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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 25, 1901)
EDITOR 1 Who write* the editorial page. The story that Is all the rage, The advertising puffs and Hindu.-. The fuimygrapns signed "Royal Mbs"? The editor. Who versed must be In printers’ lore, Must fold the papers, 'tend the door, j, Receive advice from every fool. And then be styled a public tool? The editor. Who writes of all that wealth can do. And wonders how he can pull through. And prays subscriptions mav lie paid Ere irate landlord makes a raid? The editor. l Who, keeping pens and Inkstands clean. Must still preserve a smiling mien. And dares not say he owns his soul Before the man who has control? The editor. Who every day Is overrun With ancient wit that's meant for fun. And quires of sentimental trash, A heterogeneous rehash? The editor. Who watches for the junkman's round, Because he gives a cent a pound. And takes all manuscripts away For which he will not, cannot pay? The editor. ■JM I Who only asks. If e’er he galna The gate at which St. Feter reigns, That he may find a little spot Where scribblers and their wares come not.' The editor. —Denver Mecca. in the Forest, BY LOUIS T. WEADOCK. (Copyright, 1901, by Dally Story Pub. Co.) Phil Paquette, woodsman, never loved any girl until he saw Annette, the brown-eyed daughter of the boss of the Michigan lumber camp In which he and a hundred others worked all winter. He came upon her In a clearing one day where she was spreading a feast of grain before a floes of birds. With her was Hammond, the only man in the world that Paquette had time enough to hate. Hammond was tall and fair and per fectly familiar with the English lan guage. Phil was big, with broad shoulders and clear eyes, and to the strong man’s contempt of the weak he added the hate of a man who thinks he should have the something that another has. So he stood with folded arm3 and watched the girl’s snugly fitting Jacket brush close to Hammond’s arm and saw her laugh into Hammond s face, and he vowed that ho would save the girl from Hammond. Paquette had let into his wild brain the idea that the girl was as far above the assistant boss of tho camp as the stars are above the Saginaw river, by whose banks he and the rest labored. So be watched Ham mond. He saw that tho girl talked to him often and carelessly he listened once or twice. The talk was about bool;3 of wnlch he had heard but dimly, and of plays of which until then he had never heard at all. One day ho said to Annette’s father: ••I’ll want to go to town today.” He wanted to tell him his errand, but refrained. In his pocket he had the savings of the winter, and he meant to spend It in books that he, too, might read and bo worthy of talking to the boss’ daugh ter. But he had never bought books before and he had often bought whis ky, So to get courage enough to go into a shop and ask for a book he spent some of his money for drink. Then he postponed buying the books for an hour or two and drank more. He went Into a gambling place that With her was Hammond, he knew. He wanted to see, he told himself, If any of his friends were there, but he knew that the truth was that he wanted to play long enough to Increase his savings till he was able to buy the girl a fine gown he had seen in a window down Cue street. He dfd not Intend to give It to her himself. He meant to slip it Into the house and ask one of the women to put It in her room and she would come in and find it and not know who had sent it. Then he could look at her when she wore it and say to himself that she was wear V lng something that he had given her and then he knew that in his mind he would feel much superior to Hammond, who had never given Annette any thing. He found no friends In the gambling place, but he stayed and put his money on the roulette wheel and in exactly twenty minutes ne had only enough left to buy a very little book. When he walked out Into the frosty air and saw the sleighs cut through the snow his mind cleared itself of the fumes of "I am lookin’ for Mr. Hammond.” the drink and his conscience re proached him. “It she knew what an unworthy man I am,” he said to himself bitterly, “she would not care if I never bought a book.” He purchased a copy in English of Montaigne, that poet of whom he re membered that hit father in Prance had often spoken, and all the way to the camp he tried to read by the un steady kerosene lamp in the smoking car. He looked about for Annette as soon as he reached the camp, but she had gone to town, they told him. Then he looked to see If Hammond was about. As he expected. Hammond was In town also. He flung the book Into the snow and It lay there an hour before he went for It. Every night after that he read the book or asked the men who knew Eng lish to help him. Hvery day he looked at Annette and saw that the air of the pine forests was making her more beautiful and that Hammond clung closer to her than ever. One night when the stars were brighter than usual he lay out near the river bank and hugged himself for Joy. He had learned the meaning of every word in that book of essays. He could pronounce most of them and there were