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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (April 29, 1915)
Better Biscuits Baked You never tasted % daintier, lighter, fluffier'^ biscuits than those Jj /|||| 5 baked with Calumet^ 5 They’re always Af For Calumet in-"/ff jflpjij cures perfect n RECEIVED I! M #1 HIGHEST AWARDS L‘;’*j5l WM Pi World** Pure Food |jl 3Lj4B[ « Exposition. CUoaso, l\Wf ^ I aFa Viy# ,<« Not Interesting. "Millions of germs can lodge on a pin point,” said the man who is al ways getting excited about some thing. "Well," replied Mr. Growcher, “It doesn’t concern me. I never encour age anybody to swallow pins.” Emphatic Distinction. “Charley, dear," said young Mrs. Torkins, “why do you take an inter est In prize fighting?" “As a matter of physical culture." “Well, it may be physical. But it Isn't culture." AI.FAEFA SEED, $6.00. Farms for sate on crop payments. J. Mulhall, Soo City, la. AJv Cautious. “My wife sent me to buy a rolling pin,” said the mild-looking man. “What kind of wood do you pre fer?” inquired the salesman. “What is the softest wood you have?” Some men fail to get rich, and sonv fail to become poor. The hardest bird to catch is the eagle on a $20 gold piece. l&f • .. ' -- ■ W*- .... >.—**•--- ~ ■ ■ f Who Will Pay War Costs—Also I A Suggestion as to Peace Terms From the Dos Angeles Times. One obstacle In the way of peace In Europe—and It Is an obstacle that grows larger every day—is the enor mous and continuing cost of hostilities, and the question of who at the end shall pay the bills, and how they shall be paid? The light has ceased to be a contest for balance of power, and is al most as much a fight for mere money aa one between two pugilists for the box office receipts. The cost of hostilities, aside from the value of property destroyed on land and sea. Is about $14,000,000 per day. If the war were to cease tomorrow It would cost the combatants to this date about $4,009,000,000, and It is the esti mate of Prof. Bushnell Hart that there Is no likelihood that the war will stop before $10,090,000,000 have gone Into the chasm—an amount equivalent to 66 per cent of the national Indebted ness last July of France, Rurfsla and Great Britain combined, double the na tional Indebtedness of Germany at that date, and three times that of Austria Hungary. It is probable that the victorious parties to the contest will demand a war Indemnity from the losers of at least $6,000,000,000. The collection of such a sum from the allies would em barrass if it did not bankrupt them, and It would come near to exterminat ing Germany and Austria-Hungary as nations, for, while the farms, buildings, mines, cities, railroads, wharves and factories of the country would remain, stocks of goods, raw materials and cash would be gone, and the credit of the nation would be at a very low ebb. The power that Is forced to pay a war Indemnity will necessarily be com pelled either to surrender territory, or to borrow the money. "During the last half century of wars,” says Albert Bushnell Hart, “there was always some neutral power which had cash for the contestants. Japan and Russia were fighting each other In 1905 with money derived from French and English cap italists. Of whom shall the contesting European countries borrow now? The only neutral which has large sums to lend Is the United States.” The capi talists of the United States have no desire to Invest In support of the war. If Indeed such Investment would not be an unneutral act. Nor is It likely that there would be any desire to In vest In aiding to pay Indemnities to a conqueror. The only resource of the European powers Is their own people, and It must be said that all the com batants have thus far shown splendid pluck In contributing to war loans. The Germans have resorted to their savings bank accounts, the French have emptied their stockings, and the British war loans were taken at once, not merely by capitalists, but by the people at large. OLD PANAMA FORT MAY SERVE AMERICA San Lorenzo Ruins at Mouth of Ohagres Are to Be Rebuilt. Panama. (by mall).—Fort San Lorenzo, an ancient fortress which stands on a high bluff at the entrance to the harbor at the mouth of the Charges river, probably will again play a part In the defense of the Isthmus. Canal authorities are trying to obtain from Panama the right to re-establish the old fortress, rebuilding It and placing therein a number of modern and high-power coast defense guns. The site of the ancient fortress Is Im portant because it stands at the en trance of a deep water way from the Caribbean sea to the Gatun locks, dam and spillway. It Is declared that the Chagres river Is easily navigable for small torpedo boats and submarines. The only obstacle Is a bar at the mouth of the river, however, this may be passed at high tide. The castle of San Lorenzo was built by order of Phillip II, of Spain In 1597 and for many years was considered practically Impregnable. John