Nebraska Newspapers

    JHE WILD GEESEj
dCTiw Stanley J.Weynan.^
(Copyright. 1009. by Stanley J. Weyman.)
CHAPTER III.—Continued.
Colunel John had risen. He watched
her go with deep feeling; he turned to
his seat again with a sigh. Ho was a
shade paler than before, and the eyes
which he bent on the board were dark
with thought. Ho was unconscious of
all that passed round him, and, if
aware, he was heedless of the strength
of the passions which she had un
bridled—until a hand fell on his arm.
He glanced up then and saw that all
the men had risen and were looking at
him—even Ulick Sullivan—with dark
faces. , A passion of anger clouded
their gaze. Without a word spoken
(hey were of one mind. The hand that
touched him trembled, the voice that
broke the silence shook under the
Weight of the speaker's feelings.
“You'll be leaving here this day,” the
man muttered.
"I?" the colonel said, taken by sur
prise. "Not at all.”
"We wish you no harm, but to see
your back.”
The colonel, his first wonder sub
dued, looked from one to another. "I
am sure you wish mo no harm,” he
said.
"None, but to see your back," the
man repeated, while Ills companions
looked down at the colonel with a
strange fixedness.
"Hut I cannot go,” the colonel an
swered as gently as before.
"And why?" the man returned. The
McMurrough was one of the speakers,
but stood behind them, glowing at him
With a dark face.
"Because," the colonel answered, "I
am in my duty here, my friends; and
(he man who Is In his duty can suffer
nothing."
“He can die,” the man replied,
breathing hard. The men who were
on the colonel's side of the table leant
more closely about him.
But he seemed unmoved. “That," he
replied cheerfully, "Is nothing. To die
Is but an accident. Who dies In his
duty suffers no harm. And were that
not enough—and It Is all," ho continued
alovvly, "what harm should happen to
me, a Sullivan among Sullivans? Be
cause I have fared far and seen much,
am 1 so changed that, coming back,
I shall find no welcome on the hearth
of my race and no shelter where my
fathers lie?”
aiiu tuc nut uur iieuriiiH com over
many a league? And the graves-"
"Whisht!" a voice broke in sternly,
aB Uncle Ulick thrust his way through
the group. “The man says well!" he
continued. "He's a Sullivan-"
“He’s a Protestant!"
"He is a Sullivan, I say!” Uncle
Ulick retorted, "were he the blackest
heretic on the sod! And you, would
you do the foul deed for a woman’s wet
eye? Are the hearts of Kerry turned
as hard as its rocks? Make an end of
this prating and foolishness! And
you, James, McMurrough, these are
young men and this is your house.
Will you be telling them at once that
you will be standing between him and
harm, be he a heretic 10 times over?
For shame, man! Is it for raising tho
corp of old Sir Michael from his grave
ye are?”
but wild talk," he said. "You cannot
remember, nor can I, the bad days.
But the little that is left, it were mad
ness and worse than madness to risk!
If you’ve thought of a rising, In God’s
name put it from you. Think of your
maids and your children! I have seen
the fires rise from too many roofs, I
have heard the wall of the homeless
too often, I have seen too many frozen
corpses stand for milestones by the
road. I have wakened to the creak of
too many gibbets—to face these things
in my own land!”
Uncle Ulick was looking from the
little casement. He turned and showed
a face working with agitation. "And
you. If you wore no sword, nor dared
wear one? If you walked in Tralee a
clown among gentlefolk, if you lived a
J>ar!ah in a corner of pariahs, if your
and were the handmaid of nations,
and the vampire crouched upon her
breast, what—what would you do
then?”
"Wait,” Colonel John answered
gravely, “until the time comes."
Uncle Ulick gripped his arm. “And
if it came not in your time?"
"Still wait," Colonel John answered
with solemnity. “For, believe me, Ul
ick Sullivan, there Is no deed that
has not its reward. Nor does one
thatch go up in smoke that is not
paid for a hundred fold."
“Ay, but when? When?”
“When the time Is ripe?"
CHAPTER IV.
