THOS. GALE, OF ALASKA,
MEMBER OF U.S, CONGRESS.
Veil Known on the Paci/lc Slope, jjis
Washington Address is 1312 !>(A St.,
X. W., Washington, D. C.
CONGRESSMAN THOS. CALE.
Hon. Thos. Csle, who was elected to
Congress from Alaska, is well known on
the Pacific slope, where he has resided.
Hla Washington address is 1312 Oik St.,
N. W, Washington, 1). C.
Washington, D. C.
Peruna Drug Co., Columbus Ohio
Gentlemen: I can cheerfully rec
ommend Peruna as a very e file lent
remedy for coughs and colds.
Thomas Cate.
Hon. C. Plemp. Congressman from
Virginia, writes: “I have used your val
uable remedy, Peruna, with beneficial
reaulta, and can unhesitktingly recom
mend your remedy as an invigorating
tonic and on effective aud permanent
cure for catarrh.”
Man-a-Hn the Ideal Laxative.
At the Circus.
Mistress—I wouldn't hold the baby
•e near the tiger’s rage, Nora.
Nora (the nurse)—There’s no rial:,
mum. The tiger Is a "man eater," and
the child Is n girl.
-—- I
Just the Thing. 1
*1 don’t know what to do with my
boy; he hates to read so."
"Why not make a book reviewer of <
him.?”
This will interest Mothers.
•Mother Cray's Sweet Powders for I'hll- i
(then. use.l by Mother Gray, a nurse In t’hll- i
tdren's Home, Xew York, cure Constipation, j
[Feverishness, Teething Disorders. Stomach
'^Troubles nnd Destroy Worm- ; ,1(1 not) trsti
, ononis Is of cures. All druggists, 25c. Sam 1
iple Face. Address Allen S. Olmsted, Le
\ N V_ _ ‘
f A Mighty Mitn. 1
7 Jim—"What did Tom mean when ho 1
• ■aid that his matrimonial hopes all 1
•depended upon tho widow’s smile?"
Dick—“He merely meant that she *
anight marry him or sho might not.’’
t Timo and Money.
"TaWJeJls—"I hear that Juysmlth has l
Tpecn spending a week with you.” )
Kilduft—“Yet), it Is true. He spent a 7
fweek, ayid I spent *50.”
s
i w s as* n sv • 'Ml r.■•'•* «n e.(,•'•11 tewia.**
*1* I 1 O mpb4 by Dr. Klin* • Oivut .
t»*r*b RMt»r*i i*v Kre« wtt vUl UnWU ana tr«iiuo 1
111 U. U. ICLiXC. IA Ml Arab Hum rhiUOblyki*. P* a
1 1 " * • * 1
Pierre Lolrat. u retired sett captain, ,
baa just died, near Bordeaux, at the
>«ge of 1C3. He was only li when he ■
went to sea as cabin boy, and later, ,
while serving in a French bark, he was
taken captive by Spanish pirates. He ,
and his fellow prisoners succeeded In
overpowering their captors, 'taking
command of the vessel and bringing
tt safely fhto French port, where tho
plral.es were handed over to the law.
canad/T lands.
Write for Our 1308 Illustrated
i "GUIDE TO THE LAST WEST.”
' Pull of Information that Inforir s.
(Bent free If you mention this paper.
•Luse Land Co., Ltd., St. Paul, Minn.
On* of Thom.
Reggy—I’m going south for the win
ter. Expect to be In Florida next
week.
Veggy—Yes; all others start for the
oouth about this time.
R**g>’—What others?
Peggy—Wild geese.
m week and expenses to men with rig to
introduce poultry compound. Write quick
ly- Grant Co., Dept. *7. Sprlngtleld. HI.
Illustration Ml rod Fannins Scene in i
WESTERN CANADA
6eae of the choicest lands for grain growing,
•lock raising and mixed farming in the new dis
tricts of Saskatchewan and Alberta have re- j
cently been Opened for Settlement under the
Revised Homestead Regulations:
Entry may now be made by proxy (on certain j
conditions), by the father,mother,son,daughter, ;
brother or sister of an intending homesteader.
