The Sioux County journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1888-1899, January 26, 1899, Image 5

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    The Ietaro of
IT came to pass that there were born
onto Ezra and Lucy Whlttlesy, two
boys. William and John, who r f
to youth's estate oa the old farm In
Oakland County.
John whs a home boy. His happiest
-days were those ou which he boed and
weeded. With William It was differ
ent He was like unto neither his
mother nor his father. He was Just
William. He read, long Into the night,
by the kerosene lump In the sitting
room, stories of adventure and of
youths going forth Into the world In
search of fortune aud of fame. He
longed for a wider field He dreamed
of conquests, of piles o; gold, of ex
plorations into unknown countries,
and of experiences In lif such as never
entered the mind of plodding John.
The days, the weeks, the months,
rolled ou around the spool of time, and,
with each bright breaking sun, more
and more disoriented and dissatisfied
did become the restless William. Ills
days were eeniut. . .-. lung. There was
always shining In-fur" his ryes the star
of ambition which he was of a mind
to follow more than once. He detested
the sorry life of the farm, with the
homely environment, the old, old rou
tine, day In, day out, and finally, nfter
several years of uncomplaining servi
tude, he determined to run away.
He was IS then, or two years he had
saved every penny, every nickel, every
'-dime, that had fallen In his way, and
ere long noted that the dollars were
taklug care of themselves In a little
company of their own. There were
forty-two of then) In the stone jar on
the shelf at the head of his bed.
The sun was sinking behind the
western horizon on the fateful night of
William's departure. There, by the
lit tie window in the store Mom where
be slept Willi the peaceful, sweet con
tented John, he sat on a cane -seated
-hair beside the bed, his forty-two dol
lars spread out on the 1 1 i i t before him.
"I will do ill" be exclaimed to him
uelf in the dim darkucss. "1 will do
His thoughts were broken In upon
by the cry of u woman down below,
, , the foot of the stairs.
' 'William! William: It' time to go for
the milk."
"Ah, me," murmured the boy to him
self, "another night has come, but It
shall be the last. For many years has
It been my duly to go down the dusty
old road to Green's lor the evening
milk. I cannot see why father docs not
maintain a dairy, or at Jeast one cow,
of his own. Hut. no, 1, must trudge,
trudge ou through snow, through sun
shine and through rain to that o'.d farm
house nearly two tulles down the turn
pike for milk. But this shall be my last
walk " ,
. "William! William! ain't yew ever go
In' fur that milk?"
Again the feminine voice from the
foot of the stairway.
"Yes, mother, I'm comin' now."
The boy dropped all th- forty-two dol
lars Into his trousers pockets, and, after
plating the stone Jar back on Its shelf
at the head of the bed. slowly sham
bled down the stairs.
"There's th' pall. William," said his
mother, pointing toward the table
drawn up by the kitchen window.
William took It and passed out Into
the deepening darkness.
He was alone on the road. The stone
walls on either side showed Indistinct
ly yellow gray In the fast gathering
darkness. Now and then William
would stoop anil pick tip a stone and
fling It idly toward a bush whence
came Ihe note of a nlghtbird crying to
Its mate. He stumbled once or twice
and murmured something under his
bresth each time. As he walked down
that road the whole eighteen years of
his monotonous existence, called life,
unrolled themselves before his mind's
yes. He remembered the old swim
ming hole, the eager hunts for birds'
nests In the days agoue, the "stone
bruise" ho curried to school with him
all one spring, and the beech whistles
be used to make at recess. And the
squirrel hunts and the games of youth,
all the different scenes of his life were
enacted again for him In the playhouse
of hi memory. And at the end he said
to himself, "Well, It Is over now, for
to-night I shall go away. Never again
will William take home the night's
milk. This Is my last walk."
HI mind was set, determined. He
tumbled along the rocky path to the
Billk-bouse on Green' farm, and stood
by. silently, while the hired man filled
bis pail, their he trudged Imck over that
country road. The moon was rising.