"STOP THIEF!"
• A candid Englishman must own and
deplore the fact that Flavia Mrllur
rough's tears were due to the wrongs
of her country. Broken by three great
wars waged by three successive gen
erations, defeated in the last of three
desperate struggles for liberty, Ireland
at this period lay like a woman swoon
ing at tho feet of her captors. Nor Were
these minded that she should rise again
quickly or In her natural force. The
mastery which they had won by the
sword the English were resolved to
keep ,by the law.
They were determined that the Irish
man of the old faith should cease to
exist; or, If he endured, should be
nemo, no one. Confined to hell or
Connaught, he must not even in the
latter possess the ordinary rights. H.
must not will his own lands or buy
new lands. If his son. more sensible
than he, “went over," the father sank
Into a mere life tenant, bound to fur
nish a handsome allowance and tc
leave all to the protestant heir. He
might not marry a protestant. he
might not keep a school, nor follow
the liberal professions. The priest whe
confessed him was banished if known
and hanged If he returned. In a coun
try of sportsmen he might not own a
fowling piece, nor a horse worth more
than live pounds; and in days y^hen
every gentleman eat fled a sword at
his side he must not wear one. Finally
his country grew bu< one article ol
great value—wool; and that he must
not make Into cloth, hut he must sell
It to England at England's price—
Which was one-fifth of the continental
price. Was it wonderful that, such
being Ireland’s status, every Romar
Catholic of spirit sought fortune
abroad, that the wild geese, as they
were called, went and came unchecked
, or that every inlet in ,Galway, Clar<
and Kerry swarmed with smugglers
who ran in under the mveti ilag wit!
brandy and claret, ;Vnd, running ou
again with wool, laughpitto scorn Eng
land's boast that she .mderl the waves
Nor was It surprising* that, spent am
helpless as the land lay, some sanguint
spirits still clung to visions of a changi
uud of revenge; The Sullivans of Mur
r is tow a and Skull were of these, a;
were some of their neighbors. And Fla
via was especially of these. As sin
looked from her window a day or tw<
after the Colonel s arrival, as she sniff
ed the peat reek and plumbed the sof
distances beyond the lake, she was loa
in such a dream; until her eyes fell 01
a man seated cross-legged under a tre<
between herself and the shore. Am
she frowned. The man sorted 111 with
her dream.
It was Bale. Colonel John's servant.
He was mending some article taken
from his master's wardrobe. His elbow
went busily to and fro as he plied the
needle, while sprawling on the sod
about him half a dqzen gossoons
watched him Inquisitively.
Perhaps It was the suggestive con
trast between his diligence and their
Idleness which Irritated Flavia; but
she sat down her annoyance to another
eause. The man was an Englishman,
and therefore an enemy. And what did
he there? Had the Colonel left him on
guard7
Flavla’s heart swelled at the thought.
Here, at least, she and hers were mas
ters. Colonel John had arwakened
mixed feelngs in her. At times'she ad
mixed feelings in her. At times she ad
shoutd rue his insolence If he had it in
his mind to push his authority or in
terfere with her plans.
In the meantime she stood watching
William Bale, and a desire to know
more of the man, and through him of
the master, rose within her. The house
was quiet. The McMurrough and his
following had gone to a cocking match
and race meeting at Joyce's Corner. She
went down the stairs, took her hood,
and crossed the courtyard. Bale did
not look up at her approach, but he
saw her out of the corner of bis eye,
and when she paused before him be
laid down his work and made as if he
would rise.
She looked at him with a supercil
iousness not natural to her. "Are all
the men tailors where you come from?"
she asked. "There, you need not rise."
"Where I came from last,” he replied,
"we were all trades, my lady."
"Have you been a soldier long?" she
asked, feeling herself rebuffed.
"Twenty-one years, my lady."
"And now you have done with it?"
"It is as his honor pleases."
She frowned. He hud a way of
speaking that sounded uncivil to ears
attuned to the soft Irish accent and the
wheedling tone. Yet the man interested
her, and after a moment's silence she
llxed her eyes more intently on his
work. “Did you lose your fingers in
battle?" she asked. Ills right hand
was maimed.
