Alfred lay in bed trembling. Every sound, every footstep on the street startled him. When the father returned home he trembled until the bed shook, fearing it was the mob entering the house. He heard his father laughing, also the mother; then he heard footsteps on the stairs. Pretending to be sound asleep he snored loudly. As his father neared the bed he pretended to suddenly awake. The parent carelessly inquired: "How long you been in bed?"

"Oh, I don't know how long, I've been asleep. Why? Is there anything happened?" asked Alfred as he pulled the clothes up over his head to hide his laughter.

The father replied: "Yes there has and I feared you were mixed up in it. I am glad you came in early tonight." Then the father informed Alfred that some half a dozen rowdies had hidden in the old tannery and bombarded the Potts procession with all sorts of missiles and things. He told of the rage of Keifer, the plight of Todd, etc.

Alfred was sorry the joke on Cousin Albert had miscarried but it seemed to him the hand of fate guided his aim, as all those who suffered were unfriendly, all save Sammy Rowland. He was a good friend with whom Alfred had labored in the tan-yard.

Alfred went to sleep laughing and arose laughing. His mirth excited comment; it was so continued. The mother often asserted that Alfred, from the time he was a baby, always awoke laughing in the morning. But his mirth was so uproarious this morning that it caused the father to look worried.

Finally, he called Alfred into an adjoining room. Looking him full in the face he asked: "Did you have a hand in that affair last night?"

Had Alfred been threatened with death he could not have suppressed his laughter. The more he laughed the more serious the father became. He had become satisfied that Alfred was connected with the reprehensible act. The father continued threateningly:

"Well, my boy, you keep on, there will be an end to this kind of work. I cannot protect you if it gets out on you; it will be the worst blow you ever inflicted upon this family." Thus the father talked until Alfred said: "Well, Pap, I hope you are not going to connect me with this thing just because I laughed."

"No, but I have a feeling that you know something of it. Those associated with you in this thing will be very apt to blame it all on you."

"Oh no, they won't. Now, just because I laugh you're going to swear this thing onto me."

"I am not," replied the father. "The whole town is laughing for that matter but it will go none the less hard with those engaged in it. I wouldn't go over in town if I were you," advised the father as he left the room.

Alfred made his way to Potts' shoe-shop, passing the old tan-house on the way. Broken transparency, bits of candles, and other odds and ends were scattered over the ground. The white-washed fence opposite the window in the old tan-house had the appearance of a field covered with snow, with here and there a bit of cedar shrubbery growing on it.

Dennis Isler, Jim Johnson and Piggy Mann were under suspicion. Alfred stood among the crowd and listened in silence to each description of the scene. No two had seen it alike; one man swore there were half a dozen shots fired, another declared a brick knocked the hat off his head without injuring him in the least.

Alfred returned home. The mother and Lin repeatedly inquired as to what he was laughing at. Lin finally, when the mother was not within hearing, with an air "you may fool everybody else but you can't fool me" half whispered: "I know ye done hit. Everybody wud know hit wus ye. Why, look at yer pants laig, up thar in the room, the marks is on hit."

Alfred flew up stairs. The right leg of a fairly good pair of pants was amputated just above the knee. The mother wondered why Alfred gave those pants to Cal Pastor (who had but one leg).

The Clipper had become very friendly. There was scarcely an issue that there was not a complimentary reference to the rising young actor, "an ex-attachee of this paper." The Clipper carried a graphic write-up of the disrupting of the Potts procession. It was headed: "A Dastardly Attempt to Defeat Potts by Discouraging His Supporters." "A most unexpected and unprepared-for assault was perpetrated upon an orderly procession of Brownsville's honest toilers, who were assaulted in the darkness of night with murderous missiles and other things, in a heated campaign with momentous issues involved. The hurling of foul epithets is bad enough but when political opponents hurl such things as were hurled at the Potts adherents it is time to call a halt. Many who were injured by the fusillade declare the onslaught was so unexpected; they were so completely taken by surprise that, had they been killed and interred the assault would not have been more surprising to them. Among those who were in the worst of the affray was that gallant soldier and shingle maker, Peter Keifer. He has also seen service in assisting in arresting Sam Craft who was drafted. Mr. Keifer will devote his time to running down the hellish brigands who are a menace to the liberty of the ballot. Mr. Keifer says he will not be deterred in his purpose."

Among those employed by Alfred's father was one, Node Beckley—"Noah" was his proper name, but all, including his wife, called him Node. In personal appearance he was not unlike Palmer; spare and wiry, slim-faced, a large hooked nose, a tuft of beard on his chin. He had no particular calling or trade; first a hotel keeper, then a house or boat painter, paper hanger or decorator, saloonkeeper, book-agent, banjo player and cheap gambler. He was good-natured. His wife was the head man of the family; what Node lacked in spirit she made up in talk. Node was kind in his way to his wife and children, who accepted his efforts in their behalf without any untoward semblance of gratitude and with many complaints that he did not do more for them. Consequently Node was always on the hustle, or as near so as his indolent disposition would permit him to be.

Isaac Jacquette, John Barnhart, Jim Mann, Cousin Charley and others were continually teasing Node over his many unsuccessful ventures. Node did not always take their joshings good naturedly but would remind them that his time was coming, that he would yet strike a lead that would bring him fortune. He had hinted so often in this manner that Alfred became convinced Node was working on something in secret and became interested in him. The other men ascribed Alfred's fondness for Beckley to the fact that he could perform on the banjo; they often suggested that Alfred and Beckley start a minstrel show.

"A boy's sense all runs to heart; A boy never sees the dark spots on the character of the man he fancies."

Node Beckley was not a man of bad character. Alfred's father dispensed with Beckley's services that he might disrupt the intimacy between the two.

Node opened a saloon, the Rialto, on the corner of Barefoot Square and Market Street. Alfred's father forbade him ever to enter the place. Alfred obeyed. The familiarity continued, the man and boy were often seen together on the street. Cousin Charley tracked them to the barn of the old James Beckley Tavern. Alfred's father feared he was gambling; all the gambling in those days was in haymows or unoccupied buildings in winter, under the trees in summer. The games were "Seven Up" and "Euchre".

Node was of an inventive turn of mind. It is not known whence came the inspiration, nor is it certain that there was an inspiration. However, it can be recorded to the glory of Brownsville that the first flying machine or airship was the invention of a citizen of the old town.

The flying machine was the mysterious creation that Node had so often hinted at. Alfred was deeply interested in the aerial machine. It was planned that the invention should be kept secret from all. Harriet, his wife, knew he was working on an invention of some sort, as he had been engaged in this sort of experimenting a greater part of the time since they wedded. When his perpetual motion machine failed to work "Had" Beckley had lost interest in Node's inventions. Hence, the flying machine under process of construction was known only to Alfred and the inventor. It was their intention to completely surprise the world at large and that part of it in particular bounded by the Brownsville borough lines, by having Node flit over the town and perhaps over the river; then later on, to Uniontown, to Pittsburg and other cities. Then Alfred and Node would travel all over the world exhibiting the flying machine.

In those days steam was the only propelling power. Gasoline engines were unknown, electricity had not been harnessed except for telegraphing. The propelling power of Node's flying machine lay in the arms and legs of the one who soared in it.

The invention was a very simple contrivance, from which very fact Node argued it would be successful. There were two large wings, nine feet in length and of a proportionate breadth, constructed of very light material, and, at Alfred's suggestion, covered with feathers. Alfred felt it would be more apt to fly if it wore feathers. Every backyard, wherein a family killed chickens, ducks or turkeys, was ransacked for feathers. The variegated plumage of the machine would have defied the most learned of ornithologists in defining the species of the bird family to which it belonged.

There was what Node termed a "rear extension." Alfred invariably alluded to it as "her tail." Why he applied the feminine gender to the machine was another of those vagaries of which inventors are always possessed.

Node termed the wings, "side-propellers." The arms of the aerialist were thrust through loops under the wings, hand-holds were at the proper length from the base of the wings. There was a light frame, to which the wings were attached; two light ropes, through pulleys worked by the feet, flopped the rear extension up and down. The rear extension could be also used as a steering apparatus. The entire thing depended upon the movements of the arms. After the machine was far and away up in the air, it would sail as do eagles and buzzards, so Node asserted.

The only doubt Node had was as to possessing strength to raise the thing to the proper height. When he once got in the air, he had no fears of staying there.

Alfred suggested that the first start be made from the steeple of the Episcopal Church. Node seemed pleased with the suggestion. Later, when they walked by the church and gazed up at the heights Node concluded the wings and rear extension would have sufficient air pressure to make the rise from a hill.

The work had progressed to the point where an experimental trial was in sight. Node had been strapped in the frame-work several times. The wings worked perfectly; that is, so long as Node's arms kept in motion. The rear extension did not work so well. Node explained that it would not work until the thing got up in the air where his feet would have free play. He would sit astraddle of a bench, Alfred would hold the frame off the floor, and Node would work his feet. Her "tail" would wobble and fly up and down at a great rate. Its eccentric actions excited the admiration of Alfred. He assured Node that her tail would be the wonder of the world.

"Why, Black Fan's tail never flew around like that, even when she got in the bumble-bee's nest," asserted Alfred.

Node had made several attempts to raise himself from the barn floor, but there was not space to work the machine properly. They determined to arise early some morning, take the machine to Hogg's field, just below the pike and give it a trial. The apparatus was carefully carried to the little mound on the high hill overlooking Dunlap's Creek.

Alfred cautioned Node not to fly down the hill, because it would be a job to carry the machine up the hill.



Lin, gazing out of the kitchen window at the chickens picking around in the yard, said: "Lor' a-mighty! What's happened them chickens? They ain't one uf 'em got the shadder uf a tail."