Morgan and his buccaneers, however, almost destroyed the fortress and the Eng lish under Admiral Vernor captured It In 1740 blew the fort skyward. Since then It has been an historic ruin. The American government has long regarded the mouth of the Chagres river as an Important point In the coast defenses of the Panama canal, especially In view of the accessibility of the locks, dam and spillway at Gatun through the stream. The nearest forti fications of any strength and Im portance are now at Toro Point, near Colon, which Is about eight miles east of San Lorenzo. War Lingo for Sporting Editor*. From tne Indianapolis News. The literary world is marking time, waiting on the opening of the baseball season to see whether history repeats It self. Will there be a renaissance In the language of the baseball writer? Will the present European conflict make Itself felt In the idioms of the baseball game Just as the fall of Constantinople drove Byzantine scholars, with the literature of Greece, into western Europe and re made literature? Will the baseball scribe of this sum mer express himself in 42 centimeters, submarines, Zeppelins, Taubes, shells, etc., Instead of the time honored—and eke time worn—phrases which have as Balled our eyes as we fed on the sport ing extra? Instead of saying that Jones was caught napping at third and was out on a snap py throw from the catcher, may we ex pect to read that Jones was riding at anchor on third when he was torpedoed by Submarine Brown from behind the bat. who had been lying in wait with only his periscope showing?" Where once the sporting writer was content to say that the opposition pitch ers were hit at will or batted all over the lot, will our eyes be confronted with the statement that the opposing pitching force was ruthlessly slaughtered when It attempted to use its obsolete machine guns against the 42 centimeter bats of the local artillerymen? And then again will the effervescent baseball scribes. Instead of saying that the visitors could not And our pitcher, lean Europeward and remark that he was as hard to hit as a Taube at night? With victory for the home team gained by well timed two and three-bag gers are we no longer to hear that, though the visitors got a mass of singles, they did not seem to be able to connect with the long drives when hits meant runs; but Instead, that the visitors smacked out so many singles that it sounded like a machine battery In action, but siege guns were what the articles of war called tor and our lads had the long range stuff that brought down the tal lies? Truly, all devout fans wait on the words of that versatile Juggler of the king's English, that wizard of the type writer who refuses to be bound by tra dition or college professors In telling about the great American game—the baseball scribe. Unite the United State* Judiciary. From the Kansas City Star. While in the business of nationalizing legislation, why not nationalize our na tional courts? U Is strange that In spots the national Mr. Hart. In his chapter on the "Outcome of the War," saya: "Among the various powers Austria is likely to be the first to come to a state of ex haustion, because it is poorer than its western neighbors, and because it stands more chance of invasion and capture of its capitals than any other power. Germany, though a very rich nation, has the most expensive, be cause the moBt efficient, army, and unless It can get control of the sea, has the least chance of relief from out Blde. France has gTeat accumulated capital, but very large sums have been lent to Russia. Great Britain has enor mous productive Industries in all parts of the world, but if her fleet should be crippled, would collapse sooner than my continental country, because the United Kingdom could not then feed or defend herself. Russia alone of all these countries can keep up war for several years without ruin, because while several million men are fighting, 140,000,000 people will be working to support them.” The fairest way to restore peace, the most equitable way, the most prac ticable way, the best way both for the combatants and for neutral nations, would be to restore as near as possible the status in quo ante bellum. Let there bo no war indemnities paid, no acquisition of territory, and no change In boundaries. Let the conditions of last July be restored as nearly as pos sible. Let each nation bury Its own lead, care for its own crippled, pay Its own debts, disband its own armies, lismantle its own frontier ports, ham mer its own swords into reaping hooks, remove the floating mines it has sown on the waters, change its ships o 1 war into carriers of freight and pas sengers, make fishing boats of its sub marines, and mail carriers of its Zep nplins. “Then trade and commerce would be again opened to all nations on about the same terms as before. The surplus bf 100 years’ labor would. It Is true, nave been swept away, and Europe would begin a process