Mack heard me talking to him, and called down, as evidence that he was near: 'He don't know his name! You might as well call him Mike!'

"This was the best chance I had with that animal; but by that time it was late and the light was not very favorable. However, I gave him time exposures, and got some very fair results. Every now and then the old fellow would stick out his tongue at me, and once I took a snap-shot expressly to show that, but the result was not very good.

"After using up the six films in the camera, I swung it on my back and attempted to edge back from the face of the precipice. Then to my dismay I discovered that the bent knee on which I had been resting was as dead as if permanently paralyzed. It was stiff, and worse than useless. I had been frightened two or three times during that afternoon, but this was the climax. I called to Mack, and told him of the fix I was in, but owing to his bad shoes he could not come down to help me. Then I was sorry we had not brought a rope.

"Seeing that I must work out my own salvation, I began to punch and beat my leg, and kept it up until at last the circulation started and feeling returned. Finally I managed to crawl back very slowly to where Mack could reach me, and he soon landed me safely upon a level spot.

"While this was going on the goat got tired of inaction, jumped up over the wall, and started for the peak. For some reason, however, he changed his course and climbed down into the slide, with the dog after him. Expecting to see a good race, we stopped to watch it; but poor Kaiser's feet were now very sore and the goat outran him. And now a queer thing happened.

"The goat stopped on the farther edge of the slide, and finding that his human tormentors were nowhere near, he decided to get square with that dog! When Kaiser

reached him the goat charged furiously. Seeing his danger, the dog turned and started back the way he came, with the goat in hot pursuit. The goat pursued by a series of short rushes, and not by the steady, straight-away run that a bear makes. He followed the dog almost to the ridge on which we were, but finally desisted, and retreated southward.

"It was then so late that we started at once for camp in order to get off the crags before dark. It grew dark before we reached camp, but at last we guided in by the camp-fire, thoroughly exhausted, and half famished for water. I never knew Kaiser to drink so long as then, and his feet were so raw and sore that he scarcely could bear to have them doctored."

Mr. Phillips's narrative, as he records it, does not half adequately portray the frightful risks that he ran on that memorable afternoon. That night, I think, he was awake all night, save once. Then he thrashed around in his sleeping-bag and clutched wildly at the silk tent-wall over his head.

"Hey, John!" I called out sharply, to waken him. "What's the matter? Are you having a nightmare?"

"Oh!" he groaned. "I thought I was falling off those rocks-clear down to the tents!"

Just before breakfast the next morning Mr. Phillips said to Mack in a quiet aside, "How did you sleep, Mack?"

"I didn't sleep none!" said Mack solemnly. "Whenever I dozed off I dreamt that old Oramus was buttin' us off them rocks. Every time I lit I shore made it lively for Charlie."

They were not the first men whose sleep had been destroyed by the recrudescence of the horrors of the rocks.

The next day men and dog rested quietly in camp, too tired and sore to move out.

S

INCE a recent unfortunate incident has taken so much space in the newspapers of the city, making our club the subject of heated declamation in the Bowery and of superheated gossip in the Avenue, it has seemed best that the exact truth be told. To grasp the truth, however, one must know something of our club.

Our club is not a large one, and we rather pride ourselves that it is not. Our club is on a side-street, and we rather pride our selves that we are not upon the Avenue. There is an active but small minority that claims that we hug ourselves because we are not as other men are, that we have not what some other clubs have—a mortgaged house, a stock ticker, a keen man at the door who can get you a box in the horseshoe at the opera, or next the ropes at a prizefight; a card-room where men may play for stakes they cannot afford to lose, and, which, if they lose, they pay, if they pay at all, when next they win, thus making a clearing-house with no governors.

It will be seen that we are, perhaps, a trifle old-fashioned, but the fact remains that when one of us has a male child born to him the father takes a cab-not an electric, we are still a bit skittish about self-propelled vehicles and drives to the club. Arrived, he marches to the big book on the table and enters for membership the little, lobsterhued, blinking, whining bit of protoplasm that he calls "my son." Then he looks about him for a seconder. If it is the late afternoon, the bishop may be there. If not, there is the little card-room on the first floor, just off the reading-room, where our prize members play their daily rubber, and where no young member ventures until half-past six, when the game ends. Between the deals the father beckons to the admiral, the general, the banker, or the judge (the quartet of the little room) and says, "Will you second my son ?" "God

bless me!" says the admiral; "of course I will; much honored, Simpson. We've been waiting for this a long while-had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Simpson was, perhaps, unnecessarily alarmed What is your son, Simpson, a boy or a girl? I'll second anything of yours.-Your deal, judge."