Thousand* of homesteads cf 100 acres each are i
thus bow easily obtainable In these great grain- j
growing, stock raising and mixed farming sec- i
lions.
Tiere you will find healthful climate, good
neighbors, chnrches for family worship, schools
for your children, good laws, splendid crops,
sad railroads convenient to market.
Entry fee in each case is $10.00. For pamphlet,
"Last Best West" particulars as to rates, routes,
beat time to go and where to locate, apply to
W’ I>. Scott, Superintendent of Immigration.
Ottawa. Canada, or Jb. T. Holmes. 315 Jackson
St..St. Faui, Mine.:) M. MacLachlan, Box no
Watertown. South Dakota, and W. V. Bennett,
toi New York Life Building, Omaha, Neb.,
Authorized Government Agents
IRH Fleeeeaey where you saw this advertisement*
^ ) W mm
"Doctor Beckett?"
"Yes; what do you want?"
"I want you to come with me to a dying ;
man!"
"Who is it?"
"No one yor know, doctor. No one liv
ing in the p)_ce, I mean."
“But I don't know you. Ah! I have it
now. You belong to one of the traveling
shows Just come in for the fair."
"You’ve hit It, guv'nor! That’s me."
"Well, Is the sick man now a van
dweller?"
"Yes. Its old Joey Barctta, the Juggler!
lie's struck for death, and want® to see
you."
"To see me? It must be a mistake. I
have never heard of him."
"It's no mistake; for the old ’un has got
your name as pat as mine, and I've know
ed him more nor a year or two."
"Well, I'll go with you. Just wait .a
minute while l put up a few things. Be
retta—never heard the name in my life."
The flashily-dressed, shabby-looking in
dividual, who had knocked up Dr. Miles
Beckett juet before dawn, on a raw, dark
morning in October, was not a person like
ly to inspire confidence in a staid country
practitioner, not too well versed in the
ways of the world, but his kind heart for
one of the loveliest women In society, and
as popular as she Is beautiful. The mr’oh
was quite a romantic one, Sir RamTall.
with all the honors of the late campaign
thick upon him, and being one of the most
distinguished heroes of the hour, having
won his wife, Olhcllowise, as It were, and
for the sake of the dangers he had parsed.
General Sir Randall Sandys, who has re
ceived a baronetcy, Is quite 25 years the
senior of Lauly Ivy.
"Isn’t It t<eo bail?" said the lady, r -.sing
the paper to her husband, acrossM,'“able.
"There Is absolutely nothing sacred with
editors nowadays;”
"It Is one ot the penalties of over-civil
ization, I suppose," said the bron?*' sol
dier opposite. “There Is one tiling, it
breaks no bones, and we can afford to
laugh at It."
They were at breakfast at Claridge's the
morning after their arrival.
"As soon," continued Rady Ivy. "as I
have safely packed you off. sir, to the war
office. I am going to see Uncle Mile.."
"That's right, dear, and directly 1 have
finished my business I will follow you."
Within the half hour the dainty little
figure—not to be recognized as one with
the grlcf-strlcken child of 20 years before,
watching the dying juggler, her father, In
a stroller's van—tripped dewn the great
TUtwiip qmm
rwowiiwj >!EK
HER PflT»fEft> PRM>T,
IN l)N flMNPPMI^ENT
OF (jRIEf.^E TO>
m TWIN PULE OjEEKi
lade him to refuse any call for help, and
laving put on his coat he hurried out.
"Ah, this Is the place, I suppose?" said
he doctor, as they stumbled into a tangle
if vans, tents, tethered horses, and all
he scattered, ragged and dirty parapher
■alia of a stroller's encampment.
“Nat!" said a voice out of the darkness,
ind apparently proceeding from a large
an, the windows of which showed a dim
!ght, through the grimy blinds, "got the
octor? The old man's nearly gone. He's
in callin' for you this arf 'our or more."
"All right, doctor's here. You keep out
ldo till I tells you."
On the lowermost bunk In the hot, stlfl
ig van lay a man, evidently prematurely
Id. His hair was gray, his features
rawn and ashen white.