of hard work ind saving, rebuilding, slow rising In population and wealth." The task would not be so long as It wan after the Napoleonic wars, for since then Invention and discovery have paved and illuminated the path bf progress. The example of France ifter 1871 shows what a nation can 3o by "sitting tight" for a few years, earning much and spending little. The ;ontrol of the forces of nature and the use of machinery would. In the lifetime of the present generation, en able Europe to come back to its pre vious wealth and population. All that Is needed to accomplish such beneficent results Is a desire of all parties to accomplish them. "There's a way wherever there’s a will.” Mann white slave law has one Inter pretation and In other spots a different nterpretatlon. It Is equally strange that n spots the national migratory bird law s unconstitutional and 111 other spots constitutional. State legislatures and state courts pre sent so many difficulties that methods bf getting concerted action engage much ittentlon. The move for uniform state legislation is one of these. The several Blforts to amend the national constitu tion—os to suffrage, Income taxation, Elections, etc.—are another. The exten sion of national legislation, through ex tending the Interstate commerce clause and through extending the national police power, is a third. Even at the beginning of the republic,' when the original states were Jealous guardians of their sovereignity. It was acknowledged that some centralizing body should have discretion to weld the na tion oloser. The national, or federal, ludlclary supplied that need—more than adequately, some may think. It Is rather Ironical that a disrupting force should arise through the Individual bplnlons of the national Judiciary. That ludlclary has not hesitated to unite the states. It might help now to devise some means to unite Itself. High Cost of Delivery. A St. Paul grocer. Influenced by the Housewives league's campaign for a low ered cost of living, has decided to discon tinue delivery service on small packages. In a communication to the league he voices his reasons for so doing as follows: "We find that to satisfy the almost hourly demand of our customers a de .lvery system must be maintained at enor uous expense. This expense must neces sarily be added to the first cost of mer chandise, and, of course, the other two :hirds who do their own marketing are paying the same ratio of expense as the me-third who do not. This expense we lave decided to eliminate and divide the saving with our patrons. The considerate ind frugal housewife who does her own narketlng and pays cash Bhould be fa vored. Instead, you will find that the charge customer who seldom If ever visits :he market, and who, by her exorbitant lemands, forces upon you this large ex pense, Is the one who received most con itderatlon from the merchant. This we 'eel Is not fair to the housewife who pays cash and Is trying to reduce the cost of lvlng by selecting her own foods and who knows, by actual seeing and testing before she buys, that she Is buying to the pest advantage." Hy cutting out unnecessary delivery the Irm finds that It can make a 6 per cent llscount on all staple articles, Including gutter, eggs, cheese etc., on which there s said to be only 15 per cent profit. The irocer calculates that a saving of JI.OOO a month to his patrons is made possible by Lhls curtailment of delivery’. Delivery of foods Is a convenience which It would ae unwise to abolish altogether, but It Is in added service for which only those lirectly served should pay. Much "de lvering" Is without question unnecessary md might be curtailed with benefit to lealer and consumer alike. Swapping Legislation. From the Maysvllle (Mo.) Herald. Senator Wallace (Tossley stood with the "dishonest election” crowd so that crowd would not fight a big appropriation for the state normal at Warrensburg, his home town. The dicker, tacit or avowed. Is the smell Ingest thing In modern legislation. The dicker Is everywhere. No piece of legisla tion goes through on its own merits. Ideals die at the doorway of a legislative assembly. A legislator to be eminently successful must be a common swapper, a seller of his birthright. If he has a good bill he must be prepared to support some other fellow's bad bill In order to get the bad bill fellow to vote for the good bill. Legislative assemblies are simply satur ated with, steeped In, honeycombed by this sort of tiling. Irtish river, In Siberia, Is 2,200 miles long, and drains 600 miles of territory. A Perfect Day. When you come to the end of a perfect day. And you sit alone with your thought. While the chimes ring out with a carol gay. For the Joy that the day has brought. Do you think what the end of a perfect day Can mean to a tired heart. When the sun goes down -with a faming ray And the dear friends have to parti Well, this is the end of a perfect day. Near the end of a Journey, too; Hut