; Already a soft, silvery light flecked the
foliage of the woods on the left, ami
raft shimmering shadows on the stone
And William dreamed of the wealth
' of the ndle that would one day be his,
of Ibc fame, the glory atxl the great,
good name (lint awaited him. out In
tko world, buyond the kc-a of life on
Um Wblttlesy farm.
iuddenly the boy stoppedso sudden
ly. Indeed, that the frothing milk slop
; fed over the top of the pnll and fell In
' twa tpUubc, one on the road, the other
tJt tola troaafra.
l-atoll not go borne. I shall leave
-HOwT ha cried.
' E walked to the edge of the road
w4 foarwl tot wblto. lighted
the prodidal. 4-
woods. "I must hide the pall," be
said, "but where?"
For a moment be stood In the shadow,
"I remember!" be exclaimed. "The
old blasted tree trunk. I will put the
pail there."
He walked a few rods further np the
road and then sheered off Into the
woods. By and by he came out Into
the moonlight again. He had carried
out the plau that had sugested itself to
bis mind. The milk pall bad been
placed In the old tree trunk.
For a moment he hesitated. He took
off his cap and stood bareheaded under
the sky, the rays of the moon bathing
him In a flood of silver light
"Good-by! Good-by!"
The words were spoken to the breezes
and were ltorne to the night birds that
made reply with shriller chirpings.
Then William turned and went back
down the country road.
"Yes," the station agent at the cross
ing told him, "there will be a train
along for the west In thirty minutes."
William Whlttlesy had dreamed of
Colorado, and 'twas there he meant to
go. An hour later he was rolling on
his way.
And the years came and went
Not a word was ever received by the
Whlttlesys from William. And after
many months they came to regard him
as dead, and no longer hoped that one
day his form might again darken the
kitchen door.
With William all went well, lie stay
ed lu Chicago just long enough tolearn
that there was nothing for him 'there,
lie pushed his way further west. He
succeeded In his tirst venture, and Ave
years had not elapsed before his name
had come to be known throughout the
mining country. Often he thought of
that home back lu Michigan, and fre
quently he said to himself, "I will
write;" then something would Inter
fere with the currying out of his Inten
tion, and no word would be sent back.
Thus the days and weeks and years
sped on until a fifth of a century had
William Whlttlesy had accumulated
one hundred thousand dollars In the
twenty years he had lived and tolled lu
Colorado, and one day the desire came
to It ! tn stronger than ever to go buck
to the old home and gaze once again
Into the old eyes of father and mother.
So he returned.
The station at the crossroads was the
same. It seemed to him. It had uot
even been painted In all those twenty
years. The agent was a stranger, and
the farmers around the little depot did
not recognize lu the man who alighted
from the train that morning the Will
lam Whlttlesy who had so mysteri
ously disappeared years before.
Alone and unknown, the man wended
his way along the country road to the
old house on the bill. He had crossed
the lane below the woods w hen he rec
ollected that pall of milk that he had
hidden In the hollow log twenty years
"I wonder If the pall can be there
yet," be said to himself, and smiled at
the thought. "I'll see.' '
He remembered the spot as distinctly
as though he had but left the day be
fore. He went to the blasted trunk,
kicked away the stone and moss and
twigs and looked down. Yes, It was
there; but In It nothing. He lifted out
the old tin pnll. Its sides all full of
holes eaten by time and rust, and con
tinued ou up the road.
"I shall knock at the kitchen door,"
be said to himself; "and when mother
answers I shall say; 'Here Is the milk.' "
And William Whltllesy laughed aloud.
The house appeared unchanged. To
be sure there were honeysuckles grow
ing up the back porch that had not been
there went he went away, but twenty
year Is sufficient time for honeysuckle
to live and die.
William Whlttlesy ascended the step
quietly and knocked at the door. It
was opened by a kind-eyed old lady.