a great many ho could spell in English off hand. Surely, he thought, Annette was closer to him than she ever had been. Besides he had not gone to town since that day he had lost his chance to buy Annette a dress and he had saved his money till he had much more than he had on that day. "Not only,” he said proudly, "can 1 buy more books but I can buy a gown better than the first and I can buy new Jackets for myself and new shoes to wear nights when I come out cf the woods and when she may see me.” The crunch of footsteps on the snow close to him brought him to iiis feet. A woman in ragged clothing and with lips almost blue reached out her hand to him, then tumbled at his feet. “Who can you be?” he asked. "You dc not belong here. No, I never saw you before. How have you come all the miles from the town?” She could not speak and he poured whisky down her throat. She revived a little. "I am looking for Mr. Hammond.” she said. "They told me in the town that he worked out here. I am his wife. Here is nty ring. He left me a year ago and told me never to follow him. but I love him and have come to ask if he will not come gack to live with me.” "Hammond;” Paquette sniffed; Hammond!" She fell back as if he had struck her. “He Is my husband," she said proud ly. “I love him.” Then was Paquette confronted with the opportunity of his life. He knew that to bring the poor, tlreu woman to the bright room in which Hammond was sitting with Annette was to crush Hammond and to save Annette. But what if Annette should love Ham mond? It would break her heart to see this woman claim him. The woodsman took off his cap and ran his fingers through his curly hair. "Hammond,'1 he said, as If trying to think, “Hammond. I am sorry, but there is no one here by that name. I am sure. But you have come too far and you ar* tired. Take my flack and this money, and I'll go with you to the railroad station." During the walk he told her that she might find Hammond some place in town and the money he gave her was more than she had seen In months. When the rear lights of the train were swallowed up in the ehadows toward town Paquette walked slowly hack to camp. As ho passed the light ed windows of the front room ha looked in shamefacedly. Annette with flushed cheeks waE talking to Ham mond and her hand was In his. Paquette swore under his breath and then walked fast to the river bank. He flung his precious copy of Mon taigne far out into the black river and then turned back to his cabin. "Annette loves him," he said dog gedly. “I did right." BOYCOTT THEIR MINISTER. ______ Man TlirfHifnfd with Starvation by ni» IllmientlnK Parishioner*. A remarkable boycott has been be gun on the island of St. Ktlda, off the coast of Scotland, against the Rev. Mr. Fiddes. It is a forcible expression of the opposition of his parishioners to the religious views of the minister, who now is threatened wdth starvation by reason of the refusal of the island ers to help him transport his winter supply of provisions. Mr. Fiddes, who was a minister of the Free Church of Scotland, joined the majority of the General Assembly in forming the United Free Church along with the United Presbyterians. The Highland congregations of the Free Church refused to join the new body. The people of St. Hilda have taken a similar stand, and bitterly resent the attitude adopted by Mr. Fiddes. The steamer Hebrides called at St. Hilda on Thursday with stores. The islanders took away their own goods, but stubbornly refused to take their minister’s stoca of coal and provisions ashore in the ferry. Consequently they had to oc kept on the vessel. Mr. Fiddes sent a message to the cap tain stating that he would have men and boats waiting to take the goods ou on the vessel's arrival at Obbe, but when the steamer reached there no one appeared, and the goods could not be landed. As thi3 was the last trip of the ves sel this season, Mr. Fiddes is in danger of being left without his usual supplies for nine months. It is stated In Glasgow that the United Free Church will not allow their representative to remain in this awkward predicament, and that a re lief expedition will be organized.—New York Press. BALLOON EXPERIMENTS Serve to Point a Moral by Itrlnglng Undeserved Compliments. How completely and honestly people can deceive themselves, and how risky It is for one to “believe his own ears,’’ was illustrated the other day by an ex periment of the Rev. Mr. Bacon, an Anglican clergyman, who is engaged in experimenting with wireless telegraphy and war balloons for the British War Office. He sent notices to the papere throughout the kingdom that he would on a certain date, at a certain hour, ascend in a balloon from the Crystal Palace and fire off a collection of fog signals from beneath his car. People were asked to listen for the sounds of the explosions and to report the re sults of their observations. Mr. Bacon made his ascension all right, and when some 100 feet above the earth applied the electric current to one of his bombs. The result was nil. He tried another, and that, too, refused to explode. In fact, no one of his sig nals would work, and he descended to earth again. In due time there came in to him from all over the country letters from persons who had heard the explosions which did not take place and who were able to give any amount of data con cerning them.