e
A New Definition.
A rather cynical Joke has been re
cently credited to Senator Platt.
The senator on his last visit to the
'Manhattan Beach hotel, allowed a
pretty little girl, a western millionaire'*
daugliler. to lie presented to him
! The little girl, In the course of one
of her many delightful chats with the
aged statesman, said:
“Tell me, won’t you, senator, w hat
political economy Is?"
"Political economy, my dear child,”
Senator Platt replied, “Is the art of
net or buying more votes than you ac
tually need. "
Close Quarters.
From Everybody's Magazine.
Any one who has ever traveled on
.the New York subway In rush hours
'can easily appreciate the following:
A Utile man, wedged Into the middle
'of a ear. suddenly thought of pick
Ipockots. and quite as suddenly remem
bered that he had .some money In his
■overcoat. He plunged his hand Into his
.pocket and was somewhat shocked
■upon encountering the fist of a fat fel
low passenger.
"Aha!” snorted the latter. "I caught
you that time!”
' "Eeggo!” snarled the little man.
•“Tveggo my hand!"
' Pickpocket!” hissed the fat man.
"Scoundrel!” retorted the little one
Just then a tall man In their vicinity
glanced up from his paper.
'Td like to get off here,” he drawled,
"if you fellows don't mind taking youl
Annuls out of my poeket ”
Saw It Come Out of a Cow.
A little city boy and his ulster Doro
thy. were taken to tho country for the
Brst time.
The two children were happy as the
'day was long. In the late afternoon
they watched the rows come home,
heard with delight tho tinkling cow
bells, and the little boy even went up
to the bnrns to see tho milking done.
At supper, Just as Dorothy was lift
ing her glass to her rosy lips, tho boy
cried out:
"Oh, Dotty, don't! You mustn’t
drink that milk. It's not St to drink.
It came out of a cow. I saw It."
sirs. Winslows oooTBnte mac? tor chIMroa
f*AUiiiig| softens th* |umi, reriuosi tnflsmmsuon JT.
<•*•» puio cure* wtn/t nolle. <K> osnt' ft bottle
SURNAMES NOtVsED BY KINGS
Only Christian Names Signed by Ma
jority of Members of Royal House.
From T. P.'s Weekly.
The origfn ‘of most royal houses was
similar throughout Europe, and kings anil
Ihelr families, speaking broadly, never had
or used surnamea. They signed ihelr
Christian names alone.
So universally was this the case that It
became rigid etiquette that a person of
royal btrth should, not use a surname,
though there have been numbers of eases
of dynatlea, like our own Stuarts, like the
Bernadott* dynasty of Sweden, or like the
Bonaparte family, who unquestionably
and (indubitably had Inherited surnames.
But It has always been a pussle why the
•cadet members of our royal house do not
subscribe themselves as peers by their
.peerage designations, as do other i>eers. i
However, the fact la they do not, but It !
bus not been discovered what are the rules
which govern their signatures. The sov- '
••reign signs by the Christian name and
usually adds "R." or "R. and I." Princes
and princesses sign by their Christian
names and sometimes, but not always, add
the letter "F." When or why this Is add
led or omitted Is not known.
But the habltB of royalty lead others Into
■trange happenings. There was an oeca
■ la I upon which Queen Victoria after a
f'fi notion” was asked to sign a visitor's
book. Her majesty wrote "Victoria R. and
I." Prtncers Henry of Battenberg then
wrote "Beatrice P." The turn of the local
mayoress came next and she signed
"Elisabeth." The surname was hastily |
written In the following day, but too late .
to prevent the story gaining currency.
English sheep are sometimes fattened
pn snails.
From the Boston Transcript.
"Behold me in the dust at your feet,"
pleaded the ardent wooer, dropping on
his knees.
A pained look came over the widow’s
face. "1 want you to understand, sir,
that 1 do my own housework." I
HER "BEST FRIEND.’*
i -
* Woman Thai Speaks of Poatam.
We usually consider our best frleuds
those who treat us best.
Some persons think coffee a real
friend, but watch It carefully awhile
and observe that It Is one of the mean
est of all enemies for it stabs one while
professing friendship.
Coffee contains a poisonous drug—
caffeine—which injures the delicate
\ervous system and frequently sets up
disease in one or more organs of the
;>ody, If Its use is persisted in.