‘‘"NJn ” hn nnowarpfl trnwltrimrlv na ht*
seemed to answer all her questions, "In
prison.” .
"In prison!” she replied. "Where?”
He east an upward look at his ques
tioner.
"In the Grand Turk’s land,” he said.
"Nearer than that I can't say. I'm no
scholar, my lady."
"But why?” she asked, puzzled. "I
don’t understand.”
‘‘Cut oft," he said, stooping over his
work.
Flavla turned a shado paler. “Why?”
she repeated.
“ 'One • God, and Mohammed His
prophet’—couldn't swallow it. One
linger!” the man answered Jerkily.
"Next week—same. Third Wreek”——
"Third week?” she murmured, shud
dering.
"Exchanged."
She lifted her eyes with an effort
from his malned hand. "How many
were you?” she Inquired.
"Thirty-four.” He laughed dryly.
"We know one another when we meet,”
he said. He drew his waxed thread
between his finger and thumb, held it
up to the light, then looking askance
at the gossoons about him, to whom
what he said was gibberish. They
knew only Erse.
The day was still, the mist lay on the
lake, and under it the water gleamed,
a smooth, pale mirror. Flavla had
seen it so a hundred time and thought
naught of It. But today, moved by
what she had heard, the prospect spoke
of a remoteness from tho moving world
which depressed her Hitherto, the
quick pulse and the energy of youth
had left her no time for melancholy
and not much for thought. If at rare
Intervals she had felt herself lonely,
If she had been tempted to think that
the brother In whom were centered her
hopes, her affections and her family
pride was hard and selfish, rude and
overbearing, she had told herself that
all men were so, that all men rode
roughshod over their women. And that
being so, who had a better right to
hector it than the last of the McMur
rouglis, heir of the Wicklow kings, who
in days lar past naa aeuit on equal
terms with Richard Plantagenet, and tc
whom, by virtuo of that forgoten king
ship, the Sullivans and Mahonies, some
of the McOarthys and all the O’Beirnes,
paid rude homage. With such feelings
Sir Michael's strange whim of disin
heriting the heir of his race had but
drawn her closer to her brother. To
her loyalty the act was abhorrent, one
that could have only sprung, she was
certain, from second childhood, the
dotage of a man close on 90, whose
early years had been steeped in trouble
and who loved her so much that he was
ready to do wrong for her sake.
Often she differed from her brother.
Rut he was a man she told herself, and
he must be right-—a man’s life could
not be ruled by the laws which a
woman observed. For the rest, for
herself, if her life seemed solitary she
had the free air and the mountains;
she had her dear land; above all, she
had her dream3. Perhaps when these
were realized—and the time seemed
very near now—and a new Ireland was
created, to her, too, a brighter world
would open.
She had forgoten Bale's presence,
and was only recalled to every-day life
by the sound of voices. Four men were
approaching the house. Uncle Flick,
Colonel John and the French skipper
were three of these; at the sight of the
fourth Flavin's face fell. Luke Asgill,
of Ratterstown, was the nearest Jus
tice, and of necessity he was a Protes
tant. Rut it was not this fact, nor the
certainty that Augustin was pouring
iris wrongs into Ills ears, that affected
Fiavia. Asgill was distasteful to her,
because her brother affected him. For
why should her brother have relations
with a Protestant? Why should he, a
man of the oldest blood, stoop to In
timacy with the son of a “middleman.’1
one of those who taking a long lease
of a great estate and underletting at
rack rents, made at this period huge
fortunes? Finally, if he must have re
lations with him, why did he not keep
him at a distance from his home—and
his sister?
It was too late or she would have
slipped away. Not that Asgill—he was
a stout, dark, civil spoken man of 31
or 34—wore a threatening face. Ht
greeted Fiavia with an excess of polite
ness which she could have spared, ant
while Uncle Flick and Colonel Johr
looked perturbed and ill at ease ht
jested on the matter.