—New York Press. Demand for Apartment Ifonaea. In view of the enormously increased activity in building apartment houses in New York in the last three years, the statement of real estate dealers that the supply is still inadequate to the demand is significant. Moreover, prices of apartments have increased very materially. An average apart ment, as the average was five years ago, might have rented for from |800 to $1,000. Apartments that are now ! merely “average apartments" rent for nearly twice as much. Of course, they are much more attractive and conven ient. Not only is better taste shown in designing them, but more money is spent in finishing them. For the bast, apartments in New York one must pay I six or eight times that amount of rent. —New York Sun. T5he Scovirge ofDa.ma.scus v A Story of the East... By SYLVANl/S COBB. JR. Copyrighted it»l by Robert Bonners Son*. CHAPTER XXII. The Executioners. At an early hour the following morning he sent for Omar, who soon answered the call. “I have one word to say—one re quest to make,” said Horam, after the morning's greetings had passed. “I wish you once more to tell me the story of Helena’s innocence, and thenceforth to remain silent upon the subject. I may have dreamed some of the things that now startle my thoughts; for I am not clear at what point you left me last night." Thus called upon, the king of Aleppo related all that ho had told on the previous evening, and then made some further explanation of incidents which he had not before revealed. It was r plain, simple statement, bearing the stamp of truth upon every word. "O!” groaned Horam, clasping his thin hands together, “what would I give to call Helena back to life! But it cannot be. She Is go_ie—and she was innocent!" He started up from his seat, and walked several times across the floor; and when he next approached his royal guest, he had grown calmer, and his lip had ceased Its quivering "Omar, 1 have no blame for you. Henceforth let the book be sealed.” He had taken one or two more turns up and down the apartment, when a messenger entered with intelli gence that Benoni had arrived, and desired audience. “Send him in at once. Good brother, you will remain with me.” This last was spoken to Omar, who had turned to leave. In a little while Benoni made his appearance, and Horam was sure he could see the flush of victory upou his brow. "Now, my captain, what word ao you bring?" “Good word, &ire. We have cap tured those whom you desired to see, and have also brought an old man and old woman who resided In the cave.” “Have you brought the Lady Ulin— and the robber chieftain—and Osmir and Selim?" “Yes, sire.” “And these others are the old her mit, Ben Hadad, and the woman who lives with him?” “Yes, sire.” “By the crown I wear!” cried the monarch, leaping up and clapping his hands, "this is enough to make me forget the wrongs I have suffered. Let the robber chieftain and the two treacherous guards be brought before me. But—hold. There was one other spoken of by the Arab—the lieutenant —Hobaddan his name was.” "He was not in the cave, sire; nor was he about the place.” "Very well. Let the chieftain be brought in.” The captain retired, and presently returned, followed by Julian and the two guards. They were heavily iron ed, and six stout soldiers walked be hind them. The youthful chieftain had schooled himself for the ordeal, and no sign of fear was manifest. Os mir and Selim stood like two deaf mutes, seeming to care nothing for the fate that surely awaited them. “That is all,” said Ilorara, after he had looked at the prisoners. "Take them out, and guard them well. Place twenty of your most trusty men over them, and remember that those twenty heads shall answer for the safety of the charge.” "Shall I conduct them to a dun geon, sire?” "No,—there is no need of it. They will not live to behold the setting of this day’s sun!” Ben Hadad did not tremble when he stood before the king; nor did 12zabel 6eem much frightened. “Old man,” said Horam, "I under stand that you have harbored and pro tected the notorious Scourge, Julian.” “He hath found shelter with me, as have all who ever sought it,” replied the hermit. "And you also harbored the lady Ulin. You knew who she was, and that she had fled from her home.” "Yes.” "And perhaps you knew why »he fled?” f She told me her story, sire.” “It is enough,” cried the king, im patiently. "I wish to hear no more. You both stand condemned, and the degree of your punishment shall be made known to you soon enough. Omar was upon the point of making some remark, when Benonl entered. "Now, Benonl,” said Horam, with more nervousness in his manner than he had before exhibited, “I have a se rious question to ask you; and I de sire that you should answer me promptly and truly. You have noticed the conduct of the princess Ulin?” "Yes, sire she is in love with Julian the robber. * Benoni again went out; but he did not have to go far, as he met Aboul coming towards the royal apartment. Tbo king greeted him as he entered, and asked him