It leaves a thought that Is big and strong. With a wish that Is kind and true. For mem'ry has painted this perfect day With colors that never fade. And we find at the end of a perfect day, The soul of a friend we've made. —Carrie Jacobs-Bond. mi mi BB f MARY MIDTHORNE BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON. Author of “Qraustnrk." “Truxton King,” etc. ^ Copyright, MU. By Dodd, Mead ft Co. I ml lin AAAi l _/ 1111 II (CHAPTER VI—Continued.) Joan and Eric were thoughtful for a moment, analysing the remark. They saw the point simultaneously and laughed aloud. “It would have to be a very big needle or a very tiny camel,” cried she. “We'll leave that to the Imagination," said he, “as we do most everything else that really doesn’t matter." Eric’s eyes gleamed with a sudden discovery. “What are you doing In Tasmlr, Mr. Carr?” “I was locking for a much sharper thing than a needle,” said Adam Carr. "Did you And It?" “I did.” Eric’s voice thrilled with excitement. “I know what you. are now. Gee! He gazed at the masklike face In open eyed wonder. “You are a detective.” "Sometimes I doubt It,” was Adam Carr’s extrordlnary way of acknowl edging his profession. A two hours' run brought the tug to within hailing distance of the heteroge neous fleet of small craft, cruising In the outer bay. There was no mistaking the business of these slow moving boats, big and little. They were en gaged In the hopeless, the imbecile task of dragging the bay, an undertaking Inspired by the command of Horace Blagden himself. Not that Horace, who was a calm and sensible man, thought that the bodies could be recovered from the boundless, shifting waters by any such means, but that he regarded It as his lmnerative dutv—vou might say his personal prerogative—to make such a showing of resoluteness, such defiance of the utterly Impossible—that all Corinth would rise up and say in the same breath that he had at least left no stone unturned, If the simile may be applied to the case. Dozens of boats of all descriptions were plying the blue waters of the bay. Recognizing the futility of their efforts, the crews lay back at ease, smoking and gazing complacently in quite the opposite direction from that which their business required; they looked lazily at the blue sky from the flat of their backs, instead of at the water in which It was reflected. They were being well paid for their efforts, which, after all resolved itself Into a sort of special pageant arranged for the per petuation of Horace Blagden’s name for Indomitableness. The tug blew Its triumphant blasts and even as the futile searchers awoke from their lethargy, hurried past them toward the docks, almost scornful In Its haste. Behind trailed the aston ished, irritated boatmen, a long line of odds and ends converging to a certain point. “Call up my uncle's house and let him know,” said Eric as they clamb ered to the pier. “No," objected Adam Carr, "you’ll be sure to And him at the bank. A lit tle thing like this wouldn't disturb the habit of a lifetime.” Sure enough, Horace Blagden was at the bank. Over the telephone. In response to the message from the dock, he said: "Indeed. Well, I declare. Tell Eric to go home at once. His aunt Is wor ried. Who found them? Carr? Ask him to stop at the bank In a day or two. Thank you. Goodby.” • • • * • For two or three days after .his re turn to the “Giant’s Castle,” Eric was vaguely aware of a troubled, pre-occu pled look In his sister’s eyes; dark cir tles began to appear beneath them, and a certain pathetic wistfulness came Into their depths when he seemed to be asking questions of her with his own puzzled, but observing eyes. At first he attributed these signs to the worry and grief that must have tor tured her on that eventful day and night, but as her very gladness In hav ing him with her once more seemed tinged with a strange, unusual reserve, he was at last forced to believe that there was something else on her mind. Her Joy In seeing him had been wild, almost to the point of delirium. She had sobbed In his arms for hours, it seemed to him, and she was reluctant to have him out of her sight. Her somber, plaintive eyes followed him everywhere, until he began to feel a haunting dread of them. She was paler than he had ever known her to be, and she was spirit less; a most unnatural condition for her, who was so gay and volatile and full of the Joy of living. On the morning of the day selected by the committee for the awarding of the prize, he bluntly commanded her to tell him what it was that troubled her. They had been chatting with old Jabez and his son Adam, at the gatekeeper’s lodge, and she had failed utterly to _ ... J * V. ,, am of t Vl a rtAT<nl ava/4 old man, who crustily demanded the cause of her ‘•grouch." Eric noticed that Adam Carr studied her pale face with peculiar Intentness. The detective had been telling him of his interview with Horace Blagden a few days be fore. At the mention of