“The whole cargo?” he said, with out
eye on the Frenchman and one on his
companions. "You're not for statins
that, sir?”
"All the tubs.” Augustin answered ir
i a passion of earnestness.
“The saints be between us am
i i harm:’’ Asgill responded. “Are yot
i | hearing this. Miss Fiavia? It’s no less
j than felony that you’re accuseti of, ant
; I’m thinking, by rights, I must arres
; | you and carry you to Ratterstown."
i I "I do not understand,” she answeret
• stiffly. “And the McMurrough is no
l I at home.”
“Gone out of the way, eh?" Asgill re
plied with a deprecatory grin. "And
the whole cargo, was it. Captain?"
"All the tubs, perfectly!”
“You’d paid your dues, of course?"
“Dues, mon Dieu! But they take the
goods!"
“Had you paid your dues?”
“Not already, because"
“That's unfortunate," Asgill answered
in a tone of mock condolence. "Mighty
unfortunate!” He winked at Uncle
Ulick. “Port dues, you know, Captain,
must be paid before the ship slips her
moorings.”
“But"—
“Mighty unfortunate!"
"But what are the dues?” poor Au
gustin cried, dimly aware that he wag
being baited.
“Ah, you're talking now," the Magis
trate answered glibly. “Unluckily,
that's not in my province. I'm made
aware that the goods are held under
lieu for dues, and I can do nothing.
Upon payment, of course”
“But how much? Eh, sir? How
much? How much?”
Duke Asgill, who had two faces, and
for once was minded to let both be seen,
enjoyed the Frenchman's perpelxity.
He wished to stand well with Flavla,
and here was a rare opportunity of ex
hibiting at once his friendliness and
his powers of drollery. He was there
fore taken aback when a grave voice
cut short his enjoyment.
"Still, if Captain Augustin,” the voice
interposed, “is willing to pay a reason
able sum on account of dues?"
The magistrate turned about abrupt
ly. Eh?" he said. “Oh, Colonel Sulli
van. Is It?”
"Then, doubtless, the goods will bo
released so that he may perform his
duty to his customer.
Asgill had only known the Colonel a
few' minutes, and, aware that he was
one of the family, he did not see how
to take It. It was as if treason lifted
Its head in the camp. He coughed.
x a not do denying it, ne saw. 'tsut
until The McMurrough returns”
"Such a mutter Is doubtless within
Mr. Sullivan's authority," the colonel
said, turning from him to Uncle Ulick.
Uncle Ulick showed his embarrass
ment. "Faith, I don't know that It
is,” he said.
“If Captain Augustin paid, say 20 per
cent on his hills of lading—”
"Ala foi, 20 per cent!” the captain ex
claimed in astonishment. "Twenty
hut, yes, 1 will pay it. I will pay even
that. Of what use to throw the handle
utter the hatchet?”
Luke Asgill thought the colonel very
simple. "Well, I’ve nothing to say to
this, at all!” he said, shrugging his
shoulders. “It s not within my prov
ince."
Colonel John looked at the girl In a
way In which he had not looked at her
before, and she found herself speaking
before she knew it. "Yes,” she cried
Impulsively, "let that be done, and the
goods be given up.”
"But The AIcMurrough?" Asgill be
gan.
“1 will answer for him," she said Im
pulsively. "Uncle Ulick, go, I beg, and
see it done.”
"I will go with you,” Colonel Sulli
van said. “And doubtless Mr. Asgill
will accompany us, to lend the weight
of his authority In the event of any
difficulty arising.”
AsgiU's countenance fell. He was be
tween two stools, for he had no mind
to displease Flavla or thwart her
brother. At length, "No,” he said, “I'll
not be doing anything In The AIcMur
rough’s absence.”
Colonel John • looked In the same
strange fashion at Flavla. “I have no
legal power to act, sir,” he said, “as I
can prove to you in private. And that
being so, 1 must certainly ask you to
lend me the weight of your authority."
"And I will be hanged If I do!” Asgill
cried. There was a change in his tone
and the reason was not far to seek.
"Here’s The McMurrough!”
