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IS JAMIE HERE?

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Aug 20, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 41.

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"IS JAMIE HERE?"

THE following is said to be a true story, related by a New York physician. We do not know where it was first published.
He was called to the help of a man who had been mortally wounded in one of the low dance halls, or dives, of that city. When he had attended to his patient, the doctor looked curiously around.
The wounded man lay before the bar, against which lounged some ragged old sots. In the next room a few young men, flushed and bright-eyed, were playing cards, while the gaudily dressed barmaids carried about the liquor. But neither the gamblers nor the drunkards paid any attention to the dying man on the floor. They squabbled and laughed, deaf to his groans. The proprietor of the dive, a burly fellow, who had been a prize fighter in his younger days, having seen the police secure the murderer, had gone quietly to his work of mixing drinks. Death apparently had no interest or terror for these people.
Suddenly a little old woman, with white hair, a thin shawl drawn about her, came to the street door. Her appearance produced a startling effect. The besotted old men at the bar put down their glasses, and looked at her uneasily. The card players hastily shut the door, to keep out of sight of her, and the barmaids huddled together in silence. But the change in the brutal landlord was the most striking. He rose hastily and came up to her, an expression of something like terror on his face.
"Is Jamie here?" she asked gently.
"No, no, he is not here. I do not know where he is," he said hurriedly.
She looked about her bewildered. "I was sure he was here. If he comes, will you tell him his mother wants him, sir?"
"Yes, yes."
The man urged her out of the door. The physician soon followed, and saw her going into another and another dive and grogshop along the street.
"Who is she?" he asked a policeman outside. "Is she in no danger?"
The man shook his head significantly. "They'll not harm her, sir. They've done their worst to her. She is the widow of a clergyman, and she had one son, a boy of sixteen years. They lived happily and comfortably enough till he took to going to pool rooms, and then to the variety theaters, and at last to these dives here.
"He was killed in one of them, in a fight, three months ago—in that very one you was in just now—and was carried home to her, bloated with drink, and covered with blood, and dead.
"She's known nothing since. She only remembers that he came to these houses; and she goes about among them searching for him every day.
"They're afraid to see her. They think she brings a curse on them. But they won't harm her. They've done their worst to her."
How many sons of loving mothers are going down, like this boy, into these dark places to-day?—Sel.