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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (July 7, 1910)
TAVERNAY A Tale of the Red Terror BY BURTON E. STEVENSON. Author of “The Marathon Mystery,” “The Holladay Cass,” “A Soldier of Virginia,” etc. Copyrighted, 1909. by Burton E. Stevenson. CHAPTER II.—(Continued.) "Ah, Pasdeloup!” cried my compan ion, and at the word the man sprang to the gj\te and threw It hack with a clang, his face beaming. "Alert as ever!” added his master, waved bis hand to him and galloped past, while the other gazed after him with some thing like adoration transfiguring his rough countenance, At tho sound of our horses' hoofs upon the graveled road, the ladles turned and looked toward us. Then one of them ilew down the steps, her hands outstretched, her face alight. “Madame!” cried my companion. "Madame!" and he threw himself from his horse and caught her to his heart. CHAPTER III. I Fall Into a Pleasant Bondage. "Then you are not Mb" my friend was saying, as I dismounted and drew near. "Your are not dying! Thank God for that!” i "111?" echoed the lady. "Dying. Non sense; look at me." "You are adorable!” he cried, and kissed the hands lie held in his. "Sad I have been." she went on, blushing, but still gazing fondly up at him. "That was because you were away from me in danger yonder. Yet 1 tried to be brave, for I know that vou were Hervfntr vour cmintrv and that you would not forget me.” "Forget you," ho repeated, and my own heart warmed In sympathy as he gazed down at her, his eyes alight. Ah, there was no match prearranged, no marriage of convenience, but a true mating. So true that there could be about It no false pride, no dissimu lation or pretense of Indifference; so true that It was still the lover talk ing to his mistress, as well as the husband talking to his wife. And I looked at her with sudden interest. What was her secret? How had she . kept her hold fresh upon his heart? I know It Is the custom in certain circles In the great cities to sneer at all this—to seek love anywhere but In the family circle; but we of the provinces are not like thut. Do not think It. Wo live closer to the heart of things—closer to nature, closer to. each other, closer to the good God— and I think we are sounder at core. “But I had a message saying you | were ill," he continued. “You did not send It, then?” "No—but I bless the sender since It has brought you back to me." | “And not alone," ho added, remem bering my presence, "permit me to present, to you, randame. M. de Tav ernay. I began by stealing ills horse and ended by gaining his friendship. Bo kind to him. Monsieur, tills Is my wife, Madame la Conatosso de Favras.” She held out her hand to me with a charming smile, but her eyes and thoughts were only for her husbund, nor could I find It In my heart to blame her, for besldo him I was so crude, so ordinary, worth scarcely a passing glance. Indeed, I was my self somewhat confused at the revela tion of my friend’s distinguished title, and bowed over her hand awkwanVy anti ugh. I "You are welcome, monsieur,” she said. "At dinner, we must hear the story of .these adventures. But you have no doubt been all day in the sad dle—you need rest, refreshment. Come —only, first, you must meet my guest," and she led the way toward the terrace where her companion awaited us, "What fortune!" cried M. le Comte, as he Hprang up the steps and in an-I other moment he was kissing the cheek 1 of a lady young, divinely fair as I saw in the single glance I dared take at her, who blushed most becomingly as she received his salute. ‘‘My dear," he added, “this Is M. de! Taw-may. I have already asked Mad- 1 arne la Comtesse to be kind to him; •with you, I can only beg that you will not be cruel. M. de Tavcrnay, this is Mdlle. de Ohambray, who permits you i to kiss her hand." As I bowed before her and touched. her fingers with lips not wholly steady, I was suddenly conscious of the dust and travel-stains which cov- ' end me head to foot. She would think me ridiculous, no doubt; but i when I summoned courage to glitnce up at her, I was astonished to see that her fact was scarlet, and that she was staring at mo with startled and turned hastily away, her shoulder- j ers shaking convulsively, and I felt mv own cheeks grcrtv red. Luckily, our friends were too en grossed In each othi r to perceive this bit of comedy—or, perhaps, tragedy would, from my standpoint, be the better word. A moment later, my j ears still burning, I stalked stiffly j away after the man to whom I had been entrusted, through a vestibule, up a wide flight of stairs, and Into i a spacious room overlooking the gar- , dens at the