If he had seen his daughter. "Yes, sire,” replied the minister. "I have just left her.” "Have you talked with her?” "Yes.” “Then you must have discovered the secret which hath been imparted to me. Did you speak with her of this robber chieftain?” “I did, sire." “Well—what did you observe?" “0, mercy, sire—spare my child!" "That Is not the answer to my ques tion, Aboul. I asked you what you discovered.” “I discovered,” returned the minis ter, In tones of deepest dread, “that her love had been turned from you.” “Aye—and upon whom?” “Upon Julian, sire." “That is it, Aboul,” cried the king, again starting up. “That is the thing that enters most deeply into my soul. And now I will tell you what the girl’s punishment shall he. She shall wit ness the death of her robber lover; she shall see his head severed from his body—and then she shall be shut up, to lead a solitary life, through the rest of her days! None of her own sex shall attend upon her: but black guards shall be her sole companions. What sny you to that?” The executioners we-e not long in obeying the order. A large mat was brought in and spread upon the floor, and three stout baskets of palm-leaf were placed upon it. The mat and the baskets were darkly stained, and even Omar, used as he was to such scenes, shuddered when he beheld the prepa rations. When all was ready. Horam turned to his captain and ordered that all the prisoners should be brought in. At length they came. Julian and Osmir and Selim came first. Then fol lowed Ben Hadad and Ezabel, with Shubal and Ortok. And lastly came Ulin and Albia. The robber chieftain was led up to the block. Ilis arms were folded upon his broad bosom, with the heavy chains hanging almost to his feet, and his head was borne erect. There was a deep pain-mark in his face, but it was not of fear for himself. "Outlaw!” spoke Horam, through his shut teeth, and with his thin hands clenched, "the hour has come In which you are to close your career of rapine and robbery; and these people who have been friends to you, and who have given you protection in your crime, are to see your head fall. Per haps you would ask for mercy.” "No!” said the chieftain. “I ask no mercy at the hand of Horam of Da mascus. Let the work be finished as quickly as possible, and thus shall one more be added to the list of thy bloody deeds. I could wish to live that I might take more vengeance on thee.” “And is there not one thing for which you would live?” asked the king, bending a searching, burning glance upon him. Julian started, and struggled; but made no reply. And in a moment more Horam turned to his chief executioner. “Bel Dara, go now to your work. Let this man’s head fall first. Your arm is strong, and your hand is sure. Bend him upon his knees, and watch for my signal.” There was a low, wild cry breaking upon the air; and as Julian turned his head, he saw Ulin, white and faint, in the arms of her attendant. Before the grim executioners could bend the robber chieftain to his knees there was an interruption in the pro ceedings. The voice of Ben Hadad, stern and authoritative, sounded above all else: “King of Damascus, ere you stain your hands with that man'o blood, 1 must reveal to you a secret which it is fitting you should know.’* “Old man,” he said, "you speak a secret. Do you think to trifle with me?” “I have to cause a simple story to be unfolded to your majesty,” replied Ben Hadad; “and if you will grant this woman speech, she will give you light.” The king looked hard into the face of Ezabel, and for the first time he seemed to be struck by something fa miliar in her features. A moment he sat as if irresolute, and then he said, starting up as though his mind were fixed: “Let the woman approach.” Ezabel came near to the throne, Ben Hadad walking close behind her. “Woman, what is it that you have to tell? Speak, and let not the words lag upon your lips.” “I speak by the request of Ben Ha dad,” replied Ezabel; “and the story which I shall tell you is known only to the old hermit and myself. Even Julian himself knows not the secret I have to impart, and were he now upon the verge of death, no persuasion should draw it from me. It may be that the disclosure will consign me to your executioner; but I care not. I shall waste no words. I was born in this city, and was married at an early age. One son was born to me, and then my husband died. Shortly after this bereavement I was called to nurse a sick child—a girl, some three years old—who was suffering from an acci dent. The child recovered under my care, and as I had formed a strong attachment for her, and as she had also conceived the same for me, I was retained to attend upon her. Her par ents were of the wealthiest of Damas cus, and while they made it very pleasant for me to remain with their daughter, they also provided a good place for my son, Hobaddan. My charge grew up to be a beautiful maid en, and became my mistress; and I served her with Joy, for she was good and kind and geTjerous; and I knew that she loved ne. In time my mis tress became a wife, and I went with her to her new home. For a few months all went pleasantly under this now relation; but fcnully a dark clou® arose to obscure the heaven of my lady's joy. Her husband became Jeal ous of her—became so jealous that hia soul was fraught with deadly ven geance. He fancied that hia wife’s guilt had been proved, and he resolved to put her away from him forever. Her protestations availed nothing. He would not listen to her—he would not even allow her to approach him; but he gave her into the hands of his ex ecutioners, and bade them drown her in the waters of the Pharphar. 