William thrust forward the rusty, bat
tered pall and said, "Mother, here' the
milk." The woman looked at him with
wonder In her eyes. "Won't won't
you come In?" she said,
Wf.llam entered the room. It wa the
same old kitchen he bad known when
hut a boy. And tbera by the fireplace
sat a man, feeble, and wrinkled and
gray. "Father, I have come back," cried
William Whittle. The old man turned
v,m i-'Ml
In hi chair aud faced at the stranger,
"Don't you see who I am?" cried the
long lost. "I am William. I have come
back. I went away twenty yeare
A peculiar light came Into the eye
of the woman, who, during the strang
er' appeal to the old man by the fire
place, bad stood still, at the end of the
table with one hand on her hip.
"I I I understand now," she said.
William looked his thanks In his eyes.
He was about to close his arms about
the old lady' face when she waved
him back. "I understand," she went
on. "Arter you went away your mother
died, and in 'beout a year your pa mar
ried me. Then when he died I mar
ried George there, an we've been Uvln'
on th' ol' place ever sence. So yew
see we aiu't your folks arter all, though
likely ez not yew may have some legal
connection with us "
William put his hand to his brow and
reeled. He staggered to the door sob
bing, with his head bowed upon hi
breast, he walked slowly down the old
country road. And that night he went
back to the West Detroit Free Tress.
Crowning the King; of the Scottish
With much quaint pomp and cere
mony, and In the presence of a vast
concourse of siectators, a gypsy king
was crowned on Kirk Yetholm Green.
The chosen of the Romany tribe is
named Charles Blythe Rutherford. He
has passed the age of three score and
ten, and besides being crowned king,
his gypsy subjects also proclaimed him
Earl of Little Egjpt.
Prince Charlie, as he is familiarly
termed, is a Hue specimen of manhood.
It Is years since he gave up the roving
habits of his tribe and devoted himself
to the more prosaic occupation of keep
ing a lodging Inn!- i,u the village of
Kirk Yei.liolm. but his admirers proud
ly proclaim that he is descended from
royal gypsy houses of Faa. Iilythe aud
Charles Iilythe Rutherford's mother
was Queen Esther, the last gypsy sov
ereign crowned at Yetholm. Esther
does not appear to have been too heav
ily endowed with this world's goods,
seeing that site applied for parish re
lief and was refused on the ground that
she had vlsiile means of support as a
-mugger"- that is to say, sli.' possessed
a horse and curt to convey her mugs to
the customers who patronized h"t The
gypsy qui -en was offered admission to
the poorhoiise, bul refused, and lived
on uitil lS-.'l in her own "palace," a
low, one-storied, whitewashed cottage,
with an open hearth fire, the smoke
from which passed out through a hole
In ih" roof. Quite recently Charles
himself removed Into this "palace," the
lodging house not having proved a
lucrative Invest merit.
The "Archbishop of Yetholm," who
placed the crown on the Romany mon
arch's brow, was Mr. Gladslono, the
village blacksmith. whose father
crowned Prince Charlie's mother, and
whose family are said to possess the
hereditary privileges of crowning the
gypsy sovereigns. The crown itself
was made of tin, adorned with tinsel
and surmounted with a thistle, and
the archbishop, in performing the cor
onation ceremony, delivered a spci-eh
In the Romany tongue. . Afler Prince
Charlie had duly responded, a proces
sion was formed, in which mounted
men, ii brass band, a mace bearer and
herald preceded the royal carriage
drawn by six a.-ses, and after t lie neigh
boring villages hadsliccn visited the
proceedings wound up with athletic
sports, a public dinner and a dance.
It Is, of course, In its association with
the past that the Interest of this novel
ceremony lies. The Fans, from whom
Prince Charlie Is descended, claimed
tJiait their name was a contraction of
Pharaoh, and asserted that they were
connected by blood with the ancient
kings of Egypt So far back as 15-10
James V. of Scotland made n treaty
with "Johonne Faw, Lord anil Erie of
Little Egypt," acknowledging his king
ship and giving him the right to admin
ister law anil Inflict punishment on hip
fellow Egyptians. Not long afterward,
however, James changed his attitude
and Issued an order commanding his
loyal subjects whenever they found
three gypsies together to slay two of
therni without mercy. London Dally
Swiss Chimney Sweeps.