It will be seen that the admiral, although on the retired list, has retained a bit of his sea talk. He went past the forts with Farragut, and caught a bullet in his arm, which he carried for thirty years, tortured beyond reason, but uncomplaining.

Then, one day, something happened. Whether it was his friends at the club, or the surgeons, or his wife, who heard him moaning in the small hours, when he thought her asleep, no one knows, but one day he walked to the hospital, his wife on his good arm, was ushered in, went upstairs to a private room, heard the whispered conversation of the surgeons-only a word or two-bared his arm, kissed his wife and whispered to her, whispered to the surgeon-general of the navy, who happened to be there: "Is it right, old man-must it come off-can I never more sign my name-can I never more place my two arms about my wife's neck?"

"No," whispered the surgeon-general, "you must lose your arm, your right arm." "Well," said the admiral, "I've lugged it about since Farragut sailed up Mobile Bay. I've suffered with it beyond speech-let it go." Then he turned to his wife. "Lucy," he said, "this is the surgeon-general of the navy. He tells me that it is nothing-the bullet must be extracted. Shall we have it out?"

His wife stood, the fingers of one hand plucking at the fingers of the other. She was as pale as unspoiled paper. A young surgeon said, "She's fainting," and sprang to help her.

"Hush!" said the surgeon-general; "she is the wife of one of our fighting admiralsshe's used to trouble, she won't faint," and

he opened the door for her, and she, with her eyes on her husband, made a half curtsy, being Southern born, and went out, and the surgeons stood and made obeisance to her. "Now, Bob," said the admiral to the surgeon-general, "what the devil brought you here?"

"Your wife's telegram," said the surgeongeneral.

"All right," said the admiral. "She's the boss; I'm on the retired list."

Then someone, softly shod, clad in white, came with a great paper cone-there was a sense of vapor in the air, sweet and cloying. "Bob," said the admiral, "you see that but terfly tattooed on my arm? Iayado, of Tokyo, did that when I was a midshipman on the China station, near sixty years ago. I paid him five pounds, and saved it out of my mess. Are you going to throw it away, or can you skin it off and make a 'baccy pouch of it? Bob," he continued, as the cone came over his face, "did my old missus telegraph for you?"

"Yes, old friend," said the surgeon-general, bending low, his fingers on the admiral's pulse-"breathe deep."

"She's a good sort, God bless her!" whispered the admiral; "give-her-mylove" and he passed.

They took the paper cone away and wheeled the tumbrel into the operating

room.

In five weeks the admiral was back at the whist-table, a club servant behind him to deal, shuffle, and sort the cards, for the admiral's right sleeve was empty.

We are rather proud of the admiral in our club.

The general is a little man with a closely cut white beard. He was just tall enough to enter West Point when he was sixteen, and he never added a cubit to his stature. He is a bachelor.

He was hazed unmercifully because he was a silent boy and a small one. The men who do the hazing at West Point and Annapolis are not the gentlemen; they are the muckers and the cowards, who are appointed by their congressman by the permission of their saloon-keeper.

The general graduated too high in his class to be popular. He knew mathematics, European languages, tactics, and he could draw. These accomplishments excited the envy of many of his classmates,

for, mind you, the graduating rank in our national schools determines the rank of the scholars through life, unless favoritism intervenes.

Our general had one accomplishment that went far to condone his scholarshiphe was the best rider in his class. Of course, there were some heavy men who said that if they could make his weight, they might ride as well as he; but, on the whole, he was admitted to be the crack rider, with saddle, blanket, or bare-back. It is strange how much scholarship our young gentlemen of to-day are willing to forgive and forget if with it is coupled the ability to run a hundred yards better than ten seconds; to slide a base, and incidentally spike the baseman, or to stand, an immovable mountain of flesh on the football gridiron. The general never forgave Nature for making him so short. He was prone to speak of Alexander, Napoleon, and Nelson, and he never failed to remark that each of these great captains was under five foot five. One day, when he had sat silent through two rubbers, he suddenly asked, apropos of nothing, "Who was the better man, David or Goliath ?"

"General," said the judge, with some impatience, "the shortest military man that I can bring to mind is General Tom Thumb. Cut the cards, please."

