Nebraska Newspapers

    A Romance of ExtraordmaiyDistindion
The Marshal
j9yMary Raymond Shipman Andrews
Author jjje perfecf Tribute, eta
Copyright, The HoMn-Merrill Compery.
CHAPTER XIV—(Continued).
"When you graduated two years ago
at the top of the school, when Pietro
left us and went oft to his castle In
Italy and you came back to me here as
fine a young gentleman as any duke’s
son. I said to myself that 1 had done
well. Somewhere, from that remark
able mother of yours, I believe, you—a
peasant—-have got the simplicity and
the unconsciousness that are the finest
touches of the finest breeding. I am very
proud of you. Francois. I was proud
when. Just after you graduated, the
leaders of the Bonapartlst faction In
France came to this chateau for a se
cret convention and I could present you
to them as my adopted child, as my
collaborator in the new book, our mili
tary history of the Austerlitz campaign
—that had a good sound for a lad of 18.
And, name-of-a-dog! you held up your
end—you could talk to them like a sol
dier and a statesman. Mon Dieu, yes!
"And then, when they wrote and sug
gested sending you as ambassador on
the secret mission to the Duke of
Relchstadt last year, I almost burst
with pride to think how well you were
fitted for It; fitted to talk with princes,
equipped with the knowledge and the
statecraft to handle a delicate politi
cal situation. It Is no easy thing to
flrjd such an ambassador, for such a
mission—a man not marked or known,
yet with the subtle and strong quali
ties which make a man marked. You,
with your youth and peasant name and
air of a young noble, filled the difficult
want. You did it well and won laurels
from critical old diplomatists.
"I have been worrying a bit since to
have kept you here chained to me and
the writing of a history, when you
ought to be at the Job of making his
tory. Yet you are only 20. Time has
not pressed, so far. And moreover, I
await a revolution when men such as
you will be needed; the Bonapartlst
yeast is working under the surface of
cuuuu j , cjixt nine win cume
when a single crashing blow perhaps
will shake France and place one of the
emperor's name on the emperor’s
throne. And at that time you. mon
sieur. must be ready to put your
strength into that blow. You and I have
faith, my son, in that accolade of the
emperor of your infancy; you and I
believe that, as he said, you may be one
day ‘a marshal of France under anoth
er Bonaparte.’ It is for you to fulfil
that prophecy."
The general, his big hands on his big
knees, stared at the boy with burn
ing eyes, stirred by his own words in
to a true French access of enthusiasm.
But the boy’s eyes did not meet his as
usual with the flame of whole-hearted
response which he loved; yet the gen
eral, carried away by his own generous
feelings, was not dissatisfied. This was
his boy; what he did was right. He
drew in a great breath and let it out
in a sigh of contentment.
"I have talked you to extinction,
Francois," he growled. “And in all my
words I have not managed to tell vou
what it is that I am talking about." He
tapped the letter again which lay un
der his hand. "Pietro wants you to
come to him as his secretary."
Francois' large eyes lifted to the gen
eral's face, inquiring, startled, child
like. “Pietro!" he said, slowly. "I had
not thought of that.”
"Yet you knew that Pietro was heart
and soul in the plots of the Italian ua
triots?"
“Yes."
"But you had not thought of going
to help him fight?"
“No. my seigneur. I had thought only
of the fight for which I must be ready
here.”
“This Italian business will be good
practice." said the general, as a man
of today might speak of a tennis tour
nament. "And you and Pietro will be
enchanted to be together again."
Francois smiled and something in
the smile wrung the general's heart.
"Francois, you are not going to be
unhappy about little Alixe?"
Quickly Francois threw back, as if
he had not heard the question: "Mv
seigneur. I will go to Pietro; it will be
the best thing possible—action and
training and good old Pietro for a
comrade. My seigneur, may I go to
morrow?"
"Tomorrow " The general was
•tartled now, "A thousand blunders,
but you are a sudden lad. Yet it will
be no harder to give you up tomorrow
than it would be next month. Yes, to
morrow. then, let it be."
Francois stood up, slim, young, alert
and steady, yet somehow not as the
boy who had come in to the general
an hour before: more, perhaps, as a
man who had been through a battle
and come out very tired, with the noise
of the fighting in his ears.
"I will go to the farm tonight, to my
mother and my father. And this after
noon I will ride with Alixe, if you do
not want mo for the book, my seigneur
—and if she will go. May I ask you
not to tell Alixe of this—to leave it to
me to tell her?"
. i uKrera me general aouotrully.
