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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 15, 1908)
I- - - I TKe Crime of **&?* the Boulevard CHAPTER I. "Where does Bernardet live?" "At the passage to the right. Yes, that house which you see with the grating and the garden behind It.” The man to whom a passerby had given this information hurried away In the direction pointed out. Although gasping for breath, he tried to run, In order to more quickly reach the little house at the end of the passage of the Elysee des Beaux Arts. This passage, a sort of due de sac, on either side of which were black buildings, strange old houses and dilapidated storehouses, opened upon a boulevard filled with life and movement, with people prom enading, with the noise of tramways, with gayety and light. The mun wore the dress and had the bearing of a workman. He was very short, very fat, and his bald head was bared to the warm October rain. He was a workman. In truth, who worked In his concierge lodge, making over and mending garments for his neighbors, while his wife looked after the house, swept the staircases and complained of her lot. Mme. Monlche found life hard and disagreeable and regretted that It had not given her what it promised when, at 18, and very pretty, she had expect ed something better than to watch be side a tailor bent over his work In a concierge's lodge. Into her life a tragedy had suddenly precipitated Itself, and Mme. Monlche found that day something to brighten up her af ternoon. Entering a moment before the apartment ocupled by M. Rovere, she had round her lodger lying on his back, his eyes fixed, his arms flung out, with a gash across his throat. M. Rovere had lived alone In the house for many years, receiving a few mysterious persons. Mme. Monlche looked after his apartment, entering by using her own key whenever It was necessary, and her lodger had given her permission to come there at any time to read the dally papers. Mme. Monlche hurried down the stairs. iu. mrvere to ukru; iu. i»ao been murdered! His throat has been cut! He has been assassinated!” And pursuing her husband out of the door she exclaimed: "The police—go for the police!” This word "police” awakened In the tailor’s mind not the thought of the neighboring commissary, but the thought of the man to whom he felt that he ought to appeal, whom he ought to consult. This man was the good lit tle M. Bernardet, who passed for a man of genius of his kind at the Surete and for whom Moniche had often repaired coats and rehemmed trousers. From the mansion In the Boulevard de Cllchy, where Moniche lived, to M. Bernardet's house was but a short dis tance, and the concierge knew the way very well, as he had often been there, but the poor man was so stupefied, so overwhelmed, by the sudden appear ance of his wife In his room, by the brutal revelation which came to him as the blow of a fist by the horrible manner of M. Rovere’s death, that he lost his head. Horrified, breathless, he asked the first passerby where Ber nardet lived, and he ran as fast as he could in the direction pointed out. Arrived at the grating, the worthy man, a little confused, stopped short. He was very strongly moved. It seemed to him that he had been cast Into the agony of a horrible nightmare. An as sassination in the house! A murder in the Boulevard de Cllchy in broad day light, just over his head, while he was quietly repairing a vest! He stood (ft the house without ring ing. M. Bernardet was, no doubt, breakfasting with his family, for It was Sunday, and the police officer, meeting Moniche the evening before, had said to him: "Tomorrow Is my birthday.” Moniche hesitated a moment. Then he rang the bell. He was not kept waiting. The sudden opening of the grating startled him. He pushed back the door and entered. He crossed a lit tle court, at the end of which was a pavilion. He mounted the three steps and was met on the threshold by a lit tle woman, as rosy and fresh as an apple, who, napkin In hand, gayly sa luted him. juii, xu. muiuuue; It was Mme. Bernardet. a Burgundian •woman, about 35 years of age, trim and coquettish, who stepped back so that the tailor could enter. "What is the matter, M. Monlehe?” Poor Monlehe rolled his frightened eyes around and gasped out, "I must speak to M. Bernardet." I "Nothing easier.” said the little woman. “M. Bernardet