Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1910-02-23

be funny. And all I have to say,
Blakeley, is that if you ever fall in
love 1 hope you make an gorgeous
ass of yourself"
In view of what followed, this came
rather close to prophecy.
The trip west was without incident.
I played bridge with furniture DEAL
er from Grand Rapids, sales agent
for a Pittsburg iron firm and young
professor from an eastern college. l
won three rubbers out of four, finished
what cigarettes Mcknight had left
me and went to bed about one O'CLOCK.
1t was growing cooler, and the rain
had ceased. Once, toward morning,
wakened with a start, for no apparent
reason, and sat bolt upright. had
an uneasy feeling that some one mad
been looking at me, the same sensa-
tion l had experienced earlier In the
evening at the window. But l could
feel the bag with the notes, between
me and the window, and with my arm
thrown over it for security, | lapsed
again into slumber. Later, when
tried to piece together the fragments
of that journey, 1 remembered that
my coat, which had been folded and
placed beyond my restless tossing,
had been rescued in the morning from
heterogeneous tumble OF blankets,
evening papers and cravat, had been
shaken out with profanity and donned
with wrath. At the time, nothing oc-
Cured to me but the necessity OF
writing to the Pullman Company and
asking them if they ever Travelled in
their own cars. 1 even formulated
some of the letter.
eff they are built to scale, why not
take a man of ordinary stature as
your unit?" / wrote mentally. i can
not fold together like the travelling
cup with which l drink your abomina-
BILE water"
was more cheerful after l had had
a cup of coffee in the Union station.
1t was too early to attend to business,
and l lounged in the restaurant and
hid behind the morning papers. AS l
had expected, they had got hold OF my
visit and it's object On the first page
was a staring announcement that the
forged papers in the Bronson case
had been brought to Pittsburg. I'm
derneath, a telegram from Washing
ton stated that Lawrence Blakeley OF
Blakeley & Mcknight had left for
Pittsburg the night before, and that,
owing to the approaching trial of the
Bronson case and the illness of John
Gilmore, the Pittsburg millionaire,
who was the chief witness for the
prosecution, it was supposed that the
visit was intimately concerned with
the trial.
l looked around apprehensively.
There were no reporters yet in sight,
and thankful to have escaped notice
l paid for my breakfast and left. At
the cabstand / chose the least dilapl-
dated hanson / could find, and giving
the driver the address of the Gilmore
residence, in the East end, got in.
1 was just in time. AS the cab
turned and rolled off, slim young
man in a straw hat separated himself
from a little group of men and hur-
ried toward us.
Hey! Wait minute there!" he
called, breaking into 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. l avoid
reporters on principle, having learned
long ago that l am an easy mark for
a clever interviewer.
1t was perhaps nine o'clock when ]
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 half-re.
vealing haze, dotted here and there
with fire. It was unlovely, tremen.
dous. Whistler might have painted it
with it's pathos, its majesty, but he
would have missed what made it in
finitely suggestive-the rattle and