THE EXPIATION.
Turning in the flood of light which suddenly burst on them, the
surprised four saw Rezonoff and his accomplice, Pepernik, each with a
flash light in one hand and a big revolver in the other. Catlike, the
Russians had crept up the stairs, and had caught their quarry napping.
“Hands up, there!” Rezonoff snapped. “I don’t believe any of you are
armed, but all the same, I am taking no chances. Pepernik, step over and
search those men.”
The ceremony concluded to his satisfaction, he lowered his gun, and,
stepping forward, swept the faces in front of him with a grin of
malicious triumph.
“Rats in a trap, eh?” His tone was savage, pitiless. “Well, like rats
you shall perish. The old man there was to have been my only victim; but
since you all have--what is the American phrase? Ah, yes--‘butted in,’
you will all--even you, Otto--have to share his fate. I shall lock you
all in up here, and then set fire to the house. Already there are
inflammables in every room below, the nearest fire-alarm boxes are
disconnected, and all surrounding telephone wires cut. The blaze will
get a rare start, I assure you.”
Involuntarily, Schilder, Meredith, and her father recoiled before such
fiendish malice. Only Grail held himself unmoved.
“Ah, captain?” The Russian turned to him. “You doubt me, eh? You don’t
think I will do what I say? Well, I will show you. I go now to set the
torch.”
“No; I don’t think so!” There was something in Grail’s quiet tone which
held the other in spite of himself.
“I won’t, eh? Why not?”
“Because, despite the cleverness of the note you sent me to-night, I
suspected it was a forgery, and left it with the telegraph operator at
the fort, instructing him, in case it disappeared, to transmit without
delay a dispatch I left with him at the same time.
“The dispatch,” he continued, “was to our secretary of state at
Washington, giving a full account of your acts of the past three days,
and asking him to communicate them to the Russian ambassador. So,
Captain Rezonoff, inasmuch as you have already exceeded your
instructions, and, as the agent of your government, been guilty of an
outrage which must seriously embarrass the Russian foreign office, I do
not think you will care to go to such extremes as you threaten.”
The emissary’s face paled. He knew what it meant to fail in such a
mission as he had undertaken--to be recalled in disgrace.
“The Russian government,” Grail added pointedly, “will hardly
countenance criminal acts on the part of one of its emissaries, done for
purposes of private revenge. More than that, Rezonoff, you know that the
affair in which Colonel Vedant was involved, many years ago, in Russia,
affected his honor, and that he acquitted himself with honor. Your
present attempts at a belated revenge are the acts of a vindictive and
dishonorable man. It looks very bad for you!”
Captain Rezonoff took a step forward, and gazed at Grail anxiously. “Has
that message been sent to Washington?” he asked chokingly.
“Many hours ago, I believe,” returned Grail quietly. “It has surely been
sent if your forged letter disappeared, as you planned to have it, and
if the----”
But there was no need for Grail to say more. There came to their ears a
swish of silken skirts on the stairway, and Mrs. Schilder, in an
elaborate dinner gown, but pale and agitated, burst in upon them.
She paid no heed to any of the others, but swiftly singling out her
brother, thrust a telegram toward him.
He gave one glance at it, then, crumpling it in his hand, dropped it to
the floor.
“What does it mean, Ivan?” the woman cried, clinging to him
hysterically. “What does it mean?”
He put her away from him, nodding over his shoulder to Schilder to take
her.
“Believe me, gentlemen”--he swept the group with a glance--“my sister
had no idea of my full intentions. She thought it only ordinary
secret-service work, and was chiefly concerned with fear that her
husband would find out what she was doing. I deceived her as to my
object. Russia has no use for failures! I know what my duty is!”
And, before any one could intervene, he moved briskly out of the attic
and down the stairs.
“Quick!” cried Colonel Vedant. “The man will escape!”
Grail raised a restraining hand. “I don’t think he cares to get away,”
he said quietly.
The look in the adjutant’s face held them all spellbound. Mrs. Schilder
clung to her husband, her face as white as chalk. Pepernik, the
conspirator, stood silent and nonplussed, making no effort to leave the
room. Every eye was upon him when suddenly, from below, in one of the
larger apartments, came the muffled report of a revolver.
Mrs. Schilder swooned, without a cry. Meredith Vedant gazed with
fascination, silently, at the imperturbable countenance of the
adjutant. The colonel and the adjutant, grim fighting men, turned cold,
inquiring looks upon the white and trembling Pepernik. The man seemed to
feel their question, and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of
helplessness. “I--I have not the courage of Captain Rezonoff,” he
muttered. “I surrender. Send for your police.”
Grail took the revolver which the man held out weakly, then turned and
went downstairs to the telephone.
THE END.
AN ODD GHOST STORY.
“It is strange,” said my grandfather one winter’s evening, as we sat by
the log fire, roasting chestnuts and watching the flames leaping and
dancing in harmony with the music of the crackling of the fuel and the
bursting of the nuts. “I was saying, Tom, that it was strange that the
trivial incidents and events of one’s early life stand out so clearly
through all the years that have slipped by, and seem as vivid and real
as the things of yesterday.”
Then grandfather stopped and looked at the fire, evidently in deep
thought, from which we children knew from past experience he would
evolve some story which would call for all our interest and attention.
And so it proved, for, rousing himself suddenly, he hurried into a
narrative at once strange and interesting.
“Yes,” he said, “ghost stories are, as a rule, capable of explanation. I
know it for a fact. If only those who see the apparition were to exert a
little presence of mind, it would be possible for them to solve what
they precipitately put down as supernatural and mysterious.
“I remember when I was a young man that I received an urgent invitation
from a very valued friend to spend a couple of weeks at his father’s
house at Mobberley. Of course, I responded most willingly, the more so
that I had never been to his place before, although I had heard much of
it. We traveled by coaches in those days, and a journey from London to
the north of Lincolnshire was no unconsidered trifle, I can assure you.
However, in a few days I found myself speeding up the drive which led to
the ancestral home of the Arden Howard family, and was, in truth, highly
gratified at the hearty reception my friend and his people extended to
me.
“There was no event of unusual interest for some days. Hunting,
shooting, and skating parties were organized, and in a downright
old-fashioned way we young people did justice to the entertainment so
lavishly provided.
“But it so happened that one day during the first week of my stay, and
some few days before Christmas, I met with a slight accident while on
the ice, and a sprained ankle prevented me from further indulging in
outside sports for the remainder of my stay. Nevertheless, I insisted
that my inability to join them should in no way deter my companions from
following their own sweet will. Thus it happened that one evening I was
the sole occupant of the great hall, which was, in point of fact, the
largest room in the whole house, and a most imposing apartment it was.
The lofty ceiling was supported by massive beams of oak finely carved,
and blackened by the smoke of centuries, while hanging round its walls
were some of the most beautiful tapestries I have ever seen. At
intervals were placed suits of armor, shields, swords, spears, and other
warlike implements, which shone and glistened in the glow of the immense
fire which burned in the open hearth.
“For a while I had occupied myself with a book, sitting far back in the
chimney corner, in order to avoid, as much as possible, the drafts which
seemed to steal upon one from all quarters; but as it grew dusk I threw
it aside, and fell into a state of musing, which must have lasted some
considerable time, since I found afterward that my pipe, which I had
just filled, was empty when I roused myself. The immediate cause of my
arousal is the point of my tale, which is most interesting and curious.
I was, as I said, sitting far in the chimney recess--where the light of
the fire, which made more or less visible the whole of the room, was
unable to penetrate--and was speculating on the various objects of
interest the place contained, when a door at the farther end of the room
was cautiously opened, and a figure arrayed in a garment of white
noiselessly entered and glided over the stone floor. It came straight
across the apartment, and casting a furtive glance round, took from its
place on the wall what in the distance seemed a long dagger, and in
another moment it was gone--disappearing, it would seem, behind the
tapestry hangings.
