Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE
About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 20, 1906)
Mr_ ----- _.-.— £223 As nearly 1 at a. v. •• %UCk Was *i;;1:1- i' to '.a! -.r.al < '<-.i 1 bo bad not far td:.• > I •-i -v-n *• -* Attack, but had w> fa- b> >!:;■ tl hims< f in ^hat, had his ■ 1 . t d trapped and tVkh • a i:d - " • ho would ) .'. •! ■ *ii i 11• i;,. tear of e::; • ami with a • .• •AClcnee lie . ' •! v mid' \ .» I In the den urn i - f th<- mi a v h • 1 id been, caught, ...* . »• j:.! ! ■ a .. < helped send hi:'! to tie ; • ndm;' : y <t to the pea'lel d V, :. li t !.• ‘ :: j ;• « : 1: a -•St man and :!.<• * < si. \ <■;' a .an !.•• ‘planned hd; i oho : al ' i; :: ml i* ■their ben* and w mum is . <• -cusod, be «• add ha • • • N plained « \ • 1 y; a . a-, could base ;; * • t i.i : ;■ u.-.r's \ .upn i hy APd admiration. 1 <a.. ‘•'•ill h > •• ' \ plAlncd; ill!' he \\>uM act. i’.a r.y in ins career, be had b-.it m d ' ii• ■ Vry1 pr'ie-ipm at aucc< Md'-.ll el i:a« id . A • n t What, till: I»I‘«• v«>» a • i« :I el- tie- y* • ad •; : d Vfti:tage, !:■ intend * n)y a I'm. e ;fii - phrases, hi. h as ”:!io.o mi -pm •• I in n,” Or "the Ala - ter t* aches us m i with fneekness the .-ahin.uies of tin waled,” or "lot him that is without An - u-< the first stone.” As to thi: eiiiae ma il'- si lence, ard the dr. : AgTO.lt laaii, do* he. k! 1 doff my hat t . film. Of ali the dealers in stolen good:; under police jm.t< rtion, who . o shrewd be? Wllmot ivan {ne bis’rumont !;<■ < *np.*.yo,] to put the coal ii -ii;.' l.y into eondiil >u for ••reorganization." lie bought control of one of the coal in*! 1 :*« > a ml made Wilae.t president of it. V. ilrnot, laugh; by twen ty years of his nervier, knew what wan ex pected of him, ami proto «<bd to do It. lie put In a. "loyal" general freight agent wIh Also needed no hi.-d ructions, but burled t»tmsel£ at destroying bin own ai d all the Other coal roads by a yy:;U-m of r rn-i re bates and rat cut fin,v,:;. An tin* other roads, one by ne, oc >■< iu:> <1 toward bnnk ruptcy, Hoebtiek bnua.bt tin- n.mi arativeiy 4mm 11 blocks of stock n* e-. nary. to give him control of them. When lie bad power oyer enough of them to <. i.ibli. h a partial monopoly uf transportation in and nut «»f the coal di trios, he was ready for his lieutenant to attack the mining properties. i^jjPrOb&bly bis orders 11» W iliied were noth ing more detinito or less inaonut than: ••Wllmot, my boy, d-m't.\ou think yon and 1 and some others of our friends ought to buy some of hose miner,, If they c» mo on the mark t. at m fair price? Let n.“ know when you hear of any attract \ e in vestments of that Pert." That would have born quite enough to **tlp it off" to YVilmot that the thru* liad •oomo for reaching out from control of rail way to control of mine, lie lost no time; 'he easily forced one mining property after Another Into a position where Its owners vrete glad--were eager to roll all or part «£ the wreck of It. "at a fair price" to him And Roebuck and "our friends." It was *a the result of orto of these moves that the great Mannsquale mines were so hemmed In by ruinous freight rates, by strike troubles, by (loads from broken machinery and mysteriously leaky dams, that 1 was able to buy them "u 'air price"—that is, at less than one flfth their value. But at the time -and for a long time afterward- 1 did not know, on my honor did not suspect, what was I ho cause, the sole cause, of the change of Use coal region from a place of peaceful In dustry, content with fair profits, to an Industrial chaos with ruin impending. Once the railways and mining companies A'ero all on the verge of bankruptcy, Hoc tuck and his "friends" were ready to buy, tiere control for purposes of speculation, Ahern ownership for purposes of perml fient investment. This is what is known as the- reorganizing stage. The processes of high finance are very simple—first, buy Iho comparatively small holdings neces «ary to create confusion ami disaster; Aecond, create confusion and disaster, ^reorganize; fourth, offer tho new stocks ••ATiii bonds to the public with a mighty blare of trumpets which produces a boom market; fifth, unload on the public, pass •dividends, issue unfavorable statements, -depress prices, buy back cheap what you »have sold dear. Repeat ad inflntum, for "the law is for the laughter of the strong, «.nd the public is an eager ass. To keep up the fiction of “respectability/' tho in -*ldo ring divides Into two parties for its tsampaigns—one party to break down, the -other to build up. One takes the profits tfrom destruction and departs, perhaps to ■destroy elsewhere. As their collusion is imcrely tacit, no conscience need twitch. I ffnust add that, at the time of which I am writing, I did not realize the existence of this conspiracy. 