back of the house. "Dinner is at 8," said the man. "If there Is anything monsieur requires,; ho will ring the bell yonder,” and, after unstrapping my portmanteau and glancing around to assure himself that I evervthTng was right, he left the roam and closed the door behind him. The Instant I was alone, dignity and self iontrol fell from me like a' chair. I stared blindly out through the open window. The garden was a for mal one in the Italian style, not large, but elegantly planned, and sloping gently to the margin of the river, which Si med here both broad and deep. Bi yond It was a tangle of trees and shrubbery, and farther away upon the side of a little hill were the white houses of a village, their w|n.'.o'VP with houses of a village, their wlnJow'1 bright with the rays of the setting sun. But It was at none of these thing-. I looked—though I see them now as plainly as If they were here, before me—for my eyes were turned Inward at the tumult In my own bosom, and my brain was wondering numbly why It was that iry life, heretofore so bright, had turned suddenly so grey; that the green valleys of the future had changed to sandy, barren wastes; that the very savor of living was as dust In my throat. I had glanced for an Instant Into a pair of startled eyes—and that instant had struck the boyish carelessness from my heart as with a blow. But at last I shook the.feeling olT— or perhaps it was only the warm blood of youth asserting Itself—and when the man <ame with tne candles l could pro ceed with my toilet with almost. If not quite, my old calmness. When It was finished I turned to the glass, and contemplated the reflection there with some misgivings. Fresh the face un doubtedly was, and If not handsome, at least not grotesque; but with the mem ory of my host before me, I thought It absurdly boyish. The figure, while erect enough, had not that easy poise I had marked In him, nor did the gar ----4 merits In which I had arrayed myself faH Into those natural and graceful lines which somehow stamp the finished gentleman. As I stared gloomily at myself I recalled the careless words Of Sergeant Dubosq. Yes, he was right; he had hit the mark; 1 was too young, too pink and white, too much of the country. Comforting myself as well as I could with the thought that time would rem edy these defects, I turned away, opened the door and went down the stair. Beyond the vestibule wa3 the saloon, a circular marble room, ex- i tremely elegant and well-furnished, find, still beyond this, the drawing room, with four large paintings of the French victories of 1744 upon the walls, rnere was no one in either room, and 1 was examining the paintings, which no doubt pictured events in which the father of my host had taken part, and which appeared to me of splendid exe cution, when I heard the rustling of skirts behind me. I turned to perceive Mdlle. de Chambray upon the thresh old, and tlie fear of her ridicule was swept away in the burst of happiness it seeing her again. "Oh, is it you, M. do Tavernay?" j she said, hesitating and coloring di vinely. "Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,” I an swered, trembling at the first time that she had ever addressed me. “And alone!" sho added with a quick glanco about the room. "It is strange .- ■•IKUIMII- HUl UOV> II. “Sho and M. le Comte doubtless have much to way to each other,” I hastened i lo explain, for I, too, thought it strange. 'It would be cruel to Interrupt them.” “Yes—no doubt," she agreed, hut i she was plainly not convinced. “Besides, I assure you that I am 1 julte harmless,” I ventured. This time she permitted her glance to dwell upon mo for an Instant and I caught the perfect contour of her face. "1 am not so sure of that,” she said, "unless you” appearance is most de ceptive. X think I would better Join made me," and she made a motion toward the door. II there Is any oath I can swear, mademoiselle," I protested, "prescribe It—I will take It gladly. I will agree to all hero In this corner, if you wish "Oh, you will,” she said, and looked at me doubtfully, but with a glimmer of mischief in l)er eye. "Yes, mademoiselle, I am capable even of that herpism." “I hear that you surrendered rather easily this morning,” she taunted. "There was a pistol at my ear,” I explained, "and the face of M. le Comte behind It. I saw no reason to throw away my life for notiilng more impor tant than a horse. I am doubly glad now ttint I was so sensible.” She looked at me, her brows up lifted. "I-lfe means more to me now than It did this morning," I hastened to ox- ! plain. "Oh, vastly more. So I rejoice that I am not lying back there on j the rond with a bullet through me. Even