“You may judge I was somewhat startled at the apparition, yet being
curious to see for myself what further would happen, I sat immovable for
the period of--it may have been--fifteen minutes, when I was both
shocked and horrified to see the figure return, with the same noiseless
tread, clutching the dagger in its hand; while the drapery, the hand,
and the dagger itself were now covered with stains of blood. Before
replacing it, however, the figure wiped the blade upon its dress, and
left thereon a most ghastly and appalling stain. Then, with a
significant, almost noiseless laugh, it withdrew as it had come. If I
was startled at first, you may judge that the ‘creepy’ sensation was not
a little augmented by the second appearance, and I had come to no
satisfactory solution of the matter, when my friend, returning, entered
the hall, and burst into an excited account of his afternoon’s sport.
“That night I questioned the family as to the ghostly visitor, but found
that the house was quite free from any such tradition, not even
possessing, as most old country houses do, a haunted chamber; and the
family were as much astonished at my vision as I was myself. They had
never heard of any such apparition, and for some time stoutly held that
I had fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing. Finally it was agreed
that on the following day Herbert and I should watch together, and
accordingly, at the same hour next day, we stationed ourselves in the
chimney recess to await events; but we waited in vain.
“Three days we watched thus, and for three days I endured the
good-natured banter of the whole family; but on the fourth
day--Christmas Eve--our patience was rewarded, for scarcely had we
settled into comfortable shape, when the ghost walked. Never shall I
forget my companion’s face as the door opened, disclosing the form
swathed in white. Hitherto he had been skeptical, and was the most
aggressive of my many tormentors; yet I can now see how his eyes became
fixed and his ruddy face paled before the dimly outlined form, which,
with many a sidelong, cautious glance, neared the spot it had visited
when I first observed it. So still and deathlike was the silence, that
the crackling of the log startled us, and I believe we both felt as
though ‘our each particular hair’ was standing on end, as the white arm
of the figure drew out the dagger from its sheath; it certainly is true
we drew breath more easily when the door was once more closed. Still, we
were determined to unravel the mystery, and so with tremulous steps we
followed our unearthly visitant. Herbert was familiar with the passage
along which we hurried, through a concealed door, into a large
courtyard, from which the various outbuildings were entered.
“There was just light enough to enable us to discern the movements of
the object we were tracking. Leaving the yard, it entered a building
opposite our point of observation. Immediately there was a scuffling
sound as of some one struggling, and, terrified and alarmed, we rushed
across the yard. What a spectacle we beheld! Never shall I forget the
sight which met our gaze. The figure in white was stooping over a living
form, which emitted the most horrifying cries and sounds that ever fell
on mortal ears. One hand was on the throat, and in the other was the
uplifted weapon of destruction.
“As we looked we seemed to gain fresh courage, and rushed forward to
prevent, if possible, the coming blow, but as we entered, the hand
dropped, and the dagger entered the throat. Then, with one terrible
shriek and an unavailing struggle, the eyes closed and the living,
animate form became forever still. There, facing us, stood the form in
white, with the dreadful instrument now dripping blood still in his
hands. Yet neither of us moved until, with a strange gesture, it spoke
thus: ‘Oh, Mr. Herbert, sir; please, sir; indeed, sir; I’m awful sorry,
sir, that I used this, sir, but them other knives ain’t a bit sharp, an’
them ’ere suckin’ pigs wants to be dealt with quicklike. An’ please,
sir, don’t tell master as ’ow I used this, or ’e’ll be after giving me
notice to quit. An’ please, sir, indeed, Mr. Herbert, sir, I’ll never do
it agen, sir.’
“The fact of the matter was, that the cook, having to provide sucking
pigs for dinner, clandestinely purloined one of the sharpest
instruments, in order to overcome, as speedily as possible, the
obstacles which lay in the way of pig killing. His white blouse and
apron in the dim, uncertain firelight, together with his strange and
uncanny conduct, had deluded us into the belief that his appearance was
of a supernatural character.
“This is my ghost story, and I venture to believe that the majority of
those told would, if treated to a similar investigation, prove just as
delusive.”
And my grandfather, having ended his tale, resumed once more his pipe,
and sat laughingly enjoying our somewhat amusing criticism of his story
of the cook’s ghost.
A KING WHO WANTED FRESH AIR.
Not long ago there was terrible excitement at the royal court of Annam.
The king, Thanh Tai, who is now fourteen years old, was missing.
Etiquette requires that the Annamese king shall never leave the royal
grounds. He is a kingly prisoner.
But the young potentate was not hard to find. Though he was a king, he
was a boy; and it is natural for a boy, when he has some money in his
pocket, to want to go out and spend it.
That was exactly what the King of Annam had done. Entirely alone, he had
started on a “shopping” expedition through the streets of Hue. Of
course, no one knew him, because he had never shown his face in public.
He was simply a boy, like any boy; and this was exactly what he wanted.
But he was treated with great respect by the shopkeepers, because he
seemed to have plenty of money. Curiously enough, the thing which seemed
to attract him most was a head-shearing machine, or hair clipper, and
when the frightened nobles of the court discovered him at last, it was
with this singular implement in his possession.
He had already begun to experiment with it on the heads of several small
street boys, who were proving rebellious subjects, when the courtiers
approached him, prostrating themselves upon the ground, and making
alarmed outcries.
The king no longer goes out shopping, but he retains his hair clipper as
a souvenir of a happy day of freedom with the street boys.
THE FLAGSTAFF ON THE TOWER.
By WARREN BELL.
“Well,” said Mr. Grafton, as he pushed his chair back from the breakfast
table, “I think you’ve seen everything there is to be seen in such an
out-of-the-way place. Now, Harry, are you sure you’ve shown your friend
everything?”
Harry Grafton was my great chum, and I was spending a part of the
vacation with him. On hearing his father’s question, he puckered up his
brow and gave his not usually overtaxed brain a little exercise.
“Let’s see,” he replied, “you’ve seen the town hall and the old powder
mill, my rabbits, the bridge, and the lake. Yes, he’s seen everything,
father.”
“But he hasn’t been up the tower yet!” put in Jack Grafton, a young imp
of ten summers--and other seasons--who faithfully followed his brother
and myself about wherever we went.
Mr. Grafton’s beautiful country house was built of stone, with a tower
at one corner. This tower was very high and intersected with little
windows here and there.
“No, that he hasn’t!” exclaimed Harry, pleased at the idea of having
something else left to show me. “If you’ll let me have the keys, father,
we’ll go at once.”
Mr. Grafton hesitated before procuring the needful keys.
“You must be very careful,” he said; “and, Harry, my boy, you mustn’t
play any foolhardy pranks up there. Jack, I shan’t allow you to go at
all.”
Jack looked doleful as Mr. Grafton handed over the keys to his eldest
son, who promptly led the way to the tower.
With some difficulty Harry opened the massive door of the edifice, and
just as we were commencing our ascent on the spiral staircase we heard a
patter of small feet behind us, and, on looking round, observed that
Jack, unknown to his father, had managed to get into the tower as well,
by means, as he explained, of a side door which had been left open by
some servant.
At first his elder brother was for sending him back, but the little chap
pleaded so hard to be allowed to accompany us, that at length Harry
yielded to his entreaties, and we continued our journey up the tower,
Harry leading the way, myself next, and Jack last.
After a toilsome and dusty climb, we at length emerged on the roof of
the tower, from which post of vantage we could see the country for many
miles round.
But neither Harry nor Jack troubled themselves much about the view.
Delighted at being in such an exalted position, young Jack scampered
about the leaden roof in a most frisky manner, while Harry took in his
surroundings with all the gusto of a sixteen-year-old schoolboy. After a
time they fell to cutting their initials on the leadwork, and, this
done, looked about them for a fresh source of amusement. They were not
long in finding one.
In the center of the tower had been erected a tall and noble-looking
flagstaff. On the morning in question no flag was flying, only the staff
and its cordage being visible.
