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Ready Answer*.
There were two Irishmen who recent
ly came over to seek employment in
America. Pat secured a position here,
but because of some misunderstanding
between his employer and himself he
was to be discharged on the following
Monday if he could not answer three
questions.
Pat came home with a heavy heart
that night, and told his twin brother,
Mike, the questions, which were: How
much does the moon weigh? How
many stars are there? What am I
thinking about? As the brothers looked
very much alike, Mike said that he
would go In Pat's place and answer
the three questions, for he considered
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As soon as Mike entered the office
Monday morning his brother’s employ
er said: "Pat are you ready for the
questions?"
"Yes, sir,” said Mike.
"Very well, how much does the moon
weigh?” “Hundred pounds.”
“How d’ye know?” "There’s four
quarters.”
“How many stars are there?” "A
million.”
“How d’ye know?” "Go count ’em.”
"What am I thinking about?” "You’re
thlnkln’ that I'm Pat, but I'm not. I’m
Mike.” _
Cheering Her Up.
A young lady living In Atlanta vis
ited the home of her fiance in New
Orleans. On her return home an old
negro "mammy.’’ long in the service
of the family and consequently privil
eged to put the question, asked:
"Honey, when is you goin' to git mar
ried?”
The engagement not having been an
nounced, the Atlanta girl smilingly re
plied:
"Indeed, I can't say, auntie. Per
haps I shall never marry.”
The old woman’s jaw L...
“Ain’t dat a pity, now!” she said, and
after reflection she added, consolingly,
"Dey do say dat ole maids is de hap
piest critters dey is, once dey quits
strugglin’.”
Pointed Paragraphs.
From the Chicago News.
Among the fatal diseases is old age.
Women are as changeable as men
are monotonous.
It takes a dry goods box philosopher
to make a set speech.
A man who Is able to keep his face
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Learning to be content with what we
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Inability to obtain a seat at the po
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How anxious people are to help you
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Red Riding Hood to Date.
From the Minneapolis Journal.
With Jeff Davis In the role of the
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"Oh, grandma, how big your eyes
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"The better to see you, my dear.”
“Oh, grandma, how long your ears
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"Oh, grandma, how sharp your teeth
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“The better to eat you up, my dear.”
Gobble, gobble, and a crunching of
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Atchison Globe Sights.
When a man has an opinion or a
theory that happens to turn out right,
how he loves to hear about it!
When a man boasts that his life is
an open book, he had better scratch
wood: Some one might look into it.
Men are possessed of two great fears;
that they will become old, and that
they will never live to be old.
If we were* sure we could get an
original love letter in reply, we believe
that, as old as we are, we would write
one.
The man who uses a falsehood for
policy is like the woman who powders,
soon gets into the habit of putting on
too much.
When a man Is always in a hurry,
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ordinary way.
The louder a child bawls the less it
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A girl’s idea of the most dreadful im
politeness is to allow her girl company
to carry a dress suit case through the
depot waiting room.
Hides, Pelts and Wool.
To get full value, ship to the old reliable
N. W. Hide & Pur Co, Minneapolis, Minn.
Quaker Reflections.
Prom the Philadelphia Record.
Beauty isn’t even skin deep. Lots
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Some people would even like to bor
row experience.
The pugilist can’t complain that a
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Women's troubles can’t always be
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The money stringency doesn't inter- !
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If you want to know how to manage |
a wife ask a man W'ho never had one. '
The man who tries to collect his out
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done.
The man who is under a cloud takes
little consolation from the silver lining
theory.
No. Maude, dear, the man with a
heavy beard doesn’t always have a
strong face.
Mrs. Winslows bootbiso btbc® tor dinars*
teething; softens the gams, reancee innemmsuon. »(•
sys pein- cures wins onlin. 2f> cent- s bottle.
Tom Ochiltree’s Moon.
After Tom Ochiltree, that able con- ;
gress raconteur and laugh generator
for the afflicted rich, settled in New
York as the amuser of the John W.
Mackay family, he effervesced in a
thousand different directions, and was
as good in some ways as Sam Ward.
One night he escorted John Mackay’s
friend, the Count de Biscount, down to
the Battery to show the sights of New
York. The moon was grand, and the
count went Into raptures as "her maid
en reflection rippled over the pearly
waters.”
He cried; “Eet iss grand! Eet iss
grand! Dair lss no such moon in all
Italy!”
"Count,” said Ochiltree, solemnly at
beflttted the occasion, “you just ought
to see the moon in Texas.”
When a girl Is proud of a photograph
of her it’s a sign it doesn't look like
her.
r.~.1 ---r
--
: THEMARATHOHmystery
_
A STORY OF MANHATTAN.