Chetwynd’s name, the girl looked up with a quick, half frightened gleam In her eyes. “What Is it, Mary? Tell me,” pleaded Eric as they were walking homeward across the meadow. “It's nothing, Eric,” she protested, over and over again. "There’s something wrong," he In sisted. “I know It. You can't fool me, girlie. What's up?" He waited for a moment and then blurted out: “What has Chetwynd been doing?” She burst Into tears and threw her self upon the ground at the foot of the great oak near the gate In the wall sur rounding the Blagden place. He was down beside her In an Instant, pleading, begging, urging her to tell him every thing. Then the story came out. “She Is so cruel," sobbed Mary. “Oh, Eric, I don't see how she can have the heart to think the things she does. I haven't done anything wrong. I am a good girl." He grew stiff and cold. “Tell me,” he whispered. She turned over and lay flat on her back, her arms extended In the sur render to despair, her wet eyes star ing at the green leaves above." "It was Chetwynd," she began Jerk ily. "Oh. how I loathe him. He—” "What has that beast done to you?” cried Eric, a fearful dread In his soul. “Walt. I'll tell you. The day you and Joan went out In the boat he stayed at home that morning, you re member. with a headache, he said. He was lying on the couch In the library when I came In. He called me In. Aunt Rena was over town shopping. Oh. Eric, I can’t bear to tell you." “Go on,” he grated, his Ungers work ing. “He asked me to sit down and read to him. It would rest him, he said. Pretty soon he asked me to stop and get a cold cloth for his head. When I—when I started to put the cloth on his forehead, he grabbed me and pulled me down beside him. He—he u uu y 10 kissed me, Eric—oh, he held me as If his arms were of Iron. X fought him, I tried to get away. I tried to scream! He had not kissed me since we were little children, and oh. It was so different. He Baid he’d kill me If I didn't keep still. But I wouldn’t keep still. I was so afraid of him. I thought I should die. At last I got away from him and ran out of the room. He fol lowed and caught me In the hall. I was so weak, so dreadfuly scared I could hardly stand, but I tried to beat him off. He was holding me tight and kissing me—Oh! Oh!” She closed her eyes before going on. "His breath was so hot, so awful with cigarets. I was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe. He kept saying, over and over again, that It would be all right and that I must never tell. Then the hall door opened and Aunt Rena came In. I didn’t see her, at first, but I knew something had happened, for he sud denly let go of me. I heard him say a horrid word, under his breath. When I saw Aunt Rena I flew to her and tried to tell her what had happened. I begged her not to let him come near me. But—Eric! Eric!" She stopped short, her hands clenched. He was trembling like a leaf, and his Jaws was working like that of an animal. Veins stood out In Ills forehead. He was seeing things red. “Eric,” she moaned, “Aunt Rena wouldn't listen to me. She turned on me and pushed me away, calling me a ’hussy,’ a ‘wretch,’—Oh, worse than thfl t f T nmilfln't molrn 11 ,1 I couldn’t make her believe that I was not to blame. She accused me of everything dreadful. She said I was leading Chetwynd into—to do wicked, low things. Oh. I can’t tell you all she said. I was so stunned, so helpless, I —I couldn't believe it was really true. When I begged him to tell her the truth, he only grinned and told me to 'shut up and take my medicine.’ He was through with me. I couldn’t trifle with him. That’s what he said. Eric. And she believed him. She called him her poor boy, her angel—Oh, I shall never live through this. Eric. I want to die." Brie could not utter a word. His lips moved, but only hoarse, inarticulate sounds came forth. She waited awhile, then went on. drearily. "Aunt Rena wanted to turn me out into the street, but he objected to that. He said I was not altogether to blame. In a sneering sort of way, he made out as if he were willing to take all the blame. She called him noble, gallant self-sacrificing! You should have heard her. In the library he got her to promise not to say a word to Uncle Horace about it. If I left the house, he said, he would go. too. It scared her. She said it was best to keep it all to ourselves. I was to be given another chance. And I was locked in my room because I said I would run away. She kept me there all afternoon, all through the storm, until Mrs. Presbrey came to talk to me. I—” Her brother leaped to his feet, glar ing about like a wild beast. "Damn him! Damn her!” he cried furiously. ‘Til beat her brains out!" He started toward the gate, stagger ing blindly. Mary sped after him, grasping his arm in frantic alarm. "Let go of me!” he snarled. “Do you suppose that cur can treat vou as he did and not pay for it? I'll kill him!” "You must be sensible! Listen to me. Eric, dear. Listen! Don’t