In Switzerland the chimney-sweep
Is an ofIlcl:i) personage. He Is the em
ploye of the commune, receiving a fixed
salary, his actions controlled by the
government, and he himself holding on
by the buck straps to the car of state.
He is also, us many tourists will have
noticed, one of the few son of the
Helvetian Republic who on Sunday
and weekdays sports a tall silk hat
This he wears with dignity, but It Is
generally brushed the wrong way. Ou
bis otllclal tour ho takes It off blandly,
and Informs the householder that he la
"empowered by the State In Inspect his
flues." - In the Canton of Grisons re
cently the post and title of "ramoneur
communal" was opened to competition.
The salary was thirty-two pound a
year, aud the candidate were n timer
oiis. Hut the strange thing was that
they were mostly village schoolmasters
from Italy. A painful sign of the time
In that uiirestful land. "Itetter," say
"L'ltalla del Popolo," "be a chimney
sweep In Switzerland than a school
master In Italy." But the "Italia del
Popolo" ha recently been suppressed.
Khe Wished It, Too.
Adoring ouo (In lavender kids and a
blue scarf) Oh, how I wish I were that
book you clasp so lovingly.
She-rliow I wish you were, to that
I could abut you up.
Every little while you hear people
aay: "There la something wrong."
It' worse than that; tbert are a lot
of things wr-ng.
nE center of prison ro
mances," said the Doctor,
"was Camp Chase and the
Ohio penitentiary at Columbus. There
were thousands of Confederate goldiers
In tbe prison camp, and scores of mys
terious, notable or notorious prisoners
of another- grade In the penitentiary.
Many of the latter, described as mili
tary or state prisoners, were not treat
ed as convicts, aud yet most of thern
wore the prison dress. There was, In
the last year of the war, In the Ohio
penitentiary the most Interesting ag
gregation of adventurous spirits and
plotters against the National Govern
ment ever assembled at any point,
North or South. There were men under
indictment for treason or conspiracy,
leaders of Insurrectionary movements,
draft fighters, bushwhackers, men un
der sentence of death, men held by the
Government on suspicion, and others
In tbe belief that they were spies. The
fact that Gen. John Morgan and his
associates bad escaped from the prison
made the authorities careful aud ex
acting, but there was nothing akin to
"One day in passing through the large
exercise room given up to the political
prisoners I came face to face with the
handsomest man I ever saw. He was
In the striped prison dress, but, every
article fitted him as if it had been made
to order. Trousers, blouse, shirt and
cap seemed of finer texture than the
ordinary convict garb because all were
clean and were worn jauntily, lie was
the tallest man In the room, and had
the best figure. He was not lounging,
as were most of the others, but had
been walking easily back and forth the
full lenglh of the room. As I crossed
his path he. absorbed In his own
, thoughts, almost ran against me. lie
j stopped short, bowed with easy courte-
sy, retired one step, and. with the
I greatest composure, motioned me for
j ward with a look that was a mixture of
I apology and amusement.
I "As Dr. Hyers came forward, two
j steps behind me, the handsome fellow
'. raised his cap and asked a question.
He was in pr'son as a suspected spy,
1 and had forwarded an explanation to
the General commanding the depart-
ntent. This had been returned with
j the request that It be made more ex-
plicit as to the presence of the accused
at a cerialn point on a day named. It
als(( demanded that the prisoner give
; his real name. Tlie prisoner would do
l neither. My friend asked why. and in
. stantly came the answer: innocent
, myself, I might Involve others, or
would put myself In the position of ex
, citing suspicion against others. I will
j try It awhile longer,' and. with a smile
and a bow, he moved away.