1 dis covered what was to be done, and slipped away from the home of the cruel husband, and sought my son, who had then become a stout youth. Hobaddan and 1 hid ourselves near the gates of the city, and when the executioners came out, we followed them. They had with them a large sack, and 1 knew that my mistress was in it. We saw them sink that sack in the river—they sank it where the water was dark and deep—sank it i;i the middle of the night—and then went away. As soon as they were gone we hurried to the shore, and my son plunged into the stream, and succeed ed in bringing the sack to the land. We opened it, and my sweet mistress was taken forth, cold and senseless; but Bhe was not dead. Her heart still had motion, and after much labor wa succeeded in bringing her back to con sciousness. The next need was to find a safe shelter for her. W« dared not take her back to the city. I thought of the hermit, Ben Hadad. I had heard that he was a benevolent man. and I resolved to seek him. We found his cave; and when he had heard my story, he promised to give us shelter, and to protect the unfortunate lady. “My mistress so far recovered as to be able to sit up; but she could not get well. Her system had received too great a shock, and her poor heart was broken. In two weeks from the time when she entered the cave she gave birth to a son, and shortly afterwards Bhe died. She died as pure and true as heaven itself, and her child was the offspring of an honor which no temp tation could have tarnished. She died; but the child lived and thrived—lived, and grew strong, and noble, and bold. We told him how hia mother had been wronged; hut we did not tell him all. We did not tell him who his father wsb; only we told him that he owed his orphanage to the king of Damas cus. When he grew up he resolved that the king should suffer for the deed he had done, and subsequent events have proved that bis resolution was not vain. "This, sire, is the son of the woman who was my mistress. Julian, the Scourge of Damascus is the child I have reared. Would you know more?” Horam sat In his great chair, with his hands clutched tightly upon the golden arms, and his whole frame quiv ering. "O,” he gasped, "the secret is nigh to the surface! What shall I ask?” The king of Aleppo moved to Ho rara’a side, and whispered in his ear. "Aye,” exclaimed the quaking mon arch, when he had listened to the words of his brother, "it shall be so. What ho! Benonl—clear this chamber of all save this old mun and woman, and this—this—Julian! Lead them out quickly, and remain with them to watch them.” In a few moments the two kings wero alone with the three prisoners wrho had been designated. "Now—now—speak!” "King of Damascus,” said the aged hermit, taking a step forward, “allow me to tell you the rest. The suns of almost a hundred years have rolled over my head, and not yet have I wil lingly deceived a fellow creature to his injury. What this woman has told you is true. The lady who was brought to my cave tbree-and-twenty years ago—who gave birth to a child there—and who died in Ezabel’s arms, was Helena. Queen of Damascus! And the son which she bore was the son of the king—I swear it; and in sup port thereof, I pledge my soul’s sal vation!” (To be continued.) Evidence of Desire to Soil. Wu Ting-fang, who wjb a guest at a recent wedding in Washington, was approached after the ceremony by the best man and jocu'arly asked to go over to the young c uple and pro nounce a Chinese parental blessing. The obliging Wu immediately com plied. Placing his hands on the blush ing bride and shaking groom, he said: “May every new year bicss you with a man child offspring until they shall number twenty-five in all. May these twenty-five man-children offspring pre sent you with twenty-five times twenty-five grandchildren and may these grandchildren -” It Is said that the little bride grew hysterical about this time, says the New York Times, and the best man made another request of Wu—this time to desist. Not tha Girl for Him. The father was quite anxious for his son to marry, and on every occasion he was picking out what he thought was a suitable girl. One night at a dinner the old gentleman sat next to a very attractive young woman, and on his way home he was loud in his praises. “My boy,” he said, “she’s the very girl for you.” “Not much,” replied the boy, with peculiar empha sis. “But I say she is,” insisted papa. “And I say not,” Insisted the son. The father became testy on the sub ject. “You're too hard to please. You don’t expect a woman to be perfect, do you?" “No.” “Then why isn’t this one just the girl for vou?” “Because,** replied the young n«*n with an effort, “she’s for some other fellow. She told i ms so last night”—Chicago Tribuss*