1 knew, of course, that many lawless and savage things wero done, that there were rascals among tho fcigh financiers, and that almost all finan ciers now and then did things that were more or less rascally; but l did not know, ■did not suspect, that high finance was through and through brigandage, and that the high financier, by long and unmolested practice of brigandage, hud come to look on it as legitimate, lawful business, and •on laws forbidding or hampering it as outrageous, socialistic, anarchistic, “at tacks upon the social order!" v> I was sufficiently infected with the spirit of the financier, I frankly confess, to look on tho public as a sort of cow to milk and Bond out to grass that it might get Itself ready to be driven In and milked again. £>o»is not the cow produce milk not lor her •own use but for the use of him who looks after her, provides her with pasturage and «heltor and saves her from the calamities in which her lack of foresight and of other Intelligence would Involve her, were she not looked after? And is not the fact that the public—beg pardon, the cow—meekly And evenly cheerfully submits to the bilk ing proof that (lod intended her to be the sf?rvant of the Roebucks—beg pardon Again, of man? Plausible, isn’t it? IRoebuck had given me the impression that it would be six months at least, be fore what 1 was In those fatuous days thinking of as “our" plan for “putting the «oal industry on a sound business basis” would be ready for the public. So. when he sent for me shortly after I became en gaged to Miss Kllersly, and said: “Mel ville will publish the plan on the first of | next month and will open the subscription -books on the third—a Thursday," 1 was taken by surprise and was anything but pleased. His words meant that if I wished to make a great fortune, now wa> the time to buy coal stocks, and buy heavily—for on the very day of the publi cation of the plan every coal stock would | eurely soar. Huy 1 must; not to buy was vto throw away a fortune. Yet how could fL buy when I was gambling in Textile u^ to my limit of safety, if not beyond? | A did not dare confess to Roebuck what i Tl was doing in Texile. He was bitterly oposed to stock gambling, denouncing v as both immoral and unbusinesslike. Ni | (gambling for him! When his business sa j gaclty and foresight!?) Informed him tha | a certain stock was going to be.worth * .great deal more than it was then quotec iat. he would buy outright in large quan (titles; when that same sagacit;* and fore ] -sight of the fellow who has himsel | marked the cards warned him that a stocl was about *o fall, he sold outright. Bu ' ; gamble r>' \f>r! And I felt that, If he should learn that I had staked a largo part of my entire fortune on a single :■ nihling operation, h<- would straightway < at mo off from Ida confidence, would lo-ok on me as t« o deeply tainted by my long ( career as .1 "bucket-shop" man to be ; worthy of full rank and power as a tinan f-i'-r. Financiers do not gamble. Their only vice is grand larceny. { Ail this was Hashing through my mind j while I was thanking him. "I am glad to haw such a long fore warn! ng." I was saying. "Oan I he < f use to y*»u? V- 11 know rny machinery is perfect- I run buy anything and in any quantity without starting rumors and lira wing the crowd.” “No thank you, Matthew'.” was hhs an* sh< : "| i.avo all of those fit - ks i wish —*tlt present." Whether it Is* peculiar to me, T don’t know- -probably not but my m< irnu y is so constituted that it takes an indelible and c omplete impression of wlia's-v r in rent to it by my eyes and ears; and just as by look'ng closely you can fird In a pho- j tographio plate a hundred details that esa-ape your glance, so on there memory plates of mine I often find long afterward many and many a detail that escaped me wh< n my eyes an 1 ears were taking the [ moment in my Interview vi:*n Ho ©buck, I find details ao significant that my failing ! to note them at the time shows h$w unfit j I then was to guard my interests. For In stance, I find that just before ho spoke those words declining my assistance and implying that he had already increased his holdings, Me opem d and c:!