1 1 ■■■ ^ -r—:,TC7' g
BY BURTON E. STEVENSON
Author of **Tho Holladay Caao,” -‘Cadota of Gascony," Eto.
i
"We don't need It!" declared God
frey confidently, as he arose to go.
"We've got a chain about Tremaine,
Lester, that he can't break—and we’ll
compel Miss Croydon to forge the last
rivet.”
But. In my dreams that night I saw
him breaking the chains, trampling up
on them, hurling them from him. I
tried to hold them fast with all my
puny strength, for I fancied that, once
free, he would sweep over the earth like
a pestilence. Then, suddenly, It was
not Tremaine but Cecily I was holding;
she turned to look at me with a coun
tenance so terrible that It palsied me;
her eyes scorched me with a white heat,
burnt me through and through. Then
she raised her hand and struck me a
heavy blow upon the head—again—
again—till, blindly, In agony, I loosed
my hold of her and fell, fell. . .
CHAPTER IV.
CECILY SAYS GOODBY.
The cold light of the morning brought
With it a profound skepticism. God
frey's theory no longer seemed so con
vincing; in fact, it did not seem con
vincing at all. Many objections oc
curred to me; I saw that the whole
elaborate structure was built upon
quicksand—there was no proof that any
of the clippings referred to Tremaine
or Thompson; there was no truth that
Thompson had gathered them with
elaborate care and of set purpose, there
was no proof. . .
Yes—there was one point susceptible
of proof; by it the whole structure
would stand or fall. . .
"Mr. Royce,” I said to our junior In
the course of the morning, "I wonder if
I could be spared this afternoon? I’ve
some business of my own which I’d
like very much to attend to.”
"Why, certainly,” he answered in
stantly; so when I left the office at
noon, I took the elevated to the Grand
Central station and bought a ticket to
Ossining. Once there, I went to the
grey old prison and stated my errand
to Mr. Jones, the sub-warden, whom I
found in charge.
"I've come up from New York," I be
gan, after giving him my card, "to
see if you can identify this man,” and
I handed him the photograph of
Thompson.
He looked at it long and searehing
ly, seemingly for a time in doubt, but
at last he shook his head.
"No, I don’t believe I can,” he said.
“There’s something familiar about the
face, but I can’t place it.”
"How long have you been connected
with the prison. Mr. Jones?” I asked.
”1 began thirty years ago as guard.
But what made you think I could iden
tify this fellow?”
_ “We’ve rather imagined,” I answered,
“that his real name was Johnson and
that he served a term here for rob
bery, beginning in 1885."
He looked at the photograph again,
with a sudden flush of excitement in
his face.
"I believe you’re ■ right," he said.
“Let’s look at Johnson’s photo.”
He consulted the index, then turned
to one of the wall cases.
“Here he is," he said, opening a com
partment and pointing to a photograph.
“It’s the same man, sure, only changed
a lot. It would be easy to prove it.
I suppose they took his Bertillon meas
urements at the morgue, and we’ve only
to compare them with ours. They’d be
the same, no matter how much he'd
changed.”
And he had changed, indeed! The
Johnson of the prison photograph was,
of course, smooth shaven; his fuce waa
alert, intelligent; there was no scar
upon the temple, nor did the features
show the subtle bloating of long con
tinued dissipation. But it was the same
—undoubtedly it was the same. There
was no need to apply any finer tests.
“I remember him now,” said Jones,
looking from one photograph to the
other," very well. He was a quiet, well
behaved chap—had been captain of a
little tramp steamer, I believe. Had a
perfect mania for cutting pieces out
of newspapers and pasting them in a
scrap book. He spent all his leisure
time that way. Oh, yes; I remember,
too, he tried to escape, but his pal
went back on him and left him layin’
out yonder by the wall. His na! was a
bad one, he was; he got away and
I’ve often wondered what become of
him. Here he Is.
He swung open another compartment
and I found myself staring at Tre
maine!
Not until I was quite near New York
did I recover sufficiently from the ef
fects of this discovery to heed the cry
of the train boy as he went through the
coaches with the evening papers.
"All about th’ Edgemere murder!”
he was crying, and the name caught
iiijt ecu.
"Edgemere." I repeated to myself.
"Edgemere. I've heard that name
somewhere.”
Then in a flash I remembered; and
In a moment more the whole story of
the tragedy of the night before—the
murder of Graham and the theft of
Mrs. Delroy's necklace—lay before me.
With what intensity of interest I read
It can be easily imagined; I was shaken,
nervous, horror-stricken. That there
was some connection between this sec
ond tragedy and the one in suite four
teen I did not doubt; and I read and !
re-read the details with the greatest I
care, in the effort to find where > ba^ j
connection lay.