“I had' heart palpitation and ner
vousness for four years and the doc
, tor told me the trouble was caused by
. offee. He advised me to leave it off,
but I thought 1 could not,” writes a
Wts. lady.
"On tlje advice of a friend I tried
PosTum Food Coffee and it so satisfied
me I did not care for coffee after a few
days’ trial of Postum.
"As weeks went by and I continued
*.o use Postum my weight increased
from 08 to 118 pounds, and the heart
trouble left me. 1 have used it a year
now and am stronger than I ever was.
I cca hustle upstairs without any heart
palpitation, and 1 am cured of nervous
ness.
"Aly children are very fond of Post
iun and It agrees with them. My sis
ter liked it when she drank it at my
house, but not when she made it at her
*wn home. Now she has learned to
■take It right, holl it according to di
rections. and has liecouio very fond of
!t Von may use my name if you wish
■as I am not ashamed of praising mv
best friend—Postum."
Name given by Postum Co.. Hattie
Creek. Mich. Pend “The Koad to Well
Ti.ie, - in pkgs. “There's s Reason.”
! THE MARATHON MYSTERY
| __ ___
A STORY OF MANHATTAN.
J BY BURTON C. STEVENSON
Author of “The Holladay Cass/’ “Cadets of Gascony,” Eto.
♦ - - - -
A—-*
With which sage reflection, he turned
hack to his work while I sought the
shore. On the way buck to the office,
l turned the mate's story over in my
mind, it had, at least, served to estab
lish one tiling—a connection, however,
Blender, between Thompson and Tre
maine. It was evident that Thompson
had intended joining Tremaine at St.
Pierre, but when lie found him embark
ing on the Pari mu, stayed with the
vessel so thal they might reach New
York together. That it was Tremaine
who had supplied the other w ith spirits
on tile voyage north 1 did not doubt;
Thompson, llien, had some claim upon
Tremaine—a claim, perhaps, of friend
ship. of association in crime; a claim,
doubtless, to which those missing clip
pings gave the clew. If I could only
find them! But Tremaine had searched
for them with a thoroughness which
had excited even Godfrey’s admiration.
No doubt Miss Croydon had them at
this moment in the pocket of her gown;
or perhaps she had destroyed them
without realizing their Importance. But
she must have realized It or she would
never have dared take them from that
repulsive body; she must have known
exactly what they contained, if they
wore the papers she had gone to suite
fourteen to get. ...
1 felt thnt 1 was getting tangled In
n snarl of my own making, and I gave
U up.
Godfrey came into the office that
evening, just as I was closing my desk.
'I want vou to go to dinner with
roe.” he said. ’’I have to run down to
Washington tonight, and it may be
three or four (lays before 1 get back.
I want to talk tilings over."
We took a cab up town and stopped
nt Utley's—the studio, alas! had closed
Its doors and we were presently en
sconced in a snug corner, where we
could talk without danger of being
overheard.
"I’ve found out n few things about
Tremaine.” began Godfrey, as the wait
er hurried away with our order.
"And T about Thompson." t said.
"You have?” and lie looked at me in
surprise. “How in the world did you
do it?"
His astonishment was distinctly com
plimentary. and I related with consid
erable gratification my conversation
with the mate of the Parinta.
1 "Well," observed Godfrey, when I hail
finished, ’That was a bright Idea of
yours—that establishes the link ire
tween tlie two men. Our St. Pierre cor
respondent wires as that Tremaine ar
rived there some three years ago, pre
sun ably from South America. He
bought a little plantation just outside
of the town and Fettled there. He
seemed to have plenty of money when
hr, arrived, hut he probably spent It
all—on that girl Cecily, perhaps for
before he sailed, he borrowed thirty-five
hundred francs with his plantation as
security."
"Seven hundred dollars—that wouldn’t
go far.” T commented.
"No—lei's see Just how far.” and God
frey drew file menu card toward him
and made the following computation In
one corner:
Passage .$ 1 no
Incidentals on voyage.... 20
Clothing for himself. 200
Clothing for Cecily . 200
One month's rent. 45
One month’s board. 120
One month's Incidentals... 150
Total .*S65
"You see, he hadn’t enough to run
Mm a month—and he’s been here near
ly twice that long. Besides, that es
timate is much too low—for It’s evi
dent thut he's an extravagant liver.