•.•: < d his hands several times, finally closed and clinched them- a sure sign of energetic nervous ac ted, and In that particular Instance a men of dec* ption, becam e there was no > nergy In his remark and no reason for energy. T am not superstitious, hut 1 be lieve in palmistry to a certain extent. Fvcu more than the face are the hands a sensitive recorder of what Is passing in the mind. Rut I was then too Intent upon my dil emma. earefuly to study a man who had alrer dy lulled me Into absolute confidence ia him. I left him as soon as lie would let me go. His last words were, “No 'gambling, Matthew! No abuse of the op portunity God is giving us. Be content with the Just profits from Investment. 1 hav seen gamblers come and go, many of them able men—very able men. Rut they have melted away, and where are they! And f have remained and have Increased, blessed ho God who lias saved me from the temptations to try to reap where .1 had not town! 1 fool that l can trust you. You began as a speculator, but success has steadied you, and you have put your self on the firm ground where we see the solid men Into whose? hands God has given the development of the abounding re sume* s of this beloved country of ours.’ Do you wonder that 1 went away with a heart full of shame for the gambling pro jects my head was planning upon the In formation that good man had given me? 1 shut myself In my private office for several hours of hard thinking- as I can now see, the first real attention I had I given my business in two months. It ; soon became clear enough that my Toxlle ! plunge was a folly; but It was too late to 1 retrace. The only question was, could and should I assume additional burdens? I looked at the National Coal problem from ; every standpoint—so 1 thought. And I could see no possible risk. Did not Roe , buck’s statement make It certain as sun [ rise that, as soon as the reorganization was announced, all coal stocks would rise? i Yes, 1 should be risking nothing; I could I with absolute safety stake my credit; to make contracts to buy coal stocks at pres < nt prices for future delivery was no more of gamble than depositing cash In the United States treasury. '' iwhi\ iv» uutTj, Matt," said i to myself. "You've been on a bender, with your head afire. You must net out of this Textile business as soon as possible. Hut It’s good sound sense to plunge on the coal stocks. In fact, your profits there would save you If by some j mischance Textile should rise Instead of ; fall. Acting on Roebuck's tip Isn't gam bling, It's Insurance. I emerged to Issue orders that soon threw Into the National Coal venture all l had not staked on a falling market for Textiles. I was not content—as the pious gambling-hater, Roebuck, had begged me to be—with buying only what stock I could pay for; 1 went plunging on, contracting for many times the amount I could have bought outright. The next time I saw Langdon I was full of enthusiasm for Roebuck. 1 can see his smile as bo listened. “I had no Idea you were an expert on the trumpets of praise, Blaeklock," said he finally. "A very showy accomplish ment," he added, "but rather dangerous, don't you think? The player may become enchanted by bis own music," "I try to look on the bright s'de of things," said 1, “even of human nature.” "Since when?” drawled lie, I laughed—a good, hearty laugh, for this shy reference to my affair of the heart tickled me. I enjoyed to the full only In i long retrospect the look he gavo me. "As toon as a man falls in love," said he, "trustees should be appointed to take charge of his estate." "You're wrong there, old man," I re plied. "I’ve never worked harder or wdth a clearer head than since I learned that there are"—I hesitated, and ended lamely— "other things in life.” Lnngdon’s handsome face suddenly darkened, and l thought 1 saw in his eyes a look of savage pain. "I envy you," said he with an effort at tits wonted lightness and synlclsm. Hut that look touched my heart; 1 talked no more of my own happi ness. To do so, 1 felt would be like bring ing laughter Into the house of grief, XVI. TRAPPED AND TRIMMED. There are two kinds of dangerous temptations—those that tempt us, and those that don’t. Those that don’t give us a false notion of our resisting power, and so make us easy victims to the others. 