They all turned and looked along the
road which ran to the end of the lake.
With James McAIurrough, who was
still a furlong away, were the two
G'Biernes. They came slowly, and
something in their bearing, even at
that distance awoke anxiety.
"They're early from the cocking,”
Uncle Ulick muttered doubtfully, "and
sober as pigs! What's the meaning of
that? There's something amiss, I’m
fearing.”
A cry from Flavla proved the keen
ness of her eyes. “Where is Giralda?”
she exclaimed. "Where is the mare?”
"Ay, what have they dene with the
mare?” Uncle Ulick said in a tone of
consternation. "Have they lamed her,
I'm wondering? The garron Morty's
riding Is none of ours.”
"I begged him not to take her!”
Flavla cried, anger contending with her
grief. Giralda, her gray mare, ascribed
In sanguine moments to the strain of
the Darley Arabian, and as gentle as
she was spirited, was the girl's dearest
possession. “I begged him not to tako
her!” she repeated, almost in tears. "I
knew there was danger.”
"James was wrong to take her up
country,” Uncle Ulick said sternly.
"They've claimed her!” Flavla walled.
“I know they have! And I shall
never recover her! Oh. I’d far rather
she were dead!”
Uncle Ulick lifted up his powerful
voice.
"Where’s the mare?” he shouted.
(Continued Next Week.)
Convincing Evidence.
From the Pittsburg Press.
Colonel Plummer, of New York, who
hntes the sight of an automobile,
bought the other clay, a handsome
brown mare to match Barbary Belle.
A day or two later he asked his groom
what he thought of the new arrival.
John replied:
“She's certainly a fine lookin' 'oss,
sir, but I'm afraid her temper's a bit
too touchy.”
“What makes you think so?" asked
the colonel.
“She don't appear to take kindly to
nobody, sir; she don't like me to go into
the box to feed her."
"Oh, she’ll settle down in a day or
two. The surroundings are strange you
know. I do not think there is anything
wrong with iter temper."
"1 didn't at first, sir," said John, "but
you see site kicked me out o' the box
twice, and when you comes to think
about it—that's sort o’ convincin'."
Why They Didn’t Like It.
From the Tatier.
A story is told . f a well known ac
tor-manager when on tour last year.
On tile first night of his stay in a cer
tain border town there were cries for
a speech, and at last the genial actor
stepped before the curtain. He thanked
tlie audience for its gratifying demon
stration, and let fail in conclusion some
pleasant remarks about the beauties ot
tlie town, but the speech was received
in frozen silence. When he got behind
tlie curtain he remarked to the local
manager that the good people of -
seemed singularly unresponsive.
"Yes," replied the manager, "you
see, your speech was ail right except
! in one particular. You kept mention
ing the name of the town where you
| wore playing lust week."
Greatness is Normal.
Great men are the real men. the mor
in whom nature has been fortunate
They are not extraordinary--they art
in the true order. !t is the littl" met
who are not what they oughp to be.
[ The estimated population of Kng
land and Wales is 35.250,000, as r vales!
31.517.000 10 years ago.
r
j
I
(Copyright, 1902, by W. R. Hearst.)
"And the angel took the censer and
filled it with fire at the altar, and cast it
into the earth.” Over the sacred spot
( where a golden censer had rested in the
ground arose one of the most magnificent
cathedrals In northern Mexico. Though
rich in adornment, with priceless altar
, treasures and valuable paintings, its most
prized possession was the golden censer
| discovered by its founder. The blessings
: that had enriched the great stone church
1 and the small community were credited
to the angel gift. It was carefully guard
I ed by an aged priest.
Night descended upon the vast, empty
I vault of the cathedral. Great patches of
, moonlight fell from windows far above
[ the ground upon the white marble slabs
| of the flooring. In a square of unearthly
blue light shone the golden censer. A veil
! of fleecy cloud swept lightly across the
face of the moon, and when the blue light
! again rested on the golden and gemmed
articles of the altar the censer had disap
* peared.
j The wildest consternation prevailed
when morning light discovered the theft.