! , "The next time I visited Ihe peniten-
tlary my handsome prisoner was not
there. He had been released by order
of the Government, aud no one knew
j where he had gone. Several years
after that I was lu Chicago, and was
crossing Randolph street In front of the
Sherman House, on a muddy day, when
I I ran against a tall man coming from
; the other side. He stepped aside with
' out the slightest show of irritation and
, with a bow aud a smiling 'I beg your
pardon,' passed on. The next minute
1 It came over me that the very polite
1 gentleman was my handsome prisoner.
Two years afler that I was In New
Orleans, coining up a street new to nie.
I asked a man standing on the corner
' the way to the St Charles. He bowed,
touched my arm as he turned me In
tie- right direction, and pointed out the
u ay.
"His face, figure, and manner were
ti.-se of the man 1 had seen In the pen
Ittatla'ry. 1 had started away, when
the thought came to me that there
would be no barm In trying to solve the
mystery, and I relurned to where the
' at ranger was standing. I asked him If
he had ever been In Columbus or Chi
I cago, explaining that he reminded me
of an old acquaintance. He was smok
j lug, aud he looked me over politely and
; composedly, and after a minute said,
, with a smile that had In It the sugges
tion of a challenge: 'I never lived
either lu Columbus or Chicago.' I saw
him again afler that lu Washington,
lint that proved uothlng." Chicago
Inter Ocean.
Twelfth MiiHK.-u-huacttn at Antirlain.
At the reunion of the survivors of the
Twelfth Massachusetts In this city Sec
retary Kimball made the following
"I am aware that It Is a startling
statement to make that the loss of the
Twelfth Massachusetts at Antletam
was the highest In the percentage of
any orgaulssatlou. Union or Confeder
ate. In any one battle of the civil war,
and even the highest of any organiza
tion In the entire world. In modern
times. In civilized warfare, under nor
mal conditions, but Is there not good
reason to believe It to be true?
"The fighting was terrific, as every
one knows. Let me simply say that a
letter which I wrote to a friend on the
80th of September, 1802, says my com
pany (A) had twenty-two men killed
and wounded out of thirty, and of tbe
eight who escaped unhurt, five bad
mlasle strike either their clothing or
equipment. Only tblrty-two matched
off tbe field under tbe flag of the regi
ment when relieved by troop of the
Twelfth Corp. One of the Confederate
regiments, Um Klrat Texas, Uood'a di-
i i
vision, which we encountered In mtr ad
vance through the cornfield, and which
afterward occupied a noltlou a little
to our right, bad 186 killed and wound
ed out of 226 taken Into action a per
centage of loss of 82.3." Boston Globe.
The Veteran' t-tory.
The veteran In the dingy uniform
that might have been gray or blue wa
perhaps a shade Indefinite as to where
he had experienced the stories he wa
telling, but he was an Interesting old
fellow, and bis listeners had been read
ing too many war tales sent by special
messengers to newspaper to worry
about the details so long as the results
were good. So they filled up the nar
rator's beer mug aud sent blin going
"One of the oddest things," he said,
with the calm confidence of truth,
"that I can remember happened to my
brother and me, both of us being mem
bers of a battery. On one occasion we
had been watching the enemy for a
week, trying to keep him from cross
ing a river until our re-enforcements
had got up, but the rains had set In
and men couldn't move,' and we were
pretty sure that the enemy was up to
some dodge or other that was going
to wipe us off the face of the earth, for
he had ten times as many men and
guns as we had to meet him with. Of
course that made the commanding offi
cers dead blue, and they offered all
sorts of inducements for our fellows to
go over and find out what was up. I
suppose a dozen or more went, to ten
times that many who volunteered to
go, but none came back, and we wasn't
any bettter off than we were before."