Harry, looking round for something fresh for his “idle hands to do,”
spied the vacant staff, and at once came to the conclusion that, as no
flag was to hand, something in the shape of one should be made to float
in the air in recognition of my visit to the village. So he quickly
collected all the handkerchiefs and ties appertaining to the trio,
knotted them together, and in a very short time had run them up to the
top of the flagstaff, where they floated defiantly in the breeze.
Small Jack clapped his hands with delight, and, climbing a little way up
the staff, began to lower and raise the impromptu flag with a too
energetic rapidity, for, on running it swiftly up to the top, the cord
got entangled in some way, with the result that the string of ties and
handkerchiefs remained fixed at the top of the staff, some eighteen feet
out of our reach.
“Well, you are a young idiot, Jack!” exclaimed his elder brother
angrily. “See what you’ve done!”
The young gentleman addressed had no need to look, for he was fully
aware of the magnitude of his crime.
“The cord has come off the roller,” I remarked.
“Yes,” said Harry. “The same thing happened a year ago last Fourth of
July, and Tom Cartwright, one of the gardeners, had to climb to the top
of the staff and put it right.”
“It’s rather a slender pole to bear a man’s weight,” I said.
“Yes,” said Harry, “everybody thought it was a risky thing to do; but
Tom’s a light chap, and he managed it all right. Father gave him two
dollars, I remember, for his pluck.”
Harry stopped speaking, and we all three gazed at the far-away ties and
handkerchiefs.
“Father will be awfully angry,” said Harry; “and, by Jove! Jack, you’ll
get it for coming up when he told you not to.”
Jack was looking exceedingly troubled at this piece of information, when
a voice in our rear observed:
“Well, young gentlemen, this is a pretty piece of work!”
We turned round quickly, and perceived that a grimy head, clad in a
rough tweed cap, had been poked through the trapdoor which led onto the
top of the tower, and that a pair of brown eyes belonging to the same
was watching us with considerable interest.
“Oh, Tom, is that you?” exclaimed Harry. “This is the very man I was
telling you about,” he continued, turning to me.
Tom Cartwright, after showing us his head, next proceeded to manifest
that he possessed a body and a complete set of limbs, by hoisting
himself through the trap and standing upright on the roof.
“I’ve been mending a window,” he explained, “and saw you go up the
staircase, although you didn’t see me.”
“How are we to get it down?” asked Harry despondingly, pointing to his
flag.
Tom jerked and pulled the ropes for some little time, and at length gave
it as his opinion that nothing short of “climbin’ would do it.”
“Look here, Tom,” said Harry desperately, “if you’ll climb up and get
those things down, I’ll give you all the money I have--fifty cents.”
“And I’ll give you ten cents,” chimed in Jack, putting a grubby little
hand in his pocket and pulling out the sum in question.
“I don’t want your money, Master Harry,” said the gardener sturdily,
“and if I did, I don’t think I could earn it, as I doubt if this pole
’u’d bear me now. I’m heavier than I was a year ago, and the pole’s not
so tough.”
“Oh, it’ll bear you,” said Harry. “You see Tom, I don’t want father to
know anything about this.”
Tom smiled grimly as he proceeded to take off his coat and boots.
“I’ll try it, Master Harry,” he said, getting up and shaking the staff
by way of testing its bearing properties. “‘Never say die’ is my motto,
so here goes.”
With these words the gardener commenced his ascent of the staff, which
began to tremble violently beneath his weight. We three clustered at its
foot, watching the climber’s movements with hard-drawn breath and
straining eyes, for it was no light task that Cartwright had set himself
to accomplish. Up, up, up, he went, with the skill of a practiced
climber, never pausing and never looking down. In order to find out
whether he was observed, Harry ran to the parapet and looked over.
“Why, there’s quite a crowd of people there!” he exclaimed, starting
back, “and--and--yes, I can see father among them.”
I took a hasty glance over the parapet myself, and noticed that all the
people in the neighborhood were hastening out of their houses in order
to get a better view of the intrepid climber. From the point where I
looked over, the tower went sheer down to the ground, without a break of
any kind.
“Tom has reached the top!” sang out Harry, while I was still gazing at
the people below.
I hastened back to the foot of the staff, and perceived that the
gardener was rapidly disengaging the line of ties and handkerchiefs from
the rope. The staff was trembling violently, and so I suggested to Harry
that we three should hold it by its stem, since we might, in that way,
be able to steady it in a measure.
So we all seized it, and, as subsequent events proved, it was very
fortunate that we did so, for just as Tom had unfastened Harry’s flag
and adjusted the line in its proper place, the staff gave a loud crack.
“Look out, Tom!” Harry was just shouting, when the staff broke at the
bottom and fell, with its human burden, right across the side of the
tower which faced the people below. I remember--indeed, shall I ever
forget?--the glimpse that I got of the gardener’s face as the top of
the pole flashed over the parapet. He was pale as death, and seemed, as
he passed through the air, already to taste the bitterness of death. It
was truly an awful moment!
We three at the foot of the pole mechanically clung to it, with the
result that our combined weight kept the staff from going right over the
parapet. For a few seconds the catastrophe took the shape of a terrible
game of seesaw, Cartwright, with the majority of the staff, hanging over
the parapet, and ourselves, with little more than the stem of the pole,
balancing it down on our side. Meanwhile, the gardener, with wonderful
nerve and strength, clung to his frail support. First the staff went
down on his side, and we went up in the air. Then, as our combined
weight altered our position, Harry got one foot into the trap, with the
result that the gardener was poised in the air and held there simply by
the strength of Harry’s leg. Cartwright grasped the situation in a
moment, and, with a shout to Harry to keep the pole in that position,
came down the staff hand over hand till he reached the parapet, when he
slid onto the leaden roof and sank down in a dead faint.
Instantly we pulled up the staff amid a tremendous yell of relief from
the people below. Two minutes later Mr. Grafton and a dozen of his
neighbors were by our side, some attending to Cartwright, and some to
little Jack, who had also fainted with fright.
Thus did a boyish freak almost end in a terrible tragedy.
SWISS WATCH SCHOOLS.
The famous Swiss watch schools are the most exacting industrial
institutions in the world. Their methods, which are doubtless the secret
of their success, are very curious and interesting.
In one of the most celebrated of these institutions in Geneva, for
example, a boy must first of all be at least fourteen years of age in
order to enter.
After being admitted, the student is first introduced to a wood-turning
lathe, and put it work at turning tool handles. This exercise lasts for
several weeks, according to the beginner’s aptitude. This is followed by
exercises in filing and shaping screw drivers and small tools. In this
way he learns to make for himself a fairly complete set of tools.
He next undertakes to make a large wooden pattern of a watch frame,
perhaps a foot in diameter, and, after learning how this frame is to be
shaped, he is given a ready-cut one of brass, of the ordinary size, in
which he is taught to drill holes for the wheels and screws. Throughout
this instruction the master stands over the pupil, directing him with
the greatest care.
The pupil is next taught to finish the frame so that it will be ready to
receive the wheels. He is then instructed to make fine tools and to
become expert in handling them.
This completes the instruction in the first room, and the young
watchmaker next passes to the department where he is taught to fit the
stem-winding parts, and to do fine cutting and filing by hand.
Later on he learns to make the more complex watches, which will strike
the hour, minute, et cetera, and the other delicate mechanisms for which
the Swiss are famous.
THE NEWS OF ALL NATIONS.
Tobacco Going Out of Style.
Discussing smoking among students in a chapel address, President Main,
of Grinnell College, Grinnell, Iowa, declared that he expected the day
to come when the use of the weed would be as obsolete as snuff taking
now is.
“Time was,” said the president, “when everybody, from prince to pauper,
prided himself on his ability to dip snuff, but now the only place you
can find snuff boxes is in a museum of antiquities, and some day our
descendants may have to go to these same museums to find our pipes and
other smokers’ utensils.”