Doctor Beckett lost no time, but went
own to look at him.
"Here, the light—you!” said the doctor
harply to his guide. "I thought so.”
Killing a small pocketglass with brandy,
e put his arm under the sick man's
cad. lifted him slightly, and made him
rink the spirit.
Il was at this moment that the doctor
fas conscious of another presence.
Hslf hidden by the curtain at the hed
iead, he could just make out In the gloom
, llttt# figure, « girl child, whose large
ound eyes were fixed In terrified Intensity
ipon the face of the dying man.
"You sent for me!" he said to the latter.
'!.ave 1 seen you before? Do you know
no?”
"Yes. T know you, but you have never
een me,” was the whispered reply.
"I don't understand.”
“Your sister—doctor—Tvy"
"What do you know of her, man?” pried j
Dr. Beckett, started out of himself. "My I
lister disappeared years ago! What of I
ler?"
She—she died—when this little one was j
torn.” |
“You are dying!” the doctor responded. 1
with almost brutal frankness. "Yeu would
not; you could not deceive yourself or me !
with such a statement. If it wore not
true.”
"It Is true!” came the labored articula
tion. "In those days I was just from
Milan, young, famous, rich! I raw your1
Bister at Liverpool. I loved her. she loved
me. a id, heaven forgive me If I did wrong!
I persuaded her to marry me and to cast
In her lot with me.”
"Yes, yes, and then?”
"Then,” went on the dying man, with
ever-increasing gasps for breath—"then
was the happiest time of all my life. One,
two, three children were bom and died;
and now, come closer—I cannot see you—
now—my—my little Ivy—my baby. I go
from her.”
The child heard and understood. Throw
ing herself across her father’s breast, In
an abandonment of grief, she kissed his
thin, pale cheeks, beseeching him—crying
bitterly the while—not to leave her.
Tenderly the doctor detached her arms
from around Giuseppe Ilaretta’s neck and
liftevl her away.
'Sitting Iter on his knee, with her head
against his shoulder, he spoke again.
“You are distressed for tho child’s fu
ture?" he said. “But why did you not
send her to me when my—when your wife
died?”
“Send her away!” was the almost fierce
reply; the last flicker of tho lamp of life.
“My Ivy—the one thing in all the world I
had to love me a.’.d to love!”
“Well—no—perhaps you could not. But
listen. I will take her now. She is my own
flesh and blood. We—my w ife and 1—have
nu children. She shall be to us as a
daughter. Will that comfort and content
you?”
Giuseppe Baretta was beyon 1 speech. His
eyes rested for u second only upon the
(air-haired child he was leaving, and with
a .-aiiaiied sialic upon his lips, he fell back
dcaJ.
• • •
11X12.
The following extract '» from the Morn
ing Host of September la:
"Sir Randall and Lady Ivy Sandys hav<
returned from the Australian Tyrol
whither they went lor their honeymoon.
“Lady Sandys, who it may be rercem
beied is tlie niece of Sir Iviih-s Lockett
physielan-lu-ordinary to h-s majesty, h
staircase and Into her brougham.
“Dear old uncle," she kept repeating to
herself—her aunt had been dead for mahy
years—"home would not be home without
him!"
The drive was a short one across Oxford
street to Seamore place, Park Dane.
The once obscure country doctor was
now the famous and honored specialist. A
member of the reigning house had been
practically saved by his skill, and the re
ward was a knighthood and a court ap
pointment.
As Ivy descended from the carriage at
her uncle's door, she saw what she had <
railed In her excitement to notice before, j
that the coachman (the brougham was one
>f Sir Miles’, sent by him for her use till
she was settled) was grinning a recogni
tion. ]
“Why, Plunkettt" she exclaimed, with a
smile, “Is that you? You don't look a bit i
Altered!"
"Nor more do you, Miss—my lady—I beg ;
your ladyship's pardon!"
"That's all right. Plunkett! You and I
have known each other for a few years.