Is In the gar I den. Yes. he Is taking advantage of ' the beautiful day. He Is taking a group”— “What group?” “You know very well photography Is his passion. Come with me." And Mme. Bernardet pointed to the end of the corridor, where an open door gave a glimpse of the garden at the rear of the house. M. Bernardet, the inspector, had posed his three daugh ters with their mother about a small table, on which coffee had been served. "I had Just gone In to get my nap kin, when I heard you ring,” Mme. Bernardet said. Bernardet made a sign to Monlehe not to advance. He was as plump and as gay as his wife. His mustache was red, his double chin smooth shaven and rosy, his eyes had a sharp, cunning look, his head was round and closely cropped. The three daughters, clothed alike in Scotch plaid, were posing fn front of a photographic apparatus which stood on a tripod. The eldest was about 12 vears , of use. the youngest a child of 5. They were all three strangely alike. M. Barnardet. in honor of his birth day. was taking a picture of his daugh j ters. The ferret who from morning till night tracked robbers and male factors Into their hiding places was taking his recreation in his damp gar den. The sweet Idyl of this hidden life repaid him for his unceasing Investiga tions, for his trouble and fatiguing man hunts through Paris. "There," he said, clapping the cap over the lens. "That is all. Go and play now, my dears. I am at your ser | vice now. Monlehe." He shut up his photograph appara I tus, pulling out the tripod from the deep soil In which It was imbedded, while his daughters Joyously ran to their mother. The young girls stood gazing at Monlehe with their great blue eyes, piercing and clear. Bernadet turned to look at him, and at once di vined that something had happened. “You are as white as your handker chief, Monlehe," he said. "A murder?” "A murder, yes, M. Bernardet. M. Rovere—you did not know him?" "No." "He was an original, a recluse, and now he has been assassinated. My wife went to his room to read, the pa pers—” Bernardet Interrupted him brusque ly: “When did It happen?" "Ah. dame, monsieur, I do not know! All I know is my wife found the body still warm. She was not afraid. She touched it.” "Still warm!” These words struck Bernardet. He reflected a m'.ment. Then he said: "Come, let us go to your house.” Then, struck with a sudden idea, he added, “Yes, I will take it.” He unfastened his camera from the tripod. "I have three plates left which I can use,” he said. Mme. Bernardet, who was standing at a little distance, with the children clinging to her skirts, perceived that the concierge had brought important news. Bernardet’s smiling face had suddently changed. The expression became serious, his glance fixed and keen. "Art thou going with him?” Mme. Bernadet asked as she saw her hus band buckle on a leather bandolier. "Yes,” he answered. “Ah, Mon Dleu! My poor Sunday, and this evening! Can we not go to the little theater at Montmarte this evening?” "I do not know," he replied. "You promised. The poor children! You promised to take them to see CIo serie des Genets." “I cannot tell. I do not know. I will see,” the little man said. “My dear Moniche, today is my fortieth birthday. I promised to take them to the theater, but I must go with you.” Turning to his wife, he added: “But I will come back as soon as I can. Come, Moniche, let us hasten to your M. Rovere.” He kissed his wife on the forehead and each little girl on both cheeks, and, strapping the camera in the bandolier, he went out, followed by the tailor. As thfey walked quickly along Moniche kept repeating, “Still warm—yes M. Bernardet, still warm.” CHAPTER II, Bernardet was quite an original character. Among the agents, some of whom were very odd, and among the Jevoted subalterns this little man, with his singular mind, with his Insatiable curiosity, reading anything he could lay his hands on, passed for a literary person. His chief sometimes laughing ly said to him: "Bernardet. take care. You have literary ambitions. You will begin to dream of writing for the papers." "Oh, no, M. Morel! But what would you? I am simply amusing myself." This was true. Bernardet was a born hunter. With a superior education he might have become a savant, a fre quenter of libraries, passing his life in working on documents and in deciph ering manuscripts. The son of a