There is no definite faculty ordinance at Grinnell against smoking, but
for years one of the unwritten laws of the students has been that there
shall be no use of tobacco in public.
Pet Ground Hog Leaves Home.
About four years ago H. M. Adington, living near Hilliard, Ky., captured
a ground hog. He soon had it tamed like any of his other domestic pets,
and running about his premises as freely as his dog or cat. He finally
had it so it would obey him just like a child.
While the ground hog was small, Adington pierced holes in its ears,
intending to insert silver rings in the punctures for novelty and
ornament, but he never could secure the rings.
Later, for some unsolved reason, unless the ground hog started out in
search of its shadow, it disappeared. This was about four years ago.
Recently a farmer living near Mr. Adington’s place shot and killed a
ground hog, and in descriptions of it Adington quickly recognized that
it was none other than his former pet.
Boy Weds Twelve-year-old Bride.
Eugene Bowman, aged twenty, has married Leona Hemphill, whose age is
twelve years and six months, after courting the little maid for over two
years. The bride’s mother is a widow with six children and she is said
to have made no objection to the wedding. All parties are residents of
Independence, La.
Bow and Arrows Fatal Weapon.
A bow and arrows constitute a deadly weapon. For driving two surveyors
off his reservation farm with a shower of glass-tipped arrows, Willie
Anton, an aged Pima, was convicted in the Federal court for the district
of Arizona of assault with a deadly weapon and given a jail sentence of
sixty days. Anton had a lawyer who interposed the defense that a bow and
arrows are not a deadly weapon.
A Pleasant Railroad Story.
A grudge turned to gratitude is the unusual experience of John Hansen, a
railroad conductor of Atchison, Kan. Years ago when he was a freight
conductor he whipped a boy for hopping his train. The boy threatened to
kill him, and for several years shouted threats at him when the train
passed by.
Finally Hansen was promoted to a passenger train, and did not see the
boy, as he passed through the town at night. Not long ago the conductor
was in the lobby of a hotel at the terminal of his run when a powerfully
framed man approached him and asked:
“Are you John Hansen?”
The conductor admitted it, and the stranger continued:
“Do you think you could whip me?”
Hansen admitted it was unlikely, as the stranger was a near giant.
“Well,” continued the stranger, “I am the fellow you whipped once for
hopping trains, and I probably owe my sound legs, arms, and life to you.
Shake hands.”
Girls, Do You Get This?
Declaring they were “watchfully waiting” for the right girl, twenty-two
per cent of Princeton University’s seniors declared they had never been
kissed. A fellow “never wanted to,” while others said they objected to
kissing for “hygienic reasons.”
Oregon Town Has a Flesh-eating Horse.
In Seaside, Ore., they have what is often spoken of as the
“flesh-eating” horse. This animal actually eats the flesh of raw clams,
oysters, mussels, and some meats. He is especially fond of clams, and
will eat them raw in preference to hay or grain; in fact, he will eat
almost anything that is eaten by man or horse.
“Billie Bitters,” as he is called, is a horse of more than ordinary
intelligence. He will point at a crab in a crab hole as a pointer points
at a bird. He will follow his master from one digging ground to another,
and should he be spoken harshly to, he will sulk like a scolded child,
and the only way that he can be persuaded to follow his master again is
to feed him some more clams.
Billie understands nearly everything that Mr. Scott says to him. Should
he say: “Billie, it’s time to go home,” the horse will immediately turn
the wagon around and start on the return trip for home.
Billie is a bunch-grass seven-year-old, and a native of eastern Oregon.
He was brought to the beach by W. B. Scott, of Seaside, when but three
years old and broken into the clam business. Billie has followed this
line of work ever since.
Belle of the Ranch is Won by Movie Manager.
When Leonard B. Gratz arrived at the Laflin Beumer ranch in Vici, Okla.,
three years ago in charge of a moving-picture troupe, he found that not
one of the movie actresses was capable of making one of those mad dashes
on horseback that causes thrills in Western dramas.
He was about to give up hope, when he observed a pretty girl, with her
hair streaming back, riding a galloping horse down the roadway. Gratz
learned that the fair rider was Nellie Beumer, the ranch owner’s
daughter. That same afternoon she successfully portrayed the rôle of the
heroine before the movie camera, and Gratz was more than pleased.
When the picture players left the ranch, they observed a strong
friendship between Miss Beumer and Gratz. This friendship was kept
alive by correspondence, which finally led in the direction Gratz
desired.
As a result they were married in a Congregational church in Chicago.
Gratz is now president of a movie ticket company. The couple will spend
their honeymoon at the Panama Exposition.
Interesting New Invention.
A machine with which he says any child can cut its own hair has been
perfected by Joseph J. McDonough, of Rochester, Pa. The invention
consists of an ordinary comb so constructed that a safety-razor blade is
held firmly against each side, at any desired distance from the edge of
the comb. By a system of springs these blades can be regulated so as to
make the cut long or short. According to the inventor, a man can cut his
hair while riding on a fast-moving train, an automobile, or even an
aëroplane, without danger of cutting himself or spoiling the job.
Rich Youth is Killed by Saw.
John B. Tucker, twenty-three years old, fell against a circular saw in a
mill near Haskell, Okla., and was killed. Tucker’s home was in
Meadville, Pa., and he had inherited considerable property. He was
working at the sawmill just because he liked the excitement, and was not
on the pay roll.
Finds a Strange Gold Coin.
C. J. Poole, of Troy, N. C., reports having found a strange gold coin
while plowing near Harrisville. He describes it as follows:
It is about the size of our silver half dollar; a little larger on the
face, but not quite so thick. Obverse--female head and neck long,
flowing curly hair, decorated with arrowheads; very prominent face, nose
and mouth. Legend--10 Annes, V. D. G. Port, Et. A£g. Rex date 1750. A
large capital “R” on bottom of neck and extending almost into the date
figures. Reverse--crown coat of arms.
The coin is not quite round, but is evidently in its original shape. It
weighs nearly half an ounce. This coin was probably lying in the ground
during the Revolutionary War, but where it came from, who lost it or hid
it, no one here knows. The coin is in fine condition.
Digs Out Mastodon’s Leg.
Ott Workman, while digging fence-post holes on his river bottom, near
Sholes, Ind., unearthed a leg bone of a mastodon. It is in a good state
of preservation.
Newspaper Recalls His Mind.
J. Foster Jenkins, a wealthy real-estate operator of Yonkers, N. Y., who
disappeared April 7th, has been found in Cincinnati, Ohio, whither he
wandered while a victim of amnesia. Mrs. Jenkins received from him a
letter telling of his recovery. His picture, printed in a newspaper,
restored his memory.
Canoe Owner Solves Problem.
The little power devices which have in recent years been placed on the
market for use on rowboats by placing the device over the stern have
proven very popular, but the owner of the canoe has been prevented from
using it on account of the shape of the stern of the latter, which
leaves no means of securing the engine and its necessary parts.
This has now been accomplished by an ingenious canoe owner by building a
well in the canoe by two partitions extending across the boat, into
which the engine is lowered after a hole has been cut through the bottom
to accommodate the propeller shaft and blades. This arrangement has been
found to be entirely satisfactory in practice.
Most Surprising Discovery.
The following was found on the examination papers of eleven-year-old
Jimmy Henderson of the public school in Miami, Okla. It was entirely
unintentional, being a list of names of the countries at war, which the
pupils were required to write down:
G-ermany.
R-ussia.
A-ustria.
B-elgium.
F-rance.
E-ngland.
S-ervia.
T-urkey.
What Compound Interest Does.
One dollar at five per cent compounded interest for one thousand years
would amount to 104 quintillion, 69 quatrillion, 620 trillion, 917
billion, 985 million, 83 thousand, 389 dollars
($104,069,620,917,985,083,389). This is the result obtained by Edwin
Soule, a freshman in the Newport High School in Marysville, Pa.
