Cæsar's Column: A Story of the Twentieth Century
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window," he said.
I followed the direction of his eyes and saw that I still held in myhand the gold-mounted whip which I had snatched from the hand of thedriver. In my excitement I had altogether forgotten its existence,but had instinctively held on to it.
"I will send it back to the owner," I said.
"No, no; throw it away: that is enough to convict you of highwayrobbery."
I started, and exclaimed:
"Nonsense; highway robbery to whip a blackguard?"
"Yes. You stop the carriage of an aristocrat; you drag a valuablewhip out of the hand of his coachman; and you carry it off. If thatis not highway robbery, what is it? Throw it away."
His manner was imperative. I dropped the whip out of the window andfell into a brown study. I occasionally stole a glance at my strangecompanion, who, with the dress of extreme poverty, and the gray hairof old age, had such a manner of authority and such an air ofpromptitude and decision.
After about a half-hour's ride we stopped at the corner of twostreets in front of a plain but respectable-looking house. It seemedto be in the older part of the town. My companion paid the driver anddismissed him, and, opening the door, we entered.
I need not say that I began to think this man was something more thana beggar. But why this disguise? And who was he?
CHAPTER III.
THE BEGGAR'S HOME
The house we entered was furnished with a degree of splendor of whichthe external appearance gave no prophecy. We passed up the stairs andinto a handsome room, hung around with pictures, and adorned withbook-cases. The beggar left me.
I sat for some time looking at my surroundings, and wondering overthe strange course of events which had brought me there, and stillmore at the actions of my mysterious companion. I felt assured nowthat his rags were simply a disguise, for he entered the house withall the air of a master; his language was well chosen and correctlyspoken, and possessed those subtle tones and intonations which markan educated mind. I was thinking over these matters when the dooropened and a handsome young gentleman, arrayed in the height of thefashion, entered the room. I rose to my feet and began to apologizefor my intrusion and to explain that I had been brought there by abeggar to whom I had rendered some trifling service in the street.The young gentleman listened, with a smiling face, and then,extending his hand, said:
"I am the beggar; and I do now what only the hurry and excitementprevented me from doing before--I thank you for the life you havesaved. If you had not come to my rescue I should probably have beentrampled to death under the feet of those vicious horses, or sadlybeaten at least by that brutal driver."
The expression of my face doubtless showed my extreme astonishment,for he proceeded:
"I see you are surprised; but there are many strange things in thisgreat city. I was disguised for a particular purpose, which I cannotexplain to you. But may I not request the name of the gentleman towhom I am under so many obligations? Of course, if you have anyreasons for concealing it, consider the question as not asked."
"No," I replied, Smiling, "I have no concealments. My name is GabrielWeltstein; I live in the new state of Uganda, in the Africanconfederation, in the mountains of Africa, near the town of Stanley;and I am engaged in sheep-raising, in the mountains. I belong to acolony of Swiss, from the canton of Uri, who, led by my grandfather,settled there. seventy years ago. I came to this city yesterday tosee if I could not sell my wool directly to the manufacturers, andthus avoid the extortions of the great Wool Ring, which has not onlyour country but the whole world in its grasp; but I find themanufacturers are tied hand and foot, and afraid of that powerfulcombination; they do not dare to deal with me; and thus I shall haveto dispose of my product at the old price. It is a shameful state ofaffairs in a country which calls itself free."
"Pardon me for a moment," said the young gentleman, and left theroom. On his return I resumed:
"But now that I have told you who I am, will you be good enough totell me something about yourself?"
"Certainly," he replied, "and with pleasure. I am a native of thiscity; my name is Maximilian Petion; by profession I am an attorney; Ilive in this house with my mother, to whom I shall soon have thepleasure of introducing you."
"Thank you," I replied, still studying the face of my newacquaintance. His complexion was dark, the eyes and hair almostblack; the former very bright and penetrating; his brow was high,broad and square; his nose was prominent, and there was about themouth an expression of firmness, not unmixed with kindness.Altogether it was a face to inspire respect and confidence. But Imade up my mind not to trust too much to appearances. I could notforget the transformation which I had witnessed, from the rags of theancient beggar to this well-dressed young gentleman. I knew that thecriminal class were much given to such disguises. I thought it bettertherefore to ask some questions that might throw light upon thesubject.
"May I inquire," I said, "what were your reasons for hurrying me awayso swiftly and mysteriously from the gate of the Park?"
"Because," he replied, "you were in great danger, and you hadrendered me a most important service. I could not leave you there tobe arrested, and punished with a long period of imprisonment,because, following the impulse of your heart, you had saved my lifeand scourged the wretch who would have driven his horses over me."
"But why should I be punished with a long term of imprisonment? In myown country the act I performed would have received the applause ofevery one. Why did you not tell me to throw away that whip on theinstant, so as to avoid the appearance of stealing it, and thenremain to testify in my behalf if I had been arrested?"
"Then you do not know," he replied, "whose driver it was youhorsewhipped?"
"No," I said; "how should I? I arrived here but yesterday."
"That was the carriage of Prince Cabano, the wealthiest and mostvindictive man in the city. If you had been taken you would have beenconsigned to imprisonment for probably many years."
"Many years," I replied; "imprisoned for beating an insolent driver!Impossible. No jury would convict me of such an offense."
"Jury!" he said, with a bitter smile; "it is plain to see you are astranger and come from a newly settled part of the world, and knownothing of our modern civilization. The jury would do whatever PrinceCabano desired them to do. Our courts, judges and juries are themerest tools of the rich. The image of justice has slipped thebandage from one eye, and now uses her scales to weigh the bribes shereceives. An ordinary citizen has no more prospect of fair treatmentin our courts, contending with a millionaire, than a new-born infantwould have of life in the den of a wolf."
"But," I replied, rather hotly, "I should appeal for justice to thepublic through the newspapers."
"The newspapers!" he said, and his face darkened as he spoke; "thenewspapers are simply the hired mouthpieces of power; the devil'sadvocates of modern civilization; their influence is always at theservice of the highest bidder; it is their duty to suppress orpervert the truth, and they do it thoroughly. They are paid tomislead the people under the guise of defending them. A century agothis thing began, and it has gone on, growing worse and worse, untilnow the people laugh at the opinions of the press, and doubt thetruth even of its reports of occurrences."
"Can this be possible?" I said.
"Let me demonstrate it to you," he replied, and, stepping to thewall, he spoke quietly into a telephone tube, of which there were anumber ranged upon the wall, and said:
"Give me the particulars of the whipping of Prince Cabano's coachman,this afternoon, at the south gate of Central Park."
Almost immediately a bell rang, and on the opposite wall, in What Ihad supposed to be a mirror, appeared these words:
_From the Evening Guardian:_
A HORRIBLE OUTRAGE!
HIGHWAY ROBBERY!--ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD!
This afternoon, about three o'clock, an event transpired at the south gate o
f Central Park which shows the turbulent and vicious
spirit of the lower classes, and reinforces the demand we have so often made for repressive measures and a stronger government.
As the carriage of our honored fellow-citizen Prince Cabano, containing two ladies, members of his family, was quietly entering the Park, a tall, powerful ruffian, apparently a stranger, with long yellow hair, reaching to his shoulders, suddenly grasped a valuable gold-mounted whip out of the hands of the driver, and, because he resisted the robbery, beat him across the face, inflicting very severe wounds. The horses became very much terrified, and but for the fact that two worthy men, John Henderson of 5222 Delavan Street, and William Brooks of 7322 Bismarck Street, seized them by the