Alfred had even stolen the big fly brush, made of peacock feathers, to birdify Node's flying machine. The extreme end of the rear extension held the long peacock feathers.

That the bird man idea should be carried out Alfred had made a head dress of turkey feathers down the nape of the neck, and chicken feathers in front. When placed on Node's head, with his beaked nose and tuft of chin beard, he appeared very much as one would picture Uncle Joe Cannon robed in Maude Adams' "Chanticler" costume.

Node was strapped in the frame, his arms adjusted to the wings, and Alfred adjusted the head dress against Node's violent protest. He argued: "The dam thing will get over my eyes and I am liable to fly into a tree top. Take it off. I'll wear it after I get the hang of this thing, after I fly awhile."

Several attempts were made at a rise. The rear extension always got out of gear; the ropes and pulley tangled in the rigging. It was decided that Alfred hold the rear extension aloft. Node would run down the hill a few feet launching himself into the air.

Alfred assured Node that he could be of even greater assistance. While the machine was in course of construction Node had his own way in everything. Now he was strapped in the apparatus and any innovation Alfred insisted upon he was powerless to reject. Therefore Alfred hastened home. There was not a clothes prop in his father's garden long enough to suit his ideas, therefore, he ran to the next door neighbor's, Alex Smith's, selecting the longest prop he could find. Hastening to the scene of the ascension, he found Node in anything but an amiable mood.

"What the devil do you mean by strapping me in this thing and running all over town to find a pole to push me up in the air? Do you s'pose I want you to pole me like a raft? You hold up that end of the thing and I'll fly."

Node was mad enough to fly. Against his angry protests Alfred inserted the end of the pole between his legs, held up the tail part of the machine, encouraging Node to take a running start, when he got the proper momentum to shout "Now," and he, Alfred, would give him a lift that was bound to shoot him into the air.

They backed up the hill. Node lowered his arms, the wings resting on the ground, resting himself a bit; turning his bird-like head toward Alfred he asked if there was anyone watching them. Node was evidently not sure in his mind that the flight would be successful. When assured by Alfred that there were no witnesses Node cautioned him not to lift too strongly on the pole which was still between his legs. Looking up in the air as if to gauge the height to which he intended to ascend, he said: "Now get ready and stand by if anything happens when I light."

"Ready?" asked Node, in an eager voice.

"Let her go," was Alfred's reply.

Down the hill ran the two. "Now!" shouted Node.

Alfred put all his power into the lift he gave the man-bird. Node seemed to arise. One of the ropes caught around Alfred's neck nearly severing one of his ears. Alfred fell headlong, rolling over two or three times.

When he arose he directed his gaze heavenward, expecting to see Node soaring through the air. Curses and struggles from a point twenty feet down the hill disclosed the whereabouts of the inventor. Node was lying there, the apparatus in a tangled heap. It was with considerable labor, made more difficult as he was weak from laughter, that Alfred released Node. Criminations and recriminations followed. Node swore he had started on a beautiful flight; he could feel himself going up as light as a soap bubble, just then Alfred's damn fool head-piece flopped down over his eyes, blinding him so he couldn't see what he was doing. He quit flapping his wings and fell like a log. If it hadn't been for the head dress there's no telling where he would have flown to.

Alfred contended that the tailpiece caught on one of his ears and pulled the bird-man back out of the air. As proof he exhibited the lacerated ear. Alfred had assured Node that there were no witnesses. However, the aeronauts had an audience. Jake Beeca and Strap Gaines stood in the road below; Pete Williams, Billy Brubaker and a couple of strangers were looking down from the pike above; Johnny Johnson and Widdy Gould were gazing on the wreck from their back yards. Mary Hart, Jim Hart and Mrs. Smith were at the front gate, inquiring of Lin and Alfred's mother the cause of the strange procession then passing.



Node came first. He had forgotten his hat and shoes, laid aside to lighten him for his flight, his clothes were literally bespattered with soft, brown earth, his nose scratched, one of his hands bleeding; on his head the bedraggled feather cap. Following behind came Alfred, one ear bleeding, his clothing covered with dirt. In his arms he carried the wrecked flying machine, the rear extension dragging, the beautifully colored peacock feathers trailing the dirt.

Node, with bowed head and abashed manner, walked as though going to his execution. Alfred could scarcely walk at all, the ludicrous ending of the flight, appealed so to his mirth.

Lin gazed curiously at the two as they passed. She scrutinized the flying machine closely, the feathers, the head-dress on Node. She entered the house: "Well, Mary," (addressing the mother), "I've seed a good many funny sights sence Alfurd's been ole enuf tu run aroun' but I'll be durned ef this one ain't the cap sheaf."

"What's happened now?" anxiously queried the mother.

"Well, I ain't seed enuf tu jes zackly say what it is but hit looks like Alfurd hed turned his mind tu a Injun show. He's got Node Beckley into hit; they has things all trimmed with feathers. Now you know what has made our chickens look so bobbed; they ain't one uf 'em thet's got es much tail feathers es a blue bird in poke berry time. An' yer peafowl feather duster,"—here Lin raised her hands—"why they ain't enough left to shoo a pis-ant, let alone a fly. Lor' Mary, hit's orful, they must-a had a sham battul or a war, fer Node is kivered with blood an' Alfurd looked peeled in several places. Node had on a ole feather head dress, barefooted 'ceptin' socks, no hat or coat, kivered with dust and so was Alfurd. He was carryin' the Injun fixin's and laffin'; laffin', why you'd think hit wus the bigges' frolik in the world. Node looked jes es Joe Sandford looked when he shed his wall-paper show duds. I'll jes run over an' see what Had Beckley has tu say. I'll bet she'll rear an' charge when Node gets home."

"Good mornin' Mrs. Beckley, how's all?" was Lin's greeting.

"Won't you walk in, we're all upside down here; walk in ef you can git in fur the dirt and cluttered up house. Node's been up and gone for two hours; I'm waitin' fur him to kum so we kin eat breakfus an' clean up. I have no idee whar he is; your Alfred an' him's together nite an' day now."

Lin looked surprised as she repeated, "Nite an' day? An' what do ye s'pose they is up tu, Mrs. Beckley?"

"Well, I dunno. Node's allus got some notion or other in his head. I never pay no tension to him; ef hit ain't one thing hit's anuther. I rekon hit's a patent rite concern. He's been putterin' on pattern things ever sence we wus married."

"Do they run out at nite much, Node an' Alfurd?" Lin asked.

"Why, every blessed nite and all day Sundays."

Lin suggested: "Maybe they go to Baptus meetin'. Thar havin' a revivul; maybe Node an' Alfurd's thinkin' of jinin' the Baptus Church."

"Huh! Node would be a hell of a Baptus; he's so feared of water he hain't washed his feet this blessed wintur," snapped Mrs. Beckley.

Lin decided in her mind that Mrs. Beckley was entirely ignorant of the scheme her husband and Alfred had under way and she changed tack: "Perhaps they're startin' a show. Has yer husband talked about Injuns tu yer lately?"

"No," answered the wife in open-mouthed wonder, "have you heard they were goun' off tu fight Injuns?"

"No, no," quickly assured Lin, "I didn't mean they wus goin' tu fight Injuns. Yow know Alfurd's full of show notions, an' you know we had a Injun show yer on Jeffres Commons; hit wusn't much uf a show, nuthin' to hit. I thought maybe Node an' Alfurd had got hit into theur noodles to act Injun. Did ye see them things with feathers on them they wus draggin' aroun'? Yes, an' they got pea fowl feathers on too; bet all they hev no luck, pea fowl feathers allus bring bad luck."

Here Node entered the room. His wife scanned him, noting his skinned nose: "Eh, huh, Mr. Injun, I hope ye ain't skulped?" lifting his hat and looking at his head.

Node was considerably taken aback; he muttered something about making it go yet, "but no damn fool could pole him into the air." Poor Node imagined that his secret was out and that all knew of his dismal failure. When he learned that the feathers had deceived all and that the flying machine was looked upon as some sort of show paraphernalia, he humored the deception and admitted that he and Alfred were experimenting with Indian arms and things, thinking of giving an Indian show.

This satisfied Lin. With all her cunning she was easily deceived. Running home she advised the mother that she had guessed it the first guess.

"Lor', hit's no use fur Alfurd tu try tu fool me, I know thet thar boy better'n he knows hisself. I sed, sed I, es soon es I seed Node an' him comin' 'hit's Injun bizness this trip sure.' Why, anybody'd know thet what Alfurd was carryin' wus war hoops; war hoops is what Injuns has got more uf then most anythin' else. But I swear tu goodness I don't see how Node or Alfurd cud pass fur an Injun. Node looked like a skur-crow an' Alfred like a Tom-boy girl. Maybe Alfurd kud be Pokerhuntus an' Node Captin John Smith."

That first attempt at flying but increased the determination to make the thing a success.

The complicated gearing of the rear extension, was supported with one rope. It was double gear previously; now it was single gear. Before, it worked too rapidly and, like Black Fan when under full speed, was liable to go by the head.

Node declared again and again that it was the rear extension that caused him to shoot head-first into the earth. He had just started to rise, he felt himself going up; suddenly the rear extension flew forward, "hit me on the head, your ole Injun feathers pushed down over my eyes, and I had to head her for earth. Why I'd been a fool to gone on up in the air blinded. When a man's flying he's more anxious to see than when he's walking."

Alfred meekly suggested that the fellow with the circus walked the tight-rope blindfolded. Node admitted this fact; "But he had a foothold. If I'd had a foothold all hell wouldn't held me, I'd been flyin' yet."

Often did they settle on a date for the next flight only to have something unforeseen interfere. Node desired a cloudy day with moderate wind. Furthermore, the next flight the course was to be laid out.