But it was impossible to see how j
Tremaine could be implicated in ttie
Edgemere mystery even in the least
degree—his alibi was perfect. On the
other hand, the evidence against young
Drysdale seemed complete in every
link. Certainly, none of the papers
doubted his guilt, and they handled his 1
past career and his family history with
a minuteness and freedom which must !
have been most trying to his friends. I
Coroner Heffelbower came in for the
lion’s share of praise-—everyone agreed
that he had conducted the case with
rare skill and acumen. Of course, the
Record had his photograph, as well as
those of his wife and six children, and
as I looked at his round face, I fancied
him strutting back and forth in his sa- •
loon, inflated with pride, and listening
approvingly to the constant ringing of
the cash register. It's an ill wind—but
certainly there was no denying that he
had handled the case adroitly.
Drysdale, it appeared, had been
lodged in the Jail at Babylon, and
steadfastly refused to make any state
ment, or to explain his absence from
the house. No reporters hud been ad
mitted to Edgemere—though thut fact
lid not prevent two or three of them
from writing minute descriptions of the
condition of affairs there, and publish
ing Interviews with the members of the
tamily. Marvelous accounts were given
->t the exquisite beauty and Immense
value of the missing necklace, and the
Record published a drawing of it ''from
i description by Tiffany.”
We pulled into the station, and I took
\ car down to mv turning this
--...................4
latest enigma over and over in my
mind, looking at it from every angle,
trying in vain to discover some fact
that would Implicate Tremaine. At
my door I paused a moment; then I
crossed the hall and knocked at Tre
maine's door. Perhaps Cecily had for
given me, and in an evening’s talk I
ought surely to be able to find out
something more. . .
But it was not Cecily, It was Tre
maine himself who opened to me.
“Oh, Mr. Lester," he cried, with hand
outstretched, “how are you? I wanted
to see you—I’ve been listening for your
step. You must Join us here this even
ing."
"I shall be glad to," I said, returning
his clasp, all my suspicions melting
away, reduced to absurdity, at sight of
him. “But why so particularly this
evening?"
"Because we’ve planned a little cele
bration. Cecily is going away-"
’’Going away?”
"Yes—-buck to St. Pierre to get my
house In order—but I’ll tell you at din
ner—it's to be served here in an hour.
You will come?"
"Certainly I will,” I assured him, and
hastened over to my room to dress.
He was awaiting me when I knocked
an hour later; a table had been set
with three placeB.
"Come in,” he said. "Dinner will be
here directly. I thought it safer to have
the celebration here because—well,”
and he nodded significantly toward the
inner room.
“Cecily?" I questioned.
"Yes—she takes it to heart more
than you’d believe. But she’ll get over
it in a day or two.”
"When does she leave?”
“In the morning early, by the fruit
boat. And, by the way, I want you to
go down with me to see her off. She'll
appreciate it."
“Why, certainly—but isn’t it rather
sudden?"
in a w txy t y tro. iuu ouc, i vc ut -
ranged for a committee from New York
to go down to Martinique and look over
the ground, and I want to take them
before they have a chance to cool olT.
I’Tb got to get my house there In order
and engage some servants, for that will
be our headquarters, and if Cecily
doesn’t leave by the boat tomorrow, she
can't go for ten duys. Ten days from
now I’m going to have the committee
ready to sail, and when I get them to
Martinique, I'm going to give them a
sample of Creole hospitality. I wish
you could come,” he added warmly. "I’d
•like to hnve you.”
"There’s nothing I’d like better," I
: said, suddenly conscious of how I had
slandered him in my thoughts. "But I
fear it Isn't possible Just now.”
"Well, some day I shall have you
there, and I warn you I shan’t let you
go in a hurry. Como in," he added, in
response to a knock at the door.
Two waiters entered, and In a mo
ment the dinner was served.
"That will do,” said Tremaine, press
ing a coin into the hand of each of
them. "We’ll attend to ourselves. Send
up in nn hour for the dishes. I thought
that was best," he added, as he closed
1 the door after them. "We can talk
freely now."
He stepped to the Inner door.
"Cecily!” he called.
She appeared in a moment, with eye
lids a little puffed and red, but on the
whole In much better spirits than I had
expected. She was arrayed In all her
finery—she had put on every piece of
jewelry, I think—and she paused In the
doorway to throw me a courtesy. Tre
maine took her hand and led her to a
seat, with a grace worthy of the Grand
Monarque.
"See the spoiled child!” he said,
laughing across the table at her, a mo
ment later. “She’s been making herself
miserable for nothing. In two weeks,
we shall be together again at Fond
Corre."