And has my uncle lent you to me?" ,
"Yes, my lady. He said he thought I'd .
take more care of you than the second i
coachman. * •
"Just like him. Isn’t II. Plunkett? You
needn't wait. I'm going to stay all day '
with Sir Miles."
The meeting between uncle and niece was
something neither would be likely to for
set. He had missed her so, this lonely,
prosperous man, and she. though her
heart was now given to a husband, had ,
looked forward to seeing him again with
all the great love of a child for her
father.
Dater on, when the general joined the
little family circle. It was a question
whether a happier one existed In all Eng
land.
** u.iw uib iwo were atone, nowever, Sir
Miles was suddenly reminded by a chance
remark of Ivy of the deathbed scene of
20 years before.
“Uncle," t said, “have you not a pic
ture. a trinket, or some little thing once
owned by my mother wfcUb you could give
me?"
“Why, of course I have, Vtfilld! Your
father the night he died gave im a packet,
which, somehow, I have refrained from
opening until now.” '
“Oh, fetch It dear, do! I think that I
should fctill happier than I am. If I
could only »eo and touch something which
belonged to—my mother."
He went and got It, and together they
opened It.
There was a miniature of the first Ivy;
a pathetic letter, written to her father, but
never sent; her marriage certificate, and a
ring. With these, was a letter addressed
to Sir Miles, and which, reproaching him
self for having so long neglected to read,
he passed to the writer’s daughter.
I After a repetition of that which, when
dying, he had told the doctor, he went on
to say that “he had always desired, for
i the child’s sake, to intrust her to her
uncle’s care, but that the temptation to
have her near him was too great to l>e
resisted Finding himself In the neighbor
hood where his wife’s brother lived, and
realizing that his own end was near, he
determined that he would lose no time in
carrying out that which he knew to have
been his wife’s earnest desire.
| “For two or three years now," he con
cluded things have gone from bad to
worse with me, so that I can leave nothing
to my little Ivy, save my prayers for h<r
future happ'.nes. Don't let her quite for
get me, bless her!"
1 The letter ended abruptly here, but un
derneath. an an evident afterthought, were
the words: "I have arranged with my
two partners, Nat Ross and Charlie Town- i
send, that after my death the whole show
:—tent, vans, and horses—be sold; see that
there is taken out of the proceed** enough
j to bury me decently, I want to lie with
j Ivy, my wife, Nat knows where."
j Undo and niece looked at one another,
the thoughts of both going out to the
grave the strangely assorted pair, who
after the struggle e.nd the storm lay calm
, ly and peacefully side by side, at rest
for everymote.
i • • *
. ; Once move it was fab «ime on the out
skirts of the little oountry town, where we
first met most of the people who figured In
this little story.
The parlor of the “Bear" was fairly full
about 6 in the evening.
There appeared to be something under
discussion which was the cause of more
than ordinary interest.
“Read that agen. Mister Plunkettsaid
a gray-haired father of the hamlet.
“My son, ye see,” repeated Mr. Plunkett,
“as is up in Lunnon as coachman to Sir
Mile3 Beckett—him as lived about 'ere nigh
twenty years ago—'as sent me this paper,
the Mamin’ Poust, which ’as a bit in it
about the owd doctor and 'is niece.”
Mr. Plunkett then proceeded to read tfre
extract with which we are already famil
iar.
W hile lie was reading It a poorly dressed ;
man, who was quietly sitting in a corner
with some bread and cheese and a pint of ;
beer, ceased from eating and drinking, and
listened intently.
"Beg pardin,’ mate,” he said, when the
other had finished, “did I understand you j
to say as Dr. Beckett, as used to live here
abouts is in London now?”
Mr. Plunkett looked the speaker up and
down, and then apparently satisfied with
his scrutiny, replied that it was the same.
“Do you know where he lives in Lon
don?”
“Well, seein’ as my son 'as bin his
coachman for nigh 25 year, I ought to.”
“Perhaps you wouldn't mind tellln' me.
I'vt; something I wants bad to see him
about.”
”1 dunno as I oughter; but I don’t think
as you can do ’e much ’arm.”
With the address In his pocket Nat Ross,
old Joey Baretta’s one-time partner, pre
pared to tramp the 60 miles and odd to
London.
