A Lodging-House Keeper’s Domestic Crisis
After a brief family reconciliation, a proprietor at the Babcock House finds himself abandoned by his wife and young son.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
E. M. Williams, proprietor of the Babcock House at 104 Washington Street, is one of the most miserable men in the city, and big tears rolled down his cheeks last night as he told Capt. Willard that his wife, Maggie, and son, Roger, had deserted him. According to his story, there was a little unpleasantness in the family last Thursday, which ended in his wife asking for his forgiveness on her knees. He forgave her and then took a nap. When he awoke, his wife was gone, but on the table lay a note. It said that she had gone for good and it would be no use to follow her. In closing, she said that Roger, his 14-year-old son, knew nothing of her intentions and that she was not 'at Compton’s.' Mr. Williams thinks, however, she is at Compton’s, in South Park, and calls that party all kinds of names. He said he thought Roger, his son, knew something of the whole affair, so he took him by the neck and said: 'Roger, tell the truth.' Roger said he would, then Mr. Williams released him. 'Roger scooted,' were the words Mr. Williams used in describing what followed, and he has not been seen since.
“Roger scooted, were the words Mr. Williams used in describing what followed, and he has not been seen since.”
Lodging houses were the precarious backbone of Seattle's early economy, often operating as hubs of both labor and social instability. This account captures the raw, often volatile dynamics of families running small businesses in a rapidly developing city.
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