Node declared with decision: "I want to have the starting and the stopping points definitely in mind, I want to know just what I am doing. I know this machine will do the work; I've got more strength in my arms than I ever had afore," and here Node would bare his spare arms and fling them about for exercise. "Yes, sir, if my arms hold out I can fly anywhere. I'll start from Town Hill, light on Krepp's Knob an' pick about a bit, rest my wings and fly back agin." Then Node would look down on the river which flowed between—he couldn't swim—and with less enthusiasm add: "But I won't do that yet; I'll wait till I get more used to the machine and the air currents. A man to fly right must understand the air currents jes as a sailor understands the course of the winds. There are currents and cross currents; sometimes they git all tangled up, then I'll just quit flappin' my wings, sink below the disturbance, and fly about below until I git out of them. The main thing is to get the rise."

"Well, I'll give you a lift," suggested Alfred.

"I want no more of your lifts," quickly answered Node.

Finally it was decided that the next flight be made from the roof of the old barn in which the flying machine was housed.

In answer to Lin's query as to what he was doing on the roof of the barn so early in the morning, Alfred carelessly answered: "Oh, I'm making a pigeon box."

Lin said it looked as if they were going to build a mighty big pigeon house.

Alfred declared it would be the proper thing to do to invite a half dozen or more friends to witness the ascension. Node dissented: "Wait until we get the rear extension to working as perfectly as the side propellers and we'll give an exhibition. If you invite anybody in this town to see me fly and anything goes the least bit wrong, they'll walk off and sneer and say: 'He'll never fly.' That's the way they did when I was working on the perpetual motion machine. I had it just about goin', and I invited two or three who I thought were my friends. They looked at it, praised me to my face and said: 'Node, by golly, you got it,' then they went right down street and told everybody that I was a dam fool and that's what disheartened me and I quit working on it. If I hadn't invited anybody to look at my work I'd had perpetual motion down to a nicety today. Why, I invented a magnet with which you could find gold or silver, no matter if it was buried ten feet deep." (It was the belief of many that there was gold buried in the hills around the old town; that eccentric, wealthy persons in the early days had buried.)

"I had this magnet," continued Node, "working to perfection. Well, I took four men with me, and we went around the Point to where a fortune teller told 'Had' there was money buried. We worked along the hill up to where the fortune teller had said the money was. The magnet swung right, then left; suddenly it stopped, then whirled around and around. We all turned pale. There was a smell in the air like the damp in a coal bank. One of the men marked the place and said: 'Node, it's too late to begin digging today; we'll dig tomorrow.' I waited all day, but none of the men came. 'Had' was all excited about it because the fortune teller had described the spot to her; she could tell it with her eyes shut. Well, we walked straight to the place, and what do you suppose?" Node waited for Alfred's reply.

"Well, I expect you found you was fooled," drawled Alfred.

"Yes, that's what we did," asserted Node, "that's jest what we did find, we was fooled, robbed, tricked. There was a hole in the ground four or five feet deep. At the bottom, just the size of a dinner plate and round as a crock, you could tell there had been a crock full of money taken out of the hole. Not one of them fellers thet was with me has ever worked a day since." (Node had forgotten that they had never worked a day previously.)

Node put his hand on the flying machine as he declared: "No, sir, no one shall know a thing about this invention until your Uncle Noah has it so he can do anything a bird can."

The allusion to the hidden wealth impressed Alfred greatly. He became certain Node would make the flying machine a success. Therefore, he built the platform on the barn longer that Node might get a better start. Alfred was strong in the belief that he could greatly aid Node with the clothes prop as before. But at the mere suggestion Node became angry. He threatened to abandon the flight if he caught sight of a clothes prop in Alfred's hands. Node knew full well once he was strapped in the machine Alfred could do anything he chose. He therefore determined that no poles or props should be taken to the roof of the old barn. Alfred had the clothes prop hidden in the barn below. Node happened to discover it, and forthwith ordered Alfred to carry it back to Alex Smith's yard. He never took his eyes off the boy until the prop was leaned against the fence in the yard of the owner.

Node swore he would inform Alex Smith the next time he went by Jacob's store that Alfred was stealing his clothes props, "And you know what that red-headed son-of-a-gun will do to you," threatened Node, as he shook his finger at Alfred.

The morning was propitious; Node said so at least. There were to be no witnesses, but Cousins Charley and George were hidden in John Fear's coal house, Baggy Allison was in Alfred's barn, Jim Hart and Mary were at the upstairs windows in Alex Smith's house—all by invitation of Alfred.

Node was very nervous. Alfred could do nothing to please him. In preparing for the first flight he had Alfred strap his arms in the wings first. He insisted all fastenings should be made ere his arms were strapped. Alfred had occasion to go below. Node watched him closely as he made his reappearance through the hole in the roof, evidently fearing he had brought a pole with him.

Finally, the side propellers were adjusted. Node flapped them a few times, stood on tip-toes, very much like a cock crowing, as Alfred encouragingly assured him that he saw him rising. "If you had only given two or three more flaps with your wings you'd been up in the air sure."

Then in a coaxing manner Alfred continued: "Now Node, if I was you I would not go too far for the first flight; just flit about, then settle and rest. Go at it moderate like."

Node seemed to gain confidence. He walked back and forth, or rather he walked forth and then back, as he could not turn about owing to the rear extension. Node declared it wouldn't bother him in the air.

Node walked to the edge of the barn some three or four times, bending his bird-like head to look down as if measuring the distance. As he backed up after looking down the last time, Alfred sort of taunted him by saying: "If you can't keep yourself from falling hard enough to hurt you, your flying apparatus ain't much account. S'pose you don't fly very high the first time, s'pose you don't fly far, with them wings and that tail you ought to settle so lightly you wouldn't break an egg shell."

This seemed to strengthen the bird-man; he drew in a few deep breaths, gazing heavenward, then across the river at Krepp's Knob, then below him at the river. Alfred was all a-tremble. He remembered that Node said: "You must mark your course, your starting point, your landing place." Alfred wondered in his mind whether Node would cross to Krepp's or only cross Dunlap's Creek over Duck Leonard's mill.

Node flapped his wings again. This time, with each flap of the wings, Alfred gave the rear extension a gentle lift. Node would rise four or five inches with each lift. He did nor realize that Alfred was lending help to his efforts. After a more forcible lift of the tail than any Alfred had yet given it, Node, turning his head, with a triumphant look, shouted: "When I say 'Three,' I'm going, but don't you do anything, jest let me handle her. Let go the rear extension."



Pointing the wings heavenward, gazing up as if in prayer, raising himself on his tip-toes, straining every nerve, in a voice tremulous with excitement, he began: "One," stretching higher, he shouted: "Two," rising on his tip-toes, he reached the edge of the barn, as he fairly yelled: "Three."

The wings came down beautifully, but they did not rise again. As Node stepped off the edge of the barn he descended instead of ascending, the rear extension got sort of tangled on the comb of the roof, Node and the machine dangled in the air momentarily.

As Alfred dropped through the opening in the roof, he heard Node claw a time or two at the weather-boarding; something seemed to let go, to rip, then, there was a dull sound as of a bag of sand falling from a height to the earth.

There was the sound of footsteps coming from several directions. Alfred heard all this while he was moving faster than he had ever moved before. Node did not beat him to the earth by a great margin. As Alfred flew out of the door of the barn, he saw Jack Rathmell doubled over the fence laughing as only Jack could laugh.

Ere Node was disentangled from the wrecked airship, ere they escorted him to "Had"—he declined to be carried—Alfred was safely hidden away in Alex Smith's hay mow. Buried under the hay he kept peering through a convenient crack which gave him a view of the territory between his home and Node's residence. Somehow he figured the whole thing would be blamed on him.

First, Lin was seen with her apron around her head going toward Node's house. It was not long until she returned, walking hurriedly. She reappeared in a moment, bearing in her hands something that appeared to be bandages. Then Alfred's father came. In a moment or two he was seen going toward Beckley's house. Then, a little later, the father and two or three others, including Cousin Charley, reappeared, walking toward the old barn. Cousin Charley was evidently describing the attempted flight as he pointed to the roof of the barn. All looked up, then as Charley marked a spot on the manure pile with his foot, all looked down.

The father gathered up a part of the flying machine and carried it home. Standing at the gate he gave a shrill whistle, one that he had used to attract Alfred since he was a little boy. Alfred made no response.

Alfred did not know how badly Node was injured. He felt very sorry for him, he really liked the man. As miserable as he felt, as sorry as he was, the funny side of the affair crept into his mind and, as usual, he relieved himself with a good hearty laugh.

Alfred's laugh was cut short by a voice calling from below: "Who's that? Hey? Who's that?"

Alfred recognized Alex Smith's voice. He remained motionless for a moment.

The voice, part of the way up the ladder leading to the hay mow, called again, this time commandingly: "Who's up in the hay mow? Come down! Come down! Or I'll bring you down."

Alfred remained motionless.

"You won't come down, won't you? Well, you will when I come back." And the voice told Alfred it's owner was leaving the place.

Alfred, climbing down the ladder, left the stable just as the gate slammed announcing Mr. Smith's coming. He stood motionless as Mr. Smith approached. When the elder man recognized the boy he was somewhat surprised.

"Was that you in the haymow?"

"Yes, sir," answered Alfred.

"Why didn't you answer when I called to you?"

Alfred related the whole story. Alex Smith accompanied Alfred home. The story of Node Beckley's flying machine was gone over. The father was mollified.