He's been moving In expensive com
pany and has. of course, been keeping
up Ills end. Then, too, I don't doubt
thnt he provided for Thompson—gave
him enough money, anyway, to keep
drunk on—that’s the only way to ex
plain Thompson’s taking an apartment
like that. I should say that J1.500
would be a low estimate for the two
months. Of course, he had to get all
his clothing new—Martinique clothing
would’t do for March New York.”
"All of which indicates,” I said,
"either thal he had other resources
or that he’s received some money—$1,
000, at least—since he’s been here.”
’ Precisely—and 1 Incline to the lat
ter theory. He's working some sort
of tremendous bunco game. He's play
ing for big stakes. He’s not the man
to play for little ones."
“No,” 1 assented, "he’s not.” and we
fell silent, while the waiter removed
the dishes.
Over the cigars, afterwards, neither
of us said much; we were both, 1 think
trying to 11ml some ray of light In the
darkness. At last, Godfrey took out
his watch and glanced at it.
"I must be going.” he snid, as he
tore Into little bits the menu card upon
which he had made hts computation.
"My train haves at 9.”
\Ve put on our coats and went out
together. On the steps we paused.
“There's one thing, Lester," he said:
“we’re making progress, and he doesn’t
suspect us. That’s our great advan
tage. Perhaps we may catch him off
1.1s guard. During the next week, keep
your ( yes open and find out how much
Cecily knows. Anotln r tiling—keep
a clear head—don’t let that siren—
"No danger," l interrupted, nnd half
unconsciously I touched a ring on my
Unger.
, He smiled as he saw the gesture. i
"Oh, yes; I'd forgotten about that.
Where Is she now?"
i “In Florida—she arid her mother.
They're coming north next month.”
. ''V.’jll," he ; .".11, "I’m glad you've got I
I tie :Ing- It this next week. I
1 1 wish the chance was mine—Cecily. |
I’m sure, knows a good many Interest- |
Ing things about Tremaine. Besides, 1
havin't got your high moral scruples—
I bi Ueve in fighting tire with fire.
I However, do your best. I'll look you
up as soon as I get back. Good-by."
I watched him until the crowd hid
him. thin 1 turned toward my rooms a
little miserably. Without Godfrey to
back me, 1 felt singularly weak and
helpless. If Tremaine were really the
finished scoundrel we supposed hint,
what chance had 1 against him? But
perhaps he was not; perhaps we were
i wide of the mark—looking for truth at
' the bottom of a well Instead of on the
mcun’aln top.
The next day was Saturday. Tre
maine was to leave In the afternoon
for his week's absence, and he came
In before I left In the morning to say
good-bye. He seemed strangely elated
and triumphant; his eyes were even
brighter than usual, l.ie color came
and went In his cheeks—he presented,
altogeth r. a most fascinating appear
ance. He lingered only a moment to
snake hands and thank me again.
I “Cecity .a Jealous of these last mo
inen's." he said, with a laugi. “.She's
! u spoilt child—and like a child, her
j moods are only of the moment—she'll
I be gay os a lark tomorrow. Well au
i revolr, my friend." and he waved hia
| hand to me atid closed the door behind
! him.
With the vision of him yet In my
I eyes, 1 saw clearly for the first time
how weak and puny and Ineffective
was the chain of evidence which we
were endeavoring to forge about him.
He rose superior to It, shattered It,
cast It aside, trampled on It con
temptuously—emerged unstained. I
had permitted myself to be blinded by
Godfrey's prejudices—no unbiased per
son would ever believe Tremaine guilty.
Then I remembered that sudden, In
fernal smile he had cast at me two
nights before, and some of the glory
fell from him.
At the office, I found awaiting me a
note from Godfrey, scribbled hastily In
the station of the Pennsylvania road.
"Dear Lester (it ran): By the merest
good luck, I met Jack Drysdale Just
after I left you. Drysdale Is betrothed
to Miss Croydon, and Is to be one of
a little house party which Mrs. Delroy
has arranged at her country house near
Babylon, Long Island. Tremaine is to
be a guest also! That Is where he will
spend the week, and It’s evident he’s
going there with a purpose. I would
give worlds to be there, but Drysdale
has promised to keep a Journal of
events—he’s willing to do a great deal
for me—and to wire mo If anything
unusual happens. So I hope for the
best. Remember to keep your eyes
open. "Godfrey,”
It la principally from Drys'dale’s
Journal that I have drawn the story of
those eventful days.