“It ain’t no 'arm to remind ’!m or *er of
old days; an’ me clean broke to the world.
She'3 married, that’s certain, but f don’t
think as she’ll be fur away from the old
doctor. Anyway I’ll try my luck, for I ve
carried her in my arms ’undreds of times
when she wer’ fractious, an* old Joey
didn’t no more know what to do with her
than a babby unborn.”
* • *
It was a fashionable concert at St.
James’ Hall.
Scores of carriages W6re waiting in line
to take up after it was over.
Hanging round the entrance In Regent
street, and closely scanning every lady's
face that came out, was Nat Ross
Edrller in the day he had just missed Ivy
as she drove from Seamore Place but
managed to hear the butler's order for St
James’ Hall.
For two hours or more he had patiently
waited, unconscious that he was being
watched by a pair of keen official eyes.
He would never have recognized her. of
course, but for knowing which W'as her
carriage.
"Lady Sandy's carriage!" shouted the
commissionaire.
Up it dashed, and as Its fair occupant
put her foot upon the step, a voice spoke
in her ear.
Frightened in spite of herself, for she
was a brave little soul, Ivy gave a sup
pressed shriek.
At the same moment a heavy hand was
latd upon the man's shoulder.
"What do you want with the lady?"
"Nothing."
"That's very likely."
“Let him go, policeman!" said Ivy
pleadingly. "He hasn't done me any
harm."
"Very sorry, my lady, but this kind of
thing's been going on for a good bit late
ly, and we've got orders to run the next
nan in."
was ail very unpleasant, for Ivy
would have to appear at the police court
he following day and prosecute,
liefore the case was called on, however
the was Informed that the prisoner del
dred to see her. He was brought Into a
■oom, and the statement he then made
was sufficiently Impressive that upon
ivy's earnest appeal the magistrate sl
owed him to be discharged.
"I didn't mean no 'arm,” he said, "I
was starvin', and didn't know which way
o look for a farthing. I thought as may
>e you'd elp me. fur the sake 'o o’ld
lays. You an’ me was friends. 1 was
11 ways stanch and true to ycr father an'
lever wronged 'lm of a penny.”
Ivy was not one to conceal from her
lusband the fact of her mother’s mesal
iance; Indeed, Sir Randall had no cause
or complaint, seeing that his wife's moth
er was really Sir Miles Beckett's sister.
Fortunately, the circumstances did not
ret Into the papers, so that no tongues
eere set n-wahging.
"I.ook here, my man!" said the general
o Nat, the morning after his release from
■ustody. "we want to do something for
rou. What would you like? You can
■.iiier go down to my place In the country,
ind I'll find you a Job there, or we'll set
on up in something."
"That's It, sir," said Nat; "would It run
0 a little shootin' gallery to go round
vlth? I could see my way to a good livin'
hat way."
"Very well, come up here tomorrow, and
ve'U see about It: meanwhile, go and get
1 lodging and something to eat.”
"Randall," said Ivy, when the vaga
>ond had gone. “I love you more than I
ltd before, for you have helped an unfor
unate to help himself, and, more than
hat, do not love me any the less because
i poor juggler was my mother's husband
ind my father.”
A diver is working tndefatigably In
from 16 to 24 feet of water, putting
in a new underpinning for Winchester
cathedral In England, and It has been
suggested that when he completes his
work, room should be found somewhere
for a statue of him minus his helmet,
he being one of the cathedral's greatest
benefactors.
A writer In the London Daily News,
giving some experiences during dense
fogs, says he was once on a bus which
stopped suddenly on Waterloo bridge
In a fog. The driver urged the horses
to move, but they would not, and when
the conductor went to Investigate he
found them looking over the parapet.
One of the most wonderful under
ground waterways In the world, which
was constructed at the latter end of
the eighteenth century by the Dukes
of Bridgewater. Is now being used for
the conveyance of waste water from
the Earl of Ellesmere's collieries, at
Walkden, near Manchester. The canal,
which is entirely underground, with Its
arms and Junctions, covers over 40
miles.