Lin commented thusly: "One story is good till another's told. I jes kum from Beckley's; Node's not hurt much, jes jarred. He sed he went on the barn to test his apperatus; he wern't ready to fly. An' I don't reckun he wus an' what's more, he never will be. He wus jes straitnin' out the perpellers. He ses: 'Alfurd's been so alfired crazy to hev me fly he jes couldn't wait till I got my apperatus finished. While I wus standin' near the aidge uf the roof, my perpellers hangin' down, Alfurd snook up ahind me an' gin me a push, and afore I could raise my perpellers I wus on the groun'. If I hed knowed hit I could've saved myself an' flew off an' lit in the field.'"

Alfred asked Lin who made this statement. She replied Mrs. Beckley had told it to her.

"If Node told that story I am going over to contradict it, if his back's broken."

"Nevur mind, nevur mind," consoled Lin, "I jes tole 'Had' thet Node wus a bird, an' like all birds, he knowed which way to fly, kase I heard he headed straight fur the manure pile."



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For this brave old earth must borrow its mirth, It has trouble enough of its own.

The world does not require the same attainments from all; it is well it is so ordered. Some persons are well taught, some are ill taught, some are not taught at all. Some have naturally good dispositions and absorb learning readily. Some are deficient in mechanical ingenuity and yet can analyze difficult mental problems.

It is no crime to fail in any pursuit or vocation, if failure is not due to idleness or deliberate preference of evil to good. There comes a time in the life of every reasoning person that they must take themselves for better or for worse, that they must take themselves more seriously.

Captain Abrams had unintentionally contributed to Alfred's discontent. He had remarked that to putty up holes, paint a board or smear a hurricane deck was not much of a trade or calling, but to be an artist like Alfred's father was a profession that would bring success.

Alfred could not drive a nail straight; he could not saw a board straight; he was such an awkward writer, the school teacher made fun of his copy book. She advised Alfred that she did this hoping that by publicly reprimanding him he would learn to write a more legible hand. "You excel in spelling, reading, geography and other studies; you should be ashamed of your writing."

The grandfather, the father, the teacher, all liked Alfred. None intended to injure his feelings, yet the taunts, the censure, just and unjust, sunk into Alfred's soul, and, he advised Captain Abrams it was only the duty he owed his father that kept him there a day.

Alfred was low in mind. He sought his father and endeavored to reason with him, but was dismissed with the argument: "You don't want to learn anything useful; if it was something connected with a show, you'd master it mighty quick."

"But father, I have no skill or sleight to work with tools."

The father interrupted with a peremptory: "Do as I did—learn."

"I can't learn," pleaded the boy, "try as I may, I'm not cut out for a mechanic. If I could work like you it would be a pleasure to me to keep at it. I'm out of all heart with my work."

The father evidently felt for the boy as he spoke in a more kindly tone: "You are not lazy; the things that you can do, you do well. Now you painted around that hull quicker than any man at work on the boat. Be a little more patient, take more pains and you'll make a good workman. I will pay you wages, try to make something useful out of yourself. You'll never amount to a hill of beans if you follow up your show notions," pleaded the father.

"Pap, I'm satisfied with what you give, it ain't that. I don't like the work. Of course, I painted the hull of the boat quickly but that's all I can do and Captain Abrams says there's nothing in puttying up nail holes and painting hulls; anybody can learn that in six months."

The father became cross again, and, in a threatening tone, said: "I am your father and it is my duty to do my best for you; I firmly believe I am fulfilling my duty as a parent in ordering you to give up all other notions as to the future and get down to business and learn this trade. Now make up your mind; go at your work with the feeling that you are determined to succeed. If you go at your work in a half-hearted way you are certain to fail."

"Well, that's the way I feel about this work; I can't learn it, I don't want to. There's a dozen other things I'd rather do and I can make more money out of them."

This stubborn talk exasperated the father, and pointing his finger at the boy to emphasize his words, he said: "First, it was circus, then it was minstrels. You tried the newspaper business, you were not satisfied."

"Why, you made me quit newspaper work," interrupted Alfred.

"Don't interrupt me again," cautioned the father, "then it was that infernal panorama. That panorama was the worst of all, it gave you the habit of roving; you've never been satisfied a day since you went off with that panorama."

"But father, you and all your family were willing I should go. You wanted me to go; I didn't want to go, I only wanted to get back the money Palmer cheated you out of."

The father thundered: "Don't you try to saddle your roving onto me. You're not satisfied in any place and never will be. Don't you ever tell me to my face again that I even hinted that you go with the panorama and I don't want you to ever mention that anybody cheated me. I'd like to see the man who can cheat me. Now you go to your work, you're not your own man yet. I am going to send you to the Merrittstown Academy this winter and I want you to settle down. You've had it too easy. When I was a boy I had to get up at 4 o'clock in the morning, make all the fires, milk four cows and feed a pen full of hogs and I had to be done by daylight. You've had it too easy, your mother is the one that's spoiled you. From this day on it's hands off with her; I'll be your boss. Now, don't let me hear more of this roving talk."

"Why, Pap, I haven't said one word about roving. Can't I do other work right here at home if I quit this, I don't have to rove, do I?"

"No, but that's the upshot of all this talk," persisted the father. "Now get down to your work; learn it."

"I can't," doggedly answered the boy. "Didn't you tell me yesterday my fingers were all thumbs? Didn't you tell me in front of all the hands that you were ashamed of me and that you didn't think it possible that a child of yours could be so ignorant and awkward."

The father stammered and colored. He was a most affectionate parent, he was truly sorry that he had humbled the pride of the boy. "Why, my son, the men all know I was only teasing you; they all know you are most intelligent. You can learn anything you set your hand to. Why, when you went to Dr. Playford to learn to be a doctor he informed me as did Bob, that they never knew anyone to learn Latin as quickly as you. You could tell us all the names for medicines. Why, Uncle Jake, Steve Gadd and Joe Gibbons told me the time they took you to Washington County to the turkey shoot, that they'd all been down sick if it hadn't been for you. They say it rained a cold rain and you all got wet. Uncle Jake is subject to the quinsy and he was on the verge of it. They tried the drug store and everywhere and they couldn't get nothing. Steve said you went to the drug store and got all they wanted, only you didn't ask for whiskey; you called it fermenting spirits. Steve said the druggist told him confidentially you ought to be a druggist, you told him things he didn't know before. Now, go at your work as you did at doctoring and you'll learn. It has been the regret of your mother's life that you did not learn to be a doctor. I've sometimes thought old Hare just pretended your medicine made him sick to get out of paying the bill. I don't think Dr. Playford cared one thing about it so far as you was concerned but the other doctors talked so about it he just had to let you go. I've always felt sorry about it because, if any of our family is taken down with a fever, Playford is the only fever doctor in town."

Arguments of this character occurred almost daily. Alfred grew more and more dissatisfied, the father more insistent. Alfred kept up his minstrel work, appearing ever and anon in amateur exhibitions. Folks kept pouring it into his ears: "Well, if I had your talent this town wouldn't hold me fifteen minutes; I'd take the boat for Pittsburg tonight. What does your father mean by holding you down in this way? Does your mother favor it? Why, your folks are standing in their own light. If I had a boy like you I'd hire him out and travel with him," was Shuban Lee's comment.

All this was not calculated to cool the ardor of an ambitious amateur. Alfred read the New York Clipper weekly. He wrote many letters to many minstrel managers to which he did not receive replies.

Charles Duprez, of Duprez and Benedict, answered one of Alfred's letters thusly:

DEAR SIR:

In answer to your letter—do you double in brass?

CHARLES DUPREZ.

Alfred read and re-read the letter and finally answered:

MR. CHARLES DUPREZ:

RESPECTED SIR: I do not double in brass or anything else. I'm a minstrel, not a contortionist.

ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

No reply ever came. Alfred concluded the minstrel field was overcrowded or managers would not have permitted him to remain idle, especially in view of the fact that he had offered to give their full performance, for as low as twenty dollars a month, washing and mending. To one manager he added a confidential P. S.: "If you are not doing very well I can put you on to a good thing, a panorama. I'm a panoramist."

Alfred turned his attention to acrobatics. Every spare hour was spent on the tan bark pile with Lint Dutton, James Todd Livingston, Tom White and Lash Hyatt. Lint Dutton was determined to learn bare-back riding. Sneaking his father's horse from the barn, he would endeavor to stand alone on the back of the animal, Alfred playing clown and Bindley Livingston ringmaster. Mr. Dutton, after Lint had fallen and nearly broken his back, locked up the horse. Lint determined to give up bare-back riding and practice the Indian style of horsemanship. Many are the persons who had narrow escapes from being run over by Lint as his horse galloped up and down the back streets of the town, wearing the old feather head-dress that Node wore in his attempts to fly.

Alfred and Bindley Livingston constructed a trapeze. Completed, it was suspended to the roof of the cow stable; the boys spent many hours practicing. The climax of the act, Livingston, the stronger of the two, hung by his knees on the little horizontal bar above, holding Alfred by the ankles both hanging head downwards, swinging to and fro, as does the pendulum of a clock; the limitations of the stable would not permit the swinging part of the performance. A large locust tree in Bowman's pasture lot, near Alfred's home, was selected as the best possible place to try out the double trapeze act.

From a limb of the tree, Hen Ragor, the assistant in the performance, suspended the trapeze. The news spread that there would be some wonderful acting in the old pasture lot, Saturday afternoon, always a holiday to every boy and girl in old Brownsville to go fishing, swimming, nutting or berrying. On this particular Saturday all the boys and girls hied themselves to the old pasture lot; nor was the gathering confined to the younger set; a few of the adults were attracted. They stood at a distance, viewing the doings; however, not one of them but had a vantage position.

As the exercises went along, Danny Gummert, George Pee, Denbow Simpson and Alf McCormick, drew nearer. Caroline Baldwin, seated on the fence, yelled: "Come in and look out, you can see better." This brought a laugh and a few of the elders outside of the pasture sauntered a little ways off only to come nearer as the applause and laughter grew louder.