"But you will be careful not to—u*»set
her. Francois?"
"I will be careful."
"And—and you will do what you
can to help Pietro, will you not, my
son ?”
A quirk contraction twisted Fran
cois' sensitive mouth and was gone,
but this time the general saw. "You
may trust me, seigneur,’' the boy said,
and moved to the door; but the gen
erul called to him as his hand touched
the latch.
"Francois’’’
"Yes, my seigneur.” He faced about,
steady and grave, and stood holding
the door.
"Francois, my son—I have not hurt
you—very much? Y'ou do not love
Alixe—deeply? Do you love her.
Francois’?’
There was a shock of stillness in the
old dim library. Through the window
—where the children’s shouts had come
In 10 years before to the marquis and
the general—one heard now in the
quiet the sudden staccato of a late
cricket. The general, breathing anx
iously, looked at Francois, Francois
standing like a statue. The general re
peated his question softly, breathlessly.
“Do you love her, Francois?”
With that the great eyes blazed and
the whole face of the boy lighted as If
a lire had flamed inside a lantern. He
threw back his head.
“With all my soul,” he said. "And
forever!”
CHAPTER XV.
I SAID IT. AND I WIDL.
A rushing mountain stream—white
felled In the falling, black brown In
foam-flecked poola — tumbled,
10
splashed, brawled down the mountain;
tho mountain hung over, shadowy;
banks of fern held the rampant brook
in chains of green. Alixe and Fran
cois, riding slowly in the coolness of
the road below, looked up and saw
it all, familiar, beautiful, full of old
associations.
"One misses Pietro,” Francois said.
"He always wanted to ride past the
'trou du gouverneur.' ”
A Roman legend had given this name
to the deep pool of the brook by the
road; it was said that the cruel old
governor had used it, 2,000 years back,
for drowning refractory peasants.
Alixe gazed steadily at the dark mur
muring water.
"Yes, one misses him. Is life like
that, do you suppose, Francois? One
grows up with people, and they get to
be as much a part of living
as the air, or one's hands—and
then, suddenly, one is told that
they are going away. And that ends
it. One must do without air, without
hands. What a world, Francois!”
“We are not meant to like it too
much, I believe, Alixe," said Francois
sunnily. "It is Just eh passant', this
world, when you stop to consider. The
real DuslneSs will come, I suppose,
when we are moved on a step farther.
Friendships and separations wdll not
seem so badly arranged then, probably.
This is school, this life, I gather. My
mother says it is not very important
if one has a good seat in the school
room or a bad; if one sits near one’s
playmates or is sent to another corner,
so long as one is a good child and
works heartily at one’s lessons. It is
only for a day—and then we go home,
where all that is made right. Not a
bad idea of my mother's is it, Alixe?”
“Your mother is a wonderful wom
an,” Alixe answered thoughtfully.
“She lives like that. She never let
things trouble her, not even when your
father lost everything. Did she, Fran
cois?”
the few people who know what the real
things are and live In them. It is hard
to do that. I can not. I care so bit
terty for what I want. It is”—Francois
hesitated—“it is very hard for me to
give up—what I want.” He stumbled
over the words; hts voice shook so that
Alixe shifted in the saddle and looked
at him Inquiringly.
“Francois’! Is anything wrong? Must
you give up something?”
Francois laughed then and patted
the brown arching neck of Capitaine,
successor to Coq. “Everybody must
give up things; and renunciation is the
measure of strength,” he said with 20
year-old generalization, yet with a
light in his face which might have been
the smiling of an aged saint. “You
were talking about Pietro," he went on
rapidly “about our separation from
him, our good old Pietro! I do miss
him. Yet that was inevitable from the
beginning. That was life. Pietro is
Italian; he has his place over there”—
—and he nodded to where far-off Italy
might lie. “He is a man, Pietro, every
Inch, already. He has gone to fill his
place, as quietly, as unhesitatingly as
he will do everything that comes to
him.”
"Everything that comes to him—yes.”
Alixe spoke a little scornfully. “But
—Francois—he does not go very fast
to meet the things that come to him."
FrancoiB eyes flashed at her. "You
have never been fair to Pietro, Alixe.”
"Not fair?" Alixe interrupted, and
laughed.
“No, not fair,” repeated the boy.
"You do not seem to see what he is—a
heart of gold, a wall of rock. It is not
his way to talk much, but he has gr«e.t
qualities."
"What?" asked Alixe.