PART III.
THE AFFAIR OF THE NECKLACE.
CHAPTER I.
THE DELROYS.
Althought Richard Delroy was known
nmong Ids more familiar associates as
Dickie, lie was not, as that diminutive
might seem to Indicate, merely a good
fellow and man about town. It is true
that hts wealth was great, and that he
bad never settled down to that
MTs. „Delroy, Miss Croydon was of that
steady struggle for money which had
marked his father’s career, and which
many persons seem to think the only
fitting employment for a man In his
position. He had concluded, wisely per
haps, that he had enough, and there
upon proceeded to an Intelligent enjoy
ment of it.
He had an ofliee In the Wall street
district. where he spent some hours
dally In interested contemplation of the
world's markets and pregnant talks
with Investors, promoters, and beggars
of various denominations. He had a
fondness for books and art, liner and
deeper than a mere mania for pur
chasing rare editions and unique mas
terpieces; he was a member of the
Citizens' union and contributed freely
to every effort to suppress political
graft and corruption: he was vice
chairman of the University Settlement
society, and belonged to many other
politico-evangelical organizations. He
had built two or three model tenements,
after that voyage of discovery among
the slums of London, which had also
resulted, as we have seen. In his meet
ing the woman who became his wife.
Among these varied occupations, he
managed to pass his time pleasantly,
and at the same time not unprofitubly.
In a word, if he did nothing very good,
neither .lid he do anything very bad—
Indeed, be averaged up considerably
better than most men of Ills class—and
It may be added, as a positive virtue,
that he had married for love and con
tinued to regard his wife with ail affec
tion somewhat unusual In Its intensity.
A great many people wondered why
he had married Edith Croydon, but
they were mostly those who hud never
met her. She would be called attractive
rather than beautiful, with a quiet
charm of manner whleh was felt most
intensely in the privacy of her own
home. She was quite the opposite of
vivacious, yet there was about her no
appearance of sadness, and her smile,
when It came, was the sweeter and
more welcome because long delayed.
She gave one a certain sense of valuing
It, of not wasting It. Certainly, she
succeeded In making her husband ail
entirely happy man, which is, perhaps,
the highest praise that can be given a
wife. It is almost needless to add
that she thoroughly sympathized with
him In his experiments for the better
ment of the condition of the poor, and
that her marriage had not Interfered
with her own active work in the same
direction.
Her sister was east in a different
mould. Her beauty won an Instant ap
preciation. Six years younger than
Mrs. Delroy. Miss Croydon was of that
striking, decisive type of brunette
which lakes a man’s heart by storm.
One would think of her as anything
but daring and self-reliant—audacious,
even—ready for any emergency and
willing to meet it squarely, open-eyed.
A man, looking ut her, would feel ris
ing in his breast not that Instinct of
protection which most women awaken,
but rather that instinct of the con
queror which is, perhaps, our heritage
from the Vikings.
It was to Richard Delroy that Tre
maine had applied for assistance in
promoting the Martinique railroad.
How he gained an introduction, 1 do
not know—perhaps from some uncritical
man in the street; but gain it he did,
and he used the opportunity to good
advantage. I can easily imagine the
perfection of wizardry he brought to
bear upon Delroy—the persuasive elo
quence, the irresistible fascination. In
the end, lie succeeded not only in per
suading Delroy of the perfect feasibility
of the scheme, but In gaining admis
sion to Delroy's family.
It had been achieved in this wise;
They were discussing the railroad en
terprise one afternoon, and Anally the
talk wandered to art and then to mu
sic. Delroy was delighted to And his
companion a connoisseur of delicate
perception and apparently wide experi
ence.
"I suppose you've been attending the
opera?" he inquired. Anally.
"Oh. certainly; always when there is
something I care especially to hear."
"De lieszke and Melba are on to
c'.’U."
1 Intend to be there," said Tremaine
| instantly, no doubt guessing at what
j would follow.
“Then come up to our box," said Del
' rey. "We ll be glad to have you."
"I shall be very glad to come.”