Canada alone produces over $3,000,000
worth of furs every year, and to this
Alaska now adds $750,000 of raw pelts,
u.td Labrador probably half this
amount. Until n decade or so ago The
Prybilofts and other seal islands sent
out $3,500,000 worth of skins annually;
and then, of course, there are the enor
mous quantities dressed and manufac
tured for the home markets.
The discovery of the process of con
verting corundum spar, worth 50 cents
a karat, Into rubies valued at $100 to
$150 a karat was suggested to the French
scientist. Professor Bordas, by the fact
that minute glass tubes In which
radium is confined take off gradually a
-beautiful azure color resembling the
sapphire.
"The All Embracing Church," Is the
name of a new faith which is to be
started at Seattle by Walter A. Cogs
well, and which w ill Include every creed
and color, with a bible made up of
excerpts from all the leading philos
ophers and teachers since the mind of
| man has been capable of evolving ideas.
A WAYWARD FANCY.
By Blanche Maude Heywood.
(Copyright, 1902, by W. R. Hearst.)
‘‘Mercies are fairly showered upon
me Mamma, according to you and
Aunt Helen, and now Tom Seymour la
thrown In as an extra blessing,” said
Inez Payson.
"Do not joke. Inez, about so serious a
matter,” and Mrs. Payson held up her
shapely hands deprecatlngly.
"Joke, I never felt more sedate—is
not a life-important decision involved
for me!” and she smiled bitterly.
How pretty Inez Payson was. Her
aunt felt her heart swell with pride as
she looked at her. Just so she had
looked 30 years ago. She had had the
same violet eyes, full of purple shad
ows, the same brown hair with a glint
of gold ki it. and the girl had her own
high spirit too, she sighed.
The lesson would come soon enough,
she did not want her beautiful niece to
learn too soon that life had wilder
nesses—she did not want her to com
mit that crowning folly that had
ruined her life—a love match—a quiet
affection that would stand the wear
and tear of years was best. Friend
ship and esteem would live when love
lay bleeding.
"Inez,” she said In her soft pathetic
voice, "your mother was going to say
that In all probability Mr. Seymour will
speak to you this afternoon, and a load
would be lifted from us If you could
give us Just a hint of what your an
swer would be."
"My answer,” said the girl, thought
fully, and she bent and caressed an An
gora cat that purred at her feet. She
had known for a long time that Tom
Seymour loved her, and she had made
a desperate attempt to gain time. She
had had the Innumerable advantages
of such a match pointed out by them so
often that she knew precisely what was
expected of her.
She knew equally well how afraid
they were of any love passages between
her, and dissipated, wicked Jimmy
Dale, as they called him, but still she
enjoyed keeping them In suspense, so
she dallied a bit longer with the soft
fur of the cat. and then said In a cold,
hard voice.
“My answer—will he what you ex
pect me to say. It will be yes, and now
if you please I will go.”
She wanted to be alone, to stamp out
the present, and face her future. It
seemed to her that all the dear old past
was gone.
“And you, too, Jimmy, among the
rest,” she moaned, “if you had only
spoken, only showed me that you
cared, I could have stood up and defied
(hem all. Just for your love I would
have been content to let the world slip
by. But you did not speak, and now
I mean to oast all thought of you to
the wind, and live my life as other
women live theirs and if I find Tom
Seymour In a foolish enough mood to
ask me to marry him this afternoon I
shall do it—and live a great lady, all
without love.”
She looked like a wood nymph In her
green and white gown, as she wan
dered down to the lily pond that after
noon, with Tom Seymour. A silence
had fallen between the two, and she
almost gave a start when he sang In
full round tones:
“ ‘Oh saw ye not fair Inez, who came
from out the West.’ ’’
"I always think of sunsets and clouds
and gorgeous effects when I see you
Inez,” he said, "and I wonder If that
other Inez of the old song was half as
fair or loved one half as well as I love
yon."
You are so sweet, so gracious, so
kind, that you will not dally with me.
I do not want you to thfnk of my pos
sessions, but of me, the man who asks
you to be his wife. Am I worthy? Let
your heart speak. Inez, my darling.”