"What!" Francois repeated. “You
to ask that! You know as well as I
that Pietro is a Bayard—without fear
and without reproach. He is unchang
ing as the ocean—he is to be believed
In his slightest word. You know that
It would be a commonplace for Pietro
to be killed rather than play false to
tho smallest trust. He is a fanatic of
reliability.”
"You make him out a slow worthy
person," said Alixe, and drew up the
horse's bridle. "You can respect a man
with all those sterling qualities, but—
he isn’t very—dashing to be like that.
I3 he? I like a man to have initiative
—some gift of leadership."
Francois looked at her sternly.
‘Dashing! Initiative! Do you remem
ber, Alixe, what it is that Pietro has
lone? Do you realize that Italy is In
the stress of a desperate struggle for
liberty? That a forlorn fight against
the power of the Austrians is on her
hands, and that Pietro went back at 18
to take his part with the patriots?
i_.mj juu iftuiso wimi uu.xi{§«* mill
means? Danger not only of death, but
of worse, of years of Imprisonment In
some dungeon. Noblemen of higher
rank than Pietro are living In chains
there now. It is our playmate Pietro
who is facing this—Pietro, who has
breathed the free air and ridden with
us through this valley for so many
years. Ho realizes it. He went with
his eyes open. His family are marked;
he will be a leader against the Aus
trians; he will be one of the first to be
punished if the Austrians conquer—
and they are very strong. Ho went
back to Italy to a lonely life, to a life
hf intense effort and activity and dan
ger, as quietly as if he were going back
to school. And you, you whom"—Fran
cois stopped—and went on “you whom
he loves better than any one in the
world—wrong him”
By now Alixe was half sobbing.
'How horrid you are, Fruncois! You
jump at conclusions. Y’ou are not the
only person who cares for Pietro. I
lo not wrong him—not in my thoughts.
I abused him to you on purpose. I
wanted to see what you would say for
him. One does that. If one—really
cares—for a person, one has the right.
It Is not disloyalty; I could abuse my
'ather—I could say any horried
thing I chose, and not a word,
hot a shadow of a thought would
he disloyal, because I love him so
that it would all be nothing compared
to that. I know Pietro is brave; I
enow he has gone into danger—is it
so very hnd, Francois? But -I am Irri
tated often with Pietro—because you
ire always the hero . It Is always you
who do the brave thing, and it is easy
lor every one to—to adore you, Fran
'ols. You seem only to smile at a per
son and they—they care for you. And
Pietro is Just—quiet and reliable. It
sn’t fair for you to have—everything.”
rhere were tears in her eyes now, and
i quiver in her voice, and the last
word was punctuated by an indignant
job.
Alixe dear," — then Francois
itopped. "You need not be afraid that
shall have more than Pietro," he be
?an uncertainly. “For it is not going
to be so. He will have what—what I
would give my life for.” Then he hur
ried on. "I Bee how it is.” he raid
gently, "and you are right to care so
loyally for Pietro. He is worth it. And
you must never care less, Alixe—never
forget him because he has gone away.
He will come hack." Tho boy spoke
with effort, slowly, but Alixe was too
much occupied with her own tumultous
thoughts to notice. "He will surely ;
come back and—belong to you more
than ever. He will come back dis
tinguished and covered with honors,
perhaps, and then—and then—Alixe,
do you see the chestnut tree at the cor
ner that turns to the chateau? It Is
a good bit of soft road—we will race
to that tree—shall we? And then I will
tell you something.”
The horses sprung Into a canter and
then a gallop, and stretched their legs
and flattend down Into a sharp run.
The girl and the hoy were flying side
by side through the mellow landscape;
the gray towers and red roofs of the
chateau were In the distance; the little
Cheulte lay to the right, its pools like
a string of quicksilver beads spotted on
the fields; the mountain of the Kose,
calm and enormous and dark, lifted out
of the country to the left. Many a
time In the six years to come Francois
saw that picture and felt the vibrating
air as they rushed through It. He had
strained his very soul to talk at length
as he h*d of his rival, of his friend;
he felt sick and exhausted from tho
effort; now he must tell her that he
was going tomorrow, and he must not
let a word or a look tell her that ho
lover her. The horses raced merrily;
Alixe sat close to the saddle with tho
light awln£l. g seat, the dellcute hand
on the bridle, which were part of her
perfect horsemanship, and over and
over as he watched her nde Franocis
said to himself:
“I will give my happiness for tho
seigneur's—I said it, and I will. I will
be a friend to Pietro always—I said it,
and I will.”