The words were spoken evenly, quiet
ly, without any Indication of that deep
burst of triumph which glowed within
him; for it was a triumph—a veritable
one—one for which many men and
most women would have made any sac
rlAce. He controlled himself admir
ably, too, at the opera and It was not
until the end of the second act that he
sought the box. lie entered quietly
and the Introductions were accom
plished in a moment. Besides Delroy
and his wife. Miss Croydon and Drys
dale were present. Their reception of
him. it must be added, was somewhat
Icy, but this he did not seem to notice.
It was not to be denied that he add
ed greatly to the life of the party; his
comment was so apt, so brilliant, so
Illuminating, yet not in the least self
assured. Drysdale fell under the spell
at once, and even the women, who nat
urally looked somewhat askance at the
intruder—who, indeed, had greeted him
with glances almost of repugnance—in
the end yielded to it.
During a pause in the conversation,
Delroy's glance happened to fail upon
the superb necklace of pearls which en
circled his wife’s throat.
"Why, see there, Edith." lie cried,
"how those pearls have changed. They
seem absolutely lifeless."
Mrs. Delroy picked up a strand with
trembling fingers and looked at it.
"So they do,” she agreed, a little
hoarsely. "That's queer. They've
changed since I put them on.”
"There's a superstition, you know,”
remarked Drysdale, “that pearls some
how possess an acute sympathy with
their owner. When some disaster is
about to happen, they grow dull, just
as these have done."
"Oh, nonsense, Jack!" protested Del
roy. "Stop your croaking. Do you
want to frighten Edith?”
"I'm not so easily frightened," said
Mrs. Delroy, smiling at tier husband,
though Drysdale fancied she had grown
a little pale, and bit ills tongue for his
thoughtless remark.
"Fortunately," said Tremaine suave
ly, "the defect Is one which is very
easily remedied. A few days' bath in
salt water will restore their brilliancy.”
“Well,” asked Delroy, in some amuse
ment, "where did you run across that
bit of information?”
Tremaine laughed.
"I’m almost ashamed to tell. I got it
first in a newspaper story about the
Empress of Austria. She had a neck
lace of pearls that turned dull, and she
sent them down to the Mediterranean
t? he immersed."
t ' What made them turn dull?" Drys
dale inquired.
“No one knew," answered Tremaine
with seeming carelessness. "It was
Just before the empress was assassin
ated.”
A moment's painful silence followed
the words.
"It may have been only a newspaper
yarn," said Delroy at last. "We’ve out
grown the superstitions of the Middle
Ages."
"Very possibly," assented Tremaine;
“still it might be worth asking some '
jeweler about. Mrs. Delroy's necklace i
is worth saving," and he examined It j
with the glance of a connoisseur.
it invited examination, for it was
almost unique in Its perfection. It had
been Delroy’s one great extravagance.
He had spent many years collecting the
stones, which were of a beautiful iri
descence and perfectly matched, and
thoy had formed his wedding gift to his I
wife. The value of the separate stones j
was not less than a hundred thousand
dollars; their value combined in the
t eckluce could only be a matter of con
jecture.
"Yes," agreed Drysdale, with a little
laugh, "It certainly in. You'd better .
take it down to Tiffany, Dickie."
"I wlli." said Delroy. "And don't
think anything more about it, Edith.” I
"I won't," she answered, still smiting, j
her eyes unnaturally bright. "But It’s
very close In here; I should like a glass j
of water."
The vv iter was procured In a moment.
Drysdale, blaming himself more and
more, was relieved to see her colour
return. She soon seemed quite herself
again; the talk turned to other things.
„\qd once again Tremaine showed his
perfect self control—he did not linger
unduly, he did not give them a chance
to grow accustomed to him, much less
to grow tired of him. He had not the J
faintest air of being an intruder; he i
seemed completely at home; and when 1
lie left the box, the men. at least, were
sorry lie had gone, and said so. He
was that wholly admirable thing—a I
guest whose departure one watches ;
with regret.
