Roxie Daymon had pleasantly passed the summer and fall on the reputation of being rich, and was always the toast in the fashionable parties of the upper-ten in Chicago. During the first year of the war it was emphatically announced by the government at Washington, that it would never interfere with the slaves of loyal men. Roxie Daymon was loyal and lived in a loyal city. It was war times, and Roxie had received no dividends from the Simon estate.
In the month of January, 1862, the cold north wind from the lakes swept the dust from the streets in Chicago, and seemed to warn the secret, silent thoughts of humanity of the great necessity of m-o-n-e-y.
The good Angel of observation saw Roxie Daymon, with a richly-trimmed fur cloak upon her shoulders and hands muffed, walking swiftly on Strait street, in Chicago, watching the numbers—at No. 77 she disappeared.
The good Angel opened his ear and has furnished us with the following conversation;
“I have heard incidentally that Cæsar Simon is preparing to break the will of my esteemed friend, Young Simon, of Arkansas,” said Roxie, sadly.
“Is it p-o-s s-i-b-l-e?” said Governor Morock, affecting astonishment, and then continued, “More work for the lawyers, you know I am always liberal, madam.”
“But do you think it possible?” said Roxie, inquiringly. “You have money enough to fight with, madam, money enough to fight,” said the Governor, decidedly. “I suppose we will have to prove that Simon was in full possession of his mental faculties at the time,” said Roxie, with legal acumen. “Certainly, certainly madam, money will prove anything; will prove anything, madam,” said the Governor, rubbing his hands. “I believe you were the only person present at the time,” said Roxie, honestly.
“I am always liberal, madam, a few thousands will arrange the testimony, madam. Leave that to me, if you please,” and in a softer tone of voice the Governor continued, “you ought to pick up the crumbs, madam, pick up the crumbs.”
“I would like to do so for I have never spent a cent in the prospect of the estate, though my credit is good for thousands in this city.. I want to see how a dead man's shoes will fit before I wear them,” said Roxie, sadly.
“Good philosophy, madam, good philosophy,” said the Governor, and continued to explain. “There is cotton on the bank of the river at the Simon plantations. Some arrangement ought to be made, and I think I could do it through some officer of the federal army,” said the Governor, rubbing his hand across his forehead, and continued, “that's what I mean by picking up the crumbs, madam.”