Over and over the horses' flying feet
pounded out that self command, and
at length the music of the multiplying
hoof beats grew slower, and with tight
ening rein they drew In and stopped un
der the big chestnut. Alixe was laugh
ing, exhilarated, lovely.
"Wasn't It a good race. Didn’t they
go deliciously?” she threw at him.
And then, "We will go around by tho
Delesmontos road; (t is only three miles
farther, and it is early in the after
noon; there is nothing to do.”
Francois spoke slowly. “I am afraid
—I must not, Alixe. 1 am going to the
farm tonight.”
"To the farm!” Alixe looked at him
in surprise. "But you were not to go
ride over with you. Have you forgot
ten?”
"No,” said Francois, “I have not for
gotten—no, indoed. But I am going
away tomorrow, Alixe.”
"Going away?" Alixe turned sharp
ly, and her deep blue glance searched
his eyes. "What do you mean, Fran
cois?" And then, Imperiously: "Don’t
tease me, Francois! I don’t like it.”
Francois steadied, hardened his face
very carefully, and answered: "I am
not teasing you, Alixe. I did nut tell
you before because—” he stopped, for
his voice was going wrong—"because I
thought we would have our ride just
us usual today. 1 only knew about it
myself this morning. I am going to
Pietro.’
"Going—to Piero!” Alixe was gasp
ing painfully. "Francois—it is a joke
—tell me it is a poor joke. Quick!” she
ordered. ”1 won't have you play with
me, torture me!”
’’It is not a Joke.” The boy’s eyes
were held by a superhuman effort on
the buckle of the bridle rein lying on
his knee. “There was a letter from
Pietro this morning. The seigneur
wishes me to go. 1 wish to go. I
am leaving tomorrow.”
"Going tomorrow!” The girl’s voice
was a wall. "You—taken away from
me!” Then in a flash: "I hate Pietro!
He is cruel—he thinks only of himself"
He wants you—but I want you too.
How can I live without you, Francois’”
Then softly, hurriedly, while the worid
reeled about the boy. sitting statue like
in his sadle: "It is just as I said. You
are as much a part of my life as the
air I breathe—and you and my father
and Pietro say quiet calmiy, ’The air
is to be taken away—you must do with- <
out it.’ I can not. I will choke!” she <
pulled at her collar suddenly as if the
chocking were a physical present fact
No slightest motion, no shade of In
flection missed Francois; still he sat
motionless, his eyes on the little brass
buckle, his lips set in a line, without
a word, without a look toward her. And
suddenly Alixe, with another quick
blue glance from under the black long
lashes—Alixe, hurt, reckless, desper
ate, had struck her horse a sharp blow ,
—and she was in the road before him,
galloping away.
(Continued next week.)
Our Handicapped Commerce.
By David Starr Jordan.
When we say “our ships,” “our trade “
“our capital,” we forget sometimes that
these objects do not belong to the
American people. The United States, as
such, owns no merchant ships, has no
trade, ventures no capital. These are
personal afTairs of some American citi
zens. Capital is international. In a de
gree, the great shipping corporations are
international. Their stock belongs to who
soever will buy. You and I can be part
owners if we will. The American flag
is a specialized luxury at sea. The Brit
ish flag is available on very easy terms.
It is really international, as the Amer
ican flag is not; therefore, half the com
merce of the world sails under it. Eng- (
land asks few questions, makes few re
strictions, and shin owners register their
deep sea fleet as Britlsn snips.
The American flag can be used only
on ships built in America and under
other restrictions which practically ex
clude world commerce. By our naviga
tion statutes, our short sighted fathers
tried to help American shipbuilders by
cutting out foreign competition. The ef
fect was to cut us out of foreign waters,
and to limit the shipping under our flag
to- interior and coastwise traffic. It is
no part of good government to help an
industry by taxing trade. It is not its
function to support any special industry.
Its main duty is to see fair play and an
open field.
Shall we not hasten matters by sub
sidies? No, most certainly, no. No worthy
business can rest on subsidy. Subsidy
is a confession of weakness, it is a
scheme by which you and I, with no
share in the profits, contribute to the loss.
Subsidy is a form of special privilege—
and special privilege is the essence of
corruption. Subsidies lead to dependence
—not on excellence of service, nor on skill
In management, but on success in work
ing the government.
Hospitality Real Coin of Homo Life. \
From “Novel Ways of Entertaining” by
Florence Hull Winterburn, Pub
lished by Harpers'.