Alfred had covered himself with all sorts of glory in the numerous numbers in which he had participated. Caroline Baldwin, who, with her brothers Clarke and Charley, occupied two entire private boxes, (two panels of fence), proclaimed during an intermission that Alfred was the greatest actor in the country; "it was just shameful he was held down when people all over the country were pantin' to see him do his showin'."

Lin declared: "Nobody in eny show thet's ben yere in years kin hol' a candul tu him; they can't tech him. He kin walk ontu his hans better en some peepul kin on thar feet." Here Lin cast a withering glance at Jack Beckley that would have sobered one less saturated.

Jack returned Lin's look with a vague grin, saying: "I'm drunk and glad of it."

Lin gave him a smart push as she ordered him to keep his distance: "I smell licker on yer close."

"Excuse me—I didn't—no—I hed—spilled eny—of hit." Jack seated himself on the grass, unheeding the jibes of the little boys and girls. He was a good natured tippler. In fact, he seemed pleased that his condition was furnishing fun for the crowd.

No blare of trumpet or beat of drum announced the coming of the death-defying gladiators; no eloquent orator was there to describe their deeds. Unheralded, unannounced, without applause or acclamation Alfred and Bindley emerged from their dressing room, Baldwin's barn. Crossing the narrow alley, climbing the fence they stood under the shade of the trapeze tree, the open-mouthed, craned neck cynosure of all eyes, excepting Jack Beckley's—he had gone to sleep.

The silence that greeted the duo was broken only by sotto voce remarks of Lin, taking a mental inventory of Alfred, or rather, his costume. He was attired in a red waist trimmed with beads, white tights, long, bright green, silk stockings tied with broad yellow ribbon garters, a big, double bow knot on the outside of each limb; a bright red nubia or neck comforter wound about his middle; no pumps, shoes or other covering on his feet.



The silence that greeted the appearance of Alfred was broken. Jack Beckley lying on the ground too listless and drunk to raise his eyes higher than Alfred's green stockings, noticed the great expanse of feet in them, seemingly larger by the spread of the loose stockings. He remarked to those near him: "Thar's a heap uf thet one doubled down on the groun'."

Lin spoke as if to herself: "Well, I'll be tee-to-tully durned. Ef thet harum scarum devul hain't got my nit drawurs on fur tites, an' they fit him like sassage guts that's too big fur the fillin'. An', an'," Lin craned her neck towards Alfred, "an', an', by jiggurs, ef he ain't a wearin' Mary's (the mother's) green silk stockin's she used tu dance an' frolik in when she was a gal; an' Aunt Lib's worked, beaded Jenny Lind waist; an' Lizzie's new red nubby woun' roun' his shad belly. Ef he ain't stole the yaller ribbon offen Sal Whitmire's weddin' bonnit, I'm blind. Well, jus' wate, jus wate. Ef thar ain't a nuther circus to home tonite it'll be bekase his daddy ain't well."

Alfred and Bindley bowed low, right and left, kissing their hands to the audience, then saluting the trapeze in turn. (This pantomime introduction they had copied from Mathews and Hunting, noted trapezists in those days.) However, the same salutes have been employed by all aerialists these many years, therefore Alfred and Bindley should not be charged with stealing the business of others.

Preparatory to ascending to the trapeze Alfred unwound the nubia from his waist, casting it on the ground. Lin grabbed it up with a look that seemed to say: "Thank Gawd, I'll get that anyhow."

Trapeze performers usually ascend to their rigging on a net webbing, hand over hand sailor fashion. Alfred and Bindley, after their bows and salutes, climbed up the trunk of the tree to the limb on which their trapeze was suspended. Coon like, they crawled out on the limb and lowered themselves to the trapeze.

They kissed their hands to the uplifted faces below. At an agreed signal they bent backward, beginning with the feats performed by all trapezists. After every trick the aerialists would come up smiling, seated on the lower bar, side by side. Turning themselves upside down—which is the clearest explanation that can be written—they hooked their feet over the short bar in the small swing above and hung motionless head downward with folded arms.

As they thus clung one of the yellow ribbons or garters on Alfred's limb became loosened. The long ribbon fluttered in the air, furling and unfurling it gracefully descended.

Lin reached up her hands to catch it, muttering through her set teeth: "I wonder ef he'll shed the rest uf his borryed plumes. I wish he wud. Stretchin' an' crawlin' about he'll bust 'em sure." And Lin looked at Alfred's limbs with an anxious expression: "Ef he does you kan't sew 'em an' I ain't got no yarn thet'll match tu darn 'em."

The last feat was the hanging head downward by Bindley, clasping Alfred by the ankles. Hen Ragor, with the aid of a rope cast over the lower bar, pulled the performers, backwards and forwards. When the proper momentum was gained Alfred released his hand hold on the bar. Henry was to hold the bar away from the swing of the human pendulum until Alfred clapped his hands. He was then supposed to slacken the rope in his hands permitting the bar to swing within the grasp of Alfred.

This was the rehearsed procedure to carry the thrilling feat to the proper climax. Henry swung the trapeze too forcibly, one end of the rope slipped out of his hands and pulled loose from the trapeze bar. The lower bar fouled in the branches of the tree.

Alfred was clapping his hands violently for the trapeze. Henry was endeavoring to cast the rope over the bar, his efforts resulting in failure after failure. Finally in his excitement he endeavored to cast the rope up to Alfred. The pendulum had nearly stopped swinging, and Alfred was waving his arms, clapping his hands and begging piteously for the big trapeze swing.

Bindley above was holding on to the boy below. He implored Alfred to climb up to him. Effort after effort was made by Alfred to do so, but he hung limp and helpless. He could not command sufficient strength to pull his body up. He clutched at Lin's unmentionables as he hung head downward. The earth seemed a long way from him and things on it upside down.

The boys below were yelling in their excitement, the girls had covered their faces, the grown folks, who had stood afar, rushed to the scene.

Never will Alfred forget the few moments he was suspended thus, nor will he fail to remember to his dying day the first message he received from the man above. There was a splash, an incipient shower of warmish liquid falling on Alfred's upturned chin. Alfred wiped it off with his hand; fearing it was blood he scanned it closely. He was greatly relieved when he discovered that it was tobacco juice. (Bindley always chewed when acting).

Following the juice came this message: "I can't hold you all day, come up here or I'll come down there."

Alfred made frantic grabs, clutches and wiggles to climb up, only to fall back, more helpless. Hen was making an effort to throw the rope to Alfred. Lin grabbed him. Snatching the rope from him, she shouted: "Clim' the tree, clim' the tree, loose the swing, ye dam fool." Hen had started up the tree. A flood of hot juice rained down on Alfred's upturned chin, flowing into his mouth.

Bindley, with clinched teeth, muttered: "If you get killed it's your own fault, I can't hold you any longer."

Alfred could see old Mrs. Wagner at an upstairs window waving a book at Kenney Shoup urging to the rescue. He could hear voices as if in the distance. He felt a lowering of his body. He felt himself rushing through space. He made an effort to look up, and then all was blank.

He had a numb feeling in his whole body. "Stan' back, stan' back, gin him air, wash thet tobakker juice off his face, hit luks like blud," were the first words he caught. His eyes were wide open.

"Pour water on his head; Lor' don't pour hit down his bosum, you'll ruin Lib's worked waist. Open the gate an' we'll carry him hum an' fetch a doctur, ef thar's no bones broke he may be hurt innerdly."

Alfred raised himself up. He looked up into the faces about him. "Where's Bindley?" were the first words he uttered.

"Oh, I'm all right," Alfred assured him, "we'll do it all right tomorrow, won't we Bindley?"

Bindley nodded his head, doubtfully. Alfred attempted to walk but would have fallen had not helping hands been stretched out, easing him down until he rested on all fours. He commanded all to release him: "Let me alone, I'm all right. Come on home with me, Bindley." Painfully, slowly he started, crawling toward the opened gate, over the spot where he had collected the ammunition that disbanded the torch-light parade; nor did he turn aside for anything. Not unlike a four-footed animal he made his way to the middle of the street. He attempted to arise. Again weakness, or pain, bore him down. Hands that were willing to assist him before he crawled through the cow pasture, were now held aloof.

Lin, as she saw him fall in the dust, said: "Well, ef he ain't a sight on airth. Kum on James Todd, help him hum; an' you boys strip him while I heat a kittle uf water, till we git him so the doctur kin handle him."

Alfred staggered to his feet again, Bindley and Charley Brashear supporting him on either side. Thus, the limping procession slowly moved homeward, the young ones and a few grown-up ones bringing up the rear. These latter were re-telling the story of the accident for the twentieth time, usually concluding with: "Bindley is a fool; he had further to fall than Alfred; he didn't have to fall, he could have just flopped Alfred over and turned him so he would have lit on his feet and let him go. No, dam if he didn't hold on 'til he petered out and down they both come like two bags of salt. Alfred hit full length, it's a wonder it hadn't busted him. Bindley lit sort of half standing, but he got right up and limped a little and it was all over with him, but tother one was knocked colder than a wedge."

Alfred had been feverish, hot. The great amount of water poured over him to revive him had run down his body, and the many pads in the maiden Aunt's garment absorbed the water. Alfred complained of feeling cold.

Someone whispered behind him: "That's a bad sign. When that Jones boy got throwed off a horse, nobody thought he wus hurt much but he turned cold just afore he died."

Aaron Todd stood at his gate with a cynical smile spreading over the small expanse of face not hidden by whiskers. He viewed the plight of the boy with evident pleasure. As Alfred, with the assistance of his companions, entered the gate leading to his home, Todd elevated his nose, and turning about as though to enter his house, sneeringly muttered: "Dad-burn him; he got a dose of his own medicine. Ho, ho, ho; chickens comes home to roost, don't they?"