had M, le Comte missed me, I 1 should not be here.” "He would not have missed. A : pistol in the hands of M. le Comte is : t dangerous thing," "X have never encountered but one thing more dangerous, mademoiselle.” "And that?” "A pair of brown eyes, leveled at me by a person who knows their pow er," I answered, and trembled at my temerity. Hut Instead of being offended she purst into a peal of laughter and ad vanced into the room. "Really, M. de Tavernay," she said, 'I fear that you are not so harmless is you pretend." “But nevertheless, you will remain, mademoiselle; you owe me that re paration." "Reparation?” site repeated with raised brows, “For laughing at me. True, you turned away your face, but you could not conceal the quivering of your shoulders." She colored deeply and this time retreated in earnest toward the door. "Oh, do not go," It pleaded. “I par Xon you—It was nothing. I-augh at me again, if you wish, only do not go." She hesitated, stopped, came back. "I do beg your pardon, monsieur,” site said. "Believe me, it was not in the least at you I was laughing, but at a sudden thought—" She stopped, evidently confused. “Very well," I hastened to assure her. ”1 forgive and forget. Or, rather, I shall not forget, because you laugh adorably.” “In truth,” she said, with Just a touch of malice, “one would lmhgine you were straight from Versailles instead of—'• “Beaufort," I said, flushing a lit tie. "And how does it happen you are so far from home?" she queried, bending upon me a look of raillery. Then I remembered: mv heart tnvnwt to load In my bosom, and despite my self a groan burst from me In the first sharp agony of recollection, "What Is It, monsieur?" she question ed, Instantly serious, and coming to ward me quickly. "You are not 111?” "Yes," I said hoarsely, dropping upon a seat. “J am very ill, mademoiselle— so 111 that I fear I shall never make a recovery," “Oh, horrible!" she cried, and sat down beside me and passed her hand kerchief across my forehead—her handkerchief fragrant with I know not what Intoxicating scent. “But a mo ment ago, you were quite well, or seemed so. Is It the heart?" "Yes. mademoiselle,” I answered, rallying sufficiently to perceive that the situation was nor without its ad vantages, and determining to maintain it r.r- 1-rj ai roisl’d':, "It is the heart." "Arid ,511 are subject to such seiz ures?" she continued, still gazing at me anxiously, so near that l could see the dew upon her lips, could ca*ch the chlld-llke fragrance of her breath. Here was a woman different to any that I had ever known or dreamed of—gen uine, unaffected, of a sincerity almost boyish. “This Is the first, mademoiselle,” I said, gripping my hands tight in the effort to maintain my self-control, to resis* the temptation to seize her and crush her to me. “Oh. how you suffer!" she cried, see ing the gesture and mUinterpretatlng It. "Here—perhaps this will help you,” and she held a little Inlaid bottle be neath my nostrils. I was not expecting It and just at hat instant drew a full breath with the consequence that, for some mo ments after, I could draw no other. Tears poured from my eyes and I must have been altogether an absurd object; but, strange to say, my companion did not laugh. "Heavens!” cried a voice from the door. "What are you doing to M. de Tavernay, Charlotte?" Charlotte!" echoed my heart. "Char lotte! Charlotte!" Then I caught my breath again for fear that I had cried the name aloud. "M. de Tavernay has Just had a very severe seizure of the heart, madame,” answered my companion. "I was let ting him smell of my salts and he took a full breath." "I am better," I said, struggling to my feet and bowing to madame. ‘‘A thousand thanks, mademoiselle. But for your thoughtfulness, 1 might not have rallied. I needed heroic treat ment." Madame glanced from one to the other of ys. her face alight with amusement and her eyes ryith a mean ing 1 did not wholly understand. 'I shall have to command Charlotte to remain near you, then, this evening, monsieur." she said. "In seizures of that kind, it is always well to have prompt aid at hand." I bowed my thanks. I was not yet quite sure of my voice. “And when one is subject to them,” wont on madame, “one cannot be too careful.” "I have already assured made moiselle,” I said, "that this is absolute ly the first." "Then she is very fortunate,” mur mured madame, pensively. "She?" I repeated, staring at her. "I mean you, of course. Then you are very fortunate, monsieur,” and she smiled broadly. I confess I did not quite catch her meaning. I was therefore the more surprised to see my companion redden deeply, then rise abruptly and walk to the other side