Assistant Principal G. W. Barnitz, of the school, wagered young Soule
that he could not solve the problem. Soule worked until midnight,
consuming two tablets and four pencils. He received his dollar.
Barefoot “Baron” of Kentucky Dies.
Rankin Clemmons, who died last week at the residence of D. B. Cawby, a
tenant on one of his farms, near South Elkhorn, Ky., where he had made
his home for nearly a year, was the largest individual holder of lands
in the blue-grass region of Kentucky, probably the wealthiest citizen of
Lexington County, and a man of many eccentricities.
Mr. Clemmons owned between 8,000 and 9,000 acres of land in Mercer,
Jessamine, Woodford, and Fayette Counties, of which about 1,100 acres
are in the latter.
All of Mr. Clemmons’ lands are of high quality, none being valued at
less than $100 per acre, while much of it is estimated to be worth from
$125 to $150 an acre. In addition, Mr. Clemmons is understood to have
held considerable personalty, including cash, pending deals for more
land, and his estate is estimated at nearly $1,500,000.
A notable feature of Mr. Clemmons’ acquisition of great wealth was the
fact that he had never engaged in speculation or dabbled in city
property, or stocks and bonds, but had amassed his wealth from the
direct products of the soil.
His whole life was given to the accumulation of his fortune, his entire
being seeming to be centered to that end. He had apparently no other
interests, few attachments, no recreations, and many eccentricities, and
by the latter he was most generally known in this county.
He had up to the end of his life gone barefooted in the summertime,
except when he came to town; had never bought a newspaper or book; had
never ridden in an automobile or upon an electric car, used a telephone,
or, as far as is known, sent a telegraph message.
He was, however, a shrewd and alert observer, and kept well informed on
current events through association with others and perusal of newspapers
which happened to come into his hands without cost, and was not averse
to utilizing modern farming implements in his agricultural operations.
However, his life business was that of agricultural financier rather
than farmer, he personally working little of his vast domain of
blue-grass land.
The farming upon his property was done almost entirely by tenants,
though he himself had daily done hard manual labor throughout his long
life. Only last fall, when eighty-nine years old, he was cutting briers
upon his place just before he became confined with the illness which
caused his death.
A peculiarity was that he would never raise tobacco, not even on the
shares with his tenants, as is the almost universal custom in the burley
belt. If a man wanted to raise tobacco upon his land, Mr. Clemmons would
rent him the ground at forty dollars an acre.
“I don’t know anything about raising tobacco,” he would say, “but if you
want to raise it upon my land you can go on and do so, and give me your
note at forty dollars an acre per annum, which people say tobacco land
is worth, and pay it when you sell the crop.”
He never wore a watch in his life, although he at one time had two
clocks in the house, one which was an ancient brass timepiece, probably
an heirloom, but both of these were stolen many years ago and were never
replaced. The sun was his timekeeper, he going to work by its rising and
considering it time to quit when it had set. He never used a vehicle for
travel, but came to town on horseback, he having made his last visit
here several weeks ago by that method.
Only one time in all his ninety years, as far as there is any record,
did Mr. Clemmons “blow himself” in an extravagant outlay of money. This
was when he got married, some sixty years ago. On that occasion he not
only bought himself a nice horse and new buggy, but paid fifty dollars
for a set of harness, as he himself was wont to relate. But when the
wedding festivities were over, the buggy was placed in the barn, never
to come out again. Its leather decayed, and fell apart, its wheels
rusted in idleness, and the whole vehicle, with the lapse of time, fell
to pieces.
Also Mr. Clemmons, in honor of one great event of his life, purchased
extravagantly of wedding garments. Complete as any dandy could have it,
a broadcloth suit, a pair of fine, soft-leather boots, and even a plug
hat, which was in the fashion of that day, were bought to adorn the
bridegroom, but they were never worn but once.
After the marriage Mr. Clemmons said he must now go to work, and the
stovepipe hat, the soft-leather boots, and the broadcloth suit were hung
upon nails in the attic, and there remained until a few years ago, when
a hard-up thief, who took the clocks likewise, carried off the wedding
raiment.
Mr. Clemmons’ wife, who had been Miss Virginia Brock, of near Keene, in
Jessamine County, died about thirteen years ago. Two of his three
children had met violent deaths, but he is survived by one child, Mrs.
John Larkin, wife of a farmer near South Elkhorn.
Mr. Clemmons would have been ninety years old next fall, and with the
exception of his nearly fatal injuries when he was attacked by robbers
in 1891, and on several occasions when he met with accidents in his
work, he had never been critically ill in his life until about a year
ago.
Drives Horse 62,868 Miles.
Adam Puerkle, carrier on R. F. D. Route 2, out of Stuttgart, Ark., has a
horse that he began driving on the route March 9, 1903, and since that
date he has had this horse in constant use, a portion of the time making
daily trips and the rest of the time making three trips a week.
He has made a total mileage of 62,868 in the mail service with this
horse, and is still using him three trips per week, with a fair prospect
of several years’ more service. This horse is fifteen years old.
Cow Chews Tobacco and Dies.
When William Rogers, a farmer west of Bethany, Mo., returned home from
town late the other night, in the rush of putting away his team and
doing sundry chores he forgot some chewing tobacco which he had
purchased, and left the package containing over two pounds on the wagon
seat.
Rogers thought of his tobacco in the night, but decided that it would be
safe till morning.
When he appeared in the barnyard next morning, he was surprised to see
one of his best milch cows standing by the wagon, diligently chewing. An
investigation showed that she had devoured nearly all of the tobacco.
The cow showed symptoms of illness immediately, and a veterinarian was
summoned, but the animal died the next day.
His Heart Sewn Up, Patient Recovers.
A remarkable operation, involving the sewing up of a wound in a man’s
heart, was performed successfully recently at the Beth Israel Hospital,
Monroe and Jefferson Streets, New York City. The injured man, Israel
Ziff, of 238 East 105th Street, is well on the way to recovery, and
probably will be out of the hospital in a few days.
Ziff operates a pushcart in Monroe Street, near the hospital, selling
slices of coconut to passers-by. He is in the habit of slicing the
coconut himself with a knife, more than a foot long, whose wide blade
tapers down to a sharp point.
Several months ago Ziff cut himself badly while cutting up his wares,
and his wife and children begged him to give up his occupation and find
some other method of earning a living. He tried to do it, but he could
find nothing else. His pushcart was well known in the neighborhood, and
his business was good; so he was compelled to keep at it.
Business was brisk one night, and the coconuts were going fast. Ziff had
to cut up new ones from time to time, and every few minutes found him
bending over with his knife at work. Presently the thing he had always
feared happened; his knife slipped and cut through the left breast, a
deep wound.
Ziff knew he was badly hurt. So he straightened up, laid down his knife,
and started for the Beth Israel Hospital, about a block and a half away.
How he got there continues to be a mystery to the surgeons, but he did
get there. He walked into the office in Jefferson Street, near Cherry
Street, looking as if nothing much matter.
Doctor George Levy, who received him, saw that his injuries were
serious, and notified Doctor Alfred A. Schwartz, the house surgeon.
Doctor Schwartz’s examination disclosed a wound at least an inch and a
half long at the outer surface and going far down in.
Doctor Schwartz called up Doctor Charles Goodman, of 969 Madison Avenue,
the attending surgeon, and told him that he was badly needed at once.
Doctor Simon D. Ehrlich, the hospital’s anæsthetist, also was notified,
and Ziff was carried to the operating room. Here Doctor Schwartz packed
the wound with gauze and stopped the flow of blood, and everything was
made ready to start work when Doctor Goodman arrived.
The operating surgeon arrived in record time, and then began some quick
work. The flow of blood had to be stopped in the first place, and the
patient anæsthetized for the operation. But if the chest where cut open
to check the hemorrhage, the lungs would have collapsed from the air
pressure on the outside, so air had to be pumped in until the inflation
was sufficient to resist the pressure from without.