Lin led the way, as she commanded. "Kum on in through the kitchen, it won't du fur ye tu track over the front room carpet."

With bowed head, leaning on his companions, Alfred limped to the kitchen door. Bindley and Charley disrobed him. Placing a big, tin vessel in the middle of the kitchen floor, they soused Alfred into it.

There was not a bath room, private or public, in Brownsville in those days. Wash tubs were used in winter, the creek and river in summer. Once there came an oldish, high-toned lady from Richmond. She lodged with Isaac Vance at the Marshall House. He bought a new carpet and other fine furnishings for her room. It was an unusually warm summer. One day Vance noticed the colored porter carrying a tub to the lady's room: "Yer, yer, where yer goin' with thet tub?" demanded the proprietor of the hotel. "I'se jes carryin' it up tu Mrs. So and So's room," answered the colored man. "What's she goin' to do with thet tub this hot weather" inquired the landlord. "I reckon she's gwine to wash herself; she sed she's gwine to take a bath, I ges dat's washin' herself." "Huh!" snorted Vance, "not in this house in this weather. Ef it wus winter I wouldn't mind it, but I won't have her floppin' aroun' up thar like a dam ole goose, splashin' water all over thet new carpet. Take thet tub back to the cellar, an' you go up an' tell her ef she needs a wash to go to the crik like I do."

Alfred was put to bed. The doctor, after careful examination, declared no bones were broken, there were bad bruises and might be internal injuries. However, it would require several days to fully determine, meanwhile the patient must be kept very quiet.

Lin advised the doctor: "He lit mos' settin'; ef he'd hed a littul further tu fall he'd lit flat on his settin' down attitudes."

A bottle of liniment was ordered, and Alfred rubbed often with the preparation. John Barnhardt and Cousin Charley volunteered to sit up with Alfred the first night. Alfred regained his good humor, laughed and jested over the termination of the trapeze act until all agreed he was in no danger whatever. "Why, he's jes carryin' on same es he allus does; hit nevur fazed him," Lin assured the mother.

However, when the doctor called the following morning and Lin confidentially advised him that the boy was all right and he needn't lay abed another minute, the doctor dissented, insisting that the patient remain quiet, at least another twenty-four hours.

Jim Mann agreed to sit up the next night. The father requested Jim to get someone to sit up with him for company. It was getting late, Lin was dozing, Alfred urging her to go to bed. There was a knock on the door; both felt sure it was Jim. Lin opened the door; there stood Jack Beckley and in about the same condition as the day before.

Lin hesitated to admit him. Jack explained that Jim had invited him to sit up with Alfred. He said: "Jim and Dave Adams had a quarrel and Jim threw a pot of white paint on Adams, covering him from head to foot. Jim don't know whether he will be arrested or not; he does not want to be arrested and locked up at night when he can't give bail, so he sent me to look after Alfred."

Lin, when Jack's attention was elsewhere, whispered to Alfred: "Don't close a eye tunite, sleep tumorrer; ye can't tell what a whusky drinkin' man'll du, thar's no dependence in 'em."

Jack was a most attentive nurse, in the early hours of the night at least. He hovered over the bed at the slightest move of the patient. He insisted on using the liniment almost constantly, declaring he would rub all the soreness out of Alfred's bruises before morning. Alfred, half asleep, remembered Jack saying something about looking for more liniment.

Jack left the house ere any of the family arose. Alfred was loud in his praise of Jack's kindness and declared him the best hand in the sick room he had ever seen. The mother was sorry he went off without breakfast. The father said he would hand him a piece of money when he met him.

Alfred insisted that he had entirely recovered; Jack had rubbed all the soreness out of his hurts and he would not lie longer in bed. The father and mother commanded he lie until the doctor assured them danger had passed. The doctor called, and Alfred assured him he was all well and wanted to get up and go to work that very day. The doctor said: "Well, you ought to know how you feel. Have you any soreness in your joints or muscles?"

"No, sir; Jack Beckley rubbed all the soreness out of me last night."

"Turn over, let me see if there is any evidence of bruises." The doctor seemed deeply interested. Alfred could not see his face but he seemed to be critically examining him. He would tap various places on the bruised part of Alfred's anatomy. "Does that hurt? Does that pain you?" would be the question after each tap, to which Alfred would invariably answer: "No, sir; no, sir."

After studying a few moments the doctor passed into another part of the house; he was evidently conferring with the mother. Returning he again took Alfred's temperature, examining the tongue even more carefully than previously. The doctor remarked, as if to himself: "It's curious. Did you sleep; have you no pain?" Again he turned Alfred over and gazed long at the parts of the body supposed to be bruised.

Alfred began to get interested: "What's the matter, Doc; have you found any bones broken?"

"No, no, nothing of that kind. But the bruises; have you no soreness."

Alfred assured him that he had not.

"I will be back in an hour," was the conclusion of the doctor's instructions to Lin.

When Lin entered the room Alfred's first anxious query was: "What's the matter with the doctor, he wants to make you sick whether you are or not. I'm going to get out of this bed this day; I'll not lay here any longer."

Here the mother entered cautioning Alfred to remain entirely quiet. "I'm going over to see grandmother; she is not well. I will bring your father home with me; the doctor will return by that time and we will know what to do for you."

Later Mrs. Wagner came, a good-natured, motherly, old German woman, a near neighbor. Among her neighbors, she was esteemed as one whose knowledge was invaluable in the sick room. She insisted upon examining Alfred's condition. Although he insisted he was all right the old lady was permitted to examine his bruises. She left the room, returning soon with a large, hot poultice, applying it. Alfred grew rapidly worse.

The doctor soon returned. At every pressure of his fingers he found a new sore spot. "Does that hurt?" "Yes, sir," would be the answer from Alfred. Warm teas were administered, cold towels were placed on his head, and hot poultices on other parts of his anatomy. Alfred feebly acknowledged he was feeling very badly.

The father and mother came and with them the grandmother. When alone, the father advised Alfred that his body was a solid mass of bruises, that the flesh had turned black and blue. Alfred heard Lin whisper something about "mortification hed set in an' the doctor feared blood pizen."

The family were at dinner—Alfred had been placed upon a diet of squab broth, none of the flesh, just the broth—Alfred quietly arose and, with the aid of the big looking glass, (mirrors had not been discovered as yet, in Brownsville), and a contortion feat such as he had never attempted previously, he scanned the bruised parts. Lin's worst fears seemed confirmed; all his person reflected in the looking glass was black as ink, as he expressed it.

Good Mrs. Wagner, with the doctor's permission, continued applying the hot poultices. Alfred's misery increased near night when the nurses advised him to calm himself as the bruised blood was rapidly disappearing. Alfred urged the good woman on by declaring the poultices were getting cold, although they had been applied but a moment or so.

Uncle Ned came to sit up. He greatly increased Alfred's nervousness by his attempts at consolation. He showed Alfred the error of his ways, assuring him he might have been killed outright and that his foolish ambitions to become an actor would probably lay him up for weeks, that it would cost his father a lot of money and possibly leave Alfred with his health impaired for a year to come.

Alfred, to get relief, implored the uncle to bring in more poultices. He kept the good uncle so busy his lecture was greatly interrupted.

In answer to the doctor's first question: "How do you feel this morning?" Alfred replied: "Very weak; I had no sleep last night."

The doctor examined the patient carefully. "Does that hurt?" "No, sir," answered the sufferer. "Well, you're coming around all right; the blood is circulating and the bruises are much better, your flesh is assuming its natural color."

"Doctor, I think that liniment had something to do with my trouble, don't you? It nearly burned me up and the turpentine in it smelled so I could hardly stand it. I told Jack when he was rubbing me it felt like he was raising blisters."

The doctor interrupted the patient by hastily correcting him as to there being any turpentine in the liniment.

"I know there was, I've worked with turpentine too long not to know the smell of it," persisted Alfred.

Lin also declared the whole house smelled so of turpentine she was compelled to change the bed clothes. "Ye kan't tell what a man thet drinks licker like water mought take intu his hed to rub ontu a body. I wanted tu hist him when he fust kum, but no, Jim Mann sent him an' he mus' stay."

"Where's that bottle of liniment I sent here," demanded the doctor.

Lin opened the closet door and handed out two bottles. One of them contained a few drops of an amber colored fluid. "This is the lotion I prescribed," said the doctor, and he poured a few drops of the liquid in the hollow of his hand. Rubbing his hands briskly he held both palms over his nostrils. Sniffing it he drew his hands back, his eyes watering. "There's no turpentine in that mixture." He held his hands over Lin's nostrils and triumphantly asked if she could detect the odor of turpentine. Lin admitted that it had no scent of turpentine. The doctor held his hands over Alfred's face: "Where's your turpentine? You're a good judge of turpentine and you work in it every day and cannot detect the odor of it from alcohol, wintergreen and chloroform." The doctor laughed as he seldom laughed.

Calling the mother the doctor laughingly poked a great deal of fun at Lin: "I wouldn't want Alfred or Lin to buy turpentine for me." He kept the fun going by reminding Alfred that Jeffries (the father's competitor) was probably correct when he spread the report that the father used benzine in his paint instead of turpentine. This was a center shot at Alfred. The report had been circulated that his father used benzine to mix his paint with. During the war the price of turpentine was almost prohibitive and benzine was used by many painters. It was not a good substitute and it was a common thing for one contractor to injure another by circulating the report that his competitor used benzine.

Raising himself up in bed Alfred stoutly reiterated that it was turpentine he smelled in the liniment.

Lin said: "Durned ef ye kin fool me in the smell uf enything; my snoot nevur lies. I not only smelt hit but ye kud taste hit."