of the room, where she paused with her back to us to contemplate the fall of Fri bourg. Madame smiled again and cast me a glance full of moaning. ‘Yes, you have offended her," she said. “Offended her?" I repeated In dis may. “I." “It is always an error,” she ex plained, " to compel a lady to correct herself.” "I beg your pardon, madame." I said hn mhlv "No, beg hers." she corrected. "I do,” I said; "though I am utterly In tho dark as to the nature of my of fense.” “Come, Charlotte," called madame. "Forgive him." “What,” cried M. le Comte, appearing upon the threshold. "Do you already stand In need of forgiveness, Taver nay?” "It seems so,” I answered, some what miserably. At the words, Mdlle. dc Chambray ventured a glance at me, and 1 saw a smile scatter the clouds. She strug gled to hold It back, to suppress It, but quite in vain. “Come, vou are forgiven,” cried our host, and it seemed to me that in his glance also there was a hidden mean ing. “I knew she was not hard of heart. And now for dinner.” “M. de Tavernay,” said madame, “to you I shall confide Charlotte—or should 1 put it the other way?” "Either way pleases me Immensely, madame," I said, bowing. “You must know," madame contin ued. “that M. de Tavernay Is subject to sudden seizures of the heart, and that Charlotte is the only one here who can work a cure." "Our friend Is not the first to be so afflicted," luughed M. le Comte, cross ing to his wife's side. "Luckily, I also found the one person who could work a cure.” "Nonsense!” pretested Mdlle. de Chambray, very red. “M. de Tavernay was really suffering acutely.” “Well, so have I suffered acutely!” retorted her tormentor. “Did 1 not, madame?” "Or pretended to!” rejoined mad ame. “With that disease, It Is often Impossible to tell where reality leaves off and pretense begins, you men have made so close a study of the symptojns. But come, monsieur; the dinner waits.” I confess that the arm I gave my partner was not so steady as I could have wished it; for my heart was torn between delight and despair—delight that she should be there beside me, de spair at my own stupidity In under standing so little of all this; but I managed, by some miracle, to enter the dining room without falling or colliding with the furniture, to get her safely seated and to seat myself beside her. I drew a deep breath of relief when I found myself In port. "You have never been to Paris, M. de Tavernay?” asked a low voice at my elbow, and I lotsked up to find her eyes on mine. "No, mademoiselle,” I stammered. “Perhaps not even to Orleans?” and I saw again In their depths that glim mer of mischief. “No,” I answered, not heeding it as a wise man would. “I have passed all my life upon our estate at Beaufort.” "Something told me so!" she mur mured. and turned to her plate as in nocently as though she wore quite un conscious of having planted a poniard In mv bosom. (Continued Next Week.) Sunset and Book. At set of sun l read the poets' book— Picture by picture thrilled the Inward eye. And at each pause I raised an anient look And read a new verse In the golden sky. Each for the other still more lovely seemed; I thought tho poet of the sunset dreamed. There was no discord In tho mind of heart; The mingled beauty made a music new; For beauty Is one, of nature and of art. If but the art bo true—If it be true; So when the page grew dim, and past the light, In my blest spirit, lo! It was not night. —Richard Watson Glider, In Delineator. He Had Done Enough. "Fellow citizens," said the candidate, "I have fought against the Indians. I have often had no bed but the battle field and no canopy but the sky. I have marched over the frozen ground till every step has been marked with blood.” His story told well till a dried up looking voter came to the front. “I'll be darned If you hutn't done enough for your country. Go home and rest. I’ll vote for the other fellow.” - , . , —.—.r - .. * ^ ■■ sa l w. il . HOW MEAN. | Mrs. Gusher—Don't you know my daughter and I are often mistaken for sisters. Mrs. Collier Downs — Very likely. I heard yesterday that your daughter was i beginning to look old and settled. PASSION PLAY TERRIBLE IN ITS AWFUL REALISM Miss Williges, in Oberammer gau, Tells Her Impressions of Great Scenes. NOTHING IS ARTIFICIAL From the Sioux City Tribune. Realistic to the point of being ter rible is the portrayal of the life of the Christ in the Passion Play by the people of Oberammergau. Bavaria, ac cording to Miss Mathilde Williges, of Sioux City, who recently saw the play and who has written of her experience. Sojourning with a party of about 15 in the home of the man who plays the part of the rabbi. Miss Williges has had opportunity