"One morning I told the General that
my brother and me. had a scheme to get
the Information he wanted, aud if he
would agree to promote us both if we
got It we'd try for It. He mighty near
agreed to make brigadiers of us, but
we compromised on sergeants, and my
brother left for tbe other side, after
telling me good-by. For two days we
did not hear front him. and on tbe third
the enemy got a twelve-pound gun Into
a position the battery I was with had
been fighting him away from for a
week, and I got a blast from the major,
but I never said a word. Neither did
the General; and my poor brother no
body knew where he was.
"Strange to say, our battery didn't
open up on the enemy, either, in his
new position, and the officers began to
look worried, waiting to hear from the
General in command. About 10 o'clock
in the morning the enemy's gun let
loose with a roar that tore the ground
up, and a. shot that looked to me to be
as big as a barrel came Hying across
the river and hit In a sand pile in the
rear of our battery. In a minute I had
broke for that sandpile and was
scratching like a dog at a rabbit hole,,
and pretty soon I came out with the
shell in my arms and was cutting
across lots for the General's tent.
"I never stopped to ask any ques
tions of the folks at our battery, but
gvt to the General as soon as I could,
and rushing right Into his tent I drop
ped that hot shell into a bucket of wa
ter and nut again, and let Into the vent
of it with n hatchet. Well, to make a
long story short, on the inside of the
shell where the blow-up stuff usually
Iswasa communication from my broth
er signed Sergeant John Smith, giving
the General the very kind of Informa
tion he was crazy to get hold of, and it
fixed him so that he knocked the enemy
galley west lu no time. My brother
bad got Into It easy enough, for it
wasn't such a great secret over there
what they was going to do. The only
trouble was he hadn't been able to get
back with It when our men went over
afler it. My brother got Into a plan,
though, by loading It Into the shell and
firing It from the gun in the position
he hail got for it, when the enemy
couldn't have done It lu a month. That
was the scheme we worked, and my
brother, being a fine gunner, had no
trouble, getting lu with the artillery
company, especially when he went to
the officers with a story about how he
could get the gun In the position tha.t
they had been trying so long to get aud
couldn't, owing to our battery on the
other lwink of the river, lie was a great
strategist, was my brother, and ought
to be directing things in this war.
"No," sighed the veteran, "he never
got his promotion, though I did mine,
as the General said I should. My
brother was killed at the battery he
fired the shell from, and by the guns
of his own friends. Just as like as not
I done It myself, but that Is war."
New York Sun.
Obeyed Order
While a pig was being eaten that had
been shot at Annapolis Junction by one
of the soldiers on guard at some' dis
tance from the main body, his trans
gression was discovered and the of
fender hauled !efore some of the offi
cers. He frankly admitted that he hod
bagged the pork, but solemnly asserted
that It was In obedience to orders.
"What do you mean?" demanded the
senior officer. "I ordered that pig to
halt, sir, but he kept right on. I gave
him nnolher chance by commanding
him to advance and give the counter
sign, but he disregarded this, and then
I realized that I must shoot." The dig
nity of the court could not be main
tained and the soldier paid the penalty
by hunting up the owuer and paying
him for the pig.
A Young Holdler.
Some people were talking recently of
the civil war, and the older members
of the company had compared remln
Incenees. 'Which side were you on dur
ing the war?" asked the old young girl
of tbe party, turning to a bright little
woman who confessed to having been
born In '02. "I wa In arm on the
Southern side." was tbe quick reply.
Don't refer to tbe powder on a wom
an's fact unleaa you want to get blown
Wander KiclUd Aaaon- Kn1Ub.
tic. by the First Itoad t bates,
Road skating baa been called that
missing link between cycling and walk
ing; It Is really roller-skating out-of-doors.
A writer In tbe Standard tell
bow be took an extended trip, meeting;
with admiration and derision by tb
way; bow he fought against the wind,
ran into the roadside weeds and knelt
there, and on a favorable road i-overed
three miles in fourteen minutes. He
says that, In appearance, tbe new road
skate resemble nothing so much aa a
pair of miniature bicycles.