dairyman, brought up in a Lan castrial school, reading with avidity nil the dally papers, attracted by everything . mysterious which happened In Paris, having accom plished his military duty, he ap plied for admission to the police bu reau, as he would have embarked for the new world, for Mexico or for Ton quln, In order to travel in a new coun try. Then he married, so that he might have In his checkered existence, which was dangerous and wearying, a haven of rest, a fireside of peaceful Joy. So he lived a double life, tracking malefactors like a bloodhound and cul tivating his little garden. There he devoured old books, for which he had, paid a few sous at some book stall. He read and pasted In old odd leaves, re bound them himself and cut clippings from papers. He filled his round, bald head with a mass of facts which he in vestigated, classified, put into their proper place, to be brought forth as occasion demanded. He was an Inquisitive person—a very Inquisitive person indeed. Curiosity filled his life. He performed with pleas ure the most fatiguing and repulsive tasks that fall to a police officer’s lot. They satisfied the original need of his nature and permitted him to see every thing, to hear everything, to penetrate into the most curious mysteries—today, In a dress suit with white tie, care lessly glancing over the crowds at the opera to discover the thieves who took opera glasses, which they sent to ac complices In Germany to be sold; to morrow going in a ragged clothes to arrest a murderer in some cutthroat den in the Glaciere. ivi. Diuiiurutt nau lasen possession of the office of the most powerful bankers, seized their books and made them go away with him In a cab. He had followed, by order, the Intrigues of more than one fine lady, who owed to him her salvation. .'What if M. Ber nardet had thought fit to speak? But he never spoke, and reporters came out worsted from any attempt at an inter view with him. "An Interview is silver, but silence is gold,” he was wont to say, for he was not a fool. He had assisted at spiritual seances and attended secret meetings of an archists. He had occupied himself with occult matters, consulting the magi cians of chance, and he had at his tongue’s end the list of conspirators. He knew the true names of the famous Greeks who shuffled cards as one scouts about under an assumed name. The gambling hells were all familiar to him. He knew the churches in whose dark corners associates assembled to talk of affairs, who did not wish to be seen in beer shops or spied upon in cabarets. Of the millions In Paris he knew the secrets of this whirlpool of humanity. Oh, if he had ever become prefect of police, he would have studied his Paris, not at a distance, looking up statistics in books, or from the win dows of a police bureau, but in the streets, in wretched lodgings, in hovels, in the asylums of misery and of crime. But Bernardet was not ambitious. Life suited him very well as he found It. His good wife had brought to him a small dower, and Bernardet, content with this poor little fortune, found that he had ull the power he wanted—the power, when occasion demanded, of putting his hand on the shoulder of a former minister and of taking a mur derer by the throat. One day a financier, threatened with imprisonment in Mazas, pleased him very much. Bernardet entered his office to arrest him. He did not wish to have a row in the bank. The police officer and banker found themselves alone, face to face, in a very small room, a private- office with heavy curtains and a thick carpet, which stifled all noise. “Fifty thousand francs if you will let me escape," said the banker. "M. le Comte jests." "A hundred thousand:" “The pleasantry is very great, but it is a pleasantry.” Then the count, very pale, said, "And what If I crack your head?" ' "My brother officers are waiting for . me,” Bernardet simply replied. "They know that our interview does not promise to be a long one, and this last 1 proposition, which I wish to forget like r the others, would only aggravate, I be . IIeve, if it became known. M. le Comte's case." Two minutes afterward the banker went out, preceding Bernardet, who followed him with bared head. The banker said to his employes, In an easy tone: “Goodby for the moment, mes sieurs. I will return soon." It was also Bernardet who. visiting the Bank Hauts-Plateaux, said