to learn much of the famous play that heretofore has not been published. The crown of thorns worn by "Christus’’ is a genuine crown of thorns and not a rubber imi tation as some have said. The cross he carries is heavy and real. For 18 to 20 minutes he hangs upon the cross, apparently suffering most excruciat ing pain. At the end of the play, he is almost exhausted from his effort. Miss Williges says in part: "I am staying with 15 others at the home of the man who plays the part of the rabbi in the play. One daugh ter sings in the chorus, another is an angel in the living pictures, a son plays in the bond, and the grandfather is with ‘volk’ in several scenes. They all are perfectly grand. I never was in a more congenial place. Every one feels as If he were at home. The peo ple here talp up the strangers who come and do everything to make them comfortable. The simplicity of the life and the extreme cleanliness of the vil lage impresses one. Ambition of All. "It is in every one's heart and soul i to be In the play. They have to divide the children in three divisions and let them play on different days so that none be left out. “After the pest of 1533, when the play was begun, it was made a law that no married woman can appear in the play. This was done in order that the married women might care for the homes while the others are playing. The Maria is four years younger than Chi tus, which, of course, would be impossible in real life. But if a mar ried woman were used in the part, then ail the other married women would want to appear. "The present ‘Christus,’ Anton Lang, was ‘Christus’ 10 years ago. He is the only one who has had long hair all these years. A year before the play the men all let their hair grow and have it as long as possible hoping that they may be selected for ‘Christus.’ A committee of 20 men elect the actors for the different parts. They know all the Inhabitants of the village, of whom there are about 1,600 now, and they have before them a book containing all the names. “They cast scaled votes, after which they are opened and counted. They PITTSBURG PREACHER FINDS FIGHTING GOOD (Joes to See Bout find Returns Satisfied That There Is Nothing Wrong in It. One of the most sensible articles which have as yet come to light in connection with boxing and prize fighting so-called is the expression of the views of a minister, the Rev. Dr. R. I* Coffee, of Pittsburg. Here Is what he has to say on the sub ject: "I went to McKeesport the other day lo witness an evening prize fighting. In the first place, there was nothing in the four bouts of the evening that could be termed brutal. A football contest Is far more grueling. The men who contested were trained for the occasion. While two men were 'knocked out,' yet a minute later both climbed out of the ring and walked to the dressing rooms. "The audience was a surprise to me. Those In attendance showed every out ward sign of respectability. The ma jority were men In middle age. business people, and quite a few professional men. The policemen in attendance had nothing to do, and there was nothing to Indicate anything save a spirit of law-abiding citi zenship. Boxing In Itself Is a manly art. There are few forms of athletics that can excel the benefits of boxing for the de velopment of strength and there can be little objection to friendly contests where the end In view Is the Improvement of the physique. The subject of prlzt fight ing has been brought to the front by the fight of Jeffries and Johnson on Indepen dence day. If these men wish to decide the question among themselves as to who Is the superior boxer, that Is their busi ness. If hundreds of men are willing to leave their cities to see this conflict, they have that privilege.” Dr. Coffee's objection to the Jeffrles Johnson contest is because he fears that from It there Is grave danger of race prejudice, which Is another question al together. Hard i.ines. Richard Croker, the day before he sailed for England, said to a New ' York reporter; "TJie day of the boss Is over. The American people will never again con sent to trust Its entire political future to one man. This, I think, Is a wise and good thing for the American peo ple. but for the boss it is—like the piano story—the height of misfortune, i “A nervous literatour is the hero of the piano story. He could neither sleep r.or u-ork if there was the least noise, i "Well, the poor fellow secured one day a commission for a 70.000-word story from a magazine, and rushing home he tore off his coat and set to work. I "But a sound that he had been scarcely conscious of at first became Insistent and maddening in the silence of his study. “ 'What,’ he shouted to his wife, ‘Is that Infernal noiseV “ ‘The people In the next flat,' was the reply, 'have gone to the country for a week and left their electric piano turned on.’ ” The Pianoforte. From Answers. I.lttle Elsie, whose mother was vis iting her neighbor, was doing the five finger exercise. Thump! Rattle! Bang! Bang! Rat tle! Thump! "Great heavens," cried the neighbor, starting up. "What on earth Is your daughter trying to play now?” "It's an exercise.” said little Elsie’s mother, beaming with maternal pride, “from ‘First Steps In Music.’ ” ••’First Steps in Music? ” repeated I the .harassed neighbor. “Well, dear, is there nothing she can play with her hands?” --—, I vote on all the actors except those who are called 'volk,' the villagers of Jeru salem. The day of the voting is the greatest holiday. After the actors are picked they all go to church and com munion. It is a sort of inauguration. The practicing is begun at once. Rain Is No Check. “The play is too grand to express. It rained yesterday as though it were beine poured down, but they played Just the same. Some parts of the play are under deck and some are not. The. chorus i3 only under the sky. In this there arc 46 and in the rain they sang better than ever. We listened so at tentively that we didn’t know it was raining until we saw pools of water on the floor. “Those who play the principal roles speak high German, slowly, distinctly. One understands every word. We have text books which enable us to follow them easily. “ ‘Christus’ Is a wonderful character. His leaving home in the first act is one of the most pathetic scenes I ever saw. Of course it is all pathetic. From the time the scene begins until ‘Christus’ leaves you can hear a pin drop. Think of it, with 4,500 people and 500 of them standing. When he is in prison with the soldiers and they whip him and when the crown of thorns is put on his head it is terrible. I heard in America that the crown was rubber, but it is real Wnorn. His hair is thick and pro tects ills head. His muscle movements,, his eyes, and brow show the most in tense pain is being suffered. The way they drive him around with hands tied and spit at him is horrible. I couldn't see It again. By nosn I had a headache as did many others. When he comes bearing the cross, which is terribly heavy, the scene is powerful. In the crucifixion scene the nails are between his fingers. He has flesh colored straps' around his wrists and waist to hold him to the cross and on one foot he wears a metal sole that is set in a socket and helps hold him. He is on the cross 18 to 20 minutes. It seems like hours. He is almost exhausted when taken down. Doctors treat and revive him. It has been said that in the last scene, where he appears before Magdalene, it is not the same ‘Chris tus', but it is. 700 Take Part. “There are 700 persons In the play. The man who plays the rabbi’s part is the baker for the village. All the bakery for the village. All the bakery goods used in the village are made by him. “As soon as the players are through with their parts of the play they return to work. Even the ass that brings 'Christus' to Jerusalem carries milk in the mornings. He is in the living pic tures and is so still one would think he was made of stone. “The inhabitants here all have curly hair, which, of course, runs with the play. They wear it loose, from tiniest child to oldest man. After the play alb the men and boys cut off their long hair, except ‘Christus.’ With him it is not law, only habit. “The people here are very friendly. Next to me sits the eldest daughter of General Ballington Booth. Not far away was Prince Henry, of Prussia." NO BUFFALO ROBES FOR DANCING GIRLS Neighbors Think Dance Could Be Cooled by Pulling Down Blinds. New York. Special: Two earnest young women, who described them selves as Marlon Hildegarde and Dolly Russell were defendants in the York ville court yesterday, charged with hav ing rehearsed a spirit dance in tneir rooms. Inured to the outre and bizarre as are some of their neighbors, those neigh bors who appeared as complainants be fore Magistrate Moss, contended that the line should be drawn somewhere and the shades should be drawn some time. Tile critics said they had been an noyed these warm mornings by look ing out of their windows and seeing Miss Hildegarde and Miss Russell giv ing a rehearsal, which to the minds of the complainants, had in it more of grace and ppetry of motion than de corum as deooru goes in East Four teenth street. "We’ve got a dance.” said Miss Rus sel with emotion, "that if we can ever get it into the big circuits will make some of these Salomes flee shrieking back to the laundries. We have a reg ular dance, and to do it artistically we can’t wear buffalo robes." "We didn’t miss the buffalo robes so much,” said one of the complainants whose sensibilities had. been shocked. “We didn't miss them so much as we missed the rest of the garmentry that usually goes with a dance.” "Artists,” said Miss Russell, tossing her 'head, “are never understood by Phillistines." "I’m not sure,” said Magistrate Moss softly, “whether the artists or the Phil istines have the better of that argu ment, but if you don’t keep the shades down I shall have to impose a fine." “It’s too bad.” said Miss Russel, “about that East Fourteenth street. 