Only the old priest remained calm and un
moved. There was a strange woman in
town. She had come in advance of the
party of El Toreador. People had noticed
her as an unusually tall woman for one
of Spanish race, dressed in black and
heavily veiled. She was a devout wor
shipper, daily polishing with her knees
the marble floor of the cathedral from the
I
great carved door to the golden altar rail.
The day of the great loss she did not at
tend service, and it was found that she
had left town.
“You are responsible for the censer.
Your punishment shall fit the crime for
neglect of duty,” pronounced the judge
when the aged priest was arraigned be
fore him.
The priest tapped his forehead strange
ly. Then he spoke slowly. "The thief will
surely die. He who fills a holy vessel with
a strange fire shall perish by violence.”
The wise men listened to the priest pity
ingly. Had lie gone mad and hidden the
censer? They would keep him under strict
surveillance. On his way to the monas
tery he asked for Manuel, a pretty choir
boy. An hour afterward Manuel left the
priest's room. He was immediately ques
tioned by priests and persons in authority.
“El Padre has found the thief.”
“Who is he?”
“I do not know, though El Padre says
I told him.”
“El Padre is himself the guilty one,”
remarked the lawyer.
The door opened and El Padre ap
proached the suddenly silent group, "Come
with me tomorrow afternoon. I shall
point out the thief.”
The priest returned to his stone cell.
With his gaze riveted on the damp, dreary
wall, he fell into a deep reverie. The wall
lost its solidity, becoming a gauzy cur
tain between him and a cheerless cham
ber. The curtain thickened and became
the rising, swaying smoke from the gol
den censer, resting on the stone floor. In
the midst of a white, curling cloud stood
a woman of wonderful beauty of face and
form. She was thrusting a long sw’ord at
an lmaginery enemy. In the background
a gaunt, emaciated man smiled approv
ingly. There was a strange resemblance
between the cloud-veiled faces, but the
ravishment of disease had marred the
beauty of the man in the gaudy, striped
serape.
The cloud thickened, and the dreamy
eyes of the priest rested on the white
wall. “Manana.” he smiled. “Tomorrow
we may expect a surprise.”
The town forgot its grief In the arrival
of El Toreador, the hero of the arena. It
seemed scarcely creditable that this slight
j ly built young man possessed sufficient
j strength to repel the fierce onslaught ol
bulls, maddened by the torture of ban
derillas; yet his fame had spread through
-V '
Mexico.
A bull fight Is the usual Sunday after
noon amusement in Mexico. People flocked
to the large, stone amphitheater, the are
na being open to the sky, but the timers
of seats covered. A stone wall five feet
high protected the people from a mad
rush of el tero.
This Sunday an unusual Interest drew
the crowd because of El Toreador, with
whom none could compare. Some Inferior
fighters tried a little bull baiting with
meek-spirited bulls. The crowd grew im
patient, and a number arose, drowning
the ery of the venders of dulces and
pulque.
The vast amphitheater was ringing with
vivas and bravos when the priest and his
party arrived. El Toreador was giving
exnibitions of throwing the lasso on horse
back and on foot. His dress jingled with
reals and pesos as he cast the lasso with
! a wrist of steel.
! The crowd grew breathless as the door
! at the side of the arena was flung open,
I and a Texas bull, with flaming eyes and
hoofs that spurned the ground, rushed in
charging upon the toreador. The young
man sprang aside, presenting his crimson
cloak to the bull. The animal was borne
past by the impetus of his charge, but j
turned as on a pivot, and made another 1
pass at the calm toreador.
Suddenly arose the gaunt priest, known
as “El Padre.” “Die, thief of the golden j
censer!” he shouted.
The attention of El Toreador was disr
traded, and the bull Impaled him on his
death dealing horns, tossing him high in
the air. Matadors swarmed over the bar- j
rieade and baited the bull away from his |
victim. El Toro was lassoed and dragged j
out to be hutched.
There lay upon the yellow sand a slight
figure with a coil of black hair rippling :
from under a jaunty cap.
‘‘A woman!” the crowd shouted.
