THE GREEN MEMORANDUM.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXII, Issue 13603, 24 November 1904, Page 4

THE GREEN MEMORANDUM.

(By EDWARD BOLTWOOD.)

CHAPTER I. Neilson jerked his bullet-shaped head toward the stenographer in tho editor’s office. “ If it’s all the same to you,” he hinted. “Certainly. May I trouble you, Miss Ferris?” said Gallatin. Alisa Ferris closed the door ostentatiously behind her. She had been sent out of the room scores of times during tho fortnight which was tho culminating period of thf “Tribune’s” fight for municipal reform in Riverburg. Tha young editor received many callers who wished to see him alone — professional politicians, shame-faced gaolbirds, earnest business men, saloon-keepers, police officials, and ministers of tho gospel. Ual Neilson was not of the last class. Tho visitor seated himseif without an invitation. It was earlv in a .Time evening. Koilson was a short, tolbouo individual of about forty, with a glistening red moustache and fishy eyes. Gallatin knew him by a reputation as unsavoury as the pun- . gent odour of bad whisky which now enj veloped his person. j “I’m afraid my time is short, Mr Neilson.” 1 “ Oh, we’ll fix that,” said Neilson snave- ( It. Ho tapped his imitation Panama hat . with a grimy finger, on which- diamonds ' glittered. ‘ We’ll fix all that, .Mr Gallatin. You'll find plenty of time for me, I guess!” The manager of the “ Tribune ' scowled. “Well?” ho said. “Well,” returned the politician, “I’ll nut it plain. I’ve corns to arrange for tills 1 paper to sheet off. To quit. To let up : on the boys over to the City Hall." | “To—what?” exclaimed the editor, j He laughed blankly at this off-hand disI posal of a crusade which marked for him the high tide of his career, and scrutinised Neilson with more attention. The whisky was insistent and explanatory. Gallatin turned to his desk, again. “ You’d better come another day, Mr Neilson," ha suggested politely, but across his shoulder. “ This day’ll do, sir!” exploded the visitor. “ By thunder, I’ll make it do!" “ Oh ! in ttot, cose ” —Gallatin reached for tbe call bell—“ in that case, we’ll terminate the present interview at once.” “oust a minute,” sswd Neilson, rising and talking rapidly. “You’re a oast-iron reformer, ain’t you? You’re after the political crooks without feor or favour, ain’t you? Do you know what I’ve got in my pocket?” “I do not,” admitted Gallatin,, “and I don’t want to.” “ I’ve got fate only evidence of the r oftenest steal this city government ever seem!" declaimed Neilson-. “ it’s yotirs-—on certain terms. And if it isn’t yours-, it's tho ’Morning Eagle’s.’” Gallatin smiled at the idea of the “ Eagle,” a ring organ, printing eu»h evidence, but he drummed'on Iris dcisk with, some display of interest. Neilson leaned forward impressively. “ This here evidence,” ho said, “ proves that- in ’73 a steal was made out of the Riverburg city treasury, and by who?” He drawled the syllables. “ By Mis-ter Dennis Fitz-ger-'aM, E-squire, tie owner of this nowsjwper. The owner of ” Gallatin rang the bell. “ Show this gentleman to the elevator,” he instructed- the office boy, dipped a pen in- tho ink-well, and dated a letter. “ I know where tha elevator -is,” said Neilson, waving a. pudgy hand.. The boy grinned uncertainly and then retired. “ See here. Gallatin,”. Neilson resumed l , “you’can’t bluff me in this way. If you don’t follow up this information I give you, you brand yourself a fake reformer—down on some grafters and easy on others. What's been jour shout? ‘Let all public robbers be showed up,’ you jay. ‘ Hew to the line. Turn on tho lig-fyt, regardless of where, it strikes!’ Well, here's a chance to turn on light, -and strong light, too. Ain't it- your duty to take it up? Your duty, bey? Or are you an ordinary good government faker —under a- boss, same's anybody?” Ho waved a’green' document, something in the manner of a- fencer challenging an. adverravy. Gallatin stared at hie mottled pen- | holder. Ho was aware, that the sowmdneJ ! bad touched a .spring of action, and Ned'con,, 1 knowing bis man. was aware c-f it also. “Ain’t- it your duty?” ha reiterated. “You needn't believe me alone. Ask Fitzgerald about the water-works deal he made with Slcsb in ’73. Ask 'him -about tbs green memorandum. Tell him I ain’t peeped. Nobody knows about it, except- me and l you and him. I found it yesterday amongst- old Sloss’s junk. Want to read it?” Gallatin pushed hack his chair and' stood up. ~ “ No,” said he. “ I don’t talk with blackmailers.” “Ob, that’s all right!” chuck-ltd Neilson affably. “See wtot Fitzgerald says. You can ’phone me to-night at Lynch's place.” Ho paused with (his fingers on the doorknob as a. press rumbled heavily in the distance. “ I calculate tho ‘ Tribune ’ will change bar reform tuns- come morning!" ho concluded, CHAPTER 11. Gallatin went on with his writing. He ’ was a tall young follow, wiry and healthful. An office boy dashed into t(h© ’ room and plumped a. roll of wet proof at Ga.Ua-ti-n’s elbow. It- was tho report of the Riverburg Public Library, of which Deuaue Fitzgerald was the president and chief financial reliance. The editor . hud down “his pen. Mr Fitzgerald had directed that, tho report should’ be seait to him when it was in- type. “I’ll take that proof up there- myself,” said Gallatin. Whereupon ho frowned, being the sort of man who hates self-deception, however small He knew well enough that the real reason of his visit to Mr Fitzgerald waa to ccar away keilson’s insinuations immediately. Gallatin was that sort of man, i too-. ;; He. tucked tho unfinished latter into. « drawer out of which, as he unlocked, it, the face of Honora Fitzgerald smiled up *b ham from a little photograph. Gallatin, looked at the picture thoughtfully. He locked the drawer, spoke a word to his assistant; and emerged into Ihei street. _ . Riverburg is oite of the smaller cities of New England. Gallatin had lived there nearly a year, ever since- ho bad invested his patrimony in thci ‘ Tribune.’ The ‘ Tribune ’ was a, losing venture. Honora s father had- advanced- money- to the editor, securing himself rigorously, at Gallatin’s request. Gallatin was stung by a. sense of commercial failure until he made the newspaper a flashing and effective weapon m the local fight lor political purity. Then he became thoroughly happy. Ho was secretly very proud of his ideals, of his white and unsullied standards. Honora Fitzgerald was equally proud of them, but Gallatin did not know this. Hs dared to dream that some time ho might know it, 1 and that was all. I Gallatin paused at a street corner oppo- ' site tha spacious hospital which_ Mr Fitzgerald had endowed in memory of his wife. Gallatin had once been cared for there when tho strain of work and worry temporarily broke him down. Ho never passed the building without feeling the lilt of a wave of i/ratitudc. The Fitzgerald residence was a. small, oldfashioned house, in no way dissimilar from tho other dwellings on the quiet block. Gallatin was ushered by a maid servant into the cosy sitting-room. I CHAPTER HI. ’ “ Hello, Gallatin !” said Dennis _ Fitzgerald from the armchair. “ We don t look for you evenings. I’ll call Nollie—oh, tno report, e-li? You wont smoke? Well, you know my tobacco—mostly sumac! ‘ Old Dennis had a delightful boyish, laugh.. His kindly blue Irish eyes twinkled. Hu’liked the A threw a judtfe of human values, ho estimated Gallatin highly, although ho war. often amused bv tho romanticism which shot incongruously through tho young editor’s practical wisdom. , “ Anything new 7” askea I) itzgerala. “ Not’ much.” Gallatin leaned against the mantel. “Neilson showed up in my office 1 to-night.” “ Squealing, eh?” ' * nirnss so. Wants to sell me the ato s --