1 have lived there for some time and I’ve been rehearsing my dance for some time, but lately it seems as if there is a conspiracy of some sort there against art." "I am grieved to hear that," mur mured Mr. Moss, “but this is a censor ious world and it never does any harm to draw the shades." Too Much for the Bird. From Tit-Bits. A trained ostrich recently disconcert ed Its exhibitor at a music hall by continually endeavoring to break away from all restraint and to climb over the foot lights Into the orchestra. The widely advertised act came to a sudden end, and the professor emerg ed from behind the curtain and apolo gized for the actions of his pet in about these words: "Lydies and Gentlemen—Hi ham very sorry to disappoint you this heavening. We are compelled to cease our hen* gagement until the management hen gages a new orchestra leader. "The one at present hemployed ’ere ’as no ’air on top of 'is ’ead. and my bird takes it for a hegg." We All Know This Town. From Everybody's Magazine. A shoe drummer alighted from the train at Farville and lopked up and down the street. Presently Ylck Lee came along with a bundle of soiled laundry, and the drummer halted him with: “John, how much of a place is thta here town of Farville?" "Stleet ea' ev'ly 20 minute,” replied the Chinaman. ■4 IM^——fc^,BaJaro—111 e^waaeaBB—ar, Constipation /' Vanishes Forever Prompt Relief—Permanent Can CARTER’S LITTLE UVER •’ILLS never gesfcon— improve the complexion — brighten the eyes. Smell Fill, Small Pom, Small Price GENUINE mart bear rigneture : When Father Helped. The fond father held the manu script while his son practised the ora tion. •'Shall we permit the ruthless hand of the hydra-headed tyrant,” cried the youth, "to—to—to—well, what is it?” The father was wrestling with the manuscript. "Oh, yes,” he muttered, “here It Is: ‘to dessicate.’ Go on.” “It’s desecrate,” cried the boy, in dignantly. " ‘Shall we permit the» t ruthless hand of the hydra-headed tyrant to desecrate the—the—the—' why don’t you prompt me?” The father was staring hard at the manuscript. “The—the poodle—paddle—poodle urn of our liver ties,” he stammered. “It’s the ‘palladium of our liber ties,’ ” roared the boy. “Gimme that paper—I’ll say it meself.” And he stalked away angrily. But He Wasn’t. Senator Depow, in his Washington residence on his seventy-sixth birth day, told a reporter that his health was perfect. “You do, indeed, sir,” said the re porter, heartily, “look the picture of health.” “Yes,” said the senator, “I shouldn’t have said I was well if my appearance didn't bear me out. A self-contradic tory statement is merely ludicrous. You have heard about the census taker? “A census taker rang the bell of a Hlllyer place residence the other day and an elderly gentleman opened the door. “ ‘I’d like to see the head of the house,’ said the census taker. “ ‘S-sh! Not so loud!’ whispered the slderly gentleman. ‘Now, what Is It? I’m the head of the house?’ ” THE DRAWBACK. “There are very lew women archf- ^ Sects.” “No wonder. Women do not relish !>eing called ‘designing creatures.’ " For the Dog’s Sake. “Where are you going for your sum mer vacation this year?” asked Mrs. GSotrox. “O, dear. I've not made up my mind ret,” sighed Mrs. Rich wearily. “I want to find some quiet, restful spot, where my dear little French paodle san get plenty of fresh air.” He who commits injustice is ever made more wretched than he who suffers it.—Plato. f-----\ A “Corner” In Comfort For those who know the pleasure and satisfaction there is in a glass of ICED POSTUM Make it as usual, dark { and rich—boil it thoroughly j to bring out the distinctive flavour and food value. Cool with cracked ice, and add sugar and lemon; also a little cream if desired. Postum is really a food-drink with the nutritive elements s of the field grains. Ice it, and you have a pleasant, safe, cooling drink for summer days—an agreeable surprise for those who have never tried it, "There’s a Reason” for POSTUM F*ostura Cereal Co., Limited, ^ Battle Creek, Mich. -*