to his chief, “M. Morel, something very seri ous is taking place there." “What is it, Bernardet?” “I do not know, but there is a meet ing of the bank directors, and today I saw two servants carry a man in there in an invalid's chair. It was the Baron de Cheylard.” “Well?” "Baron Cheylard. in his quality of ex-senator of the second empire, of ex president of the council, an ex-com missioner of industrial expositions, is grand cross of the Legion of Honor. Grand cross—that is to say, that he cannot be pursued only after a deci sion of the council of the order. And then, you understand—if the Bank of Hauts-Plateaux demands the presence of its vice president, the Baron of Cheylard, paralyzed, half dead-" "It means that it has need of a thunderbolt?” “The grand cross, monsieur. They would hesitate to deliver up to us the grand cross.” "You are right, Bernardet. The band must be in a bad fix, and you are a very keen observer—the mind of a literary man, Bernardet.” "Oh, rather a photographic eye, M. , Morel—the habit of using a kodak!” Thus Bernardet passed his life in Paris. Capable of amassing a fortune in some Trlcoche agency if he had wished to exploit, for his own beneilt, his keen observing powers, he thought only of doing his duty, bringing up his little girls and loving his wife. Mme. bernardet was amazed at the astonish ing stories which her husband often related to her and very proud that he was such an able man. M. Barnardet hurried toward M. Ro vere's lodgings, and Moniche trotted along beside him. As they neared the house they saw that a crowd had be- j gun to collect. I "It is known already,” Moniche said. "Since I left they have begun ■ ‘‘If I enter there.” Interrupted the 1 officer, “it is all right. You have a right to call any one you choose to your aid, but I am not a magistrate. You must go for a commissary of police.” “Oh, M. Bernardet!” Moniche ex claimed. “You are worth more than all the commissary put together.” “That does not make it so. A com missary is a commissary. Go and hunt for one.” "But since you are here—” "But I am nothing. We must have a magistrate.” “You are not a magistrate, then?” "I am simply a police spy.” Then he crossed the street. The neighbors had gathered about the door like a swarm of flies around a honeycomb. A rumor had spread about which brought together a crowd animated by the morbid curiosity which is aroused in some minds at the hint of a mystery and attracted by that strange magnetism which that sinister thing, “a crime," arouses. The women talked in shrill tones, invent ing strange stories and incredible theories. Some of the common peo ple hurried up to learn the news. At the moment Bernardet came up, followed by the concierge, a coupe stopped at the door and a tall man got out, asking: "Where is M. Morel? I wish to see M. Morel." The chief had not yet been advised, and he was not there. But the tall young man suddenly recognized Ber nardet and laid hold of him, pulling him after him through the half open door, which Moniche hastened to shut against the crowd. "We must call some officers,” Ber nardet said to the concierge, "or the crowd will push in.” Mme. Moniche was standing at the foot of the staircase, surrounded by the lodgers, men and women, to whom she was recounting for the 20th time the story of how she had found M. Rovere with his throat cut. "I was going in to read the paper —the story—it is very interesting, that story. The moment had come when the baron had insulted the American colonel. M. Rovere said to me only yesterday, poor man, ‘I am anxious to find out which one will be killed—the colonel or the baron.” He will never know. And it is he-” “Mme. Moniche," Interrupted Ber nardet, "have you any one whom you can send for a commissary?’' “Any one?” “Yes,” added Moniche. “M. Ber nardet needs a magistrate. It is not difficult to understand.” “A commissary,” repeated Mme. Moniche. “That is so. A commissary, and what if I go for the commissary myself, M. Bernardet?" “All right, provided you do not let the crowd take the house by assault when you open the door.” “Fear nothing," the woman said, happy in haying something important to do, in relating the horrible news to the commissary how, when she was about to enter the room for the pur pose of reading, the (Continued Next Week.) Stimulating the Stogy Output. Elizabeth P. Butler In the July