This process was combined with the application of the anæsthetic by the
method known as intertracheal anæsthesia. By means of an apparatus
operated by electricity, ether was mixed in a jar with air in the
proportion considered advisable, and the resultant mixture forced
through a tube far down into the patient’s throat. By this means
anæsthesia was produced and the air within the lungs was raised to
double the normal pressure.
With the patient anæsthetized and the lungs secured against danger of
collapse, Doctor Goodman cut away three ribs and a piece of the
breastbone. He found the chest full of blood, and this had to be drawn
off before anything more could be done. When the blood was cleared away,
Doctor Goodman found that the knife had made a big cut in the
pericardium and that the point had gone flown nearly three-eighths of an
inch into the heart.
The most ticklish part of the operation followed--sewing up the heart
while it was palpitating. One stitch was sufficient to close the wound
in the heart itself, three more did the work with the pericardium.
Doctor Goodman sewed the skin together over the wound, and Ziff was put
away to recover. He came out of the operation as rapidly as could have
been expected, and except that the protection of the ribs over the heart
will be missing, he is likely to be in no way the worse for his
experience.
Had the point of the knife gone a millimeter or so farther in, Ziff
never would have lived to get to the hospital, as the consequent
hemorrhage would have been almost instantly fatal. The hospital
authorities at first supposed from the nature and depth of the wound
that he had been stabbed in a fight, and it was not until a day or two
ago that Ziff recovered sufficiently to tell them how he had been
injured.
“The Lady of the Lighthouse.”
Beautiful Mrs. Helen S. Woodruff, of New York, who lived in darkness for
two years, is now working hard for the cause of the blind. In her own
time of trial she patiently learned to “see through her fingers” and
wrote the story, “The Lady of the Lighthouse,” which has made her
famous.
When her sight was restored by a marvelous operation, she was so
grateful that she has devoted all her time and energy for the benefit of
the New York Association of the Blind, which has established the
original “Lighthouse” in New York.
Mrs. Woodruff is the first society woman who has acted for the “movies,”
and she only consented to do this in the dramatization of her story
because it would aid the cause of the blind. The photo play which
illustrates her talks on the blind is to be shown all over the country,
for charity.
Humorous Exploits of Old-time Editor.
For a short time immediately preceding the Civil War, Henry Faxon, who,
according to William Lightfoot Vischer, was the “father of American
newspaper humor,” was a special writer on the Louisville _Journal_.
Afterward he went from Louisville to Columbia, Tenn., and was the editor
there, for perhaps a year or so, of a weekly newspaper; but he really
belonged to Buffalo, N. Y.
Henry Faxon, familiarly called Hank, was a man of innumerable
accomplishments. He could speak many tongues. He was an excellent
electrician, a brilliant musician, had a rich singing voice, and
frequently delighted his company with songs that he sang to his own
accompaniment on the piano. He was a fine draftsman and cartoonist, and
often made pictures with his pencil that were full of fun.
In newspaper work he wrote with a humor that has never been excelled,
and in a broad, exaggerated style, which was not widely appreciated in
his day. Indeed, he was the originator of that class of newspaper humor,
and a brilliant poet withal.
It was Faxon who caused Blondin to achieve the first great performance
in rope walking that gave that artist a world-wide fame in--and on--his
particular line. Faxon induced Blondin to walk across Niagara River at
the falls the first time the rope walker attempted that seemingly
perilous feat, which he performed so many times afterward.
Faxon was the editor of a little newspaper at Buffalo at the time under
consideration--the summer of 1859. A circus had stranded in Buffalo, and
with it was this Frenchman, Emile Gravelot Blondin, who came to this
country in 1855. He was part owner of the broken circus. Faxon took a
fancy to Blondin, or, at any rate, sympathized with him in his distress,
and, after serious discussion of the proposed thrilling feat, Faxon
agreed to supply the paraphernalia, at the cost of several hundred
dollars, and Blondin declared he was ready to perform it, which he did
for the first time on June 30, 1859, later doing that same act with a
man strapped on his back, and again with a wheelbarrow, stove, and
cooking utensils, with which he cooked a meal when halfway over the
rope.
The thing was widely advertised; great excursions went to see it.
Blondin’s fame and fortune were made.
Faxon was happiest when doing something to relieve the distress of
another, and he was moreover greatly given to practical joking. These
two characteristics in him produced a hoax that became famous at the
time.
A little south of Buffalo is a beautiful sheet of water called Silver
Lake, and it had some mysteries about it. In its center was a deep place
that soundings could not measure. Its waters were cold as ice, and there
were no fish or other living creatures in it. On its banks a man had
built a fine hotel, hoping to make it an attractive resort, but guests
were few and tribulation plenty. Bankruptcy threatened, and the landlord
told his troubles to Faxon, who had run down there for a few days’ rest.
Faxon fixed up a plan to fill the hotel. Faxon went back to Buffalo and
secured the services of another genius--a mechanical genius--a young
German, whose only wealth was his ingenuity and a little tinsmithery.
Faxon told him what he wanted. The German jumped at the idea.
He constructed a great tin or zinc monster like a sea serpent. It had an
immense and fearful red mouth, from which darted a forked tongue, and
its huge jaws worked like an alligator’s.
This thing was so anchored near the deepest place in the lake and was so
arranged with pulleys and tiller ropes, or something of that nature,
that being worked from a secret subcellar in the hotel, it could be made
to dart its head and hideous length up out of the lake and lash the
water with its tail until it would send big ripples to the shores.
Its movements were so rapid and eccentric that the artificiality of the
thing could not be detected, and it had no regular hours for appearance,
but was a sort of a go-as-you-please serpent.
Faxon wrote blazing columns in his newspapers about it. The newspapers,
all over the country had many lengths of that snake in them, in word
paintings and other picture. The hotel became crowded, and the landlord
put up sheds and tents on his premises and filled them with guests, and
he coined money, so to speak.
The monstrous serpent was a wonder and a mystery for a great many more
than seven days, but at last, in a specially strenuous flop one day, the
apparatus broke and that old tin serpent turned its white belly up to
the sun, and the Silver Lake snake business exploded.
Meantime, the landlord had become as rich as a king and could have
afforded to give the hotel away, but he used it for many years as a
country seat, and looked complacently at his fortune as a monument to
the wit of Hank Faxon and the credulity of mankind.
How to Live Long, Told by Eleven Men.
What is the secret of long life? Probably there is no question that has
so many answers, nor such a variety of answers. But it’s still the big
question. The other day eleven recipes for long lives were given at a
dinner at Amarillo, Texas, held in honor of the Reverend James
Cunningham, celebrating his ninetieth birthday. The guests were veterans
of the Confederacy, whose ages ranged from seventy-five to eighty-one,
and each told briefly of the manner of living that had enabled him to
reach old age and retain good health and vigor.
In substance, the recipes provide for hard work, fresh air, outdoor
living, the avoidance of trouble and worry, good humor, plenty of sleep,
temperance, and the avoidance of tobacco.
“For fifty years my habits have been regular,” said Doctor Cunningham.
“Before that time I was careless. Then I went outdoors and engaged in
farm work. The change was marvelous, and I have exceeded the record for
longevity that has appeared in other generations of the family.”
Captain W. W. Kidd has been a carpenter thirty-five years, and naturally
has spent much of his time out-of-doors. Regular habits and care of his
health enabled him to pass the eighty mark. “My father lived to be
ninety-eight,” he said, “and one of my grandmothers to be ninety-six.
While long life runs in the family, I am sure that fresh air and plenty
of exercise will make a man live a long time.”
J. L. Caldwell said that for fifty years he had not lived in a plastered
house, and that he attributes to that fact much responsibility for his
excellent health and long life. “Before I abandoned the plastered
house,” he said, “I was in poor health, and after it I had no physical
complaints worth mentioning. I have had exercise sufficient to keep up
circulation.”