That box party was the wedge which ■
enabled Tremaine to enter the Delroy ;
circle; a privtlege which he cultivated i
with such consummate taet that he was
soon accepted everywhere at his face !
value. His success was assured from !
the start, for he brought to palates I
Jaded by overfeeding a new and ex- |
quisite tang: he was fresh and unusual, |
amid a surfeit of stale and common- '
place—he was relished to the uttermost: 1
It appeared, however, that the press J
of social duties and the trying spring i
weather were proving too much for j
Mrs. Delroy's strength, which was j
never great, and which had been es- |
peolaliy taxed, tills season, by the In- |
traduction of her sister to New York 1
society. Even the comparative quiet
of the Lenten season failed to restore I
her, and the resumption of the social
whirl after Easter moved Delroy to
protest.
(Continued Next Week.)
No Chesterfield.
A Christian Scientist of Boston was
praising I be late earl of Dunrnore. j
"Lord Dunrnore," he said, “was a |
good Christian Scientist and a good
man. Tall end robust and supple, I
can see him still with Ids short gray |
beard and his kind face. His only
fault—a fault due to- his aristocratic i
upbringing, no doubt—was tne exag
garated value that he set upon correct- !
ness. He Insisted on correct ness In eat- i
ing, in dress, in everything.
"At a dinner in Beacon street last
year I heard him tell a story about an
Incorrect self-made man, of "nouveau
riche,’ as he called him.
'This man was dressing one evening
to go out. His wife bustled into the
room before he started, to look him
over. I
" 'But, George.' she said reproach
fully, ‘aren't you going to wear your
diamond studs to the banquet?’
“ 'No. What’s the use?’ George
growled. My napkin would hide ’em
anyway.' " I
No Covor for This Machine.
She hailed from a little out-of-the
way village where an automobile was
called such, without any of the quips
and quirks whereby the long term is \
avoided, and where a honk invariably
brought the entitre population to the
front door.
She went to visit in a larger com
munity, and heard one feminine bridge
play say to another:
"When do you go away?"
"Not until I make a cover for my
machine," answered the owner of a
new llyer.
The visitor's eyes widened. “You arc
better to your machine than I am to
mine," she said, amiably. "I have nev-,
er made a cover for mine."
“What make is your machine?" asked
someone, politely. I
“A New Home," responded the vis
itor. "What’s yours?"
But the answer was drowned In a
shout of laughter. I
“You can’t paint the lily," declared the
rose.
"Maybe not." responded the aster.
"But have you noticed?"
"Noticed what?" |
"The lily pads."—Pittsburg Post.
Politics Is letting the voters have
everything to say about everything ex
cept governing themselves.
HOW NIEUPORT FOLK
FISH ON HORSEBACK
• From W. G. Fitzgerald’s “Fishing on
j Horseback" in October St. Nicholas.
Round about the little town (Nieuport)
j extends a cheerless desert of rolling dunes,
! cutting it off from the big, bustling world
1 outside. The cottages are hidden away
I among the sand hills, and no doubt in
olden times the chief occupation of their
! owners was wrecking and smuggling.
[ Mere huts they are, consisting often of
! one room. The snow-white walls are fitted
with alcoves, screened with stiffly
starched curtains concealing various beds,
j There is little furniture and that of tho
i simplest; but the pavement of red tiles
fairly shines from scrubbing, and inside
I the huge chimney are hung the polished
J copper pans and quaint old specimens of
Delft pottery, given up by the sea from
J old time wrecks.
I Every morning at dawn the strangest
j company you ever saw musters in this
odd little street. A company, one would
I think, of medieval cavalry. The slouch
hats of the riders recall the helmets of
Cromwell’s Ironsides. The bulky baskets
might be shields and bucklers, while the
bristling netpoles suggest pikes, lances
and halberds.
And lastly, tarpaulin jackets and thigh
| boots glisten like armor. Watch one of
j these remarkable fishers careering along
i a remote and solitary beach, with great
! wing-like nets stretching out on either
j side of the crupper, and you will at once
! recall Don Quixote returning from a tilt
! at the windmills. And surely no such
! fishermen were ever elsewhere seen. Ask
| them where are their boats and they burst
; Into laughter, pointing to their sturdy, ,
! placid beasts beneath them.
And how carefully these are prepared ]
j for their battle with the sea! First comes
! a pack padded out with strak, and ori
j either side of this the large panniers are
i adjusted to receive the catch. The traces
| for dragging tho net arc now attached to j
! the collar in the ordinary way. and the
big net itself poised behind the pack. An
extra basket is hung upon the side, and
then at last Don Quixote may mount-no
easy matter, by the way, since there is
little room amid the elaborate gtar.