It Is the most experienced wordllngs, the
people accustomed to all the luxuries,
who like best the novelty of simple little
dinners and teas with the spice of fresh
interest in them. Thackeray tells a nice
tale of old Goldstick going to dine with
his poor friend wflio served up excellent
mutton chops himself from the stove and
popped them on his plate piping hot, with
an air of bonhomie and good fellowship 1
that amazed and startled the millionaire,
who, nevertheless, enjoyed himself hugely.
Something less crude will please our
modern taste more, but the spirit is the
same; spontaneous, genuine hospitality is 1
the real coin of home life, and those who
receive it are more touched than by the 1
splendors of entertainments that cost the
givers efforts they make with reluctance
and through sacrifice to conventionality.
Vermont has decided to return to i
earth and gravel road making In tha (
less traveled highways. 1
VISITING PHILOMELA.
By Izola Forrester.
{Copyright, 1913, by the McClure News
paper syndicate.)
It Is a restful, beauteous spot, Geral
dine,** said the bishop in a rebuking tone.
“Geraldine never even turned from tha
window. Out of doors it was raining—
*■ ®*°w. gray November downpour. Ger
aldine s neart felt bare and windswept
and desolate and there wore tears in her
blue eyes.
“I hate it. Uncle Ted,” she flung back
Tn|®®r»bly. "I won’t stay here.
The bishop smiled at her pleasantly
*nd.consulted his time table.
You’ll grow to like it, my child, and
y^ur Cousin Philomela Is a charming
woman when you—er—grow to know her.
Oh, 1 know why I’m being planted
down here. You needn’t try to gloss it
over one bit. Uncle Ted.” Geraldine
turned suddenly and made for the wide
flat topped desk. Planting her hands on
Its glossy surface, she faced the bishop
belligerently. "You’re all against me, even
mother, and you’ve fixed this up so l
can t sail on the 20th. After I’ve made
Ml my plans for the year in Paris.”
Ridiculous, a year in Paris alone,”
said the bishop. "In the first place,
Gerry, my dear, your voice is very medi
ocre. In Fairfield it was a wonder. You
have a pretty, light inezza soprano ut
terly unfit for even concert work.”
Geraldine stared down at him. For
i whole week she had been trying to get
used to Greenacres. Cousin Philomela’s
home on the Virginia bank of the Poto
mac. It might nave been pleasant in
summer or spring. In early December
It was desolate. Yet she had managed
to exist some way. If it had not been for
the long rides every time the rain
stopped, she would have fled long ago.
But at least there had been the rides.
And the man in the military cloak.
Somehow, now, as she thought of stay
ing here perforce, he came back as the
3QQ inducement.
"If you visit Philomela until after
Christmas,” continued the bishop, benev
alently, “and are willing to give up this
notion thereafter, you are to Join your
mother and me in the west.”
“And if I don’t?”
"You may visit Philomela Indefinitely.”
After the bishop had taken his depar
ture, and Philomela had tried to comfort
Ter, Geraldine opened the window wide
to the night atr and let the wind blow
m her face af\d throat. Below was a
balcony and from that Just a step to
the ground.
She heard the dull thud of horses’ hoofs
>n the wet grass before she could see
Any shape, and stood holding her breath.
a slender, eager figure silhouetted against
the golden paten of the window space,
lust for a moment she saw him in the
lamp’s glow as he crossed its path of
light, the same youthful, reckless figure
>n the bay horse, and the military cloak
flung back from one shoulder, as he
looked up at heT and lifted his cap.
“Phil, dear,” 9aid Geraldine at break
asi me next morning, wno are your
leighbors?”
“We haven’t any near ones, I’m sorry
to say. There are the Seatons about four
miles farther d<rwn the river. You can
see the red chimneys of their house on
i clear day. And then there are two
daces above us on the river bank, the
Carterests and the Jamesons, but they
ire closed in winter.
Geraldine leaned her chin on her palms
seriously. Who wears a military cloak
ind rides horseback ?"
“When on earth did he get back?” she
lemanded, and Geraldine laughed.
“Then you do know him? I've seen him
svery single day when I’ve been out rid
ing, and once when my girth was loose
md Butterfly started to dance as I was
tightening it, he came along and fixed it
for me.”
“Oh, my dear, my dear, and the bishop’s
pono.” exclaimed her cousin. “You must
not even talk to Jack Carteret.’’
“What's ho done?” asked Gerry, flatly.