Charities and the Commons. Where hours are irregular In the Pittsburg stogy manufactories, the time element enters, with natural dif ferences of speed and with differences in quality of stock, to affect the amount earned. Perhaps here better than elsewhere mention may be made of some of the methods of stimulating output In the larger factories. There are eight factories which employ 100 hands or more. In each of them as well as In some of the smaller plants which approach them in size, there are speed requirements. One factory, for instance, pays only 9 cents a hundred In case a roller turns out less than 6,000 stogies a week, although there is not a sweatshop which falls below the 11 cent rate. In other cases, emphasis Is placed on close cutting as well as on speed. The following regulation is posted on a workroom door. Pump Handles (Cigars.) All rollers getting an average of be low' 275 a pound will receive 12 cents a 100. All rollers getting an average of 275 or better will receive 13 cents a 100. All rollers getting an average of over 325 will receive 25 cents additional to their week's pay. Little Havana Specials. All rollers getting an average of be low 325 a pound will receive 12 cents a 100. All rollers getting an average of 325 or better will receive 13 cents a 100. All rollers getting an average of over 375 will receive 25 cents additional to their week’s pay. _ The Dangerous House Fly. Michael Williams In “Success Magazine.” Flies cause, in New York city alone, about 650 deaths from typhoid fever and about 7,000 deaths yearly from oth er diseases. Last year a fly Was cap tured on South street, in New York (not far from one of the city’s biggest meat and fish markets), that was found to be carrying In his mouth and on hts legs more than 100,000 disease bacteria. Flies walk over decaying and fetid mat ter, for which they have a natural affin ity, and then, entering meat markets and homes, travel over the food, explore the milk pitcher, and also light directly on the skin of the householders. HENRY WATTERSON ON “BLIND TOM” i As His “Oldest Living Friend,” the Great Editoi* Pays Touching Tribute. Henry Watterson, In the Louisville Cour ier-Journal. Tidings of the death of “Blind Tom” at Hoboken, “where he had been living In retirement," the wires tell us, "and sub- i sleting on charity,” reach at least, one i heart that loved and pitied him, and sum- j mon from the land of shades and dreams many a ghost of days and dear ones long since departed. I must be his oldest living friend. It Is not true, as X have some times seen it stated, that I taught him what little he knew of music; but I was In at the outset of hia strange career and am familiar with all its beginnings. I first heard of him through Robert Heller—William Henry Palmer — best known In his day as a popular magician, but a most accomplished pianist, it was at Washington and In the autumn of I860. Palmer had Just come up with “Blind Tom” in Ixiulsvllle, I think, and had been, of course, and at once per plexed and amazed by his extraordinary characteristics. His crude, often gro tesque, attempts to Imitate whatever fell upon his ear, either vocally, or on the keyboard, were startling. He had heard Judge Douglas speak and graphically re produce a few sentences. He had heard a reigning prlma donna sing and repeated her soprano in a few bars. The Bethuna girls, daughters of General Bethune of Columbus, Go., his old master, had taught him a few Jingles, which he rattled oft upon the piano. He knew nothing very complicated, or very well. But he was blind and clearly an idiot; in short, he was a prodigy. Palmer gave him several “lessons”— that is, he played over and over for him such pieces as Thalberg's “Home, Sweet Home,” Mendelssohn's “Spring Song” and the salient passages out of some of Liszt's transcriptions. Excepting a few additional "lessons” of this kind had later along from Eugene Baylor, who taught him his famous “Margrave Danse,” Tom made little further progress and learned nothing new. He would spin about the piano, like a baboon, mumbling to himself whilst Pal mer or Baylor played, and if they stopped he would rush headlong to the instrum ment and try to follow after them pre cisely as they had phrased. Two or three of such “lessons” sufficed, and though he learned nothing accurately, nor played with any other expression than they had