“Silence!” commanded the priest. “The i
angel of death hovers near.”
Kind hands succored the dying woman
{ in the arena, while the priest drew Man
' uel and three others into the office.
! El Padre placed Manuel in a chair and
made a few passes over his face. “Child,
i whore are you?”
“I am in a room with a stone floor. A
I double door opens on a court. Through j
j the gratings in the door, the setting sun j
j streams blood red. A man who appears
to be ill lies on a bed. His lips move in j
1 prayer. White smoke curls from under ;
j the bed where the golden censer stands.”
The party, staring with fixed eyeballs
I at the hypnotized lad, moved with one ac
; cord.
“Go on.”
“He sits up. staring wildly. Now he
; falls back, motionless.”
“The man is dead,” said the priest. “His
; sister Is also dead.”
“Is the woman in the arena the man’s
| sister?” inquired the lawyer, as he moved
to the door.
“She is,” answered the priest, arousing
Manuel from his mesmeric sleep.
“Yesterday,” continued the priest,
“through Manuel's eyes I saw El Tore
ador and his twin sister. He was in
structing her in the art of bull fighting.
El Toreador accepted the challenge to
tight the Texas bull. He hoped the
wounds from the last encounter would
heal In time. His courageous and wcll
! trained sister offered to save his honor
and secure the prize. She knew the vir
tues of the golden censer—who does not?
—and she planned to obtain it, believing
a miracle would be worked in her favor.
She came here and accomplished her sac
rilegious purpose. This morning the twins
exchanged clothes and arrived in town. '
The lawer announced, “The woman Is
dead.”
“The story ends at the hotel,” said El
Padre.
“O la fonda!” the party shouted. “To
the hotel!”
j wra kW»m THE YU.UW "
5flND ft HmHTJB!g£__
Twentieth Century Logic.
Philadelphia Inquirer: Johnnie had
been arguing With his mother and had
got rather the worst or the interview,
which landed with a sound of "smack,
smack.”
i "Johnnie,” said his father, “I'm sur
prised to hear that you have dared to
dispute with your mother."
"But she was wrong, pa,” replied
Johnnie.
“That has nothing to do with it,”
said the old man. "You might just as
well profit by my experience and learn
once for all that when a woman says
a thing is so, it is so, whether it is so
"" not.”
HER MISTAKE.
“Mercy on me!" exclaimed the wife. “Raise your head. You will smothet
with your mouth hidden in your collar this way."
“My mouth ain’t in my collar’’ came in muffled tones. “It is in this pillow.”
For the husband, by reason of his baldness and his embonpoint, was one o
these comtng-or-going men, as to looks.
I __
--===> ^
Misunderstood Sympathy.
From the New York Tribune.
Paul Morton, at a banquet of insur
ance men, said of a rival company:
“They had our sympathy in their bad
luck, but they took our sympathy in ill
part. It was like the widow who called
on us the other day.
“This widow called to collect a small
policy due her on her husband’s death.
Our clerk, as he counted out her money,
said sympathetically: “ ‘I am very sarry
to hear of your sad misfortune, ma’am.’
"‘Well, that’s just like you men."
snapped the widow. “You’re all tha
same—always sorry when a poor wom
an gets a chance at a little money."
Why is It that the dreams which
we wish might come true are always
cut off too short by the ringing of tha
breakfast bell.
The Water Bite.
From the New York Times.
He was 6 years old and had never gazed
(nto the mystic lens of a microscope.
Several slides containing animalcula had
been displayed to his astonished vision.
He was too amazed to make any comment
until he came to one slide that seemed
more wriggly than any of the others. It
was merely a drop of water.
The little fellow gazed at it a long time,
with all its nimble particles of apimal life,
find finally exclaimed to his mother:
“Oh, mamma, now I know what It 1*
that bites when you drink soda water!”
OPENING OF THE STANDING
ROCK AND CHEYENNE RIVER
INDIAN RESERVATIONS.
The opening of the Standing Rock
and Cheyenne River Indian Reserva
tions in South Dakota and North Da
kota in October will give thousands of
people 160 acres of fertile farming
lands for a small sum per acre.