“Nothing, but he’s not one of us. lie’s
i very ultra sort of person, Gerry, and
you won’t get tangled up with him, will
you? W’hen Colonel Carteret died Inst
year, it turned out there wasn’t a soul
left of the old family, and this person
:ame from somewhere out of the west-’’
“I came from there, too," put in Gerry,
mildly.
“But, dear, he had been a cowboy.
Geraldine’s eyfs sparkled. Memories of
lome of the glorious old days at her
rather’s ranch on the old Belle Fourche
river up in Wyoming swept over her.
‘T like him,” she declared, “and he’s
coming to see me, and you’d better allow
t, Phil, for It’s absolutely the only diver
sion I can see.”
Philomela gave In hesitantly; but that
ifternoon, as the clouds broke over Smoky
mountain, Jack Carteret sat before the
blazing fire in the long old library drink
ng tea and telling Gerry that he knew
svery ranch along the Belle Fourche and
lad been foreman once . old Bill Mer
•Itt’s XOX outfit above by.
“I knew the way you 1. you belonged
>ut home,” she said joyously. Come
>ften.”
He did. Every day they rode together
tnd every afternoon Miss Elliot played
jhaperon unwillingly over the tea table
irkl someway Parle faded away into a
listant dream to Gerry, and all she longed
’or was a return to the dear old ranch
hat had lain idle since the death of her
ather, two years ago.
Then came one early morning when the
)ig bay horse reined at the veranda. It
vos before breakfast and Gerry was out
rimming off dead slips from the rose
tushes.
“I’m going back home.” he said, with
out preliminaries. “The other chap’s
urned up.”
“WTk*t other chap? T don’t understand.
“Seabury Carteret, my cousin. He went
o Japan eight years ago, strolled around
he orient, and succeeded in losing him
elf s* well that the report of his death
vas want in. Last night I rode down to
he. pastofflce after I left her. and found
here was a telegram for me. lie’s in New
fork, ready to take this whole thing off
ny haftde, and I’m going back to Wyom
ng. V/ill you come along, Gerry?”
It w|a asked quickly. He swung from
he saddle and stood before her, all his
ieart’1 love in eyes and voice, and Gerry
aughtfl softly, happily. She knew every
ilessed thing that he had meant to tell
ter. a*td sk* answered.
“I’d Jove to. Jack.”
“Batsk to the ranch life, dear?”
“Badk to everything, bless It,” said
Jerry
This Sympathetic World.
Fffim the Saturday Evening Post.
We ere surprised to learn that within a
ortnlfiht or so after the Titanic sank
>nly $760,000 had been subscribed for relief
f tht survivors. A number of very
vealttiv and distinguished persons sank
vdth t^e Titanic. She was a ship on which
ny wnll-to-do person might have taken
>asstiif>. Consequently, when the tragic
iews was told, almost anybody with
nones enough to travel abroad might
asily 'vave imagined himself as a passen
;er of the. doomed boat; and everybody
laturaTly is sympathetic toward himself.
Ve ar* surprised th it the relief fund was
10 larger.
The true figures are brought out in con
lectioft with a report that appeals for re
lef ot the Volturno survivors brougnt
nlv $?*000. The Volturno, you see, was
xclusl^ely an immigrant ship Hardly
ne of Jler passt ngers could speak English
r possessed $100. Almost all of them wore
ldiculdUiS clothes and had been engaged
n ridiculous occupations.
Merely as a story the burning of the
?olturWo and the rescue of the survivors
vas intensely exciting: but the moment a
vell-diAased, well-to-do world knew the
'ictlms weri immigrants its interest for
he molt part automatically ceased. Over
.n Ante?, a Hays, a Strauss, disappearing
>eneath the icy water of the AtlanHc, its
ieart thrilled with sympathetic horror be
ause lb them it could see Itself drowning;
►ut It flmply could not Imagine Itself a
mssenjpr in the steerage of an Immigrant
hip. fit) what actually happened to per
ons in that position was nothing but an
nteresttng story. We still think It re
narkable that the Titanic subscriptions
rere oftly 32 times as large as the Vol
urno Subscriptions
Ha Must Hava Boon Hard Up.
Tbr~ Managing Editor: "Did you give
bat fellow a job?"
The City Editor: “I did. He told mo
he truth about himself."
"What did he. say?”
"Said he was broke and needed work.”
‘‘Good! I hud him sized up wrong. For
he moment I thought he was going to tell
rou he’d bc*en free-lancing for several
nonths. but would accept a position on
>ur staff it it would be any accommoda
ion to ua.”
Our Statesmen.
Ambrose Bierce, the brilliant satir
ist. gave, at a dinner In Washington, a
few political definitions.