rendered, what he did was surprising, even to those who knew the process and the limitation. The notion that the Bethunes had a gold mine in his performances was not true. They made at the height of his popularity hardly much more than a living, and I suppose that eventually this failed them. They must be all of them dead now. How Tom came to live In want at Hoboken, just how he was separated from his old friends, and how he dropped out of public notice I cannot say. His mother was alive as late as the early '80s, but I doubt Is she or any of the Bethune family sur •vive. The last time I saw Blind Tom was in London, away back in 1866. General Pink ney Howard and one of the Bethune boys had brought him over. It had been then nearly three years since I had been with 1 .him in Atlanta. From the beginning of | our intimacy Tom had been greatly im pressed that, with a maimed hand, I could still strike a few cords and run an octave on the keyboard.^ To his poor, half-hit mind it seemed a miracle. Upon a Sunday .afternoon I came into the little hall on or near Leicester square, where Tom was to appear. He wa,s back of the scenes spin ning as usual hand over heel, and mum bling to himself. As we came upon the •stage General Howard said, “let us see whether he knows you.” I called him. He slowly uncoiled himself and listened. I called him again. He stood irresolute, then ran across the boards, seized my hand, assured himself of the withered stump and joyously called my name. What was It? Memory? Yes, it was memory without doubt; but what else? Whence the hand power that enabled him to manipulate the keys, the vocal power that enabled him to imitate the voice? When he was a tot of 4 or 6 years old he strayed from the negro cabin Into the parlor of the mansion and hid himself Whilst the children were having a concert. When they had gone, leaving the room, as they supposed, quite empty, they heard the piano tinkle. They ran back, and there, to their amazement, eat the chubby little black monkey on the stool, banging away for dear life, yet not without se quence and rhythm, trying to repeat what they had just been singing and playing. From that time onward he was the pet of the family. I cannot trust myself to write of him as I feel. It Is as if some trusty, well loved mastiff—mute but affectionate— closely associated with the dead and gone —had been suddenly recalled to be as suddenly taken away. The wires that flash his death lighten a picture gallery for me of the old, familiar faces. What was he? Whence came he? Was he the prince of the fairy tale held by the wicked en chantress; nor any beauty—not even the heaven born maid or melody—to release him? Blind, deformed, and black—as black even as Erehus—Idiocy, the idiocy of a mysterious, perpetual frenzy, the sole companion of his waking visions and his dreams—whence came he, and was he, and wherefore? That there was a soul there, be sure, Imprisoned, chained, In that little black bosom, released at last; gone to the angels, not to imitate the seraph songs of heaven, but to join the choir invisible forever and forever. A Good Time. I’ve had a good time. Lifo came with rosy cheeks and tender song | Across the morning fields to play with me, And, oh, how glad we were, and romped I along And laughed and kissed each other by the sea. I ( I’ve had a good time. Love came and met me half-way down i the road; | ; Love went away, but there remained 1 with me (A little dream to help me bear my load A something more to watch for by the ;, sea~ • I've had a good time. Death came and took a rosebud from my yard; But after that, I think there walked with me, To prove me how the thing was not so hard, An angel here of evenings by the jea. I’ve had a good time. A good, good time. Nobody knows how good a time but m» ! With nights and days of revel and of rhyme, , And tears and love and longing by the 1 Bea. —Mounce Byrd, in Harper’s Magazine fot i August. ^ Poor Business. “You say he has gone broke?’’ K "Yes. he put In a big stock of baby cabs In that section of the city Inhabited by the smart set." Insight, The mind reader has no remarkable brain, He's not gifted with wisdom galore; He merely believes things will happen again. Because they have happened before. Against Their Ethics. Hix—Wonder what would happen If politicians told the truth? Dlx—They wouldn’t be politicians. Hard Luck. Grace—I lent Mr. Boro an umbrella last night 'cause It was raining, witb disastrous results. Edith—Did he break It? Grace—No; but he made the return ing of the umbrella an dXcnse to call this afternoon. DRAGS YOU DOWN. Backache and Kidney Trouble Slow ly Wear One Ont. Mrs. R. Crouse, Fayette St., Manches ter, Iowa, says: “For two years my back was weak and rheumatic. Pains ran through my back, hips and limbs. I could hardly get about and lost much sleep. The action of the kidneys was much disordered. I began using Doan’s Kidney Pills and tbs result was remarka ble. The kidney ao uun uecaiue uuruiai, iut* uatnaaic cmo ed and my health is now unusually good.” Sold by all dealers. 50 cents a box. Foster-Milburn Co.. Buffalo, N. Y. Often the Case. Fecke—They say his wife drove him to drink. Weeks—Perhaps she did, bijt from what I know of him I think he would have been awfully disappointed If sho hadn’t. Still Running. From the Delineator. Edwin, aged 4, owned a picture book ht which a fierce looking cow was running after a small boy. He looked at ft a long time, then carefully closing the book he laid It away. A few days later he got the book again, and turned to the picture. Bringing hfs chubby fist down on the cow, ho exclaimed In a tone of triumph, "She ain't caught him yet!” How’s This? We offer One Hundred Dollars Reward tot any case of Catarrh that cannot be cured by; Hall's Catarrh Cure. F. J. CHENEY & CO., Toledo, O. We, the undersigned, have known F. J. Cheney for the last 15 years, and believe him perfectly honorable In all business trane- 4 actions and financially able to carry ou* any obligations made by his firm. WAU>ixo, Kixnan & Marvin, Wholesale Druggists, Toledo, O. Hall'a Catarrh Cure Is taken Internally, acting directly upon the blood and mucoue surfaces of the system. Testimonials sent free. Price 75 cents per bottle. Sold by all Druggists. Take Hall's Family Pills for constipation. A Hot One. Mr. Nagger—A woman’s work la never done. Mrs. Nagger—Especially when he* work consists In trying to reform • man. Happy at the Thought. “Come, the drinks are on me.” “What’a up?” “See that fat woman over there with those six kids?” "Sure." “Ten years ago she refused to marry me.” BTr*. Winslow'* oooTmws -thui rnr OhlMn* Caetainff; softens tha eun.8, rfoleft indaTnmauos. at tars pain oureswWif. —I- . *-tt(a Poor Man. Henpoc.lt—I’m a very peaceable man, but there’s one fellow that I'm Just watting for an opportunity to lick. Henderson—Who’s that? Henpeck—The man who first Intro duced me to my wife. Malta la only 17 miles in length and nine in breadth. A Sartorial Stab. From Brooklyn Ufa. Mr. Jackson, colored, had come to the home of his fiancee. Miss Jasmine Jones, to fulfill an afternoon appointment. Not finding the lady at the customary try sting place in the front yard, Mr. Jackson leisurely strolled around the house, thinking he would probably come upon her there. The lady was yet not to be found, but her mother was dlscovbred on the back porch doing the family washing. Approaching with Ills utmost pompous air, the future sonln law inquired: "Miss' Jones, can you tell me anything of de wharabouts of Mis' Jasmine dls fin’ aftahnoon?” "De wharabouts of Jasmine, did you say, Mlstah Jackson?” puzzled the old woman, looking up from the tub. "yes’m. dat's what I say, de whar abouts of Mis' Jasmine." "Wul," muttered the old negress, as she began hastily to overhaul the con tents of her tub, "If dey ain't heah, I reckon she’s done got ’em on.” i The worn out and attenuated cab horse, which has so often been the butt of the comic writer, will soon be an unknown quantity lntthe streets of Paris. A society known as the "Assistance aux Anhnaux'' has Just formed a "horse committee," which, working with the proprietors and drivers* societies, seeks to provide Paris with cabs drawn only by horses In a per fect state of fitness, and driven by men who have given-every proof of their com petence and Intelligence. A staff of In spectors will be employed to watch at the gates of the cab yards every morning and demand the Immediate return to the •tables of any animal which seems in an unfit state. Great Idea. Clara—She Is an awfully thoughtful girl. Tom—Indeed? Clara—Yes; she has trimmed her new theater hat with a pair of opera glasses for the use of the gentleman who sits behind her. W« SELL GUNS AND TRAPS