.
tinitely suggestive-the rattle and
roar of iron on iron, the rumble of
wheels, the throbbing beat, against
the ears, of fire and heat and Drawn
Welding prosperity.
Something of this / voiced to the
grim old millionaire who was respon,
sible for at least part of it. He was
propped up in bed in his East end
home, listening to the market reports
read by a nurse, and he smiled a little
at my enthusiasm.
Il can't see much beauty in it my.
self" 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 New York
prohibition would be New York. Sit
down for a few minutes, Mr.. Blakeley.
Now, Miss Gardner, Westinghouse
Electric"
The nurse resumed her reading in
a monotonous voice. She read liter.
ally and without understanding, using
initial and authorizations as they came.
But the shrewd old man followed her
easily.
AS the nurse droned along, I found
myself looking curiously at a photo
graph in a silver frame on the bed
side table. 1t was the 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 it was the rather
grim environment, possibly it was my
mood, but although as a general thing
photographs of young girls make no
appeal to me, this one did. l found
my eyes straying back to it. BY a
little finesse | even made out the
name written across the corner, ALI
son.
Mr.. Gilmore lay back among his
pillows and listened to the nurses
l~istless voice. But he was watching
me from under his heavy eyebrows,
for when the reading was over, and
We were alone, he indicated the pic
ture with a gesture.
Il keep it there to remind myself
that am an old man." he said. THAT
is my granddaughter, Alison West"
l expressed the customary polite
surprise, at which, finding me respon-
sive, he told me his age with a chuc-
kle of pride. More surprise, this time
genuine. From that we went to what
he ate for breakfast and did not eat
for luncheon. and then to his reserve
power. which at 65 became a matter
for thought. And so, in a wide circle,
back to where we started, the picture.
Father was a rascal" John Gil
more said, picking up the frame. "The
happiest day of my life was when /
knew he was safely dead in bed and
not hanged. If the child had looked
like him, well, she doesn't. She's
a Gilmore, every inch. Supposed to
look like me-"
Very ~noticeably," | agreed soberly.
| had produced the notes by that
time, and replacing the picture Mr..
Gilmore gathered his spectacles from
beside it. TTe went over the four notes
methodically, examining each care
fully and putting 1t down before
he picked up the next. Then he
leaned back and took off his glasses.
They're not so bad" he said
thoughtfully. Not SO bad. But |
never saw them before. That's my
unofficial signature. | 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 Mr.. Gilmore's deposition and
put 1t into my travelling bag with the
forged notes. When ! saw them again,
almost three weeks later, they were
unrecdgaIshle, q mass Of "a
per on a copper ash tray. a Ia
terval other and bigger thin. mad
happened: The Bronson forgery case
had shrunk beside the greater and