“I have always avoided worry and courted good humor,” said J. G. Hudson.
“I attribute my long life to my service in the army as a soldier,” said
A. B. Kinnebrew. “Before entering the army I was sickly and weak. The
camp life and marches and excitement recuperated me, and thereafter I
enjoyed good health by being careful of my habits and eating.”
“I have lived temperately, eaten coarse victuals, and slept well, and
these things have much to do with a man’s health,” said J. H. Rockwell.
“There is something, too, in ancestry. My father lacked but four months
reaching the century mark; another ancestor lived to the age of one
hundred and seven. I have traced my ancestry back three hundred years,
and find that a majority of them have lived beyond the age of eighty.”
“At the age of fourteen, when I left home,” said W. J. Patton, “I made a
vow to myself never to use intoxicants or gamble. I have worked
out-of-doors most of the time since the war, and much of the time have
slept in the open. I have always taken plenty of exercise.”
J. M. White said he had never used tobacco and had always been
temperate, and he believed those two facts were largely responsible for
his reaching a ripe old age.
Richard Wren’s health was poor before he entered the army, but the
change made him robust and strong, and he has enjoyed good health to
this day.
D. L. Britain said hard work and regular and temperate habits had caused
him to grow into a stout and happy old age.
“I have never had any trouble with my neighbors, and that means a lot in
the matter of health,” said Doctor W. A. Lockett.
“Early to bed and early to rise has been my motto,” said J. H. Sowder.
“Added to that I have been temperate, regular in my habits, and avoided
things that might injure my health.”
Brothers as Like as Two Peas.
Leslie and Hallie Woodcock are brothers, who have the entire marine
corps at League Island, near Philadelphia. They are as remarkable
“twins” as ever made any one gasp, and, after eight months, their
officers and fellow marines of Company 17 cannot tell them apart.
Leslie and Hallie are seventeen years and twenty years old and enlisted
from their home in South Carolina. At enlistment they were promised that
they would never be placed in separate companies. Not long ago a
disgusted captain was for assigning them to different companies. They
smiled and told him of their enlistment agreement.
In reading the list of those detailed for various police duties in the
mornings, the company officers merely mention the name of Woodcock. They
realize that one blond young twin will report for duty. Further
investigation is useless.
“I’ve done a pile of stuff for you, old boy,” said Hallie to his
brother. “Remember the time----”
“I know you stole my girl about a month ago,” replied Leslie. “Thought I
was solid. But she never knew the difference.”
“Maybe we haven’t got some girls up in town buffaloed,” grinned Hallie.
“When we get paid we toss a coin to see who is to spend his money first.
The one that wins goes uptown and sees the crowd. Our salaries aren’t
fat and they don’t last forever, but when the first one of us begins to
run low, the other one steps into his shoes, and then our citizen
friends think that there is only one of us and that one is there with
considerable dough.”
Each of the boys holds in his voice the smooth drawl of the South. One
can’t tell the difference between the tones. There is something uncanny
in the similarity of the two smiles. Their lips go back in exactly the
same fashion and four eyes twinkle alike. They smile often, too, for to
them the resemblance is life’s one grand joke. Each weighs 149 pounds;
wears an eight shoe, a 14-3/4 collar, and the same size hat.
One or two of the men have discovered that one of the twins has a small
piece chipped from one of his front teeth.
“That would be a hot one,” observed an old sergeant: “Who goes
there--Woodcock? Halt and uncover tooth.”
Farmer Finds Hornets’ Nest.
C. E. Demurr, a farmer living near the Kansas-Oklahoma line, found a
hornets’ nest on the Chickaskia River, and believing it empty, took it
home for an ornament in his room.
Demurr thought nothing more of it until the next day, when he heard a
buzzing sound. The hornets, which had been awakened from their stupor by
the fire, left the nest and made things lively about the Demurr home for
the next few hours. All efforts to dislodge the “bald heads” were
unavailing until the room doors were closed and the fire permitted to
burn out. The hornets became benumbed with the cold and were easily
killed.
A Smart Youngster.
Two women whose husbands are members of the faculty of Oberlin College
went to call on the new professor’s wife. They were shown into a room
where the small daughter of the house was playing. While awaiting the
appearance of their hostess, one of the ladies remarked to her friend,
at the same time nodding toward the little girl. “Not very p-r-e-t-t-y,
is she?” spelling the word so that the child should not understand.
Instantly, before there was time for the friend to reply, came the
answer from the little girl: “No, not very p-r-e-t-t-y, but awfully
s-m-a-r-t.”
The Original Rattlesnake Flag.
Pennsylvania’s State museum, at Harrisburg, has just received one of the
most precious of the historic relics housed there. It is the original
rattlesnake flag of the Revolutionary War, the oldest banner
representing what is now the United States.
The flag was donated by the heirs of Samuel Craig, of Westmoreland
County, who died six years ago. One of the forbears of the Craigs
carried it in the early days of the Revolution.
Edmund S. Craig, of New Alexandria, and P. M. Hill, of Greensburg, two
of the donors, took the flag to the museum. Jesse E. B. Cunningham,
ex-deputy attorney general and a former Westmoreland County man,
accompanied the pair and presented the relic to Thomas Lynch Montgomery,
State librarian and curator of the museum. The flag is red, with the
coiled rattlesnake and the “Don’t Tread on Me” warning in the center.
_The Weekly 101_, Most Unique Paper.
Robert R. Fitzgerald, of Lawrenceburg, Ind., is the editor of the most
unique newspaper in the world--_The Weekly 101_. It is printed in lead
pencil throughout, though the editions run from eight to twenty pages of
standard newspaper size. The advertisements, illustrations, comic
section--everything about the paper is hand-lettered by the editor, who
prefers to hide himself behind the pseudonym of “Mooney Mingles.”
Fitzgerald is twenty years old, and started his paper more than a year
ago. Two editions are turned out weekly, and, thus far, more than 170
editions have been printed. The regular editions are penciled on white
print paper, but the baseball extra is generally done on paper of a
better quality and known as the “green sheet.” In this supplement the
baseball events of the week are briefly and ably reported.
A special edition was recently turned out to become a part of the
Indiana exhibit at the Panama-Pacific Exposition. Another special number
was sent to President Wilson, who congratulated the editor upon the
patience and ingenuity necessary to produce such a newspaper.
_The Weekly 101_ is prepared during the editor’s spare hours, and these
are limited, because Fitzgerald works ten hours a day in a local factory
to support his mother and a family of five.
The ambitious young man is anxious to own a real newspaper plant,
because, as he complains, the press he now uses frequently breaks down
through an attack of writer’s cramp.
Those who have received sample pages of the pencil editor’s work say
that the young man seems to be competent to take his place among the
live editors of to-day. Lawrenceburg is already proud of his remarkable
and unique weekly, but the thriving little city will probably be doubly
proud when the young editor launches forth into the regular channels of
newspaper work.
The following paragraph is from one of the sample sheets submitted by
our correspondent:
“_The 101 Weekly_ newspaper will be just one year old next week. Mooney
Mingles, the little editor, has planned to put out a big special edition
on that day. During this whole year Mooney has not, like hundreds--yes,
like thousands--of other boys, wasted his time, but during all of his
spare moments has published just 160 of these copies, all printed by
hand. The young editor has sent copies of this penciled newspaper to the
exposition at San Francisco, Cal., to Chicago, New York, Indianapolis,
Kansas City, Detroit, London, England, and many other large cities, and
figures that it has been seen by 10,000,000 people.”
The Nick Carter Stories
ISSUED EVERY SATURDAY BEAUTIFUL COLORED COVERS
When it comes to detective stories worth while, the =Nick Carter Stories=
contain the only ones that should be considered. They are not overdrawn
tales of bloodshed. They rather show the working of one of the finest
minds ever conceived by a writer. The name of Nick Carter is familiar
all over the world, for the stories of his adventures may be read in
twenty languages. No other stories have withstood the severe test of
time so well as those contained in the =Nick Carter Stories=. It proves
conclusively that they are the best. We give herewith a list of some of
the back numbers in print. You can have your news dealer order them, or
they will be sent direct by the publishers to any address upon receipt
of the price in money or postage stamps.