1 thought 1 knew myself pretty thoroughly, and I believed there was I nothing that could tempt me to neglect I my business. With this delusion of my I strength firmly in mind, when Anita became a temptation to neglect busi I ness, 1 raid to myself: "To go up town i during business hours for long lunches, to spend the mornings selecting tlowers ‘-ml presents lor her—these thinks look I like neglect of business, and would be so in some men. But I couldn’t neglect I business. I do them because my af fairs are so well ordered that a few j hours of absence now and then makes | no difference—probably send me back j fresher and clearer.” "When 1 left, the office at half-past twelve on that fateful Wednesday in | June, my business was never in better shape. Textile Common had dropped a point and a quarter in two days—evi dently It was at last on Its way slowly down toward where I could free my self and take profits. As for the eoaJ f-nterpriFe noirung could possibly hap- I pen to disturb ii: 1 was ail ready for the first of July announcement and boom. Never did I have a lighter heart than when I joined Anita and her friends at Sherry’s. It seemed to me her friendliness was less perfunctory, I* : s a matter of appearances. And the sun was bright, the air delicious, my health perfect, (t took all the strength j of all the straps Monson had put on my natural spirits to keep me from be- j lag exuberant. T ha l fully intended to be back at my olHce half an hour before the Ex change closed- this in addition to the Obvious precaution of leaving orders that they w *re to telephone me if any thin': should occur about which they had the lea -1 doubt. But so comfort able did by vanity make me that I for got lo look at my watch until a quar ter to thr-e. 1 had a momentary qualm; then rearrured, T asked Anita to take a walk with me. Before we set out f telephoned my righthand man an! partner, Ball. As l had thought, everything was quiet: the Exchange van closing with Textile sluggish and down a quarbr. Anita and I took a car to the park. As v • strolled about there, it seemed j to me I was making more headway with her Uian in all the times I had ss‘n her since we became engaged. At each meeting I had had to begin at the boginning once more, almost as if we had never mot; for I found that she had in the meanwhile taken on all, or almost all, her original reserve. It was as if she forgot me the instant I left j her—not very flattering, that! “You accuse me of refusing to get i acquainted with you,” said I, “of re- . fusing to see that you’re a different \ person from what I imagine. But how ; about you? Why do you all stick to your first notion of me? Whatever I am or am not, I’m not the person you ; condemned on sight.” i < u i ii in: vna r i. an, .sue riii ii-i ■ ii-ii. ''The way you dress—and sometimes the way you act. Or. Is it because I'm getting used to you?” "No—It's—” I began, but stopped there. Some day 1 would confess about Munson, but not yet. Also I hoped the change wasn’t altogether due to Mon sou and the dancing master and my Imitation of the tricks of speech anil manner of the people In her set. She did not notice my abrupt halt. Indeed, I often caught her at not listen ing to me. I saw that she wasn’t lis tening to mo. now. "You didn’t hear what T said,” I ac cused somewhat sharply, for I was Ir ritated—as who would not have been? She started, gave me that hurried, apologetic look that was bitterer to me than the most savage Insult would have been. 1 began your pardon,” site said. "We were talking of—of changes, weren’t we?” "We were talking of me,” I answered. "Of the subject that Interests you. not at a!!." She looked at me In a forlorn sort of way tlvrt softened my irritation with sympathy. "I’ve told you how It is j with me," she said. "I do my best to please you. I—" "Damn