The mother added her observations to Alfred's and Lin's insisting the room smelled as strongly of turpentine as though it had just been painted. "I was compelled to open the windows," she said.

The doctor could not combat the new evidence, it was too direct. "Well, if there was turpentine rubbed on this boy, Jack Beckley brought it here. Have you any turpentine in the house he could have gotten at?"

The mother and Lin both declared there was not a drop of turpentine in the house.

The doctor left with orders to continue the poultices.

Bindley called with his coat pockets full of green apples. Emptying the unmatured fruit on the bed, he cautioned Alfred to eat salt on them and they wouldn't hurt him. Bindley was insulted when the green apples were thrown out by Lin, with the remark: "Huh! He's got enough pizen in his sistum without loadin' him up with worms."

The turpentine story was detailed to the father with the benzine reflection, and he was hot under the collar. He sent Bindley forthwith to locate Jack Beckley and bring him to the house: "But don't say one word to him about what we want him for."

The report had spread that Alfred was in a serious condition. Many were the callers and many the comments on the accident. Mrs. Todd said: "Well, I can't understand why it was that the Livingston boy, who was the higher up and fell the farthest, escaped injury, and Alfred was hurt so badly. They say Livingston could have saved himself the fall. They say he risked his life to save Alfred. I can't just understand how Alfred got hurt so badly; it seems like a visitation of Providence; you know Alfred has been so forward in his devilment with other folks."

Lin flared up as she answered: "An' I kan't fur the life uf me figger out how Bindley fell so much higher down then Alfurd an' didn't break his back. But judgin' by the terbakker juce he spilled on Alfurd afore he fell he mus' dropped his quid an' then fell on hit an' thet broke his fall."

There is no denying the fact that the accident made Bindley the hero and Alfred the goat. Peter Hunt said: "Bindley was prompted by that sense of duty one boy feels toward another. He held Alfred until he could hold no longer, and when strength gave out, he fell with Alfred. It was an act of heroism."

Peter said there were two bodies falling with equal velocity; if one had fallen on top of the other the concussion would not have been great.

Johnny Tunstall said of Alfred: "Huh! The munkey devil; ye kudn't kill him with a hax."

George Fee expressed his sorrow thusly: "It's a great pity they fell; I tole Susan so, for when they wus up in them swings they wus nearer Heavun un they'll ever git again."

Aaron Todd pushed his whiskers over the garden fence, inquiring of Lin as to Alfred's condition: "He's purty badly hurt I fear," he began, and, with a tone that betokened anything but sympathy: "Hurt internally I reckon. He'll hardly pull through ef he hes blood pizening; I never knowed anybody thet hed hit internally thet evur got up again."

"Oh, my!" and Lin pretended to be greatly surprised, "Oh, my, Alfurd's all right. Why he's up an' about. Ef you're goin' out on a torch-lite percession soon ye'll hear from him." Todd's face clouded, pulling his whiskers over the fence into his own yard, muttered: "The luck of sum peepul beats hell."

The doctor and Jack arrived. "What kind of liniment did you apply to Alfred's bruises?" sternly demanded the doctor.

"I dunno," quietly answered Jack, "your liniment I reckon."



"Was there turpentine in the liniment you used?" continued the doctor, not regarding Jack's reply.

"Well I should say; hit nearly burnt my han' off, hit tuk all the skin off twixt the fingers; my han' wus jus' like when I hed the itch. I've been greasin' hit with hog's lard an' elder bark ever since," and Jack pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it up to the doctor's view.

The doctor bent over the hand; it was discolored with small blackish spots. "Where did you get the liniment; did you bring it with you?" more sternly demanded the doctor.

"No, sir, I didn't bring hit with me," somewhat impudently answered Jack, "I'm no hopathekary; I got the liniment right thar," pointing to the closet door, "an' thar's the very bottle," continued Jack as he opened the closet door.

Taking the large bottle off the shelf with both hands he passed it to the doctor who shook and uncorked it. As he was in the act of smelling it the father entered the room. Turning toward him the doctor, with his nose still at the neck of the bottle, inquired: "John, where did you get this stuff, this liniment?"

"Liniment?" the father repeated, as he reached for the bottle. "Liniment? Why, doc, that's not liniment. Who said it was? Why, I've been experimenting with that stuff nearly a year. That's not liniment, thet's walnut stain; I can stain anything to resemble walnut. We—"

The remainder of the father's recommendation was lost in the laugh. Alfred kicked the bedclothes over the headboard; the women-folks ran, the doctor did not remain to see Jack remove the mortification from Alfred's body.

When Jack had scrubbed, rinsed and dried the supposedly affected portion of Alfred's anatomy, he assured him the black and blue color had been supplanted by a redness of the skin that was remarkable. "Hit's es red es scarlet," was Jack's comparison.

"Well for Heavens' sake, Jack, keep it quiet or they'll be doctoring me for scarlet fever," cautioned Alfred.

As the doctor walked up the path toward the front gate Lin shouted after him: "Doctur, ye kin tell ole Jeffres thet John uses turpentine in his liniment ef he don't in his paints."



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Thank God for the man who is cheerful, In spite of life's troubles, I say; Who sings of a brighter tomorrow Because of the clouds today.

Then came a letter—whatever you may be, your parents were probably more so about the same age; but the world is wiser now than then, the boy world at least. The writer had heard of Alfred and his wonderful talents; he was organizing a minstrel show and would like to negotiate with him. The new organization would be one of the most complete in the country; it would be an honor to anyone to be connected with it. Benedict would head the company.

Duprez and Benedict's was one of the leading minstrel companies of the period. How was Alfred to know the Benedict who was to head the new show was not Lew Benedict?

Alfred engaged with the Great Benedict Minstrels. Rehearsals were called for 10 a. m. daily, but were generally called off until 3 p. m., by which time the principals were in such a jolly mood they did not require rehearsals; they felt funny enough to entertain royalty.

The manager, or more properly, the angel, for angel he was, seemed more desirous of making a reputation in bar rooms than with his show.

Alfred learned the minstrels were being organized to invade the oil regions where money grew on derricks. After subduing the oil territory the angel was supposed to become so favorably impressed with the possibilities of the enterprise, augmenting the company, he would treat the larger cities to a sight of the mighty monarch of the minstrel world.

Doctor McClintock and wife lived near Rouseville, Pa. Childless, they adopted a boy, John W. Steele. Prior to the discovery of coal oil, the worn out fields of that locality were valueless. Now broad acres were as valuable as the diamond fields of South Africa. Never in the wildest days of the gold excitement in California was money more rapidly accumulated or squandered than in the oil regions of Pennsylvania.

Johnny Steele fell heir to all the lands of Dr. McClintock. Wealth rolled in upon him; he entered upon a career of extravagance. He spent thousands of dollars daily, he literally cast money to the winds. His notoriety spread to the furthermost limits of the country; the daily papers, the weeklies, the monthlies printed exaggerated accounts of his profligacy.

Skiff and Gaylord's Minstrels crossed the path of "Coal Oil Johnny," as Steele had been dubbed. Lew Gaylord made a great ado over the spendthrift. Steele accompanied the minstrels for a few days; their pathway was one wide streak of hilarity. When hotel men complained of the boisterous behavior of Steele the coal oil spendthrift bought the hotel for their stay.

"Coal Oil Johnny" was the sensation of the day. He bought the minstrel boys hats, coats, shoes, trunks and that most coveted minstrel decoration, a diamond.

The minstrels flourished for a few months. The public rebuked the unenviable notoriety of "Coal Oil Johnny." The minstrels steadily declined. "Coal Oil Johnny" went down with them. His money gone, he was made treasurer of the troupe his prodigality had ruined. When the ending came there was none so poor as he. Hotels where he had spent thousands, refused him even a night's lodging. He went back to the farm; the acres he had cultivated were covered with oil derricks; the friends he knew had departed; he was almost a stranger save for the notoriety he had acquired. Unabashed he seemed to take a pride in the spendthrift race he had run. He drove a baggage wagon; afterwards he became the baggage master at the depot in Rouseville.

* * * * *

There never was a full rehearsal of the minstrels ere they embarked for Parker's Landing on the good boat "Jim Rees." There was no railroad to the oil regions from Pittsburgh in those days. The Allegheny River was navigable to Venango, opposite the present Oil City.

Two members of the minstrels, song and dance men, took a dislike to Alfred. Others soon became intimate with him, they enjoyed his humorous narratives, particularly his experiences with Node Beckley and the panorama. The two members mentioned exhausted the new boy's patience and he invited both to fistic combat. His challenges were laughed at; the jibes and jokes became more and more insulting.

Jealousy, that canker that eats and festers at the hearts of actors as it does at those of no other humans, was the motive for their actions.

Alfred had introduced a bit of acrobatic comedy in the closing farce that was the laughing hit of the minstrels. Owing to the lack of acts, the stage manager ordered Alfred to put on a single turn. This act preceded the turn of the song and dance men. The singing of Alfred took with the oil men greatly. The two who followed were not even fair singers, their efforts fell flat; they had the stage manager change them on the bill. The change put them just before Alfred. When advised of the change he reminded the stage manager that he went on only for accommodation in the olio and flatly refused to follow the song and dance men. The angel ordered the two song and dance men on in their usual position, following Alfred. Alfred rehearsed a dance secretly. He finished his singing turn with this dance, introducing all his known acrobatic stunts. This rough dance simply set the oil men wild and the two worthies fell flatter at every performance.

No philanthropist of the "Coal Oil Johnny" sort had discovered the minstrels as yet, but the path of their travels was one of nightly carousals. The two dancers were assisting the manager-angel in scattering the money that came in. The people were hungry for amusements; hence the tour thus far had been one of profit.