Aberdeen, South Dakota, on the
Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul
Railway, and Mobridge and Lemmon,
South Dakota, on the Chicago, Mil
waukee & Puget Sound Railway, are
points of registration. You can regis
ter any day from Oct. 4 to 23. The
drawing will take place at Aberdeen
on October 26.
This land opening will also give you
a splendid opportunity to see the coun
try via the new line to the Pacifio
Coast.
Descriptive folder free.
F. A. MILLER,
general Passenger Agent Chicago, Mil
waukee and St. Paul Railway, Chi
cago.
There is no objection to the revival
of the old game of “postofflce” if it will
bring back the girl who hid behind the
door to escape payment of the forfeit
and fought and shrieked and fainted
when in the commotion she got kissed
on the ear. It is the wild colt that
makes a trusty horse.
It Is reported from France that it is
proposed to manufacture fuel from
peat under a new patented process in
the peaty district on the borders of
the Charente Infericure and Deux Sev
res departments. The fuel produced ex
perimentally is said to be of good
quality.
FOR OVER 200 YEARS
Haarlem Oil has been a favorite household
remedy in millions of homes the world over.
Lately, however, many worthless injurious imi
tations have sprung up. The Pure Pood and
Drug Law is making it difficult for these
frauds. It compels their being branded “Imi
tation.” The genuine, reliable, trustworthy
Haarlem Oil is named
Gold Medal Haarlem Oil
Ask for it by name
It is the most effective, reliable remedy yet
discovered for Kidney, Bladder and Liver
Troubles. It relieves almost instantly. It
cures very quickly. It acts immediately on
cases of suppressed or retained urine.
Holland Medicine Co., Scranton, Pa.
Dear Sirs: I received the samples of Haar
lem Oil Capsules, and it gives me great pleas
ure to say a word for them, for I am much im
proved since I started to take them. They
have done me more good than anything I have
ever tried, as I have suffered untold agony
from bladder trouble, and found them to give
me great relief. My home will never be with
out them. I will cheerfully recommend them
to my friends. Thanking you kindly, I am
^ Very sincerely,
MRS. t. M. GERS, 342 52nd St.
Brooklyn, N. Y., March 7, 1909.
Be sure you get genuine Gold Medal
Haarlem Oil, Every drug store sells it.
In capsules, 25 and 50 cents. Bot
tles, 15 and 35 cents.
Remember the namc—GOLD MEDAL
HAARLEM OIL.
HOLLAND MEDICINE CO.,
Sole Importers Scranton, Pa.
If your Druggist cannot supply you,
write us direct.
A Skin of Beauty Is a Joy Forever,
DR. T. Felix Gouraud's Oriental
Cream or logical Beautifier.
SSSa
®'S30
S3 52
E^
Sais
g-,*S
^5 8
f
Removes Tan, Pimple*
Freckles, M<th Patches,
Rush, and Skin l)isea«e*
and cvnrv hlamliK
| ou beauty, and <1*.
flea detection. It
has stood the teat
of do years, and
Is so harmless w*
taste it tobesureit
is properly mad*.
Accept no counter*
felt of similar
name. Dr. L. A.
Sayre said to »
lady of the haut*
ton (a patient) t
"As you ladle*
will nso them.
tt \ i recommend
*Gouri»»il’w CrfRm' as the l^ast harmful of all the
skin preparations.” For ealo by all drusrRiFts and Fancy*
Goods Dealers In the United States, Canada and Europe
FtilO. T. H3PKIHS, Pion., 37 Great Janes Street Hew Tails.
Tlu-re are always two (lays, today SI |
and tomorrow, in which to drink red
lemonade. That which is drunk to- S
morrow is harmless.
This is the busy season of the year, &
and many a man is kept hustling to VH
finish his work in time to go to a sM
ball game.
The old superstition in regard to 1
Friday does not extend to bill collect- J
In the countries where they use M||
horses for meat they usually begin tho Ife
meal with a "pony.”