"Are you worthy? Torn, Tom, my
dear, I am not half good enough for
one like you. An honest heart is with
out money and without price. I like
you Tom and my answer is yes.” and
she burst into tears.
* * •
Tomorrow was her wedding day, and
Inez Payson stood looking down into
the lily pond for the last time.
"Pretty blossoms I wait for my story,
will the long years bring it such as I
wish it to be? You nod your heads
lilies,” she said, "but you do not smile
up at me.”
Then she gave a start, and tried to
jump back from her own bright re
flection In the water, for over her shoul
der was another face, Jimmy Dale's
face, looking down Into the water at
her.
She turned and looked straight into a
pair of burning black eyes. The color
slowly mounted her forehead, until it
crimsoned her face and neck, but she
did not speak.
"Inez,” he said at last, “I can stand
this duel of glances no longer. Inez
tell me that It is all a lie, that you
will be my little sweetheart, for I
swear that this wedding shall never
he. With my own hands I will choke
tne life out of your pretty white throat,
rather than let you marry another. It
Is me yon love, me—wicked, miserable,
poor, bat you love me.”
"Cotwc with me now, and we will
marry nt the small church, the old
pastor Is my friend. You do not speak,
you do tiot move—then by heaven I
will compel you to come.”
“I have a little to say about that, you
madman," rang out Tom Seymour’s
clear voice, as he stepped into the
Fpace, a tall man of gigantic mould, be
fore whom the other seemed dwarfed,
and common and stood looking down at
them.
Inez Payson looked from one to the
other, and revulsion shook her, at last
she saw Jimmy Dale as he was,
stripped of every glamour, with the
seal of vice and sin upon him, and
her pure heart cried out, "unclean, un
clean.”
"I have nought to say about a fellow
who would steal an honest man's sweet
heart right under his own nose, but
I am here to protect this girl. If Inez
wishes to marry such as you,” and
Tom Seymour’s voice was full of scorn,
“I am not the one to stand in her
way, but she has no call to sneak off
to do it.
"Inez, my girl, you know what I am,
and it Is to be presumed you know this
fellow, also. It is he or I—choose, girl
—choose!”
While he had been speaking her eyes
had never left his face, nnd her voice
was very low and tender, as she an
swered :
“I have made my choice, It Is you.
Tom. You are the real man, he Is
the counterfeit. It needed hut his com
ing to show mo how much I love you.”
Reflections of s Bachelor.
From the New York Press.
An engagement goes on in grand opera, j
marriage is ragtime.
The reason a girl likes lo have a
tdiaperon is so it won't be her mother.
A woman gets much more eomrort out
of talking about her furs than wearing i
them.
A man would have to be mighty smart !
to make a fortune without having other j
people to make i; for him.
What a girl likes about a secret engage- '
inent is how many more people she van |
nil about it than if It were announced.
From the Cleveland Leader.
"Rastits, lots yu' ilex' do’ neighbor j
r-cp chickens?”
■•Wei'—er luih-liuh! He keep ez :
n.any ez he hi::. Yu.tr.uh! ’ I
-—. ..
He Was Not Lazy.
From the Kansas City Star.
Mark Twain says that all are lazy,
some are able to fight It down, while
others fall. He knew a noncombatant
of this class when a boy In Hannibal.
His name was Jim Black, and on*
summer morning he was lying under
a tree beside the river listening to the
birds and watching the steamboat*
glide up and down the great stream.
“Well, what are you here for?" Mark
asked him.
"I’m here,” said Jim, “for to pile them
bales onto the wharf."
"Oh!" and now you are resting, are
you?”
"No,” said Jim; "I ain't resting, be
cause I ain't tired. I'm just waiting for
the sun to sink down behind that there
hill, so's I can knock oft work.”
f
j
i
Beer to Eat.
From the Washington Star.
Captain Biglow, of Yale, was talking
about an applicant for the football
team.
“He will never make a football play
er,” said Captain Blglow. "He is a*
different from a football player a* a
bottle of brown fluid I beheld last sum
mer was different from beer.