704--Written in Red.
707--Rogues of the Air.
709--The Bolt from the Blue.
710--The Stockbridge Affair.
711--A Secret from the Past.
712--Playing the Last Hand.
713--A Slick Article.
714--The Taxicab Riddle.
717--The Master Rogue’s Alibi.
719--The Dead Letter.
720--The Allerton Millions.
728--The Mummy’s Head.
729--The Statue Clue.
730--The Torn Card.
731--Under Desperation’s Spur.
732--The Connecting Link.
733--The Abduction Syndicate.
736--The Toils of a Siren.
738--A Plot Within a Plot.
739--The Dead Accomplice.
741--The Green Scarab.
746--The Secret Entrance.
747--The Cavern Mystery.
748--The Disappearing Fortune.
749--A Voice from the Past.
752--The Spider’s Web.
753--The Man With a Crutch.
754--The Rajah’s Regalia.
755--Saved from Death.
756--The Man Inside.
757--Out for Vengeance.
758--The Poisons of Exili.
759--The Antique Vial.
760--The House of Slumber.
761--A Double Identity.
762--“The Mocker’s” Stratagem.
763--The Man that Came Back.
764--The Tracks in the Snow.
765--The Babbington Case.
766--The Masters of Millions.
767--The Blue Stain.
768--The Lost Clew.
770--The Turn of a Card.
771--A Message in the Dust.
772--A Royal Flush.
774--The Great Buddha Beryl.
775--The Vanishing Heiress.
776--The Unfinished Letter.
777--A Difficult Trail.
782--A Woman’s Stratagem.
783--The Cliff Castle Affair.
784--A Prisoner of the Tomb.
785--A Resourceful Foe.
789--The Great Hotel Tragedies.
795--Zanoni, the Transfigured.
796--The Lure of Gold.
797--The Man With a Chest.
798--A Shadowed Life.
799--The Secret Agent.
800--A Plot for a Crown.
801--The Red Button.
802--Up Against It.
803--The Gold Certificate.
804--Jack Wise’s Hurry Call.
805--Nick Carter’s Ocean Chase.
807--Nick Carter’s Advertisement.
808--The Kregoff Necklace.
811--Nick Carter and the Nihilists.
812--Nick Carter and the Convict Gang.
813--Nick Carter and the Guilty Governor.
814--The Triangled Coin.
815--Ninety-nine--and One.
816--Coin Number 77.
NEW SERIES
NICK CARTER STORIES
1--The Man from Nowhere.
2--The Face at the Window.
3--A Fight for a Million.
4--Nick Carter’s Land Office.
5--Nick Carter and the Professor.
6--Nick Carter as a Mill Hand.
7--A Single Clew.
8--The Emerald Snake.
9--The Currie Outfit.
10--Nick Carter and the Kidnaped Heiress.
11--Nick Carter Strikes Oil.
12--Nick Carter’s Hunt for a Treasure.
13--A Mystery of the Highway.
14--The Silent Passenger.
15--Jack Dreen’s Secret.
16--Nick Carter’s Pipe Line Case.
17--Nick Carter and the Gold Thieves.
18--Nick Carter’s Auto Chase.
19--The Corrigan Inheritance.
20--The Keen Eye of Denton.
21--The Spider’s Parlor.
22--Nick Carter’s Quick Guess.
23--Nick Carter and the Murderess.
24--Nick Carter and the Pay Car.
25--The Stolen Antique.
26--The Crook League.
27--An English Cracksman.
28--Nick Carter’s Still Hunt.
29--Nick Carter’s Electric Shock.
30--Nick Carter and the Stolen Duchess.
31--The Purple Spot.
32--The Stolen Groom.
33--The Inverted Cross.
34--Nick Carter and Keno McCall.
35--Nick Carter’s Death Trap.
36--Nick Carter’s Siamese Puzzle.
37--The Man Outside.
38--The Death Chamber.
39--The Wind and the Wire.
40--Nick Carter’s Three Cornered Chase.
41--Dazaar, the Arch-Fiend.
42--The Queen of the Seven.
43--Crossed Wires.
44--A Crimson Clew.
45--The Third Man.
46--The Sign of the Dagger.
47--The Devil Worshipers.
48--The Cross of Daggers.
49--At Risk of Life.
50--The Deeper Game.
51--The Code Message.
52--The Last of the Seven.
53--Ten-Ichi, the Wonderful.
54--The Secret Order of Associated Crooks.
55--The Golden Hair Clew.
56--Back From the Dead.
57--Through Dark Ways.
58--When Aces Were Trumps.
59--The Gambler’s Last Hand.
60--The Murder at Linden Fells.
61--A Game for Millions.
62--Under Cover.
63--The Last Call.
64--Mercedes Danton’s Double.
65--The Millionaire’s Nemesis.
66--A Princess of the Underworld.
67--The Crook’s Blind.
68--The Fatal Hour.
69--Blood Money.
70--A Queen of Her Kind.
71--Isabel Benton’s Trump Card.
72--A Princess of Hades.
73--A Prince of Plotters.
74--The Crook’s Double.
75--For Life and Honor.
76--A Compact With Dazaar.
77--In the Shadow of Dazaar.
78--The Crime of a Money King.
79--Birds of Prey.
80--The Unknown Dead.
81--The Severed Hand.
82--The Terrible Game of Millions.
83--A Dead Man’s Power.
84--The Secrets of an Old House.
85--The Wolf Within.
86--The Yellow Coupon.
87--In the Toils.
88--The Stolen Radium.
89--A Crime in Paradise.
90--Behind Prison Bars.
91--The Blind Man’s Daughter.
92--On the Brink of Ruin.
93--Letter of Fire.
94--The $100,000 Kiss.
95--Outlaws of the Militia.
96--The Opium-Runners.
97--In Record Time.
98--The Wag-Nuk Clew.
99--The Middle Link.
100--The Crystal Maze.
101--A New Serpent in Eden.
102--The Auburn Sensation.
103--A Dying Chance.
104--The Gargoni Girdle.
105--Twice in Jeopardy.
106--The Ghost Launch.
107--Up in the Air.
108--The Girl Prisoner.
109--The Red Plague.
110--The Arson Trust.
111--The King of the Firebugs.
112--“Lifter’s” of the Lofts.
113--French Jimmie and His Forty Thieves.
114--The Death Plot.
115--The Evil Formula.
116--The Blue Button.
117--The Deadly Parallel.
118--The Vivisectionists.
119--The Stolen Brain.
120--An Uncanny Revenge.
121--The Call of Death.
122--The Suicide.
123--Half a Million Ransom.
124--The Girl Kidnaper.
125--The Pirate Yacht.
126--The Crime of the White Hand.
127--Found in the Jungle.
128--Six Men in a Loop.
129--The Jewels of Wat Chang.
130--The Crime in the Tower.
131--The Fatal Message.
132--Broken Bars.
133--Won by Magic.
134--The Secret of Shangore.
135--Straight to the Goal.
136--The Man They Held Back.
137--The Seal of Gijon.
138--The Traitors of the Tropics.
139--The Pressing Peril.
140--The Melting-Pot.
Dated May 22d, 1915.
141--The Duplicate Night.
Dated May 29th, 1915.
142--The Edge of a Crime.
Dated June 5th, 1915.
143--The Sultan’s Pearls.
Dated June 12th, 1915.
144--The Clew of the White Collar.
=PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY.= If you want any back numbers of our weeklies
and cannot procure them from your news dealer, they can be obtained
direct from this office. Postage stamps taken the same as money.
STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NEW YORK CITY