There was a little laugh at this, and the general's pale cheeks flushed. He half rose, but caught himself and resumed his seat; "Judge," he said "your obiter' remarks always carry more weight than your written opinions. I've cut the cards; deal."

Then there was another little laugh, because all remembered that the judge had written a dissenting opinion in the "greenback legal-tender case," away back in the sixties, and they used to remind him of it.

"Judge," said the banker, "if your opinion in the greenback case had prevailed, none of us would be here; we should be wild things, running about the woods, with the remnants of the clothing we had acquired when judges were rational, and we should be snarling over a chestnut or a berry, and fighting to the death over an edible fungus.

"Sir," said the judge, "the greenback was a war measure. Its legality was brought before the courts in time of stress, sir— great stress, sir. There were men on the bench at that time who had such an overwhelming sense of expediency that they

forgot their law, sir. I did not forget my law, sir, and you will find it in my opinion, sir, if you choose to examine the reports. May I ask you not to delay the game by unprofitable remarks, sir?"

"That's enough of the greenback case for one day," said the admiral, who was the peace-maker. "The judge brought it on himself by his wipe at the general about Tom Thumb. What's a man's height got to do with it, anyway? Can he, by taking thought add a cubit to his stature?"

"Not his physical stature, I admit," said the judge; "but if he takes sufficient thought he can add immensely to his mental stature, and," he continued, looking about the table, "there are those of my acquaintance who should lose no opportunity for immediate meditation."

"There you go again," said the admiral. "I gave you a scriptural quotation, and back you come with one of your cynical witticisms. Suppose none of us knew youreally knew you; suppose our only line on you was what you said with that bitter tongue of yours, not what you have done 'impelled by that kind heart of yours? Why, if I caught you aboard my ship, not knowing you, I'd keel-haul you, and go about while you were under. If the general found you in his camp, he'd have a file out and shoot you, on one excuse or another; and if the banker could entice you into his office he'd shear your fleece to the quick and hang it on his sign. But we know you, don't we?" and he looked at the general.

"Yes," said the general, "we know him, or we would have had him out-early some morning-before this."

"Is it as bad as that?" asked the judge. "Yes," said the admiral, "it's as bad as that-your public conduct is scandalous. What were you doing last Monday?"

The judge flushed and fidgeted.

"I decline to answer," he said at length. "Because it will tend to degrade you?" asked the admiral. "I've been reading the papers. I know what the corporation officers say when they're pressed."

"No," said the judge, after mature deliberation, "I don't interpose that plea; I simply decline to answer."

"I have no power to commit for contempt," said the admiral, "so I will answer the question myself."

"I object!" exclaimed the judge.

"Objection overruled," said the admiral; "take your appeal, and meanwhile I'll answer that you were up at poor old Tom Mason's flat, arranging for the funeral. The general and I caught you red-handed.” "Is Tom Mason dead?” exclaimed the banker.

"Man, man," said the judge, "don't you read the bulletin board ?"

"No," said the banker. "After I have read the tape all day and the morning papers after closing time, my only thought is to get out of the country."

"Why don't you reform and stay at home?" said the judge. "Sell all that thou hast and give it to the poor, and stay with us. This land is still habitable, despite the newspapers and the corporations." "Hush, hush," said the admiral, "it's too late to start a new question It's cocktail time. Press the button. You may go, William," he said to the club servant who had stood behind him to deal and sort his cards, "you have been as attentive to-day as you have always been. I thank you. Good-night," and William bowed low and started for the door, "Hi, William!" said the admiral, "How's the little girl?"

“Thank you, admiral," said William, "she's all right again, thanks to you, sir, and she's going to school on Monday?"

"That's good, that's good," said the admiral; "give her my love."

And the servant went out.

The banker made up the whist account. It was quarter-day and settling day. The banker had an income of half a million, but he went over his figures three times.

"It balances to a cent," he said finally. The general is plus $2.48, the admiral is minus $1.02, the judge is minus 97 cents, and I am minus 49 cents."

With some difficulty in making change they paid the general his $2.48. He kept his fortune in his hand, "gloating" over it, the judge said. They went out of the club, turned east to the avenue, and then they separated, the banker and the judge turning north, toward luxury and the palaces, and the admiral and the general turning south, toward economy and the boardinghouses, the abiding places of those who have served the nation rather than themselves. At the first corner was a Salvation Army kettle, and a fanatic, in a spring overcoat, a red hat-band, and an ecstasy of zeal, was