"A conservative,” said Mr. Bierce,
“Is a statesman who Is enamored of
existing evils, while a radical would
replace them with others.”
ECZEMA ON HANDS AND ARMS
1S21 Douglas St., Omaha, Neb.—"My
trouble began from a bad form of eo
»ema all over my hands, neck and
arms. I could get no sleep for the
Itching and burning. The small pim
ples looked red and watery and my
akin and scalp became dry and ltch
tng. The pimples Irritated me so that
I would scratch until they bled. I
could not put my hands In water and
If I once tried it they burned so
X could not stand It. I had to have
my hands tied up and gloves on all the
time for nearly two months. Some
times I would scratch the skin ott It
irritated so and I could do no work
at all. .
“I tried all kinds of remedies but
nothing did any good. Then I saw In
the newspaper about Cuticura Soap
and Ointment and got some. I was
completely healed in five or six
weeks. They have not troubled me
alnce.” (Signed) Joe Uhl. Jan. 31. ’14.
Cuticura Soap and Ointment sold
throughout the world. Sample of each
free,with 82-p. Skin Book. Address post
card "Cuticura, Dept. L, Boston.”—Adv.
The amateur poet Is going some
when he earns enough money with his
pen to pay for the Ink.
-- 1 m
Sporting Instinct Aroused.
The street-corner orator h»d fatfc*
ered around him a group of urchlML
W hy they listened so attentively he
didn’t understand; nor probably did
they know themselves. Simply nntiw
lng doing. But the orator took foil
advantage of his opportunity and de
livered an Improving lecture on the
value of kindness to dumb animals. Ah
the end he sought for some Illustra
tion to point the moral and adorn the
tale. It was there at hand. Across
the way walked a lady, leading twe
little dogs in leash. The one was black
and the other white. ’'Now." exclaimed
the tub-thumper, “after what I have
said, supposing those two dear little
dogs were to start fighting, whah
would be the first thing you would
do?” No answer came at first; but
one little arab turned to look at the
dogs critically and thoughtfully. “WsH.
guv-nor," he answered, at last, “I ««>
I’d 'avs tuppence on the little black
’un!"
A Rough Road.
“My dear sir,” said the philosopher
“when we look about us and see the
troubles that afflict other people, we
ought to rejoice that our own paths
through life are made smooth.”
“Tour path may be smooth," sighed
the pessimist, “but a thundering biy
steam roller would have to make e
great many trips over mine before
the bumps In It were pressed out.”
Both Imposed Upon.
Deserted Wife (telling grocer her
troubles)—And I trusted him so.
Grocer—Confound It! So did I.
Save the Babies.
INFANT MORTALITY is something frightful. We can hardly realize that
of all the children bom in civilized countries, twenty-two per cent.,
or nearly one-quarter, die before they reach one year ; thirty-seven
per cent., or more than one-third, before they are five, and one-half before
they are fifteen I
We do not hesitate to say that a timely use of Castoria would save a
majority of these precious lives. Neither do we hesitate to eay that many
of these infantile deaths are occasioned by the nse of narcotic preparations.
Drops, tinctures and soothing syrups sold for children’s complaintB contain
more or less opium or morphine. They are, in considerable quantities,
deadly poisons. In any quantity, they stupefy, retard circulation and lead
to congestions, sickness, death. Castoria operates exactly the reverse, but
you must see that it bears the signature of Chas. IL Fletcher. Castoria
causes the blood to circulate properly, opens the
pores of the skin and allays fever.
Genuine Castoria always bears the signature of
FURNISHED BOND OF AMITY
Discomfited ‘‘Good Samaritan” the Un
willing Means of Bringing Rival
Humorists Together.
Once upon n time two humorists
dwelt in the same small town and both
contributed to the Sunday Star. As
was but natural, they became wildly
Jealous of each other, and when one
would win a little more prominence
than his fellow the other would have
seven kinds of fits. "Your Pleasant
Valley Items give me a pain!” quoth
one. “Your prose rhymes make me
111!" retorted the other. As they were
about to come to blows there ap
peared on the scene a Good Samaritan
and to him they appealed. “Which of
us Is the funnier?” they asked. "Neith
er!” was the prompt reply. "You are
both as unfunny as wart hogs, and as
tiresome as a trip across the Sahara!"
Thereat they both set upon the gen
tleman from Samaria and beat him
full sore, and dwelt together In amity
forever after.
Moral: From this we should learn
that while humorists delight In quar
reling among themselves, they fre
quently resent criticism from outsid
ers.—Kansas City Star.