CIUJAP ft boy Furs & Hides. Write for catalog 105 N. W. Hide ec Fur Co., Minneapolis, Mina. Biggest Bear of Greenhorn Range. From the Denver Post. What is claimed to. be the biggest bear killed on the Greenhorn range since Old Mose fell nearly two years ago was brought back to Denver by J. D. Veach and S. S. Prentiss, of Kushvllle, 111., who have lust returned from a ten-day hunt. An effort had been made to find a big bear in order that Mr. Prentiss might shoot It and the trail was taken up on the Jack Hall mountain. The dogs were ahead and the other members of the party followed on horseback, finally being obliged to go forward on foot. When the dugs finally caught up with the bear there was a running, fight that lasted for 300 yards, the hunters being within 60 feet of the animal all the thne. It was finally treed on a steep hillside. The dogs were good fight ers and the bear was forced to take re fuge In a tree less than one foot In dia meter, notwithstanding the great size of the animal. This was not accomplished until the bear had bitten a tusk out of one of the four dogs engaged in the fight. Once safely treed Mr. Prentiss took a long shot and brought the bear down. \ A Polite Dootor. When the baby came to Mary's home «he was told that the doctor brought It. Hhe thought he kept an unlimited supply. Mary had been taught that politeness was one of the greatest charms a person could possess. One day the doctor called, and said: '"Mary, we have a new baby at oUr home; Iwould you like to go with me to see It?" Mary was delighted. The baby was very tiny, only weighing three and one-half pounds. When Mary saw inis frail bit of humanity sho turned her face up to the doctor, and said: ■"I think you are very peellte, to take the -smallest for yourself." Vary Good Advice. President of Athletic Club (presenting loving cup to champion runner)~You have won this cup by the use of your legs. I trust you may never lose the use of your legs by the use ot this cup. Just ■ Tip. Evelyn—What a beautiful engagement ring! I consider It a compliment. * George—Well, In case of a falling out I hope you will return the compliment. The Bandit—Ah! but this Is a come fown. Boldheart, the boy bandit, to de scend to holdln' up cissy boys fer a cent's worth of gum drops. WANTED TO KNOW The Truth About Grape-Nuts Food. It doesn’t matter so much what you hear about a thing, It’s what you know that counts. And correct knowledge la most likely to come from personal experience. “About a year ago,” writes a N. T. man, “I was bothered by indigestion, especially during the forenoon. I tried several remedies without any perma nent Improvement. “My breakfast usually consisted of oatmeal, steak or chops, bread, coffee and some fruit. '•Hearing so much about Grape-Nuts, I concluded to give it a trial and find out If all I bad heard of It was true. “So I began with Grape-Nuts nnd cream, 2 soft boiled eggs, toast, a cup o( Postum and some fruit. Before the end of the first week I was rid of the acid ity of the stomach nnd felt much re lieved. “By the end of the second week all trdees of Indigestion had disappeared and I was In first rate health ouc« more. Before beginning this course ol diet, I never had any appetite foi lunch, but now 1 can enjoy a heart} meal at noon time.” "There’s a Rea son.” Name given by Postum Co.. Battle Creek, Mich. Read. "The Uoad to Well vllle,” in pkgs. Ever read the above letter? A new one appears from time to time. They are genuine, true, and full ol human Interest A SUDDEN GOLD. Miss Helen Sauerbier, of 81SMainSt., St, | Joseph, Mich., writes an Interesting letter on the subject of catching cold, which' cannot fall to be of value to all women who catch cold easily. It Should be Taken According toDirectioia on the Bottle, at the First Ap pearance of the Cold. St. Joseph, Mich., Sept., 1901.—l>as* winter I caught a sudden cold which developed Into an unpleasant ca tarrh of the head and throat, depriving me of tny appetite and usuai good spirits. A friend who had been cured by Peruna advised me to try it and I sent for a bottle at once, and I am glad to say that in three days the phlegm had loosened, and I felt better, my appetite returned and within nine days I was in my usual stood health. „ —Miss Helen Sauerbler. Peruna is an old and well tried remedy for colds. No woman should be with out it. i" rnTbompaiB's EyeWatu