Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1911-04-11

with thumb latch. Beyond stretched
a long, narrow, brick-paved alleyway,
perhaps three feet wide. and lighted
by the merest glimmer of light
ahead. Hunter went on regardless Of
puddles in the brick paving, and
stumbled after him. AS we advanced
/ could see that the light was single
electric bulb, hung over second gate
While Hunter fumbled for a key in
his pocket, had time to see that this
gate had a Yale lock, was provided, at
the side, with an electric bell button,
and had letter slot cut in it.
Hunter opened the gate and pre-
ceded me through 1t. The gate swung
to and clicked behind me. After the
gloom Of the passageway, the small
brick-paved yard seemed brilliant with
lights. Two wires were strung its
length, dotted with many electric
lamps. In corner a striped tent
stood out in gortesque relief; it seemed
to be empty, and the weather was an
easy explanation. From the two-story
house beyond there came suddenly a
burst of piano music and none too
steady masculine voice. Hunter turned
to me, with his foot on the wooden
steps.
"Above everything else" he warned,
keep your temper. Nobody gives a
hang in here whether you're the mayor
of the town, t',e champion pool-player
of the first ward, or the roundsman on
the beat"
The door at the top of the steps was
also Yale locked. We stepped at
once into the kitchen, from which
imagined that the house faced on
another street, and that for obvious
reasons only it's rear entrance was
used. The kitchen was bright and
clean; it was Uttered, however, with
half-cut .loaves Of bread, glasses and
empty bottles. Over the range man
in his shirt sleeves was giving his
whole attention to slice of ham,
on skillet, and at table
nearby a young fellow, with his hair
cut in BARRIERS oval over the back
Of his neck, was spreading slices Of
bread and cheese with mustard.
How are you, Mr.. Mayor" Hunter
said, as he shed his raincoat. This
is Mr.. Knox, the man who's engineer
Ing the SLdI-LdSic A6AI.
The man over the range wiped one
greasy hand and held it out to me.
"The Cat is purring welcome he
said, indicating the frying ham. IF
my cooking turns out right I'll as. you
to have some ham with me. | don't
know why in thunder it gets black in
the middle and won't cook around the
edges"
| recognized the mayor. He was a
big fellow, handsome in a heavy way,
and Tommy" to every one who knew
him. It seemed l was about to see
my city government at play.
Hunter was thoroughly at home. He
took my coat and his own and hung
them somewhere to dry. Then he went
into sort of pantry opening off the
kitchen and came out with four bottles
Of beer.
1--WE take care of ourselves here"
he explained, as the newly barbered
youth washed some plasses. IF you
want a sandwich, there is cooked ham
in the refrigerator and cheese-if our
friend at the sink has left any
The boy looked up from his glasses.
"It's rattrap cheese, that stuff, : he
growled.
! '.The other ran out an hour ago and
didn't come back" put in the mayor,
grinning. "You can kill that with
if it's too lively"
Get some cigars, will your Hun
ter asked me- They're on shelf
in the pantry. have my hands full"
I went forethe cigars, remembering
to keep my eyes open. The pantry
was a small room: it contained an ice
box, stocked with turntables, ham,
eggs and butter. On shelves above
were cards, cigars and liquors, and
there, too, saw box with an indorse-
ment which showed the honor sys-
tenn" of the Cat Club.
"Sign checks and drop here" it read.
and I thought a1out the old adage of
honor among thieves and politicians.
When / came out with the cigars
Hunter was standing with group of
new arrivals; they included one o. the
city physicians. the director Of public
charities and Judge Of local court.
The latter. Merely, little, thin Irish
man, knew me and accosted me at
once. The mayor was busy over the
range, and was almost purple with
heat and unwonted anxiety.
When the three newcomers went
instead Of going into the
grill-room, looked at Hunter.
"Is this where the political game
is played?" asked.
Eyes, if the political game is poker"
he replied, and led the way into the
room which adjoined the kitchen.
No one paid any attention to us.
Bare tables, wooden floor, and almost
as many cuspidors as chairs, comprised
the furniture of the long room. In one
corner was a battered upright piano,
and there were two fireplaces with
mantels. Perhaps a
dozen men were sitting around, talk
ing loudly, with much scraping of
chairs on the bare floor. At one table
they were throwing poker dice, but the
rest were drinking beer and talking in
a desultory way. At the piano a man
with a red mustache was mimicking
the sextette from Lucia and roar of
applause met us as we entered the
room. Hunter led the way to corner
and put down his bottles.
"It's fairly quiet tonight" he said.
the big night-Saturday."