That’s Settled.
Bobble (who has been sent over for
the fifth time to find out how Mrs:
Brown Is)—All right, ma; she's dead.
nnumi oncArrASI.
Change Gave Rugged Health.
Many persons think that for
strength, they must begin the day
with a breakfast of meat and other
heavy foods. This is a mistake as
anyone can easily discover for him
self.
A W. Va. carpenter’s experience
may benefit others. He writes:
"I used to be a very heavy break
fast eater but finally indigestion
caused me such distress, I became
afraid to eat anything.
“My wife suggested a trial of Grape
Nuts and as I had to eat something
or starve, I concluded to take her
advice. She fixed me up a dish and
I remarked at the time that the qual
ity was all right, but. the quantity was
too small—I wanted a saucerful.
“But she said a small amount of
Grape-Nuts went a long way and that
I must eat it according to directions. ,
Bo I started in with Grape-NutB and [
cream, two soft boiled eggs and some
crisp toast for breakfast.
“I cut out meats and a lot of other
■tuff I bad been used to eating all
my life and was gratified to see that
l was getting better right along. I
concluded I had struck the right thing
■nd stuck to it. I had not only been
Bating Improper food, but too much.
“I was working at the carpenter’s
trade at that time and thought that
unless I had a hearty breakfast with
plenty of meat, I would play out be
fore dinner. But after a few days of
my "new breakfast” I found I could
io more work, felt better in every
way, and now I am not bothered with
Indigestion.”
Name given by Postum Co., Battle
Creek, Mich. Read “The Road to Well
ville,” in pkgs. “There’s a Reason.”
Evtr read the above letter? A new
>ne appear* from time to time. They 1
ire iceiinine, true, and fall of htuuun
At l crest.
For Real Enjoyment.
"Going to the theater again? Why,
you saw that piece only the othsg
night."
"Yes, but not In my new frock.”
Defined.
“Pa. what Is a theorist?”
"A theorist, son, Is a person who
puts up the talk and expects soma*
body else to put up the money.”—
Baltimore Sun.
TOUR OWN DRUGGIST WII.I. TKI.I. YOU
Try Murln# By# Remedy for Red, Weak, Wauurf
Byes and Granulated HSyolids: No Smarting-*
lust Bye Comfort. Write for Book of the Hyc
by mail Free. Marin# Bye Remedy Oo., Chicago,.
Oh, That Way I
“It’s such a silly superstition to be
always picking up pins!”
"You may call it a superstition If
you wish, but I know a chap who
makes about $6 a week by doing It/*
"How can a fellow gather that
many?"
“He works In a bowling alley.”—
Judge.
Marriage Causes False Fire Alarm.
Seven minutes of blasts from th*
whistle of the Passaic Metalware com
pany, In honor of the marriage of the
daughter of the superintendent, re
cently turned out five volunteer Are
departments. The fog made the whit
tle audible In Rutherford. Nutley,
Belleville, Garfield and Clifton and the
firemen rushed to headquarters at the.
alarm.
It took half an hour to determine
where the whistling came from. The
wedding which caused the commotion
united Miss Sallle Karp, 217 Brook,
avenue, Passaic, to Michael F. Ber—
nan.—New York Mall.
Constipation
Vanishes Forever
Prompt Relief—Permanent Cure
CARTER’S LITTLE —
LIVER PILLS never
fail. Purely vegeta
ble — act surely
but gently on
the liver.
Stop after
dinner dis
tress-cure
indigestion,1- _
improve the complexion, brighten the eyes*
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICK
Genuine must bear Signature
DAISY FLY KILLER S3? STmT. i
^ flies Neat, clean, ©r
nameutal. oonrenteaA
cheap. L a ■ t a all
season. Made at
metal, can't spill er Up
over; will not sail ear
1njure anyth In#.
Guaranteed effecUvw.
All dealers or,#..,
express paid for 8J.8A
HAROLD 801IKR1. 1»0 DeRalb Ave . Brooklyn, H. V,
SIOUX FALLS SERUM COl
Stock Yards, Sioux Falls, So. Dak.
Branch Office at
Live Stock Exchange Building, Sioux City, low*
Producers of Auti- Hog
Cholera Serum, pro
pared in Government
Inspected Laboratory
__ under U. S. Veterinary
License No. if. Phones: Day, 16711; Night,
lb09 and 977. It pays to buy the best.
SIOUX CITY PTG. CO., NO. 29-1914.