The Father Who Stopped a Play to Steal His Daughter

How do you do, sir? Do you not know us? These interrogations were put to an old gentleman who was stepping off a street car in front of the Terres Haute Hotel yesterday. The gentleman who spoke was about thirty-five years of age, a fine looking and intelligent man, who had, like many others, registered his name in the pages of the guest's book.

The old man passed by. He dropped the two large valises he was holding. He raised his eyes to clear away the dust. He whirled around and like a top.

Well, by blank! he shouted. It would take you.

Notwithstanding this eminent yelp of wrath, the younger man did not seem to be anxious to allow any possession of the sort, and he simply said something over his left doublet.

Let's take a drink.

Well, by blank was the old man only answer, and as they walked together hand in hand, their faces beaming, their heads in close proximity.

And the reporter, who happened to be about, gained the knowledge of the whole story. How, it is needless to say, ten years made a worthy citizen of Indianapolis like Brabantio, the father of a lovely daughter and in yet for that matter but at that time she was unmarried young, and a belle. She frequently visited this city, where her friends were far more numerous than angels' visits, and on one occasion met a handsome young lawyer, one of those 'wild dogs,' whose face and figure constitute about the sum total of their worth. In that case, brains were united to good looks, and, as Edmund Sparkler would say, there was no 'nonsense' about the youth. Easy, graceful manners forming the 'cap and heel' of a well-proportioned whole, it was not passing strange her heart was won. They both loved, and as time passed on, their affections ripened into the tenderest passion.

But as yet she was playing the part of Desdemona, and he a gentler Othello than that of Shakespeare. So far the old man Brabantio of Indianapolis knew nothing of the love-making, and it was only through a love-letter picked up by a meddling servant that he discovered it.

The young lady was at the time here visiting her friends. Maddened, the old gentleman sprang upon the first train and arrived here about 9 o'clock in the evening. As it happened, upon that evening his daughter was upon the stage at Bowling Hall, doing a part in an amateur performance for the benefit of the pastor. Her lover was also cast for one of the parts and the play was in progress.

The old man came to the hall, forced his way back to the stage stamping and swearing and entered the dressing room like a whirlwind. He soon found his daughter, and taking her by the arm, commanded her to get ready to accompany him home. She remonstrated, and begged, but it was entirely without reason. The result was that she was taken out of the hall, and compelled to go home with her father by the nearest trail.

But 'vinegar,' says an old proverb, 'never catches flies.' This wasn't exactly the kind of treatment for a high-spirited young lady. Of course too, she was forbidden to communicate with her lover.

The mails may, however, have carried a pretty, perfumed letter or two. But to that the sequel will furnish a clue.

A week or two after the young lawyer left this city. He went to Indianapolis two days after his arrival there old Brabantio found the back door open one morning and his pretty daughter gone. He raved, stormed, wept, quite, quite in vain. He swore still louder when he received a copy of a Cincinnati paper with a marriage notice something like this:

'Married At Burnett yesterday, Mr. Wank, of Terre Haute, Indiana, to Miss Blank, only daughter of the wealthy Mr. Blank, of Indianapolis. The pretty pair left on the night train for the Far West. This is understood to be a clandestine marriage.'

For ten long years the old man heard nothing of his lovely daughter. Yesterday when he stepped off the car and came face to face with his son-in-law, he was amazed, confounded, struck dumb. But he was no longer her enemy. He soon learned that his daughter is still living, and that her son-in-law is one of the wealthiest men in San Francisco. Strangely enough the old man is now traveling for the Indianapolis house of which he was the head of once, having lost his great wealth in an unfortunate speculation.