say such things. For my sake!” “He's not fit to live! I've always hated him. It would serve Aunt Rena right, if I were to kill her angel, her darling. Let go, Mary! Just think of what he did to you." But she clung to him in desperation, murmuring over and over again through white, paralyzed Ups: “You must not kill him. Thou shalt not kill! Thou shalt not kill!” “What good does it do to preach?" he cried angrily. "Nobody pays any attention to the 10 commandments nowadays. Why should I?” "I do. Eric. I am not going to be what they say I’ll be. Why should you? Why Should you commit mur der? Do you want old Presbrey to say 'I told you so,’ when he goes to see you in the goal? Do you w'ant to be hung, as that man was in Rldgely county? The one they always tell you about? Oh. I shouldn’t have told you what Chetwynd did to me. I wouldn’t have told you if I’d thought you’d take it like this." The boy’s struggles and ranting ceased abruptly. A pallor spread over his face. The words "murder ” ••humr" "Presbrey," ran together In his brain, creating a Jumble out of which a cold, deathly calmness emerged. His mind began to work in an entirely different direction. Somehow, inexplicable to him. a strange subtleness, a sharp cunning, took the place of blind rage and despair. Ho suddenly realized how .near he had been to doing the very thing that would have proved their estimate of him even to their own cost. To Mary’s amazement, he broke in upon her renewed pleadings with a hoarse, unnatu.-al laugh. “Wouldn’t it be a horrible Joke on them if I did commit murder, with Chetwynd as my victim? Good heavens, how Uncle Horace would look! He’d have to be surprised at that. And Aunt Rena would have something to talk about all the rest of her life. And say! Old Presbrey and Julia! They’d Just die of shame to think that they hadn’t let me go my own way long ago, so’s I might have killed someone else before I got Chetwynd." "Eric.” she cried In distress, “how strangely you talk.” He grasped her by the hand, moved by an impulse to run wildly. "Come on,” he shouted. “I’ve got to do some thing. I've got to wear it off. Let’s run! Let’s run to Stone Wall." Stone Wall was the name given to a rocky stretch of coast beyond Tod vllle, a secret and unlovely place where the surf beat with incessant roars or sighs, as the case might be. always pounding. A resting place for gulls, abhorred by man, useles and scorned as a place unfinished by the Creator. Thither fared all those who sought solitude for reflection, all those who contemplated suicide, or those who pursued Love when it was leaBt timid. Hours afterward. Mary and Eric came away from the moss covered rocks of Stone Wall, and slowly made their way through the dense thickets and across sweet meadows, back to the hated little gate In the Blagden gar den wall. They were calm and strangely subdued. They had talked it all out, down there on the rocks, and they had found solace in mutually resigning themselves to the inevitable. "It can't be forever. Eric,” she had said. “No,” he said, gritting his teeth, "God, won’t let it go that far." And so It was, that Eric found out what troubled his sister Mary, ud why her eyes were full of dread. They passed by old Jabez on their way up. He was leaning over the gate, blandly surveying them through the smoke of his pipe. "Where’s Mr. Adam. Uncle Jabe?'* sang out Eric from across the road. "He went to New York on the 3 o’clock train." replied the ancient. "Quite sudden, too. But he’s allue doin' things he didn’t intend to do 10 minutes afore he does ’em. Dangdest boy I ever see.” The boy and girl dreaded the ordeal of dinner with the family. They would have to face Aunt Rena and Chetwynd, and it was going to be hard for Eric to be polite and agreeable. But they wer* to be spared the presence of Chetwynd. It afterward developed. Just before the dinner gong sounded, Eric met his aunt in the upper hall. Ho swallowed hard and then put as much heartiness in his voice as he could muster. “Where's Chetwynd, Aunt Rena?” "He has gone to New York. Why?” New York? In the middle of th* week ?” "Certainly. He has been half sick for a week. A few days’ rest from tho j tedious work In the bank will do him a world of good. He’s to see Dr. Throgmartin tomorrow about those dreadful headaches.” "The judges were to award the prize this afternoon,” observed Erie. “Didn’t he care to wait and see how the con test came out?” She smiled complacently, comfort ably. “Oh, he wasn’t worried. He is so sure to win. And why shouldn't he? He has made such a study of It.” "I guess that’s why he has the head aches,” said Eric Innocently. She looked at him again, very sharply. "Where Is Mary?” she demanded. “In her room. I think. You needn’t question her, Aunt Rena. She told mo what Chetwynd did to her, and what you said to her. I want you to know that I know It, It—" "Eric,” she said, “I must ask you not to be so Insolent. You must not stan 1—” He held his ground, confronting her with set And linwav^rinp' pvpo "I do not mean to be insolent. Aunt Rena. But we’ve just got to under stand each other. It needn’t go any farther, If you like.