your best!” I cried. Don’t ! try to please me. He yourself. I’m not i a slave driver. I don’t have to be conflicted. Can’t you ever see that I'm not your tyrant? Do I t^-eat j you as any oilier man would feel I he had the right to treat the girl who had engaged herself to him? Do, I ever thrust my feelings or wishes— or—longings on you?? And do you think repression easy for a man of my temperament?" “You have been very good,” she said humbly. "Don't you ever say that to me again." I half commanded half pleaded. “I won't have you always putting me In the position of a kind and Indulgent master.” She halted and faced me. "Why do you want me, anyhow?” she cried. Then she noticed several loungers on a bench staring at us and grinning: |she Hushed and walked on. "I don tlknow," said I. "Because I’m a fool, probably. My common sense tells me 1 can’t hope to break through that shell of self complacence you’ve boon cased In by your family and your associates. Sometimes 1 think I’m mis taken in you, think there isn't any real, human blood left in ’-our veins, that you’re like the rest of them—a human bod” whose heart and mind have been taken out and a machine substituted— a machine that can say and do only a narrow little rajige of conventional things—like one of those French dolls.” You mustn’t blame rue for that,” she said gently. I realize, too — and I'm ashamed of It. But—If you could know how I’ve been educated. They’ve treated me as the Flathead Indian women treat their babies—keep their skulls in a press— Isn't that It?—until their heads and brains grow of the Flathead pattern. Only, somehow, in my case—the proc ess wasn't quite complete. And so, In stead of being contented like the other Flathead girls, I'm—almost a rebel, at times. I'm neither the one thing nor the other—not natural and not Flat head, not enough natural to grow away from Flathead, not enough Flat head to get lid of the natural." "I take hack what I said about not knowing why I—I want you, Anita," I said. "I do know why—and—well, as I told you before, you’ll never regret marrying me.” (Continued Next Week.) The Father of Emperors. From the London Mail. An anecdote, hitherto unpublished, con cerning Archduke Francis Charles, father of tlie emperor of Austria, appears in a new book written by a retired diplomat, says our Vienna correspondent. During a walk alone In the Styrian hills the archduke got Into conversation with a talkative farmer, who, after giving a good deal of Information about his own family, suddenly asked the archduke: “What’s your father?” “Emperor,’’ was the answer. “Look here,” said the farmer, “if you want to be funny don't you shout. There I are gendarmes about, and you might easily ! get run in for lese majeste! I dare say • you've a brother. What’s he?” “Oh, he's an emperor, too.” ‘ Well, you're a funny chap,” said tho farmer, laughing heartily. “Have you any children?" “Yes, thank God; there’s my boy, Fran* I cis Joseph.” “What's he?” “Emperor.” “Ha, ha!” roared the farmer, digging the father of emperors in the ribs. “Hav# | you any more sons of that sort?” “Yes, a second called Max.” “Isn't he an emperor?” “Yes, he is also an emperor.” After relieving his feelings by giving a wild leap in the air the farmer clapped | the arshduke on the shoulder and said: ' “Look here, old friend. The next time you’re passing Mariazell asylum drop in : and see if there happens to be a place vacant.” I _ ^ , A Perfect Example. A lawyer whose mouth was extra ordinarily large, had on the witness stand a southern backwoodsman. The witness had replied to a question that ! “It was non-possibility.” Quoth the , lawyer: ” A non-possibility?' Now ; will you tell this court and this jury what you mean by a non-possibility? : Give us an example.” “Well,” said the I witness, "I thiMk it ’u’d be a non-pos- i sibilty to make ycxir mouf enny bigger i widout settin’ yot^v Years furder back.* j ----- jHow the Wanderer Sighs j i fora Homs Christmas: * i fc--- - a BY H. R. DAVIDS. To the wanderer, the man who spends his days traveling from one place lo another, whose stop In town l3 just long enough to make a few friends and who then moves on to new.