Picture Play Magazine (Oct-Nov 1915)

PICTURE-PLAY WEEKLY 15 )ulder, while the leader shouted : hanks be to God, another sinner » come home ! Let us pray for our )ther, who was lost and is found lin!" And before he fully realized Fordyce was upon his knees with others, thanking Providence that s young girl had been sent at the t moment, to speak to him and to jse the flickering, and all but exguished spark of manhood within n. And yet, somewhere down in his conousness, he was wondering how in 3 world it happened that he, of all n, should be praying in the street ! Looking back on that scene from the rspective of three months of sobriety |d honest labor, Fordyce was moved iher to wonder how he had ever sunk the condition in which the Salvation i-sie had found him, and what might ve become of him if she had not put her appearance at that moment. Thou shalt have no other gods here me," this was the commandment bich he had broken, for he had set L not one, but many idols upon the ,ar of his ambition — fame, adulation, aise, and, last but not least, personal pity. He had lived for himself alone, d worked for himself alone, and indulging himself he had lost 2 fruits of his labor. How different ast have been the life of the little lvationist ! Where he had been thinkI of himself, she had been thinking others ; where he had been taking himself all the good things of Je, she had been giving of her soul's easures to the spiritually destitute. It was with a pleasant feeling of newund kinship with the world in genal that Fordyce set out for his day's Dor. And it was labor now Where had formerly strutted through rearsals, he now superintended the busi.ss of laying pavement, occasionally iding his 'dd where aid was needed, id never hesitating because the task ight soil those hands which, for so !any years, had been models of the rnicuring art. As foreman of his "eet-cleaning gang, he was responsie for their labor, and it was no small sk to hold them to their work and ake them earn their pay, while, at the me time, he saw to it that no one was >rced to do more than his share, and at all received the same consideration, hey were an odd assortment of men, his "boys," as he called them, and among the lot five nationalities were represented. For the most part, they were goodnatured, if not particularly efficient, but there were two Italians who gave Fordyce some concern. They did not look like real workingmen. They bore all the outward marks of gentlemen of the Mafia or the Black Hand ; marks which had become familiar to Fordyce during his recent experience as a temporary addition to the submerged tenth. He distrusted them, and he was anxious to be rid of them. He felt that he owed some duty to the taxpayers and to the head of his department to see that no criminals covered their tracks by taking refuge in his gang of workmen, and he meant to discharge that duty, even though in so doing he must assume some personal risk. As he was returning from work upon this particular day, Fordyce observed these two men passing along the street in front of him, evidently upon their way to some rendezvous. He was not at all surprised when they turned in at a cafe which was notorious in the underworld as a place where many things happened which remained unrecorded in the police records, although, by all the laws of the land, they should have been written there. It was one of those places which thrive upon a double custom— that of its regular habitues and that of the casual sight-seer who likes to play the bohemian of a Friday night. Into this place, Fordyce followed the Italians at a discreet distance, and, having observed them disappear into the little hall leading to the private wine rooms, he addressed the captain of the waiters, describing the two men, and stating that he was to meet them there by appointment. Many queer things happened in the Cafe Richpax, and the captain was not especially surprised to have three visitors in working clothes within so short a space of time. He simply called one of his assistants, saying: "This is the gentleman who is expected in the third room on the left." At the entrance to the corridor, Fordyce paused, and, slipping a coin into the waiter's hand, remarked casually : "You need not bother to come any farther. I know the way, and will find my friends all right." The waiter pocketed the tip, looking a little surprised at the size of it, but withdrew. Instead of entering the third box on the left, Fordyce paused at the second door and tried it tentatively. It swung open, and disclosed an empty room. Into this little box, called a room by virtue of the fact that it was separated from its neighbors by a partition reaching nearly, but not quite, to the ceiling, Fordyce entered. He shut the door behind him, and stealthily slipped the catch. It would not do to have a waiter or visitor blunder in upon him. The two Italians were conversing in the next room in tones which, while not loud, were not especially subdued. Doubtless they relied upon the fact that they were speaking in Italian to keep their neighbors in ignorance df the character of their remarks. Fortunately for Fordyce, he had once entertained thoughts of grand opera, and was, therefore, sufficiently familiar with the language to follow the conversation intelligently, though he occasionally missed a word here and there. "But what is there in this for us?" one of them was saying. "Never mind that now," said the other. "There will be enough. I know this fellow, and he is the saving sort. He is sure to have money laid away somewhere, and we will get it. For, you see, so soon as we have done what he requires of us, we will get it from him. We will bleed him for his last cent." "But," objected the first voice, "suppose that he has very little? I am always ready to do my part, but take notice, friend, I do not risk my skin for nothing." "Risk? Pooh! There is no risk in this. It is child's play. And what does it matter how much he may have? Whatever it is, we will get it. And, in any case, we have the girl, and she will make our fortune for us." "Ah, the girl! Is she, then, so pretty?" "Santa Maria! Do you ask if she is pretty? She is the great actress of the Crescent Theater — the idol of the public!" "Not Joyce Ferdon?" "The same. Now do you see?" "But," the other voice was doubtful, "there is a great risk there. So many people know her. She may be recognized." "Not she. Many people know her on the stage — yes. Off the stage — no. We will arrange that she come in her costume, and then who shall know her