existing evidence of a crooked deal made with—was there ever a Sloss mixed up in, city affairs here?” “On, yes,* said Fitzgerald. “Yes, I remember Sloss. Contractor, light complexioned. Died last March.” He snapped the rubber band on. the packet of proof. “ That fellow can’t tell tho truth when ho tries.” “Who can’t?” “ Neilson.” Gallatin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “ That’s right,” he said. “Neilson pretends he’s been nceing around among gloss’s papers, and this memorandum, this green memorandum—well, ho claims your name is mentioned somehow-.” “Noikon says that? Aha! He does, does be? Pass me a match, Gallatin They’re behind you.” Fitzgerald studied the end of his cigar. “Did you read this green paper?” he inquired. “ Certainly not,” said Gallatin. “ Neilson swears that nobody ha-s been it, and that unless tho “Tribune” comes to terms with tern about it he’ll print the evidence in the “ Eagle ” in' the morning.” Well, he won’t!” “What if he does?” “Ho won’t, I bell you. Cal Neilson, eh? I’ll smash Cal Neilson this night, tliat’a what I’ll do.” Old Dennis tossed the cigar and the match, unlighted, into the empty grata and walked reflectively toward the- telephone- closet in the- corner of tho room. “We can smash Neilson and the ‘Eagle’ at the samo crack," proposed Gallatin zealously, “if we can only -get hold of_a copy of that green document without Neilson’s knowledge. We’ll print it in the ‘Tribune’ to-morrow morning, when the ‘Eagle’ prints it, and we’ll make- a groat story of Norison’s attempted blackmail, and eo on. Why, well boomerang the Eagle,’ wo’ll knock ’em silly! But bow to got’a copy of the memorandum? Maybe you can find one. It concerned the building of tho waterworks.” _ “ You’ll never see a copy,” said Fitzgerald. . . There was ,a queer rasp m bis voice. It passed im-noticed by Gallatin, hot on the scent of a newspaper coup. “Then we’ll have a look at Neilson’s original,” he decided. We’ll pretend to dicker with him. He’s waiting ra a saloon, down town.” and Gallatin moved toward tho telephone. “Hold on, my boy,’ interposed Fitzgerald. “You won’t allude to this matter in the ‘Triton©?’ “ Why net?” “ Because I own. the newspaper.” The two men stood close, and face to faoa. “ Because I own the ‘ Tribune,’ repeated Fitzgerald co-ully. “ Because 1, say that not a word about this will ever be printed anywhere. And don’t you forget it.” A thin line gradually appeared in Gallatin’s forehead. “Then what Neilson- claims is true!” hs said. “That memorandum incriminateiteincriminates those mentioned in it!” “ Well, whatever it does. I’ll settle the business my own way, Gallatin.” ■ Old Dennis half sat on the. table edgp, dangling one foot, his hands deeply pocketed, his head bowed. From a- piano in a distant -room drifted the sound of a single chord. For an instant a sudden, sickish qualm ■ seized young Gallatin, but be braced his shoulders and -hie black eyebrows came together sharply. “ I don’t- interfere in another’s business, Mr Fitzgerald,” ha declared; “but this affair concerns me. Neilson and his gang challenge my principles, my They dare me to expose a certain piece ot —well, trickery. If I decline the challenge, I’m a coward. That’s clear—at least to me!” The older man was silent. “My duty, if I figure it right," pursued Gallatin, “is to my—good Lord, Mr Fitzgerald, I’m not trying to preach! Don’t you see? I’ve nailed up a flag, in this city, and it Neilson, you, or anybody can say I don’t stick to it—don’t you see? You -do own the ‘Tribune,’ in law; biiv vour ownership isn’t real without action of law, and that takes time. I’m the editor of the paper to-night, any and I can’t to gagged. I’ll take up Neikou’s challenge, I’ll print the truth. No man s big enough to block me. Afterwards you can foreclose and ruin me —I can t help that!” Fitzgerald raised his head slowly. “Who’s to know of your inconsistency?" he demanded. “ You talk about gaggingI ci a gag Neilson in twenty minutes. I can- have him on his knees in this room, begging us to let him burn that paper. People’s opinion, of you won’t- .suffer You’re spouting like a schoolboy.” “I w-as thinking only of John Gallatin’s opinion,” said the other. “He may be a schoolboy—a quixotic