s?"

"Well, I swan!" he answered, "I'll never give another widow a pass over
any road of mine--whether she's black, mixed, or grass, for that's about
all the breadcasting I do."

This was not true, for he was very kind-hearted and generous, especially
to working people who were in trouble. His "black widow" was one in full
mourning, his "mixed widow" was the poor soul who had only a cheap black
bonnet or a scanty veil topping her ordinary colored clothing to express
her widowed state, while the "grasses" were, in his own words: "All those
women who were not married--but ought to be."

Whenever he gave a diamond or an India shawl to a French opera-bouffe
singer the world heard of it, and the value grew and grew daily, and that
publicity gratified his strange distorted vanity, but the lines of
widows, sometimes with hungry little flocks hanging at their skirts, that
he passed over roads, the discharged men he "sneaked" (his own word) back
into positions again, because of their suffering brood, he kept silent
about.

He never got angry at the papers, no matter what absurdity they printed
about him. At the time of the riot some paper declared he had left his
men and had climbed a high board fence in order to escape from danger. In
referring to the article at the theatre one evening, he said, in
reproachful tones: "Now wasn't that a truly stupid lie?" He rose, and
placing his hands where his waist should have been, he went on
mournfully: "Look at me! I look like a sprinter, don't I? If you just
could see me getting into that uniform--no offence, ladies, I don't mean
no harm. Oh, Lord, who has a small grammar about them? Well, when I'm in
the clothes, it takes two men's best efforts, while I hold my breath, to
clasp my belt--and they say I climbed that high fence! Say, I'd give five
thousand dollars down on the nail if I had the waist to do that act
with!"

He was not only a natural comedian, but he had an instinct for the
dramatic in real life, and he was quick to grasp his opportunity at the
burning of Chicago. _His_ relief train must be rushed through first--_he_
must beg personally; and then--and then, oh, happy thought! all the city
knew the value he placed upon the beautiful jet black stallion he rode
in the Park. Out, then, he and his stall-mate came--splendid, fiery,
satin-coated aristocrats! And taking their places before a great express
wagon, went prancing and curvetting their way from door to door, Mr. Fisk