The wheels are six Inches In diameter,
and are attached to tbe boot. Jointed
leg-splint extend from the skate to
the knee, relieving the ankle of an un
bearable strain, and an automatic
brake, acting upon the front wheel,
Instantly corrects any backward run,
and so removes the greatest difficulty
In hill-climbing. Tbe skates weigh
from six to eight iounds a pair. '
The amazement of natives, when thia
mode of locomoUon dawned upon them,
is well expressed In the queries of an
old man who, with "an apparently hyp
notized donkey," seemed to be the only
inhabitant of a certain hamlet upon the
"Wart's them?" he asked.
"Wart are they for?"
"They ain't bicycles, then?
"No; skates."
"You needn't 'oiler so loud; I ain't
deaf! Wart's them sticks for?"
"To support the ankles."
"No; ankles."
'Wonderful! I wish my old 'oman
was 'ere to see 'em!"
"So do I. Where is she?"
"Dead an' gone well-nigh fourteen
year ago."
"I am very sorry for you."
. "I'm sorry. You must miss her sad
ly." "No, Sally wa'n't 'er name. It was
Jane, same as the donkey's is. I called
Mm after 'er." ,
Then conversation languished, and
the traveler rolled away.
The World's Great Apple Problem.
Probably our great aLees-tor, Adam,
little thought of the trouble he would
cause posterity by eating an apple. But
now the question as to how many ap
ples he really did eat is a new diffi
culty. How many apples did Adam and Eve
eat? Was it one, or was it millions?
When the subject was first nrooted the
editor very naturally replied, "Why,
one, of course."
"No," said the assistant
editor; "Eve ate one, and
Adam ate one, too, that's. . . .
Then the sub-editor passed
alongaslipof paper, on which
was written, "Eve 81 and
Adam 81, making
But the poet, who is a man
of imagination, capped this
with, "Eve 81 and Adam 812.
Then the publisher tried his
hand, and his contribution
was, "Eve 8142 see how it
tasted, and Adam 812, equals. 8,954."
But his assistant beat the
'publisher, asserting that,
"Eve 8142 see how It tasted,
and Adam 8142 keep her
company 16,284."
The poet, who dislikes be
ing surpassed as much as he
hates barbers, came up to the
scratchagain with, "Eve S142
see how it tasted, and Adam
81,212 keep her company 89,384."
Then the humorist, who
bad been listening quietly,
handed in his contribution, '
"Eve 8142 see how it tasted, '
and Adam 8,124,210-der a
husband was he to see her
eat alone, equals 8,132,352."
There the mater rests for the present,
and we are very thankful It does rest.
Saturday Evening Post.
A Valuable but Deadly Ring.
A curious sight may be seen In one of
the most frequented parks of Madrid.
Tills is nothing less than a valuable
ring, studded with diamonds and pearls,
which hangs sti -i 'iided to a silken cord
round the neck of a statue. Thousands
of people pass It every day and admire
Its beauty, but the greatest thief In
Spain would not even touch It. It I
believed to deal out death to the person
to whom It belongs.
The ring was specially made for the
late Alfonso XII., who gave it to his
cousin Mercedes on the day of their
betrothal. On the day of her death it
passed Into the possession of the King's
grandmother, Queen Christina. Three
months afterward she died. The King
passed ou the deadly ring to his sister,
who died a month after she received It.
The King then placed the Jewel In his
own caskot of precious relics, and lived
less than a year after lie had done so.
Saturday Evening Post
Durable Keet of the Camel.
The camel's foot Is a soft cushion, pe
culiarly well adapted to the ground on
which It Is constantly walking. During
a single Jotiruey through ;he Sahara
desert horses have worn out three sets
of shoes, while the camel's feet are hot
even sore.
A Prehiatorlc Knee.
"Do you believe that ixiets are born?"
asked the caller.
"Not now." replied the editor, as lie
glanced toward the waste basket., "nl
thouga 1 believe a few were bur" lu
forma centuries."
'""V--1 '
A t'