-r pastures, Christmas is about the most dismal time of the year. He is seized by an uncontrollable loneliness. Ho watches others happy in their homes, he sees the “helmvveih” in all its most beautiful aspects and he sick ens of the wanderlust, the fever in his blood which sends him onward like a plaything moved by the hand of an unseen power. During the rest of the year ho prides himself on his freedom, he thanks the gods because his f, ot are not shackled as those of other men and the sentiment of home and family ties do not affect him in tho least. But at Christmas all is changed. The hundreds of years of convention which have hallowed Christmas day has, for all his conviction and scorn for such matters, left its imprint on him and though .he is loath to admit it. his feelings on Christmas time are of the saddest. This homeless Christmas is a theme which Christmas writers have handled from times unknown. They have harped on the string until it is worn and frayed, but the note is still there and though the rest of the world —the stay-at-home world—by hearing it so often expressed, t.ake it as a trite plati'aide, admitting its fact, they lose its true significance. Only the man who has traveled can properly under stand—and he w'ould give a lot to be ignorant on ike matter. at Yule tide period, is not in the Christ mas present, but in the Christmas past, Memories which for months have been lying dormant come to tho surface and as he smokes and dreams, he forgets his present surroundings, and dwells in the reminiscences which bring a half smile to his lijis and which make him feel tho terrible uselessness of his life. Some one has declared that when God made man and burdened him with sor rows he also placed tobacco in tho world for solace and to tobacco the wanderer turns, knowing that m its cloud dreams, he can at least still the gnawing loneliness in his breast. The pipe Is an old acquaintance. It has boon with him on many such other occasions and may have been given to him as a Christmas present many years. Hut the latter is a mere pos sibility, the probability .being that if a Christmas present he never would have the courage to smoke it. With nervous fingers the wanderer lifts the match to th(> bowi, his mind seething with things he had hoped and thought he had long forgotten. As tho smoke rises to the ceiling, enveloping him ir, its vapory curtaining, it takes ihe form of old faces, some dead, some living and all up to that time forgotten. Before him there rises the scene of a Christmas past. Through tho smoke he sees a mental picture of the eternal sea, black and angry, rising and falling. The white-crested waves strike against the Bides of tho tiny tramp steamer, bat tering unceasingly. He sees himself at tiie bow gazing ahead as the boat, pitching and groaning, creaking and rolling, crashes its way through the dark waters. It is bitterly cold—tho damp cold of tho foggy seas—and he swings his arm against his sides in an effort to keep warm. The lights of a liner flash, glimmer and die down in the distance . 1^1' 1 the loneliness he knows so well creeps over him. From the foc.s'le un derneath his feet rises the voices of men in anger. Greeks, Italians and Portuguese of the lowest type, the scum of southern Europe, sandbagged and shanghaied aboard, form tho crew, and they are fighting among themselves. V3ut he heeds them not. Soon it will be his trick at the wheel, and as he thinks the ship’s bell clangs, its quick double strokes almost being lost In the whistling of the wind in the rigging, the unceasing dashing of the waters against tho sides and groaning rattle of the engines. He hears the hoarse voice of the mate, deep with curses of the channel, routing from their warm bunks the now watch. They come out angrily, and one of them rushes at the mate with the evident Intention of knifing him. Through the darkness he dimly sees tho mate’s arm swing and the man goes down to the deck with a sobbing grunt. A minute later as the wanderer passes him he sees blood flowing from his head and freez ing on the ice covered decks. He is used to such scenes, and as he hastily climbs the companionway to the wheelhouse he wishes some one would bring him a glass of grog that night. The sea fades away from his sight and another picture appears. There is nothing now but a few date trees, a well of brackish water and a space of sand