"A man with a motor cycle stopped
at a mountain inn where I was lunch
ing one sultry afternoon and asked for
a bottle of beer. The landlord took
from a sunny shelf a bottle hung with
cobwebs. He dusted It and set it be
fore the cyclist with a flourish.
“ ’You’ll find this the best Milwau
kee. sir,’ he said.
"The cyclist opened the bottle,
poured a little into a glass and frowned.
” ’Landlord,’ he said, ‘this Is very
thick and muddy beer.'
"The landlord lifted the glass and
looked at ft. He tilted It from side to
side. It was so thick and muddy that
It would scarcely spill.
" 'It’s the thunder,' he muttered. 'It'*
the thunder that has done this.'
• 'Well, thunder or no thunder, I can’t
Irink It,’ said the motor cyclist. ‘But
I'll tell what you might do. You might
Just put it in a paper bag for me, and
I’ll eat it on my way home.' ”
THIRTY YEARS OF IT.
A rrarlillr Lobs Siege of Dotty
Polo and Misery.
Charles Von Soebnen, of 201 A SL»
Colfax, Wash., says: “For at least
thirty years I suffered with kidney
troubles and the at
tacks laid me up for .
days at a time with
pain In the back and
rheumatism. When I
was up and around
sharp twiuges caught
me, and for fifteen
years the frequent
passages of kidney
secretions annoyed me. But Doan’*
Kidney Pills have given me almost en
tire freedom from this trouble and I
cannot speak too highly in their
praise."
Sold by all dealers, 50 cents a box.
Foster-Mllburn Co.. Buffalo, N. I.
One Way.
From Harper’* Weekly.
A story, said to be characteristic, la ;
I old of an Arkansas Judge. It seem*
that when he convened court at one of
the towns on his circuit It was found
that no pens, ink, or paper had been
provided, and, upon Inquiry, It devel
oped that no county funds were avall
ible for this purpose. The judge ex
pressed himself somewhat forcefully,
then drew some money from his own
pocket. He was about to hand this to
the clerk, when a visiting lawyer, a
high-priced. Imported article, brought
on to defend a case of some Import
ance, spoke up, In an aside plainly aud
ible over the room.
’’Welt,” he remarked, with lnflnlta
contempt, “Fve seen some pretty bud
courts, but this—well, this is the 11m
t!”
The old Judge flushed darkly.
“You are lined $25 for contempt, sir!
Hand the money to the clerk!" he said,
and when the pompous visitor had
numbly compiled, he continued:
"Now, Mr. Clerk, go out and get
vhat pens, Ink and paper the court may
require, and If there Is anything left
over you may give the gentleman hla
change."
Legal Tender.
From the Portland Oregonian.
The Willlamette Heights citlsen
handed the conductor of the car a $»
clearing house certificate.
“What's that?" asked the man be
hind the bell cord.
That’s a clearing house certificate,
the new kind of Portland money," said
the W. H. citizen.
“Is it good?" asked the lord of the
punch.
“Sure It’s good. Paper money goes
these days.”
"All right, old man,” and the con- '*
rluctor immediately handed the passen
ger $4.95 worth of transfers.
There are In the continental United
States 1,900,947,000 acres of land.
FANTBY CLEANED.
A Way Sons* People Have.
A doctor said:—
"Before marriage my wife observed
In summer and country homes, coming
lu touch with families of varied means,
culture, tastes and discriminating tend
encies, that the families using Postum
seemed to average better than those
using coffee.
"When we were married two years
ago, Postum was among our first order
of groceries. We also put in some coffee
and tea for guests, but after both had
stood around the pantry about a year
untouched, they were thrown away, and
rostuiu used only.
“Up to the age of 28 I had been ac
customed to drink coffee as a routine
liabit and suffered constantly from in
digestion and all Its relative disorders.
Since using Postum all the old com
plaints have completely left me and 1
sometimes wonder If I ever had them."
Name given by Postum Co.. Battls
Creek. Mich. Read, “The Itoad to
WcUville," iu pkgs. “There’s a Reason.*
i