—I mean JJnela Horace Isn’t to know. I just have to say this: Mary was not to blame. I know it, and down in your heart you know it. Chetwynd acted like a dirty brute, and you took his part. I don’t want him to apologise to Mary. I o_>r.’t want a word more said about it. I'm not afraid to sa" this to you, because I know and you know that if Mary went to Uncle Horace with that ctory, he’d believe her and he'd kick his own son out of the house. That's just what Uncle Horace would do, and you know it. He knows Mary isn't that kind of a girl, just as well as you know it. That’s all I have to say. The incident ts closed, unless you choose to reopen it.” She stood there staring after him, with a llm" lower Up, and the glaze of stupefaction over her eyes. He coolly descended the stairs and entered the library. Then she went into her bed room and wept softly until dinner time. Mary found Eric on the porch soon after the meeting In the hall. “Eric." she whispered. In awed tones. “Aunt Rena is crying in her room. I heard her a3 plain as anything.” "It always does a woman good to cry,’’ remarked the young philosopher, with a hardening of the muscles in his Jaw. Marv was looking down the tree lined walk. "Oh. goodness.” she cried, in dismay. “See who's coming to dinner with Uncle Horace." Eric turned up his eyes and groaned with sepulchral devoutness. Horace was entering the gate with the estimable Presbreys. both of whom were rigered up fit to eat—and that Is really what they had got themselves up for. As they came up the steps. Mr. Blag den blandly addressed the boy and girl standing at the rail above. “I suppose you’re waiting to heap who won the prize?” Eric began to tremble with a sudden, overpowering excitement. He was to hear himself proclaimed the winner! "Did Eric win it?” cried Mary, hep dark eyes glowing. Mild surprise revealed Itself in Mr. Blagden’s eyes—surprise tinged with pity. You would have though that th® bare suggestion that Eric might hav® won over his son was a distinct shock to his nerves. Mr. Presbrey smiled cheerfully for Eric's benefit, as much as to say it wasn’t worth worrying over, or being disappointed about. “Chetwynd won it, of course,’’ an nounced Horace with some austerity. “It was the unanimous opinion of th® Judges that his designs were the best. Of course,” he went on magnanimous ly, laying his hand on Eric’s shoulder and turning to the Presbreys, “we will have to admit that Chetwynd had a decided advantage over the other con- n testants, among them Eric. His work at college and his private instruction® gave him—er, ahem!—a rather unfair start, you might say. I spoke to th® committee about it, but they called my objections absurd—er, ahem—or some thing of that sort. I have never felt that Chetwynd should-—” (Continued next week.) "Tipperary” And The Teuton. "Affairs at Washington." Joe Chappie, la National Magazine for March. There was no mistaking his na tionality nor that of the young lady on his arm as they walked about the ball room at a social function In Washing ton. It was a function In the real sense of the word, lively In some spots and Just as stupid In others. The couple had enjoyed the one-step and two step. and had there been a three, four, five or six-step they would have all been tried In succession with a possible variation of the fox-trot and the maxlxe. "What an Interesting and handsome couple." quoth the dowagers, looking through their lorgnettes with admira tion In their glances, and the profes sional matchmakers felt that there wa■ something new to talk about In bridge Intermissions. He was a German with a kaiser mustache, and well along In the sea soned years of bachelorhood. She was not a debutante, but had endured sev eral seasons of social life without losing the charm and piquancy of the maiden at her first “coming-out” ball. From all appearances the question would 3O0n bo settled. Alas, the band struck up: “It's a Long, Long Way to Tipperary." Tha military swain halted, stood erect, and never moved. The young lady started with the rhythm and swing of Tommy Atkins, but the obdurate Teuton stood stllL There was * whispered conference, as the dancers whirled about them. The strains of “Tipperary" continued without Interruption and attention was riveted upon the couple. Around and around the stolid German tripped the young lady as "Tipperary” proceeded. Then she stopped and looked uj> coquettlshly Into her escort’s downcast eyes. In almost the twinkling of an eye. the stalwart Prussian capitulated and off they whirled to the tune of "Tip perary,” while the society matrons | looked disappointed that there should have been so sudden a cessation of hostilities, when the conquest of a , woman's eyes spoiled a little plquatlt 1 ballroom scene.”