Twelve or twenty of these strange plow
men of the sand-; meet together and make
,their way down to the beach when the tide
is at its lowest. Mere they are joined by
other companies of the curious army, with
jirregular helpers in the shape of women
•and children. All are soon busily spread- i
Ing out and arranging the nets, while tho
big, patient horses stand motionless, wait
ing to do their share. Poles keep the
mouths of the nets wide open, and the mo
ment the fisherman mounts, the horses
ptep fearlessly Into the foaming water,
going out ever deeper and deeper, till at
length little more than the animals’ heads
are above the gentle rollers. Regular man
euvers are gone through. Dining up in a
row, the horses begin their journey along
the waves, dragging the heavy nets behind j
them, heedless of the heavy breakers anti !
strong currents. They never stop to rest, j
never change their pace; and the rider9 i
pull vigorously at cheering pipes, having ;
little more to do than sit still and hold |
the rope that regulates the net, while th« I
harvest of the sea is being gathered.
Now and then the men on the extreme !
outside of the marshing squadron—that j
is to say, those in deeper water—sudden- |
.y change their course, and wheel round ’
shoreward, while the others slow up and !
change places. The object of this is t« j
5lve each man an equal chance and ge>
the catch fairly divided. Naturally thos«
fishing in the deeper water have an ad
vantage over the others. Gradually on«
notices the ropes by which the nets ar*
attached growing tighter—a sure sign that
the weight of the "take" is Increasing
But not until a full hour and a half ol
marching in the sea and plowing its sandy
floor has been accomplished Is any move
made toward the land. The catch is al
most always a good one; and as the net*
emerge from the last ripples it looks aa
though some of them might break wltb
the weight of their quivering load.
Objectionable jelly fish and worthiest
shells and seaweed are cast aside, and
the rest of the catch put into basket* by
the men, assisted by the womenfolk and j’
children. Once more the fishing cavalry i
face their ancient enemy, sometime® draw
ing lots for the best positions in the line
A new furrow is plowed this time, and
now and then a specially big wave will
■>ome along and completely submerge both
horses and riders for a second or two.
The animals, by the way, seem to be
born to it. I gathered from old print* ;
and bits of pottery that this form of fish- j
|ng ha* been practiced for age® along the j
coast of Flanders, although it now sur
vives only at Nieuport, Coxyde, and a few
samller villages. The horses are amazing
ly hardy; their coats are allowed to grow
very thiek, and their sagacity is so great
that the old villagers declare they could)
go out and do a day's work by them
selves! After four hours, however, enough
fish are taken. The catch Is roughly
ported and washed, the nets are rolled up,
and th* homeward march is begun in a
grateful cloud of tobacco smoke among,
the men and lively gossip among the wom
en and children.
A very charming sight is tills return of j
the fishers on horseback to litle Nieuport. j
Sometimes the setting sun is casting its
fays over the bright blue, rippling sea,
and Its vast expanse of golden sands; and.
the city visitor is soothed by the marvel
pus alienee. No sound disturbs the ear
save ttee crunch of the horses’ hoofs on
ihe wet sand, the ceaseless beat otf gentle
purf, o* the sharp crle® of ravenous gulls
as they swoop down to seize the scattered ,
remnant* left where the fishermen sorted |
their catch. On arrival at the cottages, «
each fisherman spreads out hi* nets to. |
;lry on the long, quivering grass of the
sand' dunes, and both horse and rider pre- j
p&re for a well-earned rest and a good «
meal. I
Meanwhile the housewife is getting ready ’
her great copper pots for the wriggling t
shrimps, small eels* soles, flounder and ^
other fish that have found their way into <
the nets. Nothing but the shrimps are J
sold, however. For 1 should explain that j
all along the coasts of the North sea, j
shrimping Is one of the chief industries; | »
and the whole of northern France, inelud- I
ing Paris, and the grtater part of Belgium
are supplied by these villagers.
Sharp. (
Lord Sholto Douglas was talking at a !
dinner in Detroit about American business j
methods.