She answered his laugh with n thin
smile, and shot me a glance pregnant
with meaning. I knew she meant that
her prophecy had come true.
He brimmed her glass with wine.
"Drink that," he said. "To our meet
ing In two weeks.”
"To our meeting in two weeks!" she
repeuted Ironically, and drained the
glass.
But in a few moments the mood
passed and she became quite gay. Not
till then did It occur to ine that Tre
maine had made no reference to the
tragedy at Edgemere. Then I caught
myself just in time, for I remembered
suddenly that I was not supposed to
know he had been there.
"So you have been successful?” I '
asked finally.
"Yes, I believe so. I’ve succeeded in
interesting some capitalists. Richard
Delroy—perhaps you know him?"
“No; only by reputation.”
"He has helped me greatly.”
"You got through, then, sooner than
you expected?"
i vw—* uiuufeui ii « uuiu u vv et*K
at least. Mr. Delroy had arranged that
the conference should take place at his
country house near Rabylon. We fin
ished the details yesterday, and," hp
added, after the faintest hesitation, “an
extremely unfortunate event occurred
there last night which made any furth
er stay Impossible—I dare say you saw
an account of it In the evening pa
pers?"
"Oh, yes; that murder and robbery.
The evidence seems to point very
strongly toward a young fellow named
Drysdule."
"Very strongly,” he agreed, nodding
with just the right degree of concern,
"although I'm hoping that he may be
able to prove himself not guilty. An
amiable young fellow—somewhat 1m- 1
pul3lve and headstrong—but let us not i
talk about it. It’s too unpleasant. 1
This evening we must be gay."
There is no need for me to detail '
what we did talk about, since it in 1
no way concerns this story; but I have
never seen Tremaine to better advan
tage. He was the unexceptionable gen- 1
tleir.nn, the man of the world who had 1
traveled far and tasted many things, 1
a brilliant and witty talker—a person- 1
ality in a word, on the whole so fascin
ating arid Impressive that long before
the evening was over I had dismissed
as ridiculous my vague suspicions of
an hour before. The story that God- I
frey had built up. was, 1 reflected, wholly ’
hypothetical, flimsy wif.lt the flimsiness t
which always attuches to circumstan- ;
tlal evidence. I knew how a jurv look- ]
ing at Tremaine, would laugh at It. No t
lawyer would risk his reputation with c
such a case, no magistrate would allow i
It to proceed before him. Why, for all i
I knew, Tremaine could prove an alibi
for the tragedy in suite fourteen as i
complete as that which Delroy had of- t
fered for him In the Kdgemere mystery. <
Godfrey and I had been forging a chain t
of sand, imagining it steel! As for i
that prison photograph, I had been de
ceived by a chance resemblance, c
"The boat starts from pier lifty-seven, l
North River, at the foot of West Twen- 1
tv-seventh street, at k o'clock," were i
#
Tremaine’s last -words to me. "We1
shall look for you there.”
Is there any virtue In dreams, I
wonder? That night, while I slept, the
tragedy In suite fourteen was re-en
acted before me. I witnessed Its every
detail—I saw Tremaine snatch up the
pipe and strike a heavy blow—then,
suddenly, behind him, appeared a face
dark with passion, a hand shot out, a
pistol flashed, even as Tremaine tried
to knock It aside, and Cecily looked
down upon her victim with eyes blaz
ing with hatred!
I was at the pier In good time, for,
let me confess It. I was curious to see
the details of this leave taking. Cecily
and Tremaine were there before me,
the former leaning sadly against the
rail while the latter directed the check
ing of some baggage.
I went directly to her.
"So here you are,” I said, “ready to
go back to that St. Pierre you love so
much. Aren't you glad?"
“Oh, very glad," she answered, with a
single listless glance at me. “I shall
never come back to this horrible place.”
"And Tremaine will J6In you In two
weeks," I added.
This time she looked at me—a light
ning Hash!—a glance that brought back
vividly my dream.
"Will he?" she asked between her
teeth.
"Why," I questioned. In affected sur
prlce, “don’t you think he will?”
She drew In her breath with a quick
gasp.
"What does It matter? I'm only iv
fllle-de-couleur. I shall laugh and for
get like all the others," and. Indeed, a.
strange unnatural excitement had com*
Into her face.
I saw her eyes devouring Tremalns
as he approached.
"Everything Is arranged,” he said
cheerily, shaking hands with me. "Here
are the checks, Cecily. Now take us
down to your stateroom and do the
honours.”
"As you please, doudoux," she an
swered quietly, and led the way.