The manager and his companions never went to bed when there was another place to go. It was one of the pass-times of the two dancers to enter Alfred's room noiselessly, pull him violently out of bed and steal out in the darkness. In one of their playful moods they carried Alfred's wearing apparel to another part of the hotel.

Alfred warned the stage manager that he intended to resent this treatment. However, there was no cessation to the indignities the two put upon the young minstrel.

But like all so-called ladders, they could not stand the gaff. After a particularly keen onslaught upon Alfred with their tongues, in which several of his weaknesses were commented upon, Alfred got back at them: "I don't have to cater to the manager to hold my job; I'm drawing my wages on my work, not on my cheek," was Alfred's retort.

* * * * *

At Titusville, a banquet was tendered the minstrels by the landlord of the hotel.

Many speeches were delivered, good, bad and very bad—all predicting the perpetual success of the minstrel enterprise. There was a lull in the gaiety. The toastmaster announced as there was no prepared program all would be expected to say something. He thereupon introduced one of Alfred's tormentors.

The fellow arose, cleared his throat and made a laborious attempt to speak a few intelligible words, concluding with an indelicate story. The landlord tiptoed across the room closing the door that none might overhear. With a maudlin leer he followed the landlord with his eyes, as he shouted: "Thanks, Landy, this ain't a ladies' story." As he sat down there was neither laughter nor applause.

The toastmaster called upon Alfred. He was overcome with bashfulness and did not arise until several urged him to say something. "Get up, get up," urged the two men opposite. Alfred arose, so confused he could not articulate. A voice shouted: "Tell them about the panorama."

Alfred began Palmer's lecture. It had no application to the occasion, but few understood it, there was an oppressive silence. Alfred had no idea of when to cease talking, and would probably have given the whole lecture, had not Bill Young, a musician, one who took a very great interest in him, seized him by the arm, shaking him forcibly: "Here, here; you forgot the song, you promised to sing for us." Bill continued: "Gentlemen: Alfred will now give you a correct imitation of an old maid singing 'Barbara Allen.'"

He gave the imitation so cleverly that the guests applauded again and again. As he ended the song, his eyes closed, imitating the old maid, something soft and mushy struck him on the breast of his white shirt. The juice spattered into his face and over those near him.

A glance at the mushy mess, Alfred's eyes fell on the two men opposite him. One was looking apologetically at the gentleman next Alfred who was wiping his face with his napkin; the other laughing tantalizingly.

Retaliation was speedy. It was not two seconds after the decayed tomato landed on Alfred until a large platter of soft salad of some sort, a sugar bowl and several smaller dishes were landing just where aimed.

One of Alfred's tormentors lay upon the floor, his face and vest literally covered with salad and other cold lunch. The other was making for the door, dodging plates and cups that flew perilously near his head.

Alfred, being the swifter, soon overtook the fleeing man. There was a short struggle, and Alfred's well directed blows took all the fight out of him; he begged for mercy.

The landlord led Alfred to the parlor, commanding him to keep quiet and not cause further disturbance.

Alfred remained in the parlor for what seemed to him a long time. Finally, the landlord returned to advise the man struck with the salad plate was pretty badly cut and they thought best to get a doctor. He further stated the other one had complained to the police.

"The coward," sneered the landlord, "I wish we had let you give it to him; he would have had something to complain of. However, the chief is a good friend of mine and I think I can fix it so you will not be locked up."

Alfred's first thought was, what will the folks at home say should he be thrown into jail?

The chief of police and members of the company and others crowded into the parlor. The chief, one of those officials who felt his importance greatly, assumed to try the case then and there.

"Have you had any fights before?"

"Yes, sir, thousands of them," answered Alfred. He was under the impression the question covered his entire life. Everybody in the room laughed.

"No, I had reference to a fight with the parties whom you assaulted here tonight," continued the officer.

Alfred was just a little ashamed of the admission and entered into an explanation: "I never tried to fight them before, though they have done everything they could to worry me. Ever since I joined the show it has been one insult after another. I could scarcely keep my hands off them only I was afeared they would double team on me. I'd had it out long ago but for that," and as Alfred talked he warmed up.

"Hold on," the chief interrupted, "do not incriminate yourself. Did either of these men ever offer you violence?"

"No, they was afraid to, they're both cowards. I will fight it out with either of them right now." Alfred was angry; the old Brownsville way of settling such disputes was all he thought of.

The chief remarked to those near him: "I feel sorry for this boy, owing to the fact that they have tormented him;" he turned to Alfred, "I do not feel sorry for them nor wish to protect them, yet that is no legal excuse for your assault upon them."

Someone came forward with this proposition, that inasmuch as they all belonged to one family, that they shake hands all around, call everything square and go on about their business.

"Well, if the party will withdraw the charge of felonious assault it's all right with me. I don't get nothing out of it nohow," was the police officer's reply.

"Get them together," was the suggestion made by several. Alfred interfered by saying: "I'm willing to get together or do anything that's fair but I'm not going to travel with this gang of rowdies another day."

The chief nudged him to cease and whispered: "Then they'll put you in jail."

"Well, I'll put them in jail, too," retorted Alfred.

"What charges will you prefer against them; you stated you had never had trouble with them before?"

"But look what they have done to me," persisted Alfred. "They have plagued me until I couldn't have a minute's peace of mind, and then they hit me with a rotten tomattus as big as a gourd, why—?"

The chief here interrupted Alfred to inform him that in law a rotten tomato was not considered a dangerous weapon.

"Well, if anybody would hit you with a rotten tomattus, I know what you'd do; you'd shoot 'em, that's what you'd do."

"Why, there was no tomattuses on the table; I can prove it by the landlord."

"Them fellers went to the slop barrel and fished it out; didn't I smell old sour swill on it. Why the smell of that tomattus would made a dog sick."

Whether it was Alfred's anger, emphasized by his smacking his hands together, his hurried speech, or the description of the condition of the tomato, the laughter that convulsed all seemed to make him more indignant.

With heightened voice and more forcible gestures he continued: "If I do live in a little town, I've been away from home before, and I won't let no son-of-a-gun ride over me even if he is as big as the side of a house. I've got a home; I've got good people; I can go to them and I won't travel another day with a pack of drunken rowdies. You can do with me as you please. You say there's no law agin heavin' rotten tomattuses at a person in a banquet. What kind of law have you got in Titusville? If anybody would hit another with a tomattus at the dinner table in Brownsville they'd beat hell out of him quicker'n you could say 'Jack Robinson.'"

The remainder of Alfred's forcible, if not eloquent, speech was drowned by laughter. Half a dozen present volunteered to go his bail.

Numerous attempts were made in the early Sunday morning to influence Alfred to continue his travels with the troupe. To all arguments he gave the same answer: "No; I'll not travel further with a lot of drunken rowdies."

With all sorts of promises, a raise of salary, promotion, and other alluring inducements, they failed to move Alfred. Finally as do all cajolers, the manager endeavored to threaten the boy into following his wishes. But with no better results.

"I would walk home before I would travel another day with you," was the parting shot as the manager left the room, swearing he would have Alfred in jail and keep him there.

The injured man swore out a warrant for Alfred. Captain Ham came forward promptly and signed the bail bond.

The Captain was to open a summer garden or park a few days later. As Alfred had no previous acquaintance with the gentleman, he has often thought the deep interest evinced by the genial Captain was influenced by the two weeks' engagement offered and accepted by Alfred to appear in the park.

In so far as the writer's knowledge goes, this summer park in Titusville was the first of it's kind in this country. Titusville is renowned. Rockefeller's career began there. Titusville was the birthplace of the summer park and the Standard Oil Company.

The minstrels left Titusville with diminished forces; four remained behind. After a few nights more of feverish hilarity the company disbanded without money or friends.

Thus early in life the fact was impressed upon Alfred that the drunkard is an annoyance to sociability; without judgment, without civility, the drunkard is an object to be avoided in every walk of life. The drunkard is a detriment in business; a disgrace to his friends; the shame and sorrow of his wife and children. He is shunned by even those who profit by his excesses.

At a banquet in Chicago last year Alfred was confused by someone shouting: "Al, tell them about your panorama experience; there won't be any tomatoes thrown."

He could not get his mind off the interruption. As the guests were departing a gentleman passed his card; the name was not familiar. Alfred was passing on when the gentleman said: "Al, don't you remember me? We attended a banquet thirty-nine years ago. You were served with tomatoes; I got a dose of salad or some such stuff. I didn't mind the salad but the plate kind of jarred me."

Here he pushed back a lock of red hair streaked with gray, exhibiting a small scar high up on the temple. Alfred recognized him. To relieve the situation Alfred inquired as to the whereabouts of Dick, the other song and dance man. "Oh, he is, or was, working in a saw-mill in Williamsport. I haven't seen him in thirty years. Al, I didn't throw that tomato. Come over to the store, I want to talk to you."

* * * * *

Fort Duquesne, afterward Pittsburgh, was builded at the confluence of the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers where they form the Ohio, called by the villagers the "Point"—a natural site for a beautiful village such as Fort Duquesne was at the time we write of. It was indeed a sight on which the eye might gaze enraptured, with ever changing beauties to charm it. The high hills on every side cast their shades over the peaceful village for, notwithstanding the prefix "Fort", there was no semblance of soldiery, cannon or war, about the peaceful place.

The hills of smiling green rising abruptly in places, gently at others, towering above the rivers, seemed to look down upon the village and its peoples. The hills crowned with lofty trees and climbing vines, the trees swaying in the breezes seemed to be bowing approval at the tranquil scene below.

The locust, the sumac, the oak, the walnut, the dogwood, the haw, the red berries, glowing in the eyes of the boys of the village, and as impelling to them as the red lights that later glowed on the Anheuser Busch plants in the city that supplanted the village of Fort Duquesne.