“Since I have been a bagman—I mean a ,
drummer—for a jewelry firm," said the t
young man, “1 have learned to admire
American business methods tremendously. I
To succeed here, though, one needs to be |
very snap and clever. Indeed, the sharp- |
ness and cleverness of American buyers i*
a constant amazement to me.
“The other day I was in a village general
store endeavoring to make a sale of jew
elry, when a farmer entered.
" ‘Give me,' said the farmer, ' half-pound
of tobacco, three bars of soap, five yards
of blue baby ribbon and a pair of good sus
penders.’
“The articles wer*' brought forth, in- ■
spected, approved and wrapped up. They j
came to 95 cents.
“ ’Ye*,’ said the farmer. ’95's right. But I
there’s the discount. You advertise a 5 1
per cent, discount, don’t you?*
" 'We do, s'r,'’ said the clerk, ‘but only
on v rchapes of $1 cr over.’ \
“On the counter lay a basket or pocket j
combs marked at 5 ce-«ts apiece.
“ 'Well. I’ll just take one of these,' said j
the farmer. ‘That’ll make u* square.' ’•
w V
CARTRIDGES
For Rifles and Pistols
Winchester make of
cartridges in all calibers
from .22 to .50 are accu
rate, sure fire and relia
ble. In forty years of gun
making we have learned
I many things about am
1 munition that no one
could learn in any other
way. When you buy
Winchester make of
cartridges you get the
benefit of this experience
Winchester Repeating Arms Co.,
HEW HAVEN, CONN.
J
!’LEADING LADY^l
» SHOES „„s I
|jFOR WOMEN ff_|
Leading Lady Shoes are HT"^
best described in three n
words—Style, Comlorl, Ser- H
vice. Yon rarely find aft H
these qualities combined in H
me shoe. .
SHOES I
• y Kgs
e neat and dressy. '
'hey fit perfectly and are ex- H
emely comfortable from the Ef
:ginning. No better values B
e obtainable anywhere. fe
Your dealer will supply youi H
not, write to us. Look for H
t Mayer Trade Mark on the K
We also make Martha Wash. H
'tea Comfort Sfaoes, Special’ R
ait School Shoes, Honorbilt I
oes for Men. {
Mayer Boot & Shoe’ Company I
New antf Lihn
Homestead
Reautaiiaas
IK
Westers Caaadi
NEW DISTRICTS
Now Open (or Settlement
Some of the choicest lands In. the grain growing
belts of Saskatchewan and Alberta have recently been
apened for settlement under the Revised Homestead)
Regulations of Canada. Thousands of homesteads of
160 acres each are now available. The new regula
tions make it possible for entry to be made by proxy,
the opportunity that many in the United States have
uoen waiting for. Any member of a family may make
sntry for any other member of the family who may
t>e entitled to make entry for himsolf or herself.
Entry may now be made before the Agent or Sub
agent of the District by proxy (oncertain conditional,
by the father, mother, son. daughter, brother or sis
ter of an Intending homesteader.
“Any even numbered section of Dominion
Lands in Manitoba or the North-West Provinces,
excepting Sand 26, not reserved, may be home
steaded by any person the «o2e head of % family,
or male over 18 years ©f age, to the extent of
one-quarter section, o! 160 acres, more or less. **
The fee In each case will be S10.00. Churches,
schools and markets convenient. Healthy climate,
spler.dtd crops and good laws. Grain growing ana
cattle raising principal industries.
F-'or furiher particulars as to Rates. Routes. Bern
rime to Go and Where to Locate, apply ta
W. D. Scott. Superintendent of Immigration,
Ottawa, Canada, or K. T. Holmes, 315 Jackson
St..St. Paul, Minn.:). M. MacLacnian, Box ufc
Watertown, South Dakota, and W. V. Bennett,
801 New York Life Building, Omaha, Neb.,
Authorized Government Agents
I I**.- «aj where jua saw this adrerti-emawl.
Returned Him.
A man returned to his native village
alter having emigrated to Kansas some
twenty years previous. He asked about
different villagers he had known in the
old days, and tlnally of the town drunk
ard of his time. ]
“Oh, he's dead," was the reply.
“Well, well, dead and buried, ia he?"
“Nope; they didn't bury him,”
“Didn't bury him:** exclaimed the
(unner resident. Well, then, what aid
they do with him?"
“Oh. they Just poured him back ia th*
*«■*' ;