stretching far to the horizon, sparkling and glinting in the hot sun light and dazzling the eyes. He smiles at that Christmas dinner. Everybody has placed a mackintosh on the hot sand, a bottle of Bass’ ale at each cor ner to keep it from being carried away by the wind, and in the shade of the stunted date trees, there on the edge of the Rajputana desert, he takes his Christmas dinner. The food is nearly all tinned—with a flavor of exceeding tinniness. The ale is sticky and the water impure. Yet they all laugh as they sit down at the impromptu meal, toasting each other royally in the flat, tasteless ale and hoping to meet under better circumstances next time. As they eat and drink, the sand devils, whirling round and round like pillars, whip across their faces stinging like a lash, clogging the food and blinding their eyes. One of them suffers from ophthalmia and another has to pour out his water for him. The wanderer sees it all again. The heat, the sand and the orient, that glamorous orient, he sees, it all and sighs as the memory of it gives way to another picture. It is In a police station in Omaha where he, with two other newspaper men, are gathered around the dissect ing table in the surgeon's room, on which is placed a large bowl of some thing they call punch. Like all Christ mas’ nights, the night has been dull from the standpoint of news. A few “drunks” have been picked up, and around them the boys have written their stories. The wanderer smiles as he thinks of the scene. The desk ser geant, in the room across the washed passage, making his entries, the dron ing voice of the police captain, who in accents of Tipperary is telling of Christmas in Ireland, the deep breath of a lino of tramps sleeping in the station hallway, and every now I and again the yells, catcalls, shrieks and profanity from the prisoners in the cells. I5y and by it dies dpwn, the police captain stops talking, somebody has kicked the tramp who was noisily sleeping and the voices of the prisoners are hushed except for the drunken song of a bedraggled woman who un musically sings a popular rag time song. His face lights with pleasure ns his thoughts hark to the men with him in the sur peon's room around the surgeon’s slab. The jokes, the laughter, the stories, all come back to him. comes the sharp tinkle of the telephone hell. The men in tiie surgeon’s room stop talking to listen and then they hear in the corridor the electric bell whirring out. a “hurry call.” The news pa tier men are on their feet in an in stant, struggling Into overcoats; the door at the end of the corridor swings onen. The police captain runs out of bis office thrusting a revolver into his belt. From corners there spring up policemen and detectives, all rushing to the patrol wagon. Then there Is tho hurried dash through the night, the patrol wagon swaying over the cobble stones, the rotary bell clang-clanging loud through the cold night. There is a knifing at a dance hall In the lower part of town. The wagon dashes up to tl 1 door of tiie hall, hut before it has stopped iis occupants have jumped out and are cleaving their way through the crowd congregated at the door. Bohe mians they are from the packing houses in South Omaha. Most of them are drunk and all of them are armed. In side the hall the air is heavy with to bacco smoke, so much so that the flaming gas jets around the walls burn with a sickly yellowish flame. In one corner of the hall lies the man' who has been knifed, and as the police surgeon bends over him lie whispers to the newspaper men that the wound is a bad one. The man is soaked in blood, liis hair lies damp on his flushed fore head and his breath comes and goes in whistles. The story is the oid one. Two men lighting over a woman. And tha woman herself leanitjg against a bar at one corner of the hall, smiles at the newspaper men who nre promising to put her name in the paper. So another night goes and the wan-> derer smokes on and on, conjuring up old stories, old times and old dinners, smiling and sighing till his pipe goes out. lie tries to light it again, but the tobacco is finished and it leaves a bit ter taste in his mouth. As lie knocks out the ashes of his pipe he thinks that next year he will think of the Christ mas he has spent this year, and, smil