schoolboy—but his opinion is more, important to me than anything in the world.” Ho turned toward the door, escaping Fitzgerald’s strangely wistful, almost envious glance. “ I’m off to meet Neilson,” he asserted. “Wait, then,” enjoined Fitzgerald, wearily. “You needn’t see Neilson. I’ll give you the story—the whole of. it.” Gallatin wheeled in vague apprehension. He feared a supplication, an appeal to his sfenss of Fitzgerald’'; kindnesses to him, perhaps an allusion to Honora. Ho knew how hard it would be to resist- as ho should resist, a-hd involuntarily hs made a troubled gesture of protest. “Don’t be afraid,” continued Fitzgerald, reading his eyes. “I guess it’ll to every bit as> .tough for mo to tell ns for you to hear;” and he motioned the editor into a chair. CHAPTER IV. “ The other day I was showing you the little machine-shop I started with, Gallatin,” began, Fitzgerald. “That was all my

father left me—barring the debts. _ .Do you know what debts are? The kind, I mean, that come along unbeknownst, just whan a lad thinks he's above water, and send him down gasping. Yve!l,jl worked ’em off. I wasn’t bound by law to pay 'em all, but I did. It was a great night when I held up my head and pays.: ‘My dead father owes no man!’ That was in '6B—June 14, '63. Well, I was a husky fellow and kind of popular in the ward, and the first thing I knew they had me in the City Council. That was a great night, election night. My sister Peg, she that kept house for me, she fixed up our old kitchen fine, and we had five boy® in for a dance, and I carried Peg on my shoulder in the reels, 'count of her being crippled. Yes, sir, that was a great night. ‘Big Dan’ they called me. The next year Peggy died. And soon I let my,self think of "Honors, ’cause I’d loved -her since she was knee high. But Peggy was first.” Gallatin stirred uneasily and glanced at the clock. “ Honora?” he said. ‘‘Honora, old Cavnnagh’s girl—my wife,” went on Fitzgerald, stroking his thick hair. “ I went to Cavanag.h with my heart pumping water- ‘Rich Moses Feeley is after her,’ says he. ‘Can you support her, Big Dan?’ “ ‘ X can so,’ says I, ‘ for the debts are paid and my money's my own. 1 Ahl There was a dance that night, too. And then—then comes the -.panic.” ‘‘The panic of ’75,” muttered Gallatin. Fitzgerald assented grimly. “ A hard year, Gallatin. I don’t know what I was thinking of. Honora, most likely, and our wedding day to be. The lads in the shop looked to me for their bread, and I swore I'd not pub out my fires for all the Jay Goulds in Wall Street. I| borrowed. Well, it seemed safe enough. But one morning Mooes Feeley slaps the papers on me. He’d bought my notes behind my back. ‘‘‘Pay up,’ he says, ‘or you'll die disgraced in the night of men ae your father died! And you’ll have no son to pay your debts,’ he says; ‘ not by Honora Cavanagh you won’t.!’ / “I'let him have it on his dirty mouth. But he was right. I’d be ruined. And I’d never get Honora. I wouldn't be after asking her to stand up in church with a bankrupt pauper. All that night, Gallatin, I tramped our old kitchen without bite nor sup. And the next afternoon there was Barney Sloes, the contractor, waiting by my steps in the dark.” Someone knocked on the door of the sitting-room. “ Neilson!” whispered Gallatin. “ Oomc. in!” said. Fitzgerald steadily. It was Honora. She was ‘ dressed in white, and the dusky crimson portiere® framed the perfection of the tall, girlish figure, the resolute shoulders and the crisp, brown hair which nestled low over her forehead. Gallatin resented curiously the beauty of the picture. He was osdiy relieved when Miss Fitzgerald merely' laughed an apology, nodded brightly, and withdrew with the hum of a song on her lips. Old Dennis threw back bis head obstinately, and his tone took a. hard note of persistence. “ And there was Sloss, the contractor, waiting for ms in tho dark. I was telling you I was on the City Council. By that time I had the say-so in the Waterworks Committee. The city had voted to enlarge the plaint—-■two .new reservoirs and sixteen miles of pipe—a big job. Barney wanted it. . He offered me ” ‘‘You needn’t go on,” sighed Gallatin. I understand.” But Fitzgerald snapped off the words harshly. , “ Sloss had almost enough in the envelope to pay Feeley. ‘ Take is or leave it,’ he says. ‘l’ll build the works as cheap an anybody.’ He did, too, and they were good. Thay’ro good to this day. The. city didn’t suffer. But I—well, you don’t know what it is to need a girl, Gallatin, and you don’t know what it is for a girl to say that sirs needs you. A lad will do things then. For Honora’s sake I’d have gene through hell singing !” Fitzgerald cleared his throat and. screwed his heel into the hearthrug where ho stood. “ Barney made mo sign a cursed bit of green paper, for he trusted no man, did Barney. ‘This’ll damage me no much as you,’ ho says, ‘so never fear I’ll burn it!’ I married Honora-, not telling her. Man alivri, I couldn’t! After a while my brains blundered on tho car-wheel patent, and we got rich. I paid Barney back. He vowed tho green paper was destroyed. But I couldn’t tell Honora for long years.” Gallatin’s face foil. , “ Do you mean she never ” “Yes, she did know,” interrupted Fitz-, gerald. “ ’Twas after the coining of tho little one yonder, and the doctors said Nellie might pass. I told her. The trouble cam© over her brave eyes like a cobweb on flowers. ’lt hurts, my man,’ she says, ‘it hurts!’ Then she looked up at me off the pillow. .* Dan,’ she says, ‘I love you.’ That was all. ‘Dan. I love you.’ Great God—and me crooked!” He turned and stretched out hi.s long arms so that they encircled tho mantelshelf. “But you weren’t crooked then!” exclaimed Gallatin, starting up. “You’ve made restitution—poured out your money for the public good of Riverburg—you ’’ “I’d have no money, if I hadn’t stolen it that one time.” Fitzgerald faced Gallatin again and hesitated, searching bash-, fullv for words. “Do yon know what I’d do?” he said gently. “I’d give it all for the right to fly that honest flag of yours, as you call it. Keep it flying, my boy, can—keep it flying. I’ll not Under you.” Gallatin was on his feet quickly. “ Perhaps there’s some other way to fix Ncilson," he bulrted. ■ “Perhaps you can ”

“ No, I’ll not hinder”’ broke in Fitsgerald sharply, and struck the Btoneehelf behind him with his broad palm. “Neil* son is yours. Follow your duty as you see it. I’ll not hinder. I can taka my medicine. I can take what comes. I’m Big Dan yet.” * Gallatin’s glance rested on the framelike opening between the crimson portieres. Then his eyes hardened unflinchingly, and travelled to the instrument in the corner. “ May I use your wire?” he asked. When he came out of the telephone clcaet the sitting-room was deserted, and immediately Gallatin left the house. CHAPTER V. Honora smiled at her father across their breakfast table. She was fond and proud, of him beyond measure. “ But why mayn’t I see the ‘ Tribune?’ she persisted. “ Because the editor is a mighty rascal, mv darling.” He unfolded the paper deliberately. “ Because he is doing me ~a great hurt.” “•Father dear!” “By stealing my child, mavourneen.” Honora blushed and examined her letters. Mr Fitzgerald scanned the headlines and read this item twice, carefully: “Galvin. Neilson was robbed last night, in the allev behind Lynch’s saloon, but lest nothing of value. Neilson, who was intoxicated, can give no clue to the identity of his assailant, and there were _no witnesses of the assault.” “ Why, father!” cried Mias Fitzgerald, holding out her hand. “ John Gallatin has sent mo an envelope with not a thing inside it except some tiny scraps of green paper. I wonder what he. means!” “I wonder!” said old Dennis gravely. “ Green, is it? I’m afraid he means that he has a soft heart for an Irish girl, ia spite of his own flag’s colours.” ' “Please don’t bo absurd! advised Honora, and scattered tho bits of paper in the flame of the alcohol lamp beneath tho coffee urn.