The Mourning Imposter

Mrs. M. E. Goodsell, owner of a restaurant in the Atkins block, on Columbia street, had an experience with a mendicant yesterday morning that will teach her to distrust venerable-looking men with tales of woe and crocodile tears. Early in the morning an old man, with silver locks and a tenor voice, called at her restaurant to plead for assistance in burying a loved daughter who had died during the night. He said he had just arrived in Seattle from Pennsylvania with his wife and daughter and had exhausted his limited means on the way, so he had been forced to find temporary quarters in a tent in the northern part of the city. To add to his troubles, his only child had suddenly sickened and died and he was without means of furnishing her even a decent departure. He had, therefore, been forced to put aside all pride and beg from door to door for the modest amount that would be required to buy a pine coffin. While relating this sorrowful tale, the old man broke down and wept bitterly until Mrs. Goodsell let her tears mingle with his. Her sympathy did not stop there, however, but was of a more practical sort. She handed the man a dollar and then volunteered to go with him to his tent and help his wife prepare the child for burial. The man demurred to this proposition, but she insisted strongly that he finally set out with her. He led the way to the waterfront and then took tortuous routes, over bluffs and inaccessible pathways, through Shantytown and into North Seattle. Then he suddenly turned, and in an impudent manner informed Mrs. Goodsell that he could not find his tent. Then Mrs. Goodsell saw she had been duped. She indignantly demanded the return of her dollar, which was reluctantly handed over, the man cursing her as he walked away.