ing at his momentary weakness, rises from his seat. Pure Obstinacy. From Lippineott's. A little girl who reads nature books, studies natural history ar.d is devoted to pets was discovered holding bunny in her lap, trying to direct his atten tion to a book that she had, and ever and anon boxing his long ears vigor ously. Auntie was shocked, of course, and inquired what was the moving 1 cause of such cruelty. “He's so stubborn,” replied the little teacher. “A rabbit stubborn! Why, child, I never heard of such a tiling. What Ik he stubborn about?” “I’m trying to teach him the multi plication table, and he just won't try to learn, nor even say it over after me. Now, you say it, sir, 'Three times two are six—three times three are nine.' ” But the rabbit didn’t say it, and again auntie inquired into her little nieces' cone’, ct a stwo or three more cuffs were' administered to the poor creature's all too convenient ears, “Why, auntie,” explained the girl, “the books all say that rabbits multiply faster than any other animals, and this obstinate little creature won't even go through the three times threes with me.” Coeducation. From Harper's Weekly. A well known university professor has a dilemma in which he is wont to entrap advocates of coeducation, j “If you lecture to twenty boys and twen ty girls in the same room,” he asks, “will the boys attend to the lecture or to the girls?” Of course the coeducationist, to be con sistent, must say that they will listen to the lecture. “Well, If they do,” replies the dean, "they are not worth lecturing to.” -: -' Tep; he’s tickled cause he didn’t git nuthln’ on Chrls'mas.” "How’s dat?" "His pa got too full ter give him de lickin’ he'd promised hlmr' ^ MUBBY'3 CMKI5TMA5 ECONOMY. I TTTuKR 1 Benny—llzmma, Is papa going to five me an automobile or a toy pistol .'or Christmas? Mother—I don't know that he is going :o give you either. What makes you ill ink so? Denny—Well, he was talking to th« life insurance man about me this morn* mg. THE DISSATISFIED. The man whose nature is perverse Can ne'er enjoy the season's glee. In winter he wants roses and In summer time a Christmas tree. IT WOULD SEEM SO. The Moralizer—Truth is strange* than fiction. The Demoralizer—Yes, and the ma jority of men seem to be shy of asso ciating with strangers MISTLETOE AND KISSING. I-. She—I expected some mi3tletoe. He—Never mind. I can work with jut it. CAUSE OF HER SORROW. A little girl had sent back her plat* tor turkey two or three times and had been helped bountifully to all the othei good things that go to make an ideal Christmas dinner. Finally she waa ob served looking rather disconsolately al her unfinished dish of plum pudding. “What's the matter, Ethel?” asked Uncle John. “You look mournful.” “That's the trouble," said Ethel. “I’m more'n full.” And then she wondered why every body laughed. CRUEL OF HIM. “Now, just look at these miniature biscuits I baked,” said the egotistical wife. “They are dainty little tablets.” “Yes,” spoke the brute husband, “dys pepsia tablets.” A CONFESSION THAT FAILED. “So you concluded to dispel the Santa Claus myth from the mind of your young'est son?" “Yes,” said the thoughtful citizen. “You see, I thought that it would be better to hurt his feelings than to coun tenance deception in any form." “And were his feelings hurt?" “Not at all. He looked at me pitying ly and said he guessed I had been one of the bad boys to whom Santa Claua did not pay any attention.” A CHRISTMAS POINTER. Mrs. &wcuington—How do you Know that the woman next door is going to get a Persian lamb jacket for Christ mas ? Mr. Swellington—Why. didn’t you say you were determined to have one? A Lesson in the Art. From Puck. The Complete Angler—Yes, the bass Is the wiliest of the finny tribe all right, as this little Incident will show. One day while engaged in my favorite pursuit, I dropped a valuable diamond ring in the water. The following day I cast my lino near the spot where the ring disappeared and soon landed a five-pound bass. Now, what do you suppose the camp cook found inside that fish? The Chorus of Novices—Haw! Hawl Haw! The missing jewelry, of course! The Complete Angler—Ah, boys, you ►eem to forget about the wiliness of the bass. What the cook really found was a pawn ticket for the ring!