It was a very pleasant cabin, one of
the best on board, and I saw that some
of her personal belongings were al
ready scattered about. Against the
hotwater pipe in one corner was hang
ing Fe-Fe’s cage. A curtain had been
tied about It to protect Its tender oc
cupant from the cold.
"1 see you're taking Fe-Fe with you,"
I remarked.
"Tn ha sura sha i« " wtbi
"She knows the snake would starve
(o death If she left It with me. But
we must drink to a good voyage."
He rose and touched the electric but
ton. Cecily followed him with eyes
Steaming like two coals of Are. Look
ing at her, I felt a vague uneasiness
—did she have concealed In the bosom
pf her gown that same revolver—was
die only waiting a favorable mo
ment. . ,
"The Arst toast is yours, Mr. Lester,”
said Tremaine, ns he Ailed the glasses.
“To Cecily!” I cried. "Her health,
long life and happiness!"
"Thank you, che,” she said simply,
and very gravely, and we drank it.
Just then a bell sounded loudly from
the deck and a voice shouting com
mands.
"Como we must be going," said Tre
maine, rising hastily. "That's the shore
bell."
I passed out Arst, and for an Instant
held my breath, expecting I knew not
what—a dull report—a scream. . ,
But In a moment they came out to
gether. Tremaine and I made a rush
for the gang plank, while Cecily again
took up her station against the rail.
We waved to her and waved again,
shouting goodbys, as the last rope was
cast loose, and the steamer began to
move away from the dock.
She waved back at us and kissed her
hands, looking very beautiful.
Then suddenly her face changed; she
swayed and caught at the rail for sup
port.
"She's going to faint, pardieu!" said
Tremaine.
But she did not faint; Instead she
made a funnel of her hands and
shouted a last message back at us.
Tremaine nodded as though he under
stood and waved his hand.
"Did you catch what she said?” he
isked.
"No, not a word of it. That tug over
there whistled just then.”
"1 caught the word lit.. She prob
ably wants to know how many she'll
rmve to get ready—but no matter,” and
tie turned to me with an expressive lit
tle shrug.
"Why? Isn't the committee really
jolng to Martinique?”
"Oh. a couple of engineers are go
ng to look over the ground and re
port."
"And you?"
"I sliall stay here." He waved his
landkerchlef again at the receding
poat. then passed it across his fore
’e,:uV ,'That takea a bl£ load off my
nind, Mr. Lester, I tell you. to get her
safely off and be alive to tell the tale
[ rather expected her to stick a knife
nto me last night. I made a great
mistake in bringing her with me "
"But I thought you said"
“Oh. they do laugh and forget In
Ime; but just at Arst they naturally
■eel badly. Now, before the voyage is
>ver. I dare say Cecily will have an
>ther doudoux—some handsome Creole
eturnlng home, perhaps. She's a mag
ilAcent woman, just the same ” he
iddetl.
"That she is," I agreed, and threw a
ast look down the river.
(Continued Next Week.)
“Thanks; I'm Off."
A good story Is told of a well known
British journalist who. while In Berlin,
rad the misfortune to offend the kaiser
ry publishing information about the
pmperor of a ra.her Intimate nature.
He was ordered to leave Germany.
He secured a respite c* two weeks dur
ng which he could wind up his affairs;
put he was a marked man; the police
rhadowed him night and day, and ho
letermlned to escape the continual es
pionage.
At last he hit upon the expedient of
placing a stuffed dummy of himself be
ore a window, with its buck towards
he street, and while the police zealous
y watched the dummy he was dally
dipping out by a side door and going
inmolested about iris business, dls
rutsed in a pair of blue goggles and an
rid slouch hat.
The dummy sat in a chair, with oc
casional Interruptions, from 9 in the
norning till 10 at night, and was pulled
nslde by a string at bed time.
On the morning of the journalist's
leparture the figure was turned with
ts wooden face toward the street, dis
playing a small placard for the edl
lcation of the police, reading:
“Thanks: I’m off."
He Got Around It.
The difficulty of saying a suitable
hlng about an unprepossessing person
tas once cleverly sursnuunted Dv the
;reat Duke of Wellington. At a man
ion house dinner he was called on to
iropo.se the health of the lady mayor
ss, whom he had never seen. The
luke got up and proposed the toast.,
[escribing the subject as “the model
f her sex."
Now, the lady happened to be a
cry plain, wizened little woman, so
he then Lord Ellenborough afterward
sked the duke how he could describe
hat ugly little creature as the model
f her sex.
"Why,” said the duke. "I thought I
ild very well, t had never seen her
efore, and didn't know what she was
Ike—and some models are blamed
jely I”